#long sleeve silk shirt

[cloudyluun]

Soft Spot

Summary: Harry Styles is the world’s most effortlessly cocky bastard in public. But behind closed doors? He’s soft for one person, her. Their love is private, sacred, the only thing that’s ever truly been his. But the internet is relentless, the rumors won’t stop, and she starts to wonder if she’ll ever fit into his world. Just when she’s about to pull away, Harry makes sure she never doubts it again. AKA: Soft (but also possessive) boyfriend Harry? Check. Jealous, protective, doesn’t-take-shit Harry? Also check. A public declaration, viral paparazzi moments, and one very necessary smut scene? You already know.

A/N: This fic is based on two requests (this one and this one from @dipmeinhoneyh) that fit so perfectly together I had no choice but to make it a full story. I hope you love it, I hope it makes you feral, and I hope you leave this feeling at least 10% more in love with Harry Styles than you already were. Also, if you ever see a man carrying all your bags through an airport while wearing your shirt?? Marry him immediately.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: 

Smut (obviously)—possessive, praise-heavy, SOFT but also FILTHY

Harry being the most protective, doting, airport-sherpa boyfriend alive

Jealousy and minor confrontation (because someone was dumb enough to question her worth)

Public scrutiny and social media toxicity (but don’t worry, he shuts that shit down)

Excessive amounts of boyfriend fluff (back rubs, forehead kisses, and “mine” moments galore)

Did I mention the smut? Because THE SMUT.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Harry Styles was a menace.

Everyone knew it—especially the media. He wasn’t just the biggest name in music, he was also a nightmare to interview. He had little patience for industry bullshit, answered questions with nothing but a smirk or a sip of his drink, and rarely—if ever—gave the press what they wanted.

At this point, journalists had learned to come prepared when sitting across from him. They needed strategy, a solid game plan, and maybe even a shot of whiskey beforehand. Because Harry? Harry made it difficult.

And God, did he enjoy it.

The first clip that went viral was from a BBC interview.

The journalist was older, seasoned. She’d been in the game for decades and knew how to handle difficult personalities. Or at least, she thought she did.

The interview had been going fine—as fine as an interview with Harry Styles could be. He’d leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, looking like he owned the place. Dressed in a half-unbuttoned silk shirt and tailored trousers, he was a picture of effortless arrogance.

Then she asked, “Do you think you’re difficult?”

Harry blinked. Didn’t move for a second. Then—slowly, deliberately—he picked up his drink, took a long sip, and held eye contact the entire time.

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

The journalist swallowed.

Finally, Harry licked his lips, tilted his head, and asked, “D’you think I care?”

The second clip was worse.

A different interview, a different day, same energy.

Harry was sitting in front of a panel of radio hosts, arms crossed, tattoos peeking out from under the loose sleeves of his sweater. The conversation had been moving along at a leisurely pace, touching on his tour, his latest album, the usual surface-level stuff.

Then one of the hosts leaned forward, smug, thinking he had the upper hand.

“So, tell us, Harry. What’s the song ‘Soft Spot’ about?”

Harry, who had been absentmindedly fiddling with one of his rings, paused. He exhaled through his nose, the barest hint of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth.

Then—without hesitation—he shrugged. “Dunno. Just a song.”

The hosts groaned in frustration.

The internet? Ate it up.

Edits of him smirking, of him dodging questions with effortless ease, flooded Twitter and TikTok. People captioned them with things like “This man is impossible” and “Certified menace behavior”.

The general consensus?

Harry Styles didn’t answer questions unless he wanted to.

Until someone asked about her.

It happened during a late-night talk show appearance.

The studio was dimly lit, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Harry was perched on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, fingers playing absentmindedly with the chain around his neck. He was half-paying attention, answering questions with his usual brand of casual indifference.

Then the host, a sharp-eyed comedian known for catching celebrities off guard, grinned. “Alright, Harry. I have a question I think the people really want to know.”

Harry didn’t react much. Just arched a slow, lazy brow. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been seen with the same girl a lot lately…”

For the first time all night, something shifted.

Subtly. Almost imperceptibly.

But it was there, the way his fingers paused against the metal of his chain, the way his shoulders tensed, just slightly, the way his mouth twitched, like he was already biting back a smirk.

The audience leaned forward.

The internet, watching from their screens, held their breath.

Harry tilted his head, slowly. His lips parted, there it was. That signature smirk, the one that sent fans into a frenzy.

“Yeah?”

The host grinned, seeing the shift. “Care to comment?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—Harry grinned. Not his usual mocking, I’m-so-over-this smirk. A real grin. The kind that made his dimples crease, the kind that softened his otherwise sharp edges.

His fingers tapped once, twice against his thigh.

Then, he looked directly into the camera, his voice dropping just a fraction.

“She’s great.”

The studio lost it.

The audience roared—cheers, gasps, the works. Twitter exploded before the show even finished airing. Within minutes, #ShesGreat was trending worldwide.

Fans analyzed the clip from every angle:

The way his face softened.

The way his body language changed.

The fact that he—HARRY STYLES, NOTORIOUS MENACE—HAD ACTUALLY ANSWERED.

He didn’t say her name. Didn’t confirm anything outright. But the shift in him? The softness in his voice?

That was all people needed.

It was real.

And the world wasn’t ready.

Y/N wasn’t famous.

She wasn’t an actress, a model, a singer, or an influencer. There was no glamorous past, no viral moment that put her on the map. No high-profile connections, no childhood dream of Hollywood stardom.

She was just a girl with a normal life—one that, up until a year ago, had been blissfully simple.

Her days had always followed a rhythm.

Morning coffee at her favorite little café, tucked into a corner booth with a book. Work, which she genuinely enjoyed—something steady, something real, something that felt like hers. Drinks with friends on Fridays, lazy Sundays spent in oversized sweaters, grocery shopping in peace without having to worry about cameras or strangers whispering her name.

She had a routine. A quiet, predictable world.

Then Harry Styles had walked into it.

And ruined everything.

She still didn’t know how it had happened.

It was easy to pinpoint the beginning—the first time their paths had crossed, the first time she’d realized that Harry fucking Styles wasn’t just a name on a magazine cover, but a person with thoughts and moods and an irritatingly sharp wit.

But she never expected it to go anywhere.

At first, he was just a guy who flirted too much.

Then he was a guy who made her laugh.

Then he was the guy she couldn’t stop thinking about.

And somehow—without her even noticing—he became hers.

It had been over a year now. Twelve whole months of him.

Twelve months of stolen moments, whispered conversations in the dark, secret rendezvous that always ended with his lips on her skin and his voice murmuring, “Just us, love. That’s all that matters.”

Twelve months of hiding.

Because Harry? Harry was obsessed with keeping her safe.

"It’s our life, not theirs," he told her once. "You don’t owe them shit."

She’d been curled up in his lap when he said it, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his arm.

She had been scared that night—really, truly scared.

Her phone had blown up with messages from friends, all linking her to articles and Twitter threads dissecting her existence. Speculation had spread like wildfire after one blurry photo of them together made it online. Nothing too obvious—just a candid shot of her walking ahead of him, their fingers barely brushing.

But it was enough.

Enough for people to start digging.

Within hours, her social media had been flooded. Comments, theories, strangers demanding to know who the hell she was and why she thought she deserved him.

She had wanted to throw her phone into the ocean.

Instead, she had buried her face into the curve of Harry’s neck, inhaling the scent of him—warm skin and expensive cologne and something inherently his. Something safe.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she had admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s grip on her had tightened immediately. Protective. Possessive.

“You don’t have to,” he’d murmured. “Not like that. Not the way they want.”

And that was how they lived. No red carpets. No public declarations. No letting the world in. Just them, in their little bubble—hidden away in hotel rooms and dimly lit apartments, in long drives with the windows down, in whispered confessions at three in the morning.

It was beautiful. It was safe.

But Y/N knew—deep down, in the quiet moments when she was alone with her thoughts—that the world wouldn’t stop trying to tear it apart.

Because it wasn’t just them anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

And no matter how fiercely Harry tried to protect her from it, the outside world was still watching.

Still waiting.

Still hungry for cracks in the foundation.

They didn’t understand him.

The world saw one version of Harry Styles.

The public version. The one who didn’t give a single shit what anyone thought of him. The one who strolled into interviews with that lazy, half-lidded smirk, sprawled out in his chair like he had all the time in the world, deliberately giving them nothing just to piss them off.

“Harry, is it true you walked out of your last meeting with the label?”

He barely blinked. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Is it also true that you—”

A slow sip of his drink. A deliberate pause.

Then, just for fun, a cocked eyebrow. “Dunno. You tell me.”

Click. Click. Click. Cameras flashing. Headlines already writing themselves.

Harry Styles: Rock’s Most Arrogant Asshole.

Harry Styles—Too Famous To Care?

Harry Styles Gives Zero Fucks About Literally Everything.

It was a game. One he didn’t mind playing.

Because the more they focused on the persona, the less they looked too closely at what really mattered.

The less they dug into his real life.

The less they found her.

Because private Harry?

A completely different person.

Private Harry sent texts like, “be home in 5”, because he knew she worried. Because he knew she’d never say it out loud, but if he was running late, she’d start pacing the kitchen, chewing at her bottom lip, imagining the worst.

Private Harry stole her hand cream and chapstick just to smell like her when she wasn’t around.

Private Harry carried her bags through airports like they weighed nothing, insisting every time, “Not letting you lift a damn thing, love.”

Private Harry curled around her in his sleep, face buried against the curve of her neck, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along her spine until he drifted off—breathing easier when she was there.

No one saw that Harry.

And he preferred it that way.

But every once in a while, the world got a glimpse.

And when they did, it fucking broke the internet.

One moment in particular had gone insanely viral.

It had been a bad day—one of those relentless, aggressive paparazzi swarms outside a studio in L.A.

Harry had already been in a foul mood—late for a meeting, running on three hours of sleep, coming off a night of back-to-back phone calls that had left him rubbing his temples in frustration.

The cameras had been waiting for him the second he stepped out the door.

“Harry! Over here!”

“Harry, how’s the new album?”

“Harry, what’s the deal with the tour delay?”

He ignored them. Didn’t even look up.

Then someone got too close—flashed a camera right in his face, nearly knocking into him.

And that was it.

He snapped.

“Fuck off, yeah?” Sharp, cutting, the words slicing through the air like a whip. His jaw locked, his body tense.

Paparazzi shuffled back, startled.

They knew his reputation.

They’d seen him do this before.

They thought that was the whole show.

Until Y/N appeared.

She had been standing a few feet behind him, waiting.

The second he turned and saw her, everything about him changed.

His scowl softened. His hands, which had been clenched into fists? Relaxed.

And in front of dozens of cameras, in front of the very people he’d just been spitting fire at, Harry immediately reached for her—a steadying touch to her back, a soft tilt of his head. “Y’alright, love?”

Quiet. Gentle. Intimate.

As if nothing else existed in that moment but her.

The paparazzi?

Fucking shook.

The clip blew up online within hours.

Side-by-side comparisons flooded Twitter:

🚨 Harry Styles telling the press to fuck off vs. Harry Styles turning into the softest human alive the second his girlfriend walks into frame. 🚨

Memes. Reactions. Fans dissecting the exact millisecond his demeanor changed.

WHO IS SHE?!

HOW DOES SHE HAVE HIM WRAPPED AROUND HER FINGER LIKE THAT?!

The discourse was endless.

And Harry?

Didn’t say a damn word about it.

Because as long as they were talking about that, they weren’t looking for more.

They weren’t digging deeper.

And that meant she was still safe.

For now.

But the internet was relentless.

Because the thing about secrets—especially ones that belong to someone as famous as Harry Styles—is that they don’t stay secrets for long.

And when people suspect even the smallest sliver of something?

They become obsessed.

It started with something small.

Something that, to anyone else, would have seemed like nothing at all.

Harry had been spotted leaving a café in London, his sleeves rolled up, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, a coffee cup in one hand.

But that wasn’t what fans noticed.

No.

What they noticed was the bracelet on his wrist.

A thin, woven band. Nothing fancy, nothing designer.

And—most importantly—not his.

The theories exploded.

GUYS. HARRY’S WEARING A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET. HAS HE EVER WORN ONE BEFORE? NO. WHO MADE IT?!

Look at the colors. Do we think there’s a meaning?

I AM SO SERIOUS THIS IS A HANDMADE BRACELET SOMEONE IS IN LOVE WITH HIM AND IT IS NOT ME

WHO THE FUCK IS SHEEEE?

There was no confirmation.

No proof.

But that didn’t stop people from digging.

Because once the internet smelled a mystery, they wouldn’t let it go.

Then came the coffee shop photo.

Blurry. Grainy. Taken at just the right angle to be nearly useless—but not quite.

Because despite the bad quality, despite the distance, despite everything, one thing was clear.

He wasn’t alone.

There was a girl across from him.

A girl who wasn’t famous.

A girl who was sitting comfortably in his presence, laughing at something he said, one hand wrapped around her mug, the other resting—casually, easily—on the table between them.

Too close.

Too familiar.

Too real.

The internet lost its collective mind.

HARRY STYLES SPOTTED WITH THE MYSTERY GIRL IN LONDON—NEW GIRLFRIEND?!

HARRY DATING SOMEONE? WHO IS SHE?!

WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE.

I KNOW WHO SHE IS @yourusername!!

The photo was picked apart frame by frame.

Theories flooded TikTok and Twitter.

Some people were excited—because Harry in love?! Soft domestic boyfriend Harry?! They’d been dreaming of this for years.

But not everyone was happy.

Because some people… some people wanted access.

Some people wanted control.

Some people wanted to destroy anything that felt too real.

It started small.

A few comments.

A few tweets.

A few people saying she wasn’t good enough.

That she was using him.

That she was just another clout chaser who would milk this for all it was worth.

Then the DMs started.

Vicious. Personal. Cruel.

You’ll never be good enough for him.

You’re ruining his career.

No one wants you here.

He’ll leave you just like he’s left all the others.

And she told herself that she wouldn’t let it get to her.

That it didn’t matter.

That these people didn’t know her.

That as long as Harry was with her—really with her—nothing else mattered.

But it wasn’t just online anymore.

Because now, when she stepped outside, she swore she could feel the eyes on her.

Now, when she walked into her favorite coffee shop, she hesitated—half-expecting someone to recognize her.

Now, when she reached for her phone, her hands shook.

She started pulling away. Just a little.

Stopped texting first.

Stopped answering right away.

Stopped leaning into his touch as freely as she had before.

And Harry—because of course Harry noticed—tilted his head at her one night when she turned away from his kiss, his brow furrowing, his thumb tracing soft circles against her wrist.

“Alright, love?”

Her chest ached.

Because he was looking at her like that.

Like he knew.

Like he could see right through her.

Like he was already worried.

She forced a smile. Pressed a quick, barely-there kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

And lied.

The industry party was a mistake.

Y/N had known it the second they walked in.

The air inside the private venue was thick with expensive perfume, whiskey, and the kind of arrogance that could only come from people who knew they were untouchable.

The laughter was too loud. The conversations too sharp, dripping with faux warmth and hidden daggers.

She felt out of place immediately.

It wasn’t her world.

It never had been.

And standing next to Harry—Harry, who fit into this world so effortlessly, who could command attention just by existing, who seemed to belong in a way she never could—only made it worse.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since they arrived.

Had kept her close, thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles, squeezing her fingers in silent reassurance every few minutes, as if he could feel the tension in her shoulders, sense the way she was holding her breath.

But no amount of grounding touches could change the fact that she didn’t belong here.

That much became even more obvious when the wrong person decided to open their mouth.

He was a producer.

Smarmy. Arrogant. The kind of man who loved the sound of his own voice and had been in the industry long enough to think he could get away with saying anything.

And for some reason—maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was just sheer audacity—he chose her as his next target.

“Didn’t think this was your type, Harry.”

Y/N froze.

Harry stiffened next to her.

The producer took a slow sip of his drink, eyes flickering over her like she was something to be inspected.

“Quiet little thing, huh? Thought rockstars liked more excitement.”

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t just the words.

It was the way he said them.

The smirk. The condescension. The absolute certainty that he was untouchable, that he could say whatever the fuck he wanted without consequence.

Y/N shrank back before she could stop herself.

And that was when Harry snapped.

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t react instantly.

Just went completely, unnervingly still.

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

His fingers—still tangled with hers—tightened.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he turned.

And stepped right into the guy’s space.

Harry Styles didn’t have to raise his voice to be intimidating.

Didn’t have to yell, didn’t have to make a scene.

All he had to do was look at someone the right way.

And the producer? He knew.

He fucking knew.

Because suddenly, the confidence wavered.

The smirk faded.

The hand holding his drink trembled just slightly.

“She’s worth more than you ever will be,” Harry said, voice low, icy, laced with so much venom that Y/N shivered.

And then—as if to drive the point home—his hand found her waist, pulled her against him, shielded her from the world with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

It was a warning.

A claim.

And everyone in the room fucking knew it.

He didn’t let go of her for the rest of the night.

Didn’t stop touching her.

Didn’t stop checking on her.

And when they finally left—when they were finally alone—he held her even closer.

She should have felt safe.

Should have felt protected.

But instead, something heavy settled in her chest.

Because the truth was, this wasn’t just about one asshole at a party.

It was about all of it.

The industry. The fans. The internet. The constant feeling of not being enough.

And maybe… maybe they were right.

Maybe she really wasn’t enough for him.

She wasn’t going to say it.

She wasn’t.

But then Harry—still holding her, still watching her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—brushed his lips against her forehead, whispered, “You alright, love?”

And it just—it broke her.

Her breath hitched.

And suddenly, she was blurting it out before she could stop herself.

“Maybe they’re right,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Harry froze.

“Maybe I’m not enough for you.”

His entire body tensed.

Like she had just physically hit him.

Like the words had physically hurt him.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

It wasn’t a plea.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

His hands framed her face, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And when she did—when she really looked at him—she almost couldn’t handle what she saw.

Because he was devastated.

Shattered.

“Don’t you ever—” His breath shuddered, his forehead pressing against hers. “—say that again.”

She swallowed. “Harry—”

“No.” His grip tightened, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go. “You belong with me. Here. Always.” His lips brushed hers, desperate, aching. “And I don’t care what anyone else says.”

She closed her eyes.

Breathed him in.

Let him hold her together, piece by piece.

Because if Harry Styles believed she belonged—

Maybe—just maybe—she could believe it, too.

The storm hadn’t passed.

Not really.

The world still had its claws in them, still watched their every move, still dissected every glance, every touch, every fleeting moment caught on camera.

But Harry… Harry never wavered.

Not once.

Not even when the headlines got uglier.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown speculation.

Not even when she started pulling back again, flinching at every flash of a camera, hesitating before reaching for his hand in public, terrified of giving them more fuel.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t push.

Didn’t force her to talk about it.

Didn’t tell her that she was still enough, still his, still the only thing in his life that mattered more than anything.

No.

Harry Styles didn’t waste his breath on words.

He showed her.

And the whole damn world saw it.

Madison Square Garden.

A sold-out crowd.

Phones up. Lights blinding.

It was a big night—bigger than most.

The kind of night that would be talked about for years, the kind of performance that would live forever in grainy fan videos, breathless social media posts, and blurry concert footage.

And she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Hadn’t planned on coming.

Had told Harry she’d stay home—avoid the cameras, avoid the crowd, avoid the possibility of being dragged into something she never wanted to be a part of.

But somehow—somehow—she found herself standing in the wings, heart in her throat, hands curled into fists at her sides as she watched him command the stage.

It was impossible not to be captivated.

Impossible not to watch the way he moved, the way he laughed into the mic between songs, the way he glowed under the stage lights.

He was in his element.

He belonged here.

And she—

Well.

She was just trying to stay invisible.

But then—

He turned.

Looked right at her.

And everything stopped.

Because suddenly—mid-show, mid-crowd, mid-fucking-Madison-Square-Garden—Harry Styles did something he never did.

He talked about her.

On stage.

For the world to hear.

“This one’s for someone who thinks she doesn’t belong in my world,” he said, voice steady, eyes never leaving hers.

The crowd screamed.

A roar—loud and deafening and completely unaware of what was actually happening.

“But she is my world.”

Her breath caught.

And then—before she could process what was happening—

He started playing.

A new song.

Unreleased.

Just for her.

And the lyrics—oh, the fucking lyrics.

They were filled with pieces of them.

Little inside jokes woven into verses, fragments of whispered late-night confessions hidden in melodies, the kind of details that only she would understand.

A love letter.

A declaration.

A warning to the world that she was his and he was hers, and that nothing—not the industry, not the headlines, not the relentless scrutiny of millions—could change that.

The internet lost its mind.

Clips went viral within minutes.

Fan theories exploded.

But none of it mattered.

Not really.

Because in that moment—in the middle of everything, in front of everyone, under the brightest damn spotlight possible—

It was just them.

And she belonged.

She didn’t hear the rest of the set.

Not really.

Not past the pounding of her heart, not past the static in her brain, not past the overwhelming realization that he had just done that.

For her.

For everyone to hear.

The screaming of the crowd blurred into white noise. The energy in the arena buzzed around her, the walls seeming to pulse with the sound of thousands of people still losing their minds.

But she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t do anything except stare at the stage where he still stood, grinning like he hadn’t just shattered her entire world in the best possible way.

Because Harry Styles didn’t do things like this.

He dodged questions in interviews.

Shrugged off rumors.

Gave the media nothing to work with.

And yet, tonight—tonight, he had given them everything.

And she had no idea how to breathe through it.

Somewhere along the way, her fingers had curled into the fabric of her sweater, clutching at herself like it might help her stay grounded. Like she wasn’t seconds away from dissolving into nothing but feelings.

Because she knew what this meant.

Knew what it would cause.

Knew that by morning, headlines would be flooded with theories, and her name—or at least her existence—would be dragged into the light again.

But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Because he’d said she was his world.

He’d said she belonged.

And maybe—just maybe—she believed him.

She was still in a daze when the show ended.

Still stuck in her own head when the lights in the arena dimmed, when the roaring of the crowd turned to scattered cheers and fading echoes of his name.

She barely noticed the way people moved around her.

Security, crew members, the distant hum of conversation—it all faded into the background.

Until—

“There you are.”

Her breath caught.

And then he was there.

Harry.

Still sweaty, still breathless from the high of performing, still looking at her like she was the only thing in the entire fucking world.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t ask if she’d liked the song.

Didn’t joke about how she’d better have been paying attention.

Didn’t do anything except close the space between them, hands gripping her face, lips pressing against her forehead, breath warm and shaky against her skin.

And she—

God.

She melted.

Because she could feel it—everything he wasn’t saying, everything he had already said on that stage.

The weight of it settled in her chest, so thick she thought she might break apart.

And then—so quietly she almost missed it—

“Tell me you’re staying.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Because he knew.

Of course he fucking knew.

Knew how much she had struggled with this.

Knew how many times she had almost walked away.

Knew how much she loved him, but how terrified she was of all of this.

And yet—

His voice was steady.

Not desperate.

Not pleading.

Just… certain.

Like he already knew the answer.

Like he already knew her.

And maybe he did.

Because before she could second-guess herself—before she could let doubt creep in, before she could convince herself she wasn’t strong enough for this—

She nodded.

Just once.

And Harry fucking collapsed against her.

Exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for months.

Arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear.

Lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was anything but careful.

Because it wasn’t a question anymore.

Wasn’t a hesitation or a what if or an I don’t know.

It was real.

It was them.

And she was staying.

His hotel room was dark, save for the soft glow from the city outside.

But she barely noticed.

Because the only thing that mattered—the only thing that existed in this moment—was him.

Harry.

Pressed against her, warm and solid, breath still uneven from everything that had led to this.

His hands were everywhere.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just certain.

Slow, teasing touches down her spine.

Fingertips tracing the dip of her waist.

Lips skimming along her throat, up to the shell of her ear, where his voice was low, husky, full of intent.

"Gonna remind you who you belong to, yeah?"

Her breath hitched.

Because fuck.

She’d heard that voice before—cocky, teasing, full of mischief when he was playing up his charm.

But this?

This was different.

This was a promise.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping, needing—but he wasn’t in any rush.

Because Harry didn’t just take.

He worshipped.

And she felt it.

In the way his hands moved over her skin—slow, deliberate.

In the way he kissed her—deep, devastating.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like she was the only thing in it.

His mouth found the curve of her shoulder.

The dip between her ribs.

The inside of her wrist, where her pulse thrummed beneath his lips.

Every inch of her.

And with every kiss, every touch, came a whisper.

"You're everything, love."

"Perfect for me."

"Mine."

Her face burned, but he wouldn’t let her look away.

Wouldn’t let her shrink away from the way he saw her.

Because when she got shy—when she tried to hide—

He caught her chin, thumb tracing her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And fuck, that look.

Like she was something sacred.

Like she was something he could never get enough of.

"Look at you, taking me so well."

Her breath shuddered out of her.

And God, he knew what he was doing.

The filthy praise, the way he held her like she was precious, the possessiveness in his voice—

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop until she was falling apart beneath him, gasping his name, hands tangled in his hair, nails raking down his back.

Didn’t stop until she was completely his.

And then—when the world had settled again, when their breathing was slow and tangled together, when she was half-asleep in his arms

Harry took care of her.

Of course he did.

Because he always did.

Pressed a kiss to her temple.

Murmured soft things against her skin as he cleaned her up, as he wrapped her up in him.

Strong arms pulling her close, keeping her warm, keeping her safe.

Only ever his.

And just before sleep pulled her under—

Just before her body fully relaxed against his—

She heard it.

Soft.

Low.

Meant just for her.

"Love you, you know that?"

And she did.

God, she did.

But what really got her—what really made her heart ache in the best, most devastating way—was that he never said it like he needed her to say it back.

Never said it like he was waiting for some kind of validation.

He said it like a fact.

Like the sun would rise tomorrow.

Like the sky was blue.

Like her being his was something permanent.

And maybe it was.

The airport was a nightmare.

The second they stepped inside, cameras started flashing, voices shouting—Harry! Over here! Is that your girlfriend?! Harry, can you confirm—

He ignored them.

Of course he did.

Didn’t even flinch.

Just kept walking, kept his hand firmly on the small of her back, kept her close.

And he was carrying everything.

Her suitcase.

Her tote bag.

Her carry-on.

Even the stupid travel pillow she’d nearly forgotten in the car.

Meanwhile, she was strolling beside him, completely unbothered, sipping her coffee like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

The contrast? Insane.

And the internet lost its mind.

The tweets came fast.

@stylesupdates: HARRY CARRYING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HER BAGS WHILE SHE JUST DRINKS HER COFFEE??? SIR. YOU ARE WHIPPED.

@hslotlover: HE'S WEARING HER SHIRT (it’s posted on her Instagram @yourusername) AGAIN I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.

Because, yeah.

He was.

It was an old, slightly oversized tee—hers.

The one she always stole from his drawer. The one she wore to bed whenever he wasn’t around.

And now?

Now he was wearing it in public.

On purpose.

Like some kind of quiet, undeniable statement.

Like a middle finger to the world.

But the real moment—the one that cemented it all—was the photo.

A blurry, candid shot someone snapped from across the terminal.

Harry, walking ahead, death glaring at the paparazzi.

Her, right behind him, looking effortlessly soft, untouchable.

And the caption?

"He’s still an asshole, and she’s still his soft spot."

And fuck.

If that wasn’t the truest thing anyone had ever said.

Because the world still didn’t get it.

But he didn’t care.

Because she was his.

And that was enough.

That had always been enough.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

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[dearieshima]

blue

feat. lovely banter with zayne in the morning

c.w. should I label this as improper use of medicine? 💀, very suggestive, fluffy, MDNI, 1k+ words, fem reader

In the softest hour before dawn, when the town of Linkon lay wrapped in the hush of a blue so tender it felt almost sacred, Zayne sat at the edge of your bed, the early light casting his form in gentle shades of indigo and sapphire. Shadows stretched long as as he carefully buttoned his shirt, his fingers moving with a deliberate rhythm, hoping not to disturb you.

In that quiet intimacy, your arms, weighted with sleep, reached for him. He startled, the tension in his shoulders easing when he turned to find you awake, your eyes carrying the gentleness of lingering dreams. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered, his voice a lullaby. His hand slid softly over your hair, and then he gently adjusted the blanket around your frame.

"Mmm, so you're the type of guy to see yourself out after spending the night with a woman?" you murmured, a playful edge laced with drowsiness.

Zayne let out a soft hmph, the sound warm and tinged with a hint of amusement. "I'm the type of man who has a very busy day ahead of him," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

His hands moved to work on his tie, his fingers maneuvering the silk with skilled efficiency. "You," he added, pausing for a moment to look down at his work, "have the luxury of staying in bed, asleep, for another couple of hours."

You raised, the blanket slipping and pooling at your waist and exposing the erotic canvas of your skin in the hues of healing.

Mauve hickies adorned the column of your neck like a necklace. Plum love bites, puffy and tender, marred the smooth swells of your breasts, peeking out from your white lace bra. On your waist, a ghostly imprint of a possessive hand lingered.

Zayne froze, his hands clutching his loosened tie as his jaw tensed almost unseen. His eyes, however, remained thawed and warm to shift with such frequentness to drink you in.

He blinked rapidly before resuming his motion, loosening the tie around his throat as if it was the reason behind his loss of breath. He inhaled before he gently beckoned you to lay back down and attempted to tuck the covers back over you.

"Don't sit up. You need your sleep," he said softly, his voice slightly deeper than usual. Despite his words, there was a hint of guilt and tenderness in his tone, betraying his concern.

You pushed aside the covers and leaned into his shoulder, your fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. “Lemme... Lemme iron your shirt.”

Zayne’s resolve faltered as you pressed closer, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his sleeve. The scent of your love making still lingered on you.

“You expect me to think you can hold an iron when you can barely hold your eyes open," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His hand found your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “You'll have me hurrying up the process so I could rush you to the ER.”

You blinked up at him, your eyes heavy but earnest. “Can I have some water?”

He sighed but rose without complaint, returning moments later with a glass of cold water in one hand and a couple of pills in the other. Setting the water on the nightstand, he sank back onto the edge of the bed. His gaze swept over you, taking in the exhaustion etched across your features—the faint lines of fatigue, the dark shadows under your eyes. He knew how much your work as a hunter drained you, though he also knew now wasn’t the time for a lecture.

Which, of course, didn’t stop him.

"The first one is ibuprofen for pain relief," his eyes flickering to the bruise blooming on your throat, "and the other one is a multivitamin, which, by the looks of the full capsule in your medicine cabinet, is one you should've been taking daily, prescribed by your doctor."

You pouted, your voice soft. “I just forgot. And they taste weird.”

"You forget a lot of things," he said, his tone half-chiding, half-concerned. His fingers deftly cracked open the vitamin capsule, holding the pill up between you. "They're medicine, not candy. They're not supposed to taste delicious."

“What are you—?”

“Making sure you actually take it.” His hand tipped your chin upward, thumb and forefinger firm but careful. His voice dipped into something commanding. “Open.”

Your lips parted, your eyes meeting his as he leaned closer. He placed the pill on your tongue, but the flick of your it against his fingertip drew an audible hitch from him.

Zayne froze for a heartbeat, his eyes darkening with something unreadable, something heated. His thumb lingered on your lower lip, tracing its curve as his gaze held yours.

“Swallow,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, his breath brushing against your skin.

You obeyed, your throat working as the pill went down. His eyes tracked the movement, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. His thumb stayed at your lip a moment longer before he pulled back and handed you the water.

“Good girl,” he said softly, the words laced with a low, almost teasing warmth.

You drained the glass in one go, setting it back on the nightstand with a faint clink. Your eyes met his again, the weariness in them replaced with a spark of something else entirely.

“Now I’m really not tired,” you said, your voice breaking the quiet tension in the room.

Zayne leaned back, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. He was aware of the drowsiness that was about to settle in soon, thanks to the ingredient in the pills named Diphenhydramine.

Zayne pulled the covers up to your chin, his fingers gently tucking the fabric around you. He took a moment to admire the sight of you, wrapped up in your nest of warmth, the faint warm light of the early morning seeping through the windows, clearing the chillness of the blue. He should have left a while ago.

"It'll hit you soon," he said. "You'll be dozing off before you know it."

"Rest," he murmured. His hand lingered, squeezing your shoulder gently before pulling away. "I have to go."

"Wait," you said, tugging lightly on his sleeve. "Have a nice day at work."

"I will."

"And don’t eat too many sweets. Remember, your dentist said sugar-free," you added, smiling softly.

"I’m sure one pastry won’t hurt," he teased.

"Your lunch is in the fridge... don’t forget it," you murmured through a yawn. Zayne has been deliberately leaving his lunch behind for weeks now, a thin excuse for you to stop by later and see you again.

"I won’t," he lied smoothly.

Your breathing slowed, the weight of sleep pulling you under.

Zayne feigned a glance at his watch --and God, he really should've left by now-- pretending he had important duties that needed tending to, but secretly reveled in the extra few minutes of banter and banter with you.

Then it happened.

"I love you," you whispered, the words tumbling out mid-yawn, the 'you' stretching softly as your eyelids drifted shut. It was the first time you’d said it, the confession slipping free without a second thought.

Zayne froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. For a moment, he just stood there, watching you as you surrendered to sleep. It's the medication talking, he silently told himself, even as the words echoed in his mind, sending a warmth spreading through his veins.

He gently placed his hand on your head, his fingers carding through your hair in a soothing manner as he watched your eyes flutter closed.

Zayne watched as your breathing slowed into the soft, even rhythm of sleep, your face relaxed and peaceful. He lingered for a few more seconds, his gaze tracing the lines of your face, committing them to memory. He bent down to kiss your forehead. "I love you, too. I'll see you in the afternoon."

As gently as possible, Zayne removed his hand from your head, the touch light as he slowly made his way to the door.

[nucrests]

Assorted Collection III

Another random assortment of mesh edits from various packs, kits, etc. Included are 21 items for your masculine frame sims. Hope you all have fun with these and enjoy!

Additional information:

EP16 LOVESTRUCK ADD-ONS: Each item is base game compatible ▪ Sweater Button Up With Graphic T-Shirt: Includes 13 swatches ▪ Shirt Patterns (Semi Tucked): Includes 12 swatches ▪ Jacket Jacquard (Without Shirt): Includes 6 swatches ▪ Blouse Open (Rolled Sleeves): Includes 12 swatches ▪ Blazer With Fishnet Shirt: Includes 12 swatches

VARIOUS GAME PACKS: Each item is base game compatible ▪ GP11 MY WEDDING STORIES - Casual Button Up (Unbuttoned Sleeves): Includes 20 swatches ▪ SP16 TINY LIVING - Cardigan With T-Shirt (Long Sleeves): Includes 9 swatches Sweater Thick (Without Turtleneck): Includes 9 swatches ▪ SP42 GRUNGE REVIVAL - Tee Oversized (Long Sleeves): Includes 11 swatches Jacket Denim: Includes 12 swatches

VARIOUS GAME PACKS (Cont.): Each item is base game compatible ▪ SP42 GRUNGE REVIVAL - Tee Stitched (Sleeveless & Cropped): Includes 12 swatches Tee Stitched (Without Undershirt): Includes 12 swatches Sweatshirt Hooded: Includes 12 swatches Sweatshirt Hooded (Cropped): Includes 12 swatches ▪ SP44 POOLSIDE SPLASH - Cover Top: Includes 10 swatches ▪ SP46 HOME CHEF HUSTLE - Short Mess Top: Includes 11 swatches

VARIOUS GAME PACKS (Cont. II): Each item is base game compatible ▪ SP38 SIMTIMATES COLLECTION - Robe Silk (Shorts Version): Includes 11 swatches ▪ SP50 URBAN HOMAGE - Overalls With T-Shirt: Includes 12 swatches ▪ EP16 LOVESTRUCK - Pants Long Pocket (Shorts Version): Includes 12 swatches ▪ SP38 SIMTIMATES COLLECTION - Pajama Joggers (Shorts Version): Includes 13 swatches ▪ SP42 GRUNGE REVIVAL - Jeans Belted (Skinny Jeans): Includes 10 swatches

📁:PATREON (ALWAYS FREE) | TOU | KO-FI If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting me on patreon or ko-fi. Your support will be much appreciated!

[misswynters]

you giving them an attitude?

suggestive

featuring. sevika x reader, ambessa x reader

requested by anon

sevika

“Still pouting?” Sevika’s deep voice broke the tense silence in the dim room, her tone laced with mockery. She leaned against the table, her metal arm resting heavily on the surface, while her flesh hand held a cigarette lazily between her fingers. Her dark eyes bore into you, amusement flickering within them as you pointedly avoided her gaze.

“I’m not pouting,” you snapped, but your lips betrayed you, jutting out just enough to prove her point. Your arms were crossed tight over your chest as you sat on the edge of the bed, refusing to look her way. “But maybe if you actually bothered to communicate instead of leaving me guessing, I wouldn’t be in this mood.”

Sevika chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, her smirk deepening as she exhaled a plume of smoke. “Oh, so this is my fault now? Didn’t know I had to send you a formal invitation every time I step out the door.”

Her nonchalance only stoked your frustration as you glared at her, your temper flaring hotter than before. “So annoying,” you hissed, shaking your head with your voice trembling in anger.

“Aw... you’re adorable when you’re worked up,” sevika countered, pushing off the table and walking toward you, her broad frame casting a shadow over you. She crouched down slightly, bringing her face level with yours. “Tell me, sweetheart, how long are you planning to keep up this little tantrum?”

Your cheeks flushed with anger and something else entirely as her closeness sent your pulse racing. “It’s not a tantrum,” you shot back, though your voice lacked the conviction you’d hoped for. “I just— I deserve more than half-assed explanations and excuses.”

Sevika tilted her head, her smirk softening, her gaze dipping briefly to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. “You want more?” she murmured, her voice dropping an octave, the weight of her words making your breath hitch.

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, your resolve wavering as her hand came up to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“Then stop running your mouth and show me,” she growled, her lips so close you could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Her mechanical arm came to rest on the bed beside you, the cool metal brushing against your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine.

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words died on your lips as Sevika closed the remaining distance. Your hands instinctively reached for her, gripping the front of her shirt as if anchoring yourself to her. Her flesh hand cupped the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair as she deepened the kiss, her dominance undeniable.

Ambessa

“You’re awfully bold for someone so small,” Ambessa rumbled, her voice dripping with authority as she stared down at you, her golden eyes glinting with both amusement and challenge. Her towering frame seemed to fill the room, the weight of her presence suffocating yet intoxicating.

“Hmph! You’re awfully arrogant for someone who can’t handle a little backtalk,” you shot back, your voice sharp despite the tremor in your chest. You crossed your arms over your chest, your silk sleeves brushing against the jeweled corset Ambessa had gifted you, the picture of defiance wrapped in hyper-femininity.

Ambessa let out a deep chuckle, her lips curling into a predatory smile as she took a deliberate step closer. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for someone so delicate,” she mused, her tone deceptively soft. “But I wonder… how far will that defiance get you before you beg for my mercy. Right?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to back down, meeting her gaze with all the fire you could muster. “Maybe I don’t need your mercy,” you countered, though your voice wavered slightly as her hand reached out, brushing over the pearls adorning your neckline. “-I like pushing your buttons.”

Ambessa’s smile darkened, her fingers sliding up to grip your chin with a firm but gentle hold. “Oh, you do, little one?” she murmured, her voice a seductive growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Do you think your pretty face will save you if you crossed the line?”

“I think you like it when I cross the line,” you replied breathlessly, your lips parting slightly as her thumb traced your jawline.

Her golden eyes darkened, her grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “Careful,” she warned, her voice a whisper against your lips. “Keep testing me, and I’ll show you exactly what happens when you push too far.”

Your bodies were close enough to feel the heat radiating off her. Your pulse raced as she leaned in, her lips ghosting over your ear. “And something tells me you’d like that far too much,” she added, her words sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

taglist. @blckbny @ch-bl0gsss @b-lossm @fortluocha @ekkosh @limereance @wolfessa @themostlesbianever @simonapietra @1-800-fantasy @saikikittykusuo @sevikaishot @sugarplumz100 @chaostudi @wxwrites @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @robzo4 @puppyphia @xreadersarchive @boom58 @d3adbrainer @kylorey25 @slutmeoutfortoge @yaeil @sapphicarribean @randomperson291 @mvistl @hellokittyfeenie @literallyimthenerdemoji @nikaachuuuu @prettysupplicant @iamaboringrattat

[catinfroghat]

Just spent a lot of money on work clothes... I'm ordering them to the store to try them anyway I'm not sure if I'll like them because I wanted to try some slightly different styles

[spiderclothing]

By choosing the hoodie, you contribute to a more sustainable and responsible fashion industry.

[earthtooz]

cw: fluff, phainon being shirtless and shameless and sending reader into a frenzy without even realising, based on the fact that phainon has awful fashion taste, unedited because i wrote this in one sitting sawry

"lord phainon... maybe you should let me pick out your outfit."

the chrysos heir, clueless as ever, glances at the atrocious combination of yellow and purple that sits on the edge of an armchair. you don't even think you can stomach looking at the clothes, the patterns mismatched and the colours clashing so much that you would have to squint to stomach looking at it.

even if he weren't such an important figure in society, you would still refuse to let him leave the estate looking like this, especially for the party lady aglaea was hosting.

you don't even want to think what her reaction to this pairing would be.

yet, phainon thinks nothing wrong of his... choice.

"what's wrong with this one?"

you choke down your more honest thoughts and go with something that won't upset him. "the outfit is far too casual for the occasion, we need something more appropriate!"

"alright, how about-"

his hand reaches to open his wardrobe again and you intercept its path before he can even touch the doorknob.

"how about you just leave this to me, lord phainon?" you insist, brushing his wrist aside. "i like to say i have an eye for things like this!"

he blinks at you, "alright."

as you deliberate through the selection of (rarely touched) clothes, your eyes and hands land on a white, silk dress shirt with blue accents, matching the colours of his normal attire. it looks sensible enough, and fitting for someone with the status of a prophesied 'new king', if you find a fitting set of jewellery, and a pair of black slacks and shoes, lady aglaea would surely allow him entry and not shoo him away for being a sore sight for her eyes.

however, in your rumination, you fail to hear the unbuckling of belts and shedding of clothes occurring behind you.

and when you turn to show him a potential dress shirt, your words barely make it off your tongue before you're squealing, almost falling into the closet.

"what's the matter?"

his toned back muscles, in all their glory, stare back at you as phainon looks over his shoulder, curiosity swirling in his aquamarine eyes. the curvature of his biceps, deltoids, and titans forbid- his waist, on proud display with supple skin, save for a few fading scars here and there- fuck, even his scars had muscles, you should just have let him wear that darned yellow and purple outfit instead of offering to help!

does he have no shame? well- you suppose he did need to be shirtless to try something on, and there's no dubious intent behind his actions, and with a body like his, what's there to be ashamed about?

by amphoreus, he's going to kill you.

"nothing," you choke out, casting your gaze away as you approach him with stiff steps. "try this on."

"okay."

then he extends his arms out, as if expecting you to help him put it on and you both stare at each other for a long moment, phainon, waiting for you to put the shirt on him, and you, waiting for phainon to take the shirt from you.

he's a grown man, why do you need to help him?

muttering a silent curse under your breath, you pretend like there isn't heat rising to your cheeks as he threads his arm through the material. you pretend like your hands aren't shaking when you do up his buttons, fingers careful not to graze his torso that's radiating heat from under the fabric. you pretend like it doesn't affect you when your knuckles graze his chest while fixing his collar. you pretend to busy yourself with the hanger when really, you just can't look him in the eye without feeling hot. and faint.

when you gently cuff his sleeves, you feel his gaze burning holes to the top of your head, and you don't dare look up to check.

"here, these will match." clasping gold bracelets, and slipping gold rings on his gloveless hands, you decide the selection to be fitting. "this looks good, and that shirt fits you very well."

"you think so?"

then you make the mistake of looking him in the eye.

you may not know phainon like the back of your hand, but you're all too familiar with the sheen of heroic determination in his eyes that makes them shine like the rarest aquamarine crystal, yet, it's replaced with something cozier, something as clear as a pond reflecting the blue sky. it steals the breath from your lungs and clutches at your heart, and you feel your mind preparing to shutdown for the second time in minutes.

parting from him like he was fire that had licked you, your movements are awkward when you go back to his wardrobe.

"i'll find some matching slacks and shoes, just wait a little longer."

this time, your ears catch the sound of a belt unbuckling.

"phainon. please, do not take off your pants."

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[sakuraszn]

ft. satoru gojo + toji fushiguro + kento nanami

summary: subtle things they do that make your head spins.

Gojo’s voice should be illegal.

It’s not even the words he says—though those are bad enough—it’s how he says them. That slow, almost too relaxed way he speaks, dragging out syllables, letting his voice dip into something dangerously low when he’s amused. And when he’s teasing?

Game over.

“C’mon now, sweetheart… don’t tell me you’re mad at me.” His voice is all silk and sin, wrapping around your body like it knows what it’s doing to you. That slight rasp in his tone, like he just woke up, like he’s murmuring it against your skin in the morning before he’s even opened his eyes—yeah, you’re spiraling.

And don’t even get started on the way he stretches.

Gojo is literally all limbs, long and lean, and he moves like he has all the time in the world. When he wakes up, when he’s lounging on the couch, when he’s been sitting too long—his arms go over his head, his shirt rides up, and you catch that glimpse of toned stomach, of deep-cut hip bones that disappear under his waistband. His back arches slightly, muscles shifting, and then comes the real killer—

That low, satisfied groan.

It’s deep, almost breathy, rumbling from his chest as he rolls his neck, exhaling like he just got the best stretch of his life. And if he catches you staring?

Oh, he eats that shit up.

“What?” He grins, tilting his head. “You want something, baby? You just gotta ask.”

And just like that, your mind is nowhere good.

Toji does everything like it takes zero effort. Like moving, talking, existing in his body is just second nature. And that’s exactly why it’s a problem.

The way he cracks his neck? Yeah, I know, it shouldn’t be that attractive. But unfortunately it is.

It’s the casualness of it. The way he tilts his head to one side, slow and deliberate, crack. Then the other—crack. And the worst part? The deep, satisfied exhale that comes right after, like he just let out a whole day’s worth of tension.

And when he’s been working out? whewwwww..

That shit should come with a warning.

He’s rolling his shoulders, sweat still cooling on his skin, veins popping as he flexes absentmindedly. His jaw tightens for half a second before he lets out that low groan, the kind that sounds too much like he’s been holding back something else.

It’s not just the sounds he makes—it’s the way he does it, the slight clench of his fists, the shift of his shoulders, the lazy flex of his back muscles like it’s nothing.

And if he catches you staring?

He smirks, dragging his eyes down your body. “Lookin’ at me like you wanna fuckin’ eat me, girl.”

Then he licks his teeth, smirking even wider.

Yeah. You’re done for.

Nanami is dangerous because he doesn’t even try.

He’s always so put together—tie straight, sleeves buttoned, posture perfect. But when he starts undoing any of that?

That’s when you start losing your mind.

It’s the way his fingers move, unhurried and precise, as he loosens his tie. The slow tug of fabric, the way his shoulders roll as he exhales, like he’s finally letting himself breathe. And then—the sleeves.

Nanami doesn’t rush.

He unbuttons his cuffs carefully, fingers sliding over his wrists, rolling the fabric up with practiced ease. And it’s not just that his forearms are exposed—it’s the way the muscles shift, the way the veins become more pronounced, the way his hands flex slightly afterward like he’s preparing for something.

But the real killer?

When he knows you’re watching.

Because Nanami is observant. He catches the way your eyes linger, the way you swallow a little too hard. And that’s when he tilts his head, voice calm but heavy—

“You keep staring like that, sweetheart, and I’m going to have to do something about it.”

And now you can’t think about anything else.

© sakuraszn! xoxo

[hoe4hotchner]

can i req aaron with an s/o who's ovulating or has a high sex drive and is easily turned on by him (regardless of if he's trying to or not)

The Hotchner effect | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 2.0k | CW: MDNI, 18+, smut, Couch sex.

A/N: Well…… this was the smut I was excited about writing the night before I was hit by that car. So, here you guys go ;) To anyone interested: I've almost made a full recovery at this point. In a couple of days I'll probably be 100% fine again :D

You always thought you had decent control over yourself and your body—at least until you met Aaron Hotchner. Somehow, just being around him tested your limits, especially when he wasn’t even trying. Every. Single. Day. Whether it was his voice, as low and commanding as it was when you visited him in the middle of a case brief at the BAU, or the way his tie shifted as he rolled up his sleeves, everything he did made your heart race—and that was on a normal day.

But today? Today, your hormones were in overdrive. Ovulating didn’t just make you aware of him; it made everything he did feel like it was specifically designed to unravel you. All of your senses tuned onto his wavelengths.

His scent lingering in the sheets—hypnotizing.

The sound of his footsteps across the floor—ears perked.

Every little twitch and movement he made—you suddenly had 20/20 vision.

Like now, as he stood in the kitchen casually pouring himself a cup of coffee before retreating back to his office. The crisp white shirt he wore hugged his frame just right, the fabric stretched taut across his broad shoulders, his suit jacket long forgotten on the back of his chair after he had returned home.

He wasn’t even speaking, but the way he leaned against the counter, so composed and yet so authoritative, was enough to make your stomach flip and your thoughts veer wildly off course.

“Are you alright?” His voice cut through your haze, and you froze, realizing you’d been staring at him.

“Uh, yeah! Fine. Totally fine,” you said quickly, reaching for a cup as if that was why you’d been standing there in the first place.

His lips twitched in a faint smile, and you cursed internally because even that was hot. Damn him.

The problem was, Aaron knew. Maybe not the full extent of it, but he was far too observant not to notice the way your breath hitched when he looked at you or how your cheeks flushed whenever he got too close. And right now, you could see the flicker of amusement in his dark eyes as he stepped closer, seemingly to grab the sugar.

“Sure you’re fine?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You gripped the counter, your body betraying you as heat flushed through your skin. “Y-yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His gaze lingered, assessing, and for a moment, you thought he might press further. But instead, he leaned back, sipping his coffee, completely unbothered by the chaos he was causing inside you.

The rest of the day wasn’t any better. Whether it was the way he adjusted his tie, the faint scruff on his jaw after a long phone call, or how his hand brushed yours when he came out of the office for a moment, you were practically vibrating with tension.

By the time he finished his workload, you were ready to combust.

Aaron was undoing his cufflinks when you finally snapped. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” you blurted, crossing your arms as you stood in the middle of the living room.

He glanced up, eyebrows raised, but the smirk tugging at his lips told you everything. “I might have an idea,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, and damn him again because he was still so calm, so composed, while you were unraveling.

“You’re driving me insane, Aaron,” you confessed, and this time, his smirk softened into something deeper, more knowing.

“Come here,” he said, his tone shifting, and the weight of it alone made your knees weak.

You didn’t hesitate, crossing the space between you in an instant. His hands found your waist, pulling you close as his lips brushed your temple. “You know,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “I’ve been trying to keep my distance all day because I could tell you were… distracted.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Distracted is an understatement.”

His fingers tightened slightly on your hips, his lips grazing your ear now. “Well, sweetheart, I’m all yours now.”

And that was all it took for you to finally close the gap, pulling him into a kiss that was every bit as heated as the tension that had been simmering between you all day.

As soon as your lips met, it was like all the pent-up desire and arousal from the day came pouring out in a wave of pure, unbridled passion. Your kiss was hungry, almost feral, your hands roaming over Aaron's body as if trying to memorize every edge and angle.

Aaron groaned into your mouth, his own hands slipping under your shirt to explore the soft skin of your back. He tugged impatiently at the fabric, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside before his fingers quickly found the clasp of your bra and unhooked it.

His gaze raked over your exposed breasts as he freed them.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, palming your one, the callous on his fingers rough against your skin. "You're so gorgeous. I can't get enough of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your nipples hardening almost painfully under his touch. You arched into his hand, a needy whimper escaping your lips. He took the opportunity to lower his head and capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasurable pain straight to your core.

You cried out, tangling your fingers in his hair and holding him close. He lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between nipping and sucking until you were writhing against him, your body aching for more. Your hands scrabbled at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Aaron seemed to understand, moving back just long enough to yank his shirt off before continuing his attack on you again. The feel of his bare chest against yours was electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your nerves. You ran your hands over his muscles, marveling at the way they flexed beneath your touch.

Your arousal was growing with each passing second, and your panties soaked. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your body crying out for release. Aaron seemed to sense it, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "Tell me what you need, baby," he murmured, his fingers toying with the button. "Tell me how you want me to make you feel."

His words were like a match thrown in a puddle of gasoline, igniting the fire in your veins. "I need you," you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. "I need you inside me. Please, Aaron, fuck me."

A wicked grin spread across Aaron's face, his eyes glinting with promise. "With pleasure," he purred, popping the button of your pants and sliding them down your legs. You kicked them off eagerly, leaving you in nothing but a damp pair of panties.

Aaron drank in the sight of you, his gaze trailing over every inch of exposed skin. "God, you're perfect," he breathed, running a finger along the edge of your panties. "So perfect."

He hooked his fingers under the fabric, slowly pulling them down and baring you completely to his hungry gaze. You flushed under his scrutiny, but the heat of his stare only served to fuel your desire. He leaned you back, the weight os his body pressing against you as your back hit the cushion of the couch.

"I'm going to taste every inch of you," he promised as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. "I'm going to make you come so hard you forget your own name."

And with that, he buried his face between your legs, his tongue delving into your already dripping folds. You cried out at the first touch, your back arching off the couch. He lapped at you greedily, his tongue exploring every crevice and fold, finding all the spots that made you gasp and moan. He knew you too well.

Your hands flew to his hair, holding him in place as he worked you over with skill. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, your hips rocking against his mouth in a desperate search for more. He obliged happily, sliding two fingers inside you and curling them just right, hitting the spot that made stars blind your vision.

"Oh god, Aaron," you keened, your head thrashing from side to side. "Don't stop, please don't stop. I'm so close."

He doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, building and building until it finally washed over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy.

You screamed his name as you came, your body convulsing beneath him. He worked you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you were boneless and spent, collapsing back against the mattress. But Aaron was far from done with you.

He crawled up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that tasted of your own arousal. You could feel his stiffness pressing against you, hot and insistent. Breaking the kiss, he reached down to undo his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock.

"I need to be inside you," he grunted, positioning himself at your entrance. "I need to feel you wrapped around me. Think you can take one more, for me?"

You nodded breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. He surged forward, burying himself inside you with one smooth thrust. You both groaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like they were made for each other.

Aaron set a hard and fast pace, his hips snapping against yours with each powerful stroke. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle and allowing him to go even deeper.

"You feel amazing," he panted, his eyes locked on yours. "So tight and wet and perfect. I never want this to end."

His words sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, your walls clenching around him in response, your eyes watering from pure bliss. He groaned at the sensation, his thrusts becoming erratic and uncoordinated as he chased his own release.

You could feel another orgasm building low in your belly, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each pass of his cock. "Harder," you gasped, digging your nails into his back. "Fuck me harder, Aaron."

He obliged with a guttural moan, hammering into you with all his strength. The bed creaked beneath you, rocking with the force of his thrusts. You could feel him pulsing inside you, growing thicker and harder with each passing second.

"Cum for me, baby," he groaned, his voice strained with effort. "Come all over my cock. I want to feel you squeezing me."

His words were all it took to send you hurtling over the edge once more. You came with a near-silent scream, your body shuddering and convulsing beneath him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Aaron followed a second later, burying himself deep inside you and flooding your womb with his seed.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasms. He pressed soft kisses to your face and neck, murmuring words of love and devotion against your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you whispered back, tangling your fingers in his hair. "More than anything."

He smiled against your skin, rolling onto his side and pulling you close. You nestled into his arms, your body still tingling with pleasure. As you drifted off to sleep, safe and sated in his embrace, you knew that this was where you belonged.

[luveline]

Hi Jade!! I love your writing so much! you wrote a few fics of postprison!reid with kinda shy!reader like the one where she faints and I loved that dynamic and that Reid, do you think you could write some more? pls pls pls <3333333

cw non-consensual drug use /reader is spiked 

Spencer is quite gorgeous. He has a great smile, soft and a little shy without teeth, exuberantly bright like a commercial with teeth. He’s smiling like he can read your mind now, fishing for your hand, and taking it into both of his. Your pinky in one hand and your index the other, he wriggles your hand back and forth and laughs softly. “You don’t handle inebriation well.” 

“What?” you ask, startled. You can’t believe he’s touching you like this, casual, like he’s your boyfriend. Your hot boyfriend.

“You think I’m hot?” 

You squint at him. “What?” you ask. 

He covers your hand gently with both of his. “Nevermind. Do you want something to eat now?” 

“No.” You’ll throw up. Chunks, probably, your breakfast. And it wasn’t even a healthy breakfast. It was waffles and whipped cream and then a donut on the way to the office, Spencer will be able to tell, he’s too smart, he’s too everything. 

“I’m not that smart,” he says kindly. 

That’s a straight up lie. 

He laughs heartily, at odds with his quiet talking, and you’re so confused because it’s like he’s reading your mind? Can he read your mind? There’s so much stuff about yourself you don’t want him to know, your chest hurts thinking about it, you don’t want to tell him anything—

“I think I’ll go find you a hot chocolate,” Spencer says, the sleeve of his shirt falling down unbuttoned to his wrist as he stands. He pushes it back up. He is surprisingly underdressed today and you’ve no idea why. “Does that sound nice?” 

“I don’t think you should leave.” 

“I don’t want you to tell me stuff you don’t want to tell me,” he says. 

“But if you leave I’ll be by myself.” You sound strange to your ears. Crackly, like a garden fire.

Spencer perches himself on the hospital bed next to you. You’re sitting cross-cross on the tight white and blue sheets, waiting for something? Something was supposed to happen, you know that. A doctor was going to take your blood. You look down at the crook of your elbow to find they already have, a cotton pad medical-taped to the skin. 

“I’m not going anywhere if you don’t want me to go,” he says, taking your arm into his hands with the same care he’d shown your fingers. He lifts the corner of the tape and begins to pull it away from the direction it had been stuck in, stretching it, and removing it from you without any pain. 

“Where did you learn that?” you ask. 

Spencer holds your arm in his hand now the cotton ball is done. “Learn what?” 

You’re not interested in asking him again. Weirdly, your throat feels dry, but you won’t tell him because he’ll offer hot chocolate again and you don’t want him to go. 

“Hey,” he says, “not going anywhere until it wears off. Not if you need me.” 

How does he always know what to say? 

“You know, why don’t you get into bed and lay down for a little bit? You must be tired, sitting up. It’s so late.” His voice is a sheet of silk. 

“I thought we were going home?” you ask. 

“We can’t, bub,” —that’s a new one— “not for now. But we will tonight, I promise.” 

“Why not now?” 

He smiles sadly. “‘Cos you’re coming down, Y/N.” 

You frown. “Oh.” 

“I know.” Spencer wraps and arm around your back. “But you’re not alone.” He ducks in until your faces are almost touching. “You know? It’ll go away soon.” 

You don’t know why you say it, but you say, “You’re so nice to me. Even when you’re scary.” 

“Am I scary?” he murmurs. 

You look at him long and hard, feeling the warm rub of his thumb as he smooths a short line into your back. Spencer is intimidating, maybe, because you hadn’t known him when he got out of prison, and he's pretty like a model, or a movie star. But he isn’t scary. That’s not the right word. 

“No,” you say. “I guess not.” You pause. “I feel weird.” 

He doesn’t laugh like you, just hugs you tighter. “It’ll get better.” 

[spinninhavs]

tense

pairing ;; matt sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings ;; oral (fem receiving), fingering, praise, use of y/n, fluffy beginning and ending, softdom!matt, pet names (sweetheart n princess, etc), no actual p in v, lowercase intended !!

word count ;; 1.1k

a/n ;; this was based off a request!! had lots of fun writing this:) also sorry if this is bad im ovulating and im a little bit high

yk the basics .. pink is u , blue is matt !!

. . .

your pov

i stepped into my boyfriend’s house after a long shift at work. “hey chris.” i sigh, putting my bag down on the island. “hey y/n, matt wanted me to tell you that he was gonna be streaming when you got back.” the brunette boy spoke from the couch, sipping on a can of pepsi.

i nodded before making my way down the hall to matt’s room. i knocked softly on the door and a small “come in” was heard from inside. i slowly walk into the room with a light smile on my face. “alright guys ima go on mute real quick.” matt spoke into his mic, muting it then getting out of his seat.

“hey baby, how was work?” he asked me, bringing me into a hug. i let out a small mumble in reply as my arms wrapped around his neck. "could be better, my legs hurt so bad from running around all day. but i got a $100 tip from this guy since he said my ass was fat" i laugh, letting go of matt so i could take off my hooters uniform. matt was literally forgetting that he had been streaming the entire time.

“could you get me a shirt baby?” i ask matt, struggling to take off the tight white long sleeve uniform top. he nodded, tossing me one of his shirts that i missed terribly. we laughed about it quietly as i took off the extremely revealing shorts. i put on the pink hershey bear shirt, then body flopping down on his silk sheets. “im gonna lay down, my legs hurt so bad.” i pointed out as my body laid comfortably in his bed.

matt hummed, looking at his pc. he quickly walked over and sat down in his gaming chair. “hey guys, sorry ima have to end the stream a bit earlier. thanks for watching love you guys.” matt spoke into his mic after he unmuted. he clicked the red ‘end’ button before he stood up. “matt you didn’t have to end it” i smile, opening my arms for him. “eh its whatever, i was already streaming for a few hours so its okay.” he reassured as he laid down next to me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

he kissed my temple softly, rubbing my lower back gently. “tell me about your day y/n/n.” he whispered into my skin. i let out a small sigh. “well, it was a bit stressful. a lot of guys asked for my number, got a lot of tips since i had good tits and ass…” i trail off, playing with matt’s hair. “i also fell, so that’s probably why my legs hurt.” i pout. he hummed quietly, figuring something that could help me. “i can give you a massage if you’d like.” the brunette boy suggested.

my eyes twinkle a little bit, “hm i’d like that a lot.” i giggle. matt rolled over to his nightstand and grabbed a small bottle of lavender scented lotion from his drawer. i sat up slightly, throwing the blanket to the side.

matt sat crisscrossed while squirting a bit of lotion into his hands. “is this the lavender one i bought you?” i ask with a small smile. he nodded, spreading the lotion evenly on my thighs and calfs. his thumbs kneeded into my skin, making sure every inch of my skin got touched.

his palms massaged every part of my leg. i let out a quiet shaky moan as matt soon neared his fingers close to my inner thighs. he looked up at me with slight doe eyes. “is this okay sweetheart?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. i nod slowly, allowing matt to give soft kisses on my thighs.

matt’s hands ran up and down the sides of my thighs with a bit of pressure, leaving goosebumps. “does this feel good princess?” matt whispered as his eyes shot through mine. i whine in agreement, the spot in between my legs starting to ache. his fingers continued to get closer to where i needed them to be. “matt, baby.” i whine. matt hummed quietly, looking back up at me. “hm? what is it sweetheart?” he whispered, spreading my legs apart. i blinked at him slowly, “mh, i need you.” i breath softly.

“awh my poor baby.” he teased, his thumb rubbing small circles on my clothed clit. my back arched off the bed just a bit. his fingers hooked around the waistband of my panties and he slowly pulled them down.

matt looked up at me, his hand sliding under my lower back. his fingers traced my entrance teasingly, making me let out soft moans. “i barely touched you sweetheart, and your already wet.” he laughed softly, allowing his fingers inside of me. “mgh, baby.” i whine to the slight burning sensation of matt stretching me out. his fingers slid in and out of me easily, sending me over the moon. “taking my fingers so well huh?” matt purred, his tongue soon flicking over my clit. his tongue started to work wonders on my cunt, it swirling around my bundle of nerves.

i whimper out quietly, my legs wrapping around his head slightly. my hands reached down to his hair, tugging on it gently. a string of curses left my mouth that was falling agape. “fuck fuck please keep going.” i moan out. “such a needy girl.” matt whispered softly with a cocky smile on his face. my breath quickened so fast as his fingers continued to thrust in and out of me, hitting my g-spot repeatedly.

matt was determined to continue eye contact with me as his mouth worked on me perfectly. “mmmm. matt please dont stop it feels so good.” i whimper out as the familiar knot started to form in my stomach. “oh yeah?” he teased, letting his fingers out of my pussy and replaced them with his tongue. my back completely arched off of the bed, moaning out to the sensation of his tongue starting to fuck me.

i continued to let out small whimpers while matt continued to fuck me faster with his tongue. my eyes roll to the back of my head as my hips jolt upwards into his face. “m-matt im gonna cum.” i whimper, my hands pushing his head closer to my cunt. ”cum for me angel.” matt whispered, making the knot in my stomach unknot. he lapped up anything that he could and his mouth detached from my pussy.

his slender fingers curled up into me a few more times before he kissed my clit softly one last time. matt let soft wet open mouthed kisses on my inner thighs. “lets finish giving you that massage, yeah?” he laughed, as if he didn’t just practically make out with my pussy. “yes, please.” i pant out with a lazy smile on my face. we both giggled about it for the next few minuetes of matt kneeding his fingers into my skin.

taglist ;; @cheetahmadi @sturniol0s @luverboychris @mattsluttywaist

[delirious-donna]

You’ve taken Zayne’s tie hostage, it’s time for the negotiations to begin but things don’t go quite how the good doctor imagined…

an: this is a repost in case anyone finds it familiar, it was originally posted on my LADS blog and I have made it private over there for now <3 Based on the Hostage phone call with Zayne.

pairing: Zayne x female reader

tw: fluff, NSFW, wearing his clothes, suggestive and flirty, very slow fluffy sex, intimacy through the roof, starts teasing and gets deeper, implied unprotected sex, Zayne being the sweetest boy

“… my tie? You’ve taken my tie hostage?”

Zayne’s brow furrowed as he listened to the playful lilt of your voice. No matter how serious you tried to sound, there was no way of keeping the almost laughter at bay the longer you spoke.

“He was left all alone on my couch. Apparently he thought he had been abandoned,” you continued whilst the black silk played between your fingers.

There was a silence, and for a moment you thought he wouldn’t play along with your little charade, but Zayne often surprised you when you least expected it.

“I see. Well, we can’t have him feeling unwanted, can we? Shall we arrange hostage negotiations for tonight? I’ll bring a bottle of wine, perhaps that will help loosen up his captor and lessen their demands.”

You smothered your laughter with a palm, the black tie pressed across your mouth and nose enough for you to inhale Zayne’s cologne and the aroma of coffee.

“It’s a date. Oh, and Zayne?”

“Yes?”

“Negotiations might get rough if you’re not careful,” you teased with a deliberate purr.

Zayne inhaled harshly and the sound of it sent a thrill skittering down your spine. Before he could reply, you disconnected the call and skipped into your bedroom to plan the perfect outfit…

~

“Doors open,” you yelled from the doorway of your bedroom, waiting until you heard the soft snick of the front door opening and closing before turning to give yourself a final glance in the mirror.

Your fingers smoothed down imaginary creases, nerves settling on your shoulders but you were certain that your efforts would not go unappreciated. Zayne was often reserved, guarded in his actions and reactions but you had heard his breathless gasp clear as day when you spoke on the phone this morning.

The longer you stood here worrying, the more your bottle would crash. Throwing your shoulders back, you nodded to your reflection and padded out of the room on bare feet to find the good doctor.

He stood in your small kitchen nook, back to you whilst he worked on uncorking the bottle of wine in his hand. A black shirt stretched across his back and broad shoulders, the sleeves meticulously rolled to his elbows. You caught your lip between your teeth, admiring him with a long lustful rake of your eyes until he froze.

Caught.

“You shouldn’t… stare,” Zayne said, turning to face you. His expression shifted from cool amusement to dumbstruck as he took you in.

You leaned against the wall with a subtle smile, watching as his own gaze slowly descended to your bare, wiggling toes and caressed your body upwards in slow appreciation. You could see his throat working. Not long after, a long finger loosened the tie at his collar and popped open the top buttons.

“Am I to guess that you like what you see, doctor?”

Zayne groaned. A pinched expression creasing his brow whilst he searched for words that would be articulative enough to express the thoughts tumbling through his head. He was not accustomed to feeling this… off balance.

He swallowed and gave a shallow nod—not quite trusting his voice yet.

Your legs were as bare as the feet twisting on the hardwood flooring, smooth and soft, inviting. His fingers twitched against the pocket of his trousers, desire building behind his navel to push those same twitching fingertips into the plush of your skin.

The white dress shirt was clearly one of his from a previous night sleeping over and it hung beautifully on your smaller body. The buttons only done up so much, allowing for one shoulder to peer out and tempt him into closing the distance between you.

Zayne was moving before he became aware of it. Your chin tilted upward, lips open on a noiseless breath. Your jaw tensed for a split second when he cupped your face and lowered his mouth to your ear.

“Like…” he breathed, warmth tickling your skin, “… is a grave understatement.”

The tie that had started all of this caught his attention at long last. Knot loose, midnight silk decorating your décolletage. He was jealous of his tie which was inanely stupid, yet he couldn’t deny the emotion. He fingered the tail to pull it lower between the valley of your breasts.

“The hostage in question. He appears to be suffering Stockholm Syndrome, and I can’t say I blame him.”

“I’ve given him a good home, treated him with kindness and a warm heart,” you cooed, leaning into the strength of his body just to feel something more—more of him.

“Is it ridiculous that I’m jealous?”

“No. Feel your feelings, Zayne. It’s not ridiculous but I can assure you that I’d treat you even better.”

His thumb drew a line from below your ear down the side of your neck and over to the hollow at your throat. You were going to be the death of him, and somehow that thought wasn’t so scary when he imagined the way he’d go.

“Tell me more…”

~

A breadcrumb trail of clothing led from the living room to the bottom of your bed. Each garment carefully discarded like unwrapping a gift with the most exquisite wrappings—beautiful and deserving of the utmost care.

Despite the desire growing hot in your belly, you would savour every inch of his and your skin that was revealed. There was all the time in the world, especially when it was just the two of you. Nothing else mattered.

Zayne’s shoulders were tense when you pushed off his shirt. His stomach dipped when your nimble fingers worked the leather belt free from its buckle. His breathing quickened as you undid the top button on his trousers, and only worsened when the sound of metal teeth peeling apart thundered throughout the room.

Only the tie remained.

Once you had carefully peeled away his clothes, it was his turn to strip you and thankfully there wasn’t much for him to remove to have you completely bare—except for the tie.

The length of black silk dangled towards his body, the very end tickling across the broad expanse of his chest, framed by your flush palms. Your thighs bracketed lean hips, knees subtly squeezing his sides as his hands wandered your naked skin, fingertips dimpling into the yielding softness.

Apple blossom pink stained the high contours of his cheekbones whilst the tips of his ears beat a more vivid red. Zayne’s gaze bounced around your face, meeting your low-lidded eyes only to stray away in a bashfulness that made you tighten all over.

“Should I keep it on?”

“Mm, yes. I like it on you… very much,” Zayne admitted. It was accompanied by a slight buck of his hips that resulted in a quiet squeal and a giggle.

Composing yourself, and leaning in so your face was mere inches from his, you nosed his cheek softly. “Why do you like it, Dr. Zayne?”

He gave a strangled noise of resignation. “Because it’s something of mine on your body. It’s primal, the part of my brain that wants to rub my scent across your skin to ward off everyone else.”

Zayne grasped at your hips and moved you higher so his face was buried in your chest. His warm cheek nuzzled against the valley of your breasts, breath tickling your skin until it rippled with goosebumps and your nipples tightened.

Your fingers carded through the dark forest of his hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp whilst you effectively cradled his head against you. Cooing sweet nothings until you felt eager lips wrap around your puffy nipple. Zayne moaned into the sensation of worshiping you with his tongue, licking around and over the peak only to come back to suckling gently.

The intimacy was enough to tighten your chest, but it didn’t stop the warm drip of desire low in your belly. You could feel his cock sandwiched between your bodies, you knew when it twitched. Eventually, the need was too much to deny and you reached between you to grasp the base of him gently.

His careful ministrations paused, every muscle tensing whilst he assessed your intention. With a slow roll of your fist, you pumped his cock from base to tip. Your thumb smeared through the pretty pearlescent precum leaking from his tip, working it down his shaft and nudging your knees further apart.

“My love, I—we don’t have to.”

“But do you want to?” You countered, humming when the heat of him licked at your folds and dipped inside to rub your pert little clit.

Zayne groaned low in his throat, unable to resist the urge to rock himself against you over and over—slow, methodical, precise.

“Yes…”

“Good. I want to as well. Now, let me… that’s it.”

With a steady adjustment, you sank down to impale yourself. The stretch was bliss, your walls more than ready to accept him home and bask in the feeling of completion.

You were two puzzle pieces in a box of thousands, but only when you came together did things seem right with the universe.

There was no rush, every roll of your body was taken at leisure to dance alongside the shared kisses and soft touches. Zayne marked a path of kisses from the hollow of your throat to your shoulder then back again.

The tie which started everything became wedged between your chests, almost forgotten, but not really. It complimented your soft yielding figure against the muscled definition of the good doctor—your good doctor.

“Zayne…”

“I know, I’m right there with you,” he replied without needing context. “Let yourself go, beloved. Let yourself go and I will follow you… to the ends of the earth and beyond.”

A crowd of tears gathered behind your eyes at his softly uttered words, knowing that they weighed more than any precious metal because they came directly from his heart. You refused to let them spill, instead, focusing in on the pleasure and the swelling sensation of impending release.

Your hips stalled and Zayne was quick to help you, guiding you up and down until your body spasmed and you flopped, prone, against his chest.

His soft grunts echoed inside your ear, residual twitches of his spent cock causing you to clench and tighten through your blissful flight through orgasm.

Every noise felt amplified and you slowly realised it was the thundering of his heart. Your muscles went lax, your body draping his like a personal weighted blanket whilst his ever gentle fingertips traced your spine.

You might have fallen asleep had he not spoken…

“I no longer wish to negotiate terms for the hostage,” he whispered into the depths of your hair, “I’d like you to keep me too… if you’ll have me?”

He would be yours forevermore, and you couldn’t be more in love.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

I Put A Spell On You.

‘Smoke’wants you back, and he’ll do whatever it takes.

(Part one maybe?)

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine

You better stop the things you do

I tell you, I ain't lying

I ain't lying…

Word got around that Smoke was back in town. You couldn’t miss him with his snazzy suit’s silhouette characterized by broad shoulders, a high waist, and wide-leg trousers. A quintessential element in a man’s wardrobe. The whispers traveled to many ears, but it was only one pair he was concerned with.

Rosetta Scott.

A dilly he’s obsessed with. His soft-spoken jazz singer. She ended their relationship when Smoke decided to up and leave New Orleans with his ill-tempered identical twin brother, but he promised he’d be back and to write him. After two years, he’s back and ready to stake his claim on his woman.

Smoke hopped out of his Cadillac 16 cylinder wearing round, small sunglasses with wired frames. He removed his 8-panel hat and shut the door behind him. Smoke took a long drag of his blunt while staring straight ahead with a lopsided grin.

The reflection within the circular lenses of his dark frames was one he’d missed for years. A living tapestry of culture, history, and an unmistakable passion for life. This place, with its rhythmic streetcars and the spicy aromas from its kitchens, isn't just alive; it breathes stories at every corner.

Stretching his long legs with a purposeful gait, his expensive gaiters picking up dirt, Smoke pushed open the withering, wooden, hinge doors leading into a lively establishment. The smell of fish fry, sweat, cheap cologne, weed, and sex titillating his nose caused a wide grin to spread across his thick lips. He slowly removed his sunglasses, revealing piercing, brandy-eyes and a primal desire.

There she was. Doing what she loved. He was joyful. Proud.

laidback with rhythmic flexibility.

That husky breathy tone.

Her vocals always had a very raw unedited feel which made her songs feel more real and personal. She also tends to use harmonies and layering which sometimes gives the song a drowning all consuming affect.

The silk of her flowing silver slip seemed to mold into her hourglass frame. The premium fur shawl she wore hung loosely from her glistening shoulders. Her lips the color of ox blood stained the mic in front of her. The swing and blues notes with complex chords blending with her sultry voice had everyone on that floor dirty dancing.

Smoke broke his eyes away reluctantly, taking off his suit jacket, placing it on the back of a chair. He ashed out his blunt and placed it in the front pocket of his crisp, white button down. Smoke made his way towards the bar, unbuttoning his sleeves and his shirt along the way.

“Yes, daddy! Play that saxophone!”

“Sing it Rose!”

“Let’s Jive!”

“Ooooweee! If it ain’t Mr. Smoke Stack himself! Come over here!”

Smoke chuckled deeply before dabbing up his uncle and the owner of the establishment; Buck. His liquor breath and gold teeth were two things you remembered about Big Buck. Or, how he’d like to call it ‘I’m Big Buck and I like to fuck’. And boy did he get his share of pussy. He had eight kids to prove it.

“Look at my nephew! Now hold on…where is your twin?” Buck’s yellowing eyes wandered around in search of him.

“He’s handlin’ business. No time to settle. You know how he get. I had to break away tho’ I got business to ‘tend to.”

Smoke accepted a glass of whiskey and took a long sip. It burned so good down his throat.

“Yeah, uh-huh. We know why’s you here! That gal. You know she’s seeing someone else, right?”

The corner of his upper lip fluttered with disdain at the thought of another man touching his bitch. Smoke wasn’t having it. One look into his eyes, she’d fall into his lap again. Wet puss and all. She wrote him often. Sent him pictures. He’d gotten them all. So, was she doing all that while messing with some squat-ass fool?

“Gimme the low down, Buck.” Smoke insisted impatiently.

“Aight, nephew. Another?”

Smoke raised his glass, “hold the hail. I don’t need no watered down shit. I’m tryna get swacked.”

Buck’s gut laugh filled the cramped space between them.

“You remember Phonzo?”

“Shid, not pussy ass Phonzo? C’mon now gal…”

“Damn straight. He wines and dines her. Buys her shit…”

“She using.” Smoke replied.

He turned his eyes on her again. She looked so damn fine. Mmm. That body was nice. He could smell her perfume on his mustache. That amber scented flesh. Smoke knocked the rest of his drink back and stood from his seat at the bar. She ended another song and received a standing ovation. Smoke pushed his way towards the front but before he could get there, a man reached out to help her down. Her joyous laugh made Smoke’s stomach churn.

“Put me down, baby! I had too much to drink!”

“it’s Smoke Stack!”

All eyes fell towards the handsome gangster. Smoke ignored all except those pretty, doe eyes that locked on him with utter shock. Short and stacked. The finest woman in all of Louisiana. Ain’t no way she’s giving all that to Phonzo. Smoke pressed forward, his penetrating eyes racking over Rosetta’s frame. It was easy to tell the twins apart because one had a noticeable scar on his face and the other didn’t.

“Well I’ll be,” Phonzo secured his arm around Rosetta’s waist tighter, “Smoke. What’s shaking, man?”

Smoke’s lips remained tightly sealed and his eyes never left his Rosey. Tension was thick in the air like the sound of the powerful double bass.

I love my moonshine whiskey

Better than I do my man

I love my moonshine whiskey

Better than I do my man

You got have your beer in your bottle

Give me my cool kind hands…

“Rosey…”

Rosetta parted her deep-red lips to speak.

“Smoke…”

That voice. He’d missed it.

Smoke Stack was seeing red.

“Get yo’ hands off my woman, Phonzo.”

“You think you can just show up? This ain’t your woman anymore, Smoke. You proved that when you left her for the taking. Go on somewhere now…”

Phonzo attempted to walk away with Rosetta in his grasp, but Smoke swiftly grabbed her hand, swinging her over towards him with an expert twirl of her beautiful frame. She collided with his sturdy chest, her eyes staring up at him.

Rosetta was still trying to pick her jaw up from the floor. She couldn’t believe Smoke was back. The familiar warmth of his much larger and more powerful frame sent images swirling through her mind of the times they’ve shared. She hadn’t received a letter from him in almost a year. Every single day she worried herself about him. However, Rosetta had entertained the thought of being with Phonzo. Tonight would have been the night that she would have given Phonzo a taste of what Smoke Stack dicked down. It was an act of desperation.

“Rose! Whatchu doin’ gal? Don’t let this fool back into your life!” Phonzo reached his hand out for her to take, “I won’t leave you like he did. Remember? I promised that trip to Chicago. We can pack up and catch a train!”

“I’ll take her to Chicago, to Trinidad, Paris, wherever my money goes, she goes. You had your fun tryna get what’s mine. I suggest you fade, Phonzo…”

Um, make me another two bit pint

Um, make me another two bit pint

'Cause I've got my habits down

I'm gonna wreck this joint…

“Let’s go,” Smoke had a strong grip on Rosetta’s hand as he placed her in front of him to walk away.

Rosetta finally gathered her thoughts. She halted her footsteps inches away from the bar.

“Hold on, Smoke,” She pointed a red nail at him sternly, “How dare you show up here like this?! I haven’t heard from you in over a year! You can’t just walk up in here and whisk me away like some night in shining armor! Who do you think you are?!”

“Says which? I’ve written you!” Smoke shouted back.

“I ain’t get one letter in a year!”

Smoke kisses his teeth, “That’s some bullshit and you know it. Maybe the letters got mixed up…none of that matters now, baby. I’m back. For good now…”

Buck and another bartender watched the two of them go back and forth with amusement.

“We’ll see how long that lasts!” Rosetta sassed.

A gun clicking had Smoke on high alert. He pushed Rosetta behind him and turned, staring down into the barrel of a pistol. Phonzo was sweating bullets. He had two of his lackeys behind him, posted up like they were ready to do damage. Rosetta clung onto the sticky bar top, peeking around to see what the ruckus was about.

“Time to knock you off that high horse. You and that brother of yours don’t run shit ‘round here no more. Give me back my bitch, and we can get back to jivin’.”

“Excuse me?!” Rosetta argued, “I got your bitch—”

“Rosey, relax, baby. Daddy got this.” Smoke looked from the pistol pointed at his chest, to Phonzo with a sinister smile, “You off the cob or something, Phonzo?”

“You tryna make me look pussy in front of my boys?!”

Smoke tilted his head to size up his ‘boys’.

“They shakin’ in they boots just like you. C‘mon now, Phonzo. We can do this the easy way…you put that steel down, and walk away. I came for my woman and that’s it. Pick yo’ self up and use those bony-ass pegs and leave.”

Laugher erupted around them. Patrons watched on like it was a live performance. Phonzo always hated being the laughingstock. No one took him seriously. People tolerated him because Smoke and his twin skipped town to handle business.

“I ain’t going nowhere!” Phonzo yelled.

He pressed his gun into Smoke’s chest hard.

“Nigga, you ain’t got shit—”

Smoke picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels and cracked it over Phonzo’s head. When Phonzo dropped to his knees with shards of glass embedded in his face, Smoke snatched his pistol up and pointed it at the two men that were once standing proud. They both shared a look with each other before bending over to pick Phonzo up.

Smoke placed the pistol in the waistband of his slacks and snatched a handkerchief out of his pocket to clean up the blood that seeped from a gash in the palm of his hand. People were used to violence ‘round here. Too drunk, high, and horny to care about Phonzo bleeding out onto the floor. Buck didn’t blink an eye as he shined a new glass before pouring a gentleman a glass of top shelf whiskey.

“Get ‘em out. Don’t come back, nigga. I’ll use your pistol to put a bullet in yo’ head fuckin’ wit’ me!”

Phonzo—delirious and bloody—was dragged out of the juke joint by his two loyal men. Smoke knew that as soon as Phonzo regained consciousness, he’ll be on the hunt for him. Smoke was ready.

Smoke took a seat at the bar and pulled Rosetta into him. Blunt between his lips, glass of whiskey in front of him, Rosetta gave him a light, watching her daddy with lust.

You know I can't stand it

You're running around

You know better, baby

I can't stand it 'cause you put me down

Oh, no…

“Smoke, Daddy…”

Rosetta took the blunt from between his lips and hit it. He watched her with low, hazy eyes. All he did was walk through those doors. She was at his mercy like he’d never left.

“You’ll really take me to Paris?”

Smoke accepted his blunt, “I’ll take you all over the world, baby…listen, I know I got some makin’ up to do, but don’t you ever do no shit like that again, hear me? I’m a always come back to you…”

“You right about that makin’ up,” Rosetta giggled, “We got all night though. Phonzo was my ride home…”

“Here, go grab my jacket and we can go.”

Smoke tapped Rosetta on her rump and pointed to where he placed his suit jacket. He paid his tab and promised to be back to catch up with his uncle. Rosetta returned and Smoke grabbed her by the hand, ushering her out of the juke joint and into the murky night.

_______________

Smooth leather seats, a pistol on the dash, windows rolled down.

Rosetta and her fur shawl sat elegantly next to a hunk of a gangster. She admired the stain of her lipstick on his cheek when she stole a quick kiss while he opened her door for her.

She missed her Smoke Daddy so damn bad. It hurt to the bone. Smoke could feel her pretty eyes on him and he glanced over to her, giving her a dimpled smirk filled with mischief. They were halfway there to her apartment above a boutique.

“I missed you, Rosey. So much.”

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine…

“Where did you go?”

Smoke took a moment to respond.

“…My brother had business in Texas. Then we picked up some jobs throughout the south. Made enough money to last us a lifetime…Made some bad choices, but I’m richer. Stronger. Ready to sweep you off yo’ feet. I want you to travel the world and sing to audiences bigger than that hole in the wall. Serious, gal.”

Rosetta blinked away tears.

“Don’t do none of that, baby. No crying…”

“I’m just glad ya ain’t dead somewhere in a ditch!”

Rosetta accepted a clean handkerchief from Smoke. She dabbed her eyes to avoid messing up her makeup.

“I made a promise to get back to you and I meant that.”

Rosetta exhales, “I know, daddy…I just…I’ve been so touch starved. I would’ve given Phonzo all of me if you hadn’t shown up…”

Smoke’s nostrils flared and he looked at her with those dark eyes that made her clench her thighs.

“Phonzo don’t know what to do wit’ all that. And you belong to me. All of you. You make that pussy cum while Daddy was away?”

“Yes…but it wasn’t enough. I miss the fuckin’ we used to do…”

Smoke’s Cadillac slowed to a stop in front of the boutique Rosetta’s mother owned. She worked there for extra money, but now that Smoke was back, she didn’t have to work. Smoke opened her door and helped her out. Shutting it, they walked towards the shop and Rosetta opened the door with a single gold key. Smoke observed his surroundings with a sharp eye before following her inside. It was dark, but the moonlight ignited a path for them leading towards a narrow staircase leading up to Rosetta’s apartment that she shared with her mother.

She had some privacy for now since her mother went away to visit family in Baton Rouge for a week. The boutique was closed until she returned. Rosetta opened the door and flicked on a light. It was exactly how Smoke had remembered it. Small and cozy and blessed by a woman that practiced root work. Rosetta walked into their small kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a pitcher of water. She poured a glass for Smoke and herself.

“You can stay for a few days until momma comes back. It don’t matter how grown I am, she don’t like men over…”

“I get it. I’ll have a place to stay. Then you can leave here and be wit’ me.”

“Smoke…”

Smoke finished his glass, sat it on the counter, and pulled Rosetta close. His hands caressed her back and dragged down to cuff her cheeks. Eyes locked on her face, he brought his plump lips to her own, pecking them with soft kisses. Rosetta whimpered and shifted, slightly raising one foot. Smoke hooked his strong arm around her trim waistline. His other hand squeezed the flesh of her plump ass.

“You always know just how to push my buttons, don’t you, Rose? Couldn’t wait for daddy to come back?”Smoke asked with his lips barely touching hers, “That’s alright, though…Im gon’ remind you just who you belong to...”

Suddenly, Smoke delivered a series of sharp smacks to her behind without warning. Rosetta gasped as she felt the sting of each slap. 

“Smoke, I’m sorry…I didn’t fuck him…I swear.” Rose pleaded.

“But you gave ‘em hope. If I hadn’t shown up…”

His wide hand lifted her silk dress over her ass and he went to town whacking each cheek—left, right, left—the pain increasing. Rosetta buried her face into his chest, her lipstick staining his shirt. Smoke palmed her cheeks hard, savoring the heft of that juicy flesh in his rough hands.

“Damn,” Smoke stared over her shoulder and down at her rump, “this big ass…mmm…mmm…mmm…I wanna look at that pussy, baby…I still have that picture of your pussy in my wallet…”

Rosetta set up a camera and took photos of herself nude before sending them off to whatever address Smoke told her to send it to. He’d beat his fat dick every night to all her photos. He stole a pair of her panties as a reminder of her scent. Anything to keep his sanity.

“You do?” Rosetta stared up at Smoke.

“Yeah,” Smoke retrieved his wallet from his pocket. He presented the photo to Rosetta. It had cracks in it from being folded, but her hairy mound, phat clit, and glistening folds stood out against the black and white, “She still nice and bushy?”

Smoke had a thing for hair. He hated whenever Rosetta would do a clean shave. Since he’d been gone, she’d started shaving again. Luckily, there was enough hair there to satisfy his desires.

“Not too much, daddy…”

“Mm,” Smoke flicked his tongue against her lips.

“I want you to do it to me, daddy…”

“Do it all night long, baby?”

“Do it to me, papa…”

Smoke’s dick jumped and stretched to proportions he couldn’t handle.

“I wanna suck on that pussy first…”

Rosetta’s clit twitched at the thought of Smoke slurping on her pussy cat until she was wrung dry. She had a lot for him to drank up. When she first laid eyes on him tonight, the wetness soaked through and created a slippery, sticky mess. Those big lips and that thick dick…

“Let me smell it,” Smoke picked Rosetta up and sat her down on the cramped counter space, “Spread your fuckin’ legs you sexy, bitch…”

Rosetta made quick work of her thighs spreading wide and limber. Smoke could see a big wet spot in the crotch of her cotton panties. He didn’t waste time stroking the outlines of her fat lips that strained against the fabric. Smoke chuckled before slipping her panties to the side. His fingertips graced coarse hair covered in slick and heat. Beyond that was a clit made to be suckled.

“Shit, she still get nice and wet for me,” Smoke admired the shine on his thick fingers before bringing it to his nose to take a whiff, “fuccck,” He pushed his fingers into his mouth and licked them clean, “Fresh pussy…taste so good…”

He was down on his knees with his fingers tangled in her panties to keep them out of his way. Rosetta brought one leg up and it opened her lips more for him to eat. The humidity of that kitchen had their brown skin glistening beneath the dim, yellow, lamp lights. Smoke spread her lips and stared into her pussy. Rosetta stroked his slick-back, begging him to put his face in it.

Smoke buried his nose in it first. He rubbed her clit with the tip of his nose before using his lips to encase her clit and suck. He sucked nice and slow to warm her up, but then he created a vortex so tight with his lips Rosetta almost fell from the counter. The sucking came at a rapid pace—precise and intense.

“Uhnnn,” Rosetta gasped and moaned, “Daddy!”

Rosetta stroked her pussy many times to one of her favorite raunchy tunes. Jump Steady Daddy by Lucille Bogan stayed on repeat whenever she rubbed on her clit to the thought of her Smoke Daddy. She missed when he would come to her late at night, sneak in her bed and eat her pussy. She loved it when he would be on his knees, holding her weight up and fucking into her.

Love me, daddy

Love me all the time

Love me, daddy

Love me all the time

And if you love me like I did

You'll be that jump steady man of mine…

“Yes, ooh, daddy, papa,” Rosetta’s thighs shook out of her control, “Ima cum…Ima cum…”

The thin straps of her silk slip dangled from her shoulders and perspiration trickled down her spine. She didn’t have time to prepare before she was creaming down Smoke’s chin. All he did was suck her clit. He came up for air, lips dripping wet and face glistening with cum.

Her nipples poked out through her slip, teasing Smoke’s eyes. He was as hard as stone, unable to bear the feeling anymore. Smoke stood and picked Rosetta up from the counter, carrying her towards her room. The door was ajar, so all he needed to do was nudge it and he was walking inside. He didn’t bother closing the door. Smoke placed Rosetta on her back, climbing on top of her and sticking his tongue in her mouth.

Rosetta smoothed his button down shirt over his shoulders and Smoke pulled his arms through. He had on a white beater that clung to his muscles like plaster. Smoke broke his lips away and trailed kisses down her neck until he was at the tops of her breasts. Rosetta arched up into his chest, soft moans music to his ears.

Smoke used his teeth to yank the rest of her slip down, revealing 34 C breasts with large nipples that reminded him of chocolate-covered gum drops. Rosetta dragged her nails through his hair, messing up the smoothness of it, revealing waves. Her updo had come undone, finger-waved hair falling into her eyes. The salty, sweet taste of her skin caused him to growl.

“Daddy…I wanna taste that dick…”

With a deep exhale, Smoke stood up. Rosetta sat up on her knees with her dress around her waist and went to work undoing his slacks. She pushed down his boxers and his pants in one motion, his dick bobbing out like a pendulum and hitting her on the chin. Rosetta admired how girthy and veiny her daddy’s dick is. She licked up the precum before it was wasted and with her eyes on him, she wrapped her lips around him and sucked.

“Ahhhh…There you go, baby…that’s how you welcome me home…suck this big boy…gobble it up…”

Her soft hair in his grasp, Smoke’s toned hips pumped her throat. He curled his top lip, revealing golds, grunting at the feel of her tight throat.

“Ugh, fuck, baby…the best dick suckin’ bird in N’awlins…”

Rosetta giggled in response. She prided herself in her skills. Sucking dick and riding dick was her specialty. Smoke licked his lips, eyes barely open as he watched her. He tilted his head and started drilling her mouth. Loud gagging noise started, Rosetta’s once pristine makeup now running down her face.

“You’re so beautiful wit’ my dick in your throat, baby…make daddy cum…so I can fuck that pussy…”

His girth increased, Rosetta’s jaws tightening. She grabbed hold of his balls and worked her neck like no other. Smoke chewed on his bottom lip and threw his head back.

“Hmmm….mmmmmm….”

His hips spasmed out of control. Rosetta almost choked on his thick cum. She had to spit his dick out just to swallow what she could. The rest painted her chest.

“Turn that ass over,” Smoke stepped out of his pants and with one hand on his long dick, he pumped it, “On your knees, gal.”

Rosetta brought that ass in the air and arched her back deep. Smoke stood behind her with a big dick swinging. Rosetta hadn’t felt it in two years. She was afraid. Shaking with fear. He had to open her up again.

“Use them big girl words and tell me what you want,” Smoke slapped her cheeks around, “Where you want this dick?”

“Daddy, fuck me!” Rosetta begged.

His dick aligned with her ass and with his big hands he tucked it higher. Smoke grunted and slapped her bouncy cheeks.

“Ouch! Papa…” Rosetta cried, more from surprise.

It hurt so good. With hands as large as his, he managed to cover a wide area of her ass, leaving behind a burning sting that only made her wiggle her ass against him. Smoke rubbed her down before digging his fingers into the flesh, spreading her wide, and thrusting into her.

“Oh, my! Smoke!”

Rosetta’s ass recoiled and bounced off of Smoke’s sturdy hips. He had her by the hair, keeping her back arched. That man was fucking her like he was fresh out of jail. His thick shaft gave her stretch and his length made her feel it in her stomach. The sound of her wet pussy matched the skin-slapping.

“Big dick on you! Fuck!”

Smoke let go of her hair and grabbed her hips. Rosetta looked back at him with her mouth agape and brows knitted together in disbelief. His hair had puffed up and some strands fell over his forehead. He looked wild and sexy. Muscles flexing, golds flashing, eyes unblinking.

“Keep fuckin’ me, papa! Fuck this wet pussy, daddy! Oh my goddddd—”

Rosetta fell forward and buried her face in the sheets.

“Uh-uh,” Smoke brought one leg up, leaned over her, and wrapped a hand around her throat, “You can take this dick. Get that shit you want so bad,” Smoke said.

Every cry or whimper that came out of her mouth, he responded with an evil chuckle or a groan of his own in her ear.

“Grip me up like that…good girl…that’s it baby…”

Rosetta felt hot liquid trickling down her thighs. Tears brimmed her eyes and her body seized up with her release. Smoke withdrew his hips and got down behind her to lick her up. He licked her thighs, then trailed his spit to her folds. He rolled her onto her back and scooted her towards the edge of the bed. Ass hanging off, legs thrown over his shoulders, Smoke put that dick in her pussy and pounded up into her with sharp thrusts that had her toes curling.

“Oh, shit!” Rosetta and her swinging titties couldn’t handle it, “Damnit, Smoke! I’m cumin’ !!!!!”

Scooting her onto the bed, he pile-drived her into the creaky mattress. Folded in half was an understatement. She stared down the valley of his impressive body at his dick.

“Big Daddy!” Rosetta pressed her feet into his chest, “Fuck me good! Take this pussy!”

“This my fuckin’ pussy…”

Smoke slammed into her before dropping down to kiss her soft lips again. His thrusts turned into modulated pumps that caused her to gasp. Each time his dick would enter her, she would gasp with surprise. Smoke nibbled on her pouty bottom lip and stared into her eyes longingly.

You know I love you

I love you

I love you

I love you anyhow

And I don't care

If you don't want me

I'm yours right now…

“Cum for me Smoke Daddy…”

His forehead furrowed and with one more sharp thrust, he erupted deep in her womb.

———————-

[beansprean]

I always say Guillermo should get more fashionable as a vampire, so i made it happen - here's some of my favorite reds!

ty to @g0sts for being the perfect model~

See all 150+ outfits on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

Full body of vampire Guillermo taking a mirror selfie and flashing a peace sign. His phone case is a photo of Armand. He is wearing a dark green button shirt with tiny red polka dots and gold capped collar wings, a gold bat bolo tie with red strings, red suspenders with gold fang shaped clasps, tight black pants, black boots with gold toe caps, a red overcoat with gold details and bat wing tails, red bolo earrings, and several gold jade and ruby rings.

Repeat. He is wearing a bright red suit with a darker shawl collar and gold buttons over a black leather corset top laced up to the bottom of his breastbone, red frill at the hem. He has black boots with gold heels, a gold hoop in one ear, and three strings of gold beads around his neck.

Repeat. He is wearing a pale brick red button shirt with darker stripes over a deeper red knit sweater vest with a chevron pattern, brown chinos, brown tassel loafers with a rose pattern, several white gold rings, ruby drop earrings, and a metal rose brooch with a chain pinned to his collar.

Repeat. He is wearing a red button shirt with a low cut collar and a bellflower pattern. The collar and cuffs are black with a red lace pattern and each hem is studded with pearls. He has a black belt with a silver buckle, dark brown striped chinos, brown derby shoes, double pearl earrings, two strings of pearls and a sapphire pendant at his neck, and multiple gold, silver, and sapphire studded rings on nearly every finger.

Repeat. He is wearing a red balloon-sleeved button shirt with a black fishnet and pearl pattern with some darker flowers over a dark blue cropped sweater vest, high waisted red jeans, and dark blue slippers. He has pearl drop earrings and a ring with a large ruby stone.

Repeat. He is wearing a black shirt with red buttons, a pair of ruby collar pins with a chain, a ruby drop earring, a red sweater with a knit heart pattern, plaid blackish blue chinos, black boots with a red rose pattern, and a black overcoat with red buttons and a double breasted collar on only one side, revealing a red silk interior.

Repeat. He is wearing a sheer lace button shirt in a curling flower pattern, a pair of collar pins resembling dripping blood, a red tie with gold studs, a red waistcoat with a darker flower lace pattern, dark green chinos, black combat boots, several gold rings, and gold fang shaped stud earrings.

Repeat. He is wearing a blue striped button shirt, a cropped red velvet waistcoat with gold buttons and pocket chain, a red ascot with a gold spider brooch, a gold drop earring, a dark blue suit jacket and matching trousers, glittery red and gold boots, a long dark red trenchcoat with a wing tip collar, and several gold rings.

Repeat. He is wearing a sheer button shirt with a bright red heart pattern over a black tank top, red jeans, ruby drop earrings, a silver heart shaped ring, and brown oxfords with a heart shaped toe cap. /end ID

[der7py]

Yandere Fashion Designer x reader

While visiting your favorite fashion designer, something seemed off. He seemed off. More panicky, more scrambled than usual. Why? Where was that cool and calm collected Antonio? Well, he was right behind you.

Warnings: People pleasing, forced isolation, panicked motions, kidnapping, deranged thoughts, extreme paranoia, guilty conscious, extreme self-neglect, locked doors, locked windows, paranoia, very minor violence, chloroform wipes, slight guilt-tripping, paranoid thoughts

You knocked on his door, the rain downpouring on you and your raincoat. That's all the weather ever was nowadays. Just rain and more rain. Which meant that little mister fashion designer was cooped up in his office all day. "Antonio! If you don't open the door, I'm gonna break in through your window!" You yelled, knocking on his door again as you tapped your foot. Finally, you heard some shuffling around. Took him long enough! As the door opened, you were met with a very disheveled Antonio. His blonde hair was a complete mess, a pencil stuck in it. Or maybe it was originally behind his ear. His eyes were wide yet the bags under them were heavy. His shirt was unbuttoned, and a tape measure hung around his neck with his sleeves rolled up.

"Y/n! I uh... I didn't expect you to come over." He said nervously, attempting to fix his messy hair, which just made it worse. You looked him over, cringing at his state of mind and appearance. You reached a hand up, pulling out a cut piece of silk out of his hair. "Yeah... completely unrelated question... how much sleep have you been getting? And have you seen what grass looks like?" You jokingly asked, which received a glare from your friend. "Haha. Very funny. Now, did you come here because you missed me, or did you come here to belittle me?" He questioned, leaning against the door with his arm. That brought a smile to your face. At least he hadn't completely lost it.

You jokingly punched his arm, letting yourself in as you took your raincoat off. "There's that sass! Was starting to think you had completely lost it in here." Antonio rolled his eyes, shutting the door and locking it as he moved past you towards the kitchen. "Don't mind the mess. I've been working on a new spring collection, so I haven't had time to properly clean." He said, moving towards his kettle to make some tea. You noticed the messy state of his usually clean house. Papers scattered across the floor, fabric loosely thrown around, and some books collecting dust. His window blinds were shut, and his door had gotten a new lock now that you looked at it. It looked like it had several new locks now.

"Hey, uh... buddy?" You started, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. The state of his kitchen wasn't much better either. You knew he wasn't a hoarder. And it didn't look like that either. It looked like somebody's mental state. "What's uh... what's with the new locks on the door? Worried somebody's gonna come and snatch your stuff?" You somewhat jokingly said, which immediately caused him to slam down the kettle and turn around. "Snatch who? Snatch what? I'm not paranoid. You're the paranoid one! I'm completely sane. Stop accusing me of things you have no evidence of." He rambled, a crazed look in his eyes before he took in a deep breath. "Sorry. I've been on edge lately. Guess being cooped up in my office hasn't been the best, huh?" He laughed, turning back around to finish making tea.

Well, that was weird. He never had outbursts like that. Was his mental state okay? You awkwardly laughed it off with him, but your mind was preoccupied. Eventually, he poured you both some tea, sitting down himself. "I guess nerves haven't done well for me. I keep thinking this new collection will flop." He said, trying to excuse his sudden outburst. You frowned, setting a hand on his as he sipped his tea. "Yeah, I get that. But don't dress so much, okay?" You said, giving him a smile before sipping your own tea. He smiled back, taking in a deep breath before standing up. "Would you like to see the collection?" He asked, which earned a nod from you. You stood up, following him out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his office. As he opened the door, you were met with multiple fashion dummies, beautiful clothes hanging on them.

"With all the rain, I thought I'd make my spring collection rain themed." He said casually, looking at the designs he made. You slowly touched them, feeling the soft fabric. You could tell he put a lot of work into what he made and that he wasn't like most fast fashion companies who just threw something cheap out and then moved on. There was actual skill in these outfits. You always knew he was talented. He always had been talented. But this, actually feeling and seeing his work up close, really showed you, his skill. "This is fantastic." You mumbled, looking back at him with awe. You kept forgetting that he could just make things like this out of thin air. "Antonio this dress with the glitter is amazing! And it doesn't even feel grimy and gross! How did you even manage this-" You started, but as you turned around; he was gone.

"Antonio? Buddy? Where'd you go?" You asked, peeking your head out the doorway as you looked around the corner. Where did he go? You decided to wait a little longer, maybe he had to use the bathroom, or take an important phone call from his boss! But he always told you if he was going somewhere, even if he was going to go open a window because the house was stuffy. After about 15 minutes of waiting, you were getting worried. You needed to go find him. You left the room, venturing down the hallway to try to and find your beloved fashion designer. But something looked different. The windows. They were locked.

You walked over to the window, attempting to open the big window where his book corner/think station was. But it wouldn't open. "Antonio? What's wrong with your windows?" You called out, but no answer came. No calm and warming voice to soothe your fears. You walked downstairs, and the same thing happened. The windows were locked. And that mega lock door? Sealed nice and tight. Fuck it. You needed to leave. Maybe this was just a new way of saying his social battery was gone and he needed some space. "Antonio I'm gonna go home now. I'll see you tomorrow?" As you turned around to try and pry the locked door open, a cloth was suddenly shoved against your nose and mouth, and two strong arms wrapped around you.

"No. No, you can't leave." A familiar voice said, and you knew it was Antonio. "I have done everything to make you want to be with me. What am I doing wrong?" He asked, his voice shaky as he started to laugh. "Is this house not quiet enough? Do I scare you? Is my job too demanding? I promise I'll make you a whole collection. I'll make all your clothes for you! Would that be enough!?" You were starting to lose unconscious, and it was too late to fight him now. How had you not seen the signs? The locked doors, the people pleasing over the past few weeks, the begging for you to stay longer. You just chalked it up to him being lonely and scared. But you should've know.

Your eyes slowly closed, and your body went limp in his arms. You didn't know where you would end up after you woke up. But something in your gut told you, you wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

"I'll keep you safe. I promise. I'll make you so happy, so loved, so cherished, you'll never want to leave. I'm sorry it had to come to this. But I love you too much. Forgive me."

[spiderclothing]

Spider shirt can be worn with many outfits because of its versatile design.