#iTS ABOUT THE INDULGENCE IN A MAN THAT YOU KNOW LOVES YOU JUST TO TWIST HIS HEART

[grimalkinmessor]

THE WAY THAT MATSULIGHT. THE WA Y THAT LIGHT TO MATSUDA. THE WAY THAT FIVE-YEAR-ERA MATSULIIIIIIGHT—

[reilemon]

Beneath the Collar

♡︎ synopsis: What do you tell yourself when you develop a crush on a hot priest? 'It'll pass.' But what if it doesn't?

♡︎ pairing: priest!Zayne x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: personal sacrilege, mutual masturbation

♡︎ word count: 13k

♡︎ a/n: the fifth story for kinktober 2024. i know i wrote something else as a prompt for this story, but it kinda didn't fit into the vibe. I hope you'll still like it.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

You’d been absentmindedly wiping down the counter, eyes flicking to the clock every couple of minutes. You were anticipating the weekend as if it was your lifeline. The shop was nearly empty, just a couple pastries left. You could already taste the freedom that awaited once you locked up. Saturday nights were your escape. You’d head out of town and finally let loose with your old friends. You couldn’t wait to slip into a tight dress, feel the beat of music thrumming through your veins, and drown the stress of your quiet life with a few too many drinks.

You loved the buzz, the way you could disappear into the crowd. It was so different from the slow, predictable pace of this town—so different from the way you had to be here, composed, calm, responsible. You could already imagine the way your friends would greet you with shrieks and hugs, the taste of sweet cocktails on your lips, the feel of someone’s hands on your waist as you danced the night away.

You hadn’t realized how tightly wound you’d become until you started thinking about it. The endless days of baking, of small talk with customers who didn’t really know you, of going home to an empty apartment. This wasn’t the life you’d imagined.

The chime above the door rings, pulling you back from your thoughts. You straighten instinctively, slipping back into your practiced routine, eyes flicking up with a tired smile ready—until you see him.

The man who steps in isn’t like any customer you’ve seen before. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark, understated clothes. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the stark white collar around his neck—the unmistakable sign of a priest. Yet you can’t help but stare at his features - his sharp jawline, the raven-black hair falling slightly across his forehead, and those intense green eyes. He looks cold, distant, his gaze hard and unreadable as it sweeps the room before landing squarely on you.

You can feel your heart pound as your breath catches. You aren’t supposed to feel this way. He’s a priest, for God’s sake. Yet here you are, rooted in place, unable to tear your eyes away from him. You shouldn’t be thinking about how strong his hands look, or how his lips might feel if they ever touched yours. Guilt twists in your gut, making you flush with shame.

You swallow hard, the professional smile faltering for a second as your thoughts race. What is a man like him doing here? He doesn’t look like the type to indulge in something sweet.

He steps forward, approaching the counter, and the closer he gets, the more you can feel your façade slipping. You force yourself to break eye contact, focusing instead on the pastries.

You need to say something, anything to break the tension. “Good evening,” you finally manage.

“I’m sorry for coming in so late,” he says, his voice deep and smooth, instantly making you feel butterflies. “I was hoping to grab something before you closed.”

You nod, trying to keep the conversation professional, though your mind is anything but. “Of course,” you reply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

His eyes flick over the display case before returning to you, making your heart flutter. “Macarons,” he says after a moment. “Do you have any left?”

You blink, thrown off by the unexpected request, by how he knows exactly what he wants. “Ah—no,” you stammer, shaking your head. “Sorry, they sold out earlier today.”

He nods once, but doesn’t seem disappointed. You half-expect him to say something more, maybe ask about the next batch or try one of the remaining pastries. But he doesn’t. His eyes flick to the empty spot where the macarons should’ve been, then back to you.

"Thank you," He doesn’t smile, just offers a polite nod before he turns and walks toward the door. The air feels lighter the moment he steps out, but your heart is still racing, your mind still tangled in thoughts you shouldn’t have.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what just happened, your hand still resting on the counter as if anchoring you back to reality. Slowly, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

‘What the hell was that?’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*�� ₊⋆

Later that evening, you stand in front of your mirror, smoothing your dress down over your hips, but your thoughts are miles away. You’ve been looking forward to this night all week— but now, you can’t stop thinking about him.

As you spray the perfume on your neck, your mind drifts back to the way those cold green eyes had fixed on you with such unnerving intensity. You replay the interaction over and over in your head as you fix your lipstick, each swipe of color across your lips bringing back the memory of his deep, steady voice.

You grab your heels and slide them on, trying to push the image of him away. It’s your night - you should be thinking about the friends you’ll be laughing with, the strangers you might flirt with, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. And that damn collar, the way it stood out against his sharp jaw, mocking you.

You sigh, frustrated with yourself as you grab your clutch and head for the door. Tonight is about fun, freedom. As you step outside, you convince yourself that by the end of the night you will forget all about him.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You stand just outside the church, a box of macarons clutched in your hands. The crisp autumn air hits your face, cooling the remnants of your hangover. You wince slightly as the last pulse of your headache throbs behind your eyes. But it’s nothing compared to the nervous energy swirling in your stomach. The night before is a blur of music, laughter, and drinks—too many drinks—and yet, through it all, he was still there. No matter how hard you tried your mind kept circling back to the priest.

You woke up early this morning, despite the dull ache in your head, the need to see him again pulling you out of bed far earlier than your body wanted. You spent more time than usual getting ready, trying to make yourself look presentable. Like you hadn’t spent half the night dancing under neon lights, sweat mingling with perfume. Like you were fresh and composed, not some hungover mess delivering macarons to a man who probably didn’t even remember you.

Now, as you stand outside the church, watching as the last of the congregation trickles out from Sunday mass, you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous. ‘What the hell am I doing?’ You glance down at the box in your hands. Last night, you’d come home and found the extra macarons sitting in your fridge—fresh, untouched. And somehow, in your alcohol-soaked brain, you’d convinced yourself that bringing them to him would make sense. That maybe, just maybe, seeing him again would clear your thoughts.

Inside, you hear the faint echoes of voices, the last goodbyes being exchanged. Your pulse quickens, the nerves settling in deeper now. ‘What if he thinks I’m crazy?’ You glance up at the church doors as they swing open again. More people spill out, some of them familiar faces, regulars from your shop. You offer a small, polite smile to those who glance your way, though the last thing you want is to be seen here, holding this box like some desperate girl with a crush.

The crowd thins, and finally, you see him. He steps out of the church, tall and composed, his dark coat catching the cool breeze as he exchanges polite nods and handshakes with the remaining parishioners. Your heart stutters in your chest when his eyes land on you, sharp and focused, just like yesterday. His gaze flickers with confusion as he approaches. The contrast between the two of you couldn’t be more stark. He’s the picture of calm and control, while you feel like a bundle of frayed nerves.

"Good morning," he greets, his voice low and even, though there’s a hint of curiosity in it. His eyes drop to the box in your hands, and then back up to meet your gaze. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

You force a small smile, suddenly feeling foolish again for showing up like this. "I, um..." You glance down at the box before awkwardly extending it toward him. "I brought these... for you. Macarons. I had some extras, and I thought..." Your voice trails off as you realize how ridiculous you sound.

He hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the gesture, his brow furrowing slightly as he looks between you and the box. "That’s very kind of you," he says after a beat, his tone polite but still laced with confusion. He takes the box from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through you. "But I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why bring them here?"

You feel your face heat up, the embarrassment creeping in again as you try to explain. "I just... yesterday, you asked about the macarons. And I had some left at home, so I thought..." You trail off again, unsure how to finish without sounding completely absurd.

His eyes soften slightly, the confusion changing into something more like understanding. "I see," he says quietly. He looks down at the box in his hands, then back at you. "Thank you. This was... thoughtful."

There’s a long, awkward pause before you gather the nerve to ask, "Have you visited my shop before? I mean, you knew we sold macarons, but I don’t remember seeing you."

He glances away for a moment, then returns his gaze to you, his tone still measured and calm. "I have stopped by a few times, yes. But more often than not, my colleagues bring me your macarons. They speak highly of your pastries." His lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but the closest thing you’ve seen from him. "They’ve made sure I know where to find the best sweets in town."

You blink, processing that information. ‘So, he has been there.’ A strange mix of relief and disappointment washes over you—relief that he’s not a complete stranger to your shop, but disappointment that you missed those visits. Still, knowing he’s tasted your work fills you with a sense of pride.

"I see," you murmur, nodding. "I wasn’t sure, since... well, you don’t seem like the type to indulge in sweets."

He raises an eyebrow. "I do, on occasion," he says, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Especially macarons."

Another silence falls between you. The cold morning air feels sharper now, the quiet around the church almost too loud as the last of the parishioners filter away, leaving just the two of you standing there.

You feel the urge to say something, anything. "I hope you enjoy them," you say quickly, nodding toward the box in his hands.

His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than feels comfortable. "I’m sure I will," he replies, his voice softer now, though his serious demeanor never wavers. "Thank you again. This was... unexpected."

You nod, unsure what else to say, and suddenly, the weight of what you’re doing—standing outside a church, hungover, giving a priest macarons—hits you all over again. You swallow hard, feeling the need to leave before you make things even more awkward.

"I should probably go," you blurt out, taking a small step back. "I didn’t mean to interrupt your morning."

He watches you, his gaze steady, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to say something to stop you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he simply nods. "Take care,"

You turn and start walking away, your heart pounding in your chest, the cool air biting at your skin. You feel a little silly, a little reckless, but something about the way he looked at you, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he accepted the macarons... it stays with you.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Sunday arrives quicker than expected, and this time, you're determined to play it cool. You still went out the night before, but you kept it light—a couple of drinks, no wild partying. The ache behind your eyes this morning is faint, nothing like last week’s pounding. You’d woken up with enough time to fix your hair and choose an outfit that’s both casual and appropriate, though you spent longer than you’d like to admit deciding on it.

As you step inside the church, the scent of old wood and candles washes over you, calming your racing heart just a little. The crowd is larger than you expected—families, couples, elderly regulars. You quietly slip into a pew near the back, hoping to blend in.

You settle in, your eyes scanning the front of the church, seeking him out. There he is, standing at the altar in his robes, his presence as commanding as ever. He’s facing the congregation, his expression stoic, speaking in that calm, steady voice that fills the room with reverence. At first, he doesn’t notice you. He’s focused on his sermon, his attention on the crowd as he guides them through the service.

And then, as if he can sense you watching him, his gaze flickers toward the back of the church—and locks onto you.

For a moment, the rest of the congregation fades into the background. It’s just you and him, his eyes lingering on you longer than they should. There’s no surprise in his expression, but his gaze isn’t the distant, detached look you remember from before. Your breath catches, and for a second, you’re not sure what to do. You glance down at your hands, trying to steady yourself, but when you look back up, his eyes are still on you. He’s quick to recover, though, returning his focus to the sermon, but the brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

The rest of the mass is a blur. You try to listen, to follow along with the prayers, but all you can think about is the way he looked at you. The quiet intensity of his gaze, the way it felt like he was seeing more than just another face in the crowd.

As the mass ends and people begin to rise from their seats, you remain seated for a moment longer. You watch as the crowd shuffles toward the exit, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, offering their thanks and farewells. For a second, you think about slipping out quietly and disappearing before he notices you again. It would be the easiest thing to do—walk away, avoid any awkward conversations.

But just as you start to stand, your eyes find his across the room. He’s still speaking with a couple of elderly women near the front, but his gaze shifts—briefly, unmistakably—back to you. And there’s something in that moment that makes it impossible to leave. Before you know it, you’re moving toward him, your pulse quickening with each step.

You tell yourself it’s only polite to say hello, maybe thank him for the sermon. It’s what people do, right? But the truth is, you haven’t attended a church service in so long, you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to talk to a priest. What do people even say in these situations? Your mind races as you approach, trying to figure out what you’re supposed to say.

When you reach him, he finishes his conversation with the elderly women, offering them a polite nod before turning his attention to you. For a moment, you stand there, unsure of how to start, but before you can stumble over a greeting, he speaks first.

"Good to see you again," Zayne says, as he offers you a barely visible smile. It’s subtle, just a small upturn at the corner of his lips, but it’s enough to make your heart race. "I don’t recall seeing you here before last week."

You blink, feeling like you’re caught red handed. You fumble for a response, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Oh, no, I—I haven’t been here before," you admit, glancing down at your hands before looking back up at him. "I mean, I used to go to church when I was younger, but... it’s been a while." You force a small smile. "I’ve been in this town for a few months now, but I guess I still feel kind of... new. I’m trying to, you know, be a part of the community."

It’s a half-truth, but close enough to reality.

Zayne listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he considers your words. "It’s understandable," he says after a moment, his voice softer now. "Moving to a new place can feel... isolating." His gaze lingers on you. "I’m glad you’re finding your place here."

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. "Yeah, I think I’m making some progress."

You’re unsure of what to say next, but Zayne is the one that speaks next. "Those macarons you brought last week," he begins. "There was one flavor I hadn’t tried before—rose, I believe?"

You hadn’t expected him to bring it up. "Oh, yeah," you say, a giddy smile creeping onto your lips. "I like to experiment with new flavors in my free time. I wasn’t sure if anyone would like that one."

He nods, with a faint smile. "It was... different. Unexpected, but in a good way."

Your smile widens at that, unable to contain the warmth blooming in your chest. You hadn’t realized how much his opinion would matter to you. "I’m always experimenting," you admit, feeling more at ease now. "Sometimes I stay up late trying out new combinations."

The air between you feels lighter, warmer. "I can tell you put a lot of effort into it."

The compliment catches you off guard, and you’re not sure how to respond. But before you can say anything, Zayne shifts the conversation slightly. "We’re hosting a bake sale next week," he says, "It’s for a local charity. I was wondering if you’d have the time to volunteer."

Volunteer? At the church? You’ve never done anything like that before. But the idea of working with him, of contributing in some way—it tugs at you, and before you can think it through too much, you find yourself nodding.

"Yeah, I’d love to," you say quickly, the giddiness from earlier still bubbling beneath the surface. "I mean, I’m sure I could make time."

His gaze softens, and there’s that almost smile again. "Good," he says. "I think your talents would be appreciated."

You nod, feeling strangely content. Working with him, even if it’s just for something simple like a bake sale—seems like a small step forward, a way to stay close without pushing too far.

As the crowd continues to thin, you realize you’ve lingered long enough. You take a small step back, your heart still racing from the interaction. "I’ll see you next week, then," you say softly, offering him a final smile before turning to leave.

"Yes," he replies. "Next week."

You can feel his gaze on your back as you exit the church, the weight of it lingering long after you step outside into the cool autumn air. And though you try to tell yourself that it’s just a bake sale, just a way to be part of the community, you can’t shake the excitement simmering beneath the surface.

Next week couldn’t come soon enough.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The bake sale was a success. The air was filled with the scent of baked goods and laughter, but you hardly had time to enjoy it. Zayne, ever the center of attention, had been pulled away in a dozen directions the entire day. When you’d arrived early that morning, hands full of pastries and stomach full of butterflies, you barely got a chance to exchange more than a quick greeting.

He had smiled at you, brief but warm, though his attention was quickly snatched away by people needing his assistance, asking for advice, or organizing last-minute details. Of course, he handled everything with calm efficiency. You watched him navigate the chaos with admiration, though a part of you ached for more than those fleeting glances you stole throughout the day.

Now, as the sun begins to set and the crowd dissipates, everything is finally winding down. The tables have been mostly cleared, the leftover baked goods packed up, and most of the volunteers have either left or are chatting amongst themselves. You’re still tidying up, folding a tablecloth when you feel a presence beside you. Zayne.

"Need any help?" he asks.

You offer him a small smile, shaking your head. "I’ve got it," you say, too aware of how close he’s standing. "But thank you."

"You did a lot today," he says quietly. "The bake sale wouldn’t have been as successful without you."

The compliment, though simple, warms your chest, and you can’t help the slight flush that rises to your cheeks. "I’m just glad I could help," you reply, glancing at him, and there it is again—his gaze, lingering just a fraction too long.

"Will you be attending mass tomorrow?" he asks after a pause, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

For a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. Attending Sunday mass on a regular basis was not something you imagined for yourself when you moved here. But neither was the crush on a priest. You tilt your head slightly, offering a small smile. "I might," you say. "But... I’d be more than happy to help out around the church too. If you need extra hands for events or... anything else." The offer hangs in the air.

Zayne’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer, before he nods, his lips curving into that barely-there smile that always makes your heart race. "I’ll keep that in mind."

As you both finish the last of the cleanup, the weight of the day settles over you. The connection between you and Zayne feels more real.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Days pass after the Sunday mass, and your mind is restless. You had hoped—foolishly—that this crush would fade. That the flutters in your stomach and the lingering heat in your chest, and somewhere else, would disappear. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s grown stronger. It’s more than just attraction now—it’s curiosity, fascination, a desire to know him beyond the surface.

You had gone to mass that Sunday, and the entire service, your eyes had found his. After the service, you exchanged pleasantries as usual, but there was something beneath the surface. The way he smiled at you, as if holding back. And then, before you left, he had handed you his phone, suggesting that you exchange numbers, “in case there’s any more help needed with events.”

It was a perfectly reasonable request, and yet, your hands had trembled slightly when you typed your number in. A simple exchange of phone numbers shouldn’t feel like this, but you couldn’t shake the thrill it gave you.

Now, days later, you’ve been staring at his name in your phone for what feels like hours. Your fingers hover over the screen, your mind spinning with a thousand excuses you could use to text him.

‘Just invite yourself over.’ Tell him you’ve been working on new desserts and want to share them. It’s innocent enough—after all, you’ve done it before, and he was more than happy to accept. Why should this time be any different?

You lean back, the phone still in your hand, your thoughts a tangled mess. ‘It’s not wrong to want to see him, is it?’ When you’d exchanged numbers, had there been something in the way his hand brushed yours? Something more than just casual contact?

Your thumb hovers over his name on your phone, heart pounding in your chest. ‘One message. That’s all. Just one message to bring him something.’ It’s innocent. Harmless.

You begin to type. “Hey, I’ve been experimenting with some new dessert recipes. Thought you might like to try them. Could I drop some by?”

Before you can second-guess yourself again, you hit send.

The message disappears, leaving you staring at the screen, your heart racing.

Your phone buzzes a minute later, and you can hardly breathe as you open the message.

“That sounds great. I’d love to try them.”

His reply is simple, casual, but the effect it has on you is anything but. You glance around your apartment, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’ve done. You’re going to see him again, and this time, the meeting will be more personal, more intimate. ‘Just you, him, and those damn desserts.’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You close the shop with shaky hands, flipping the sign to "closed" and locking the door behind. You try to calm your nerves as you walk toward the church.

‘Why am I doing this?’ you ask yourself for the hundredth time. You always shared your new recipes with your two employees—they were your taste-testers, your go-to feedback. So why now? Why are you heading to a priest, of all people?

‘He’s the customer experience,’ you remind yourself, a weak excuse at best. However, if anyone could give an honest opinion, it would be him—level-headed, composed, with that quiet seriousness that always unnerves and excites you. It’s just an opinion, nothing more. You repeat it like a mantra as you approach the church.

The doors creak open as you step inside, the familiar scent of incense filling your senses. The church is mostly empty, the soft glow of evening light filtering through the stained-glass windows. As you enter, you spot Zayne standing outside the confessional. He’s speaking quietly with an older woman, but his eyes flick up as soon as you walk in. The moment he sees you, his expression changes for a split second, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat.

The woman finishes her conversation, offering him a polite smile before heading toward the door. Zayne watches her go, and when she’s gone, he turns his full attention to you.

His lips curve into a subtle smile. "Good evening," he greets you with that calm authority that always makes you feel both at ease and strangely vulnerable at the same time. "Thank you for coming. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble."

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady as you return his smile. "No trouble at all. I just closed up the shop, so... it worked out."

He nods, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before gesturing toward the back of the church. "Shall we?" He leads you down the quiet hallway, until you reach his office—a small, private room tucked away from the rest of the church. The walls are lined with bookshelves, a modest desk in the middle, and a soft lamp casting a warm glow. Zayne closes the door behind you, and for a second, the air between you feels thicker than it had before.

You sit across from each other at the small desk. You set the box between you, showing a display of your latest creations. Zayne’s intense green eyes take in the array of sweets.

"These look incredible," he says as he leans in. He reaches for one, pausing as if to savor the moment. "Shall we start?"

You nod, your voice wavering as you describe the little creation.

As he finishes the first dessert, followed by more praise, his eyes drift over the others in the box. His eyes linger on a small orange-tinted one. His brow furrows slightly, and he glances up at you. "Is that… carrot?" he asks, with reluctance in his tone.

You laugh softly, "Yes, it’s a mini carrot cake," you say, your voice light and teasing. "I’ve been thinking about adding it to the menu."

Zayne’s smile tightens just a little. His fingers hover near the pastry, but he doesn’t reach for it. "Carrot cake... that’s..." He trails off, clearly searching for the right words, though his discomfort is obvious. "I’m sure it’s delicious," he adds, his tone strained with effort.

You can’t help but chuckle softly at his expression, the idea of Zayne being uncomfortable with something as simple as a carrot cake is both endearing and amusing. "You don’t like carrots, do you?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him with a grin.

Zayne shifts slightly, his ears tinged with a faint blush as he gives a sheepish smile. "I’ve never been... fond of them," he admits.

You laugh again. "That’s completely fine," you say, shaking your head. "You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to. I won’t be offended."

Relief washes over his face, and you can’t help but find it charming. "Thank you," he says with a smile, his voice more relaxed now. "I’m sure it’s wonderful. Just... not for me."

You nod, smiling back at him as you make a mental note not to add the carrot cake to the menu after all. Who would have thought Zayne, of all people, would have such a small but specific dislike?

As you both settle into a comfortable rhythm of tasting the remaining pastries, the earlier tension eases, replaced by the easy conversation and laughter that flows between you. There’s something natural, almost soothing, about this—sharing these quiet moments, watching his reactions as he tries each new flavor, the occasional teasing smile crossing his lips.

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to push the boundary just a little. “I won’t ask what made you become a priest at such a young age,” you begin, offering a shy smile to lighten the weight of your words. “But I have to admit... I do wonder what you do when you’re not here. What’s Zayne like when he’s not... well, Father Zayne?”

Zayne’s lips twitch slightly at the question, as though he’s surprised but also amused by your boldness. He leans back in his chair, his posture relaxing a bit.

“Well,” he begins, a faint chuckle escaping his lips, “I don’t have much free time, to be honest. Between the church, the community events, and my other responsibilities, it’s hard to find a moment just for myself.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “But when I do get some time, I like to read. Mostly fiction—novels, stories that take me somewhere else for a little while.” His voice softens with a hint of something like nostalgia. “I also try to visit new restaurants when I can. There aren’t many options in this town, so sometimes I take trips to the city just to try something different.”

There’s something so relaxed, almost vulnerable, in the way he talks about it that makes you feel like you’re seeing a side of him that few people do. A side that isn’t weighed down by the responsibilities of his role, but is simply... Zayne.

He shifts the conversation, leaning forward slightly as he looks at you. “What about you?” he asks, his voice warm with genuine curiosity. “When you’re not experimenting with food, what do you do in your free time?”

“Well,” you begin, shifting in your seat, “when I do take a break, I like to drive out of town, too. I’d meet up with old friends, go out for a drink or two... but honestly, I like the quiet here. It’s different. Calming, in a way.”

Zayne nods, his expression thoughtful. “I can see that. There’s something peaceful about being here, away from the noise. But I imagine it must get lonely sometimes.”

His words strike a chord in you, and for a moment, you feel a vulnerability creeping in. You hadn’t expected him to understand, but somehow, he does.

“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “It does.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, you feel like you’re seeing him in a new light— as someone who, like you, is navigating his own struggles, his own desires.

The rest of the evening continues with light topics and soft laughter. But as you glance out the window you see it’s pitch-black outside. You glance at your watch, feeling a pang of reluctance as you realize it’s time to go.

“I should probably head out,” you say softly, not wanting to break the moment but knowing it has to end.

Zayne nods, though there’s a hint of something in his eyes that shows he feels the same reluctance. He stands, walking you to the door of his office. “Thank you for the desserts,” he says, his voice feeling more personal now. “And for the conversation.”

You smile. “Thank you for listening. And for the... honesty.” There’s a moment of hesitation before you step toward the door, the space between you suddenly feeling too close. He opens the door, and as you step out into the quiet hall, you glance back at him one last time.

His eyes linger on you. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice low, and for a second, it feels like there’s more he wants to say, but the moment passes.

“Goodnight,” you reply, turning to leave, your heart still racing from the quiet intimacy of the evening.

As you walk out into the cool night air, you can’t help but feel that this connection—whatever it is between you and Zayne—has deepened. And as you head home, your thoughts linger on him, wondering where this path will lead.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next day, your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips a beat. It’s a message from Zayne.

“The desserts were incredible,” it reads. “You have a real gift for combining flavors. Thank you again.”

You smile, rereading the message a few times before typing out a casual reply. His words, the thoughtfulness behind them, mean more than they should. You tell yourself it’s just feedback—he’s just being kind, just acknowledging your work—but the fact that he took the effort to write this message... it lingers in your mind.

Days pass, and the messages continue. They’re not frequent, but every other day, you’ll receive something from him—a thoughtful comment on one of your desserts or a small exchange that feels more personal than before.

One evening, your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a picture—a grainy snapshot of a small, scruffy-looking cat sitting outside the church doors.

“This little guy hangs around the church sometimes. I think he’s starting to expect me to feed him,” the message reads.

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself as you look at the picture. You quickly type out a response: “He’s adorable! Have you tried petting him yet?”

A minute later, Zayne replies: “I’ve tried. He runs away every time I get close.”

You smile to yourself, finding the image of Zayne—a man so composed, so in control—being outwitted by a stray cat endearing. You imagine him, kneeling down, trying to coax the little creature closer, only for it to scurry away. There’s something so human about it, so... normal.

“That’s adorable,” you reply, the smile still on your face. “Keep feeding him, and he’ll come around eventually.”

The conversation carries on like that—simple, easy exchanges that make you feel more connected to him in ways you hadn’t expected. But with every message, every small insight into Zayne’s life outside of his role as a priest, the ache in your chest grows. The attraction you’d hoped would fade has only grown stronger, and now it’s not just about the way he looks or the way his voice makes your heart race. It’s about him—his quiet strength, his thoughtfulness, the way he seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders but still finds time to send you a picture of a stray cat.

You know you shouldn’t feel this way. He’s a priest, and you’re well aware of the boundaries that are supposed to exist between you. You’ve tried telling yourself that it’s just a crush, something that will pass.

But it hasn’t.

Late at night, you lie in bed, staring at your phone, your thumb hovering over the screen as you reread his latest message for the hundredth time. You feel a warmth spread through your chest, a soft ache blooming alongside it—a gnawing longing.

Your set the phone beside you as you exhale, closing your eyes. The ache doesn’t go away. The thought of him consumes you. Every night, it’s the same. You tell yourself not to think about him, not to let your mind wander to those places where it’s dangerous to go, but you’re powerless to stop it.

You imagine his hands—strong yet gentle—the way they would feel against your skin. You think about his lips, how they’d taste, how they’d move against yours, how they’d trail lower. Your body heats at the thought and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties. The room feels too quiet, too still, as your breath quickens, and all you can think of is him.

Every night, you touch yourself to the thought of him. It’s become your secret ritual, a way to chase the frustration and desire that builds up inside you. You picture the way his body would feel pressed against yours, the way his breath would hitch as he gives in, as the control he fights so hard to maintain finally snaps. You can almost hear his voice—low, rough with need—as he murmurs your name, telling you how much he’s wanted you, how long he’s been fighting it.

Your fingers move faster. And just as you reach the edge, teetering on the brink of release, you whisper his name into the darkness, your voice barely audible.

When it’s over, you lie there, breathless, your heart pounding in the silence of your room. The guilt creeps in, just like every night.

During the day, at the shop, you go through the motions—serving customers, smiling, chatting. But your mind drifts back to him, and you wonder –

‘Does he ever think about me like that?’

You think of him during the slow afternoons at the shop, when the world feels like it’s moving on without you. You wonder what he’s doing, if you cross his mind in those rare moments when he’s alone. Or if you’re just another parishioner to him, someone he texts about cats and pastries and nothing more.

The next time your phone buzzes, and you see Zayne’s name light up the screen, your heart skips a beat, followed by that all-too-familiar flutter in your belly. He’s sent another picture of the cat, this time with a playful caption:

“Still no luck with petting him. I think he likes to torment me.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. Warmth spreads through your chest, but the ache follows closely behind.

You type out a response, light-hearted to match his tone. “Maybe he’s playing hard to get. He knows you’ll keep trying.”

The response comes seconds later, “You’re probably right. I’ll keep trying. Maybe one day he’ll trust me.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Sunday mass comes, and you sit quietly in the back, as you’ve grown accustomed to. Zayne stands at the altar, delivering his sermon with the same calm and captivating demeanor. The words, though meaningful, drift over you like a gentle breeze—comforting, yet distant. You can’t help but let your mind wander, your gaze occasionally flitting up to meet his. Each time your eyes find his, there’s a momentary spark, a flicker of something that passes between you.

At first, it’s subtle—a glance, nothing more. But as the moments pass, the weight of his attention seems to grow heavier. His gaze lingers on you for just a heartbeat longer than it should. The words coming from his mouth slow for the briefest second, just enough to notice, before he corrects himself and continues. But the flicker is there, a momentary lapse in the composed, unwavering Father Zayne.

You feel a rush of heat rise in your chest. ‘Is he losing focus because of me?’ The thought sends a thrill through you, though you immediately try to brush it off as wishful thinking. But then, it happens again.

Zayne’s sermon flows smoothly as usual, but this time, when his eyes find yours again, there’s a subtle shift in his expression. His voice falters, just slightly, as if he’s momentarily forgotten his place. He pauses, clearing his throat, his gaze quickly flicking away. You feel your heart pound in your chest, and you know he felt it too—his usual calm shaken, if only for a moment.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. A pair of elderly women seated a few pews ahead of you exchange a glance, their heads turning slightly as if they’re trying to figure out what—or who—might have caused the good Father to stumble. They lean toward each other, whispering quietly, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, a mixture of excitement and guilt flooding through you.

Zayne continues, his voice steady once more, but you can see the subtle tension in his posture now—the way his hands grip the edges of the lectern just a little tighter, the slight crease between his brows as if he’s fighting to regain control. You try to focus on the sermon again, to pull yourself out of this strange, charged moment, but it’s impossible.

When the service ends, and the last of the parishioners trickle out, you step forward, your heart still pounding in your chest. Zayne looks up, and you can tell he’s still unsettled from earlier.

But he smiles. "Good morning," he says, his voice quieter now. "I—uh, hope you enjoyed the service."

You nod, offering him a small smile in return. "I did. Though, I have to admit... I still don’t understand most of it."

Zayne chuckles, "As long as you’re here, that’s what matters," he replies, and for a moment it seems as if there’s more he wants to say but can’t quite find the words.

Before either of you can speak again, you glance toward the doors and realize that, during the service, the skies outside have opened up. Rain pours down, tapping against the windows with a steady rhythm. You curse softly under your breath, realizing you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

"Looks like I’m stuck for a while," you murmur, half to yourself, half to Zayne.

He follows your gaze, then turns back to you with a thoughtful expression. "You don’t have an umbrella?" he asks.

You shake your head, feeling a bit foolish. "No, I didn’t think it would rain today."

Zayne pauses for a moment, as if thinking about something, before he speaks again. "I could walk you home," he offers. "I have an umbrella, and I need to head out anyway. We could talk about the next bake sale on the way."

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of walking alone with him.

"Are you sure?" you ask, though you already know what his answer will be.

Zayne nods, that soft smile returning to his lips. "Of course. It’s no trouble."

And just like that, the decision is made. You follow him to the coat rack near the entrance, where he retrieves a large, dark umbrella. He opens it with a swift motion, then gestures for you to step under it with him. As you do, the two of you step out into the rain, the world around you suddenly feeling smaller.

You walk side by side, the umbrella barely covering both of you, forcing your bodies to press close together. His arm brushes against yours every few steps, the warmth of his presence almost too much, making it difficult to focus on what he’s saying. The scent of rain mingles with the faint hint of his cologne, and it makes your head dizzy.

At one point, your eyes meet again, and for a split second, Zayne’s step falters, just slightly. His words stumble as he’s explaining something about the church’s plans for the sale. He catches himself quickly, but when you glance up at him, there’s a flush of color in his cheeks. And in that moment, you wonder – ‘Is he affected by this as well?’

As you walk, the rain begins to lighten, turning into a soft drizzle, but neither of you rush to part ways. The conversation continues, easy and unhurried, and for a moment, you forget about everything else—the church, the responsibilities, the complicated emotions swirling between you. It’s just the two of you, walking in the rain.

When you finally reach your street, Zayne stops in front of your building.

"Thank you," you say with a smile.

Zayne smiles, that familiar softness in his eyes again. "It was my pleasure."

There’s a brief pause, and for a moment, it feels like something hangs in the air between you. But before either of you can break the silence, Zayne steps back, offering a small nod.

"I’ll see you soon," he says, his voice quiet.

You nod, watching as he turns and walks away. As you head inside, you can’t shake the feeling that the space between you and Zayne is growing smaller with every encounter. You wonder if the boundary between friendship and something more is becoming increasingly blurred.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next day, you couldn’t stop replaying it all in your head. The way he had looked at you, the subtle hesitations in his words, the fleeting touches. You found yourself waiting for a message from him, hoping for a hint that he felt something.

But the message never came.

You tried to brush it off at first. ‘He’s busy.’ The church had its demands, and the bake sale was coming up soon. He probably had a hundred things to take care of. But as the days passed, the silence grew heavier. Each time your phone buzzed, you found yourself hoping it was him, only to feel that familiar stab of disappointment when it wasn’t.

When you finally couldn’t stand the silence any longer, you sent him a message, keeping it casual. You told yourself that it wasn’t a big deal, that he’d reply, and everything would be fine. But when his response came, it was short, almost curt.

Your stomach sank as you stared at the screen. You told yourself you were imagining things, that maybe he was just having an off day. But the pattern repeated itself. Another message from you, another short, impersonal reply from him. It was as if a wall had gone up between you, growing taller with every passing day.

And then there was the shop. Zayne had always made a point of visiting at least once a week, stopping by for a quick chat and dessert. But that week, he didn’t come. Each day, you glanced toward the door, half-expecting to see him walk through it with that quiet smile, but the door never opened for him.

The absence weighted on your mind, leaving you questioning everything. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ you wondered, replaying your last conversations over and over in your head.

You tried to focus on work, on the bake sale preparations, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You thought about sending another message, something more direct. But each time, you hesitated. ‘What if he’s distancing himself on purpose?’ The thought left a hollow feeling in your chest.

By the time the weekend approached, the doubt and confusion had hardened into something else—hurt. You couldn’t understand why he had gone so cold, why the easy warmth between you had turned into this frigid distance.

And as you stood behind the counter of your shop, watching the door and waiting for a familiar face that never came, you realized something. ‘He’s avoiding me.’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Saturday, the church is buzzing with activity. Tables are set up along the hall, covered in pastries, cakes, and breads that you had carefully crafted over the week. The sight of them should be enough to fill Zayne with excitement. He usually enjoyed events like these. Always eager to chat with volunteers, admire the work of the community, and, if he was honest with himself, look forward to seeing you.

But today, as he scans the room, his gaze lingers on the table where your pastries sit, beautifully arranged and ready to be sold. He can feel a flutter of anticipation. ‘She’ll be here.’ he thinks to himself, hoping to see you among the busy volunteers. You hadn’t come to last Sunday’s mass, and even though he had tried to keep his distance, part of him had been looking forward to seeing you today. He hadn’t realized how much he missed your presence until you weren’t there.

But as the minutes tick by, his eyes sweep over the table again, and something unsettling clicks into place. You’re not here. Instead, your two employees are standing behind the table, chatting with customers, offering samples and smiling as they go about their work. The sight of them, rather than you, feels like a punch to the gut.

Zayne takes a deep breath, as he walks over to the table. He exchanges polite greetings with your employees, but his mind is racing. ‘Why didn’t she come?’ He expected you to be here, after all the work you had put into the preparations. He glances around the room again, hoping maybe you’re somewhere else, mingling with the other volunteers. But you’re nowhere to be seen.

The knot in his chest tightens. For the first time in days, the weight of his own silence, his distance, hits him with full force. ‘She didn’t come because of me.’ His guilt, which he had been trying to push down, now rises to the surface. This time, for a different reason. He remembers the unanswered messages, the short replies, the way he had deliberately pulled away, thinking it was the right thing to do.

He moves through the rest of the bake sale with that guilt gnawing at him. Every time he passes your table, he feels the weight of your absence, the emptiness it leaves behind. And though he tries to focus on the event, shaking hands and exchanging small talk with parishioners, his mind is elsewhere—on you, and how he pushed you away with his silence.

As the crowd thins and things begin to slow down, he can’t resist any longer. He approaches your employees again, keeping his tone casual.

“She did an incredible job with everything,” Zayne says, offering a small smile as he glances over the leftover pastries. “I was hoping to thank her in person, though. Is she around?”

One of your employees, a young woman with a friendly smile, looks up at him. “Oh, she’s not here,” she says. “She’s actually out of town right now. I think she’s with her friends for the weekend.”

Zayne’s chest tightens. ‘Out of town?’ ‘With friends?’ The information feels like another blow. He hides his reaction, nodding politely.

“Ah, I see. Thank you both for participating,” he says, his voice a little more strained than he intends.

As he walks away from the table, the guilt intensifies. The thought of you spending the weekend elsewhere, with your friends, leaving the bake sale in the hands of someone else, feels like a quiet rejection. ‘She didn’t want to see me.’ The guilt twists in his chest, tighter and heavier than before.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You stood in your kitchen for a few minutes, debating what to do. You weren’t planning on attending tomorrow’s Sunday mass—again. The thought of sitting there, with Zayne at the altar, pretending everything was normal, made your stomach twist. But the tablecloths. They needed to be returned, and the idea of just dropping them off quickly, quietly, without having to see anyone—without having to see him—seemed like the easiest solution.

You didn’t expect the rain. The sky had been calm when you left, but halfway to the church, the clouds burst open. Within seconds, the rain comes down in torrents, soaking through your clothes as you clutch the tablecloths tighter, your feet pounding against the wet pavement.

By the time you reach the church, you're drenched, the fabric in your arms heavy and useless. Gasping for breath, you push open the door. Your shoes squeak on the stone floor as you step inside, water dripping from your clothes and pooling beneath you. You wipe a hand over your face, trying to gather yourself.

"Hey," a voice calls from deeper within the church.

Your heart skips a beat. You recognize that voice immediately. Of course, it had to be him.

You’re standing there, dripping wet, trying to catch your breath and your bearings when Zayne steps closer, his eyes scanning over your soaked clothes. There’s a flash of concern in his expression, though he quickly tries to mask it with something lighter, a smile playing on his lips.

"You really don’t like carrying an umbrella with you, do you?" he teases softly, trying to ease the tension, and it works—just for a moment. You chuckle, shaking your head.

"I guess not," you manage to say, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your shivering.

His smile fades slightly as he takes in the sight of you, soaked and visibly trembling. “You’re freezing,” he says, his voice gentler now, more serious. “Why don’t you come to the rectory? You can dry off and change into something warm.”

The idea of going to the rectory, the space where Zayne lives, feels like crossing a line, a line you’ve been tiptoeing around for weeks. You shake your head, stepping back slightly. “I’ll just call a cab. I’m just here to return these,” you say quickly, you murmur, gesturing to the tablecloths. "I don’t want to intrude."

But Zayne steps forward, his brow furrowed as he looks you over. "You’re not intruding." he says, his voice more insistent now. "You’ll get sick if you walk back out like this. Please, just let me help."

You look up at him, the concern in his eyes stirring something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to suppress. The rain outside is relentless, and despite your instinct to retreat, you find yourself nodding. "Okay," you whisper.

Relief flashes in Zayne’s eyes, and he nods, stepping aside to lead the way. "Good. Follow me."

Zayne leads you into the rectory, the warmth of his home. He guides you toward a small bathroom. “Take a hot shower,” he says, “I’ll put your clothes in the dryer, and I’ll leave some of my pajamas for you to change into.”

You nod, stepping inside the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

As the hot water runs over your skin, you feel the tension in your body begin to ease, the heat chasing away the lingering chill. You try to focus on the steam rising around you, on anything but the fact that you’re in his home, about to wear his clothes.

When you finally step out of the shower, you glance at the folded set of Zayne’s pajamas waiting for you on the bathroom counter. You slip into them, the soft material comforting against your skin, and can’t help but take in the smell of his fabric softener – fresh, floral scent. As you step out the bathroom, suddenly you’re self-conscious, aware of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. The loose fabric brushes against your skin with every movement.

You walk timidly toward the living room, your heart pounding in your chest. As you step into the room, you find Zayne waiting for you, seated on the far end of the sofa. He’s placed two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits on the coffee table. The room feels intimate, almost too intimate, with just the two of you here, the rain still tapping against the windows outside.

Zayne looks up as you enter, and for a moment, his breath seems to catch in his throat. His eyes widen slightly, and a blush creeps up his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you in his clothes, fresh from the shower. He clears his throat, his gaze quickly dropping to the tea in front of him, but the redness on his face betrays him.

You feel your own cheeks burn in response, suddenly hyper-aware of the way the loose fabric hangs on you. You move quickly to the far end of the sofa, sitting down with careful distance between the two of you.

"Thank you... for the shower," you say. "And for letting me stay while my clothes dry."

Zayne glances at you, his eyes flickering briefly over you again before he focuses on his hands resting in his lap. "Of course," he murmurs, his voice a little strained.

You give him a small smile, wrapping your hands around the warm mug of tea, grateful for something to do with your hands.

Zayne speaks first, before the uncomfortable silence could stretch, “I heard you were out of town,” he says, his voice soft but probing. “What are you doing here?”

His question catches you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to bring it up so directly.

“I was supposed to be,” you say quietly, your fingers tightening around the cup of tea, the warmth barely grounding you. “But... the friend I was supposed to go out with caught a cold. She cancelled last minute.”

The explanation hangs between you, and even though it’s true, it feels flimsy. You look down, staring into your cup. ‘I shouldn’t have come here.’

Zayne’s gaze remains fixed on you, as if he’s waiting for something more. Then, he continues. “And the bake sale?” he asks, “You didn’t come.”

The question lands like a blow. You know why, of course. Your throat tightens as you try to form a response.

“I—uh, I got caught up,” you say, your voice faltering.

You know how weak that lie sounds. But he doesn’t push.  Instead his gaze softens as he looks at you. "I’m glad you’re here now," he says quietly.

You stare at him for a moment, his words sinking in, and a small, ironic chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it. "I find that hard to believe,"

Zayne looks at you, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, his brow furrowing slightly as he waits for you to elaborate.

"I thought..." you begin, but then pause, biting your lip as you glance away, trying to gather your thoughts. "I thought you didn’t want me around."

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Your eyes find his and the vulnerability in them makes your chest tighten.

"I’m sorry," he says softly. "For keeping my distance. For... pulling away."

The apology lingers between you, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity behind them, but also the pain. He’s struggling—just as much as you are, maybe more.

"I thought..." he starts, his voice faltering for a second. He pauses, his hand moving to the white collar at his throat. "I thought keeping my distance would help, that it would protect both of us. But it only made things worse."

You swallow hard as you watch him. His fingers linger on the collar for a moment longer before he drops his hand, his eyes filled with a quiet regret. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I started hearing things. Rumors. People talking about... us." The words make your heart skip a beat. "It was like a wake-up call, a hard one." His fingers brush the collar again, this time more deliberately. "That I’m a priest. And I took vows. Vows I can’t break."

You want to say something, anything, to ease the guilt you see in his eyes, but before you can, he continues, his voice even softer now. "But no matter how much distance I try to put between us, you’re always on my mind." He looks away for a second. "Everywhere I go, everything I do... I can’t stop thinking about you."

You don’t know what to say, what to do. Zayne’s vulnerability, his confession of how deeply you’ve affected him, makes the tension between you almost unbearable.

His eyes meet yours again. "You’re everywhere," he whispers, his voice almost breaking. "And I don’t know what to do about it."

Zayne’s words linger in the air, pulling at your heartstrings. You want to say something, to ease the pain, and you don’t know if you can. Not when you’ve been feeling the same way.

"Zayne..." you say softly, "I don’t want to be the reason you’re struggling," Zayne’s gaze drops to the floor, shoulders tense. Seeing him like this makes your chest tighten, but you can’t stop now. There’s too much unsaid.

"But I can’t stop thinking about you either," you confess, your voice trembling slightly. The words make you feel exposed, but it’s the truth you’ve been holding in for so long. "You’re in my thoughts all the time. It’s like... no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, I just want to be near you."

Zayne looks back at you, and you fight every fiber in your body to close the distance between you.

"I care about you, Zayne," you whisper. "And I hate seeing you like this. But I can’t pretend that what I feel isn’t real."

He’s quiet, his breathing shallow as he processes your words. Neither of you has the answers, but in this moment, it’s enough to know that you’re not alone.

"I’ve tried to ignore it," you continue, your voice shaky but honest. "I’ve tried to stay away, to give you space, but..." You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to say what’s been burning inside you for so long. "It’s not just the little things. It’s all of it. The way your touch lingers... even when you barely graze my skin. I keep thinking about it, imagining more, wishing you would... touch me, hold me.”

Your cheeks burn as the words leave your lips. This is it. There’s no turning back now. You’ve held this in for so long. And now, it’s out there between you, impossible to ignore, to pretend it doesn’t exist.

"I want to feel you," you confess softly. "I want to feel your hands on me. I can’t pretend I don’t need this anymore."

For a moment, Zayne doesn’t move. His breath is shallow, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers flex slightly against the fabric of his pants. You wait, breathless, watching him.

"I want to touch you," he whispers finally. "I’ve thought about it more than I should. About how it would feel…” Then, his expression falters, frustration flashing across his face. “But I can’t."

The empathetic side of you understands him completely, and you don’t want to push him. But at the same time, you can’t just let this moment slip away.

Your hand moves instinctively, slowly sliding down your chest in a deliberate motion. "You don’t have to." you murmur.

You don’t wait for him to respond as you reach up, your fingers tracing the top button of the shirt. Then, one by one, the buttons come undone, exposing your skin to the warm air of the room. You hesitate for just a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you look at Zayne. His gaze is fixed on you, the unbuttoned shirt, eyes betraying everything his words deny.

Your fingers slide along the edges of the unbuttoned shirt, and, with a steadying breath, you shrug your shoulders slightly, letting the material slip down your arms. The shirt falls away, delicately sliding off your skin. Your skin is bare now, exposed under the dim light, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Your nipples are hard as the air brushes over your skin.

Zayne’s reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, and you can see the deep flush flood his cheeks and ears. His gaze roams over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, his pupils dilated. He’s stunned, frozen in place, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing—what he’s allowed himself to see.

His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out, to touch you, but he doesn’t. He’s rooted to the spot, his body betraying him with how tightly he’s gripping the sofa, the knuckles of his hand turning white from the force of his restraint. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—he’s completely consumed by the sight of you.

Without another word, you let your hand slide down, your fingers brushing against the waistband of your pants. Zayne’s eyes follow your movements. You pause for a moment, savoring the anticipation. Zayne lets out a ragged breath, his body tensing as he watches you, helpless to do anything but stare. Your fingers tremble as you hook them into the waistband of your pants, eyes never leaving Zayne’s. You push the pants down slowly, the fabric sliding over your legs and pooling at your feet, leaving you sitting in just your underwear.

For a moment, you hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. You give him one last chance to stop you, to pull back before things go any further. "If you want me to leave," you say, your voice low, "you should say it now."

Your words hang in the air, the final chance for him to take control, to push you away. But Zayne says nothing. His lips part slightly, but no words come. He doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t tell you to leave. Instead, his eyes stay locked on yours, his silence a wordless plea for more.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

Your hand slides down slowly, Zayne’s eyes following every move. You let your fingers brush over the front of your underwear, and you know he can see the obvious damp spot, his presence alone having you already soaked through the fabric.

His pupils dilate as he watches, and for a second, you think you hear him let out a soft, involuntary sound—something like a groan—but it’s barely audible. His chest heaves, and his grip on the sofa tightens even more, as if he’s hanging on by a thread.

"I think about you all the time, Zayne," you whisper, your voice trembling. "And when I do... this is how I touch myself." Your hand presses down on the damp fabric. "There’s nothing wrong with this," you continue, your voice silky and sweet. "Not if you just watch."

The words feel like a challenge, a tease. Zayne’s face is a mixture of conflict and desire, but he doesn’t stop you. His eyes are glued to your hand, to the way your fingers move against the fabric of your underwear, his gaze filled with hunger he can’t hide anymore.

Your hand moves in slow, deliberate circles over your underwear, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body, and you let out a soft moan. The sound makes his jaw tighten, and he shifts in his seat, clearly aroused but still holding himself back. His gaze flicks back and forth between your eyes and your body, torn between wanting to pull away and being unable to look anywhere but at you.

Then, finally, his voice breaks the silence. "Take it off," he rasps, his voice trembling with the weight of his words. His eyes meet yours, and there’s no mistaking the command in them now. "I need to see... all of you."

His words send a rush of heat through you, making your entire body tingle. There’s no hesitation in his voice this time. Without a word, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, your fingers trembling slightly as you slowly slide the fabric down your hips. The underwear slips down your legs, falling softly to the floor, leaving you completely exposed before him. You sit there, vulnerable, your skin glistening with arousal. You can feel his gaze on every inch of your body, lingering on your thighs, your hips, and finally, on the slick wetness between your legs.

"You’re... so beautiful." he breathes, his voice barely audible, filled with astonishment and desire. Zayne swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to steady himself. "Show me," he says, his voice low, trembling with desire. "Show me how you touch yourself... when you’re thinking about me."

Your heart races, your entire body flushed with heat as you slowly slide your hand down your stomach, your fingers grazing over your slick skin. You let out a soft moan as you begin to touch yourself, your eyes fixed on Zayne. He’s completely captivated, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he watches you.

Your fingers move with a growing urgency, sliding over the slickness between your folds. The sight of you touching yourself, moaning softly, has him teetering on the edge of his restraint. You’re watching him just as intently as he watches you, and you need to see more.

"Touch yourself too," you whisper softly. His eyes snap up to yours, stunned. "It’s not so bad," you add. "You’re not touching me. We’ll just… watch each other."

Zayne’s jaw clenches. His eyes are locked on yours, a storm of guilt and desire brewing beneath the surface. But then he slowly reaches up and unclasps the white collar at his throat.

For a moment, he holds it in his hand, his fingers trembling as he looks down at the small strip of fabric. Then, with a quiet exhale, he sets it aside on the table beside him. His hands move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, each motion slow, as though he’s still hesitating at the threshold. When he’s halfway down, Zayne pauses, then pulls the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, slipping free, leaving him bare from the waist up.

The muscles beneath his shirt are more defined than you had imagined. Your eyes roam over every line, every curve of his body, taking in the way his chest moves with each heavy breath. He sits there for a moment, shirtless, his collar gone, his identity as Father Zayne falling away along with it.

He’s just a man now—just Zayne.

You swallow hard, your fingers still moving, your own arousal building with each second that passes. "Please," you whisper. "I want to see you. All of you."

Zayne’s hesitation doesn’t linger for long, before he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. Your pulse races as the pants drop to the floor, leaving him in nothing but his underwear, his arousal straining against the thin material. His eyes flick to yours, searching, almost pleading. He’s asking without words—asking if this is what you want, if this is what you’re ready for. And you are.

You nod, biting your lip, your body trembling with anticipation. With a shaky breath, Zayne hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, and you can see the tremor in his hands. But he doesn’t stop. He slides them down slowly, the fabric falling in one fluid motion, leaving him completely naked.

Your breath hitches, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as you take in the sight of him. His erection stands thick and heavy, the tip glistening with need. Every inch of him is raw, masculine, breathtaking. He’s stunning, more than you could have imagined, and for a moment, you’re lost in the sheer power of him—his vulnerability and strength laid bare before you.

Your fingers slide over yourself again, the slick heat of your arousal making you moan softly, your body shuddering from the touch. Zayne’s erection throbs visibly as he watches you. His hand twitches at his side, his body screaming for release, but he waits for you to give him permission, waiting to be told it’s okay to let go.

"Touch yourself," your voice is breathy, filled with need. "Please, Zayne."

His eyes flick between your hand and your face, but then, slowly, he wraps his hand around his length. The sight of him finally surrendering, of his strong hand gripping himself, sends a surge of heat straight to your core. You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your lips as your fingers move faster.

Zayne lets out a low groan, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he strokes himself. The room is filled with the sound of your combined breathing, the soft moans that slip from your lips, the slick sound of your fingers slipping inside your wet entrance. You’re both completely lost in each other now, and there’s no going back.

Zayne’s hand moves slowly, rhythmically over his length, his breathing heavy and uneven as he watches you, his eyes filled with a hunger so intense it makes your pulse race even faster. His breath catches in his throat, and you know he’s still holding back.

“Relax,” you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with warmth. “It’s okay... I want this. You don’t have to hold back.”

Your words seem to wash over him, his eyes flickering with something like relief. His gaze is locked on your body, the way your fingers are soaked with your wetness, the slick sound filling the quiet space between you. His jaw clenches as he tries to steady himself, his hand stroking his length with increasing need.

"You’re... beautiful," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. "God, you’ve been... in my head... in my dreams... almost every night."

His confession makes your squeeze around your fingers, a soft moan escaping your lips. The raw honesty in his voice, makes your body tremble as you teeter on the edge. Your fingers press harder, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you feel the tension in your body building, coiling tight, ready to snap.

You can see he’s close too—his hand moving faster, his body tense with the effort of holding on. But even now, even with his own release so close, his eyes are locked on you, filled with a hunger.

"I want to see you," he whispers, his voice low and rough. "I want to see you... let go. I want to hear you... Please..."

That’s all it takes. His voice, thick with need, and the sight of him on the brink, unravel you completely. Your breath hitches, turning into ragged gasps as pleasure overtakes you, your fingers moving faster, desperate to prolong the sensation as wave after wave crashes through you, each one more intense than the last. And all the while, Zayne watches, his hand moving faster, desperate to join you in the release.

Your breath steadies, your hand still resting on your wet folds, the space between you now feels too wide. "Come closer," you whisper. "I want you closer... please."

The raw need in your voice, the tenderness of your plea, draws him toward you, erasing any hesitation. He hovers over you, kneeling between your legs, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin. His arousal still hard and throbbing, inches away from you, his gaze filled with so much want that it makes your own body heat up again.

"I’m... I’m so close," Zayne gasps, his voice shaking, laced with desperation.

"Let go," you whisper, your voice soft but unyielding. Your eyes lock with his, your breath hitching as you speak. "Let go on me, Zayne."

His eyes widen at your words. He looks conflicted for a moment, as if he’s about to argue, to get up and find something else—a tissue, anything to keep from crossing that final line. But the hunger in your gaze, the trembling of your body beneath him pulls him back into the moment. The sight of your hand sliding over the slickness between your thighs seals his fate. His hand tightens around himself, his strokes quickening as his control shatters.

"Please," you whisper, your soft plea the final push he need.

And then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he finally lets go.

The first hot spurt of his release hits your belly, warm and wet, the sensation eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. His body trembles violently above you, his muscles taut and shaking as his hand moves over himself with desperate need. He groans deeply, the sound raw and primal, as more of his release follows, thick and hot, landing between your thighs, coating your skin. His breath hitches, his body tensing with each spasm of pleasure as he watches the way his release paints your skin. His hand continues to pump his length, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, caught in the overwhelming force of his orgasm. 

Zayne closes his eyes as the last drops land on your flushed skin, his body still above yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The air is thick with the weight of what just transpired, but there's no guilt, no regret. His breath is still ragged, your own chest rising and falling with the same uneven rhythm.

When Zayne opens his eyes, they’re soft with awe—filled with pure, unguarded admiration.

"You..." he whispers, his voice rough and shaky, barely able to finish the thought. His eyes trace the glistening trail of warmth he’s left on your stomach, the way it pools between your legs, marking you with the undeniable proof of how far you’ve both fallen. "You’re... perfect."

A soft, breathless smile plays on your lips. "So are you," you murmur back.

For a moment, Zayne just stares at you, his eyes filled with something deeper than words can express. Then, he leans forward, pressing a soft, featherlight kiss to your forehead. The gesture is so tender, so filled with affection, that it takes you by surprise. It feels fragile, like something you both need to hold onto, if only for a little longer.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours again, and for the first time, there’s a sense of peace. Just the quiet aftermath of something real—messy, complicated, but undeniably real.

And for now, that’s enough.

[yanderemommabean]

Silly Royal Yandere Idea-

Imagine being a worker for a royal family, you're a farmer who brings the goods to the kitchen every day and make sure all vegetables and fruits are fresh, not bruised, cleaned and ready to be prepared for their meals.

You usually make the trek alone, no big deal right? Just some heavy baskets and such but the job itself isn't really that bad. It's made even better actually when the young prince finds he fancies the way you work and how you farm, loves to walk with you on your way out of the kingdom and listen to you and your stories.

He's cute, you'll give him that. Curious and finally able to explore without much of an issue now that he's finished his training, his father boasting proudly today even that they shall share a feast in celebration.

The walks are nice, you aren't alone and are even safer as the highwaymen shrink away and know to stay back when they see such fierce eyes. Those calloused hands from fighting and training lay on your hips, pulling you closer to his side as you share yet another walk to your farm and get the baskets ready for another delivery.

These sweet meetings grow in size as time goes on. He's been given permission by the king and queen to bring you to the main rooms of the castle, though they aren't too happy that he disregards their rules about what you can and can't touch.

He's so puppy-like, grabbing your hand and pulling you everywhere he can, showing his favorite art, his instruments he's been playing while he waits for you to return, the things he requested be made to remind him of you, and some other odd but - at the time- well meaning items.

The prince however gets more and more demanding of your presence. So much so, that one morning you wake up to begin to water the crops and fetch some in your buckets but you opened the door to the man standing there, royal suit and all, a wide smile on his face as he greets you.

You insist you'll be at the castle soon, that you have work to be done, but he just pushes you forward as he walks with you, -not harsh, but definitely firm, making sure you couldn't turn away from him as he leads you.

"Just one day can't hurt right?" he says, "I just wish to spend the day with you, only you. It's why I took my own horse! He loves your carrots, you know? Only yours...He's very much like me in that regard". 

You decide that, on one hand, denying the prince anything could be dire, the royal family having all say in what is done and you're lucky they have been so benevolent. Risking your business because you didn't want to indulge the odd prince...It isn't worth the reward of just keeping up with the crops and farm work. 

But this one day out by the river and having the man buy you whatever you laid your eyes on, while sweet and very enjoyable, wasn’t enough. He shows up every morning now, you hear how exhausted his parents are when you reach the castle every time, they demand he act right, that he stop leaving without notifying any of the guards, but he just laughs it off and says “Why should they embark with me on my and my lovers adventures? Private matters are private father, remember?” 

They know what's going on but it's so much darker and more twisted than anyone could have imagined. Boundaries get pushed more and more, you keep trying to keep your farm alive for not just the royal family, but yourself and the others who need you too, but the prince insists that your time is to be spent with him, only him. 

It reaches its boiling point when you deny him a walk. No runs to the river, no waltz in the woods, not even a chat over tea. Your farm is sick, it needs tending, and you yourself are weary and exhausted from trying to balance it all out. 

He goes silent, hands clenching at his side for a moment before he just smiles, wide and friendly as usual, and he kisses your hand before apologizing. You assure him you aren’t exactly mad, you just have things to finish, and he at least seems to understand that. 

Or, so you thought. You crack open your eyes after waking up in a bed that wasn’t yours, hearing the horses outside neigh and chuff in terror as if something was very very wrong. You recognize the royal emblem on the wall, and you shoot straight up, knowing this was a carriage. You shove and knock on the doors, the smell of smoke filling your senses as you can only imagine the worst, but the heavy wood doesn’t budge and you can only make out garbled words as a man screams demands. 

You manage to break open the boarded window of the carriage and watch as your farm is engulfed in flames, horses neighing in terror, ashes falling all around, your cabin falling in on itself from the blaze. And you gaze upon what you can only assume is the incarnation of death and war itself, a sign of the end times, as the Prince rides up on his own horse and tosses a lantern, the blaze only erupting hotter as he cackles in triumph. 

You feel horrified tears well up in your eyes, so many emotions coming together at once. Everything you worked for, everything you had built from the ground up, all your memories and all of your belongings- gone. 

Ash and embers fill the sky as the knights who came begin marching back to the carriage, staffs in hand as they finally open the doors. You lunge, wanting to tear your teeth into the heart of that evil, sick, twisted man, but he just laughs. It’s a soft amused laugh like when you told him your stories in the market or on your many many walks. 

“Ah, I hadn’t expected that mixture to wear off so soon!” he boasts, stepping down from his own horse. His stride is slow, like he’s taking in the view of a beautiful field or admiring someones art. You want to spit at him, claw at him, break him in any way you could fathom. 

His feet stop, the crumbling building behind him still a blazing orange and red, opposite of the cold features the prince wore on his face. His hand comes to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking across where tears are falling down your heated cheek. “Why so upset? I took care of what was keeping you away from me! I know, I know, you’re sad, but I made sure nothing of importance was hurt! Which wasn’t much. A picture or two should still be safe-” he says with an expression of after thought. “ Anyway, dearest, I fixed the issue! And you can now come where you’re meant to be! “ “I’ll kill you-” “Ah, even when murderous and livid you strike my heart with your beauty. Do tell me every wicked way you wish to end me! It thrills me, makes my skin crawl so pleasantly imagining you touching me in any manner” he taunts, squeezing your face a bit tighter. “Be it anger and resentment or true love, I’ll relish any touch you bring to me” “My lord, the sun will rise soon” a deep voice says from the side, your own eyes too stunned to look, uncaring as everything else sets in. Your home is gone, your fields are ruined, your possessions all roasted and incinerated. Nothing left but the haunting image of burned rubble and some charred remains of any item you owned. 

You’re trapped. Imprisoned in a golden cage as this wild man declares that he and you are meant to be, whether you want it or not. 

“Get some rest darling. I’ll lead us back to the castle” He says with a kiss to your forehead, allowing the knights to force you back inside. “Don’t be so angered! I promise to treat you like royalty! Since you will be, once the marriage is announced and all”

(Hope you liked this! Feel free to comment and tell me your thoughts! Especially spicy ones :3c -Mommabean)

[mydearesthrry]

casual - h.s.

a/n: self indulgent because i will never get over the fact that half of this happened to me literally verbatim because im a loser ok bye. this is my way of coping enjoy please i got so carried away ugh the impact of a british man hahaha. i suggest casual by chappell roan or …what are we? by lizzy mcalpine

wc: im guessing 1k>

warnings: angst thats really it harry’s lowkey a cunt but its not him ok. THIS IS FRAT BOY HARRY FOR THIS ONE!!!

y/n was startled to see her front door swing open, harry stepping into the threshold to get away from the cold air outside. “hi baby.”

“hey, h,” she replied, stepping up from her place on the couch to meet him where he was toeing off his shoes. “how was your day?”

y/n’s hands ran up his chest to his shoulders, pushing his coat off his figure and hooking it on the coatrack. “it was okay, how was yours?”

“fine, thank you,” she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “tired, i guess.”

“that’s not good, princess, you need to get your sleep. can’t have my pretty girl all sleepy, hm?” he grinned, wrapping his arms around the girl and pressing a kiss into her temple.

“yeah, just had a lot on my mind recently, i guess.” she says through a sigh, unwrapping harry’s arms from her body, walking away from him toward the kitchen.

“like what?” harry questioned, following behind her like a puppy.

“i… nothing, it’s not important,” she considered it. she really did. but it just… she couldn’t find it in herself to ruin what they had so easily. to ruin them so easily. “don’t worry about me, really.”

harry physically recoiled as if he’d been burnt, “i want to worry about you, y/n. i want you to be okay, always.” he’d used her real name— a true indication that she’d offended him.

“i- i know, i’m sorry. i jus’ don’t wanna bother you with my stupid stuff.” she glanced up at him through her lashes, refusing to make eye contact.

“it it has to do with you, it’s not stupid. now, tell me, princess, what’s wrong?” he tried once more. he could tell that she was getting closer to telling him the truth, he just needed to coax it out of her.

“can we sit?” she asked, harry immediately nodding and grabbing her hand to lead her over.

“so, what’s on your mind?”

“i’m scared to tell you.”

harry looked confused then. “why?”

“because… if you don’t know, and i don’t know, then it doesn’t make sense for this to keep happening,” she paused. “and i don’t want to lose you.”

“wait, what are we even talking about? lose me? why would you lose m-“

“you confuse me.” that’s definitely one way to put it.

“what?” harry tilted his head, his hand still covering hers.

“i- it’s just, sometimes i really can’t tell if you want me, or if you’re just keeping me around just to keep me around. like, sometimes you treat me so platonically it confuses me, and then other times you’re rattling off how i’m the only one for you. i know we said no strings, i know, but i know you don’t really see me as a friend. there’s no way that this is just casual, harry.”

harry didn’t know what to say. staring down at their intertwined hands, he cleared his throat and bit at his lip.

“what is it, please just tell me what’s on your mind,” y/n pleaded, squeezing his hands.

“i… honestly don’t know, my love, im sorry,” he finally said, but he chose to twist the knife. “i don’t know what we are.”

oh.

oh.

“oh, um,” she whispered, sliding her legs off of harry’s knees, withdrawing her hands from his grasp to slide under her thighs. “yeah, i… i didn’t think you would.”

“i’m sorry, princess. you won’t lose me though, y’do know that, right?” he could sense her sadness like it was his own. his phone ringing distracted her from her thoughts, the name reading ‘Claire’, making a scoff leave her lips.

“go handle business, i’ll be upstairs.” y/n said coolly, standing from the couch once more. as she began her trek to the stairs, harry grabbed her wrist.

“don’t be like that.” he grumbled, pressing the pressure point between her thumb and pointer finger.

“be like what? i’m gonna go take a nap, didn’t you just tell me to get some rest?” she smiled, but he could see the hurt in her eyes.

not exclusive, more than friends, less than lovers. how could she be so naive?

“are you sure?”

“your phone’s still ringing.”

“that’s unimportant. are you okay?”

“peachy.”

he knew she was lying. he just didn’t know what she wanted to hear.

“okay, pretty girl, dream of me, yeah?”

“mhm. see you later, lock the door if you leave.”

“i will, i’m sorry.”

as she walked away, she could hear his voice fill the living room.

“hey angel, i’ll be there in 20.”

more than friends, less than lovers.

—

part 2

[joonipertree]

To show someone that you care, is a gift itself. | Sugar Daddy Bakugo Series

Where you show Katsuki what a gift can be.

Tags: Artist!reader, very self indulgent, like guys....please buy me watercolour paper instead of Versace. Watercolour paper is stupid expensive. Im also not skilled enough to actually make the gift so--

Pt 1 Pt 3

Katsuki's birthday had been looming when the two of you started going out, like a weighted shadow. You had spent a very long stressing about what to get him with a budget that wasn't even worth a fraction of what he would buy you.

But, like gift giving was Katsuki's, it was your love language as well. And you'd gotten good at getting heart felt things for people. Admittedly, it took a lot of brainstorming and notes upon notes of what to get.

You'd always go overboard to please the people you cared about, afraid that they'll leave if you didn't cross the limits and bend over backwards for them.

Katsuki had always taken care of you, never asked for anything and your love was returned albeit in a quieter and tsundere manner. So the urge to go above and beyond didn't fester for long, knowing that your bare presence made him warmer.

Your gift idea came when he was on the ring, swift on his feet and solid in the rigidness of his body. You'd brought your sketchbook and while you wanted to keep your eyes on your boyfriend, your hands became busy with large curves and sharp flicks of your pencil that brought dark edges .

You'd made at least 20 quick gestures drawings that were more crude representations of movement for you. But with those and the feelings you trapped in your heart, you made thumbnails and chose one to draw large scale.

One where Katsuki's face was partially blocked by his arm and he gave a blow. His elbows were jagged, muscles taut and rippling. And his eyes sharp and cat like.

The charcoal pencils and sticks used to create tapered lines to create hard surfaces was 340 yen. The watercolour pallete used had messy paint splattered everywhere and its lid broken, having been with you for a good while. The coat over the charcoal was 50 yen hair spray that worked just as well as professional sprays.

It didn't cost a lot but your hands were full of care and by the end of it, you hoped that it'd be something Katsuki would at least like. The man could have the world but all you had was you.

You didn't realize that you were more than enough

Katsuki to lost his voice when you handed it to him at midnight, eyes wide as he stared at him but not him. The layers on layers of paint held emotions that he could only describe as love, meticulously hand picked and felt in strokes. He'd seen HD pictures of his fights, seen videos of them where his sweat and pores were as clear as day. The most he'd thought of them were how his form could improve or how cool he looked.

But what you made, it twisted something in his chest and stung his eyes and filled him to the brim with love so warm and overwhelming that his body wasn't big enough to hold it.

You two had been dating for 4 months, Katsuki had spent that time falling in love with you in ways he didn't think possible. He'd fall with every giggle and kiss and ramble and your face when you were concentrating. He'd never said 'I love you', hoping his actions showed it enough, still too scared to speak it in case it was met with hesitance or silence.

But Katsuki had gently put down the canvas, something you that you'd built, stretched and primed yourself. And while you made eye contact with the walls and ceiling, you explained how the only thing you could come up with was the painting, that you wanted to capture the emotions you felt when you saw him fight. That it wasn't much but---

Katsuki had engulfed you in a hug, hand on the back of your head to press it against him and an arm around your waist. He squeezed you, tried to express all that he was feeling with one hug alone. You felt it, held him tightly and carded your fingers through his hair. With his shoulders shaking, you had an inkling that he had been crying. When he spoke, with a wobbly voice, you were sure that he was.

"I love you." He'd muttered out for the first time.

"I love you more." You whispered back and Katsuki had firmly denied it, that no one could love a person as much as he loved you.

Getting a gift for you became hard after that, because Katsuki sucked at making shit.

[silentgravesdontexist]

I'm currently reading a now-becoming personal favorite book of mine so— here's a scenario of Ace accidentally setting your favorite book (tabbed, annotated, and highlighted) on fire. And yes, this is self-indulgent, sue me.

Portgas D. Ace x GN!Reader

CW: angst if you squint enough

Word Count: 1.1k

You adore Ace. There's no denying in that. But the man isn't really well-versed when it comes to emotional or sensitive topics and situations. Sometimes, he doesn't fully understand why you get emotional over certain things. Ace wouldn't be an insensitive asshole over it— he'd comfort you best he can at the moment then learn more on the topic to understand you better.

Ace really meant well. He really did. You said you loved a certain book, even showing it off to him with all the tabs and messy scribblings of your annotations on the pages. And he could see the care you put into the book. Was he the reading type? No. But did he want to get to know you better so he'd understand why you were gushing over the said book? Yes. (Plus, he knows it'll be brownie points if he reads it)

So, he borrows your book. You made him promise to take absolute care of it. Not a single dent or scratch should come to the pages or cover. He grins at your firm tone but nods his head and responds with, "Yes, Ma'am." Now, he does take good care of it. Does that thing where he barely opens the pages to read because he's scared that he'll leave a mark on the spine if he opens the book too wide. Also, makes sure to use a bookmark— since you were stern about not making dog ears on the precious pages.

However, his narcoleptic episode strikes one day while reading. Ace gets jolted awake by a loud crash on the deck, which makes him instinctively ignite his devil fruit. He smells something is burning. A cold feeling pools at his gut as he swallows. His eyes fall onto your book caught on fire. In a panic, he does his best to put out the fire—but it was too late. The damage had been done. Pages and cover alike burned at the edges that they were black. It was unreadable and looked like it'd fall apart at the slightest touch.

For a moment, he considers throwing it into the ocean and buying you a new one. But that obviously wouldn't work because the said book was littered with annotations and tabs. You'd immediately figure it out anyway. So, being the honest man that he is, he starts to look for you with the book cradled in his chest. When he asks around the crew where you were— they already gave him sympathetic looks because of the burned book in his hands.

Ace is a prideful man. However, this man was on the verge of getting to his knees and begging for your forgiveness the moment he saw you. Panic visible in his eyes as he calls your name. You turn to meet his gaze, a warm smile on your face that makes his heart race a little while twisting his guts at the same time. The poor man was sure you'd never smile at him again like that if you knew what he was about to tell you.

"I'msosorryIdidn'tmeantoburnyourbook." He says in one breath that it makes you blink at him. You want to laugh at his flustered state and tease him, but your gaze falls to the burned book in his hands. Even in its state, you could clearly recognize it. The way your expression falls makes his gut churn even more. He looked like he'd rather fight an entire fleet of Marines than put you through this.

Without a word, you gently take the book from his hands. You craddle the fragile thing against your chest and crouch down. Tears immediately falling to the wooden floors while your body trembles from your sobs. Of course, you know he didn't mean it. He never would. But it doesn't really undo the damage.

Ace feels like his heart just got ripped out of his chest. He kneels down in front of you, hands in the air— unsure whether to hold you or not. Afraid that you might not want his touch. The more you keep crying, the more he feels the stinging sensation in his own eyes. Sure, he wasn't really the sensitive and overtly emotional kind. But he knew that book meant a lot to you. You trusted him with it. And he promised to take care of it.

Apologies leave his lips unabashedly. One after another as he practically begs for your forgiveness. He does his best to comfort you and make you feel better. Seeing you cry because of him? It felt like a knife gutting him from inside out. The two of you spend a fairly long time on the floor. You grieving over your book. Him doing his best to make up for it.

The days after that were horrid. The two of you interacted but he always felt like something was missing. He was fully convinced your smile didn't reach your eyes, your laugh wasn't as vibrant, your affections weren't the same somehow, and you just felt distant. Even the crew started feeling bad for him because it was clear he was wracked with guilt by the entire situation.

Ace tried making up for it. Getting Thatch to make your favorite meal. Trying just about anything to make you smile or laugh. Opening doors for you with a theatric bow and wiggling his brows to make you smile even by a bit. If you wanted something, he'd get you it. He knew he was slowly getting back to your good graces but it wasn't really enough.

Eventually, an idea strikes him. He goes out of his way to get you the exact copy of that book. Does he give it to you immediately? No. What he does is he starts reading the book. He'll tab pages, highlight and annotate lines that reminded him of you or something he thought you might like, and making sure he slowly opens the book instead of breaking the spine.

Once Ace is done reading it, he'll give it to you— paired with a sweet and sincere apology. Even going on to tell you about the things in the book that he enjoyed. He's genuinely sorry for what happened. Your eyes shine a bit while flipping through the pages. Reading through his cheesy notes and the lines he annotates just for you. It makes your heart melt (if it already didn't after the man's all-out effort for your forgiveness).

You smile at him brightly. Finally— finally, he believes that it's the same one before he burned your book. "I forgive you— really." You say, wrapping your arms around his waist for a hug. He immediately melts into your embrace and wraps his arms around you tightly. Burying his face into your neck, he presses soft kisses over the curve of it and down to your shoulder. When you giggle? Oh, gods, he squeezes you even more and showers you with kisses.

Lesson learned: If you're interested in reading a book, he will curl up against you while you read it to him. That way— he can listen to your voice, understand you a bit more, and cuddle with you (which is probably his favorite part).

~~~~~

If you liked this and wanna read more, here's my masterlist!

[mit0bee]

Hii! Could you write Silver and Jamil with a s/o who is touch starved? In the sense they're not opposed to affection, but aren't that used to it and get kind of startled, but crave it nonetheless? Thank you so much, have a great night!

WHY IS THIS ME???? ill def be making a pt 2 because i love this so much

Twisted Wonderland Boys with an S/O who is touch starved

Stuff you should read: touch starved s/o, a tinyyyyyyyyyyy bit self indulgent because me too anon me too, bulleted post, i didnt use actual grammar/punctuation because i am lazy, once again no beta we die like men Characters: Silver Vanrouge, Jamil Viper, Malleus Draconia, Leona Kingscholar, Sebek Zigvolt, Lilia Vanrouge

SILVER VANROUGE

Silver first found out about your touch starved-ness when he accidentally fell asleep on your shoulder

When you shrieked softly in suprise, he shot up, thinking that he might've hurt you.

When you explained to him that you were just not used to physical contact, he sighed in relief.

i kid you not he genuinely thought he somehow headbutted you

And oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh boy when he learned that you craved touch, the boy was so ecstatic (for his standards)

from then on, he was always somehow holding your hand, or had his head resting in your lap or something

(at first, he would ask you or warn you before he would touch you, just so you wouldn't be too suprised or startled, but if you were okay with it, and as you got more comfortable, he'd just go for it)

if you were okay with more romantic displays of affection, he'd nap during lunch with you in the courtyard, with you somehow in his embrace

hes such a pookie i swear (im sorry his is so short idk how to write silver *sob*

JAMIL VIPER

Jamil actually found out from a silly little walk to Sam's

he went to hold your hand, and you pulled away, surprised

he thought you were mad at him and when i tell you this man tried to think of a reason why you would be mad at him

when he couldnt think of anything, he decided to just come out and ask if he did something wrong

and then you explained it to him

like silver, he sighed in relief

but not a little sigh

a big one

like muscles relaxing and everything he genuinely thought you were mad at him.

so when you slowly brought your hand to his, lightly squeezing it, you almost killed him

my dude ASCENDED like he actually would die with no regrets

when he figures out that you actually crave touch, he isn't as ecstatic as silver, but hes fairly excited

he'd definitely enjoy showing that he loves you through small physical touches (hand holding, maybe having your arm around his, ect)

Again, like silver, he'd tell/ask you when/if he was going to hug you or something

he wouldn't ALWAYS be touching you, but he would be in private

he himself is kinda iffy on pda but he'd hold your hand or something, nothing like kissing or full on big hugs, but hand holding is a big one for him

you two probably came up with one of those cute systems where its like "two hand squeezes means ily" or something

MALLEUS DRACONIA

he found out when, on one of your nightly walks, he tried to hug you and you just...froze in the hug

he just comes straight out and asks, he doesn't want to assume you're mad at him, but he did do something wrong, he wants to apologize

"Child of Man, is everything alright? You froze."

when you explained that no, nothing is wrong and that you just were a little touch starved, he nodded thoughtfully

"Well then, would you be okay if I request a hug, instead?"

^^^ (all of these men are so polite omg)

when you say yes, he is very happy

if he had a tail, it would wag

you know those cute pictures of rlly tall people hugging their shorter friends, s/o's? thats what this becomes. he is just leaned over, hugging you

"tsunotarou....shouldn't you let go now...?"

give him a second

when he learns you crave physical touch HE IS LITERALLY SO HAPPY

i hc that one of his main love languages is physical touch, so he is VERY HAPPY that he gets to show you just how much he loves you

once again, is another who would start with telling you when he will touch you, but his telling phase ends fairly quickly compared to silver and jamil

his main forms of physical contact are those elegant ones like where he has a hand on the small of your back

he would ALWAYS BE TOUCHING YOU.

more than silver

tfym he cant come to your ancient curses class with you when he has potionology? he already knows everything he needs to know anyway, so why cant he hold your hand a little longer :(

will 9/10 times end up sleeping over at ramshackle big spooning you (the big spoon in me wants to big spoon malleus but maybeeeeeeeeeee ill save that for another post)

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

he puts his head in your lap, and now youre shifting around?

come on herbivore smh smh you cant move so much hes trying to sleep!

when the thought eats a little too much at the back of his mind, he finally asks you whats up

when you explain it to him, he sighs and STAYS WITH HIS HEAD ON YOUR LAP.

but the only reason he keeps his head in your lap is because he knows his herbivore, and he knows all the signs that you're truly uncomfortable with something, so he knows that you don't mind

he breaks the cycle of asking. like i said before he knows his herbivore well, and he knows your boundaries and the signs that your uncomfortable even better, so he knows he won't overstep

i feel like he never had to figure out you craved attention, hes an observer, and just kinda always knew by your lingering touches, even after the shock of the touch

his favourite forms of physical touch are to lay his head in your lap, and basically anything (sexual or non sexual) where your body is on/close to his

hes another one whos main love language is touch, so he is too seen skipping his classes to hang out with you/to pull you from yours to the botanical garden

SEBEK ZIGVOLT

hes very aggressive with his affection, so when you shied away from his hug after training, he did a Jamil and tried to think of any reason you'd be mad at him

hes kinda sulking for the rest of the day until he decides to just come to ramshackle to ask you

"sebek wtf are you doing at my door its the middle of the night- WHY ARE YOU WET?!"

"I COULDN'T SLEEP THINKING YOU WERE MAD AT ME! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT I DID, SO I CAN PROPERLY ATONE!!!!!!"

"............what.................?"

you had to run and grab a towel because this idiot decided to WALK over while it was RAINING

when you explained everything to him, how you were just surprised, he understood immediately, so, he joins the Polite Cult (tm) and asks you to give you a hug

when he finds out you crave touch, he is a man on a MISSION

he WILL make sure you get what you want becuase he LOVES YOU SO MUCH

(just dont use your power over him when hes trying to protect malleus. he will become crisis'd about what to prioritize)

he loves to hold your hand sosososososo much its such a little gesture that can mean so much

hold his hand.

LILIA VANROUGE

he went to taze you (yk when you put your hands on someones waist and just pinch/tickle them while going ZZZZZT? yeah that) and you almost died of shock

hes seen many things, when your a prehistoric artifact like him, you know whats up

so you didnt even need to explain, he just kinda knew the second you screamed

hes also like leona in the sense he just knows you arent necessarily uncomfortable or anything

but he still tries to limit the amount he scares you but COME ON....your back is faced to him! its the perfect chance to scare you!

he, again, knew you needed more physical touch, so he's always stuck to you whenever he can be

not like skipping class level like malleus and leona, but he still is with you 90% of the day

another one to come to ramshackle with you, but he wont tell the others where he is so everyone thinks peepaw went missing

get peepaw to take his meds please hes a little deranged

--------------------------- I LOVED WRITING THIS SM but i was cramping the entireee time :( m.list @mit0ee 's work, please do not steal!

[sommerregenjuniluft]

the jirgin chronicals — aka tumblr user sommerregenjuniluft’s take on how it all started

for @veryinnovative & @messymoony

cw: making out, dirty talk, erections (1296 words)

Their lips part with a wet noise when they’re startled by the banging on the door, Evan’s voice droning through the wood, “Seven minutes are up, lovebirds.”

Regulus tuts, sneering over his shoulder at the interrupting, lips kiss bitten and face flushed and it makes James go even weaker in the knees paired with that annoyed look on his face.

The whimper winds itself out of his throat on its own volition and James feels Regulus smile into the next kiss. A mere five minutes ago he’d started praising James about making such pretty noises and James has been hard in his jeans ever since.

More knocking and James eases Regulus back by the jaw gently, chuckling breathlessly, “I think they want us to rejoin the party.”

Regulus clenches his fingers in James’ hair, displeased, and James’ knees attempt to buckle, “Wanna get rid of me so soon, Potter? What, am I not up to your standards?”

“No,” James’ voice cracks in his rush to reply. “No no, been wanting this forever,” he murmurs heatedly before reeling Regulus back in.

But Regulus only indulges him for a moment, tongues tangling, but apparently not done with his arguments yet, “Wouldn’t want to deprive the crowd of their star then, huh?”

And he’s pouting now, face twisted into a frown, never missing an opportunity to remind James that he’s after all their uni’s popular star athlete, that there’s miles of differences between the two of them.

Now it’s James’ turn to tut. “Regulus,” his tone stern, “I meant what I said. I really want this and you make me nervous, ok? I don’t want to rush things because it’s important to me. You are important to me.”

The younger man blinks up at James with eyes wide as saucers, expression slack, before he blinks violently, “Shut up.” He’s back on James before he’s even done speaking, gasping into his open mouth and groaning happily when their midriffs press together more tightly as James belts his arm around Regulus’ back.

After a while Regulus pulls back, smirking and wiping at the spit caught in the corner of James’ mouth. Christ.

“Is that why you acted like a fool last weekend when I came to that bonfire with Barty?”

“He cheated at that arm wrestling competition, right in front of you! And also—”

“Okay, James,” Regulus interrupts him, immediately shutting him up by the use of his first name. The look he blinks up at James through his lashes is equal parts careful curiosity and unbridled desire and James’ heart beats faster on the receiving end of it. Regulus clears his throat, “Ready to go?”

James quickly scans his own body, shuffling his feet to righten himself in his briefs.

“Oh?,” Regulus makes and James does decidedly not appreciate the drop of his voice when he’d just gotten his predicament back under control, “That how nervous I make you, hm?”

“Reg, love,” James admonishes, voice strained, letting his head loll back. “I thought you wanted to head back?”

Regulus hums, “It’s just so easy to rile you up—it’s kind of doing things to me.”

James immediately swells in his briefs again. Someone bangs at the door again. He groans, “You know I can’t go like this.”

“Guess you’ll have to conceal your lap with something,” Regulus purrs, turning the lock.

Before he can make it far, James snatches him around the hips with a little growl, pressing Regulus’ ass in front of his crotch to cover the visible bulge as they walk awkwardly over the threshold. James doesn’t have to see Regulus’ face to know he’s preening.

They plop down on James’ previous seat on the couch, Regulus dutifully propping his long legs into James’ lap. There’s a bit of heckling and needling at them staying in the closet for longer than necessary but it dies down quickly when the game continues.

Shots get handed out, Barty has to perform a card trick on Emmeline—which he fumbles, much to James’ delight—Dorcas gets her ass grabbed by three different people blindly which she then has to associate to their respective culprits, Lily performs a heated lap dance to some girl James thinks is named Amelia and then they’re back at Regulus.

“Careful, Meadowes,” he warns.

Dorcas hums innocently, giggling tipsily into Evan’s shoulder, and then, “I dare you to talk dirty to James for the remainder of the round. And convincingly! I know you have it in you, Regs.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, sighing like it’s the greatest inconvenience in the world but James notices the barely there uptick in the corner of his mouth. The younger man scoots closer, stuffs a pillow under his bottom so that he can comfortably wrap one arm around James’ neck and pull him close.

“Hi there again,” he says, grinning warmly up at Regulus. His head thumps pleasantly into the back of the couch and James thinks there’s some kind of witchcraft in the way that Regulus looks impossibly handsome from that angle too, smiling down at James.

“Hi, James,” he purrs quietly and uh-oh.

Uh-oh, because Regulus hasn’t even started yet and James is already squirming.

James winces, “You won’t go too hard on me, will you?”

Regulus’ grin turns razor edge sharp, “No, but you might.”

Oh god.

The next minutes are absolute torture for James. Regulus is murmuring about how easy he is, taunting him about the erection in his jeans right under Regulus’ thigh, telling him how thick and warm he feels, admitting how Regulus catches himself wondering about how it’ll feel elsewhere. You’re big, James, aren’t you? I can feel it—makes me want to have you all the way on the back of my tongue. 

James nearly leaps out of his seat at the last comment, gripping at Regulus’ leg over his knee tightly, fingers clenching and unclenching, a strained smile on his face.

“Oh, baby,” Regulus coos and James has to swallow a whimper, “So responsive for me. You’d bend right over if I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”

Deep breath in, hold one…two…three…four, deep breath out. James’ sole focus is the spot on the wallpaper across from him.

Regulus hums calculatingly and then he starts carding nimble fingers through the mess of James’ dark hair, making him shudder through a shiver. “Look at me.”

Deep breath in—

Something wet, hot touching the lobe of his ear, suckling gently and James wheezes sharply.

“C’mon, James, don’t be difficult,” Regulus whispers heatedly.

With a gulp, James turns his head. He’s sweating, he realizes. Palm clammy where he’s absently kneading Regulus’ thigh as well as fisting the cushions.

Regulus is staring back at him from under lidded eyes and James manages a wobbly smile.

“Are you going to tap out?” Regulus rasps. His other hand is now fiddling with the thin golden chain around his neck. Paired with the slight recurring tug at the roots of his hair, it’s horribly distracting.

“What?” James blurts. His mind is nothing but soft static. Nothing matters but the warm weight of Regulus on top of him. 

Regulus coos again and, much to James embarrassment, it goes right to his cock once more, “Poor, pitiful, pathetic man.”

James has to trap a strangled noise behind his teeth, “Reg, I’m– my head’s getting dizzy.”

A thumb at James’ bottom lip, “Overwhelmed, are we?”

He grunts in response, managing to nod once.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Regulus asks, putting more pressure behind the digit, letting the tip slip right in.

“Wanna kiss you,” James mumbles deliriously around his thumb.

“Not here,” Regulus reprimands softly.

Regulus makes up some bullshit excuse to see James’ room and James blinks dumbly and concentrates on not letting his knees buckle when they start making their way upstairs.

[junislqve]

⟡ stay in my memories

when you had finally started to accept your past, it comes back to haunt you

pairs ex!jake + reader content angst kissing jake being toxic wordcount 1404 — find my other works

note ending is highkey rushed and was supposed to be happy, but this is self indulgent, so! i also listened to memories an ungodly amount while writing this

YOU HUFFED AS YOUR DOORBELL RANG FOR THE SECOND TIME. it was 11pm. a few minutes ago, your friend had just left after picking up her cat from the week-long vacation she had with her boyfriend. you had sensed she’d forgotten something.

when it rang once more, you begrudgingly stood up dragging your legs to the front door. the lights to your small living room was already off save for one that was only enough to illuminate the front door.

you sigh as the door click open, “you really need to stop forget-” 

“hi, babyy” 

your heart dropped. not because of how the man in front of you accidentally stumbled and now practically has his boy weight supported by you, and also somehow not because of how his hands circle your body and rest on your waist like how it used to.

it was his voice that did. 

his voice that you swore on everything you would never want to hear again. hating how it sounded so much you’d bail on any man that sounded similar to him or had his accent.

how could you not when only a few simple words uttered with that voice had your mind reeling? repeating the same heart wrenching sentence in your head over and over again, it engraved itself.

it was pouring outside. you’ve been very stuffed with schoolwork and your finals coming up. papers spread out everywhere on your table and books scattered on your bedsides and floor. 

you felt a tickle on your ankle and watched as your dog rubbed its side on your body, begging for attention. you chuckle, dropping your pen and bending down to pick her up. sitting her on your lap as you rubbed its back. 

“i’m sorry, i just need to finish this paper and i’ll promise i’ll give you some attention, okay?” you coo at her, it hung her head low but complied, laying her head on your lap. 

a moment later, your phone lit up. you stared at the caller and with no hesitation immediately picked it up, a smile growing on your face, “hi, babe-”

“let’s break up”

you stopped. the pouring rain seemed to have hushed in a matter of seconds, the air around you felt constricted. your dog stayed silent, looking up at you in confusion.

“what?” 

“it’s just going to be hard keeping up our relationship in the long run. i’m graduating and you still have two years” 

“so?”

“so i don’t want to hold each other back” he sounded frustrated. 

“so that’s it?” you ask, voice heavy. “you’re going to leave me because you don’t want to wait two years for me?”

“you’re twisting my words”

“that’s exactly what you said, jake” 

“i’m sorry”

no he’s not. 

“no, you’re not” you say, you wait for a second too long before hanging up. you damn well know he’s not, because if he was you wouldn’t be crying as hard as you are right now. your chest wouldn’t have felt as painful as it does.

there was nothing but confusion that clouded your mind the following days. you were trying to reason with yourself why he’d ever break up with you. 

your boyfriend is the sweetest yet most comforting guy you’ve ever known. or at least, was. you thought there must be something wrong with you.

everything reminded you of him. back then, you thought you hit the lottery when he landed as your first love as well as your first boyfriend. you never doubted your relationship, he was always there for you whenever you needed him and you never turned him down if he needed a shoulder. 

every waking moment after the breakup felt plain to you. habits and hobbies turned more of a chore, some of the things you did were picked up from his habits.

you were quiet about your breakup. it took a total of 13 days until anyone found out. your friends having to fish it out of you when they felt how quiet and more zoned out you’ve become.

for three months, jake’s name was not allowed to be uttered. it was a rule your friend made. she knew anything correlated to him could tip you off, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. 

she didn’t know that you’d still visit his old album from time to time just to feel something. to remember all the ways he loved you and all the ways he wasn’t there to, anymore.

you can’t let go the feeling of how he would hug you, all the times he would kiss you giggles filling out every corner of the room. the moments he’d lay on the bed with you, whispering sweet nothings lulling you to sleep.

you still can feel all of that, a ghost of the past you were never willing to let go.

you wished time could heal all of you completely. because now when you swore you have finally started to move on, he has his body slumped on yours, breath fanning your neck.

“jake?” you curse yourself from how quiet it came out. your voice wavering, your breath shallow before you slowly walk in, his body still slumped on yours.

he hummed, “i missed you” he dug his head deeper into your neck, making you physically sick.

you tug him off, stabling him by his shoulders and you wished you didn’t. you could see his state now. his hair was all messed up, face tinted red from drinking and he had that pout. his eyes attempting to blink itself awake as he looks at you through sleepy eyes.

“jake” you say again, finding your voice. that pout of his grew at your tone.

“don’t you miss me?” he asks, voice so soft you almost gave in. his hands still hover on your waist and you’d lie if you said you weren’t fully aware of it. 

“i’ll grab you some water” you say, walking out of his reach. the heat from his body slowly seeping away as you walk to grab a glass of water.

you turn back to see him sat on the couch, his head laying on the arm rest, legs sprawled sideways. tapping him on the shoulder, his eyes crease open along with that smile of his. your heart clenched.

he grabs the cup and downs it in one gulp, “thank you” he says quietly.

when you were about to grab it and walk back to the kitchen, jake had tugged your shirt causing you to topple on top of him on the couch. 

“you haven’t said you missed me back” he said, head buried in your hair, breathing you in. 

you gathered all of you to push against him and stand up, “jake, stop”

“i know you’re sober”

it barely showed, but you could see the slight waver of his smile.

“i miss you” he says for the third time tonight, eyes open but still slightly glazed.

“you’re being selfish” tears start to well up. it’s overwhelming to say the least. how could he just show up at your doorstep months later giving you false hope? after everything he’s made you go through.

“i know” he starts, sitting up slightly, “and i know i have no right to come back here begging for you to come back. but i miss you”

“you should leave” you look away.

“please”

“jake”

“i’m sorry” he says, “but i’ll do better this time”

maybe it was those eyes that convinced you, or the sliver of sincerity you pretended to see in his eyes or maybe once again it was that voice that allured you. but you gave in. 

he brought you in for a kiss. one that you’ve undoubtedly miss all these months of being apart. jake just knew how to bring you back into his arms. he held you all night long and between the kiss and the cuddling, you dozed into a sleep you haven’t felt for months.

you shifted, you peek at the light hitting your eyes from the slip of the curtains. 

you rolled over, the space beside you, cold. 

you sat up, the blanket falling off your body as you looked around the living room. trying to grasp at the hazy memory of last night.

the table in front of the couch is neat. when your eyes focused there was a scrap of paper placed on it.

‘i don’t deserve you, i’m sorry

-love, j’

© junislqve 2024. liking, commenting, and rebloging are appreciated.

[peachsayshi]

by your side. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ gojo x female reader ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 

summary: gojo returns home after an exhausting two month trip away from you. 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: I’m so h*rny for this man & that tight black tee of his this is my contribution to celebrate satoru gojo and satoru gojo only <3  you can find my other yan gojo posts: here & here. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; lovesick/obsessed/needy gojo; sleepy satoru; oral (f receiving); edging; dub con (ish?); pussy drunk satoru 👀; size kink; dacryphilia 

“Missed you,” Satoru exhales with a strained voice, his long fingers unfastening the knot around your waist, similarly to how you removed the white ribbon of the present he gifted you earlier this evening. 

The elder jujutsu sorcerers frustrated him with too many problems during his isolation period away from you, binding him with the shackles of responsibilities that he never asked for.

Exchanging phone calls, text messages and videos with you wasn’t enough enough to fill the empty void in his heart. Only now, as he smooths down the silk fabric of your robe, does Satoru understand how terribly deprived he’s been. 

How did he survive these last two months without you?

“I missed you so much, my sweet girl”

His words are laced with anguish and his pupils dilate at your soft skin peeking out from under your attire. He pulls the material away from you, watching carefully as it ripples off your body like water. 

Around your neck is the present that he bought for you; a string of white gold links draping down your clavicle with a heart shaped pendant resting just above your chest. He nips at his bottom lip, considering the idea of adorning you in even more jewelry. 

Two sparkling studs for your ears, maybe...a charm bracelet to compliment a pretty anklet... a band that would look complete around your ring finger...

The image makes his dick twitch.

You’re looking up at him from underneath your lashes, shying away from his intense gaze and drifting down to his muscular torso looking snug in his black fitted tee. All of a sudden your bed feels much smaller with him there, and a tingle ascends up your spine when he curves his strong arm behind your waist. The force of his weight pushes you down onto the soft pillows behind you. His limbs taking up most of the mattress, leaving you pinned underneath the expanse of his chest. 

You’ve forgotten how quickly he makes your heart race.  You’re still adjusting to this - getting used to the status of being his girl.

He tenderly touches his forehead to yours, a reminder of why the claim shouldn’t make you feel like a frightened kitten trapped in a wolf’s den.

Those words are pure devotion now, an affirmation of his love towards you. There are many who dream about basking in its abundance, and here you are greedily indulging for free.

Being loved by him is an honor that you have been pleasantly awarded.

You tilt your chin up to brush your mouth over his, initiating the first kiss with a chaste peck against his pink lips before leaning back to look into the depths of his blue eyes. 

He’s exhausted, you can tell, the bright color of his irises are muted and his mouth is twisting downward in a subtle frown. You know for a fact that he carries many burdens as the head of his clan and the strongest sorcerer, but what’s unsettling you is the sullen expression overwhelming his handsome face since his arrival. 

“I thought you would be happy to see me,” you state quite matter of factly, swiping your thumb over the blush blooming underneath his pale skin. 

Satoru leans into your touch, resting his cheek comfortably in the palm of your hand, and you can’t help but think how angelic he looks this way.

“I am, it’s just...I really, really hated being away from you,” he confesses through gritted teeth. 

You brush off the spark of nerves reacting to the visible sickness on his face, and trail your index finger down the bridge of his nose. “You’re home now,” you coo as you circle your arms around his neck, “I’m happy that you’re back.” 

His shoulders relax almost immediately, and he buries his relieved smile in the crook of your neck.  “Yeah?” he mumbles into your skin. “That’s nice to hear.” 

The sensation feels ticklish, but your giggle is quickly replaced by quiet pants as Satoru leaves a trail of kisses down your torso. His large palms find the back of your knees, and he lowers himself while spreading you apart so he can comfortably rest between your legs. The hand on your left leg curls around your ankle and he adjusts your position by bending your knee at a perfect angle. Meanwhile, his other hand lifts up your right leg, exposing the back of your thigh which he litters with tiny kisses and gentle nibbles.

“You don’t know...” he mumbles, “you don’t know how hard it is for me being away from you, it’s...” he interrupts once more, smooching your plush skin, “it’s unbearable...” 

His feathery admission gives you no comfort. Worry twists around your belly, caught between the grips of fright and excitement. A part of you refuses to believe that he is truly helpless without you around. However, it’s battling with your ego that’s showering with pride over the fact that this man would bend at your every will. 

Satoru presses his nose up against your clothed cunt to inhale your scent. The tension on his face dissipates, but his grip around your ankle tightens as he kisses you over the white cotton fabric. 

“M’here, Toru...” you soothe, threading your fingers through the frosty strands framing his facing, and pushing back his hair. “Here just for you” 

He releases an exaggerated sigh, “I feel so much better when we are together...” he admits, pressing his index finger up against the outline of your slit and rubbing over the damp patch that he formed with his tongue, “...when we are close like this.” 

You don't believe he’s lying. As a matter of fact, Satoru is honest to a fault when expressing his feelings about you.

You think it’s detrimental for a person to be this dependent, but your mind always finds a reason to rationalize his perspective.

Maybe it’s because you love him…or maybe it’s because he’s successfully bulldozed his way into your life that he now occupies every territory, making it impossible for you to turn anywhere catching a glimpse of his shadow.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

You don’t want to dissect these unsettling ideas, afraid of what your mind would reveal to you in the process.

Instead, you allow yourself to relax as your lover pulls aside your underwear to expose your pussy. He lightly rubs his thumb over your ankle, keeping you in place for him before placing a sweet kiss on your clit. You slowly massage his scalp as a gesture of encouragement, and whimper quietly when he flicks the tip of his tongue along the nub. 

Your right leg lazily falls over his broad shoulder when he releases his hold, your eyelids growing heavy feeling the stroke of his velvety tongue drag down.

Satoru eats you out for his own pleasure, and the man is starved having not tasted you for months.

He keeps you in this position long enough for you to feel like the room is spinning. You’re lightheaded, delirious, with the way he softly and slowly devours your cunt and slurps your arousal. The sound of tender smacks and his deep humming moans echo around you, and your hips buck against his mouth from how sensual he sounds.  

The brewing heat numbs you from the top of the head down to the tips of your toes, it’s burning so low that you’re desperate to prod the embers just to stir the flame. You lick your lip feverishly, tasting the saltiness of sweat and jab your heel into his back, but the pressure feels like nothing to him. 

Satoru doesn’t waver or pick up the pace because he’s savoring you down to the very last drop, and he looks so content with your slick dribbling down his chin. He goes deeper, pushing his tongue further inside you as he compresses his nose into your clit. The added pressure makes you choke out a pathetic whine, provoking your exasperation and your thighs start to quiver uncontrollably. 

You’re relying on your movements, grinding your hips out of desperation in the hopes to finally snap the rubber band of your pleasure that’s being stretched to its limit. 

“mmph...t-toru?...” you mewl as tears prick your lovely eyes. “toru?” 

“Hmm?” a deep voice replies, and Satoru slowly wriggles his nose as he continues to lazily fuck you with his tongue. 

“Satoru, I-...ah!” you yelp, finally grabbing his attention as you roughly yank his hair. 

He groans with annoyance, but slows down his movements. To your dismay, he doesn’t completely pull away and instead returns back to your sensitive clit. He languidly rolls his tongue over it, licking and sucking the overstimulated bud that the tears start to fall. 

“I can’t take this...I can’t take this...”  you sniffle, easing your hold as you try to push his head away. “need to cum, wanna cum so bad...” 

Only then does he look up from the mess between your legs, strings of your slick catch onto his chin and you contemplate how unjust it is that he looks this beautiful, contemplate how unfair it is that you are meant to temper your sinful thoughts around a man who is Adonis incarnate. 

His hazy eyes blink away his dream like trance, and you can see his senses returning back to the present. He arches his brow with slight amusement at your flustered expression but maintains an innocent tone when he replying.

“I got a little carried away...” he states before placing an apologetic kiss on your lower tummy. “Not enough for you, huh?” 

You pout slightly and shake your head no, attempting to lift yourself up on your forearms despite your shoulders trembling from how frail your body feels tipping so close to the edge.

Satoru envelopes you in the protection of his embrace. He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his tongue and over his lips. He molds into your frame and your body lights up with sparks feeling how stiff  the length of his hard cock feels as he delicately ruts his hips over yours. 

You moan with every calculative thrust, spread your legs wide enough to feel his impressive bulge rub against you.

God, it makes you want to ride him senseless.

You’re yearning to have him inside you.

He pulls away from the sloppy, wet kiss then eases the grind of his hips as he pecks your cheek and jawline. He wriggles down, stopping to suckle on the tips of your pointed nipples and your heart stops when you realize that he still has no intention of making you cum yet.

“Toru, please...” you beg when he returns to his previous position, a gasp following your plea as he buries two fingers inside you. 

“I’m feeling much better, baby, I love you s’much...” he reassures, a wicked grin tickling the corners of his mouth as he steadily drags his digits back and forth, “I promise I’ll fill you right up…just need to make up for some lost time, kay?” 

The blood drains from your face, and you realize that you’re completely at his mercy.

“s’good to me, so perfect ‘n pretty...” he praises into your glistening cunt, but you’re too enraptured by the sensation of his tongue stroking your folds to notice the way his eyes darken as he looks at you.

If you did, then you would remember the danger of nuzzling up with a wolf whose bite would bleed you dry. 

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Can you do Rook, Malleus and Lillia trying to give period pain relief the old fashioned way

Period Pain Relief~The Old-Fashioned Way | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

They realize that pain is a natural predecessor of the period. Now Twisted Wonderland is not devoid of painkillers and magic meant to sooth your laboring body. But would you know that? No. And the ones dangerously tipping on the edge of their sanity would much rather ease the pain themselves. The old fashioned way:

Lilia Vanrouge 

“C’mon love. Let’s do it my way! I’ll make it better I promise.”

While he may not have had a lot of sexual partners he’s already seen so much

Lived for so long

He’s bound to know the perfect spot to rub and the perfect pace to have you reeling

Blood is no obstacle 

He’s a former general! 

Though your blood is the only kind he’s interested in he doesn’t mind it or eating through it

He’s sure it will help those pesky cramps of yours 

No pain killers needed

Or at the very least distract from it

“Is this better my love? To fill your pain with the pleasure I give you? Want to see if it works all throughout the week?”

“L-il-ah~stop talking!”

“Oh yeah! I agree! It’s a great idea! All week let’s not stop!” 

He’s focusing on your pain right now and getting rid of it

Whether your together or not soothing you is his goal

And that’s almost enough to get him off on his own

He doesn’t even think about the true and core cause of your period

“Hm a baby…that would be nice. To be a papa again….what would you say about that Mama?”

“Forget it Lilia! This is a one time thing.”

“Sure sure until next month! And the rest of your life.”

Malleus Draconia

“Soothing your pain is a necessity but the root of the problem still remains!”

“I..don’t follow.”

“Your body burdens you because of your empty womb. Naturally the best way to resolve it is to fill it.”

He doesn’t believe in simply plugging the leak he prefers to drain the lake

Aiming to impregnate you once he gets a hold of your cycle’s schedule

Obliterating Your pain aside he’s binding you with him forever

No mirror or pesky pest that takes your attention away can take his place as your child’s father as his wife

The period is a sugarcoated excuse to do it

He’ll take your refusal and delegation as human-fear

Are you worried he won’t fit 

That you won’t be prepared 

About the future

No worries he’s Malleus Draconia

Your Tsunotarou

He’ll prep you properly, he’ll fund everything, he’ll even put a ring on your finger to make it official

In the end he’s here for you him

“M-Malle~hmm we can’t…it won’t~ah~”

“Shhh hush my child of man! Hng~our child is the true solution to keeping you beside me forever.”

He doesn’t quit care that it will return after the pregnancy but if your smart you’ll know his exact solution

“Then I guess we’ll just have another.”

“What?! I can’t handle that! I can barely handle one!”

“Fear not my treasure! My magic will soothe your pain.”

“You have magic that can do that…?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you use it before!?”

“I wanted a child with you and the period that plagues you would have ceased. This is what you would call a ‘win win situation.’”

Rook Hunt

“Oh mon Dieu! Please my ma beauté ultime! Ma délicatesse magnifique, let me bring you comfort!”

If you relent or are in so much pain you can’t explicitly refuse him he’s giving his aide

Blood is nothing to him

That’s not true 

Its everything to him

he delights in the carnal satisfaction he has when his mouth is drenched in it

Like the predator he aspires to be he stalked you, warded off interested parties, and has finally pounced

Free to indulge in your flavor

The forbidden that only comes once a month

“Mmm parfaite!”

“Rook~Don’t talk just~eek”

“Ah I understand! Smeck~ <3 Forgive my neglect.”

Hours upon hours 

He’ll happily stay between your legs

Sending a second of a glare before he lets up 

You’ll regret interrupting his feast

Studying your biology to know you inside and out

He realizes he could stop your period for 9 months

He plays with the idea

But ultimately decides he has more work to do

Your cage isn’t quite ready yet

“Rook I’m tired and I’m not in pain so can we stop?”

“Non non! This hunter’s got a ways to go before I tire my amour!”

“But I want to sleep!”

“Go ahead! When you awake I’ll be right here with you!”

[ltash]

Englufed by passion

Slowburn, angst, death..

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

In the dance of death, their shadows bled,

Love turned to ruin, a bond misled.

He held her close as her breath grew weak,

A kiss of the blade, no words to speak.

The corset fits like a second skin, the delicate fabric caressing every curve, each tug of its ribbons accentuating the shape you've worked so hard to conceal. The halved top frames your figure, a deliberate choice that hints at vulnerability. Your fingers smooth over the material, lingering on the way it clings to your waist before you force yourself to look away. The clock ticks. Time isn't on your side, but then again, it never is when it comes to Simon "Ghost" Riley.

Your heart beats faster at the thought of him, your enemy, your equal, and tonight, your accomplice. You lean into the mirror, applying a sheer gloss to your lips. The applicator glides smoothly, leaving a subtle sheen that catches the dim hotel lighting. It's a small act of vanity, perhaps even indulgent, but necessary. Everything about your appearance tonight is designed to disarm, to beguile. Not because you think you can manipulate him, you're not foolish enough to underestimate Ghost, but because you want to see if he can be shaken.

The Glock on the dresser gleams under the light, fully loaded and ready. Every bullet is a promise, each engraved with his name in your mind. The thought should steel your nerves, but instead, it stirs something else, a dangerous cocktail of anticipation and dread.

The sound of the door opening snaps your focus back to the present.

There he is.

Ghost fills the doorway like a shadow come to life, his presence overwhelming in the small hotel room. The tactical gear hugs his powerful frame, every strap, and buckle a reminder of the lethal man beneath it. He wears no helmet tonight, just his black balaclava, the skull design barely visible under the muted lighting. His weapon is in his hand, silencer attached, the barrel pointed low but still commanding attention.

His dark eyes lock on you immediately, sharp and unyielding.

"Heard you know Makarov's whereabouts," he says, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn't bother with pleasantries, his tone slicing through the air like a blade.

You inhale deeply, steadying yourself. Vulnerability is your weapon now. Tilting your head, you meet his gaze in the mirror. "I might," you reply, the words soft but edged with defiance.

The silence that follows is electric, the kind that makes your pulse race and your skin prickle. He takes one step forward, just enough to close the distance slightly, and the room seems to shrink around him.

"Five minutes." His jaw tightens beneath the mask, the slight movement enough to hint at his frustration.

Your lips curve into a faint smile, a calculated expression meant to taunt. "So impatient, Mr. Riley." You turn away from him, reaching for the ribbons of your corset. "Do you mind?"

Your fingers work the laces deliberately slowly, tugging just enough to feign difficulty. You catch his reflection in the mirror as you twist back toward him. He hasn't moved, but his eyes burn with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

"I thought you'd be a gentleman," you tease, your voice dipping as you tug again. The corset bites into your skin, a slight sting that you welcome. "Considering we're on the same side now."

"Temporarily," he corrects, his tone clipped.

The air thickens, darkens. It's no longer just tension. It's something heavier, something primal. His gaze doesn't waver as he crosses the room, his boots heavy against the floor. Before you can react, his gloved hands brush yours aside, taking hold of the ribbons himself.

The first pull is sharp, precise, and you gasp as the corset cinches tighter around you.

"Not so tight?"

"Three minutes," he interrupts, his voice firm.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as he works his way down the rows. Each tug of the ribbon draws the fabric closer to your body, the pressure both restrictive and intoxicating. His hands move with an efficiency that is almost maddening, his gloved fingers curling the excess ribbon as he reaches the bottom.

Your breath hitches as he gives one final pull, the force of it sending you stumbling backwards. You collide with him, your back pressing into his chest, his arms steadying you instantly.

"You load those bullets with the intention of taking me out?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Your head tilts slightly, your lips parting as you struggle to find your voice. "Each... and every single one."

His head dips, his masked face hovering near the crook of your neck. The heat of his breath seeps through the fabric, warming your skin in a way that makes you shiver. You feel his lips brush against you, the mask creating a barrier that only heightens the sensation.

"You shouldn't have melted," he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper against your ear.

You hated him, despised him, but the thought of being undressed by him, manhandled by him, was too much enticing.

Your hands twitch at your sides, instinct urging you to push him away, but you don't. Instead, you freeze as his hands slide over your waist, his grip firm and unyielding. He pulls you closer, his body flush against yours as he begins to move.

"This could be us," he says, his hips shifting against yours in slow, deliberate motions.

Your breath hitches, your head falling back slightly to rest against his shoulder. The words you want to say catch in your throat, silenced by the overwhelming heat of him.

"You can't even speak," he taunts, his lips brushing against your ear. "And I'm not even inside you."

Your nails dig into his forearms as his pace quickens, his movements both calculated and maddening. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, your skin damp with a heat that has nothing to do with the room's temperature.

He groans softly, the sound vibrating through you as his lips trail lower, teasing the edge of your collarbone. Your eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into the moment into him.

Your lips part, a faint moan escaping before you can stop it, and his grip tightens. For a moment, you forget everything, the mission, the danger, the hatred you're supposed to feel. In his arms, you feel small, delicate, and undeniably feminine.

But Ghost is nothing if not unpredictable.

Suddenly, he releases you, stepping back and leaving you swaying on unsteady feet. Your palm shoots out to the mirror for support, your reflection flushed and breathless, a stark contrast to the composed woman you'd been minutes ago.

"Lie to me," he says, his voice sharp as a blade, "and it'll be the last game you play."

The door closes behind him with a resounding click, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence.

The derelict warehouse looms in oppressive silence, the air thick with the stench of rust and decay. You slip inside through a broken window, your boots crunching against shattered glass. The Glock in your hand feels heavier than usual, your grip tightening as you scan the darkened space.

He's here. You can feel him.

The faint glow of moonlight filtering through the broken roof illuminates a maze of abandoned machinery and forgotten crates. Somewhere in the darkness, Simon waits. Your chest tightens at the thought, but you push it down. Fear is a luxury you can't afford.

"Running late, love?" His voice rings out from the shadows, deep and taunting.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. He's close, too close. Slowly, you turn toward the sound, your Glock raised and ready.

"I was starting to think you'd stood me up," he continues, stepping into the faint light. His frame absorbs the room, all sharp edges, and deadly calm. The skull mask covers his face, but his eyes burn through the gloom, locked on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Wishful thinking, Riley," you bite out, keeping your weapon trained on him.

He tilts his head, his posture relaxed but dangerous. "That's not the tone of someone who needs me, darling. And you do, don't you? For Makarov."

Your lip curls, but you don't lower the Glock. "Give me the location, and I'll be out of your way."

"Funny." He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots echoing in the cavernous space. "I was about to say the same to you."

The tension snaps taut as a wire, your breathing shallow as you prepare for what's coming. You know him too well-he won't give up Makarov without a fight.

And neither will you.

The first shot rings out, the sound deafening in the stillness. You fire, but he moves like a shadow, dodging behind a pillar. You curse under your breath, pivoting to track his movements.

"Come on, love," his voice calls out, mocking. "You can do better than that."

You dart behind a stack of crates, your pulse pounding in your ears. He's toying with you, drawing you into his web. But you're not some helpless prey. Not tonight.

You move silently, circling the room as you search for an opening. The Glock feels cold in your hand, a steady weight grounding you. And then, you see him, a flash of black against the moonlight.

You fire again, the shot sparking off metal as he dives to the side. He's fast, but so are you.

The next moment, he's on you, his body a force of nature as he knocks the gun from your hand. It clatters to the ground, and you lunge for it, but he grabs your wrist, twisting it until you gasp.

"Still think you can win?" he growls, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You don't answer. Instead, you twist sharply, breaking his grip as you reach for the knife strapped to your thigh. The blade gleams as you slash at him, forcing him to step back.

His laughter is dark, almost amused. "That's more like it."

The fight becomes a deadly dance, the blade flashing between you as you trade blows. He's stronger, but you're faster, your movements fueled by adrenaline and sheer will.

You manage to land a hit, the knife grazing his arm. He hisses, but it only seems to fuel him, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunts, his voice thick with challenge.

"Not even close," you snap, slashing again.

But he's ready this time, catching your wrist and twisting it until the knife falls from your hand. You struggle against him, your body pressed against his.

Your body twisted to face him, but before you could react, his hand clamped onto your throat, slamming you back against the cold concrete wall. Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, the pressure of his grip just shy of crushing.

"Game over," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

Your eyes burn with defiance.

"Simon," you choked out, your eyes wide with disbelief.

His dark eyes glinted through the mask, unreadable yet charged with something primal. He was close, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the rough texture of his gloves brushing against your skin. His free hand moved to his back, drawing a blade with a deliberate, almost sensual slowness.

"You lied," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

The cold kiss of the blade met your abdomen, the sharp tip pressing just enough to break the skin. Your breath hitched, your body stiffening against him.

"Simon," you whispered again, this time softer, pleading.

His masked face tilted, his gaze devouring your desperation. Then, with a sudden, calculated thrust, he drove the knife into your flesh. Your gasp was sharp, cutting through the air like a scream strangled in its infancy.

Your hands instinctively flew to his chest, weakly pushing against him, but he didn't budge. His gloved hand gripped the knife's hilt, and he twisted it, slow and deliberate. Your cry turned into a whimper, your body arching against him, helpless and fragile.

Your vision blurred as the pain consumed you, your breaths shallow and quick. Yet in your fading consciousness, you felt the way his body stiffened, his breaths growing heavier. The act wasn't just an execution; it was something darker, something intimate.

Your trembling hands found his wrist, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in the storm of agony. Blood pooled between you, warm and sticky, staining the space where your bodies met.

Your head lolled onto his shoulder, your lips parting to speak, but no words came. You shuddered, your body going weak.

As your strength ebbed, your knees gave way, but he caught you. His arms wrapped around you, holding you against him.

He caught you, cradling you as you tremble in his grip. For a fleeting moment, it felt almost tender. "Shh," he murmurs, almost gentle. "It's over now."

You cling to the last threads of consciousness, your vision blurring as you look up at him. His eyes, cold and unrelenting, are the last thing you see before the darkness takes you.

Your final breath escaped as a soft sigh as your body went limp in his arms.

And as your body goes still, his voice echoes softly in the empty room.

"Game over, love."

For a moment, he remained still, holding your lifeless body against him. The blood beneath you was warm. It's a metallic scent filling the air. Slowly, he pulled out the knife from your abdomen, his movements almost reverent.

As he stood, he placed your body gently on the ground, his gaze lingering on your peaceful expression. The fight was over, but the war within him had just started.

[bowieandqueen11]

Not Just A Trinket / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: hi! ur writing is EVERYTHING btw. ur an amazing writer. you mentioned you wanted to write for izzy hands again and i have a request– feel free to ignore if it's not what ur looking for :) maybe izzy hands x reader where the reader has a small gift for him (a little trinket, a beaded crystal bracelet– something they made for him) but they're WAY too anxious to give it to him because they're scared he won't like it so they end up just carrying it around, trying to build up the courage to give it to him pfft

AHHH thank you so much my lovely, that's so sweet of you, and so is this idea!!! :3 Also I know I'm a little early in the timeline mentioning Davy Jones but I like to think of Izzy as a trendsetter ;)

Warning: mentions of fighting/ injury and strong language, some sexual innuendo!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @nadsdraws.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands was beginning to detest feeling like this.

He would rather charge sword first at a horde of raging Englishmen: would prefer to scrabble and scrape and scratch through the eye sockets of thousands of the Spanish with naught but his bloodied fingernails. Hell, even grovelling under the sole of the snivelling wreck that now possessed his former boss like a twisted nightmare, a horrid regret, would be preferable. If his hand wasn't too firmly attached to tangled rope of one of the shrouds in a death grip, if his glove wasn't close to bursting at the seams with how tightly he was gripping, he had half a mind to draw his dagger out of its scabbard and gouge his heart out right there and then.

He looked furious. So much so, that Roach was quick to side step him as he hopped down the steps with fresh sewing materials in his hand, giving a final look back at the intent man who only bared his teeth at the cook in response. Valuing his life, or at least the ability to keep all his fingers, if the sight of the keen blade being twisted between Izzy's free fingers told him anything, Roach is quick to recoil back and raise a concerned eyebrow in Wee John's direction. He in turn just rolls his eyes and lowers his head back to his sewing, but the rest of Stede's crew are astute enough, from where they're lingering around the deck, to notice the thick tension brewing like cold shivers of electricity in the air. Even Jim and Oluwande were giving each other side eyes, pausing their hammering at the helm to dart their eyes to their side and trace the path of Izzy's line of sight.

It never wavered. Every time they looked, it never changed. He had spent the last two hours gaping sourly towards the edge of the quarter deck. Gawking solely at you, without a single movement, without a single flicker outside the bubble where you hunched.

You thought he was angry at you for arranging a special outing for Ed and Stede at Datura Grotto, finally indulging in finding a way for them to spend some time alone after your Captain had begged and hounded you for days; he had become so accustomed to bursting through doors trying to find you and ask for your help, that the poor daunted man nearly burst into tears when he smashed your bedroom door into your nose and nearly broke it. The rest of the crew believed he was plotting something: trying to pick out the quieter members of their friends first, as payback for being stuck on this so called 'straight out of Davy Jones' arsehole' of a ship for so long.

Izzy, though. Izzy knew he was smitten. And he fucking hated it. He hated feeling so vulnerable.

Out of all the crew members still pretending to mill about, only Lucius was daring enough to purse his lips and look brazenly back at Blackbeard's first mate. Only Lucius, in fact, was feeling equally brave, and equally vexatious that fine afternoon to muster up the courage to slide up beside him. 'Someone in a bad mood today, are we?'. He taps the ships railing with the point of his nail, the broom he had been pretending to sweep splintered pieces off the floor a moment ago soon forgotten about as he leans it against the side of the ship. He replaces the loss by dropping his hand to his hip, cocking his head and smiling at an increasingly agitated looking Izzy. 'Would it have anything to do with that fine young sea farer over there by any chance? How romantic, Dizzy Izzy. Oh, I do love a good fix-me-up-'

Oh, he was enjoying this.

Izzy's quick to snap, not even bothering to look in Lucius' direction. 'Fuck off, before I do you a favour and cut that little seducing tongue out of your mouth for you.' Lucius watches Izzy's fingers tighten into leather clad black balls on the rope ladder, and doesn't need a second warning to trot off back towards his friends again. With a final wide eyed look of shock, he turns back to Black Pete and shrugs, holding his hands up as if to say that he tried his best.

All the while, you just keep your gaze steady out and onto the brewing horizon of the sea, watching as foam shook out like reaching hands around your ankles as they across cut through the wave crests, only the salty sting of thrumming silence keeping you company underneath his watchful gaze. The beaded necklace you had spent the last week or so threading together, carefully crafted by trembling fingers and a bit tongue during long evenings spent in your hammock, was beginning to feel like an anchor weight in your pocket. You tried to distract yourself with mundane, idle chit chat with a very thankful Lucius, who had swung over to your side after Pete convinced him to go scouting out for some more gossip. Swinging his legs between the latches of the port quarter, he merrily took the hammer you were idly holding from your hand and began to 'fix up the ship', his wrist barely moving as he turned to you with a scheming smile.

'So, do you know what's going on then? Why Izzy's acting like this? I swear, that man. If he doesn't bend over right now and try to get that stick out of his arse, he's going to be a miserable sad sack of repressed irritation forever. He's like a jack in the box. I swear to god, I'm just waiting for him to burst.' The tone of his voice sounds almost worried, but Lucius is smiling and waggling his eyebrows the whole while. 'That would be kind of funny, actually. I've always imagined him as a stamper. Or maybe a screamer-'

You have no idea what to say, not understanding Lucius' oh so unsubtle hints, so you just run your fingers over the bulge in your pocket once more and chime in to his rant from time to time with a disinterested 'hmm' or distracted 'oh, yeah. Definitely.' It really didn't help that you were beginning to blush the same champagne hue as the bubbles between your toes with how gravely Izzy was staring at the side of your face. It was growing increasingly harder not to give into the temptation: to not just swing your head around and meet his hard-set eyes head on.

Once he realises you're dead set on staying right there, away from him, hiding in the corner all day, he sighs and let's go of the sails, marching off to do another impromptu inspection of the boarded vessel. It's an easy distraction: yelling orders at Wee John, spitting insults at Roach as he scurries out of Izzy's way, stealing the Swede's cup out of his hand and spraying beads of coffee around Buttons' feet. All of it was a Grade A fantastic distraction, and Izzy was hell bent on forgetting just how quickly time had gone by that day: Ed and the moronic, sappy, massive twat of an arse Stede would be back from their foliage constitutional any minute now, and Izzy was acutely aware that he was running out of both minutes, and chances to ask you to take a walk with him on the island himself. He had spent far too much of the morning wasting away, leaning his back on Stede's antique armoire and watching you with crossed arms: like a weathered statue, the growing umbra he cast somehow seeming to reach its tendrils out and blanch the fringes of the doorway. Even Fang and Ivan had been too terrified to come near him, and so he had been left alone. A silent sentinel, trying to figure out why the fuck his heart was cracking against the cage of his ribs and tearing their ligaments to shreds.

You hadn't exactly made things any easier for the man: feeling so intimated, you had spent the whole morning begging your friends to whisk you away from him at the first sign of danger. Whether that meant ducking behind Frenchie's lute like a crab, or hiding like a bulky turtle under the large bit of crimson cloth Oluwande was fiddling with the tassels of, you had used any form of escape to save you from the embarrassment of having to be near him. To let him see how flustered you became just at the overwhelmingly intense pressure you felt in the air any time he swaggered over to your side: to hide the fact that your eyes would widen in abject horror, your breath hitching any time the back of his gloved hand would 'accidentally' brush against your wrist as he went on his merry way, pretending it was all by accident. That it was all just a little game to him.

Little did you know, that he was feeling exactly the same way. The one time he had dared to come over to you that day had been an unmitigated disaster. He thought he was being... well, as kind as he possibly could be by slapping you on the shoulder and saying 'how good of a job you're doing.' He was nodding his head between every word, that jilted, simpering smile on his face as he supplemented his sentiment with an incredibly heartfelt 'at least Y/n knows how to do a fucking thing on this ship, not like you lot of useless fucking fuckers they have to work with. The rest of you are embarrassing, really.' He went to walk away, the side of his wrist glancing against the back of your hand as he finished with a breathless 'you lot could learn a thing or two from Y/n.'

He had staggered away from you as if mortally wounded, tongue bitten between his teeth as he tried as nonchalantly as possible to make his way back to the stern of the ship. While you were busy trying to bury your head down into your chest and avoid the smirking faces of Lucius and Pete, you happened to notice from the side of your eye that with each step Izzy was ringing out his hand. To your surprise, he used his teeth to rip his glove off, tucking it under his armpit as he wrangled with his fingers; he couldn't stop every cell burning as if it had just been reeled under the bottom of the ship. Couldn't understand why his fingertips wouldn't stop shaking as he flexed them.

Lucius was right. He was about to erupt, and he wondered if he'd ever be alright again.

It took until the sun nearly bowing over the jaded unicorn surmounting the anterior of the Revenge for you to find the courage to finally slink away from your convenient hiding spot to go over to Izzy. Well, that and the feel of Lucius literally dragging you up by the wrist and giving you a well meaning shove in the back towards the helm.

'Oh, fuck me', Izzy hisses as he watches you approach, turning his back to you to hide how flustered he was becoming with each tugging step at his heart you take towards him. He nearly jumps high enough to fall face first off the side of the boat when he feels your hand tentatively tap his shoulder, but he manages to inhale sharply and compose himself as best as he can before he flicks his eyes to look at you.

'I-uh-', you swallow thickly, shakily drawing your hand away from him and tucking it behind your back. 'I-, uh. I, I mean, I-'. The two of you, a far change of pace from usual, can barely keep your eyes on each other.

You feel like throwing your shoe at Lucius when you register the all too familiar sing song-y chime of his voice murmuring 'say something!' from behind your back. 'Or I swear to god, I'll kiss the man for you!'

'Well, I-', you start again, shooting the most vicious glare you could strangle out of you back at your friend. With a final sigh, you continue: 'I saw your necklace, and I don't mean to pry- but since you're always wearing black, which of course is incredibly cool, I just- well, I thought it needed a burst of colour.' Without a second thought, you scramble to pull your makeshift necklace out of your trousers, and shove the glistening glass emeralds and burnished pearls into his fist.

'It's just a silly thing, really. I saw Stede fixing Ed's red fabric and I just thought... well, you don't have to wear it. It's just a trinket, it's stupid. Really, you don't have to wear it. I'm sorry-'. After a pause, the burning sensation is enough to make you turn on your heel and bashfully start to make a break for the Rec Centre, just to get as far away from him as possible.

'It's not just a trinket.' The softness of his tone, despite how harshly he sounds out the letters makes you swivel back in surprise. He takes the opportunity to take a step forward and grab onto your wrist. He tugs you closer, until you're standing dangerously close to him: if he were to inhale deeply now, to puff his chest out just a tenth of an inch, your belly buttons would be tightly pressed upon each other. You can already feel his buttons strain against your shirt as he whistles out through bunched teeth, the breath sharp and warm against the side of your jaw. 'Don't say that. Never say that. It came from you, so it's not-... just, don't say that.'

He blinks, slowly releasing his viper grip.

'I like it. I really do. Thank you.' He motions awkwardly with a flick of his fingers to the side of his neck. 'Would you mind? With the gloves, I'm... not very good with clasps. Haven't, haven't used one in a long time.'

You can't stop your head from nodding, feeling like a wound up spring toy as you unfurled his fingers again and took the gift back. With a final swallow, you try not to turn cerise as you gently roll down the collar of his shirt. It folds easily down over his vest, until your bare fingers are dragging over the naked line of skin on his neck, just teasingly hiding the tense muscles of his upper back.

'You really didn't have to do this for me, you know.'

'Yeah... but I wanted to. You're not as much of an arsehole as Stede tries to make out.' You manage out a giggle, before you're back to biting your bottom lip in concentration, brushing a few strands away from the back of his head.

He wants to say more, but his voice chokes in the back of his throat like rifting water, his mouth trembling as your fingers brush over the coiled grey hairs bristling at the nape of his neck. It feels like a red hot poker is being dragged across his skin; he shivers at the feeling, a tight coil rolling across his limbs before settling uncomfortably heavy in the pit of his stomach.

He looks like he's about to weep when you take a step back, reaching up with a final pat to make sure the little metal swallow that adorns the centre of your necklace is lying perfectly against his breast. You may have lingered there a little longer than necessary... long enough for your palm to begin burning against the firm muscle of his pec, and for Lucius to draw out an enunciated wolf whistle, but it was definitely worth it. Even the sound of Frenchie snickering from the barrel he was perched on down on the deck was drowned out by the thrumming toll in your ears: by the sound of Izzy's sharp breath piercing your ear as he wavered uneasily on the spot. He didn't want to move away from you, not yet. He could barely even hear them. For the first time in his life, he didn't even fucking care. All he could focus on, over the bridge of his nose - through the gentle curls of his tired eyelashes, was you.

He was intoxicated - but even worse, he was finally beginning to understand. By god, he wondered. What the fuck had you done to him? Could this really be what Edward feels? Could anyone, really, feel this much?

'I hear swallows are meant to bring good luck', you state with bated breath, fingering the charm you had picked up from a market stall at the Republic of Pirates for a final time. It had reminded you almost immediately of Izzy: a hidden treasure, glistening white-gold, like fresh sunlight flitting across the glitter combs littered across the sea beds. It had been well buried within piles of muck: old straw, rotten bits of moulding fruit, bloodied bones twisted into odd shapes that you could barely recognise, but it had been lying there. Waiting just for you. A needle in the haystack. The final piece of the puzzle.

Izzy's breath draws in sharply as you absentmindedly begin to brush your pointer finger up and up: tracing the edge of his jaw line before rolling over the same bird tattoo lacing his neck, your eyes still drawn to the gap between his shirt where his Adam's apple lay tautly.

'Yes. Very good luck', he states, amazed he even found his voice. Surprisingly, he doesn't even try to pull away. He lets you trace your finger over the beak, gliding across the round belly until they're dancing teasingly over its tail. In fact, without his wonderous, dipped eyes looking away from you, he seems to be tilting his head in time, allowing you easier access to brush against his skin and steal his soul with every movement.

Before he has time to think of the repercussions of what he was about to do, the leather of his gloves flex around your cheeks and Izzy Hands has bowed his back down over you, lips knocking against yours. It's terse, and rather urgent in its forcefulness; it was both a slip of outrageous passion, and a terse reminder of his years out of practice feeling any sort of physical affection, and yet you couldn't help but brush up even closer to the man. He welcomes you eagerly, even though this eternity lasted only a moment: with his thumb, he tilts the jut of your chin up so he can lick his tongue against your bottom lip all the more easily. His knee slides forward until it knocks against your own, lurching you forward and saving him the embarrassment of having to voluntarily admit to his weakness and slide his other hand around the pulse point of your neck, until he was cradling the bone of your shoulder.

He finally draws back, his tongue darting out to lick along the edge of his top lip. 'Yeah, very lucky indeed.' He seems sorrowful to be letting go of you, but the loud whistling and snorting that begins to bounce back and forth between Stede's crew snaps Izzy back to himself. With a final glance back down to your lips, he struts off to pick up Lucius' long abandoned broom and starts chasing him across the ship with it.

[claws-and-quills]

Truly, Madly, Deeply

A/N: Holy shit this is by far the longest fic I have ever typed! This is a request that became self-indulgent.

Requested by: @callsignred I hope you like it, bestie!!!!

CW: Age Gap (reader is in their early 20s), Secret Relationship, Cock Warming, Oral (Female Receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Descriptions of Male and Female Anatomy, Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Pregnancy, Cream Pie, Slightly Jealous Reader(?), Fingering, Overstimulation

Word Count: 9,002 sheesh....this took like a week

Genre: Smut and Fluff

Pairing: Teacher!Hugh Jackman x Reader

All it took was one simple text. A simple look. The subtle quirk of his lips. You didn't know how he managed it, but from the second you had crossed paths with him, there was this insatiable need that twisted and coiled deep in the pits of your stomach. Here you are, the new world history instructor, falling head over heels for a man you barely knew. He was friendly, charming, easy on the eyes, and had a killer smile. His classroom was nestled directly across the hallway from yours, giving you ample opportunity to steal an occasional glance at him throughout your day. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd be this caught up on someone. Never did you ever think you'd even make this far in your teaching career.

Classes had ended around an hour ago. Teaching college had its perks, but it also had its negatives. Glancing at the clock that hung on the wall of your office, it had been well over two hours since you sat down to catch up grading assignments. The words on the computer began to bleed into each other in a messy, black, blotchy alphabet soup. The backs of your eyes stung as though being stabbed with a hot poker. With a defeated sigh, you lay your head onto your desk, lacing your hands together on the base of your skull. The weight of your eyelids was damn near impossible to fight; just as you allowed them to drift closed, a brief knock at your office door makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Yes? It's open. C-come in.” You smooth out the wrinkles of your sundress. It was nearly impossible to keep your heart from climbing into your throat as the door was pushed open, and in steps, Hugh. He offers you a half cocked smile, propping himself against the doorframe. The way he folded his arms across his chest made the sleeves of his dress shirt hug the curves of his biceps.

“I wanted to come check on ya. Saw you hadn't responded to my text. No real harm in that, now eh?” His smile reached his eyes as he gave you a brief once over. Parts of you felt guilty for never responding to his text. “What do you say? Are you free tonight?” The back of your throat ran dry, torn between what he could possibly have in mind and your responsibility of grading exams and essays. Before you can even utter a word, he steps deeper into your office. Leaning in front of you, he closes your laptop, making you nearly shriek. All of that hard work, now potentially lost.

“Professor! I was in the middle of trying to grade papers!” You stared at him in disbelief. It was impossible to feel mad at this man. The laugh that came from him was like sweet music to your ears. The corners of his eyes wrinkle from his grinning laugh. Why did he have to stand so close to you? The cologne he wore smelled heavenly. 

“Come on. You're stressed. You're tired. You're focusing too hard on the job, and not enough on yourself. One extra day won't hurt. Take the night off. Live a little.” He takes your hand into his, and gently pulls you from your desk chair. You felt so small compared to him; the top of your head barely made it to the bottom of his chest, allowing him to tower over you with ease. “And by all means, love, you don't have to be so formal. We're colleagues, after all.”

The heat that boiled in your body threatened to rise onto your cheeks. The subtle brush of his hand against yours brought about a light hue of pink to dust across your cheeks. There were a thousand different thoughts that raced through your mind, and not a single one focused on your unfinished work. You couldn't help the way your heart hopelessly fluttered in your chest. Even as colleagues, you felt as smitten as a freshman school girl with her first official crush. Truthfully, who could genuinely blame you though?

“Right. Right…uhm. Just, let me grab my keys and lock everything up.” You laugh nervously, snatching your keys from your desk before locking up your office. A low chuckle rumbled deep in Hugh's chest as he walked next to you down the hallway. Every weekend, the campus life seemed to dwindle down, leaving its parking lots empty. You allow your mind to wander for just a moment before looking up to him from the corner of your eyes. “Well…since I'm not busy tonight anymore, was there something you had in mind?”

“Dinner. A few drinks. Just two adults going out on the town. There's no harm in that, now is there?” The confidence that laced his voice was almost annoying. How could he always be so sure of himself? The heat in your cheeks grew hotter as he curled an arm around your shoulders, offering a half cocked and toothy grin.

“Colleagues. Just two colleagues. I mean…don't you think this could…I dunno, if someone saw us? It would be-”

“Scandalous? Cause jealousy? Love, who cares what anyone else would think.” He pauses in front of you as you reach for the door handle of your car. Stepping closer, he forces you to back up against the cool, metal, door of your car. He traps you by resting his hands on either side of you against the door. “Just two grown colleagues going out for dinner and drinks. Let's say for eight o'clock?” You could feel the heat of his breath brush against your lips due to the close proximity. His cologne floods your senses, making your head reel. At that moment, all you could do was nod. “Then it's a date then.”

He was painfully overconfident in himself, but you couldn't bring yourself to protest against him. The idea of a date made your cheeks and body burn. You watched as he smirked to himself, sauntering towards the Sports Car he drove. Once you were sure he wasn't looking, your knees damn near buckled beneath you with nerves. Eight o'clock. That gave you around three hours to get home, washed, and dressed. Your heart pounded in your chest as Hugh gave you a wave before speeding out of the parking lot. This was actually happening. The subtle buzz of your phone vibrating catches your attention. Another single text.

‘Wear something a bit fancy. Who knows. Might take a twirl or two. See you at eight.’

Your heart pounded in your chest at his text. This was actually happening. You didn't know what to do or how to feel. Taking a moment to gather yourself together, you hurriedly climb into your car to rush towards your apartment. Three hours was so close but so far. The panic began to set in. Taking a deep breath, you calm your nerves to the best of your abilities. It was now or never, and you chose the now.

~o0o~

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Smoothing out the slim fitting dress that you wore. Its smooth fabric hugged your curves in all the right places. A low v-cut split the front of your dress, the pentacle stopped just below your breast bone. Somehow you had allowed your best friend to convince you into buying this dress quite a few months ago, but had never worn it before. A simple silver necklace hung delicately around your neck. Just as the nerves began to tumble around in your stomach, a soft knock at your door brought you back down to reality.

“Coming!” You call out, rushing towards the door. Thankfully, a black pair of heels rested next to the rug there. Nothing too big or fancy, but enough to give you around two or three inches added to your height. Opening the door, you're nearly awestruck at the sight of Hugh. A lazy smirk rested on his lips. Clad in black slacks and a button-up dress shirt, he was quite the sight to see. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the first two buttons that are undone at the top of his shirt. He drags his eyes over you, tilting his head, obviously pleased with your choice of clothing.

“Well now, aren't you the beauty tonight. I should have asked you out for dinner a long time ago,” he mused with a smile to his voice. Your heart skips a beat as he extends his hand out for you to take. Snatching your keys and tugging the door closed, you allow yourself to be led away by him.

“I…thank you…you're quite the catch yourself, Hugh.” It's damn near impossible to not blush with how small your hand was compared to his. His thumb brushes against your knuckles absentmindedly as he chuckles lowly under his breath which makes your heart want to skip a beat. The way his smile reached his eyes had you nearly weak in the knees.

“Oh yeah? I just threw something together. Nothing too fancy. But you? You're gonna be the finest sheila there,” he opens the car door for you, gesturing for you to step in. You catch him dragging his eyes across your body again, a wide, toothy grin breaks across his lips upon being caught red-handed. Another wave of heat rushes through your body. You didn't know what it was exactly about him that you found so alluring. Was it his charming good looks? The authentic and rich Aussie accent? Or how his eyes always seemed to shine with kindness and adventure? Whatever it was about him, it had you wrapped snugly in an embrace you hoped would never let go.

After getting settled in,Hugh gets into the drivers seat, speeding off. He could see from the corner of his eye the way your body visibly grew tense at the speed, but it was a rush for you. He rests a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. Normally you would have swatted anyone away, but it somehow felt different with him. A sly smile quirked the corner of his lips seeing how you lightly bit your lower lip and hesitantly rested your hand on top of his. 

“You're in good hands, love. Relax. I don't bite, and I won't hurt you.” A soft giggle escapes from your lips at his words. Something in you knew he was being honest. It had been so long since you had ever been out with anyone that you had almost forgotten how to properly function. “Breathe love. You trust me now, don't you?”

“O-of course,” you finally breathe. A shaky smile parts your lips towards him. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him. He had you completely mesmerized with his presence alone. Bolts of electricity shoot through your body at how tenderly he caresses your knee with his thumb. “I'm not trying to be awkward. It's uhm…it's just been a while since I've been out on any dates or anything.” He squeezes your knee again, smiling smugly towards you for a brief moment. Slowly, the suburbs began to fade away, the quiet sky soon becoming replaced with a bustling skyline of the city. Confusion and shock began to take over as the neon sign of Coastal Rhythm and Steakhouse came into view.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. Coastal Rhythm and Steakhouse was well beyond your price range. Never in a million years would you have even looked into the general direction of this place. When Hugh brings the car to a stop at the valet entrance, the reality of the situation starts to set in. He's quick to exit, moving to open the passenger door for you and offers you his hand. Your lips part slightly, taking in the atmosphere and resting your hand into his. A million questions ran rampant through your mind. Somehow, he must have seen the shock that rested upon your face, prompting him to shake his head at you.

“No talk of work. Don't worry about prices. It's just you and me tonight, baby.” He tosses the keys over his shoulder to the valet driver whilst escorting you towards the large, tique doors of the restaurant. The strong aroma of expensive spices, meats, and cigars greet your senses once he opens the door for you. Your stomach was practically doing somersaults with nerves. Across the way, a stage was nestled against the wall with a live band playing smooth, rhythmic, music. There were a few couples on the spacious dance floor, which seemed to catch your attention. Hugh follows your gaze, leaning close to your ear and softly speaks, “looks like fun? I was hoping you'd be willing to give it a try.”

The heat of his breath sent chills down your spine. Before you could protest, his attention is cut away to the young hostess as she greets you both. After a brief exchange of information to confirm the dinner reservation, she leads you and Hugh to a table nestled near the window, overlooking the bay. The city lights reflected against the smooth water in a dazzling display of the night life. Hugh's eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled warmly, pulling a chair out for you. Once you're settled in, he takes his seat across from you, his smile growing more into a roguish grin.

“I didn't expect this, Hugh. I…how even?” You begin to ask, but held up a hand to silence your growing question. A soft sigh escapes from you, your lips curving into a faint smile. “You're so full of surprises. Different too, but in a good way.” You absentmindedly trace the rim of your glass of water.

“What can I say? I like keeping you on your toes. Two can play this little game of cat and mouse, love.” His eyes meet yours, leaning forward slightly and closing the distance between each of you. Your smile was soft, shy, hesitant even, a complete contrast compared to his bold smile that showed damn near perfect teeth. A faint blush dusts across your cheeks as your heart flutters in your chest. Before you can try to form your next sentence, the waiter approaches the table, handing you and Hugh a menu while asking about what each of you would like to drink.

You could feel Hugh's eyes watching your every move. Parts of you started to feel guilty for allowing him to bring you somewhere so extravagant and elegant. Two things that did not seem to be in your everyday vocabulary. After placing the order for drinks, Hugh returns his gaze to settle onto you. He gently rests his hand on yours, caressing your knuckles. A tight but amazed smile curved his lips as he chuckled. 

“Do you always look this serious when you look at menus?” He teased warmly, arching a brow towards you. His tone was lighthearted, but his eyes were filled with amusement and curiosity. He finally links his fingers into yours, locking gazes with you. “Hey, relax. It's just a dinner date. Two adults, having dinner, and enjoying each other's company.”

Your cheeks flushed again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you nod. The way his eyes sparkled melted the walls that once guarded you and your heart. “Hugh…this is just…it's just a bit overwhelming is all. Not that I'm complaining! You're way too kind and generous for doing this.”

He laughs softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his genuine grin. “Kind? Generous? I've been called a fairshare of things in my life, but I don't quite think I've ever been called either of those things before.” He closes his menu, having already decided on his meal. You meet his gaze again, giggling softly under your breath. 

“Well, I think you are both of those things. You're kind, generous, and charming. I don't care what anyone else has had to say before.” You smile warmly towards him. The butterflies that fluttered in your stomach had it doing somersaults when your eyes met his.

“Oh trust me, you haven't seen anything yet, baby. I'm still full of surprises.” He leans back into his chair as the waiter returns with the drinks and his booklet of tickets to take each of your orders. Hugh glances at you before placing his order. It's almost impossible for you to keep your eyes from wanting to bulge out at the prices of the entrées on the menu. After a bit of encouragement from Hugh, you do decide to splurge on yourself and indulge on a steak.

“Thank you again, Hugh. For bringing me here, and always just being…well, you.” Your lips curve into a fairly more confident smile towards him. After taking a few sips of wine, the edge was finally starting to wear off and help you relax more.

“No need to thank me, love. I was hoping you would like it. Something special for an eye catching and special woman,” he gives you a flirty wink.

As the evening progressed and the food was brought out, the conversation began to flow more easily. Hugh rambled about stories of his adventures and travels, along with his early life in Australia. You couldn't help but be hung up on every word he spoke. You loved the way he became more jovial and animated in the way he spoke and moved his hands. The smile and laughter that came from you almost had your cheeks hurting, but it felt so refreshing as you listened more intently with sparkling eyes.

“What about you, love? Surely you must have some fun adventures behind that smile of yours,” he asked and leaned in closer to you.

You hesitate for a moment. Compared to Hugh, your life seemed rather bland and boring. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you  shyly began to speak again. “Well…I like to read a lot. And I try my hand at painting too. I'm not very good at it, but it's a fun distress activity for me.” Taking a bite of food, your entire demeanor changes, savoring the rich flavors. 

“I'm sure it's not that bad. Perhaps one day, I could see your work.” His words earned another blush from you.

“Maybe one day,” you murmur softly. A content and comfortable smile rested on your lips. Your eyes, however, drift back towards the dance floor at the sound of subtle applause from some of the other diners. A few couples had thanked the impromptu judges of the diners. The band on stage had started to play soft strains of a tango. Hugh follows your gaze, a spark of excitement ignites in his eyes as he looks to you.

“Do you dance?” There was something adventurous in both his voice and eyes.

Your eyes widen slightly, and you shake your head. “N-no. I mean…no really. I've never really tried it before.” There's a hint of nervousness and shyness to your voice. The breath catches in the back of your throat as Hugh stands and extends his hand to you.

“Perfect! There's a first time for everything, baby.” After hesitating a moment, you rest your hand in his. His grip is warm and assuring as he leads you towards the dance floor. The diners of the restaurant had turned their attention towards you and Hugh with a piqued curiosity. Truthfully, you couldn't blame them. Hugh exuded confidence on top of his charmingly good looks. He seemed so sure of himself; each step he took was deliberate and thoughtful to the point it made you think he had to have done this before.

“Just follow my lead, and trust me.” He whispers against your ear. The heat of his breath against your skin sent chill down your spine again. You nod meekly, unsure of yourself as your heart thundered inside of your chest. He places a hand against your waist, the other gripping your hand firmly. With the first few notes of the music starting, he guides you into the first few steps.

“Good girl. You're doing great.” He husks lowly against your ear. His voice is low, raspy, but soothing. “Relax, baby. Let yourself go. Feel the music.” His eyes were intense as he watched you and guided you. A new heat had started to burn deep inside of your body at how his gently pressed into the side of your waist, slowly tracing them up your side just below your ribcage.

Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself to relax into his touch. With every step and sway of your body, you let yourself be swept deeper into the music with Hugh. The world around you seemed to fade; the eyes of the other diners being upon you didn't even seem to exist anymore. Your eyes remained fixed on the Hazel green ones of Hugh as your bodies swayed and moved together in a synchronized harmony. His steps confident and graceful as he led you with effortless ease.

Never would you have imagined yourself in a situation like this. A swell of thrill and exhilaration took over your senses. The tango, it was passionate, intense, and sensual. With every step, you could feel the chemistry between you and Hugh grow even stronger. His intense eyes remained locked on yours, trailing down your body when he's able to. Despite his intense gaze, his smile was of pure enjoyment and delight.

He pulls you in closer, your body pressed firmly against his. “See? You're a natural at this, baby. Keep going.” His voice is soft but laced with confidence. 

You laugh quietly, melting against his rock hard body. “That's because I had such an amazing teacher.” Your eyes shine brightly as you wore a radiant smile at your lips. He chuckled quietly under his breath, spinning you just as the music began to reach its peak crescendo, and pulls you against his chest for the final, dramatic pose. His lips rested just mere centimeters from yours; you could feel his hot breath caress your lips with every breath you each took. The other diners that had been watching all applaud with approval of the display, making your cheeks heat up.

“That…that was amazing!” You beam up at him. He chuckles softly, resisting the urge to want to press his lips against yours.

“You were amazing.” He corrects you with a warm and approving tone. He glances to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. “Couldn't have done it without you.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before walking you back towards the table you had both been sitting at. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

Your eyes soften towards him, “thank you for asking me to join you.” There's a surge of pride and confidence that flows through your body. Pride for stepping out of your comfort zone, but also pride in yourself for discovering a hidden talent you never knew you had. Something inside of you began to tell you that this might just be the beginning to something even greater.

As the night grew later, the crowd began to die down inside of the restaurant until finally a hostess has to politely ask you both to leave after Hugh pays for your meal. Where had the time gone to? Looking at your phone screen, it was pushing close to midnight. Linking your arms together, he walks with you outside. The night air was cool and crisp against your bare arms, making you step closer to Hugh for warmth.

You finally look up to him, biting your lower lip deep in thought. “I don't want this to end…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He looks down at you, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Who ever said that it has to come to an end?” He asks you quietly, a sly smirk at his lips. Taking a moment, he glances from your eyes and then to your lips as though asking for permission before pressing a chaste kiss against to your lips. Your lips melt against his for a brief moment as your heart races in your chest. The sound of valet pulling his car up towards the entrance makes him pull away just slightly to gaze down at you.

“Come on, let's get out of here.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, leading back towards the car. Something in his eyes seemed to ve different. He still looked adventurous, but there was a new gleam in his eyes. Something new, dangerous, and you wanted more. Without hesitation, you allow yourself to trust him fully.

He rests his hand on your upper thigh once inside of the car, before speeding off. The grip he held on your thigh was like nothing you had ever experienced before. The gaze in his eyes was intense, clouded with love and lust. You bite the inside of your lip, resting your hand on top of his. He turns his head to look at you briefly, smirking proudly to himself. You didn't know what he had planned, but the expressions in his eyes had you intrigued.

~o0o~

The car ride back was tense, but not in a bad way. There was a swarm of emotions that rushed through your mind and body. Your heartbeat immediately quickened at the sight of unfamiliar condos. Digging out his wallet, he swipes his keycard at the entrance gate into the community. The back of your throat began to burn with anticipation. Hugh looks over to you once he pulls into the parking lot in front of his condo.

“We don't do anything you're not comfortable with. You can trust me, scouts honor.” He assures you warmly, turning to face you better. His eyes glance between your gaze and lips, leaning in closer to close the distance between each of you. Leaning in to meet him halfway, your lips melt against his. His tongue flicks against your lower lip, asking for entrance. Your lips part, granting him access. A needy moan slips from your mouth, making you blush deeply.

Hesitating at first, you curl an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Your other hand caresses his rippling chest. You could feel the way his chiseled back and chest flexed against your hands. Growing a little more bold, you nibble at his lower lip, earning a heated groan from him. His hand finds your throat, gripping it firmly and pulling you just put of reach of his lips.

“We should take this inside, yeah?” He husks, trailing his thumb down your throat. His eyes fall onto your puffy and swollen lips from such a heated kiss. You heart fluttered and pounded in your ears at a deafening rate. You swallow thickly at his question, but slowly nod. His eyes soften a little with concern towards you. Sliding his hand up your neck to cup your cheek, tenderly. “Hey…we don't have to if you're not comfortable just yet.”

You rest your hand on top of his, “no I…I want to. I-it's just been a while. I'm more than comfortable with you, Hugh…”

His eyes search yours long and hard before he finally nods and presses another needy kiss to your lips. Your heart thundered rampantly in your chest watching and following him as he moved to get out of the car and opened the passenger door for you. His eyes remain fixed on you as he helps you step out and closes the door behind you. Your fingers become interlocked with his as he leads you to the elevator to get to his condo. Once the elevator closes, his lips are on your again. The kiss is more demanding this time as he backs you up against the wall, his hands greedily roam around your body until they find your hips. His fingers dig into the thick, fleshy portion of your hips, pulling you against his chest.

Your tongue darts from your mouth to meet his. His mouth hungrily swallows your needy moans as you curl your arms around his shoulders; one of your hands cup the nape of his neck, nails softly digging into his skin near his hairline, eliciting a heated groan from him. His mouth leaves yours, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Your eyes flutter at the heat of his mouth against your pulse. A mewling squeal escapes you as he sinks his teeth into your sensitive skin at the hollow of your neck near your shoulder.

“F-fuck…Hugh…” Your neck and back arch into him while your eyes flutter. He presses against you more, eliciting a gasp from you as you feel his growing erection press against you. As the elevator bell dings and the doors slide open, you whimper softly as he pulls away. His eyes are dark and clouded with lust for you. Without a word, he takes your hand, leading you towards the door of his condo. Once inside, he's on you again like a starved animal, harshly kicking the door shut.

Your hands slide down his chest, eagerly unbuttoning his dress shirt. He inhales a sharp breath at the sensation of you dragging your nails down his chest. In a fluid motion, he scoops you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style towards his bedroom. Your hand slides down his chest, resting over his pounding heartbeat. Even through the lust, the care in his eyes towards you was beyond noticeable as though asking ‘are you sure’ one last time.

“I'm sure of this, Hugh. Please…I need this. Need you…” An unfamiliar heat had begun to pool between your thighs, coating your panties. Setting you down within the privacy of his bedroom, you gazed up towards him lovingly. It almost felt like some type of dream at this point. This was actually happening. This wasn't some weird dream or fantasy. It was real.

Snaking an arm around you, his fingers find the zipper of your dress. “Last chance…once we start this, there's no stopping or going back.” You merely nod in understanding towards him. You were beyond certain that this was what you wanted. You wanted him, needed him. He eases the zipper of your dress down your back, the black fabric pooling onto the floor around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your shoes and panties. The cool air laps at your skin, causing goosebumps to inch their way across your body. The cool air has ykur nipples rapidly hardening into stiff little peaks on the mounds of your supple breasts. He leisurely drags his eyes across your body, admiring every curve, dip, and valley your body has to offer. “Fucking beautiful…”

His lips are crushed against yours again, nearly taking your breath away. His hands inch across your body, caressing your skin and exploring every inch of you. His thumbs draw and press tight circles over your aching nipples as he palms your perky breasts with ease. A soft whimper escapes from you at the sensations that his touch causes to surge through you. Every fiber of your being felt ablaze, and it was all due to Hugh. Your hands eagerly roam across his bare chest. His skin felt hot and tight against your palms. A thin layer of sweat coated his skin; the pale light of the lamp that hung on the wall had cast a subtle sheen across his skin.

Trailing your hands down further, you eagerly untuck his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. You needed to see and feel every inch of his body. Your slick walls had begun to dampen your panties even more. His hands meet yours, eagerly helping you with the fabrics of his shirt before finally shrugging it down and off his shoulders, tossing the fabric somewhere across the room. Bending down slightly, he slides his hands behind your body, cupping your ass roughly and lifting you up against his body. You gasp, eagerly wrapping your arms and legs around his body, making it easier for him to carry you over to the bed.

As he lays you down against the plush mattress, your heartbeat immediately escalates. He drags his hands up your thighs and down calves to your feet, tugging and tossing your heels somewhere across the room. Leaning back onto his heels, he admires your bare body before him. The way your skin tightened and twitched at his gentle caresses and the way your chest rose and fell, desperate for air. In his eyes, you were such a beauty to him. Leaning forward and resting his weight onto his palms, he begins to kiss and nip his way up your body. A frustrated whimper sounds in your throat as his lips skip over where you wanted him most. The stubble on his chin scrapes against the tender skin of your abdomen as he leaves a trail of kisses up your stomach, dipping his tongue against your navel, making your eyes flutter.

He chuckles darkly as your fingers become entwined into his dark, luscious hair. His eyes meet yours, trailing his tongue up across your abdomen, stopping between the valley of your breasts. The demanding heat of his mouth against your breast earns a needy and pornographic moan from you. His tongue swirls longingly around one of your aching nipples while one of his hands eagerly gropes and massages the other, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck…Hugh…” You mewl needly, rubbing your thighs together for friction. He hums against you, tongue vibrating against your throbbing nipple. Moving his head and hand, he gives your other neglected breast the same attentive treatment. Your mouth falls open as he pushes his knee between your thighs, grinding his knee against your sopping and aching core. “Hugh, please…I fucking need you…”

“Mmmm, I never thought you'd be so needy. Fuck, baby, you have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this.” He sits back up onto his knees, unbuckling his belt and tugging it free from the belt loops of his pants. The leather makes a loud snapping sound against his hand. “You're all mine tonight.” You sit up onto your elbows, chest still heaving as you watch him stand up from the bed to kick off his shoes and socks, followed by his slacks, leaving him only just boxers. You could see the firm, rock hard outline of his throbbing cock.

He kneels back between your legs, dragging his hands up the length of your legs. “Lay back, baby. You're in good hands.” Your heart flutters at his words as you obediently listen. Hooking his fingers under your panty line, he slowly tugs the thin fabric down your legs, carelessly tossing it to the side. Laying between your legs, he tosses your legs over his shoulders while slowly dragging his tongue through your dripping cunt. He groans appreciatively at your taste, swiping his tongue through the velvety folds of your cunt once again. His mouth stopping over your clit, tongue swirling and flicking expertly against your aching bundle of nerves.

Your hips instinctively jolt at the new sensation. Groaning hotly, you fist his hair again, desperate for more. The stubble on his chin scratches against your velvety folds, giving you the friction you had desperately been craving. Arching your back, your head falls back onto the pillows, leaving you a moaning mess beneath him. He slowly eases a finger deep into your quivering cunt, earning another desperate and needy whimper from you. After allowing you time to adjust, he then adds another finger, curling and scissoring them into every sensitive area deep inside of your cunt.

“Oh my god…fuck. Hugh, oh fuck…” An unfamiliar coil began to twist deep in your stomach. The twisting and burning sensation creeps down further, making your slick, velvety walls begin to flutter. Your clit aches and throbs from the much needed attention of his mouth and tongue. Soft, breathy, and needy pants escape from your lips as your back arches up from the bed. Hugh presses his fingers harshly against your g-spot, guiding you into your first body wracking orgasm of the night. “Hugh!!! Fuck!!!” You throw your head back, chanting his name like a desperate prayer. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, the pressure in your stomach and pussy become too much; he pulls his fingers away, leading you into a squirting orgasm that coats his face and chest.

“Oh fuck. Look at you, baby…just full of surprises.” He groans, licking your sticky fluids from his fingers. Your chest heaved anxiously as you watched him. He eagerly tugs his boxers down his thighs, groaning as his aching erection is finally able to spring free. The head of his swollen cock glistened with precum. You can't help but to swallow thickly at how girthy his length actually is. “Relax baby. I'll be gentle with you.”

You nod, slowly wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he leans over you, resting his weight on his palm. Using his other hand, he swipes the head of his cock through your sticky and sopping pussy. Coating his cock in your slick arousal, he gives his cock a few slow pumps before gently easing his length into you. He groans at how tightly your walls wrap around him. Inch by inch, he pushes himself deeper, only to pull out slightly and then ease more of himself into you until finally bottoming out deeply inside of your tight, little pussy. He still his hips against yours at your pained whimper.

“Sshh, relax baby. Relax for me.” He cups your cheek, pressing a deep but tender kiss to your lips. After a few moments, you slowly nod for him to move. His thrusts are slow and sensual, gliding his girthy cock against your hot, velvety walls. He slides a hand down your side and then thigh, cupping the back of your knee and hiking your leg up onto his hip. The new angle allows him to sink in even deeper, allowing the head of his cock to gently bump against your cervix. Thrust by thrust, your walls relax more, molding to fit him perfectly inside of you.

You wrap your leg around his waist, edging him in just a little deeper. His mouth leaves yours, trailing along your jaw and neckline. His tongue traces the length of your pulse until finally finding a particularly sensitive spot to harshly bite and suck on. A near pornographic groan escapes you as you sink your nails into the backs of his shoulders. He groans heatedly, snapping his hips against yours. The room becomes filled with the sinful and pornographic sounds of skin slapping against skin. With every snap of his hips, he fucks you deeper into the mattress. You drag your nails down across his shoulders and down the curves of his triceps and biceps. Your nails leave rapidly reddening scratches on his skin.

He pulls out just enough to be able to slam into you again. The headboard whips against the wall with a harsh thud. With each of his thrusts, a breathy grunt is forced up out of his throat. Eagerly, you manage to wrap your other leg around his waist, holding him closely. Your eyes flutter, vision blurring as the head of his cock collides against your cervix, stretching and filling your walls to his liking. You grip his wrists desperately, chanting his name like a prayer as your head begins to reel and spin. A familiar painful coil starts to churn and grow hot in the pits of your stomach, inching closer to your abused pussy. He grabs your hands into his, pinning them against the mattress. The snapping of his hips grows more desperate as he chases his release.

“Fuck…you feel so fucking good on me. Fuck baby, I'm gonna cum. You have me so close.” He groans into your ear, his movements growing more desperate and erratic. You could feel how close he was. Knowing that Drew you closer to wanting to spill over.

“Oh god, Hugh…I'm close…fuck, please…!” You pant desperately, gripping his hands in yours. His lips are eagerly crushed against yours for a heated and desperate kiss. Your walls clenched tightly around him as your second orgasm hits, making your vision go white. Throwing your head back, you desperately cry out his name as he too reaches his high, spilling hot strings of cum deep inside of your pussy, coating your cervix in white. Tears threaten to prick the corners of your eyes. His hips finally slow against yours, growing still as you both pant raggedly against each other's lips. He dips his head into the hollow of your neck, tenderly kissing the bruising hickey he had left there.

Your legs slide from his waist, trembling from your orgasm. He slowly lifts his head, pressing his lips against yours for a chaste kiss. Wriggling your hands free from his, you curl your arms tightly around his shoulders and press your forehead against his. After a moment, you exhale a shaky sigh, smiling up at him. He cups your cheeks, resting his weight on his elbows while gazing down at you.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” Concern fills his eyes while tenderly caressing your cheeks.

“No…that was…amazing…” Your fingers caress the nape of his neck comfortingly. “Even if you did…I really liked it.”

He groans softly at your words, smirking confidently with himself towards you. After pecking your lips once more,  he pulls away to be able to lay next to you. His fingers tenderly trace designs across your skin before pulling you flush against his chest. “You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that.” He finally speaks, his gravelly voice just above a whisper. You hum softly in response, caressing his chest.

He chuckles softly, inching closer until your bodies are pressed tightly against one another. “I've seen the way you've looked at me. Have seen all those little glances from you.” You chuckle sheepishly under your breath, linking your fingers into his, “I'm gllad I finally got you out of that office.”

You bury your face into his chest, giggling at the idea that you had been caught red-handed on one too many occasions. “Oh god…I must have looked like such a creep. I am so sorry-” he cuts you off with a chaste kiss.

“You're different from everyone else. There is no need for you to be apologizing. If you hadn't done that, love, I don't think I ever would have made a move on you,” he assures you warmly. His eyes follow you as you press his shoulders, guiding him to lay on his back. A smirk rises at the corner of his lips as you lay against his chest, pressing a tender kiss on his chest above his heart.

“I'm glad that you did, Hugh. Really…I am. The moment I saw you, there was just something about you…” You nuzzle his chest affectionately. 

“Mmmm, I am too, baby. We should definitely do this again.” He looks down to you, threading his fingers through your hair. Your eyes practically sparkle.

“I'd love that.” Your heart swelled and fluttered in your chest 

“Why don't you stay the weekend then? Just you and me.” Something in his eyes seemed to flicker. An amused smirk at his lips as he presses a finger against yours, “and don't try to use work as an excuse. You can very easily ride in with me.”

You chuckle, nodding in defeat. “You've really thought this through, haven't you?” He chuckles softly, shrugging to himself as he folds his arms behind his head. “We'll just have to make a pit stop at my place. I don't think that dress I wore would mull over well in a classroom.”

He chuckles quietly, “Oh I think it'd be just fine. It looks great both on and off of you.” He laughs as you playfully smack his bicep.

~o0o~

Over the passing months, you and Hugh had grown closer together than ever before. You weren't as awkward around him. In fact, being with him gave you the confidence that you had been lacking. However, you still found yourself stealing the occasional glance at him through the window of his classroom door. Your heart fluttered every time his eyes would meet yours, and a cocky smirk would curve the corner of his lips. It became a routine for you both. Every Friday evening, you spent it out together either for dinner, dancing, or any other fun adventure Hugh would surprise you with. You'd take turns on whose place you'd stay over the weekends, though truthfully, you spent more time at his after receiving a noise complaint from your downstairs neighbor.

Today, you stood in the faculty room with Hugh and your other colleagues. The meeting was more of a surprise retirement party for one of your colleagues in the English department. Your hand gently brushes against his, capturing his attention for a brief moment. Even after all these months, the way he smiled with his eyes melted your heart straight to the core. Both of you knew that many of your colleagues had their suspicions on whether or not there was a relationship between you two. The tables of the lounge held various trays of food, snacks, and desserts for everyone.

“So, are you free tonight?” Hugh asks, leaning in close. His lips nearly brush against your ear. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“For you? Always.” You look up to him with a sly smirk. “I have something to show you tonight too.” He chuckles softly, but is soon called away by a fellow coworker. You watch him with a soft smile before taking a seat at one of the empty tables. Over the past several months, you found yourself falling harder and harder for him. A soft smile rested at your lips as you watched him talk and laugh with several colleagues. His boisterous and contagious laughter fills the room, making your smile reach your eyes. There was no lie to it, you loved him.

You're brought out of your thoughts and admiration of Hugh as someone sits next to you. She looked to be a year or two older than you. She wore a bright and friendly smile, but somehow her eyes seemed distrusting. Every red flag in your mind was screaming. She extends a hand out to you,beginning to introduce herself to you.

“Hey! I hope I'm not bothering you. I'm the new hire replacement for Dr. Howard! Looks like we're both going to be in the same hall for teaching. Oh, I'm Sophie, by the way! I should have opened with that,” Sophie exclaims excitedly. It takes almost all of your energy to hold your tongue.

You smile politely and return the handshake after introducing yourself. “Pleasure to meet you. So, you're in the history department? I teach world history. January will make a year that I've been here. How long have you been teaching, exactly?”

“So, this will be my first year doing college level teachings. Public school system just wasn't cutting it for me anymore. But wow, a year already?” Sophie asks, her tone coming off more condescending than actual curiosity. You give her a tight smile, turning your eyes away briefly to meet the hazel green ones of Hugh from across the room. Unbeknownst to you, Sophie follows your gaze and raises her brows. “Well now, isn't he a tall drink of water.”

A small smirk rose to your lips, but your knuckles turned white at how tightly you gripped the lower hem of your skirt. You force out a soft laugh from between your lips at her words. There were a million words you wanted to say, and not a single one would have been kind. Before you can formulate a sentence, Sophie excuses herself to go try to speak with Hugh. The tension that surrounded your body was suffocating. If looks could kill, Sophie would have been as good as dead. You watched as she sauntered over to Hugh, abruptly interrupting his conversation.

Your stomach twisted into unfamiliar knots as you watched Sophie speak with Hugh. You could only imagine that she tried the same whole sweet and ditsy charade on Hugh. The back of your throat began to burn with emotions as you watched this woman step closer to Hugh in their conversation. Throughout the conversation, you watched as Sophie would occasionally bat her eyelashes at Hugh or let her hand somehow brush against his arm. The longer you watched, the more your vision began to see red, until finally Hugh had found a way to dismiss himself from the conversation. For a brief moment, you could have sworn that there was disappointment on the lips of Sophie as Hugh had somehow managed to step away from her. He locks gazes with you, moving to join you at the table.

“I don't like her too much,” you state flatly, to which he laughs quietly. “I'm serious, Hugh! She was practically undressing you with her eyes!” You hiss quietly under your breath. He gently knocks your knee with his own, giving you a knowing look.

“Well, she can try all she wants to. Come on, she's not even my type. Besides, I'm already spoken for,” he gives you an assuring wink. It was damn near impossible not to show your relationship at work. Neither of you was too worried about codes of conduct, but you were more concerned about his professional reputation due to the age gap between you both.

“Mmm, still. I wouldn't trust her too easily. I just have a bad feeling about her,” you shrug slightly, earning another soft chuckle from him. Much like all good things, the retirement party for Dr. Howard had slowly started to dwindle down once the 2 o'clock hour had rolled around. Many had to leave before then due to classes or other faculty meetings, which eventually made the last remaining hours of the work day creep by agonizingly slow.

The interaction with Sophie had left a fairly sour taste in your mouth. Parts of you couldn't blame her though, Hugh was quite the attractive man. He had it all, a killer smile, charming good looks, contagious laughter, and a warm heart. And you were lucky enough to have him all to yourself. By the end of the day, you had actually beaten Hugh out to his car. You sat with your palms on either side of your hips, resting against the hood of the car. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you recognized his footsteps growing nearer. He leans into you after stepping to be in between your legs, resting his hands on top of yours.

“Hey,” he gave you a half-cocked smile before stealing a brief kiss from you. “What did you want to show me, love?”

You take his hands into yours, linking your fingers into his. A slow, shaky breath escapes from your lips as your eyes meet his. “Not here. At your place. I promise, everything is okay.” Worry begins to fill his eyes, but he pushes it down at your assurance. The ride home, you both spoke about the events of the day. Though still bothered by the antics of Sophie, you manage to laugh softly to yourself over it.

Once settled in the comfort of his condo, you rested against his chest as you both lounged on the couch. His t-shirt completely swamped your small frame. You could feel the heat of his breath chest permeate through the fabric of the shirt you wore. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, fingers tenderly caressing the soft, tender skin on your stomach just above your panty line. You could feel the smirk on his lips against your shoulder.

“Hugh…” you finally break the comfortable silence that had filled the living room. He hums softly against your neck in acknowledgment. You had rehearsed this in your mind a few times, but it didn't become any easier. “Hugh, there's something I need to tell you.”

He lifts his head, growing worried and serious. “What is it, love? Is everything okay? Is this about the incident with Sophie today?”

You shake your head, turning in his lap to face him. He could see the nervousness in your eyes, making his gaze soften towards you. “So…the past few weeks, I've been feeling a bit off. I went to the doctor after getting sick last week. And well…” you trail off, nerves beginning to settle in even more. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes.

“Hey, hey…look at me, love. Is everything okay? Are you okay?” He tenderly wipes your tears away from the corners of your eyes.

“Everything is…it's more than okay.” You finally say just above a whisper, sniffling softly. Taking his hand into yours, he could feel the way your nerves had you shaking anxiously. His brows furrowed together as you rested his hand over your stomach with a shaky sigh. “Hugh…I know the timing might be sudden. I don't even know if we're ready for this…we're having a baby.”

For a moment, there was a silence that fell between each of you as he processed your words. The concern in his eyes shifts to a radiant level of excitement. “You're pregnant? We're having a baby? We're having a baby!” 

You nod, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. “We're having a baby…”

He pulls you in close with his arms wrapped around you securely, burying his face in the hollow of your neck. You choke put a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder. You pull away just enough to lock gazes with him, resting your hands on his chest as more tears run down your cheeks.

“I love you, baby.” He says softly, making your heart swell.

“I love you too, Hugh.”

[boycarfreak]

the tags from this post lowkey possessed me and i couldn't get them out of my head the entire walk back home from a grocery run so i sat at the computer after dinner and typed this out instead of being productive. enjoy, haha?

“Do you wanna know what i opened my burner insta to today Max?”

Daniel breaks off their kiss and practically breathes on him, leaning away after indulgently laying a wet smooch on his lips when Max follows him on instinct. Not a real kiss, like the one they were sharing before with Max spreadeagle on top of Daniel’s sheets with Daniel lazily humping his hard-on onto the soft line of Max’s tummy from where he’s perched on his tummy. It takes a stretch of minutes where Daniel’s staring at him in silence for Max to finally process his words, brain cloudy in the way it gets when Daniel crowds in on him like this even after all these years.

“What is it?”

The smile lines around Daniel’s eyes from decades upon decades of contracting muscle to give way to the most stunning sunbright smile a man could wake up to from the other side of the bed, digs deep rivulets into his skin as Daniel’s lips stretch in a smile and he pecks the underside of Max’s jaw like he’s done something impressive when all Max’s really done is give a simple answer to a question he’s been asked. That doesn’t stop a small smile from ticking up the corners of Max’s own lips, that’s just the effect Daniel has on people.

“It was a shot of you in your fireproofs” Daniel whispers consiprationally into his skin as he peppers a trail of kisses from his jaw to his breastbone, nibbling at spots of skin along the way leaving max shivering in their wake. “You were going all inspector mode on you car baby, but the people in the comments were doing exactly that with you ” Daniel drops a kiss to his sternum, ticklish when his beard snags at the motion and looks up at Max through his lashes, chin digging into the soft give of where his belly just starts. “They were calling you so shaped Maxie, they were calling your white fireproofs a blessing on humanity and god the things they were threatening to do with your tits sweetheart” A white hot burst explodes in Max’s belly at that, inches from where Daniel’s face palmed himself on to Max like this is too much for him as well. Max’s never particularly been bothered with the way his chest’s filled out in the past couple years in particular from all his workout regimes. Nor has he been phased by comments of the kind he’s seen people leave under his own posts or the Redbull official accounts. But just like with everything else when its coming from Daniel, when Daniel seems to like it that people other than him are looking at and thinking about Max in this way, its enough to get Max straining in his boxers.

“But you Daniel of course are the only one that gets to do anything to my tits” His words give way to a sharp gasp when Daniel twists the bud of his left nipple between long fingers, almost as if in retaliation. His head swivels up and his eyes bug out like he wasn’t expecting the reaction. “Sensitive, are we?” He flattens his palm over Max’s left pec and skates the bitten raw fingernail of his thumb over the bud, hungrily absorbing every twitch in Max’s facial expression when he visibly looses his breath over it.

Daniel shoots up, spine ramrod straight the way he’s always trying to get Max to sit and in one collective scoop he’s got two palmfuls of Max cupped in his hands. He’s kneading the muscle of Max’s chest the way you’d do a girl’s, not just the nipples but all around it as well, like Max might defy biology and have gotten arioles overnight. And he might as well with the way his brain feels like its leaking out of his ears. Its only worsened when Daniel goes, “Think you can cum just from this Maxie?”

Daniel thumbs his nipples until they’re halfway to chaffed, whispering sweet praise on how perfect Max is, how good he’s being for him, how much Daniel loves the way Max’s team polos stretch a little too tight across his chest nowadays and how much he loves the image of Max prancing around in his fireproofs “tits bouncing” from across the paddock. In the end its Daniel taking one of his rubbed raw nipples and biting down hard that has him yelping and coming in his boxer briefs. Daniel’s there in an instant, kissing away tears Max didn’t realise he was crying and murmuring endless praise in his ears.

He’s still coming down from his haze when he feels Daniel shift an arm between them to fist his own cock, frantic strokes Max halts in an instant with a hand tugging at Daniel’s upper arm. Daniel flexes the muscle there like he has to overcome a reflex compelling him to bat Max’s hand away and makes questioning eyes at him.

“Here Daniel, on my chest with my tits you can” Max pushes his pecs together in demonstration. Daniel’s mouth actually hangs for a second, “You-- you want me to fuck your tits sweetheart? Is that what you want?” Max bobs his head up and down the best he can from where he’s straining his neck to look up at Daniel.

Daniel presses his dick into the little channel Max’s made for him between his tits and makes a noise like he’s been wounded. He anchors a palm onto the mattress next to Max’s head and thrusts in sloppy strokes. “You’re so perfect for me Maxie. So perfect and pretty and tight even here” Daniel pants and thrusts and thrusts and cums in pearly ropes all over Max’s neck, the final spurts dragged out of Daniel leaving tracks on his chest.

Max’s dick jumps at the compliment like he didn’t just cum hard enough to have his mind blown to bits only a handful of minutes ago. Daniel seems to feel it too almost telepathically, because he scoots back on Max’s torso and makes himself snug on his thighs. Peeling Max’s underwear off where his cock is half chubbed again and lying in a mess of his own jizz.

“Being all tight and perfect for me gets you off this good baby?” There’s a teasing little glint in Daniel’s eyes, like he’s taunting Max for liking this a little too much, like Max won’t always like everything ever so long as its with Daniel, like the same isn’t true for Daniel, like they aren’t both intimately aware of this information. Like Max is eighteen again and can’t take his eyes off of Daniel through every pr challenge side quest Redbull’s stupid marketing department kept sending them to, and like he’s twenty one again and jizzed in his skintight jeans from the first time he’s made out with Daniel, tipsy and loose lipped with a heart cracked open at his going away party.

Daniel moves to wrap a hand around his dick but seemingly thinks better in the last second, he’s belly flopped into the space between Max’s splayed open legs on the bed and the scorching wet heat of his mouth is enveloping him the next thing Max knows. Daniel sinks down on the entire length of him in one practised motion. Relaxing his throat and breathing in through his nose before he starts rhythmically fucking himself on Max’s cockhead. Max sneaks a hand into Daniel’s curls just to rest it there, as the oversensitive flush of it has his balls drawing up and then he’s coming down Daniel’s throat unannounced. Daniel slurps every last drop of him without complaint and pecks the inside of his thigh looking utterly sated himself.

When Max drags him up the bed hooking hands under his armpits afterwards, because he fully well knows Daniel’s not far from passing out with his nose half up Max’s ass, Daniel wraps his limbs around Max all koala-like and whispers into his ear. “Sugartits, that’s the internet’s new favourite nickname for you Maxie”

[healmydesires]

I wanna hear you say my name (j.m)

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: Your shower is still broken and you’re on your period, leaving you a frustrated mess. Thankfully, Joel is here to help you out, in more ways than one.

word count: 5,1k

genre: fluff + smut (kinda filthy idk) (mdni 18+)

tags/warnings: pretty new relationship but the feelings are established, age gap (reader is in her late 20’s, joel is in his early 50’s), soft!joel, dom/sub dynamics, soft!dom joel, sub!reader, menstrual mentions, menstruation, period sex, piv sex, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, creampie, shower sex, some breeding kink, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, lots of pet names… like an insane amount.

a/n: the title is inspired by the song touching by v. cartier. I reeeaaally recommend that song, it’s so good. I’m literally obsessed with his music. tbh all of my fic titles are lyrics from my fave songs. anyways!! this is direct part two of / same universe as “forever in your eyes”. obviously you can read it on its own but it has some details from the other fic. another self indulgent piece… always wanted to write about period sex 😭 anyways I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but I hope you enjoy it <3

ao3

The soft knock on your door has you groaning, struggling to roll from the spot on your couch you’d occupied for most of the time since you’d arrived home from patrol. Your mood is heavy as you wonder who would have the audacity to disturb you while you are finally in a position you are comfortable in. You’re feeling quite literally exhausted and in so much pain. You feel like your uterus has been constantly kicked in. There’s nothing more frustrating than having your period. At least it feels like it’s the most frustrating thing in the world right now.

As you take a peek in the peephole of your door you see your grumpy but soft neighbour — that is also since recently your boyfriend, standing on your front porch. The man that you’ve been in love with for months.

“Joel!” You croon excitedly as you open your door for him. Without hesitation, your arms automatically wrap around his chest and your body flings itself into his as he steps into your home.

“Good evening to you too,” He chuckles warmly at your display of affection. He dotes a soft kiss against the crown of your head, his broad body enveloping you in a tight hug as he wraps his arms around you. “You’re so cuddly tonight.” He smiles down at you as he tries to release his strong hold on you to get a better look at you. A loud whiny, wordless protest leaves your lips as he tries to let you go, complaining as he shifts away from your tight hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s that time of the month.” You mumble before borrowing your head into his chest again. He hums as your arms grip against his waist, diving under the soft fabric of his flannel, refusing to let him budge an inch away from you. “Besides, what’s wrong with hugging the man I love?”

“Nothin’ wrong with it. Just an observation.” He chuckles as his hands come to cradle your head, then pressing soft kisses to your forehead. Butterflies erupt in your tummy at his affection. Joel knows you well enough to know there’s more going on. “What’s wrong baby?”

“I hate that I can’t take a shower because the shower head is still broken and I feel dirty right now. I have been using my sister's bathroom for a week now and I hate that I always have to come disturb her.” You groan as you continue to hide your face in his chest, heat rising up in your face at your embarrassment.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He asks softly, as he shifts his body slightly from yours. Slowly you look up into his eyes as your bottom lip pouts outwards. He chuckles as he shakes his head amusedly at your expression. His palm comes to lace over the curve of your jaw, thumb rubbing over the pouty twist of your lips. “How about this? You come to my place, use my bathroom, maybe stay the night and I’ll come fix your shower tomorrow? That way you’ll feel a bit better tonight.”

“Okay, I’d love that.” You nod slowly as you bite your bottom lip with a shy smile, loosening your grip on his body. “I do need to get some stuff first though.”

“Alright darlin’, go get everything you need. I’ll be here waiting for you.” He winks at you, making you heat up with warmth before you sprint upstairs.

—-

His arms are cradling you softly, your back pressing into him and your head falling lovingly against his chest as you’re being held in his bed. His hands shift to the front of your stomach, palm expanding to rub lovingly over your belly in an attempt to soothe your pain. Just having him with you is somehow easing the grumpiness you’d been feeling all day. The warmth and tenderness of his embrace makes you feel a lot more relaxed.

“Thank you… I’m happy that I’m here.” You advise with a timid smile as you move your head to look at him, letting him know how truly joyful you felt when he came to check up on you. “I am grateful to have you.”

“Anythin’ for my sweet girl.” He whispers before he presses soft kisses to your temple. His head tilts lower, the curve of his lips coming to rest against your ear. “I’d do anything for ya.”

His fingers slip lower, caressing your pelvis, his touch becoming a bit more intimate. Your cheeks heat up at the action, leaving you a bit flustered at his touch. Despite everything, despite the fact that you wanted to cuddle a bit before heading in the shower, the hormones are acting up. His touch feels heavenly to you.

Your hands move to grip his, interlacing your fingers together, squeezing them.

“Joel… we can’t.” You whisper, your breath hitching. You slowly turn around in his hold, looking at him bashfully. “I mean… I do want to. I just. It’s like there’s a crime scene between my legs.”

“Hmm… doesn’t mean much to me.” He mumbles before his lips move to your jaw, nipping and kissing at the skin. A whine leaves your lips as he litters your skin with his affection. “Besides, I once read somewhere that period sex often relieves the pain.”

“Really?” You whisper under your breath. You feel your body flush at the implication of his words. His hands move back towards your tummy, his thick fingers trace lightly against the hem of your jogger shorts once more. Your hips rise as a little whimper leaves your lips. Soothingly he massages your pelvis, providing you a lot of warmth and comfort.

“Really.” He murmurs as his lips move against your neck, kissing the delicate skin.

“B-but it’s gross, and it’s all bloody and—” you say, stuttering over your words as he sucks a mark onto your neck, trying to tell him that it might not be an enjoyable experience for him.

“Baby, I ain’t afraid of a little blood.” He groans as he moves his head slightly away from yours, looking into your eyes directly. “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”

“You don’t think it’s gross?” You whisper timidly, you bite your bottom lip as you look at him.

He shrugs with a smile. “Why would I think it’s gross?”

“I-I don’t know. I mean it’s bloody so…”

“It’s not gross to me at all, I promise.” He smiles reassuringly before leaning down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. As you’re both kissing languidly, his hands are still busy tracing your lower tummy, eventually slipping underneath the band of your sweat shorts. His lips make their way down to your ear, nipping at your earlobe as you whine against him. Automatically you feel your body relax, slumping against his bed as you allow him a lot more access to the flesh of your neck. He responds by drawing his lips slowly down the expanse of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

The things you’d let him do to you.

“Joel,” The hitch in your breath has him chuckling, the rumble of his voice transcending through your skin.

“What?” He whispers, his words so quiet you barely hear them against the pulse of your neck. Joel could read your body like no one else — could push exactly what buttons he needed to create the reactions that he wanted from you. Your relationship is still quite new, yet he knows you so well. He waits patiently as you try to find ways to tell him what you need, his lips skimming lower towards your collarbone as his fingers caress your pelvis over your underwear.

“S-shower, please.” You finally give in with a whine, kind of admitting to him that you want this.

“Anythin’ for my baby girl.” He whispers as he kisses the soft skin of your neck. Slowly both of you move off the bed, his tall and broad frame is close to you, as he guides you towards his adjacent bathroom.

You almost trip over the doorway, a giggle leaving your lips as Joel’s arms come to wrap around you. “What are you doing sweetheart?” He chuckles as you slowly spin in his arms as laughter continues to bubble inside you before your head falls to his chest. His arms tighten their hold on you as he places a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I almost tripped,” you giggle, eyes moving towards his beautiful face, taking in his scruffy beard, eventually your eyes lead to his lips. As soon as your eyes meet again, he leans down, capturing your lips in a loving and sweet kiss.

His mouth moves, slow and passionate. Joel kisses you like he has all the time in the world. You love the feel of his lips on yours, you are certain you could kiss that man all day.

You part your lips slightly to catch your breath, inhaling slowly as you taste Joel and only him. His tongue sweeps across your lips making you whimper. The wet muscle wraps itself against yours a moment later, hot and wet and steady as he tastes your mouth and kisses you deeply.

Your tongues slowly swirl and dance against each other as your hands try to find purchase on his arms. You feel your core clench around nothing and become even more wet as both of his hands travel from your waist to your ass, squeezing it in his hands and pushing your body closer to his.

Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, Joel pulls away, giving you the possibility to breathe in some air again. You feel like you might die when he looks at you intensely as he licks his lips.

A small moan slips past your lips as his hands caress your cheek, then tilting it to the side as Joel moves his head as he traces small nips across your jawline, ending just by your ear. Your hips are softly grinding up into his and he slowly pulls away from you.

You feel drowsy and hot all over, your mind all over the place, your heart beating insanely fast. You’re breathless and Joel chuckles deeply as he takes in your state.

“You okay baby?” He says as he looks at you with amusement.

You quickly come back to your senses, grabbing the collar of his flannel, surprising him, bringing his lips down to your mouth. “I want to undress you,” you whisper against Joel’s lips as your cheeks flush with heat. He moans against your mouth as his hands grip your hips in his hands.

Automatically, your fingers reach up to begin their work undressing him, plucking each button open, one by one. They dart over the curve of his chest, your hands continue to move as you expose more of his body. By the time his shirt is fully off, you pull back from his lips, taking joy in watching the broad and the softness of his torso heaving as his breathing quickens.

Your hands continue to roam over his skin, skipping over the tanned smoothness of his muscle. His physique was broad, soft in the right places. His body was absolutely something that drew you in — he was so big and just so tall, something you enjoyed revealing in, allowing his form to spark a certain energy inside you that you felt heating up between your legs.

“Turn the shower on.” He grunts, voice low as his thick and long digits begin to hastily pry the belt buckle of his pants open. Without question, you obey, moving from his embrace to walk across the room to the shower stall. As you step away, your departure earns you a light, playful slap across your ass, to which you yelp in surprise.

“Joel!” You scold him, as you look at him shyly, looking at him backwards. His pants drop with a clang to the ground. His shirt is still half open as he lets you admire him. Your gaze moves slowly, all over his body. Eventually it falls to his dark boxers, his thick erection straining against the material.

He senses your approval, as you look at him lustfully while you appreciate him, and acts quickly. Shifting forward, his arms wrap around you, bare upper body flush against your clothed one. His arms are firm, as they surround you, hugging you against his chest.

“Why am I the only one that’s practically naked?” He questions with a low grunt. Before you can respond his hands are tugging at the hem of your shirt, peeling it over your head. Once the material drops to the floor you hear his breath hitch. He admires you, as his eyes roam over your bare chest.

You bite your lip as heat overwhelms your face. “J-joel—” You whimper loudly and before your brain can register what’s happening, Joel drags his tongue across your neck, tracing a line around your jaw before returning to the crook and lightly dragging the flesh through his teeth. You feel your core clench around nothing as he latches onto your neck, lapping at your sensitive flesh and sucking the sensitive skin.

Joel groans against you and you feel his sound vibrate through your neck and it raises goosebumps across your whole body, he has a way of bringing that electric chill through you. Slowly, his mouth moves back up to your lips, kissing you deeply.

He undresses you unhurriedly, while you both continue to kiss each other passionately. Joel seems determined to devour you whole, determined to make the most of this desperate kiss.

Once the last piece of clothing falls to the floor, he pulls away slightly as his hands caress the length of your arms, admiring your body with a lustful yet tender gaze. Silently, you pray that Joel hadn’t seen the attached thick pad, despite knowing the stark red marks of blood stood out against the white pad attached to the inside of your underwear.

“You’re so, so beautiful baby.” He says as he moves his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks, tilting your chin as his lips ghost against yours. He slowly glides his lips against yours, nudging them open. You part your lips wider, urging him to kiss you more and deep. You want to give him everything you have to offer.

You whine against his lips as you feel his hands move from your face to your waist, all the way to your ass. You pull away slowly, his pupils are dilated as he licks his lips before he squeezes the flesh of your ass in his hands.

“F-f-fuck, Joel…” you whimper as you pull yourself away from his hold completely. “We should get in…”

He stares you down hungrily for a moment before his gaze drifts to the shower. “Good idea, sweet girl.” He says cheekily.

You quickly step into the shower with one foot and reach for the shower handle, turning the shower on. Immediately, water shoots from the shower head mounted to the wall, the spray wetting your arm.

“Alright, that’s done.” You say with a joyful smile, before you feel his hands around your waist again, as he leans down to kiss your neck.

You giggle at his affection, loving the feeling of being wanted. Once the water heats up, you step into the shower completely, you sigh contentedly as the water cascades down on you, the warmth already relaxing your muscles. You turn to face the water, closing your eyes as you let it run off the back of your scalp, your hands coming up to rub over your face.

Soon, you feel the front of his body against your back. His erection presses against your lower back as you whimper against him. Joel’s hands are sliding against your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. You can feel your breath growing shaky as you respond to his movements, turning your body around in his embrace. Your arms encircling his back, your body leaning towards his.

His eyes catch your gaze before they close, as he moves you backwards as the spray of water falls on him. Almost instantly, his broad body is glistening wet, his hair getting soaked against his head. His arms are strong and thick as he reaches up to slick it back. The gentle movement of him flexing his forearm ignites a surge of pleasure jolting through your core. He moves his hands back to your hips, holding you closer as he opens his eyes unhurriedly.

Your arms automatically wrap around Joel again, his wet skin warm and inviting as your body slicks against his. You lean up, your lips moving towards his own.

He gladly meets your lips halfway, as you’re standing on the tip of your toes. Joel kisses you slowly, teasingly, like he has all the time in the world, his hands squeezing your hips, pressing his own hips against yours as he finally deepens the kiss. You gasp as his hands knead your ass, giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth.

“You’re truly the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.” Joel murmurs against your lips. His own lips become more and more eager as he backs you slowly against the shower wall. You hiss slightly as the cold wall hits your back but the uneasiness is short lived as Joel tucks his face into your neck, his lips pressing soft open mouthed kisses below your ear. “The woman of my dreams.”

“Joel…” You mewl as he shifts his hips back slightly, causing his throbbing cock to move from its position of pressing hard against your lower stomach. He bends his knees slightly, bringing him down a bit as his tip slides against your thighs, prodding its way between them before travelling upwards to rub enticingly against your clit.

He rolls his hips forward, nudging the head against your entrance, turning you into a whimpering mess. You feel yourself clenching around nothing as your pussy begs for attention. Glancing down, you see a smeared streak of red down half of his shaft. It is so wet and red. If Joel had seen it he doesn’t seem to care. Joel reaches up to grasp the detachable shower head. His free hand runs down your body, as he caresses your soft skin.

Joel’s hand brings the shower head between your legs, standing back slightly as the water sprays from your pussy, as a rusty brown river flows towards the drain. The warmth of the water as the sprays hit against your core feel so good, it has you whining at the pleasure. It stimulates your sensitive pussy so well. You lean into him, his broad frame envelopes you instantly in a tender embrace. One of his forearms remains steady between your thighs, as the water pulses against you.

His lips meet yours in a heated kiss. You feel so overwhelmed, your heart hammering against your chest as you roll your hips against the strong pulses. You moan as he slowly moves his head to kiss and nip at your jaw.

His eyelids hang low as he watches you, his eyes concentrated on each roll of your hips, each grind of your pussy against the stream. Your body trembles the closer he moves the shower head against you, feeling so close to your release, you try to move your hips along with it more. You’re a whimpering mess for him against the cold tile wall. One of his hands dig in your hips, guiding your body the second he notices you slowing down. Turning the shower stream setting to another, harder setting, as he moves it against your dripping centre, specifically your sensitive clit, does it — makes you double over as you cum.

Your head leans against his chest, as you try to catch your breath and try to tone down your little noises of pleasure while you slow down your movements against the water pulses. One of his hands slides over your back as his arm pulls you closer against him while he pulls the shower head back with the other.

“You did so well for me baby girl.” He whispers against your skin as he presses a soft kiss against your forehead. The water flows back against your bodies, as you both stand underneath the stream. His mouth moves from your forehead down to your lips. The kiss starts off gentle and tender, but soon evolves into something more passionate and deep. He brings your body impossibly closer to his, and you can’t seem to quite catch your breath.

You open your mouth to swipe your wet muscle against his lips, Joel’s lips slowly opening up for you to slip your tongue inside. Your tongues dance against each other slowly, his taste is so delicious, making you whine against his lips.

His hands travel from your back, all the way down to your waist, his hands occasionally squeezing your flesh. One of his hands slips all the way down to your wet heat in between your legs, while the other is holding your body close to his. All the while he’s kissing you deeply. You whimper when his fingers pass by your sensitive bundle of nerves.

His fingers slide up and down your slit, slowly spreading your outer lips for him to slip two of his fingers inside you. You cry out as he rubs his fingers against your walls. You feel your body trembling and you try to grind your pussy slowly against his fingers. He presses his palm against your clit as he gradually picks up the pace of his hand.

Your legs almost give out on you at the pressure against your clit combined with his fingers playing with your sensitive spot inside. You’re a mess of his name, you chant his name over and over again. Eyes are squeezing shut to the point of tears as you continue to grind and buck your hips against his hand. He steadies you with his other hand as he smiles against your lips. He swirls his tongue against yours as you mewl against his mouth. Your thighs tremble so hard as your noises start to become more high pitched. You feel quite literally so dizzy as he keeps pleasuring you under the warm stream.

“Come on kitten, come for me.” He groans against your mouth.

You slowly open your eyes, meeting his playful eyes as you pull your mouth from his to cry out loud as your hips stutter against his hand as you come undone. You tighten and untighten around his fingers as you ride out your high. After a while he slips his fingers out of you, chuckling lightly while you whine as you slump against his body. Both of his hands catch your body and he smiles softly down at you.

“Always doin’ so good for me. Such a good girl.” He whispers as his mouth moves to kiss your neck. He peppers and licks your skin as you continue to tremble against him.

“P-please Joel… need you so bad.” You whimper desperately, needing him so badly to just take you. To enter your tight pussy with his thick and long cock. You whine as his lips move to yours, catching your lips in a scorching kiss, the loss of him leaving you empty and craving.

Joel lifts one of your legs up, hiking it up around his hips as he keeps you close. A gasp leaves your lips and you move to press your forehead against his as you breathe heavily. The other hand moves to slip his length against your wet heat. You tremble and whine as you anticipate his next move.

“Ah, Joel… I love you.” Your lips embrace him once again, kissing him deeply. As your hips shift desperately forward, driven by your need to have him enter you, they roll directly against his tip as he slips the head of his cock finally inside your little pussy. You let out a long broken whine as he continues to push gradually more of him inside you. Your walls try to accommodate his girth as he moves deeper inside your tight, wet walls.

“Fuck, I love you too sweetheart.” He groans softly.

Once he’s fully inside you, you whimper against his lips. It feels so good, the feel of the fullness of his member, his raw and throbbing cock deep within your walls. You feel one of his hands finding one of your hands, lacing them with yours and he presses it against the wall as the other one holds your leg, keeping it secure around his hip.

“You okay?” He whispers as he checks up on you.

You smile as you nod, “Y-yeah, just give me a moment.”

“Anythin’ for you baby girl.” He leans up to kiss your forehead as your eyes drift close.

You feel yourself slowly adjusting to his size, your pussy still pulsing around his cock. You bite your lip as you continue to squeeze around him, your eyes slide open unhurriedly meeting his intense gaze.

“Please, p-please move.” You whine out pathetically.

He nods quietly and starts by fucking you slow and deep. His hips drive forward, moving through you before drawing his tip out completely. He repeats himself, so slowly, and with intention. It feels as if he is taking his time to enjoy the sensation.

He grunts as he drops his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin there and to whisper sweet nothings as he sets a pace.

“More, more—” You mumble, whining and he makes a loud noise — a noise somewhere between pained, and desperate, he only nods before he picks up the pace, the pressure building between your hips once again.

You hug him against your body as his both arms come to brace himself against the cold tile wall. The sound of skin slapping against wet skin, his hips hitting yours coupled with both your quiet moans and the wet squelching of him moving hard and fast inside you, echoing off the tile walls with the sound of the running water — has your cheeks heating up furiously.

He fills you up so perfectly, stretching your tight wet hole so well, he feels like pure heaven.

“Fuck, kitten you feel so good…” He breathes heavily, grunting here and there as he continues to fuck you harder. A particular hard thrust coupled with one of his fingers moving to press against your little nub has you gasping for air. The presence of his thumb flickers over the sensitive bundle of nerves, swollen and juicy with your arousal.

You whine as you feel the leg that’s hiked up around his hip, sliding off his body. Your fingers dig in the skin of his back making him groan. He quickly moves his hand to grab your leg again, keeping it in place as he picks up his pace once again.

“Fuck, I’ll never get used to fucking this sweet little pussy of yours. All raw.” He grunts as he moves his hips with deep and fast strokes. “All mine.”

Your pussy continues to clench repeatedly around his thickness, begging for him to fill you up with his cum. You whimper, whine and moan against him while your body trembles, his fingers still circling your clit with his other hand as he hums against your mouth.

“I can feel you milking my cock, baby girl. Begging for me to make us cum.” Joel’s hips stutter slightly as you clench particularly hard around him, feeling every ridge and vein. His intense gaze is on you as he moans loudly. “Your pussy is so wet, feels so fuckin’ good.”

“J-Joel, baby, want to cum so bad.” You beg as you whine against him, your nails digging in the skin of his back once again. “I want you to cum inside me so bad.”

“Cum for me, my pretty baby. Show me that I’m the only one who can make you cum like this. Cum all over me, sweet girl.” He whispers with a groan as his fingers apply more pressure on your clit.

“Fuuuuck, Joooeel—” You come with a loud cry, your body squirming against his as you hold his body closer to yours, your nails digging in his back, scratching it. This orgasm feels more intense than the others, feeling so overwhelmed by the pleasure you’re feeling.

It takes only a few more seconds — his pace increasing, the sound of skin slamming against skin filling the room, the room and him smelling like pure sex. As he stutters, hips shifting erratically into you, you feel the first hot spurt of his cum bursting into you, painting your inner walls. You look up as Joel looks completely fucked out as he continues to cum inside you. Your walls squeeze hard around him as pleasure continues to course through you, milking every last drop of his cum.

You feel both of your bodies slump against one another, as one of his arms moves to support himself against the wall while his other hand is still holding your leg up around his hip.

Eventually, as both of you are able to catch your breaths, he slowly moves to put your trembling leg back down after pulling out of you gently. You whine at the loss and he chuckles lightly at your reaction. As soon as he’s completely out of you, the sticky liquid begins to dribble out of you, creamy and thick oozing out of your heat. Joel supports your shaking body as he wraps his arms around you, embracing you tenderly.

“Fuck, baby… that was amazing.” You whisper as he presses kisses against the crown of your head.

“You know I’d do anythin’ for you darlin’. Besides, I loved it just as much.” He winks, looking at you as he moves his body away from yours slightly.

Once both of you are cleaned up, you both head downstairs in comfortable clothing. Joel moves to the kitchen, making your favourite meal to make you even more relaxed. You sigh happily as you lean the front of your body against his back, wrapping your arms around him. He hums softly as you embrace him, appreciating your affection.

“Thank you.” You mumble against his shirt.

“Anytime sweetheart.”

For a while, you stay like this, enjoying each other’s warmth and company as he makes dinner. Feeling so loved and at home. You’ll never get tired of loving Joel.