#maybe it’s obvious but some things need to be shifted

[padmerry]

Stanford Pines: “and isn’t it suffocating?”

This is basically my attempt to understand the issues of the Stan twins’ relationship from teen Ford’s point of view and the reason(s) for their separation. Was Ford really feeling suffocated by his relationship with Stan? If so, why? And when did it start? When did things start to shift in this direction, if once they were just fine? There’s just so much to unpack.

I don’t think I need to point out, to most fans, where the word “suffocating” comes from. It was a very memorable scene, if nothing else, since a lot of people hated Ford for it.

Behold the scene in question:

I think it’s so obvious that Ford was projecting and actually talking about his and Stan’s relationship here that I won’t even attempt to prove that, hahah.

Now, is this Ford... a) talking about his true feelings regarding his and Stan’s relationship when he was young, even before the science fair incident, or b) lying to himself, as he presumably started to do ever since (but only after) the science fair incident?

First, I’d like to invite you to actually listen to Ford’s voice/watch his mannerisms as he says this, here (timestamped). The thing is that... he doesn’t sound very bitter! He doesn’t sound like he’s throwing shade at Stan. Instead, he sounds and looks—pay attention to his eyebrows—like he’s genuinely puzzled. Does Dipper... really think he’s not meant for something more? Why! He’s so brilliant, with so much potential! Just like Ford when he was younger! The poor boy must be really attached to his sister...

Second, I’d like to invite you to not be so harsh on Ford, as he says that it, nor she is suffocating—the relationship Dipper has with the girl, not the girl herself. Not that Ford can’t be mean! He can be terribly mean, sometimes, especially out of spite. But the man has some limits. He wouldn’t say this about his twelve-year-old niece.

Another thing to be taken into consideration is that Ford was convinced Mabel would be fine, since she had “a magnetic personality.” This is a trait he very likely also attributes to Stan! In TBoB, for example, he was convinced of Stan’s ability to make the waitress laugh. There’s a lot of evidence for the fact that Ford had no idea of how badly Stan was faring and/or would fare without him, due to the idealized version of Stan Pines in his head.

That said, here is the behind-the-scenes commentary on Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future:

Alex Hirsch: Ford offers Dipper [an] apprenticeship because Ford sees Dipper as somebody who’s special like himself. And that’s Ford’s great flaw, that arrogance. He believes there are special people and everyone else.

Jason Ritter: And that you can be held back by your siblings, maybe.

Alex Hirsch: Yeah, he believes that attachments are actually weaknesses.

It has been said before Alex is too harsh on Ford, hahah. (If you have actually read enough of his interviews and listened to all his commentaries, like I did, you’ll realize he’s harsh on most of his characters, including Dipper and Stan!) That is, however, something also made canon in J3 in many, many excerpts, and stated by Ford himself quite plainly here:

“I thought being a great man meant being alone.”

And of course, his advice to Dipper in the show itself:

“Don’t let anyone hold you [back].” His choice of words is interesting. “Anyone,” not “anything.”

I do believe this line meant exactly what we think it did, since Ford, for all his “Mabel will be fine,” immediately guessed that she didn’t take it well as a visibly upset Dipper returned to his side:

When did he start developing this mindset, though? Before or after the science fair?

I think some of you might have read the (in)famous TVInsider 2016 interview in which Alex states Ford saw his brother as a “bumbling leech” (ouch!) his “entire life.”

In terms of Stan and his brother’s conflict, we always wanted a moment where Ford saw that he was wrong. Ford’s spent an entire life imagining himself as this lone solitary hero and imagining his brother as this bumbling leech. From a narrative point of view, for Ford to see Stan be the hero finally lets Ford see the true side of his brother that he’s been too blinded by pride to see.

Now, an important fact is that—I think many people fail to grasp this—Ford looking down on Stan doesn’t mean Ford not loving Stan. My boy can and will multitask!

And, of course, “entire life” didn’t actually mean Ford’s entire life! It was definitely an exaggeration on Alex’s part, meant to convey that for most of Ford’s life, presumably from late teen years old to the current age, Ford looked down on his brother.

We know for sure that baby Ford never looked down on Stan, and in fact defended him from the Sibling Brothers in the last Lost Legends comic!

But one thing we also see is how baby Ford already shares, to a certain extent, adult Ford’s ambition:

Another trait, equally important, early on: the tendency to think he was special and/or different from everyone else, for better or for worse. Like one of the very first things Stan told us in his childhood retelling in AToTS, “As if his abnormally high IQ wasn’t enough, he also had a rare birth defect: six fingers on each hand. Which might have explained his obsession with sci-fi mystery weirdness.”

As he grows up, he also grows, understandably, very proud of his accomplishments. In Stan’s words, “Ford’s brains seemed to get more impressive every year.”

He grows to embrace the “freak” part of him more and more, both ashamed and proud of not fitting in. Like Bill so gently phrased it in TBoB: “The ego of a king. The insecurity of a circus freak.” (I take all his words with a grain of salt, of course, but sometimes he hits the nail on the head.)

But what does this mean for his relationship with Stan?

I think the first thing we have to know is that Stan is Ford’s identical twin, something that is heavily alluded to in canon and confirmed by Word of God. The first comment from Alex regarding this matter that I could find was this tweet from 2015. Then it was further confirmed in many episodes of the DVD commentaries (the first ones already mention it) and indirectly implied by Bill on the TBoB website.

Why is this even important? Twins of the same gender, especially identical aka monozygotic twins, tend to struggle with identity issues. Not only the same birthday, but the same face—that without having to share even a name.

The second thing is that they only ever had each other. I talk more about their codependency here, elaborating on the differences between the relationships of Dipper & Mabel and Stan & Ford.

Again, I borrow Alex’s words when asked about Shermie’s role in the family as Stan and Ford’s brother in HanaHyperfixates’ and ThatGFFan’s interview:

In terms of Shermie, I remember asking Rob or somebody at some point, like, “Would Shermie be here, logically? Do we have to see him?” I don’t really wanna see him. I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in Stan and Ford being—sort of having only each other and then losing each other because of their different life paths.

Let’s not forget, too, the only time Ford ever mentions Shermie in Journal 3—“Sherman Pines’s,” surname and all:

The best example we have of this in the show is probably Stan’s line in AToTS, “Those bullies may have been right about us not making many friends, but when push comes to shove, you only really need one.” Stan not only acknowledges their dynamic, but sounds very content with it.

Was Ford content with it, tough? That’s... more complicated.

Like we’ve established, these two were identical twins (unlike Dipper and Mabel, fraternal and of different genders) and only had each other (again, unlike Dipper and Mabel), which not only exacerbated their codependency but also their identity issues. They were used to being two halves of a whole. It’s very telling that in AToTS, “the Pines twins” are both called to the principal’s office, even though only Ford should have been called. They were seen as a single entity.

And don’t get me wrong, Ford has always loved Stan so much. Perhaps part of him even enjoyed the fact his brother trusted and leaned on him so much, depended on him both emotionally and to... get a passing grade.

But for some reason, even before the science fair... things still grew quite awkward. From Stan’s Land Before Swine commentary (DVD extras):

Anyway, cut to high school, the guy’s never kissed a girl, prom is coming up, and he asked me for advice. “Stanley, I know things have been a little weird between you and me with college, but can you talk to me about girls?”

The interesting thing here, to me, is that Ford... straight up recognized the “weirdness” between them to Stan’s face! And the fact Ford felt the need to mention it, as if he couldn’t simply ask his own twin brother for advice about girls without making a sort of acknowledgement first! These brothers once told each other everything... How did things get to this point?

First, notice how Stan says “prom is coming up.” The same prom at which they laughed together and shared a moment of camaraderie after Stan threw punch at himself to share Ford’s humiliation.

Which to me points to the fact it was something gradual, happening little by little, hand in hand with the sweetest moments in their teen years.

Imagine you’re Stanford F. Pines, not yet PhD.

You know you are special. You’re both a genius and a freak. You are always praised by adults around you, by your teachers. This starts to go to your head. You cling desperately to the “genius” part of your identity, so you can be more than a bullied freak. You grow even more ambitious. You can see a future for yourself.

You have a twin brother. You love him more than life itself. But everyone talks, and... aren’t they right, somewhat? Just a little bit right? Stanley isn’t a genius, like you are. That’s a fact. Stanley also doesn’t have ambition, like you have. Stanley isn’t a freak, like you are. It doesn’t mean Stanley isn’t cool! But you are... different from him...

And yet, despite all that, he’s your identical twin brother! You can only ever be one half of a duo. A single entity. Even your name, you share with him. He doesn’t seem bothered by that, but you are. Can’t you just be Ford, for once, no Stan? (Ironically, the fact is lost on you that your brother was always more under your shadow than you ever were under his.)

You start to think that the Stan O’ War isn’t anything more than a beautiful, but ultimately childish, dream. It isn’t very realistic, is it? You could be so much more than that. You could actually make a difference. You could prove everyone wrong about ever calling you a freak. You try to breach the subject with Stanley, but all he wants to talk about is this damn boat. And you care about it too, of course you do, but... Doesn’t he care about anything else?

I can see, so easily, the influence of other people on Ford slowly (and subconsciously) growing, even though his love for Stan didn’t diminish. I can see him noticing the mismatch between his ambition and Stan’s ambition, his academic achievements and Stan’s academic achievements... or lack thereof. Again, this is the teenage version of the little boy getting starry-eyed about seeing his own face in the papers. Except now, the possibility of Stan being there with him... doesn’t seem as likely.

Alex on A Tale of Two Stans (DVD commentary), confirming that the rift between them had started before the principal’s words:

A lot of different ideas that we came up with to suggest, you know, what was the moment where things started to change between them? When they went from best friends—and it felt, as we went to draft, that the right moment would be—sort of—as they’re entering the end of high school they have to make a choice about college and the rest of their lives, they’re speaking to guide counselors. That’s when the world at large is pointing out, “by the way, one of you is amazing!” And the toll that would take on Stan.

Alex being mindful of the difference between love and respect, as seen by his commentary on Stan’s condescending love for Mabel in Land Before Swine:

But this idea that Waddles is sort of a metaphor for what Mabel loves. And Stan loves Mabel but he doesn’t—he doesn’t really think that anything she thinks is necessarily smart or right. You know, he loves like her, ah, she’s my sweet niece, but [Stan’s voice] “she doesn’t know anything.”

I can see, also very easily, Ford having some intrusive thoughts, then immediate guilt over them. For example, after someone mocks Stan for his grades, Ford comforts him while thinking, “but yeah, maybe Stanley could really put more effort in—wait, what? He’s my best friend! I can’t think like that about him!”

Stan’s narration over this scene: “The future was looking bright... for both of us.” Oh, Stan... Ford’s smile looks painfully awkward.

Just notice the difference between Ford’s posture and body language there and here in college!Ford’s picture (and, again, look at Ford’s eyebrows, but also the way he leans in Stan’s direction):

It’s important to remember that this, too—the scene in which Ford smiles awkwardly—was before West Coast Tech.

But now, with West Coast Tech, he finally has something solid. Something tangible. A real way to make a name for himself. And he loves it. Now this is the face of true happiness!

He manages to win even the approval of his famously “not impressed” father!

Borrowing my words from another meta:

Pay attention to Filbrick and Caryn’s shocked faces when it’s revealed to them that Ford’s genius can, actually, earn them millions! Pay attention, too, to the way Ford looks at Filbrick when he’s praised by him. He’s very surprised and ecstatic to receive his father’s approval, a very brief, “I’m impressed,” that wasn’t even expressed directly at Ford. Ford doesn’t act as if it’s something he receives every day or casually. He was in fact feasting on crumbs.

Ford also knew it was not unconditional acceptance. From Ford’s point of view, at least, he was worth exactly just as much as he could earn Filbrick, and Bill’s threat in TBoB (“your father won’t want you returning without millions”) touches on that insecurity.

But... What about Stan?, you might be thinking. That was, funnily enough, the only thing that Caryn (who didn’t smile or praise Ford once) wanted to know, too.

He’s visibly very upset by having his brother insulted like that, and he didn’t know Stan was on the other side of the door overhearing their whole conversation. But he also doesn’t defend his brother, like Stan likely would have, and Stan doesn’t see Ford’s facial expression. He just hears silence from him.

And no, young Ford had zero difficulty in standing up for himself or for Stan, as seen in Lost Legends and as explained at length in my previous analysis. My own interpretation is that Ford finds it harder to defend himself or Stan from things that, deep down, he considered to be true: the fact that his polydactyly made him a freak, as pointed out by Crampelter and the Sibling Brothers, and Stan’s lack of ambition (and lack of future born out of said lack of ambition), as pointed out by the principal. I don’t think he appreciated his brother being called “a clown” at all, in the same way he didn’t appreciate being called a freak, but I also don’t think he could bring himself to disagree with the point being made here.

This moment in the series was also probably inspired by a real moment in Alex’s life that inspired the scene in which Mabel overhead Ford’s proposal to Dipper, according to the commentary of Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future:

This idea of Mabel overhearing Dipper and feeling left out actually came from a real thing that happened between me and my sister. This is a weird anecdote about me and my sister but we did this kind of like, sort of competitive improv games when we were in middle school, very nerdy. And we did pretty good, like, our team made it to the international competition every year, and there was this high school team... [...] We had a pretty good team, but there was a team above us, the high school team, that was like, legendary, that we wanted to be like. And when me and my sister went from junior high school to high school, like, this is going to be our last year to do this sort of competitive improv, and I got a call from the high school team saying “hey, guess what? we already raided your team for the standout members, we’ve taken the people from your team that always do good scores and we’re combining the high school team and the middle school team into a super team and we would like you to be on the high school team. And I was like, “what about Ariel?” And they were like, “well, there’s only seven members per team—” and Ariel was listening on the conversation and I remember her like, bursting into tears because they had basically been like yeah, we got two Hirsches [and] we only want one, and I didn’t even blink. I just said, “no, I refuse to be on this team.” Like, I couldn’t, it was just like, this is so messed up, you’re breaking this whole thing apart, like yeah, it’s a great team, yeah, you guys are awesome, but I’m not gonna do this without Ariel. And I just remember being this awful moment where some external pressure was telling us like, oh, you gotta choose, you gotta make a choice. Um, like, and it was like this very personal thing. And so like, that’s a big part of the inspiration of like, somebody comes and says, like, you but not you.

Based on Alex’s reaction to such a proposal, it’s not a stretch to think Ford’s silence here was indeed telling, from a narrative viewpoint. It was a deliberate choice from the creator.

And then... Oh boy, the swingset talk.

“Joke’s on them if they think you wanna go to some stuffy college on the other side of the country,” Stan says, then proceeds to boast about their future adventures, only to end it all with a painful expression that shows he doesn’t believe what he is saying. He knows what Ford is truly going to choose.

Stan asks him what would happen if the college board was impressed with his experiment. “Well then, I guess you better come visit me on the other side of the country!” Which indicates he clearly didn’t expect Stan to come with him, either.

Then The Accident happens, and Ford reacts accordingly.

It’s fascinating to me that Ford knew exactly what would bring someone like Stan to do something like sabotage his machine. He doesn’t accuse his brother of feeling jealous of his success or of the attention of their father and teachers! Oh no, that’s not your typical sibling drama of competitiveness, nor an easily solvable lack of communication. Instead, he accuses Stan of sabotaging his machine so Ford would stay with him! Which proves he was aware of Stan’s feelings, despite what a good part of this fandom seems to think! And, while it had been just an accident, a dumb mistake on Stan’s part instead of a deliberate act... Ford is right! Stan really couldn’t handle Ford going to college on his own.

He’s right, because we know Stan’s feelings about this. Stan says, in so many words: “Without Ford, I was just half of a dynamic duo. I couldn’t make it without him. And now, thanks to that dumb college, I was gonna lose my brother forever.” I know the “forever” was perhaps Stan being a bit melodramatic (understandable considering his distress) but it also shows us he didn’t expect their relationship to go back to normal, or for the college to be just one passing fancy. He knew it would be just the start of his brother’s career.

And perhaps this is the last thing you’d expect me to bring up at this point, but...

Do you remember this episode? Little Gift Shop of Horrors? It’s often dismissed as non-canon (due to its hidden keyword being “noncanon”), but even if the events in it didn’t actually happen, the characterization remains very much real.

We talk about Ford projecting on Dipper about a relationship being “suffocating,” but Stan was doing some impressive amount of projecting here too, hah, considering that he was more likely than not making up all the stories.

Just. This entire conversation:

Stan couldn’t be more unsubtle if he tried. And of course, Waddles chooses Mabel, his favorite person in the world.

We know whose “favorite person” Stan wants to be...

But again, back to Ford.

Yay, Ford is free of his suffocating relationship with Stan! Free to do things like looking at pictures of Stan with yearning! Writing that he misses Stan in code while yearning! Staring at the Gravity Falls’ lake with yearning because it reminds him of Stan! The last one in particular is very amusing to me because to study anomalies was basically Ford’s dream job and he loved Gravity Falls and... and yet! There is no place in Gravity Falls he would rather stay than the lake...

You might want to read this for the full extent of Ford’s clownery, but just the fact that Ford canonically (per Word of God) carried a picture of baby Stan in the breast pocket of his coat at least as early as his Gravity Falls researcher days to remember his brother by, is... telling.

That is, without even counting the fact that he has actively attempted to replace Stan with Fiddleford, Bill, and then even poor Dipper! Because, again, he yearns! From Alex’s commentary on Society of the Blind Eye:

Ford as somebody who lost Stan is kinda looking for—even though he rejected his brother, he kinda needs, he needs that other person, and he tried to find that in this kinda sweet prodigy and he just pushed him too far.

Yeah, I know. Ford is quite... confusing. What does he want? To use three other people (or triangle) to fill the role of Stan in his life but still reject and stay away from Stan himself? Everything and nothing, at the same time?

And now I need you to bear with me and read this entire excerpt of the HanaHyperfixates’ and ThatGFFan’s interview, most important parts highlighted in bold:

Ford was very much us building backwards. The same way you know a black hole is there by the light warped around it, it’s like, you know the damage someone’s family has done to them by all of their weird tics and behaviors. So who is the character who would result in Stan being this hurt and needy and mad and also longing?

And so we came up with this guy who kinda seemed too perfect. And is distant. He’s aloof, and distant, and he’s too perfect. And it’s like, “oh! I think he’s also aloof and distant from himself.”

I think he is, uh, deeply deeply hiding from his real feelings about things, because at some point early on, he decided that he could run from hurt by achievement and by creation, and has dug that hole so deep that he has no relationships. He doesn’t have friendships, he doesn’t have romantic relationships, he is someone trapped in a tower of his own mind and estranged.

We know Ford has always loved Stan very deeply—and yearned for his company just as badly—through his entire adult life. So what, exactly, changed in old Ford for him to invite Stan to sail away together again, post-Weirdmaggedon?

Well. I have some hypotheses.

First, he spent forty years separated from Stan, and then almost lost him forever (or at least their relationship), from a certain point of view. Have you ever heard that saying that you only know the value of something or someone after you lose it? Teen Ford had never lost Stan, and didn’t know how much he would miss him.

On that same note, all those years separated allowed him to develop a personality and identity of his own, and a very defined and strong one at that. (Yes, poor Stan meanwhile spent that time pretending to be Ford. Ironic.) The Stan twins have also managed to be competent at what was once their weak spot, something they relied fully on their brother for. Stan has managed to learn and understand complex physics to fix the portal. Ford, on the other hand (and we’re focusing more on his feelings, here), has definitely learned how to defend himself physically.

Second, Ford was severely “humbled by the narrative,” so to speak. He thought he would get to be the hero, when the hero (at least in Ford’s own point of view, which is the only point of view that matters) was actually his brother. “Stanley Pines was the man who saved the world, not me.” His pride—and Stan’s own pride as a reaction to Ford’s pride, but again, this analysis is focused on Ford—was a great barrier between him and Stan. And on what regards his self-loathing and subsequent thirst for external validation, he has learned to seek love in the right places. His family. Stan.

Stan, who has always loved him unconditionally, who never considered him a freak in the first place, who has always tried to make him feel as if he belonged, if only on an old boat. Stan, who after Weirdmaggedon is now his priority, above his scientific ambition, symbolized by the journals he was no longer reluctant to destroy.

Another excerpt from the interview I’ve referenced lastly wraps things up perfectly:

[...] and it’s always sweet to see [Stan and Ford] come together again, because they’re so full of themselves, but they are also both so damaged they desperately need each other.

The codependency is mutual—people really should understand this. I don’t think it ever really went away, not in an emotional, psychological sense, despite the two of them having developed separately for decades, as I have elaborated here. They didn’t return to the same place they started because they have matured as individual persons, but the love they had for each other never did decrease. They know, now, exactly how it’s like to stay away from each other, and they... actively prefer not to.

After all, like Ford himself said, “I don’t just want someone to come with me, Stanley, I want it to be you.”

[bigmamaelli]

Are We Still Friends

Hamzah x Reader

Please excuse the writing, i was sleep deprived but i needed to post something for yall 😫

꧁ When a confusing night pushes two friends past the line they never thought they’d cross, the silence after speaks louder than the moment itself. But was it a mistake… or the truth finally slipping out?

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

You’d been best friends with Hamzah since high school—long before the followers and the attention. Back when life was simpler, messier in different ways. You don’t remember exactly how it started, just how quick it happened—texting all the time, him walking you to you classes sometimes, those casual meetups that started to feel like rituals. One minute you were acquaintances, and the next he was the person you told everything to.

You got close fast. The kind of close where people assumed something was going on. Where sometimes, maybe… you did too.

There were moments—quiet ones—where the things he said lingered too long in your head. Compliments that felt too soft to be casual. Glances that held just a beat too long. Maybe you flirted back. Maybe it meant nothing. Just friend stuff. That’s what you told yourself. It didnt happen often maybe a few times over the years you two had been friends, but when it did happen it felt obvious.

You weren’t supposed to end up tangled in his sheets, flushed and breathless, mumbling his name like a prayer you didn’t know you knew—barely conscious from the drinks and whatever else was coursing through your system.

But you did.

And everything changed after that.

—

You had both been drinking and smoking. Not too much—just some shots, BuzzBalls and weed the usual mix passed around at Hamzah’s place with a few of your friends. You were tipsy, loud, leaning into him more than usual—but that wasn’t surprising. You were always a little clingy when you drank. Always a little too affectionate.

Hamzah hadn’t had as much, but enough to feel it. He didn’t push you away. His arm stayed around you longer than necessary, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt as he talked to the group like it was nothing. Like you always touched each other like that.

But it felt different.

His hand lingered. His gaze dropped to your mouth more than once. He kept looking down at you—not the friendly, lopsided grin you were used to, but something softer. Warmer. Like he was looking at someone he already had.

At some point—between the laughter, the sway of bodies around his apartment, and the speaker humming low in the background—the night shifted. The others scattered, half-distracted by conversations or their own drunken haze. No one was really paying attention to you anymore.

You and Hamzah sat too close on the couch. Said nothing. Just… stared. And something in the silence cracked open.

And then—like gravity had finally gotten tired of waiting—he leaned in.

His lips brushed yours once. Light. Testing.

Then again—deeper this time.

You didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. The buzz in your body made it feel like slow motion, like your heart had dropped and floated at the same time. His mouth moved against yours with an urgency that didn’t match the lazy hum of the party around you. Like the room had melted away and left only the two of you.

It should’ve felt wrong. It should’ve snapped you back to reality.

But it didn’t.

It felt… inevitable.

His hand slid up the side of your neck, thumb grazing your jaw as you leaned into him—like your body had been waiting for this. It felt oddly intimate, more intimate than a drunken kiss should’ve felt. His other hand anchored on your thigh, firm, grounding you even as your head spun. You gasped softly when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he murmured something against your mouth you couldn’t even process.

Your hands gripping his hoodie, pulling him closer, needing him closer. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remembered there were people around—but it was muffled. Blurry.

You were drunk. And all you could think about was how warm his skin felt. How careful his touch was. How none of it made sense, but somehow it did.

You weren’t sure who stopped kissing first, but your head was spinning by the time you pulled away.

Hamzah was still close—close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek, warm and a little uneven.

You blinked up at him, half-dazed. “…That was weird”

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice low.

You both eventually stood up, not saying anything. Somewhere across the room, someone shouted over the music and someone else laughed. The real world was still happening. But not in here.

You swayed a little on your feet and laughed suddenly—soft and awkward. “I feel like I forgot how to stand.”

Hamzah steadied you with a hand at your waist. “You’re standing right now.”

“Barely,” you grinned, gripping his hoodie for balance.

You were both breathing too hard. Still standing way too close. Still holding onto each other like you hadn’t registered what just happened.

You glanced at his mouth, then at the hallway behind him, then back at his eyes.

“Do you—” you started, but stopped. You didn’t even know what you were asking.

Hamzah looked at you like he did, though. Like he knew. Like he’d been waiting for you to say something.

The air between you crackled. Too warm. Too quiet, even with the bass thumping down the hall.

You were the one who said it. Barely above a whisper.

“Can we go to your room?”

Hamzah didn’t say anything right away, just kept looking at you like he was reading a decision on your face.

Then he nodded.

You followed him down the hall in silence, barely remembering how your legs worked, your head full of cotton and noise and him. The floor felt weird under your feet. Or maybe that was just you.

He pushed open his bedroom door, and you stepped in after him like it was automatic. You didn’t look around. You didn’t need to.

You just kind of stood there.

Hamzah moved to sit on the edge of the bed like he didn’t know what else to do, elbows resting on his knees. His hoodie was still warm from your grip earlier.

You were swaying a little.

“This is…” you mumbled, staring at the floor. “Weird, right?”

“A little,” he said, soft.

You laughed awkwardly, rubbing your forehead. “Are we supposed to like… talk?”

Hamzah shrugged. “Youre drunk.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I know.”

You moved toward him before you could think better of it—feet slow and unsteady. You sat beside him, your knee brushing his. Neither of you said anything.

Then you blurted, “I feel like I’m floating.”

Hamzah smiled a little. “You look like you’re gonna fall off the bed.”

“I might,” you mumbled. “Catch me?”

He looked at you. Really looked. Then tilted his head slightly. “C’mere.”

You leaned in first.

The kiss wasn’t smooth this time. It was messier, warmer, slower. You didn’t really know what you were doing. You just knew you wanted to keep kissing him—every time you stopped to breathe, you leaned right back in like you couldn’t help it.

Your hands were on his hoodie, his fingers brushing your waist. Everything was hot. Unsteady.

You pulled back just a little, your voice barely audible. “Is this stupid?”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed you again, harder this time.

You didn’t even mean to climb into his lap. It just happened. One second you were sitting beside him, the next you were straddling him, your arms around his neck like this was something you’d done before.

It wasn’t. But it didn’t feel wrong.

He let out a soft breath when your body pressed close, his hands holding your hips gently, like he was scared to grip too tight.

You kissed him again—deep, slow, and way too long—and whispered against his mouth, “Don’t stop.”

Your breath hitched when Hamzah’s hands slid under your top, fingers splayed against your waist. He hesitated there—just for a second—like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you like this.

You didn’t stop him.

You leaned back in, kissing him again—your lips slower now, more open. Heat pooled between your legs when his tongue brushed yours, gentle but a little needy, like he couldn’t help it either.

His hands moved higher, fingertips brushing the band of your bra. He wasn’t smooth about it—you could feel the pause, the uncertainty—but his touch still made your skin tingle.

Your hips shifted against his lap before you even realized what you were doing, and he breathed out like it caught him off guard.

That changed something.

He held you tighter, and you kissed harder—deeper—your fingers curling in the collar of his hoodie. You didn’t think. Just pulled it up and off, half-laughing when it got stuck over his head for a second.

“Sorry,” you whispered, breathless.

Hamzah just shook his head, lips parted. “You’re fine.”

Your shirt came off next—less graceful, kind of fumbly. And suddenly you were in your bra, in his lap, his eyes flicking down before he kissed you again, more urgently this time.

You didn’t know where to put your hands. So you just held onto his shoulders, steadying yourself, feeling his warmth under your fingers.

Then he kissed your neck.

He didn’t ask permission. Just moved slow, mouth dragging down your skin like he’d wanted to do that for a while. One hand slid down between your thighs—light, careful, and shaky.

You twitched at the first touch.

He froze instantly. “Wait—you okay?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering. “Yeah. Just—keep going.”

He kissed you again, open-mouthed and deeper now, like he was trying not to lose it too fast.

You weren’t sure if either of you knew what you were doing anymore.

But you didn’t stop.

And neither did he.

You weren’t even fully out of your jeans yet. They were halfway undone, but neither of you seemed to notice—or care. You were too busy kissing him again, too warm and dizzy and wrapped up in the way his hand was still moving between your legs.

Not smooth. Not fast. But enough to make you shake a little.

Your fingers dug into his bare shoulders as your hips tilted into his touch, chasing it like you hadn’t even realized how badly you needed it.

“Shit,” you whispered against his mouth. “I’m sorry—I just—”

“Don’t be,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Please don’t be.”

You blinked down at him, half-laughing. “This is so… weird.”

He smiled, barely. “Kinda.”

“Like you’re literally my best friend.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes flicking down to your mouth again.

He didn’t say anything else. Just kissed you again—open, messy, like he was afraid you might back out if he thought too much.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

You reached down and finally shoved your jeans the rest of the way off, tossing them without looking. Your thighs brushed his as you settled back into his lap, both of you breathing too hard, eyes locked like you couldn’t believe this was still happening.

“Do you—” you started, biting your lip. “Should we—?”

He was already reaching toward his nightstand, drawer half open before you even finished.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly. “I got it.”

You watched him fumble a packet out, dropping it once before grabbing it again. He looked nervous for the first time.

“I’m not, like, trying to rush—” he started.

“I want to,” you cut in, soft and serious. “I just—don’t laugh if I get weird, okay?”

He smiled—small, kind. “You’re already weird.”

“Hamzah.”

“I’m kidding. I won’t.”

You kissed him again. Deeper this time, your hips rolling against him without warning. He groaned into your mouth, the tension snapping loose like it had been building for years.

You didn’t need to say anything else.

Your bodies did the talking—fingers trembling as he slid your underwear down, lips finding your neck again as you reached for him, tugging his boxers just enough. His hands settled on your hips like he was steadying himself, even though you were both swaying a little.

“Come here,” he whispered, and it wasn’t smooth, but it made your stomach flip anyway.

You nodded, letting him guide you down onto him, slow and careful. Your breath caught—his did too—and for a second neither of you moved.

Then you exhaled, shaky. “Fuck”

Hamzah grinned through his own unsteady breath. “Yeah.”

And then you both started moving, quietly, awkwardly, like you were figuring it out with every roll of your hips. There were giggles, soft cursing, too many hands in the wrong places until they weren’t.

—

You woke up squinting against the light bleeding through the blinds, your head dull and aching, your mouth dry. The sheets smelled like him. You blinked, trying to piece things together—not the act itself, you remembered that—but how you felt about it.

It was just drunk sex. Between friends. That’s what your brain kept repeating, like if you said it enough, it would feel normal. But it didn’t. Not really. You weren’t sure if you were embarrassed or just unsettled by how quiet everything suddenly felt inside your chest.

You sat up slowly, the hem of his shirt—oversized and unfamiliar—falling over your thighs. You didn’t remember putting it on. You didn’t remember much after anyway. You reached for your phone on the nightstand, just for something to do, something to hold onto.

That’s when the door opened.

Hamzah stepped in, holding a glass of water and a couple pills. His expression was… unreadable. Not embarrassed exactly, but tight. Like he was trying not to show something. Annoyed? At you?

He placed the glass down on the nightstand without really looking at you. “Just thought I’d let you know I’m heading out,” he said, voice clipped—like he didn’t want to say more than he had to. You felt the heaviness in the room, like the air between you had changed or something.

You nodded, slow, unsure. “Okay,” you murmured, trying not to sound weird about it. You didn’t match his energy, couldn’t even figure out what his energy was, but it stung a little. You weren’t sure why. He felt so different from last night, and it made you unsettled, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

He paused for a second, like he might say something else, but then just gave a short nod and turned to leave.

And you just sat there in his bed, hugging your knees, resting the glass against your lips, still trying to understand if something between you had gone off—or if it had always been this weird to begin with.

—

You got home that afternoon and went through the motions like everything was normal. Showered, changed, cooked something, and settled on the couch with a show playing low in the background. But your mind wasn’t really in it.

You hadn’t let yourself think about last night too much. Not in full detail. You sort of pushed it aside, filed it under “too much alcohol” and “deal with it later.” But Hamzah’s face kept creeping back into your memory. The way he looked at you this morning—distant, unreadable. Maybe not disgusted, but… off. Like something in him had shifted.

You hadn’t talked since. Unless you counted the awkward ten seconds of him leaving his own room like he wanted nothing to do with what happened. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You were both hungover. Probably both weirded out. That didn’t mean everything was ruined… right?

Still, your phone sat heavy in your hand for the better part of an hour before you even opened his contact. You stared at his name on your screen like it didn’t belong there. Like this wasn’t the same person you used to text ten times a day without thinking.

Your thumb hovered. Then you typed.

“hey are we good?? ion want anything to be weird yk we were drunk”

You sent it before you could second guess it. No overthinking.

You set your phone aside and tried to refocus. There were bigger things happening in your life—responsibilities, plans, literally anything else—but your mind just kept circling back to that. Him. Last night. This morning. The way everything had gone from easy to… weird.

You queued up a movie you actually liked, hoping it’d distract you enough to stop replaying his expression in your head. You weren’t even sure what it meant. You hated that it was starting to feel like something had changed, but you couldn’t tell if it was between you—or just inside him.

An hour in, your phone buzzed. You nearly gave yourself whiplash reaching for it, heart jumping stupidly in your chest.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Mandy.

“did you and hamzah hook up last night?? i saw you two making out on the couch and then go to his room lol”

You exhaled sharply, leaning your head back against the couch. Someone else reminding you of it—like you weren’t already stuck in that mental loop trying to figure it out.

Still, you loved Mandy. And maybe it was a good thing. At least now you didn’t have to hold it in.

“we have to go out tomorrow. i’ll debrief everything that i remember”

You sent it quickly and closed the chat before she could start asking more questions. But as soon as your screen returned to your inbox, your heart dipped again.

Hamzah had left you on seen.

For an hour.

You stared at it for a second longer than you wanted to admit, then locked your phone and tossed it to the other side of the couch like that would somehow make it hurt less.

You tried to convince yourself he was just busy. Maybe he’d gone out, maybe he just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Which would’ve been fair. It was weird. A little messy. Maybe even a little embarrassing. You told yourself he probably needed time to figure out what to say.

You clung to that excuse for the first hour.

Then two passed.

Then four.

You kept glancing at your phone like maybe the screen had glitched, like maybe the message hadn’t actually sent. But no—there it was. “Seen.” No reply. No typing bubble. Just silence.

By hour five, your stomach felt hollow.

You tried to stay distracted. Folded laundry that didn’t need folding. Cleaned your kitchen that was already clean. Rewatched the movie you’d put on earlier, but didn’t remember a second of it. Every noise your phone made that wasn’t him made your heart sink a little lower. You weren’t upset exactly just disappointed.

By the time you gave up and went to bed, your mind slowed down. You laid there in the dark, eyes on the ceiling, replaying everything from the night before—how it started, how it felt, what his face looked like when he pulled away.

You finally fell asleep with your phone under your pillow, just in case.

And when you woke up the next morning, the first thing you did was check.

Still nothing.

Not a single word from him.

And somehow, that felt worse than anything he could’ve said.

You didn’t want to believe that drunk sex would be enough to ruin everything. Not with him. Not after all the years, the memories, the you and him of it all. You kept telling yourself he just needed time. That he was still processing it, the same way you were.

But deep down, something in you stirred uncomfortably.

Because if it were just that—just awkwardness or confusion—wouldn’t he have said something by now? Confirmed that everything was okay?

You had always meant something to him. At least, that’s what you thought. Enough that he’d try. Enough that he wouldn’t just vanish into silence like none of it mattered over a little embarrassment.

You kept forcing yourself to believe he was figuring it out. But the truth was, some part of you already knew—there was something else behind his silence. Something that had shifted.

And whatever it was, it wasn’t just about being drunk.

It was late in the morning now—almost 11:00—and you still hadn’t moved from your spot. You were supposed to be getting ready to meet Mandy, but instead you were curled up in bed, phone face-down beside you for no particular reason, mind tangled in everything except plans.

As much as you wanted to hear from Hamzah, part of you felt like you needed to talk to Mandy even more. She wasn’t just a friend—she was your person, even if you met through Hamzah and Martin. Over time, your connection had taken on a life of its own. With her, things always made more sense, or at least didn’t feel so heavy.

You finally sat up after what felt like hours of just thinking, hugging your knees to your chest for a moment before thinking to yourself, Time’s not gonna stop for you to sit here and overthink. You weren’t sure if it helped, but it got you on your feet.

You dragged yourself to the bathroom and let the hot water run down your body, standing still beneath the spray, eyes closed. Like you were hoping it would rinse off the weight of everything you didn’t know how to feel yet.

After your shower, you moved more purposefully—still quiet, still not quite distracted, but at least doing something. You styled your hair the way you liked it, swiped on just enough makeup to feel a little more in control. Then picked out something cute. Something flattering. Something that made you feel like you again, even if just a little.

—

“Bitch, I’m so mad,” you said, barely containing yourself as you marched over to the table where Mandy was already sitting, iced coffee in her hand.

You tossed your bag onto the seat next to you and plopped down with more force than intended, the chair scraping a little too loudly beneath you.

Mandy raised an eyebrow, already half-grinning. “Okay, calm down, what happened?”

“Oh my god—don’t even get me started,” you huffed, leaning forward with your elbows on the table, hands in your hair. You felt like you were going to explode if you didn’t get it out.

“Debrief me,” she said, leaning in too, like she was settling in for tea. “Start from the top.”

You sighed hard, sitting upright again as you stared at her, wide-eyed. “So obviously you know about Hamzah and me—how we… y’know.”

Mandy nodded, lips twitching, like she was trying not to smile.

“We were so drunk and high, like way too many shots. It literally just happened. One second we were laughing and then suddenly I’m like—in his room.” You paused. “But it wasn’t even, like, romantic, it was just… drunk and messy and stupid. Not a big deal.”

She raised her brows. “Okay… and?”

“Well, I went home yesterday morning, right? And I texted him—nothing crazy, just ‘hey, are we good?’ And he ignored me.” Your voice rose with disbelief as the words poured out. “I’m sorry? Like… you were there, too, Hamzah!”

Mandy blinked. “Wait, what?”

“For hours, Mandy. Literally all day. I even convinced myself he was, like, busy or something—like I was being crazy. But no, I woke up this morning and still nothing.”

You let out a frustrated breath and dropped your head dramatically into your hands.

Mandy gave you a long look, then slowly sipped her drink. “That’s actually insane.”

“I know, right?” you sighed. “Like I’m not even mad that we hooked up—I’m not crying over him or anything—but we’re best friends. How are you gonna ghost me like I’m some one-night stand?”

“Well…” Mandy leaned back, brows pinching thoughtfully. “I actually saw him yesterday at the office.”

You perked up. “You what?”

“He was there with Martin. I didn’t talk to him really, just said hey, but he seemed kinda… I don’t know. Off? Not like upset, just like… weird energy.”

You stared at her. “Weird how?”

She shrugged. “Like, quiet. Not making jokes like usual.”

“Oh, so he’s mourning,” you deadpanned, flopping back in your chair.

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Girl, shut up.”

You looked at her, serious again. “Do you think I ruined everything?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “He did—if he’s making it weird, that’s on him. You’re allowed to be confused and awkward, but ghosting you? That’s immature.”

You nodded slowly, biting your lip. “It’s just… I didn’t think one stupid night could mess things up this bad.”

Mandy reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “Then maybe it’s not just one stupid night, babe.”

And just like that, your heart dropped a little lower into your stomach.

“And its only been a day just give him a little time maybe hes still processing” she shrugged, reassuring you.

You nodded slowly, half doubting but still having hope she was right.

—

A few days had gone by now. Still no real conversation, no effort, no explanation—just one single text from him that read: yeah were good.

That was it. No follow-up, no question, no hint of what he actually meant. Yeah like that was supposed to be enough for you to work with. You stared at the message for a long time after it came in, your thumb hovering over the screen, trying to decide if you were being overly sensitive or just finally seeing things clearly.

You hadn’t spoken in a week. Not really. And now, the silence was starting to eat at you—not just because of what had happened that night, but because you missed him. Like… him. Your best friend. The one who used to send you videos of his cats, who’d show up at your place with food when you had a bad day, who knew every version of your laugh.

Now it was just… weird.

You tried to be chill about it. Tried not to spiral. You told yourself not to message him, that he’d reach out when he was ready—but the longer you waited, the more it felt like he wasn’t planning to. And it wasn’t about closure or feelings or whatever people usually text about after a messy night. You just wanted to know if you’d lost him. It felt dramatic jumping to that conclusion but you didnt know what to expect.

You stared at his name in your phone longer than you should have, until your chest tightened and you gave in.

“Are we still friends?”

You hit send, then immediately regretted it.

It felt like too much. Like you were making it a bigger deal than it needed to be.

But also, so was he, so maybe it was already a big deal, and you were just the first one to say it out loud.

You stared at the screen, annoyed at yourself for sounding so dramatic.

Like—what were you even asking?

You were probably just overthinking everything like always.

Still, you couldn’t help it. The silence was messing with your head.

And even if it was dramatic, it was honest.

The kind of question you only ask when something suddenly feels unfamiliar.

When someone you’ve always known stops feeling like a guarantee.

Mandy had kept you in the loop when it came to him—said he seemed fine. Normal. Laughing at work, hanging out at there house, joking around with Martin like always. Like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t been ignoring you specifically.

It stung. Not because you wanted something romantic from him—because you didn’t even know what you wanted—but because it felt personal in a way you couldn’t quite explain. Like he had chosen to pretend you didn’t exist, and no one else had even noticed.

You tried to rationalize it. He wasn’t the type to make a big deal out of stuff. And yeah, it was awkward—but it wasn’t like you’d confessed your love to him or anything. It was drunk sex. People moved on from that. Friends got over that. Especially if it wasn’t a big deal.

So why didn’t it feel that way?

Why did it feel like something had shifted under the surface—and you were the only one who felt it?

Another day passed.

By now, the confusion had settled into something quieter. Not gone—but dulled, like a bruise you stopped pressing on. After the first few days of questioning everything, you’d decided not to let it run your life. You weren’t going to obsess over it, not when you still had things to do, places to be, people to talk to. You told yourself to keep it in the back of your mind, like background noise—just don’t let it take over.

Are we still friends? The words sometimes distracting you from getting on with your day, even though you tried to bury the thought.

But it was hard to ignore something that kept lingering like this.

You were still on delivered. Five days now. No opened message, no reply, not even a reaction. Just silence. It didn’t make sense. And the longer it dragged on, the more your frustration started to outweigh the sadness.

It wasn’t just about the night. It wasn’t even really about the sex anymore. It was about how he was acting—how he was making this into more of a thing than it needed to be. How easily this could’ve been a weird little blip, a passing moment between two friends, if he hadn’t decided to make it something else by shutting down completely.

You would’ve moved past it. You wanted to move past it. But he wasn’t letting you.

Life kept moving. Yours, his. Work, errands, chores, dinner with friends. Everything stayed on track like nothing had changed—except it had. And only you seemed to be sitting with the weight of it.

Eventually, you’d had enough. You weren’t going to keep being the only one carrying this tension in your chest.

So you messaged Mandy.

“Would it be crazy if I just showed up at the office and asked him?”

You watched the three dots appear, disappear, then come back.

“Not at all you deserve answers!! tell me how it goes babe”

She wasn’t wrong. You knew the times he was usually there, you’d visited enough—dropped off food, helped them film. It wasn’t like you didn’t belong there too. And if he was going to keep dodging your texts, maybe cornering him was the only way to make him look you in the eye.

Still, the whole thing felt surreal. Like you were planning some big confrontation with a stranger.

But that’s what it felt like now.

Like he wasn’t your best friend anymore.

Like you weren’t even sure if he remembered what that meant.

—

It took you a while—just sitting in the quiet—before you moved.

No distractions, no music, just the low hum of your AC and the ache that hadn’t really gone away. You grabbed your bag, checked your phone again out of habit, and headed for the door. Your hand hesitated on the handle of your car before pulling it open.

This felt… weird.

Not scary, exactly. Just strange. You weren’t used to needing courage for something like this—for him. It used to be easy, showing up. Seeing him. Talking.

Now it felt like you were going to confront a stranger.

Still, you got in, started the car, and drove. Nothing dramatic. Just a normal trip. But underneath it all, you were aware—this wasn’t just about asking him what was going on.

It was about facing what might’ve already changed.

You didn’t have a whole speech planned. You didn’t need one. You just wanted to look at him and ask, Why are you acting like this? Why had he ghosted you like it was easier to pretend you didn’t exist than confront how he actually felt?

It wasn’t the sex. You were sure of that now. It couldn’t just be that.

Something else had shifted that night. Maybe for you. Maybe for him too. But the silence made it impossible to know which.

And maybe that’s why you were really going.

Because the not-knowing?

It was worse than any answer he could give.

You knew the office code. You’d punched it in a hundred times, usually walking in next to him, both of you too caught up in whatever conversation you were having to notice the keypad beeping.

It felt different this time. Quiet. Stiff.

Cory was at his laptop, headphones on, barely looked up when you passed through. You gave him a quick “hey,” then kept moving.

You didn’t even know if you really wanted to see Hamzah. But you kept walking until you did.

He was on the couch, fashion nova hoodie on, sunk into the cushions like he hadn’t moved in hours. His eyes flicked up when he heard your steps—lingered on you just a second too long—then dropped back to whatever was in his hands like it didn’t matter.

You stood there for a beat waiting for him to acknowledge you.

“Are you being deadass?” you asked, your voice low, almost testing him.

“Hamzah,” you said again, louder.

“What?” he said, barely looking up.

“That’s it? ‘What’? You know what.”

He exhaled through his nose. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Maybe why you’ve been ignoring me for two weeks?”

He didn’t answer. Just gave you that look, like you were the one doing too much. Like you’d crossed some line.

You stepped closer. “I’ve been busy,” he said flatly.

“Have you?” you said, a little smile escaping because of how ridiculous that was. “Look, I get it. It was weird. You’re allowed to feel weird. You’re allowed to regret it. Just don’t make it a thing and then act like a child.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing, Hamzah? Because I’ve been sitting with this shit for two weeks while you walk around like it never happened.”

He looked away again, jaw tight. His throat moved when he swallowed.

You watched him for a second.

“You’re acting like it was some big thing,” you said quieter.

That got to him. You saw it. The small shift in his face.

He didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t push.

Finally, after a long pause, he muttered, “I didn’t mean to make it a big deal.”

You tilted your head. “But you did.”

He stared at the floor. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

“It just—it fucked with my head,” he admitted, voice lower. “I didn’t know what to do.”

You blinked, feeling a little dizzy. “So your solution was to ignore me?”

He shrugged. “I thought it’d be easier.”

Your heart dropped, but you stayed calm. “Was it?”

His jaw clenched again. He didn’t answer.

He finally looked up at you, his eyes softer now but still holding something unreadable. “Can I be honest?” he asked, voice quieter this time—almost like he didn’t want to say it out loud.

You nodded slowly. “Hamzah, that’s all I’ve wanted this whole time—for you to be honest with me.”

He exhaled, then rubbed the back of his neck, almost wincing. “I wasn’t that drunk,” he said, his brows pulling together. “Like—I didn’t even smoke. I was basically sober.”

You blinked, taken aback. “So…?”

“I went along with what you were doing because I wanted to,” he said, jaw tightening again. “Not because I was drunk.”

That hit you harder than you expected. You inhaled slowly, processing it.

“Oh,” you said, nodding once. You felt it settling into your chest—what he meant. Why he’d been avoiding you. “Okay…”

Hamzah looked angry, but not at you. More like at himself. Like saying it out loud made something click in a way he didn’t want it to. Like it was clear he’d been avoiding his feelings for a while.

“That morning,” he said, voice low, “it felt too real. I didn’t know how to talk to you without giving myself a false sense that something could happen between us.. more than just sex—and that felt wrong. Like I crossed some line I wasn’t supposed to.”

You walked over to the couch, your movements slow, careful, like you didn’t want to spook him. Sitting down next to him, you looked at his profile, the way his gaze stayed locked to the floor like the truth embarrassed him.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you said gently, “I kinda felt the same way.” you admitted a weight you didn’t even know you had being lifted off your shoulders.

He glanced at you now, just a flick of his eyes.

“I was confused at first— still am.” you continued. “Like—why did it feel like such a big deal? We were drunk, we were friends… it shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. And I think deep down, I knew it wasn’t just about that night. I think i was in denial, for how i felt.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly tight. “For you.”

He didn’t speak right away, but his hands fidgeted in his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them. The room felt too still, like even the air was holding its breath.

“So what do we do now?” he asked finally, barely above a whisper.

You shrugged, eyes on your knees. “I don’t know yet.”

Neither of you said anything for a while. And maybe that was okay. Because for the first time in days, things weren’t bottled up or ignored or misread. You were both just sitting in it—raw and honest. Even though it wasn’t exactly the outcome you wanted it was better than not being heard.

Are we still friends? The words repeated in your head again, but you already knew the answer.

Whatever you were now, it wasn’t just friends.

And even if you wanted to go back, something had already shifted.

There was no undoing it.

Taglist: @giuliannna @hamzahsbaby @freakzah444 @slushingkoala @hamzahsbiggestfan @evilinternetgirl @dizzym3l @infinitefireflies @sturniyolo @khxna

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen <…previous ... next…>

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

TWENTYFOUR

Since you had no more classes left for the day and only one task remaining—to plan the trainings with Nanami—you decided to freshen up and change into something more comfortable. You needed to feel like yourself again, composed and sharp. Normally, that was your nature. Calm. Collected. Composed. But for some reason, Nanami Kento had a way of undoing you with nothing more than a glance.

It wasn't fair. You’d faced curses without blinking, handled Satoru’s chaos and Suguru’s slyness without faltering. Yet one look from Nanami could turn you into a stuttering, melting mess.

You knew you had agreed to your complicated arrangement with the three of them, but there was still so much you didn’t know—things you wanted to know. About Kento. About Suguru. About Satoru. You hoped that maybe today’s session would bring you a little closer.

You knocked gently on Nanami’s door. When it opened, you found him seated at his desk, which was—unsurprisingly—immaculate. Everything in its place, clean, organized. The complete opposite of your chaotic workspace or Suguru’s barely-managed piles of scrolls and cursed tools.

Nanami looked up at you, the faintest warmth softening his serious expression.

"Come in," he said, voice low and even, already making your pulse jump. "Could you lock the door behind you? I’m trying to avoid Gojo’s invitations for endless snacks."

You nodded quickly and did as he asked, trusting that was really his reason—because honestly, it sounded believable. Or it could be. Not that you would mind being locked in a room with him. With a voice like his, Nanami could ask you to do anything and you’d probably say ‘thank you, sir’ without a second thought.

You swallowed hard, determined not to turn into a clumsy, stuttering idiot and actually do your job.

You walked toward him, trying—and failing miserably—to hide the fact that there were a thousand butterflies thrashing wildly in your stomach. Not the cute, fluttery ones that made you feel light and giggly. No, these were vicious, nerve-wracking things, leaving you dizzy and frantic. You bit your lip, desperate to stay grounded, because Nanami’s voice alone was enough to make you feel things that were definitely not innocent.

Today, he didn't have his glasses on. His coat was neatly hung on the rack, his tie loosened, and two buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a glimpse of his collarbones. You already knew what he looked like underneath that shirt—knew too well—but somehow, seeing him like this made it even worse. His sleeves were rolled up, baring strong, veined forearms that looked like they might rip through the fabric at any moment. His hands—heavens, even the way he held his pen made it look tiny, like it didn’t stand a chance against his fingers.

You struggled to shove the very unprofessional, very lewd thoughts out of your head. You were here to work, damn it. Work. But the way Nanami looked at you as you crossed the room—steady, unreadable, utterly intense—made you question every ounce of self-control you thought you had.

It took a couple of seconds for Nanami to finally meet your eyes.

And when he did, it was obvious—painfully obvious—that he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he had been checking you out. There was a smugness to him, subtle but unmistakable, like he knew exactly the kind of chaos he was stirring inside you.

For the first time, you noticed that Nanami's smirks and smiles were barely there—so faint that you’d miss them unless you were really paying attention. Unfortunately for your poor heart, you were paying very close attention.

When your eyes locked, the shift in him was palpable. His gaze darkened, turned heavy—possessive and hungry, like he could eat you alive and would thank you afterward for the meal.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry like you hadn't drunk water in days, especially when his low, deliberate voice rumbled out:

"You look… ravishing."

You completely blanked. Focus. You needed to focus.

Instead, you—like an absolute idiot—blurted out, "Thanks. You too."

You could've died right there.

Nanami’s mouth quirked into another almost-smirk, one brow arching in pure, silent amusement. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Blushing furiously, you tried to hide your face by quickly plopping down onto the chair in front of his desk, desperate to salvage even a shred of your dignity.

Nanami tilted his head slightly, the motion slow and deliberate. His voice, impossibly deadpan, cut through the tense air, "What are you doing?"

You blinked at him, utterly lost. "…Sitting down?" you answered, the words coming out smaller and more confused than you intended.

Another subtle smirk ghosted over his lips.

"You're sitting on the wrong chair," he said matter-of-factly.

Before you could process what he meant, Nanami leaned back slightly in his chair, patted his thigh in an unmistakable invitation, and said in that same maddeningly calm voice—

"Come here. This is your chair."

You nodded like a complete idiot.

Standing up, you immediately realized—with horror—just how much of an idiot you really were.

Because this outfit? This outfit was a terrible idea.

Sure it was comfortable, just a simple black knitted dress that hugs your curves in all the right places.

It stops at your middle thigh, showing off your long, toned legs. The sleeveless design accentuates your shoulders and arms, while the low neckline reveals a tantalizing glimpse of your ample cleavage.

You cursed yourself inwardly, not realizing that this dress emphasizes your breasts that are large and full, your peaks are straining slightly against the fabric due to your lack of a bra. Of all days.

Brilliant.

Sure, you had at least chosen black fabric that didn't make anything glaringly obvious—but still.

Still.

You cursed yourself again as you shuffled over and sat down carefully on Nanami’s lap.

The moment you settled, his arms moved automatically, strong and deliberate, caging you between himself and the desk. His sheer size dwarfed you, made you feel like you belonged there. You always felt small next to them—your ridiculous men, all well over six feet tall, with Satoru towering over everyone like the menace he was—but with Nanami, it was different.

His body wasn’t just tall; it was dense, packed solid with muscle. Sitting on him felt like perching on something carved straight out of stone.

You half-wondered if he ate bricks for breakfast. Probably didn't even chew.

As you struggled to keep your thoughts clean, Nanami shifted behind you, the heat of his chest pressed firmly against your back. You could feel every breath he took, steady and controlled, like he wasn’t at all affected by the fact that you were literally sitting on him like some scandalous office pet.

Without a word, Nanami reached past you, his chest brushing you even closer as he plucked the folder Principal Yaga had given you from the desk.

Right. Work.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying desperately to pull yourself together.

Focus, you reminded yourself grimly, before you embarrass yourself even more.

Then again, maybe you weren’t a complete idiot after all.

Bless your last two functioning brain cells—because somehow, by some miracle, you had already attached your notes and preliminary ideas to Principal Yaga’s request.

The folder sat neatly in Nanami’s hand, and as he flipped through it with efficient, precise movements, you felt a small flicker of pride that you had at least prepared.

Maybe—maybe—you could survive this without combusting into flames of embarrassment.

That fleeting confidence lasted exactly two seconds.

Because every tiny shift Nanami made had you acutely, devastatingly aware of him.

The way his chest pressed against your back, solid and burning.

The low rumble of his voice as he read aloud a few points—each word vibrating directly through you, sinking into your spine, spiraling lower, right between your legs.

You pressed your thighs together, desperate for some kind of control, praying to every deity that Nanami hadn’t noticed.

But judging by the way his hand stilled slightly on the folder, the way his breath seemed to deepen just a fraction—you had a sinking feeling he definitely noticed.

He had to have noticed.

At this point, you weren’t even sure if he was doing it on purpose.

Nanami was efficient. Focused. Proper.

He attacked everything with relentless professionalism—even now, his voice was steady, his posture composed, flipping through your notes like you weren’t practically melting in his lap.

Meanwhile, you sat there, helpless, brain short-circuiting, doing your damned best to focus on training modules and combat exercises—

—instead of the very vivid, very inappropriate image in your head of Nanami bending you over his neat, orderly desk.

You bit your lip harder, knuckles white where your hands clutched your own knees, and tried—tried—to act like you were a professional too.

Then Nanami’s voice rumbled low and right against your ear, so close you could feel the heat of him as he spoke.

"Explain to me what you want to accomplish with this part," he said, his breath grazing your skin.

You jolted, squeezing your thighs tighter instinctively, feeling yourself practically vibrate with tension.

Your trembling fingers clutched the folder like a lifeline as you tried to obey, flipping to the section he pointed at.

"I—I was thinking," you started, voice barely steady, "about training techniques... to help students anticipate and counter changes in battle flow—"

You hadn’t even gotten halfway through your thought when you felt Nanami’s lips, warm and deliberate, pressed against the back of your neck.

The featherlight touch made your whole body jolt forward—but you couldn’t move far, caged between his arms and the desk.

You gasped, nearly dropping the folder.

Then his hand—steady, unbearably slow—slid up your thigh, your skirt riding higher, until his fingers rested against your inner thigh, searing heat into your skin.

"Go on," he murmured against your nape, voice rough velvet that scraped deliciously down your spine.

You tried to focus. Damn.

"I-it’s important to condition instincts... to recognize battle momentum shifts..." you stammered out, trying to find words, to find anything other than the way his hand gripped you, the way his thumb lazily traced small circles, dangerously close to where you were pulsing with need.

But your voice dissolved into heavy panting before you could finish your sentence.

Because Nanami’s hand was trailing higher. Higher.

And with every inch he claimed, it became more impossible to think of anything except how easy it would be to surrender—to let yourself fall completely, helplessly into him.

"Keep going," he said, voice darker now, almost wicked in how calm it sounded compared to the fire he was lighting inside you.

You whimpered instead, head falling forward, hands trembling around the folder that was quickly slipping from your fingers.

Focus, you told yourself. Focus.

But between the heat of his mouth, the dominance of his hands, and the sinful encouragement in his voice—you didn’t stand a chance.

You tried—really tried—to focus on what Nanami was asking, to dig through the fog in your mind and actually process the training discussion like a capable adult.

But how could you?

His fingers were brushing against your hard, sensitive nubs, teasing through the thin knitted fabric of your dress.

Every light, deliberate graze made your breath hitch, your hands clutching the folder tighter, crumpling the papers without even realizing it.

This is impossible. This is torture.

Then his lips—hot, wet—descended to your neck again.

The drag of his mouth was slow, possessive, and you knew it was going to leave a mark.

You should've pulled away, told him to stop, told yourself to finish the damn task.

But against every shred of judgment you had left, you arched your back instead—

pressing your chest even harder into his large, greedy hands.

The movement also made your ass push back against him—and that’s when you felt it.

Hard. Thick. Under his slacks.

And the second your body met that undeniable proof of his desire, Nanami’s teeth bit down into your neck with a low, guttural sound that rumbled against your skin.

You gasped—sharp, needy—your entire body lighting up as pleasure and shame and want tangled into something devastatingly sweet.

His hands squeezed you tighter, grounding you firmly in his lap as he finally let go of your abused neckline, lips dragging up to your ear again.

"You're doing that on purpose," he murmured, voice so dark, so low, it nearly unraveled you right then and there.

And god help you, you almost told him yes.

Just as Nanami leaned in, his lips so close to yours you could almost feel the heat radiating between you, a sharp knock on the door interrupted the moment.

No. No, no, no.

“It’s me,” Principal Yaga’s voice rang out, clear and loud, making you freeze in place.

Your blood ran cold. Your face burned like it had caught fire, and Nanami’s marks on your neck felt like they were branding you—all of you, not just your skin.

Without even thinking, you did the only thing that made sense in the chaos:

You dove under Nanami’s desk, heart pounding in your ears as you tried to make yourself as invisible as possible.

Nanami, seemingly unaffected by the interruption, calmly stood up and walked toward the door.

You scrambled to bury yourself beneath the desk, praying to whatever higher power that Yaga would just leave.

From underneath the desk, you could hear Nanami’s deep voice as he spoke, perfectly composed as ever. “Yes, Yaga-sensei? Something you need?”

You were kneeling under Nanami’s desk like a cat, wishing you could disappear into the floor, or maybe just melt into the mess of papers beneath the desk. Your face still felt like it was burning with shame, and you could only hope that your hair was covering your neck well enough to hide the obvious red marks Nanami had left.

The footsteps from Yaga lingered, and you held your breath, praying for the universe to have some mercy.

You knelt beneath Nanami’s desk, your heart racing and your mind scrambling for a way to escape the situation. Please, just say you’ll give it to him tomorrow... you silently prayed.

But, of course, Nanami had other plans. You heard a knock on the door, followed by Principal Yaga’s voice. “Got any updates?”

You held your breath, hoping Nanami would brush it off, tell Yaga to come back later, and spare you from this awkward mess. But no. Nanami’s voice was cool, controlled. “A bit of progress. I can show it to you,” he invited.

‘Why did you say that?’

The door opened, and Yaga stepped inside, completely unaware of the scene unfolding beneath the desk. He walked to one of the chairs in front of Nanami’s desk and sat down, casually glancing at the papers spread out before him. Meanwhile, you were stuck underneath, trying to remain as still as possible, praying the desk’s front would shield you.

Nanami sat back in his chair, then—much to your horror—he subtly slid it forward, caging your body between his thighs and the desk. His posture was relaxed, but his legs were firmly pressed against you, leaving you trapped. You had to bite your lip to keep from making a sound, fighting the urge to squirm.

‘What the fuck is he doing?’

Nanami’s voice cut through your thoughts as he addressed Yaga, still completely unfazed by the situation. “She went out to grab some coffee. She should be back later, or maybe tomorrow,” he said smoothly.

‘Oh god. This is bad.’

Yaga, completely oblivious to your panic, simply nodded. “Alright, well, I'll leave a message for her.” Then his attention shifted to the papers on the desk. “Actually, could you pull up the section about the training techniques? The one where she proposed adjustments to the combat flow?”

As Yaga continued to ask questions, probing into your notes, you decided it was time for a little payback for Nanami’s teasing earlier. You moved carefully, quietly beneath the desk, making sure Yaga wouldn’t notice. You felt the tiniest shift in his posture, his body reacting to your movement, but his voice and demeanor remained calm as he engaged with Yaga like nothing was happening beneath the desk.

‘Two can play at this game, Nanami Kento.’

Slowly, with trained movements, you shifted again, deliberately brushing your hand against his inner thigh. Nanami’s posture didn’t falter; he continued speaking with Yaga, never acknowledging your movements. But the pressure of his legs, the way his muscles subtly tensed, told you everything you needed to know.

You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself, realizing that this was your moment to turn the tables. As Yaga continued speaking, you moved just a little closer, feeling the heat of Nanami’s body pressed against you. You could feel him react, just barely, but he still refused to show it.

His voice never wavered as he answered Yaga’s questions, though you could tell something had shifted. The tension in the air was palpable, and you knew that Nanami, despite his composure, was feeling every bit of your movements.

Hidden completely by the heavy desk front, no one could see you tucked beneath, your hands resting lightly on his thighs as you breathed slow and steady, careful not to make a sound.

You waited for the right moment.

And then — very slowly, so slowly you barely dared to breathe — you reached for the buckle at his waist.

The soft metallic click of the buckle loosening was nearly masked by the sound of Yaga clearing his throat.

But Nanami felt it.

You felt him stiffen above you, his hand twitch faintly where it rested on the desk. His legs tensed around you, muscles corded tight, but his voice when he spoke was calm. A little tight around the edges, but calm.

“Yes, Principal Yaga. The proposal outlines targeted individual training modules based on technique compatibility... with optional rotations to enhance adaptability.”

As he spoke, you worked patiently, undoing the button, easing down the zipper with excruciating care, feeling every shift in his tension.

When you freed him, he exhaled—very quietly—and you could hear the faintest hitch in his next breath. But he didn’t stop talking.

You pressed your lips to him, soft and slow, a delicate, maddening touch.

Nanami cleared his throat, voice dipping into something slightly rougher.

"My apologies," he said smoothly. "I seem to be developing a sore throat."

Yaga raised an eyebrow, glancing at him over the rim of his glasses. "Hmm. Sounds like you're catching something. You look a little flushed too."

Nanami forced a polite smile, one hand flexing where it rested atop the desk. "It’s nothing serious. I’ll rest after this meeting."

You continued your slow, careful work beneath the desk, taking your time, savoring the way Nanami’s thighs tensed around you and the slight, helpless flex of his hips despite his rigid self-control.

Yaga asked a few more questions, flipping through pages, and Nanami answered them all — though every so often, his voice betrayed a roughness he couldn’t completely hide.

When Yaga finally seemed satisfied, he stood, stacking the papers together neatly.

“Well, this looks solid. I’ll approve it.”

Nanami nodded, remained seated and appeared to busy himself by fixing his desk, then adjusted his jacket sharply.

“Principal,” Nanami said before Yaga could leave. His voice was steady now, cool and composed. "Would you mind locking the door? Gojo has been... frequenting my office lately for impromptu ‘kidnapping for snacks’ sessions.”

Yaga sighed, long and weary. “That idiot.”

He shuffled to the door, turned the lock with a loud click, and grunted. “There. Good luck surviving Gojo.”

He didn’t glance back as he left, closing the door behind him.

The lock turned again.

And then the room was silent — save for Nanami’s slow, shuddering breath above you.

When he finally looked down at you, the hunger in his eyes was undeniable.

"You," he said lowly, voice thick with restrained need, "are playing a very dangerous game."

You looked up at him through your lashes, your hand still wrapped around the hard length you had so wickedly freed, and you smirked — a slow, daring little thing that made Nanami’s jaw clench.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Just stared down at you, a muscle ticking in his cheek, his breath barely controlled.

Then, in a low, commanding voice, he spoke.

"You'd better be a good girl…" His hand came down to cradle the back of your head, not forcing, just anchoring you there, his thumb brushing your cheek with a barely-there tenderness that only made the weight of his words heavier. His golden eyes burned into you.

"Finish what you started."

The hunger in his voice shot through you like a live wire, lighting you up from the inside.

You hummed softly — a mischievous little sound — and obeyed without hesitation.

Slowly, deliberately, you lowered your mouth over him once more, your lips molding to his heat as you worked him with a sinful patience. Every move was slow, torturous, dragging soft, wet caresses along his sensitive skin.

Above you, Nanami groaned — low and strained — his head tipping back against the chair for just a second before he forced himself upright again, fists curling against the armrests in a desperate show of self-restraint.

"You’re…testing me," he muttered, voice raw and deep.

You just smiled around him, refusing to let up, feeling a deep satisfaction at every quiet gasp, every subtle twitch of his muscles, every time his breath hitched despite himself.

For a man as composed as Nanami, the way he unraveled under your touch was intoxicating.

The room stayed silent except for the subtle sounds of your mouth and his increasingly ragged breathing, the locked door giving you the perfect veil of privacy for the wickedness unfurling between you.

And you had every intention of savoring every second.

Nanami lasted longer than you expected — impressively so — but in the end, you felt the way he finally tensed, the way a rough, strangled breath escaped his lips as he spilled into your mouth. You didn’t shy away. You drank him in, swallowing every drop with a slow, deliberate swallow that made Nanami's golden eyes darken with something almost primal.

Before you could so much as wipe the corner of your mouth, Nanami moved.

In one fluid motion, he grabbed you under your arms and hauled you up from beneath the desk, handling you like you weighed nothing, like you were something precious he refused to let slip from his hands.

He set you down — no, plopped you — right onto the polished surface of his desk, sending a few stray papers fluttering off the sides. His breathing was rough, his control thinned to a knife’s edge, and for a fleeting second, you swore you saw the faintest glint of a snarl on his lips.

Your black knitted dress was no obstacle to him.

He hiked the soft fabric up to your waist without ceremony, exposing you completely to his heated gaze. His large hands gripped the waistband of your underwear — your favorite pair — and without hesitation, he ripped them clean off with a low, dangerous growl that made your stomach flip with anticipation.

"You won't be needing these anymore," he rasped.

Before you could protest — not that you really wanted to — Nanami lowered himself between your thighs, shouldering them apart with ruthless ease.

And then he devoured you.

There was no other word for it.

He ate you like a starved man, like you were the only sustenance he needed to survive. His mouth was relentless — hot, wet, skilled — dragging sinful patterns across your most sensitive places until you were arching off the desk, your hands flying to grip his hair, your cries of pleasure barely muffled by your bitten-down moans.

You came once — twice — three times against his mouth, your body trembling from the force of each release, your thighs quivering helplessly around his head.

But Nanami didn't stop.

If anything, your pleasure only seemed to spur him on, dragging every last sweet sound from your lips until you were gasping his name, your voice hoarse, your body boneless under his hands.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening with you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, controlled breaths. He pressed a final kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh before straightening up, towering over you, his eyes molten with heat and something far deeper.

"You," he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your cheek, "are going to be the death of me."

And in that moment, trembling and spent atop his desk, you almost wished for nothing else.

Nanami didn’t move for a long moment.

He simply stared at you — flushed, trembling, completely undone on his desk — and something inside him snapped.

Without a word, he hooked his hands around your waist and dragged you into his lap.

You gasped as your knees hit the armrests of his chair, straddling him. His hands settled heavily on your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin there as if anchoring himself — or maybe trying to stop himself from losing all composure.

But the way his chest heaved told you: it was already too late.

"I…" Nanami started, voice hoarse, his forehead dropping briefly against your chest. He gathered a breath like it took effort just to speak. "I planned… to do better than this," he muttered, almost to himself. "I told myself I'd keep my restraint around you. That I'd be patient."

You whimpered softly when his hands slid up your sides, under your dress, thumbs stroking the bare skin of your ribs as if savoring you.

"But every time you're near me," he whispered raggedly, "I lose it. I lose everything."

His golden eyes burned into yours — raw, molten, starving.

"I can't think. I can't breathe. All I want is you."

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he pulled you down flush against him, letting you feel just how hard and desperate he still was for you.

"You make me lose control," he rasped, sliding one hand between your bodies to guide himself against your slick, aching center. His restraint frayed further with each second — the lines of control he prided himself on crumbling like sand under a raging tide.

"Look at me," he ordered roughly, one hand tilting your chin up so your gaze locked with his.

"You're going to take everything I have left," he promised, his voice a raw scrape of need. "Every last ounce of me."

And then Nanami pushed inside you — slowly, deeply — his head tipping back with a guttural groan that echoed off the office walls.

You clung to his broad shoulders as he seated you fully in his lap, his breath hitching against your neck, the veins in his arms straining with the effort to stay still even a moment longer.

"So tight, baby doll," he ground out, burying his face in your neck, kissing, biting, claiming you with every desperate roll of his hips.

You felt it in every movement — the hunger, the reverence, the total and utter loss of the man who was supposed to be so composed.

Nanami Kento, always the professional, always the gentleman — reduced to a man who only existed to worship you, to ruin you, to make you his.

And he did — again and again — until the office was filled with the broken symphony of his low, ruined groans and your helpless cries, until nothing existed but the two of you and the burning need that consumed every inch of your bodies.

Nanami barely gave you a moment to breathe.

Still trembling from the last overwhelming wave, you felt his hands grip your thighs — firm, commanding — lifting you off his lap with effortless strength.

Before you could even gasp, he spun you and bent you over the desk.

The cool surface kissed your overheated skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Stay still," Nanami growled — his voice dark, frayed, barely human. His palm pressed between your shoulder blades, pinning you gently but unmistakably against the desk.

"You’re not done yet," he muttered like a vow against the back of your ear, his breath scalding hot.

The blunt head of him pressed against your entrance again, and he sank in deep with a rough, shuddering groan.

You arched instinctively, helpless under the slow, devastating drag of his body against yours.

"You feel too good," Nanami gritted out through clenched teeth. "Too warm... too perfect. How the hell am I supposed to keep my self-control when you offer yourself to me like this?"

One of his hands slid down to grip your hips hard, pulling you back onto him with a harsh, wet slap of skin on skin.

"Every day," he rasped, thrusting deeper, his restraint shattering more with every movement, "I sit across from you... watch you smile... watch you laugh... and I dream about fucking you like this."

You whimpered, clenching around him, and Nanami groaned — loud and guttural — his hips snapping against yours harder, deeper.

"I dream about bending you over my desk…" he gritted, punctuating each word with another slow, punishing thrust, "...and making you come over and over again."

The desk creaked under the force of it, his pace steady but feral, a man fully unchained.

His hands roamed greedily — sliding up under your dress, feeling every inch of your flushed skin — before one hand slid to your throat, gentle but firm, tilting your head back toward him.

"Say my name," Nanami ordered, his voice a low, dangerous growl in your ear.

"Kento," you gasped, eyes fluttering shut from the dizzying mix of pleasure and heat.

He hummed in satisfaction, his thrusts stuttering for a moment as he pressed his mouth against your ear.

"Good girl."

You felt his teeth graze your earlobe — a rough scrape that sent another wave of heat spiraling down your spine.

Then Nanami wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you upright against his chest without pulling out, moving you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing.

You cried out, the new angle hitting deeper, harder, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, growling low with each desperate thrust.

"This is what you do to me," he muttered, voice cracking. "To us."

He was everywhere — his scent, his touch, his voice, his overwhelming need wrapping around you like chains — dragging you under, drowning you in him.

And when you finally shattered again, clenching tight around him, Nanami followed almost immediately with a raw, broken cry of your name, holding you to him so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse your bodies together permanently.

You stayed like that — trembling, panting, utterly destroyed — in his arms as he kissed your shoulder tenderly, almost reverently, his voice a hoarse whisper against your skin.

"I'll never be able to let you go," he said.

And you knew he meant it.

You lay draped against him, your body trembling slightly from the intensity, your breath coming in shallow, satisfied gasps.

Still trying to catch your breath, you tilted your head back and gave him a lazy, dazed smile.

"How—" you panted softly, voice still wobbly from the aftermath, "how were you able to explain my notes to Yaga... while I was..." You trailed off, cheeks flushing deeply at the memory.

Nanami chuckled low in his chest — a rare, warm sound — and slid his arms securely around you, lifting you easily against his body as if you weighed nothing.

"You severely overestimate my ability to stay composed," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your damp temple. "I just read from the notes you wrote... almost word for word."

You snorted softly, resting your head against his shoulder as he carried you towards the couch tucked in the corner of his office.

Nanami lowered you carefully onto the cushions, moving with a gentleness that made your heart clench painfully in your chest.

He knelt in front of you, reaching for a nearby box of tissues and cleaning cloths — always so meticulous, so prepared — and began gently cleaning your body first, then his own.

His touch was careful, reverent, almost worshipful, as if he feared hurting you after what he had just done.

Once he was satisfied, he gathered you into his lap again, wrapping you securely in his arms.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, nuzzling his face into your hair, "maybe we should plan on doing our actual work after this... routine."

His voice was dry, almost teasing, but there was an unmistakable hunger still smoldering underneath it — a hunger that told you Nanami wasn’t nearly finished with you yet.

You laughed breathlessly, weakly tapping your hand against his chest.

"That will never work," you said, voice thick with affection and amusement. "Your voice alone is enough to make my legs useless."

At that, Nanami chuckled again — a rare, soft rumble of sound that vibrated against your cheek where you rested.

His hands tightened around you slightly, protective and possessive, as he pressed another lingering kiss against your forehead.

"I suppose," he murmured with a low, tender sigh, "I’ll just have to carry you everywhere then."

You smiled against his chest, your heart swelling at the thought — safe, adored, completely his.

“Let’s —,” Nanami said as he fixed your clothes and sighed as he noticed your lack of bra, “You didn’t even wear fucking bra. Don’t blame me once Satoru sees what you are wearing.” He pulled you up gently, his hands already on your waist to keep you steady, then sighed again as he saw how the dress hugged your ass, “And Suguru won’t be able to keep his eyes and hands off that very fine ass.”

You blushed at his words, at how much effect you have over them and you just let him guide you to your assigned residential area where you share a kitchen and dining together.

“You are going to be the death of us, woman,” Nanami muttered his breath, yet his hands on your waist remained firm, possessive and warm, “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

[chaos-interwoven]

all i can imagine is aaron having had to deal with neil being a capital-t terrible patient for hours on end because you’re right, he would not behave. like he would be trying to get up every few minutes, especially when aaron steps out to check on one of his other patients which means aaron feels the need to be in neil’s room more so that he doesn’t injure himself and aaron isn’t accountable for his dumb ass decisions. and neil would be lying about the pain to try to get himself discharged early. even after aaron turns up the morphine drip (or whatever it is lol, my medical “knowledge” comes from medical dramas), neil is still lying through his teeth and aaron is just like what the actual fuck. because there no way neil isn’t in pain, he’s actively bleeding cause he pulled his stitches trying to get out of bed like an idiot

and then andrew arrives and neil is still trying to say he is fine and can be discharged. and aaron is blocking him out, too busy freaking out over his look-alike and too tired to deal with neil’s obvious lies. but andrew is arguing back and calling him a junkie and all aaron can focus on is “omg his voice sounds like mine too wtf wtf wtf”

he must make some sort of noise, a gasp or that choking in the back of his throat is accidentally vocalized, cause next thing he knows neil is sliding him a cool glare (and again, how the fuck is he still acting like this on so much morphine) and switching to german. his doppelgänger rolls his eyes but follows him into the other language and now aaron is even more convinced that he is losing his mind. screw whatever his coworker said, he no longer believes her. they’re both exhausted, why should her mind be trusted more than his own. clearly this is some sort of hallucination because no way he encounters someone who looks like him, sounds like him, and speaks german too. he needs to listen to katelyn and get more than 5 hours of sleep before a shift and stop having multiple energy drinks. that’s what this is. there is no other reasonable explanation.

he goes to leave the room, needing to escape the insanity and completely okay with leaving one character of his hallucination to deal with the other. he’ll come back. he has to and hallucination or not, he will not be a bad nurse. just maybe after he asks his charge nurse to check his vitals.

he gives neil’s monitors a quick look over and tries to ignore the two arguing in german. but hey its not his fault he can understand them, even if he’s trying to not listen. but then neil says something about needing to be back on the court by thursday and he’s reaching for his IV line like he’s going to pull it out and before aaron can stop himself, he’s saying “don’t,”quick and angry in german and covering neil’s IV with his hand. two sets of eyes whip around to stare at him and that’s it, he’s fleeing. he will deal with this later.

An AU where the twinyards don’t meet until even mater in life— as in after college where everything from Andrew’s end goes almost the same minus Aaron and Nicky being in his life. He still makes it Palmetto, still meets Kevin and Neil and goes pro. Aaron on the other hand becomes a nurse (I have my reasons for this) never goes to Palmetto, and they only meet because one injured Neil Josten ends up on his unit. Aaron is about at his wits end because Pro Exy player Neil Josten (whoever that is because Aaron doesn’t follow Exy), who is on a lot of pain meds, keeps calling him Andrew and Aaron is about 5 seconds away from making the on-call resident very upset by requesting another CT scan of Josten’s head because surely his brain is scrambled. There’s nothing more that Aaron wants than to go home and fall face first into bed which is of course when his charge nurse walks up to him with a sheepish look, nearly begging him to stay another 4 hours because his relief’s kid is apparently sick and she can’t come in until 11am, which makes Aaron want to die so naturally he agrees, which means another 4 hours of Neil Josten at the end of his shift hooray.

And so of course Neil Josten calls him “Andrew” once more while Aaron is checking his IV (note: it’s now visiting hours), and Aaron, exhausted and cranky and just had to dodge a bedpan being thrown at his head, feels his eye twitch violently as he politely (read: thru clenched teeth) reminds Pro Exy Player Neil Josten once again that he is not Andrew—

Which is when another voice pipes up from the doorway, fresh scent of coffee in the air that nearly has Aaron salivating, who says “correct, you are not Andrew. I am.”

And Aaron turns around to see his mirror image standing in the doorway.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

So Witches We Became

YA horror

a girl and her friends go on vacation to a house on a private Florida island, but when a strange mist and toxic tar surrounds them, trapping them there, they have to find a way to survive and/or escape

while she’s being haunted by a traumatic experience with her friend’s boyfriend - who just showed up - that she’s been unable to tell anyone about, and by a shadow from her childhood that she fears might have something to do with what’s happening

sapphic, explores complicated friendships, and surviving assault

[bookshelftreasures]

Jealous Shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst

Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,066

Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.

You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.

"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.

You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.

The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.

You blink in surprise.

He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.

"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.

And then you feel it.

A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.

Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.

Your stomach flips.

You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.

You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.

One in particular, a cocky warrior named Dain, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.

"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

Azriel stills.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.

Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."

Something cold coils around your ankles.

Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.

Your breath catches.

His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.

You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.

Azriel's shadows have started to shift.

Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.

You shiver, pulse skittering.

Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"

The shadows snap toward him.

Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.

You swear you hear them hiss.

Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"

Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.

And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.

You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"

Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"

His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."

You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.

Azriel glares at it.

Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."

His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.

Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"

"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.

Silence.

His throat bobs.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.

A name.

Your name.

And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.

Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.

Which is just unacceptable.

You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."

Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.

Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."

A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.

The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.

"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."

Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.

You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."

Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."

"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."

As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.

Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."

You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"

He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.

And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."

Your breath catches.

Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"

Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

You grin. "And you love it."

He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.

"I knew it!" He boasts.

Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.

And you?

You just laugh.

Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?

They don't lie.

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: How will your future spouse pursue you ⋆˙⟡

✧˚. How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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✧˚. My Masterlist🫶🏻

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE I

Cards Pulled: king of swords, knight of cups reversed, king of pentacles, the sun, the tower, 2 of swords

Right off the bat, you’re gonna think this person is cold. PERIOD. I’m sorry, but King of Swords as the first card, this ain’t some gushy softie sliding into your DMs with heart emojis and “wyd baby.” Nah, theyre giving emotionally disciplined, calculating, and “I only let three people see the real me and you’re not on the list… yet. YET” they might come across lowkey intimidating at first, like, the kind of person who’s quiet in group settings but throws out that one sarcastic comment that’s so sharp it makes everyone laugh and feel personally attacked. 😭💀

BUT TRUST ME, they’re watching you. Like… a hawk. They’re the type who is taking mental notes on your coffee order, your laugh patterns, the way you furrow your brows when you’re deep in thought, stuff even you don’t know you do. But honesty love….. they’re into you from day one, but they plays it off like he’s unbothered. Classic King of Swords move. Strategic af. Theyre lowkey fighting himself. Like, internally they got this soft, romantic, borderline poetic thing brewing, he fantasizes about running into you by “accident,” planning the most aesthetic dates, imagining you in his hoodie😭but he’s actively repressing it. Because vulnerability? He’d rather eat glass, thanks. He doesn’t want to be obvious. He’s convinced if he lets on how deep he’s feeling this, he’ll lose the upper hand or get hurt. So what does he do instead? Weird passive-aggressive things. Acts uninterested one minute, then gives you eyes across the room like he’s trying to telepathically undress your soul the next. Sir. Pick a lane. He doesn’t chase, he builds. He slowly starts showing up for you in the most tangible, grounded ways. Need help with something? He’s already on it. Mentioned your favorite snack in passing? It just “randomly” appears next time. The way this man provides?? You’ll be SHOOK. He’s not flashy about it either. He’s like, “I got you” and means it. That’s when you start going: “Wait… are they… serious?” Because once this person is IN, he is IN. Like, no games, no pullbacks. Suddenly it’s "have you eaten?" and "text me when you get home" and "do you want me to fix that thing?." Husband mode activated. 

BUT THEN. Omg. THE TOWER. 😭 Baby this is where it goes OFF. Something will shift drastically. And honestly, You might be the one who triggers it, ofc we are talking about you here so. Like maybe you call him out for his hot-and-cold vibe, or you walk away ‘cause you’re done playing Guess Who: Feelings Edition. Whatever it is, it SHATTERS his cool-boy facade. The Tower is giving “omg I fumbled” realness. He suddenly realizes how much he could lose and spirals. Might even go quiet for a second, lick his wounds, have a whole emotional breakdown. But then… boom. THE SUN. This is where the magic happens. The pursuit becomes warm, honest, and loud. He stops hiding. He owns it. Like, “Yeah, I like you. Actually, I love you. Actually, I wanna grow old with you and argue about what brand of detergent we’re using.” You’ll feel seen, adored, and finally safe in this connection. It’s that post-breakdown glow-up. He starts expressing himself clearly, no longer scared to let you in.

But now. Girl. YOU are gonna be the one hesitating now 😭. That Tower moment hits you, too. You start overthinking: “Can I trust this sudden 180? Was he always this into me and just hiding it? Do I want someone who couldn’t be vulnerable from the start?” Like, your brain starts weighing everythings. And that’s valid! It’s hard to unsee someone’s walls once you’ve bumped into them. So how do you perceive him throughout this journey? At first, cold and confusing af. Then… weirdly magnetic. Then dependable and lowkey daddy-coded. Then chaotic and heartbreak-y. Then sunshine and deeply, deeply sincere. You’ll feel like you’re watching him peel back layer after layer, and each one gets softer, realer, and more him.

His hints would be subtle but intentional. He remembers small things. He lingers a bit longer in conversations than necessary. He suddenly shows interest in the things you love, even if they weren’t his vibe before. He gives you those “you’re the only person in this room I care about” eyes. He’ll NEVER say it first… until he breaks. And when he does? You’re done. Stick a fork in you. Soul snatched. Game over.

I am seeing like he might dream about you before things really pop off. He might tell you later like ,“I had this weird dream we were married lol” and laugh it off, but internall,y he’s BLUSHINGGG because the dream felt real. Also… idk why I’m seeing like… rain or some stormy weather being important??? Maybe the Tower moment literally happens during a stormy day and you both cry under the rain like a movie scene? (i mean…..idc… if i am getting me personal main character moment. It’s all part of the process, i guess💁🏻‍♀️).

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⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE II

Cards Pulled: the tower, king of wands, 5 of pentacles, queen of cups, 8 of pentacles, 10 of pentacles

PILE 2, Okay but… why does this feel like a well written kdrama with 16 episodes??? I mean i could literally make a movie out of this pile 😭 my reaction to the cards were literally: oh, OH, ahh , TF, Oh. My. GOD.😭 

The drama. The rawness. The "I didn’t see this coming, but now I literally can’t look away" energy is off the charts. And I’m already obsessed. So let’s talk about how this chaotic yet painfully magnetic future spouse of yours is about to come stomping into your world like they own the place, with all their trauma and broken broken parts and this weirdly hot charisma that shouldn’t be attractive but is. And somehow?? You fall for it. But like… respectfully 😭.

this person doesn’t approach you like your average person in love would do. No flowers and shy glances. Nope. It’s giving, "I just burnt my life down and now I’m rebuilding from scratch and oh look, you’re here too," vibes. Like you know when someone walks into a room and they don’t say much but their energy is SCREAMING "I’ve been through the trauma you couldn't even imagine"? That’s them. Tower card energy straight up. Something’s just collapsed in their life, could be a major breakup, a career flop, family drama, or literally an existential crisis. Honestly? Feels like all three, let’s not lie 💀. But instead of moping around, this person grabs that chaos and turns it into… ambition. Swagger. Power. This is someone who knows how to lead. They pursue you like they’re chasing their next purpose. With intention. With clarity. And this lowkey intimidating confidence that says “I know what I want, and it’s you.” But let’s not pretend it’s smooth sailing here. Bc 5 of Pentacles? Babe. This person has been abandoned, emotionally iced out, or felt major rejection in the past. Like it’s giving "I’ve loved and I’ve lost and now I trust NO ONE but my dog”. And because of that, Their way of pursuing you is… messy. Not in a manipulative way, but in that "I’m trying to be a lover while still patching up my own wounds" type of mess. So expect mixed signals. Hot and cold. Deep talks followed by withdrawal. And you’re gonna be like, “Sir?? Do you like me or do you need therapy??” honestly: it’s both 😭.

Queen of Cups as the next card is where things get interesting. You. Literally you. You're intuitive AF, emotionally intelligent, and probably catch onto their emotional damage in the first week and are like “Yup. You’re hurt. But I see the softie under all that wreckage.” And here's where it gets wild: they know you see it. That’s what makes them pursue harder. You’re the first person who doesn’t just want them for their outer confidence and King of Wands hotness, you want to know their soul. Their weird inner child. Their guilt. Their hidden sadness. And that?? That shakes them. In a good way. You start noticing little things. Like how they’ll work on themselves just to be better for you. They start showing up. Maybe it’s slow, but you’ll see them trying, healing their abandonment issues, learning to communicate, showing effort in tangible ways. Like planning little dates, asking how your day was (and ACTUALLY listening….woah rare, ngl), sharing parts of their past without you asking. They might even pick up new skills or hobbies because you like them. A little "if she likes books, I read books now" moment?? 😭😭 Despite how mature and scarred and big-boss they may appear, at their core, they’re a newbie when it comes to actual healthy love. Like yeah, they’ve loved before. But not YOU kind of love. Not “you see me even when I’m not performing” kind of love. And that humbles the hell out of them. They're awkward about it. Like, "I wanna give you the world but I also don’t know how to wrap a gift box correctly." 😭 It’s so endearing, you can’t help but melt. They pursue you like someone relearning love from scratch, and you become their soft place to land. They’ll stumble. They’ll overthink. But babe, they’ll try. And that’s what makes them fall harder. Because this ain’t about seduction. It’s about growth. They're not gonna outright confess their feels in the beginning. It’s gonna be hidden in acts of service. Like fixing your broken lamp. Or sending you a meme with a weird caption like, "reminds me of u" Or casually saying “I don’t talk to many people like I do with you,” and then acting like it wasn’t a full-on emotional proposal. Their love language is subtle till it’s not, okay?? But your intuitive self picks up on every damn sign, and you’ll know before they even open their mouth. That’s the connection here, psychic soulmate level. You’ll feel their love way before it’s said.

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⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE III

Cards Pulled: king of wands, 3 of cups, knight of swords reversed, the devil, 8 of cups, the star

OKAY, PILE 3 is here and… GIRL this pile has such strong, “Dark romance” vibes and also that “enemies to lovers but we’re obsessed with each other” trope energy like NO OTHER 😮‍💨🔥. Your future spouse? It’s that person who shows up outta nowhere and instantly throws your life into disarray because the connection is too much, too fast, too real. They pursue you like they’ve waited lifetimes to find you and now that you’re finally here, they’re not gonna risk losing you, even if it means accidentally traumatizing you with their intensity first 😭.

So let’s start with the vibe of this person, okay? Immediately I’m seeing someone who is dominant AF in presence, the type of person where the second they walk into a room, your attention shifts without your permission. But they’re not all flash and no depth, this person has that charismatic, “traumatized but make it aesthetic” confidence LOL. Think: the guy who’s lowkey too cool for everyone but gets soft for you 🫠. But it’s not just charm. It's calculated. They choose to pursue you. Like, they spotted you from across the damn soul contract timeline and were like, “Yep. That one. Mine.” LMAO.

Here’s where it gets juicy though, this person doesn’t make their pursuit clean or safe. We’ve got the Knight of Swords reversed mixed with The Devil and 3 of Cups… BABY. I’m not gonna lie, their approach is gonna have you shook. This isn't some slow-burn "lemme get to know you" type of chase. Nah, it’s giving intoxicated obsession. Like they’re coming at you way too fast, might say things they haven’t thought through (hello chaotic confessions??), maybe even making moves when you’re like “Wait… tf is happening?!” . And I SWEAR this person gives off the vibe of someone who might try to "just be friends" first… but they absolutely fail at it. Like... you’re not slick, sir. The way they look at you? Not very "friendly." More like "I wanna pin you to the wall in a meaningful way." 😭 it’s like you look into their eyes once aand you are going inot their crib TONIGHT. 

BUT. Their pursuit of you isn’t just lusty and impulsive, it’s coming from a place of deep yearning and soul ache. You’re literally the star they’ve been trying to find after walking away from a bunch of superficial crap. I’m getting that they’ve already been through a lot emotionally, they’ve had to let go of people, addictions (literal or emotional), maybe even success that wasn’t fulfilling. So while their approach is messy and extra (like “sir pls chill”), it’s coming from a place of craving real healing, real light, REAL connection. And guess what? That’s what you are to them. Their fkn North Star. And trust me, they don't even realize it at first, like they’re thinking they’re chasing a thrill, but gets, spiritual awakening outta nowhere. Bestie… you’re gonna think they’re too much. 😂 Straight up. You’ll be like “This person is hot, sure……but wtf is this energy??” It’ll feel like you’re constantly trying to decide between “should I kiss them or block them?” Energy chaotic AF. You’ll clock them trying to play it cool, but their eyes? Screaming "I'm feral for you." It’s also possible they’ll show up when you’re trying to move on from someone/something else, and you’ll be hesitant because you’re finally healing, vibing, living in peace, and here comes this walking temptation in human form, knocking on your aura like “hey 😏.” i mean really this emoji is the perfect example of how i am imagining this person.  There’s definitely a karmic undertone here, like you two have danced this dance before in past lives but it was let uncompleted. So now, they're NOT playing around. And the way The Star closes the reading? OOF. After all the chaos, the push/pull, the temptation, and messy little love games… they want peace with you. You are the peace. The wish. The endgame. But it’s not gonna come pretty.

Okay so their hints are not actually hints. They’ll accidentally drop the biggest signs , forgetting they’re supposed to pretend. They’ll joke about being obsessed with you? Deadass. They’ll mention you in every convo “by accident.” They might post quotes on their stories or make weird comments like “If I ever fall in love, it’ll be someone like you” 🙄, SIR. STOP. WE SEE YOU.  The 3 of Cups energy is also giving “I’ll use mutual friends to get close to you,” like casually showing up at a party where you just happen to be?? Please.And listen, not everything will be smooth sailing. That Devil energy is LOUD. There will be moments where you’ll wonder if you’re drawn to them because it’s fated… or because it’s toxic. But that’s part of the growth arc. They’re not here to ruin your life, they’re here to crack your heart open with messy hands. And once they realize that they can’t control you? That’s when the real magic starts. That’s when they fall so damn hard, they start building a whole new version of themselves just to be worthy of your light.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[strkly]

misunderstanding

s.m: you and bob were inseparable. until he begins to ignore you and you have no clue why. when you’re injured after a mission gone wrong you’re finally able to find out why.

robert ‘bob’ reynolds x avengers!gn!reader

w.c: 2k

c.w: hurt/comfort, bob being avoidant (but he means well), two idiots in love, hea, reader implied to be an og avenger, no use of y/n, thunderbolts spoilers obv. not proofread and intentionally lower case.

a.n: as soon as i finished the thunderbolts i wrote this LOL. im already working on like three more for him

After you had all saved the city and had been established as the new avengers you and bob had been inseparable. you had chucked it up to you just seeming the friendliest out of all of them but the looks the rest of the team all exchanged with one another anytime the two of you were around told you they thought otherwise.

you watched movies with him, went to go get milkshakes together, helped him with the chores around the base, there wasn't really a second the two of you weren't together unless you were out on a mission or sleeping.

yet as a recent theres been a shift. hes been avoiding you. its so obvious to not only you but everyone else in the team, he was more than happy to chat with yelena ava alexei hell he’d even rather talk to walker than he’d rather talk to you. the only person also seemingly receiving the cold shoulder from bob was bucky who shrugged when you asked him if he had any clue what was going on.

whenever you would walk into the room and smile at him he stared at you wide eyed before rushing out the room mumbling to himself before you could say anything to him. you tried not to let your heart break show on your face as you watched him flee the room as you had entered. you had been so determined to get him to talk to you today after over a week of nothing from him but watching him run away from you killed any sort of motivation you once had.

the pout only grows on your face as you feel yelena pat your back in pity. “i dont know what i did wrong.” shes quiet for a moment before she speaks, “dont worry im sure he’ll get over this weird phase and you’ll get back to normal in no time.” you look down at your feet and sigh, maybe she was right. you knew he struggled with his mental health maybe he just needed space yet the idea of that being it just made you feel worse. he had always confided in you, told things he wouldnt even tell the therapist he started seeing. it made you feel trust worthy, like the two of you had a bond stronger than words could describe. you like him, you like him so much your heart feels like its about to burst out of your chest at the thought of him.

it was later that same night. you could see the light peering out from under his door. he was up, but when you knocked on his door you were only greeted with silence. “bob?” silence. you sigh before pressing your head up against the door. “i just wanted to say goodbye, were leaving for the mission, me and bucky.” you can hear some shuffling inside at your words, you almost let yourself hope he’s about to come to the door but after a few more beats he still doesn’t respond.

“i miss you bob.” the words spill out before you’re able to stop them, “im sorry, for whatever ive done im so sorry, i just want use to go back to the way we were. i miss you so much, i hope we can talk once i’m back. goodbye.” you force yourself away from the door as the tears begin to pour down your face you don't even bother to glance back at the door as you exit the hallway and down to the area where bucky is waiting for you. he doesn't comment on your tear stricken face, simply just placing hand on your shoulder and asking if your ready to go. with a quick nod you join him on the ship and your off. you silently thank him for it.

what you don’t know is bob is curled up in a ball in his bed, pressing his face tightly against the stuffed bear you had bought him as a gift as he tried to silence his own sobs. it was for the better, he told himself over and over again. you didn't need him, not when you had him, you were better off without him as much as it made his heart ache.

five days. it had been five days since you had left and bob felt like he was losing his mind. he didnt leave his room, laying and rotting in his bed hoping the universe would just swallow him up. it took yelena and walker finally coming into his room to force him out of bed much to his dismay. he couldnt stomach to eat anything, shaking his head and hanging it down like a child clinging his stuffed bear to his chest while they tried. he knew it was a pathetic display but he couldnt find it in himself to care.

the rest of the team stares at him in pity, unsure of what to say. they all knew what he was going through, the only one oblivious to it was you, as walker finally sighed and opened his mouth to speak they all froze at the sound of the doors slamming open. “can somebody call a doctor?” bucky called out and everyone turned to see him enter the room. you were held in buckys arms, all beaten up covered in blood. bobs head spins, he doesnt hear the sounds of everyone asking what happened he doesnt see ava running off to get medic all he sees if you and he faints.

the mission was supposed to be easy. it was easy, until the last guy standing ended up being a mutant neither of you were prepared for. you ended up taking the bigger hit and bucky quickly finished the job rushing to take you back to the tower. your injuries were not life threatening but you lost a lot of energy in the fight and had ended up knocked out for a couple days. when you regain consciousness the first thing you hear is his voice. bob. he’s talking with someone whos voice you an barely make out, based on the brass and tone you assume its bucky. you cant make out what he’s saying but you cant bring yourself to open your eyes just yet.

footsteps ensue with a couple final words exchanged before the gentle opening and closing of the door and suddenly you’re alone with him. you can hear the scrapping of a chair and suddenly his very warm body heat flows next to you, you can feel his hands playing with the blanket as he sniffs. “please wake up.” you still cant open your eyes, maybe you’re still too tired but a part of you thinks you simply want to hear what he’s going to say.

“im- im so stupid. im so so so so stupid. all ive been dreaming about is seeing you again,” you feel him place his head on your stomach and you try to keep your heart and breathing at a regular pace, “i wanna sit on the couch together and watch movies and drink milkshakes and talk about anything with you i miss you please i was so stupid please just wake up so i can hear your voice again.” your chest aches and you fight the frown growing on your face. you open your eyes, realizing his has his face turned away from you. when you go to speak he manages to beat you to it. “i was so jealous.”

his words have you almost gasping before quickly closing your eyes again realizing he was turning his head to look at you. your mind running a mile a minute, you had no clue what he was talking about but his words had you hopeful, you couldnt help but be eager for whatever he was about to say. “he’s so much cooler than me. i get why you must like him, i just,, i just wish i could be the one you like. the one you think is cool but i know im not worthy of that.” what? you almost find the word spilling out from your lips but you manage to stop yourself. “i just couldnt do it anymore, after i saw you guys in the kitchen, you were smiling at him, i couldnt make that ache in my chest go away like you taught me and whenever i saw you it just go worse so i ran away like a coward. im such a loser.”

it finally clicks. you remember.

it was late at night. you had stepped out of your room to get a glass of water. when you got to the kitchen bucky was also there drinking a glass of whiskey, the two of you chatted for a moment and when you opened up the dishwasher to get a glass you busted out laughing at the sight of his metal arm in the dishwasher. “what the hell is that doing in there?” “what how do you think i clean the damn thing?” ‘not in the dishwasher! you’re so stupid bucky.” he walks towards you and leans down to be face to face with you, “thats why you like me doll.” you grin and hit him on the chest, shaking your head. “shut up.”

you opened your eyes once more and realize he had pushed his face to be pressing against your stomach. slightly shaking as he sobbed lightly into the fabric. your heart ached, realizing how sad he must have been. how lonely he must have felt. he freezes when you put your hand on his hair lightly running your fingers through it. “i dont like bucky.” your words are course, its clear your throat is yearning for some sort of hydration but you dont care. his head flys up and he looks at you with his wide wet eyes. your name tumbles from his trembling lips but you still continue to speak. “ive known him for a long time, he’s called me that for forever, he was just joking around with me i dont like him i promise.” he continues to stare at you in shock, his mouth opening and closing like a fish before he clenches his jaw and looks down at the floor, mumbling to himself, “im so stupid.”

as much as it hurts you force yourself to sit up and touch his shoulder. he looks up at you, a much sadder expression having taken over his face. “i love you bob.” his breath hitches, “i love you so much it kills me.” you wait for him to say something back, anything in return but he simply stares. you wait for him, you’re so patience with him he just can’t help himself.

you yelp in surprise when he suddenly laches onto you and you fall back with him ontop of you. you ignore how much your body burns in pain as he shoves his head in your neck. “i love you i love you so much.” you feel so much relief your eyes burn with tears. you can hear him mumbling over and over again that he loves you and it feels unreal, like youre dreaming and youll wake up soon.

“bob look at me.” he reluctantly pulls away from you and stares at you with heart eyes, your hands gently cup his face before pressing your lips against his. he eagerly but sloppily returns it, clearly inexperienced but you cant even find yourself caring as you can feel him brightly smile against you all other thoughts float away from you.

hours later when bucky comes back to check on you a smile falls on his lips as he sees bob laying on top of you and the two of you asleep peacefully, both of you unknowingly smiling in your sleep. he shakes his head before walking away. he pulls out his phone and clicks a couple things before raising it to his ear as he walks down the hall. “you own me 50 sam i told you they would get together.”

[dante-mightdie]

Girl if you don’t give us some more low self esteem reader x price i think i’m gonna die 😫😫 genuinely one of my favs!!

john who finally convinces our lovely low self esteem reader to let him take her out and when the time comes, he’s outside your door all suited and booted. expensive bouquet in his hand as he shifts on his feet, anxiously waiting for you to open the door

it’s been ten minutes since he rung the doorbell. ten minutes since you text him saying you’d be down in a second. he understands that sometimes a lady needs time getting ready but now you aren’t even responding to his messages checking on you

he can’t see you pacing from your bathroom back to your bedroom, pulling and twisting at your outfit until it ‘fits right’. cursing under your breath each time you apply more lip gloss or mascara, only to end up smudging your makeup and ruining it

he can’t see the tears welling in your eyes each time you catch your reflection and you just can’t do it. nothing is working because of you. and john is going to see that. john is going to see you. and you just can’t have that so you leave him down there, waiting for you as you sniffle and pull at your hair in frustration

so he calls you, stepping back to see if your upstairs light was still on as the ringing drones on in his ear. and when you do finally pick up, the first thing he’s greeted with is sniffles

“h-hi john…” you say, a nervous laugh following. before he can ask if you’re okay, you speak again. “m’really sorry to do this but… uhm…”

“love?” he cuts you off, a gentle tone in his voice so you know he’s not upset. a few seconds silence follows before you sniffle again

“yeah?” he can hear the sadness in your voice, the uncertainty. his eyes flick up once more to look at the light coming from your upstairs window

“come open the door, yeah? let me see ya, doll… been waiting all week to see that pretty smile just one more time.” the heat pooling in your stomach at his sweet words causes more tears to leak down your cheeks

you don’t know why he’s any different to the other guys you’ve shut down. you don’t know why you agree to see him and shuffle downstairs to open the door

but that kind smile he throws your way when you finally open the door is enough to make your lip wobble a little more so he distracts you with the bouquet of your favourite flowers

“how did you know-?” you’re ready to question him, and he can see the little glint in your eye. runaway thoughts of maybe this guy is a stalker who’s been watching you. not some prince charming like you’d be reluctantly convincing yourself.

“I asked ya friends at the bar when I was getting your drinks. wanted to know what I should get you for our first date.” there’s a proud beam in his smile, like he knows he’s won you over a little there

“You hadn’t even asked me out yet…” you giggle slightly, sniffling before looking down at the stunning arrangement of flowers

“don’t matter, darling. I knew I was going to the second I saw you…” he states it like it’s obvious, like you should know he was going to pursue you. his hand reaches up to wipe your teary cheeks before offering you his arm to take

“hang on let me change.” you go to turn but he stops you, shaking his head and taking the initiative to wrap your arm in his

“none of that. you look beautiful…” you hate the way his words turn you to mush inside. you hate yourself for falling for it, for leaving yourself vulnerable to his sweet words and charming smile

but you don’t hate him, and the attention he gives you so you figure one date with the handsome man who bought you a drink couldn’t hurt

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [3] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, rafe is HUGE, pain with sex, fingering, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

In which you're not sure you truly have what it takes to "accommodate" your new fiancé.

word count: 4.2k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

“Why do you insist on stealing my fiance?” 

Wheezie looked up at her brother from her place on the carpet. You were placing the last hair roller around her freshly curled hair, pinning it place. The two of you had spent the last two hours giving each other spa treatments, evidenced by the face mask on Wheezie’s face, and the under eye patches on yours. It seemed obvious to you what you were up to but Rafe’s face scrunched in confusion, maybe even annoyance, at the sight before him. 

“We’re having a girls night!” Wheezie protested, “Get out!” 

You blinked, glancing between the two siblings, trying to gauge whether this was actual tension or just their usual back-and-forth. Navigating the Cameron family dynamic was a constant puzzle, and you hated feeling caught in the middle of it. You genuinely liked all of them in different ways.

Well, almost all of them.

You weren’t sure what it was that you felt for Rafe. He seemed to force all the feelings out of you, prying his way into your brain and into your heart. 

“You can’t hold her hostage, Wheeze,” Her brother raised his voice back, “I need to talk to her, you know, about adult things. Shit you wouldn’t get.”

“Adult things, gross,” You could practically hear Wheezie’s smirk, “I’m sure Y/N would rather hang out with me than do adult things with you.” 

The meaning initially passed over your head. You looked at Rafe innocently, “Y/N?” His shift in focus to you made you panic for a moment. 

“Oh, well … we were going to do some meditation before bed too.” 

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile that couldn’t possibly be genuine, “Fine, just come get me when you’re done.” 

The way he slammed Wheezie’s door shut also gave you the impression that he wasn’t happy. 

“Ignore him,” Wheezie said quickly. You admired her defiance sometimes. Rafe didn’t ever to seem to really rattle her the way he did to you. 

Over the past few weeks, she had become your guide to surviving life in this house. Out of everyone, she understood Rafe best. Sarah barely came around, and when she did, the way she looked at you—pitying, almost regretful—made you uncomfortable. You hated it. You’d rather spend time with Rose, who had taken you wedding dress shopping just the day before, only to scold you for picking something too “revealing.” She’d given you a long-winded speech about modesty and the importance of upholding the Cameron image. You were marrying into an exceptionally wealthy family, after all. You had to act like it.

But Wheezie? Wheezie was simply happy to have you there, to welcome you into her world. And slowly, you were beginning to imagine this as your new life. The thought didn’t seem so terrible when you pictured Wheezie as your sister.

It all came crashing down on you a few days after the incident with Rafe in the barn. You weren’t allowed to sleep in the same bed until you were officially married, Rose’s rule, but that didn’t keep Rafe from your bedroom in the middle of the night.

And when you woke, sore and spent, the weight of something unfamiliar pressed against your left hand.

A diamond.

Wheezie was fast asleep when you finally slipped out of her bedroom. In pink, fuzzy socks, you padded across the hallway towards Rafe’s room. You only knocked once before the door was opened and you were stepping inside. 

In contrast to yours, Rafe’s room was dark and brooding with darker woods and deep navy walls. A sturdy mahogony desk perched in the corner next to a leather armchair. There were no dainty florals or soft touches. His bed, much larger than yours, had the sheets strewn about, a possible indication of sleepless nights or …other activities. A few forgotten whiskey glasses sat on in nightstand. The only source of light in the room was from the soft, yellow glow of his desk lamp. 

It always felt intimate being in Rafe’s room, like you were completely in his world. Your gaze lifted, drawn to him as if by instinct. Shirtless, his toned chest and broad shoulders were carved in the dim light, his presence overwhelming in a way that sent a shiver through you.

“Turn around, darlin’.” 

Innocently, you obeyed his command. You were only confused for a moment. You yelped, feeling the cool air against the back of your legs as Rafe slipped down your long, silk pajamas. 

You should’ve known Rafe didn’t actually need to talk to you. 

Lifting you by your waist, Rafe carried you over to the bed swiftly, leaving your bottoms behind. He always laid you down gently but the firmness of his grip left no room for discussion. He knew exactly where he wanted your body, what position he desired to have you in. You were starting to get used to his routine. He undressed you, placed you where he wanted, and it wasn’t long before he was inside of you. 

Tonight, he wanted you on your stomach, your head resting at the edge of the bed. You didn’t dare look back at him, it always unsettled you more when you caught a glimpse of just how imposing he was. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, fixated on the shadows and darkness in the window. You felt the weight of his legs straddling yours, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your bottom before delivering a few sharp, deliberate slaps. A shiver ran through you as his fingers hooked into your panties, dragging them aside with ease, exposing you to him entirely.

He spit into his hand and you jumped again when you felt his fingers teasing your warm center. For an excruciatinly long time, he placed a strong hand on your upper back, keeping you pinned as he sunk his fingers inside of you. He had called it 'warming you up' the last time. His pace was slow, deliberate. You were biting down onto the comforter by the time his third digit pushed inside. Now, you could happily take two of his fingers. You’d like sex with Rafe much more if it simply involved two of his fingers pushing in an out of you. When he added that circling motion on your sensitive bud, you could reach that beautiful peak quickly. But the third finger was the closest thing he could use to prepare you for his size. 

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet firm, a response to your soft whimpers, “Relax. You make it worse when you’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” You rushed out before you bit down on your lip hard, “Rafe, um, can you…” 

He pushed deeper and you reached out to grab the wooden bed frame in front of you, “Can I what, darlin’?”

“T-Touch me?” You asked, unsure, wincing as the feeling of being stretched, “Please.” 

In response, he adjusted your hips, pulling them up from the bed, still three fingers deep inside of you, before he started to circle your clit with the thumb of his other hand. You took in rapid breaths as you adjusted to the sensation, the pleasure now beginning to mix in with the discomfort. 

“Think you can come like this, baby?” 

“Uh,” You pressed your face into the mattress, your words failing you, and soon all that was left were sobs. 

“Try, baby,” You heard him say, “Squeeze my fingers.”

You had never considered that "down there" was a muscle—until Rafe. Obeying his command, you imagined yourself squeezing his fingers, and the response was immediate. Your body reacted instinctively, heightening your pleasure and pushing you toward release. It was overwhelming. Almost painful. But an orgasm nonetheless. Your first one with Rafe had taken you so much by surprise that Rafe had to cover your face with a pillow to keep you from waking up the entire house. 

Tonight, you muffled your own screaming, pressing your face further into the blankets. He left you no time to recover. As soon as your body was more … accepting, he started to push himself inside of you. Panicked, you reached back to push at his hip, an attempt at requesting for him to slow his pace. He felt even larger in this position, and it didn’t take long to realize he was pressing against a barrier deep inside you.

You had to accommodate him. He was your future husband and you had be able to lie with him. He deserved pleasure too and how else would you be able to have kids one day? You wanted a family again, right? 

One day, it would get easier. Rafe would make sure of it. He would help you, guide you, until your body learned to take him without resistance.

By the time Rafe reached his climax, you were a sweaty, tear-streaked mess. He had promised it would get easier, yet once again, you were left aching and sore. When he finally lifted his weight off you, your body remained frozen in place.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting to the other end of the bed. You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled in, his head hitting the pillow.

“Y/N?”

“Y-Yes?” you replied, your voice shaky.

“Go pee,” he ordered, his tone firm yet drowsy.

“Why?”

“Just go,” he repeated, exhaling sharply. “I’m fucking tired.”

It took every ounce of strength, but you pushed yourself up from the bed. You felt his eyes on you as you waddled to his bathroom door, still able to feel him inside of you, white stuff dripping down your thighs. 

Inside, you flipped on the bathroom light, squinting as your eyes attempted to adjust. Your legs trembled as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You heard Rafe shifting in bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable. He was already drifting off, unbothered, while you sat there, trying to collect yourself. 

After a moment, you reached for some toilet paper, dabbing at the mess between your thighs. Your body still felt raw, stretched beyond what you thought possible. Flushing the toilet, you moved to the sink, cupping cold water in your hands and splashing it on your face. 

You turned off the light and stepped back into the bedroom. Still glistening with a layer of sweat, he laid down with an arm over his face as he breathed steadily and quietly. You found your pajama bottoms sitting by the door and carefully put them back over your legs. 

“Y/N?” You were reaching for the handle of his bedroom door and paused. 

“Yeah?”

“Stay in here with me.”

“We’re not supposed to–”

“I’m a grown man and you’re my fucking fiance.”

He always spoke so sharply and in a way that left no room for arguing. Sometimes, that anger and frustration wasn’t directed at you but that didn’t make you immune from feeling it. The last thing you wanted was to cause any problem’s with his parents. They’d made it very clear that they expected the two of you to sleep separately until the wedding. 

Slowly, you turned to face him. He was still sprawled across the bed, the sheets tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling. 

“Stay,” he repeated, softer this time, the demand still there.

Silently, you padded over to his bed again. He lifted the sheets and carefully, you climbed into the bed, beside him. 

“There you go, darlin’” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he tucked you beneath him, his weight pinning you into place. “Right where you belong.”

Seeing how much happier Juliet was at the Cameron ranch made you question why you didn’t feel the same as her. 

Late afternoon sun bathed the Cameron state in warm gold as you rode beside Sarah Cameron. Juliet moved beneath you with ease, but every step sent a dull ache through your thighs. You winced, shifting slightly in the saddle in an attempt to ease the soreness.

Sarah, riding beside you on her white mare, caught it immediately, “You good?” She asked, concern on her face. 

You nodded quickly, “Oh, I’m fine. I just haven’t rode in awhile.” 

It hurt to even slide on your tight jeans that morning thanks to the bruising on your inner thighs and the soreness in your middle. You turned your head, watching as the barn got farther from your view. You and Sarah had left John B. and Rafe hunched over a work bench, repairing worn bridles and saddles. 

Rafe had let you tag along for the day, surprising you both when you found Sarah already there with John B., leaning against a stall with her arms crossed. The moment she saw you, she swung effortlessly onto her horse, flashing you a grin. “Come on. Juliet is yours, right?,” she urged, nudging her mare forward. “Let’s leave the boys to their busy work."

You looked to Rafe for permission, of course, and took his rolled eyes and quick dismissal as a yes. 

Now, she caught your quick glances back towards the barn, “My brother isn’t hurting you, is he?” 

Her words took you by complete surprise. Your fingers tensed on Juliet’s reins, pulling too sharply, and for a moment, the mare tossed her head in protest, “Sorry, Julie,” You said, “Uhm, what? N-no. Why … why would you think that?” 

She gave you a look that was hard to read and your horses continued alongside each other, “I’m sure you’ve gotten to know what he’s like,” She said, “Do you … think he’s a nice guy?”

“He’s…” You rushed to answer, wanting to reassure her, but the words got tangled in your head. “He’s nice to me,” you finally said, nodding like that would make it more true. “Sometimes he, like, talks really directly? In a way that… I don’t know, kinda hurts my feelings? But I know he doesn’t mean to be mean.”

“Huh,” Sarah took in your words, and you smiled, trying to ease the tension in the conversation, “He’s a lot for most people. To be honest, I don’t know if you’re what I pictured for the girl he’d finally settle down with.”

“Oh,” You said, trying to not to let the way your heart panged with hurt show on your face, “Yeah, maybe. I guess I’m not very strong… or the smartest person.” 

Sarah’s eyes softened, her expression shifting from the guarded look she’d worn before. “Hey, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, pulling her horse a little closer to yours. “I just... I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I know how confusing and lonely it is. And it might make you feel better to get wrapped up with Rafe but it’s also good to have your own life. Maybe your own friends?”

She searched your gaze and you felt your throat tighten and tears threatening to escape, “Wheezie’s my friend, at least.”

“Wheezie’s great,” Sarah said which made you smile sadly, “I have some friends. John B and I do. They live on the otherside of Kildare but I always try to meet up with them. They’re cool and they’re actually our age. I’d love to introduce you to them.”

Your heart gave a small, hesitant flutter. “That would be fun,” you said quietly, and for the first time in a while, you entertained the thought of something else, something new. 

“Do you drink?” She asked after a moment of just enjoying the breeze and watching the tall, swaying grass. 

“I have before,” You said feeling a little sheepish, “Just not enough to say I like it, I guess. Why?”

“When I go over there, we usually drink, watch a movie, play games, that kind of thing. It’s really fun. You don’t have to drink but I think you’ll like it.” 

“Does Rafe know your friends?”

Sarah snorted, “Uh, yeah. He wouldn’t want to come with us. Don’t mention it to him yet, though, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” You agreed, “Sarah, do you think you could come next time I go dress shopping? Rose is a little…”

“Uptight,” She finished, “Yeah, sure. That would be fun.”

Your opinion of Sarah Cameron had shifted quickly and for the better. 

“Like I said before, you’re moving too fast with her, Rafe.” 

Rafe should’ve known that his father didn’t invite him to breakfast at the diner in town for father-son bonding time. Nor was it a business meeting. He would’ve preferred either over a lecture. He was stuck, unable to really raise his voice, due to the public setting which Ward knew undoubtedly. The diner was a small place, the kind of spot where everyone knew each other’s names and half the town seemed to gather before heading off to the fields or pastures. 

It was when they got back into Ward’s SUV that Rafe could finally say what he felt. “This is micromanagement. You’re fucking micromanaging me, Dad! I did what you wanted and you’re upset because I’m not doing it exactly the way you want.”

Ward’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight Rafe thought it might break. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that you don’t know everything, Rafe.”

“This is just Rose and her bullshit–”

“It’s disrespectful and you know that. We’re being woken up at all times of the night. Not to mention the girl is walking around with hickies and bruising. What’s that gonna look like to people in town? We took in that girl! People will think we’re using her. It’s not a good look.” 

Ward started up the car and pulled away quickly, the tires kicking up dust as they left the quiet, small-town streets behind. Kildare was a ranching community, where everyone’s business was their business. Rafe couldn’t do anything without people noticing. 

“None of this will matter after the wedding. I don’t know, Dad, I guess I just don’t give a shit anymore what other people think.”

“You won’t take over the business if that’s how you see things.”

“Dad–”

“And you won’t get the Ironwood house. We’ve talked about this endlessly,” Rafe’s fist hit the paneling of the car door and he squeezed his eyes tightly as the anger passed through him, radiating through him, warming his skin, “You get the house under the conditions that Rose and I set.” 

“That house is mine. You know that Mom wanted it that way,” Rafe argued with clenched fists, “You don’t get to control that, Dad.” Rafe’s voice was sharp, raw, but there was a tremor beneath the surface. The Ironwood house had been promised to him, but Ward had always been the one to hold the strings, dangling that future in front of him like a carrot on a stick. “I earned that house. I’ve worked for it. You can’t just take it away.”

About twenty miles from the Cameron estate, nestled along a winding dirt road that cut through the sprawling countryside, sat the Ironwood house. The house wasn’t as grand as the Cameron estate it had a quiet but rugged charm. It had once belonged to a competitor before the Cameron family had purchased the land after his passing.

Ward’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles pale in the dim light. “I’m not taking anything from you, Rafe. But if you want to go off and make mistakes, you know, like getting that girl pregnant just a few weeks after you met her or embarrassing our family, then there will be consequences.”

Rafe nodded his head though inside he was seething, “I got it, Dad,” Rafe rubbed his face in his hands, his jaw clenched tightly, “You win.” 

You fucking win, Rafe thought, for now. 

Oh, you were perfect for him. Rafe kept quiet throughout dinner that night but that was because he was intently watching you. The way you confidently wore that pink, gingham dress that was cut way too low, to the point that your breasts were practically spilling from it. When you caught Rafe glancing at you, you’d flash him a shy smile. Lips shining with gloss and sparkles, Rafe imagined smudging all your makeup. 

He’d been working on training your hole to take him, he hadn’t considered training your mouth yet. You seemed more comfortable, making conversation with both Wheezie and Sarah. The way you carried yourself, effortlessly making them laugh, was different, more natural.

It would be good if you liked this family but Rafe couldn’t help that his mind wandered to the family he would make. His father's attempts to control him, especially in the bedroom, only made things worse. It triggered something deep within him. It was his god-given right as a man to fuck you in all the ways he wanted, with or without protection. You were his. That had been true ever since he put a ring on your left hand. 

After dinner, Rafe pulled you upstairs into Ward’s office. It was reckless, he knew that, but he was clinging onto that sense of control. 

“What are we doing in here?”

“I’m going to fuck you,” Rafe replied, his eyes tracking the shift in your expression as the realization hit. The fear in your face made him harder than he already was, and he had to undo his belt. “Go sit on the desk,” he instructed, gesturing to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room.

“But that’s your dad’s desk,” you hesitated, a frown tugging at your lips. “Isn’t that, like, weird?”

Rafe shot you a warning look, and without another word, you scrambled across the room toward his desk. He followed closely, closing the distance between you. “It’s your fault,” he muttered, his voice rough as he crossed the room too. “Look at what you're wearing. You’re practically begging to get fucked.”

“I wasn’t—” you started to protest.

“You were,” Rafe cut you off, his tone final. “You wore that dress for me, didn’t you? Or were you looking for attention from someone else?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Rafe loved the panic he saw in your eyes, the way the few thoughts you could hold in your head seemed to swirl, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

“I …I didn’t wear it for anyone else.”

“You wore it for me, then.”

“It was for you,” You spoke in a hesitant whisper. Your head tilted, and Rafe could see the uncertainty in your eyes. Still, the words sent a rush of heat through him. Rafe lifted you up by your hips, placing you on the desk, right on top of manila folders and Ward’s important paperwork. 

"Good girl, baby," he murmured, his hand finding the hem of your dress, lifting it. "Now, don’t act like you don’t want this." 

“Rafe, I’m still sore,” You said as Rafe slid your panties down your thigh.

“I’ll be quick,” Rafe assured you, “I’ve been halfway there since you walked in the dining room earlier.”

It wasn’t that Rafe didn’t understand the toll that he took on your body. He cared, he certainly didn’t want to break you, but he also knew that you could handle more than you could wrap your mind around. Maybe, he was a bit selfish and enjoyed the sight of him slowly fucking you, his huge girth sliding in and out of you, stretching you to the point of sobbing. 

He wanted you to feel empty without him. He wanted you to become so used to him that another man or even your own tiny fingers couldn’t satisfy your needs. 

“Relax,” Rafe said, watching the ways your eyes darted between his blue ones and then back down to his length, “You’re okay, darlin’.”

Rafe pushed your shoulders down until your elbows were propped up against the desk before he grabbed your legs, tilting your hips up. He spit directly against your hole before spitting into his palm, coating his hard length with his own saliva. 

He watched the way your face scrunched in pain as he started to push inside of you. Like he taught you before, you started to take deep breaths in and out, “Good girl, just like I taught you. You’re okay,” Rafe cooed as you squeezed him tight. 

Those deep breaths quickly became shallow ones as he stretched you. “I can’t, I can’t, it’s too big–” You spoke suddenly, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, please. Please, Rafe.” 

“Baby, it’s okay-”

“Please, please, please. Please. Please. Not okay. Not okay. I can’t, I can’t.”

Rafe surprised even himself when he paused. The look on your face reminded him of the time in the car, the first day you met. It was hard to watch. He’d pushed you too far, you were starting to have a panic attack. His chest tightened as he pulled back, his mind scrambling. He tucked himself back into his briefs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Slowly, he reached for your shoulder, lifting it carefully to help you sit up. 

“Shit, we can stop, okay?” Rafe said in a voice he didn’t recognize, “Fuck, you need to breathe, Y/N.” 

He pulled you closer, letting your head rest on his chest, as you tried to control your hiccups and heavy breathing. Listening to it made his own breath feel tight in his lungs. Stroking your back, he tried to quell the storm inside of you. Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest as he held you close, the guilt gnawing at him, “Jesus …I’m sorry, baby.”

reblog WITH a comment about the chapter to be added to the taglist :)

[honey-pages]

Quick and Quiet - Viktor x Reader

Description -

Quick public sex in a spare room in the lab, possessive Viktor.

1.1k words

F/M. 18+. Smut. NSFW. Dom Viktor. Posessive. Dirty Talk. Creampie.

It was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, the lab and research centre full swing. You and Viktor had been overseeing some minor work that needed doing but nothing too pressing. It was a regular day, people busying past with arms loaded with paper work, inattentive to the growing sexual tension between the two of you. 

You knew that when you got back to his study, things would unfold. You decide to tease him, its only fair that he has to be just as frustrated as you are. You spot an empty room off to the side of one of the main corridors, and nudge him towards the door as you approach.

Viktor looks at you strangely, questioning what you are doing, before catching on.

He chuckles subtly, “Oh really?”

He pushes the door open with his hand and you both quickly step inside, closing it behind you and manoeuvring out of view. He pins you to the wall, his arms on either side of your head. He leans down to kiss you, moving backwards at the last second to make you kiss at the open air.

“Desperate” He mocks, this time allowing the kiss. 

“Maybe I just want you Vik” You smile up at him

“Right here?”

“Right here”

Viktor’s hand trails down the side of your body, feeling you, weighing up the consequences of getting caught. He stops over your waist, lowering to grope at your underwear through your clothes. He presses at your clit, applying just the right amount to have you reactively grinding at his hand.

“You want me to fuck you here, where anyone could hear us?”

You respond by pulling him back into a kiss. Viktor breaks it, turning you around and pinning your hips to a table. You were only just out of view of the door, too close.

“Quietly”, Viktor purred in your ear. 

“People will see Vik-“

“They’ll hear first”

You feel the length of him rest at the side of your thigh. He presses himself to the back of you. He holds one hand on your hip and the other on the edge of the table he has you pressed against. 

“You say the words, and I stop. Though I can guarantee someone else will hear them first”

“Don’t stop-“

He muffles your mouth with his hand, having heard all he needed. He bends you at the waist, positioning you over the table. Viktor keeps his mouth at your neck, faintly whispering to you, almost inaudible, breathy.

“Keep quiet and take it.”

Viktor slides your trousers down your thighs, allowing them to pool around your knees. He works his fingers under the hem of your underwear, pulling them down. You feel exposed, realising your nakedness and proximity to the door. If someone would look through, you would not be hidden fully. It would be obvious at first sight. They would know exactly what you and Viktor were doing. 

He unzips and manages his trousers and underwear down to his mid thigh. There is a growing warmth as you feel his cock rest against you. He grinds it on you slowly, reminding you of the familiar length and feel. The heat of him in the cold room makes you more aware of the warmth of yourself and how when you shift your weight, you could feel the wetness slide between your thighs. 

“I didn’t realise you so publicly wanted to be my whore, (Y/N)”

You grind back, his cock pressing against you, a little higher and he may just push in. He lines himself up.

“So eager” He nibbles at your ear, the hand covering your mouth spreading to insert a finger between your lips and against your tongue. 

You swirl your tongue over the tip and he grinds forward, thrusting into you to the middle of his length. You moan against his palm.

There are footsteps from outside as people walk further down the corridor, it feels too good to care.

Viktor slowly thrusts in and out of you, though not deeply. You are completely aware of how deep he usually is, how he normally fills you. You groan in frustration, trying to push back, to make him fill you.

He stops moving, you feel his grin against your skin, his teeth against your neck

“If I knew it was this easy to take you, I would have done this years ago. All it takes is a little bit of danger, and listen to the sound you make”

Viktor pulls all the way out, and pushes all the way in, creating a wet slapping sound. You body is betraying you, dripping wetness down your thigh. Viktor removes his hand from your mouth and you make a silent promise to not give away your location. 

His hand replaces at the back of your neck and he pushes you gently down to the table, bent completely over it. He grips at your waist. His thrusts become more rhythmic, the sounds of the two of you become repetitive and he finds a comfortable pace. 

“You feel amazing, (Y/N). This is mine, you understand?”

“Yes, Vik-“ You respond, trying to keep a grip on your sound level.

He is speeding up, the noise must be audible to the outside. He is panting and whimpering, grabbing at the sides of you.

"Mine?”

“Yours”

“You belong-“ He starts, losing himself in the pleasure “-to me”

“Viktor-“

“Shh-“

You feel wetter than previously. The table was rough and sharp at your waist but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything, you looked around to the door window - no one was there. Would you really have cared if they were? If they watched the way Viktor fucked you?

Your hands are holding onto the far side of the table, fingers white from the force of his thrusts. He buries a hand in your hair, pulling back your neck, forcing your head upwards, tilting to watch him over your shoulder. 

“You’re mine.” He mumbles as he fucks hard and fast.

“They’ll hear-“ You try to protest, a blush rising.

“Then they’ll hear me cum in you” 

His hips are wild, he’s filling you deeply. He is slowing slightly, becoming more powerful in each swing. You feel him twitch and he begins to unravel.

“You’re-“ He manages, louder than he should have.

On his next thrust, you feel him filling you with thick cum, still grinding and pushing between spasms. He maintains his rhythm, coating the whole length of your insides, fucking it into you. 

“Im yours Viktor” You finish his sentence, barely able to string it together.

The footsteps return, closer, faster. 

You both look wide-eyed pulling up your clothes and fixing your appearances, damp with a sheen of sweat and a manic look. The gravity of what you just did has struck. Viktor is still catching his breath. You feel the mess he has made begin to seep into the fabric of your underwear. 

You both make a quick exit, red faced, heading straight for Viktor’s study.

Tag List - @veru-boom, @gubkkki, @hi-hope-hop-in, @gloriousevolutionz.

[fortunapre]

PAIRING: hamzah x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you and hamzah have been close friends forever, but during one of your routine movie nights, things get heated and confessions are made…

WARNINGS: 18+, no piv, dry-humping, fingers do things, making out, cussing, female reader, mentions y/n

this was supposed to be fluffy but fortunately for you i think im ovulating

[PT. 1] _fortunapre’s.iphone.series_ 2.2k words

“First of all, what game are you playing?” You asked, grabbing both bowls of ice cream that you prepared and heading to the couch where you and Hamzah were watching Star Wars.

“Uh, does it matter? This is a once in a lifetime chance I'm giving you to be in my video!” Hamzah teased, making a face like he thought you were insane.

You playfully hit his shoulder and laughed. “Well considering some of your videos are… questionable to say the least, I’m gonna need more context.”

Hamzah just spooned ice cream in his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. While you laughed and looked back towards the TV, he kept his eyes on you, admiring. Tonight was one of your guys’ monthly ice cream nights that you started since you met about 6 years ago. Ever since you were teenagers, you both have been side-by-side. The best of friends.

Hamzah took notice of your pajama shorts, large t-shirt, and messy hair. He had no idea how your most disheveled look still made him stare.

You felt his gaze and looked at him, but before you caught him, Hamzah looked back at the tv.

Now it was your turn to admire. Hamzah had always looked effortlessly hot in your eyes, but movie nights especially. Something about his careless look made your heartbeat a little faster. Like this view of him, in pajamas, with strands of dark, curly hair flying everywhere, was only made for you. Especially when he wore his glasses.

This secret staring match lasted the whole movie.

Usually, when movie night ended and the icecream was finished, Hamzah would talk a bit and then head home. It always killed him to leave you.

However, this time, Hamzah planned on telling you something he’d been hiding from since he met you. He wouldn’t back out of it this time

To stall, and make the night continue, he started with a simple converstation. “Wait, so do you want to be in the video or not, ‘cause I completely understand if it’s too much. I know me and Martin can get, like, kinda weird but it's what the viewers like so…”

Hamzah was rambling and you knew that if you didn’t stop him now he’d go on forever. You leaned over, and quickly put your hand over his mouth, shutting him up. You were both already situated with your legs basically pressed together, so reaching him was no problem.

“You’re rambling, Hamzah.” you laughed and kept your hand over his mouth. “And yeah I guess I’ll be in a video.” You tried to seem bossy by pointing a finger into his chest “But it we better be playing Sims or Episode.”

Then you realised just how many places you were touching him…

Teasing in your guys’ relationship was the norm, but recently, it has started to feel more like flirting than friendly teasing. There’s been a lot more… tension.

He stopped talking when you covered his mouth and smiled underneath your hand.

Recently, everything you do has felt more like flirting, now that you think about it.

At first it was innocent, a few touches and remarks, because it felt comfortable. Now, though, something hotter brimmed underneath everything.

Maybe you took it too far sometimes, with very obvious innuendos and such, but you couldn’t help yourself when it came to him. However, in the back of your mind, there was that voice reminding you that Hamzah is probably just being friendly and you were overthinking it.

You didn't want to take that chance, so you never brought up the obvious shift between you two.

You kept your hand on his mouth a bit longer than was probably normal, but the look that Hamzah was giving was almost magnetic. There was something in his eyes that was brand new, and raw. He lightly grabbed your wrist and moved to hold your hand instead, his eyes still locked on yours.

It was silent until he opened his mouth, deciding to speak up.

Now, Hamzah decided. Now he would tell you. “Y/n, there’s something I’ve been meaning to-”

“You should really start wearing your glasses more.” You winced internally at the accidental compliment/confession that slipped out.

“What?” He had a physical reaction to your sudden outburst and started laughing. “What’re you talking about? My glasses? What, why?” He seemed super nervous , and you could tell by his familiar awkward smirk from when we he’s flustered. If only he knew what that slight upturn of his lips did to you.

His laugh, your proximity to each other, and his just overall look meant your insides were basically jelly. He was still holding your hand, and once you realized it, the rosy blush spreading up your neck was inevitable.

“Don’t tease, you obviously know why.” You answered, looking away to try and hide the blush.

“Yeah?” He asked, in the most sensual voice you’ve ever heard from him, while looking down at your intertwined hands.

You were extremely surprised by the sudden deepness of his voice but decided to hide your reaction. Instead, you rolled your eyes and sat up to take your bowls to the sink. You needed to get away before you let your impulsive thoughts get the best of you.

He let you walk away, contrary to what his mind was reeling with, slowly dropping your hand as you moved away.

He watched you as you walked, with his eyes on the way your shorts were slightly riding up, and how your legs were on full display.

You set the dishes in the sink and turned to head back but were surprised with Hamzah’s towering figure.He followed you into the kitchen and was standing right infront of you. He was situated with one hand on the back counter and the other on the island, blocking your way out.

Instead of arguing, you just put a hand on your hip, and looked at him. Nervousness consumed your mind as you fully realized just how close to you Hamzah was standing. Instead of moving away, however, you stayed close, catching his familiar, minty scent. You looked back into his eyes-His eyes that held the exact same searing gaze as earlier. He seemed to make nonverbal promises. Of what? You weren’t sure but how he was looking was almost dirty.

“Y/n, what I was saying earlier…” Hamzah began again but briefly stopped for a second and looked at you expectantly.

“What?” You asked confusedly why he stopped.

“Oh, just wanted to make sure you weren���t going to rudely interrupt me again.”

You scoffed and faked hurt, “rudely?! I complimented you!”

“Yeah, I guess.” His smirk was back and his eyes were on yours. If it was anyone else, eye contact would have made you look away. Except Hamzah isn’t just anyone, and his eyes were like pools you could drown in.

He moved an inch closer, testing the waters. When he saw a slight pink to your cheeks at his closeness, he gained sudden confidence.

“Don’t let me leave tonight.” He suddenly spoke.

You were taken aback with his words, “What, like lock the doors? Are you going to transform at midnight or something?”

He let out a breathy laugh, but his tone never shifted.

“You know what I mean, Y/n.” A deep breath. “Let me stay. Let me show you what I…”

“Hamzah. Of course you can stay over. I’d never push you-”

“No, y/n that’s not…”

A beat of silence passed until you softly spoke up.

“What, Hamzah?”

“Let me show you what I think about everytime I’m near you.”

His words were ringing in your ears and your entire body almost had a physical reaction to what he was insinuating.

“Let me show you what I’ve been imagining for the past 5 damn years, Y/n.”

You were stunned, because 5 years? That’s almost for as long as you’ve known him.

“5 years…” You tested the words out loud and it was like an award winning melody to your ears.

“Yeah, 5 years. Actually scratch that. 6 years.” He stood closer, and spoke quieter. “Since I saw you for the first time I’ve been holding back from you. From admitting how I feel because I was afraid I might lose you.”

Like a dam, you broke. Anything along those lines were exactly what you’ve been wishing for, and here those words were, out in the open.

Finally,

You grabbed the front of his hoodie with surprising strength and pulled him down to your level.

Before you could follow through and kiss him, you just held his lips near yours instead.

You both shared one breath, staring at each others' lips. You stayed like this, too afraid to ruin the moment if you went too fast. Just the whisper of Hamzah’s lips against yours filled you with an insane amount of need.

However, Hamzah took the invite of your pouty lips and closed the distance for you.

Unable to contain the years of built up desire, you kiss his back. Hard.

He almost stumbles forward as you pull his hoodie closer to you. He smirks into the kiss at your eagerness and you swear that simple action could make you drop to your knees if he wasn’t holding your waist.

His fingers were digging into the fabric of your t-shirt, basically molding into your waist. It’s like you skipped the slow-getting-hotter part of the kiss and immediately skipped to fully making out.

Hamzah licked the inside of your mouth, making you release a quiet mewl from the back of your throat.

He parted from your lips, barely. Just enough distance to catch your breath before he dove back in. It was almost feral, the way he moved from your lips to your cheek to your jaw. He grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you up. Your immediate reaction was to wrap your legs around him and hold him as close as possible.

Right now, being chest-to-chest, literally holding one another wasn’t close enough.

He slowly carried you back to the couch while making small licks and bites along your throat.

He placed you on the couch and immediately followed, covering your body with his.

“Y/n…” He spoke your name with a deep rumble, into your shoulder before kissing your pulse under your jaw.

You unlatched your lips to take off his glasses and setting them beside you. You would have loved for him to keep them on but you could tell how annoyed he was getting with them when he tried to kiss you.

He watched your movement carefully, and let a mental picture of how hot you looked under him.

When you came back to him, he immediately put his lips back to the spot on your neck that he figured out was the sweet spot where you made the most noise.

“Hamzah..” you answered, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it up, signalling you want him to take it off.

“You sure?” He asked you, looking in your eyes for the first time since you started kissing. He took note of your red cheeks and matching swollen lips. He was so absolutely obsessed with you.

“Hamzah, If you couldn’t tell, I also have feelings for you and want you to go back to kissing me.” You teased him. “Without your shirt though” you smiled innocently and pulled his shirt up to reveal his chest.

“Such a smartass.” He smiled and pulled his shirt completely off and discarded it somewhere behind you. He was still smiling as he reconnected your lips, and the feel of his grin in your kiss made you smile as well.

The whole thing was unreal.

You felt so…happy in the moment, like nothing could compare. Like this is all you’d ever wanted and needed.

He slowly lifted the hem of your shirt as well, exposing your soft skin and thin bra. He could see the peaks of your nipples poking through the fabric and the image made him want to kiss every part of you he’s never seen.

To be truthful, any sight of you made him want to kiss you like that, but specifically right now, his pulse was very prominent in the lower part of his body from the current view.

You sunk your teeth lightly into his lower lip, and he replied by kissing you harder. He couldn’t hold back his desire at one point, when you started letting out breathy moans into his mouth- he jerked his hips against yours. You really felt just how much he needed you just then. The small pressure from his growing erection against you made you throw your head back and grind along lift your hips to meet his.

He started slowly grinding into you until you were full on dry-humping each other.

If Hamzah felt like this with clothes on, you only wondered what he felt like-

Your thoughts were interrupted by Hamzah grabbing your ass, then moving his hands along the back of your thighs. He lifted them up so you could wrap them around his back.

He rutted faster against you, and you swear you could feel his full length against you now. Your panties were soaked at this point and the wet spot growing on the front of his grey sweats showed that you had the same effect on him.

He sighed into your ear, both arms now propped on each side of your head. “Fuck, i’m gonna come in my pants from you, gorgeous.”

You let out a soft whine at the pet name and dragged your nails down his back, undoubtedly leaving scars. “Then just come like this, Hamzah. Show me what I mean to you. Like you prosmised.”

Erotic noises escaped your lips from the insane friction. You arched and dragged your hands back up his back and into his soft curls, tugging lightly.

“God, why haven’t we done this before” Hamzah sounded pained as he whispered, shutting his eyes tight from the upcoming sensation.

“I have no fucking idea. We were both too much of pussies to admit anything.” You replied in between short breaths.

He chuckled, but basically choked on his laugh when you reached into his pants to properly feel him.

“Yeah,” He agreed, and kissed you roughly, smashing his lips into yours and making your teeth clash at times.

“Fuck I’m..” You started to warn him, but he already knew.

“Me, too.”

He shifted the smallest bit but for some reason his new position made the friction ten times stronger. Hamzah’s hard bulge was hitting the perfect spot that made your panties rub against your clit in a way that made you gasp.

“Holy shit Hamzah” you gasped and arched your back to meet his chest. He laid more of his weight on yours, feeling your nipples through your bra.

“wait before we…” He looked you in your eyes and silently asked to take your bra off by slowly pulling down a strap from your shoulder.

“take it off of me, Hamzah.”

He wasted no time and took off your bra, exposing the peaks of your nipples. He immediately moved a hand to play with your breasts, giving each of them attention. “God, you're beautiful. even better than I imagined.”

His words made you want more so you arched you back again, making him shut his eyes tight at the friction.

“Fuck, baby,” he said softly.

He kept one hand next to your head, where he held himself up and moved the other from your breast to rub you through your shorts. “Hamzah please..please touch me”

He slipped a teasing finger past the waistband of your shorts. But you were done with foreplay and just needed him. His hand went past your underwear, finally reaching where you needed him.

He tested it by swiping two fingers along your folds.

“so wet f’me, yeah?”

“yeah…please Hamzah.”

“don’t worry baby.” At the same time he spoke he sunk two of his fingers into you, curling them at the perfect speed, while using his thumb to rub your clit.

how he was so good at this, you had no idea.

You wanted to please him as well, but when you looked at his tent, a wet spot was already extremely prominent.

“hey,” he turned your focus to him.

“Just let go baby. I'll come with you. seeing you like this….having you like this is already getting me off so bad.” his strokes became faster and your breathing got harder.

Before you could release, he took his fingers away and replaced them with rough grinding of his hips again.

Seconds later a feeling so strong washed over your body, draining you and your mind. Hamzah came right after you. The connected spot between you was soaking and warm with both of your come leaking through your pants.

“Jesus, Y/n if thats what its like with clothes on I can't wait until-”

“Yeah.” You laughed short with your eyes closed at the familiar words- he practically said out loud what you’d been thinking the whole time. “Trust me, I'm suddenly very impatient to find that out.” You admitted with a smile and opened you eyes, looking at him through your lashes.

Fucked out and sweaty Hamzah was breathtaking. And now he was yours to admire, without any secret staring.

Hamzah kissed you softly, still with passion but not as feverish. He slowly moved you both into a sitting position before he stood up with you in his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“What I said I would,” Is all he said. You were a bit confused until he spoke again.

“I'm gonna show you…” He kissed you long then finished his sentence. “I’m gonna show you i’ve imagined every fucking day.”

Your body grew immediately hot again.

“Alright. Show me.” You said quietly into his ear, nibbling it once as he carried you upstairs and into your bedroom. “But you might need to tell Martin your gonna film the video another day…”

He smiled big with his perfect teeth and shook his head with laughter.

He must be hallucinating because there’s no way he’s about to fuck the girl of his dreams.

a/n:

PT 2? Series mention list?

[gingerkunoichii]

☆ Yandere Naruto Men and their Obsession with You ☆

MASTERLIST Characters: Naruto Uzumaki, Shikamaru Nara, Sasuke Uchiha, Kakashi Hatake, Itachi Uchiha, Obito Uchiha.

Warnings: abusive relationships, control, emotional manipulation, lovebombing, obsessive crazy love, isolation, intense jealousy, violence, almost physical abuse.

His Loving Obsession • Naruto isn’t just obsessed—he’s everywhere. His sunshine demeanour means no one questions it when he’s constantly by your side, always checking in, always making sure you’re okay. But behind the smiles and laughter, there’s something darker—a need so strong it borders on suffocation. Every time you smile at someone else, every time you talk about your plans without him, his stomach twists, and that friendly grin becomes just a little tighter. • Naruto doesn’t just love you—he worships you. He remembers every little thing about you, from your favourite snack to the way you like your coffee. He’ll show up with small surprises—your favorite candy, a new book you mentioned in passing, a blanket because he noticed you shivering the other day. He’s always thinking about you, always looking for ways to make you smile. • Naruto is a master at making you feel guilty without ever outright saying it. If you spend time with someone else, his expression falls just enough to make your chest ache. “Do you really think they care about you the way I do?” There’s no malice in his voice, only a quiet vulnerability that makes your chest ache. He’s not trying to control you (or so it seems)—he just can’t bear the thought of losing you to someone who doesn’t love you as deeply as he does.

• His jealousy is weirdly explosive. If someone flirts with you, his entire demeanour shifts. The laughter stops, his voice drops, and his eyes harden. It's like he's a whole different person. He’s quick to insert himself between you and the “threat,” acting like the person speaking to you is some sort of strange pervert, making it awkward for everyone.

• Naruto’s love becomes all-consuming. His hugs are tight, his hands always on you—your waist, your arm, the small of your back. He needs the reassurance of your presence, needs to feel your warmth under his fingers. His kisses are soft but desperate, like he’s trying to pour all his feelings into every movement, whispering against your lips, “No one can take you from me, Y/N.” You're so bombarded by him that you have no space to ever question it.

His Toxic Obsession

• Shikamaru doesn’t just watch you—he studies you. Every word you say, every nervous habit, every glance you throw at someone else—it’s all meticulously catalogued in his mind. He knows you better than you know yourself, and he uses that knowledge like a weapon. When he speaks to you, it’s with a precision that leaves you reeling and self-doubting, his words cutting straight to the heart of your insecurities and desires. • He isn’t loud or obvious when he cuts people out of your life. He does it quietly, methodically, in ways you don’t notice until it’s too late. Maybe he “accidentally” forgets to tell you about a group hangout or makes plans that conveniently overlap with your commitments to others. Before you realize it, he’s the only constant in your life, the only person you can turn to. “See? It’s just us now. It’s easier this way.” • Shikamaru doesn’t need to raise his voice to control you. His calm, measured tone is enough to make you second-guess everything. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Y/N? I mean, do what you want, but…” His words always trail off, leaving you to fill in the blanks. And when you do change your mind, he’s there with a lazy smirk, like he knew you would all along.

• When Shikamaru finally confesses, it’s not a plea—it’s a statement. “I’ve been patient with you. I’ve let you figure things out on your own, but it’s time you see what’s obvious.” His voice is low, steady, leaving no room for argument, your self-worth is so battered down from everything he's done you actually believe him, actually want to be with him.

• Shikamaru’s love is suffocating, an intricate web of manipulation and control that feels impossible to escape. But beneath the darkness, there’s an unsettling tenderness—a quiet devotion that makes you hesitate. “I only do this because I love you,” he says, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. And in those moments, you wonder if he truly believes it. If maybe, somehow, he’s convinced himself that this twisted, obsessive love is what you need.

His Unrelenting Obsession

• Sasuke’s fixation is nothing short of paralyzing. His eyes follow you everywhere, dark and unblinking, like he’s dissecting you piece by piece. It’s suffocating, the way he can hold you in place with just a look, his intensity seeping into every interaction until it feels like there’s nowhere to hide. He had never been so entranced by someone or something before you. • Sasuke wouldn’t hesitate to dismantle anything—or anyone—that threatens his control. A co-worker who’s too friendly? Suddenly, they’re fired over a baseless rumour. A friend who tries to intervene? They start receiving anonymous threats. It’s never loud or messy; it’s surgical, precise. He’s a ghost in the machine, orchestrating your isolation with a chilling efficiency that leaves you wondering if you’re imagining it when he acts the same as he always does - cool and detached. • Sasuke would make you dependent on him without you even realizing it. He’d insert himself into every aspect of your life—your confidant, your protector, your only constant. When things fall apart (because he made sure they would), he’s the one picking up the pieces, whispering, “You don’t need anyone else. I’ll take care of you.” And in your weakest moments, it feels like the truth. • If you ever try to leave him, Sasuke’s calm exterior would shatter. He wouldn’t yell or beg—he’d act. Your phone? Smashed. Your keys? Gone. Every avenue of escape meticulously closed off until the only person you can turn to is him. His voice would drop to a dangerous whisper: “Everyone has left me. You don't get to do that, Y/N.” And when he says it, it feels like a vow—a terrifying, irreversible truth. • Beneath the darkness, there’s a twisted form of love—a desperate, all-consuming need to keep you safe, to keep you his. Sasuke genuinely believes that what he’s doing is for your own good, that no one else could possibly love you the way he does. And in his mind, it’s not obsession—it’s destiny. You were meant to be his, no matter the cost.

His Devoted Obsession

• Kakashi’s tactics are subtle and insidious, cloaked in warmth and care. He’d insert himself into your life in ways that feel natural, like he’s just a dependable friend who’s always there when you need him, always appearing when things are going dire. But it’s calculated. Every comforting word, every thoughtful gesture, every perfectly timed “coincidence” is part of his plan to weave himself into the fabric of your life. “You looked a little overwhelmed, so I thought I’d step in.” • Kakashi convinces himself that his obsession is rooted in a desire to protect you, that it's normal he would be like this after everything that had happened to him throughout his life. If you’re in danger, he’s the first one there, stepping in with a calm authority that leaves no room for argument. “You don’t need to thank me. I’d do anything for you.” • His charm is his greatest weapon. He knows how to put you at ease, to make you laugh, to make you feel safe. His lazy demeanour and soft-spoken words hide the intensity of his obsession, lulling you into a false sense of security, that he would never do anything to hurt you. When he teases you, his tone is light and playful, but there’s an edge to his smile that makes your pulse quicken.

• Kakashi doesn’t need to be loud or aggressive to isolate you—he’s far too smart for that. Instead, he subtly plants doubt in your mind about the people around you. “They didn’t seem very supportive of you earlier, did they?” “Are you sure they have your best interests at heart?” His tone is so soft, so thoughtful and seemingly wise, that you don’t realize he’s slowly nudging you into relying on him alone. • He doesn’t see his actions as manipulative or controlling—they’re protective, necessary. “I can't lose you, not after losing everyone else,” he’ll say, his voice so soft and convincing that you genuinely believe him. But the truth is, Kakashi’s love is a cage, and no matter how warm and comforting it feels, it’s one you’ll never escape.

His Desperate Obsession

• He loves you so desperately, so tenderly, with full unrestrained love. It feels like you were swept off your heels by him and his intensity, the way he knew he wanted you from the beginning and the way you completely crumbled underneath him was almost pathetic. He loves you like no one has before, gifting you thoughtful things he knows you like, listening to everything you say with genuine interest. He protects you, no one bothers you whilst you're with him suddenly - and you don't quite understand. • Itachi carries the ghosts of his clan in every step, every breath, every calculated action. He’s spent his entire life sacrificing, losing everything to protect what he loves. But you? You’re something he can’t sacrifice, something he won’t. He tells himself that this time, he won’t fail, won’t let the people he loves slip through his fingers. This time, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, no matter the cost. • Itachi’s protectiveness goes beyond reason. He’s already failed once, letting his clan fall under his blade for the greater good, and he refuses to fail again. He doesn’t trust the world to keep you safe, so he takes matters into his own hands. The friend who’s too nosy? Gone without a trace. The ex who tries to reach out? Shows up in the news dead. You don’t see the strings he’s pulling, the shadows he’s working in, but the world around you becomes eerily smooth, free of threats. “You’re safe with me,” he’d say, his tone so calm, so certain, that you believe him. • His obsession is fuelled by guilt as much as love. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, not after what he’s done, but that only makes him cling to you harder. You’re his second chance, his proof that he can protect something without destroying it. He doesn’t tell you this—he doesn’t want to burden you with his darkness—but every glance, every touch carries the unspoken weight of his guilt. “You make me feel human again,” he’d admit in a rare moments of vulnerability. • If you ever tried to leave, Itachi wouldn’t react with anger or desperation. His voice would stay calm, his movements controlled, but there would be a finality in his words that makes your stomach twist. one that you know you can't resist because at this point he had made himself the top of the pyramid in your life. “You don’t understand what you’re saying. The world isn’t safe for you without me.” And if you push further, he’d step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’ve already lost everyone I’ve ever loved. I won’t let it happen again. Not with you.”

His Masked Obsession

• When you first meet him, when you're only friends he keeps up the guise of Tobi. Tobi is a harmless goof, all smiles and playful antics. He makes you laugh, brightens your day, and slips into your life so easily it feels natural. But Tobi isn’t real—he’s a shield, a distraction from the storm brewing beneath. Every laugh, every clumsy joke is calculated, a way to draw you closer, to make you trust him. “See? Tobi’s a good boy!” he chirps, his eyes gleaming with something darker than innocence. • As Tobi, he drowns you in affection. He remembers every little thing you like, shows up with thoughtful gifts “just because,” and tells you how much you mean to him at every opportunity. “You’re Tobi’s favourite person! No one else compares!” His voice is light, his tone warm, and it’s easy to feel safe around him. • The switch happens when you least expect it. The moment you cross a line he doesn’t like—talking to someone else for too long, brushing off his affection, or even hinting at distance—the mask shatters. His voice drops and lowers, his posture stiffens, and the playful Tobi disappears. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, his tone sharp and cutting. It’s a complete shift, like you’re staring into the eyes of someone you don’t recognize. • Losing Rin shattered Obito, and the thought of losing you pushes him over the edge. Every moment he isn’t with you feels like a threat, every smile you give someone else feels like a betrayal. He projects his pain onto you, his desperation spilling out in violent outbursts followed by trembling apologies. “I can’t lose you,” he growls, his hands fisting in your hair as he pulls you closer. “Not again. Not ever.” • After every outburst, Tobi returns, full of apologies and desperate affection. He showers you with gifts, clings to you like a lost puppy, and whispers tearful apologies. “Tobi’s so sorry! Tobi didn’t mean to scare you!” His voice is trembling, his hands gentle as he cups your face. He tells you how much he loves you, how he can’t live without you, how he’ll do better. • Obito’s love is suffocating, destructive, a wildfire that consumes everything in its path. He doesn’t see his violence as cruelty—it’s protection. He doesn’t see his obsession as wrong—it’s love. “I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you from me,” he says, his voice calm but his eyes wild. “Even you, if I have to.” And in his mind, that’s not a threat—it’s a promise.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

stay for a fortnight

a/n: as promised, here is part three of the bodyguard!bucky story ৎ୭

summary: “yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, smut, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), tattooed!bucky (both a metal arm and tattoos as picked in a poll by you), beefy!bucky, forbidden romance, staying for two weeks at a chateau in the south of france, forced proximity, bucky is a shameless hoe and we love him for it, kissing, love confession, shower sex, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, belly bulge, gaping, handjob, fingering, impact play, squirting, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 3870

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“I’m sorry, darling. I tried to get out of it, I really did, even for just one day, but I can’t join you at the chateau this time.” 

“It’s alright, mom,” you exhaled, “I understand.”

Soothingly rubbing her palm down the length of your arm, she suggested, “well, since it won’t be as crowded down there, why don’t you stay a little longer? Maybe a proper break might cheer you up. Maybe one extra week?”

“Actually, two weeks of alone time is just what I need right now,” a faint smile managed to emerge on your lips, “thank you.”

“Great! You go and pack your things, I’ll let Barnes know to do the same,” she announced, and squashed the brief relief you felt just as soon as it had washed over you. 

It felt like ages that Bucky made you sit and wait in the car while he went around the estate to do his initial sweep, making sure it was safe and secure before you got to enter. 

The tenseness that still floated ethereally in the air between you didn’t fade away when he finally came back to crack open the door for you to exit the vehicle. 

“So,” you exhaled once the two of you had crossed the threshold of the chateau, “my room is the one upstairs and at the end of the hallway, yours is wherever the fuck you want, there are like a million bedrooms in this place.”

Your footsteps echoed against the elegantly tiled floors as you twisted to check that he even heard you. He had, seeing as his gaze was still ever glued upon you, though he didn’t offer you a reply. 

Shifting the large bag that hung from your shoulder, the luggage that you stubbornly hadn’t let him carry, you paused just before your stride began to ascend the grand staircase in the middle of the foyer.

“Also, I think we should come up with some ground rules.” 

Your bodyguard’s dark eyebrows then crinkled as he half scoffed, “ground rules?”

“Yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

Exhaling slowly, he simply stated, “whatever you say.”

Before you then began to drift up the wide steps, you cast a glance over your shoulder and said, “meet me in the kitchen in ten.”

“Alright,” you breathed, leaning against the cold marble of the kitchen island as you stared down at the small list you’d scribbled down on a stray post-it you had found in the bottom of your bag, slightly crumbled and with a doodle on the other side, “first rule I’d like to instate is an obvious one, but still needs to be set and stone in order for us to be here together. We can’t sleep together.”

When you heard a low sigh seep from Bucky’s lips, your eyes snapped up to glare at him. 

“Hey! Take this fucking seriously, okay?”

“I am,” he assured you, though his tone indicated the complete opposite of his words. 

“So, rule number two is in prolonging of the first one, which is that we can’t do anything that’ll make us want to sleep with each other,” you cast your glance back down to your messy handwriting, “two A, no swimming in the pool, two B, no nudity, two C, definitely no drinking, and two D, no staring at me,” your eyes flickered back up to catch his blue ones, “especially not like that,” you swiftly gestured to the way he gazed at you.

“Like what?” he didn’t change the manner he looked at you. 

“Like you’ve seen me naked!” 

Your shriek unfortunately only won you the glimpse of a smug smirk upon Bucky’s lips, one you swiftly tried to ignore. 

“Okay,” you blinked in an effort to redirect your attention back to the task at hand and not the butterflies that now soared in your stomach and made you slightly dizzy, “rule number three is technically also under the subsection of number two, but we can’t eat our meals together. No candle-lit dinners, not even a snack.”

Budding in, the man on the other side of the kitchen counter then said, “can I say something?”

With a soft sigh, you mustered the courage to look up at him, “shoot.”

“Do you wanna decide what I wear as well while you're at it? Maybe also when I’m allowed to breathe?”

His jest didn’t as much as conjure a twitch at the corners of your lips as your gaze simply narrowed in his direction, “are you mocking me?”

Boldly leaning his forearms down against the tabletop, he stared back at you, “so what if I am?” though when you assumed he was kidding and you let out a groan, you heard him go on, “all I’m saying is that maybe we don’t set a list of hard rules just to avoid each other. We seem to do just fine when we toss them all out the window.”

“I'm sorry, wait, what?” you blinked. 

“We’ve got two weeks here, so why don’t we make them count?” he shrugged. 

Mouth agape, you dumbfoundedly stared back at him, “you’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” calmly, his head tilted slightly as he held your stunned gaze, “just think about it.”

The sun only barely managed to set before you felt yourself crack and give in to your bodyguard’s offer. 

Storming into his room, his dark brows only got the chance to rise slightly in astonishment before you nearly tackled him to the ground, throwing your arms around his bulky frame and crashing your lips against his before any of you could say even a single word. 

You didn’t try to hide the raw emotions that came pouring out, causing your efforts to be rough and desperate, though it didn’t take long before Bucky’s touch mirrored the feral nature of your own, leaving you dizzy as you eventually withdrew from the starved kiss, clutching onto his shirt for support as you breathlessly ordered. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Keeping your eyes closed, you tilted your head back to let the drizzle of water rinse out the shampoo from your locks. 

The door to the bathroom was wide open, so when you twisted your form to face the showerhead, you didn’t notice as your faithful protector stopped in his slow tracks right on the other side of the threshold. His eyes trailed down your glistening spine till the sight of you caused him to crumble completely and take advantage of the gift that had just fallen into his lap.  

A low purr vibrated within your chest as the warm water rained down upon you, though suddenly, it wasn’t just the hot shower embracing your form, as a pair of burly arms snaked their way around you. Leaning back into his bulky frame, you caught sight of a crumbled bundle of his clothes tossed on the other side of the fogged-up shower door. A blissful hum crackled within you like a roiling fire as you felt his lips begin to plant soft pecks along the line of your shoulders. 

Though as his touch began to bloom and wander boldly down your frame, a gentle hiss tore through your lazy smile as his fingers came into contact and brushed over your core. 

Nipping at your neck, he murmured, “oh, do you want me to stop?” not removing his metal hand, though halted the pattern he had begun to draw over your petals. 

He already knew full well just how sore and swollen you still were. It would have been impossible not to be after the vigorous activities you’d kept the past week busy with.  

Digging your digits into his forearms to keep you in his embrace, you shot back hazily over your shoulder, “don’t you dare,” before a whimper rippled out of you as Bucky once again rolled your puffy pearl beneath his steely touch. 

“How is it that we’ve already done this for a whole week, yet it only feels like a day?” his voice tickled the shell of your ear as you leaned more of your weight back into him. 

“Really? Because I don’t believe you’d be able to fuck me in a day as many times as you have this past week,” you jested through a whimper, “even for a guy with your stamina.” 

“It’s a good thing it’s just the two of us here… imagine if we hadn’t been alone, if it hadn’t been me walking by and seeing you seduce me like the wicked temptress that you are?”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything of the sort,” you chuckled airily. 

“Really?” he teased just as his touch did, “leaving the door open, that wasn’t on purpose?” 

“No, I swear,” you then tilted your head and admitted, “at least not this time…”

“You mean the time back a month ago when didn’t close the door while taking a bath,” he murmured casually, “then called out to me, asking if I could fetch you a towel, and I had to pretend not to hear you?”

Spinning around at once, your eyebrows were nearly at your hairline as you blinked, “you knew?” 

“Baby, you never had to play that hard just to torture me,” he smiled down at you, “that move was downright cruel,” before he reached for the knob and switched off the water.

A squeal bubbled out of you as Bucky then suddenly plucked you up into his arms, wasting no time before he stepped out of the shower, only pausing for a beat in the comparatively more spacious area, though only in order to manhandle you further and toss you over his shoulder before his feet began to shift once more, leaving wet prints in their wake on the cool tile as he strode towards the exit. 

Strung over his shoulder as if you were a wet piece of laundry and he was the line, you giggled, “wait!” and just managed to catch one of the fluffy towels hanging on the hook he passed. Blinking down at the floor as he crossed the threshold, you watched as droplets of water dribbled down from you both and left a trail on the herringbone flooring, “you’re dripping, you’re gonna get the whole house wet!”

Landing his wide palm in a wet smack across your ass, he chuckled, “I thought that was my line, sweetheart,” teasing about the manner your pussy drooled for him, already leaking down your thighs at this point. 

Soon, the long hallway disappeared from your periphery as Bucky entered the nearest of the many bedrooms, though you barely had time to register your new surroundings before the world fell out from under you and he plopped you down on the bed in the middle of the room. 

Standing his ground and looming above the giggle that was your horizontal form, he stole the towel from your grasp before dragging the terrycloth across your skin. As he dried off the droplets of water that clung to your body, a handful of pecks adorned your flesh as well, often shadowing the cloth. 

Gazing up at him with smile-crinkled eyes, you stretched your feet up in the air, against his torso, and rested them against his wide shoulders as he briefly paused to dry himself off as well. But as he returned to sweep the towel across the last remaining spot upon your body that still glistened from the shower, the peck he pressed to the valley between your boobs was swiftly halted as your grasp found his jaw and you guided his face up towards your own. 

As you brought his lips to your own, you swiftly felt the mattress dent and ripple as he crawled up to hover above you. 

“Ahh, fuck…” he then groaned against your lips as your hand snaked down between your bodies and began to stroke his throbbing girth. 

Tossing the towel to the side, a gasp soon tumbled out past your lips as Bucky’s palms found your tits in a gentle squeeze. Your pebbly nipples stood up to the challenge as he swept a knuckle teasingly across one of them before capturing it in a pinch and tugging slightly to summon a sinful sound deep within your body. 

As your fist slowly twisted up and down his hard length, his close proximity caused your own knuckles to brush across your clit at every heated pass. Almost unconsciously, you tilted your hips slightly and nudged the bulbous tip of him through your glistening petals, the pleasure of which caused your eyes to roll in your skull. 

But just before he could take the initiative and catch your fleeting invitation to let him inside, you caught him off guard and suddenly rolled him onto his back with your frame plastered atop of him. 

Propping yourself up slightly, you grasped his fat girth before slowly sinking down upon it, “o-oh my god,” couldn’t help but breathlessly tumble out of your lungs as a flat palm came down to brace on his broad chest and your thighs gently quivered at the sudden stretch of him. It was a few times that you had to pause on your slow journey down just in order to catch your breath, as his intimidating size caused you to question yet again how you’d ever been able to take it before. 

“Atta girl,” his grip dug into your hips when you slowly began to move, “just like that…” though you still couldn’t persuade your pelvis to sink all the way down to meet his own. 

As you found a gentle roll, one of Bucky’s palms scooped up past your waist and caught one of your tits. Your back arched slightly as he played with your boobs, his hand travelling back and forth as you rode him, though a shuttering moan rippled through your body as he landed a gentle tap down upon one of them, a shiver swiftly trickling down your spine at the spark.

But just as you thought the bodyguard beneath you was blissfully enjoying the show and letting you do all the work yourself, his hips then abruptly offered you a greedy buck.  

“Bucky!” you nearly screamed as he buried the last few inches that you had so fiercely struggled to conquer on your own, “that’s–, I–, holy fuck!” 

You hadn’t been able to take all of him on your own, so he just gave you the little nudge that you needed, even if that nudge thoroughly punched all of the oxygen out of your lungs, he still made you take every staggering inch.

“Come on, don’t stop now,” a chuckle escaped him at your reaction before his palm came down upon your ass to get you back to work, “make yourself cum on this cock.” 

Shakily, you tried to pick up your rhythm once more, dropping your hips to meet his, though he couldn’t remain still for long before he began to fuck up into your warmth. Heavy taps echoed throughout the room as his balls slapped against your slick skin at his efforts. As he met your movements halfway and drove his cock much deeper than you could muster on your own, your left hand drifted down to strum your buzzing clit. 

Already dangerously close to the edge, your hazy gaze flickered down to watch not only how your pussy magically swallowed his big dick, but your eyes also caught sight of the dull bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, making your brain feel even more fuzzy than before. As your glance flickered back to try and catch his, you found his own stare to still be fiercely locked on the same spot where yours had just strayed from, watching intently at just how deep he went, nearly rearranging your guts just to mould you perfectly to fit his shape. 

When you finally reached your peak, your cunt nearly choked his cock as your silky walls clambered down on him, a small accompaniment of sinful gush squirted around him and drizzled to soak the sheets below. 

While you were still foggy with your eyes barely open, Bucky rolled you both over, his dick still throbbing deep within you. Welcoming the softness of the bed beneath you with a gentle sigh, he then captured your lips in a kiss and swallowed the whimpers that promptly bubbled up as he began to fuck you once more, offering you long, deep strokes that sank you so far into the mattress that you began to wonder if you might rock through it completely.  

“O-oh, so fucking d-deep,” you blubbered. A rhythmic cry forced its way out of your lungs each and every time the tip of him kissed your cervix, nearly bullying the deepest parts of you in a manner that made you feel like the wobbliest of jellies. 

“You scared I’m gonna break you, baby?” his soft lips ghosted against your cheekbone. 

“I–, maybe,” you admitted, blinking up at the way his frame eclipsed your vision, “but it feels so good, I don’t care if you do,” though your confession ended up not only exclusively being about the purely physical entanglement you currently found yourselves in. 

A deep growl rumbled in his chest as his hands scooped down beneath your bottom, before he let himself manhandle you, repeatedly dragging your hips up to grant him a better angle for him to fuck into. A bit of drool trickled out the corner of your mouth and found the pillow below your head when his cock soon throbbed within you, pumping you full of his hot load. 

When he pulled back out of your warmth, your pussy didn’t get to stay empty for long as his cool metal fingers swiftly took his dick’s place. Plugging you full, his frame shifted slightly to grant him a good view of the leaky mess he’d made of you. As he pushed his cum deeper inside of you, scooping it back in as his fingers forced it out, he increasingly added more and more digits till the amount matched the girth that had just split you apart, before he withdrew them all at once and grinned proudly at the way he made your hole gape slightly for him, before winking back to a closed as if he’d never even tickled you before. 

It didn’t take long with all of his molten motions before your pussy wept for him once more, a display he only drew out as his fingers stayed hooked inside of you while his other palm came down to offer your puffy pearl a few taps. 

A hazy giggle was bubbling out of your shaky frame as his attentive touch finally faded and his kisses fluttered back up your body till your arms wrapped around him and drew him in close. 

As you layed there in the plush bed and stared up at the ceiling, you didn’t know yet that the man sprawled out beside you was awake as well. 

You just couldn’t find rest no matter how hard you tried, for how could you as tonight was your last night in the chateau. 

Carefully, you slipped out from under the covers, grabbed your long robe from the armchair it was draped over, and tip-toed towards the wide French doors that lead out onto a balcony. Pushing the doors open, a mild gust of wind rustled the robe as you fastened the tie around your waist and crossed over the threshold. 

Though you knew that you didn’t have any other choice, the thought of returning home in the morning still broke your heart. The last thing you wanted to do was burst that dreamlike bubble that you and your bodyguard had built together and go back to a world completely desaturated of colour. 

Not only had you made the grave mistake of repeating history, but putting it under such an intense microscope didn’t help matters either, as well as your feelings, those having become terrifyingly clear over the past two weeks. 

“Hey,” you suddenly heard the doors behind you creak and you tore your hazy gaze away from the dark gardens below to spot Bucky gently leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” you breathed, keeping a flat palm on the ivy-covered stone railing as you twisted your frame slightly to glance at him, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I was already awake,” he shrugged slightly before joining you outside in the pale moonlight, “you okay?”

“Yeah…” you sighed, casting your gaze back upon the woods blooming in the distance. 

“…well, that didn’t sound very convincing,” he chuckled gently as he settled in beside you, leaning both his forearms against the half-wall, “do you wanna talk about it?”

Sucking in a breath, your eyes flickered over to catch his own, “I just–…” you hesitantly began before admitting, “I don’t wanna go back to Paris…” 

“Why not?” though a crinkle found his brow, his expression still softened, “is there something going on with you and your mother?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” you shook your head, “I just don’t wanna go home yet…” staring at him a moment longer, you then heard yourself confess, “…I–… I don’t want this to end yet…”

Watching closely as his lungs expanded with oxygen, for the first time you witnessed the gruff man look utterly and completely stunned, simply staring down at you with bated breath. 

Parting your lips once more, you nearly whispered, “…I don’t wanna go back to pretending that I’m not in love with you…” 

Bucky didn’t say a word, only continued to stare as he tried to comprehend the truth you’d just professed.

“I love you,��� you gathered up the nerve to spit out, “I love you now… I loved you this morning… I loved you after you’d probably only worked at the embassy for a few weeks…” your vision became blurred as tears began to form in your eyes and you continued to babble, “and I don’t think those feelings are planning on changing anytime soon, so it only seemed fair for you to be aware of that for when I ask you in two seconds if you wanna keep this thing between us going, because I do, though probably for different reasons than you–, not that I don’t enjoy that part, you are an incredible lay, I just didn’t think it would be fair for you to be unaware of the feelings I've developed for you, because I don’t know how to ignore them anymore, and–, oh my god, please just say something, I feel like I arrived naked at school or something–”

But before you could ramble any further, Bucky seized your face and fiercely pressed his lips to your own. A shiver ran down your spine and nearly caused your knees to buckle as he kissed you, and when he withdrew, slowly pulling back, he found your stary gaze and uttered, “…I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” he then sucked in a breath before confessing, “because I–… Y/n, I love you too…” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[genderless-naper]

half asleep

trafalgar law x gf!reader

themes: sleepy reader, pillow humping, assisted orgasm w/ fingering, some sweet talk, desperation

waking up in the middle due to the cold couldn’t stop your mind from thinking dirty thoughts. law decides to help you when he sees you humping his pillow while you’re half-asleep

smut, wc: 1.4k, lowercase intended !

⇣ credits to original artist (gokujounomaguro)

the coolness of the polar tang wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with. this particular night though was freezing cold. being wrapped up in a blanket with your lover wasn’t enough to keep you from waking up and shivering.

you look around the room hardly awake. you lifted your head from your boyfriend’s chest and looked at the clock which read 4am. you glanced up at law, who was slightly sat up, starring at the wall seeming to be lost within his own intricate thoughts. why he was awake at 4am was beyond your comprehension.

the sudden movement caused from you sitting up in bed made him look at you. surprised, he spoke to you in a soft tone, “oh you’re awake y/n? did you have a bad dream?”

you shook your head and muttered, “its freezing law. you don’t feel that??” you rubbed the sleep out your eyes.

once understanding the situation law responded, “i’ll get an extra blanket and a sweater for you. i’ll get some water too y/n-ya.” law preceded to wrap you in the single blanket that was not able to do you justice in the cold.

law makes his way out the room to fulfill your needs. you laid in bed wrapped in your blanket. the pillow next to you was positioned vertically. most likely from law moving it to sit up while you were asleep. you rolled to your side and lifted a leg to wrap around it.

your closed eyes couldn’t stop your mind from wondering. the picture of law still painted in your mind from when you woke up. something about his chest tattoo peeking through his shirt’s collar and his serious gaze as he was lost in thought. it all made him so handsome.

thoughts of your absent lover swirled in your mind, and made your body warm. you tightened your leg around the pillow to feel it press against your clothed core. you bit your lip as you proceeded to shift your hips back and fourth to rub the cloth core. the slight friction between you and the pillow was enough to part your lips and moan quietly. your pace slightly quickened, but it was still done with lethargic energy. as good as it felt you could still feel like you were about to fall back to sleep.

so distracted by your current task you failed to see your boyfriend walk into the room after getting the things you needed. he was taken aback from the sight of you rocking your hips against his pillow.

maybe it was his scent on the pillow that made it feel all the more better. either way it was obvious you were trying to reach a climax of pleasure. your laziness prevented you from being able to reach that point, so you drowsily humped law’s pillow hoping to reach an orgasm one way or another.

law makes his way over to you. he lets you continue your activity as he lays out a bigger blanket over your smaller one. it was heavy, so it weighed you down and staggered your already desperate attempts of satisfaction.

law sits back in bed and shares the blankets with you. your frustration from not being able to please yourself enough was starting to get to you. you shove the pillow to the other side and pull yourself closer to law.

law looked at his used pillow to see a wet spot from where you used to satisfy your core. it earned a chuckle from the man, “did you have fun y/n?” he clearly wanted to tease you.

you whined and rubbed your thighs together desperate for some kind of friction, “i can’t feel good.. too tired..”

law pulled you closer and let you rest your head on his chest, “do you need help so you can feel good? you just woke up so it might be harder for you to do it on your own.”

you nod tiredly. eyes barely opened you take law’s hand into your own, and pulled it under the blanket and towards your thighs.

law pushed your rubbing thighs opened, and ran his fingers against your cloth core. he could feel the outline of your pussy because your pants stuck against the wetness so well. it exposed you to your boyfriend’s fingers even though you were covered.

the new attention given to your core made you whimper. heading you made law feel bad for you, “don’t worry baby. i’m gonna help you feel good.”

you nodded mindlessly ready to take whatever your boyfriend was willing to do to your sleepy self.

his hand slowly made its way into your panties. you naturally spread your thighs more in order to grant him access. law appreciated your cooperation, “just relax and i’ll do the work. i’ll make sure you feel good y/n-ya.”

like a cue law began to brush his fingertips against your clit gently for you to adjust to it. the feeling if your boyfriend touching such an intimate part of you cause electricity to circulate inside you. he could make you feel good by doing the bare minimum.

law’s 2 fingers started in a circular motion around your clit. he circled around where he knew would be the most sensitive. he wanted to stimulate you as much as possible.

you shut your eyes completely letting the man do what he pleased in order for you to reach your peak. the sensations from your core travelled throughout your body pulling it closer to an edge.

law applied more pressure to his fingers tips. he slowed down his circular motions around your clit, and decided to start flicking motions. he moved his finger back and fourth against your sensitive bud. this earned slight moans from you.

law whispered encouragements into your ears, “you’re doing so good y/n-ya. i bet it feels good too doesn’t it sweetheart?”

you nodded to the man’s words sweet words as his fingers made you feel pleasures you would’ve never accomplished on your own with a pillow.

law continued, “you looked so gorgeous earlier. i wish i could always see you humping my pillow like that.” law abandoned your clit and made his fingers to your opening. his fingers naturally became coated in your core’s wetness.

you bit your lip, “i-i looked gorgeous?”

law hums, “absolutely beautiful. next time you should hump my thigh like that baby. i’d rather you use me than just my pillow.”

as law spoke he steadily pushes two fingers into your opening. the sudden action made you feel strangely full. you body naturally responded by rocking your hips against the fingers.

law continued his praises, but they went in through one ear and out the other. your mind felt absent while your body took in the pleasures of law’s long fingers pressing against your walls. you felt them go in and out, and you imagined his finger tattoos becoming covered because they repetitively make their way inside of you.

your whimpers start to become more vocal as your body climbed towards your climax. law continued to penetrate you with his two fingers, but skillfully used his thumb to rub your clit. he knew his actions were doing numbers on you by the way your body naturally tensed up, and how you became more vocalized.

you bit your lip, “law it feels so good, i-i think im close~”

law hums and quickens his pace, “then cum for me baby. i wanna hear you moan my name. who’s the only one who can make you feel this good?”

your body slightly arched up as your orgasm crept upon you. you moaned his name loudly, “law you make me feel so good! only you can make me feel so amazing~”

your orgasm washed over you turning you into a shaky moaning mess. you tightened around law’s fingers. he could feel his fingers inside of you become coated in your juices again. he pulled them out of your core and panties. he voluntarily sucked your juices off his fingers not wanting to waste a single drop.

you drew yourself closer to the man. you started to feel the exhaustion of the orgasm bearing over you. law found your middle-of-the-night horniness compelling. he also thought it made you cuter. knowing that he was the first thought on your mind after you woke up was satisfying for him.

law kissed your hair, “you should go back to sleep now sweetheart. it’s late.”

you barely responded, already on your path towards the realm of slumber, “you have to sleep too…”

law hums and gets comfortable with you by his side. he pulls your pillow so you two can share since you discarded of his earlier. he’d have to add washing his pillowcase to his to-do tasks for the next day.

masterlist

[one-green-frog]

Hi!

Can I request your yandere platonic batfam with a reader who gets bruised easily (bc i bruise so easily and it freaks everyone out) and what happened when they see them ♥️

Held Tight

The first time the family noticed a bruise on your arms they were ready to burn the world down. There was a bruise on your wrist, as if someone had hit you. It was strange, since usually someone was with you at all times, no one from the family would hurt you and they regularly made sure that you didn't have any mental health problems.Did someone break in? Was it one of their enemies. You're probably too scared to tell them.

Oh how it pained them to know that you are hurting, but too scared to tell them. Have they not been trustworthy? Had they now shown you that they loved you so deeply, they would never judge you? And they couldn't just ask, no, it would make you uncomfortable, maybe lead you to shut them out. That would be the worst case.

You noticed a shift in the family. Before they were already clingy and constantly showering you with love, but now it was even worse better. Nearly every minute they reminded you how important you are and that no matter what, they would always stand by your side. You didn’t mind, not really. In all honesty you loved the attention, but you also noticed their Desperation. Something was wrong.

Dick looked at you with such pity behind his eyes, yet he would never say anything, silently suffering. He was also the one to constantly remind you that you are family and the most treasured member, that they all cared and would always listen if you ever have any troubles. It was sweet, being reminded that the family loved you, but you noticed that he wanted to tell you something without outright saying what. Dick was always the supportive big brother everyone needed.

Then came Jason who now constantly patrolled every area you were in. He was looking for something or someone, yet he wouldn't tell you what it was. Not only that, but he was also way more physical. Jason was, unlike the others, a bit more repulsed with physical touch. You knew it was because of some scars and juts the way he thought of himself. This change was something you could accept with open arms and oh did you miss out before. You were constantly wrapped in his arms, practically swallowed by his stature, hiding in his arms while he hugged you. You soaked up every single second you could spend cuddling and snuggling him. Jason looked as if he was trying to protect you from something, clinging to you, a slightly tighter grip around you, small things you noticed, that set you off, but small enough to not bring it up.

Tim also changed. No longer would he spent hours upon hours in his room behind a monitor. Now he actively sought you out, even joined you on daily walks. Normally you would be extatic, Tim was often busy with Wayne business, be it important meetings our just paperwork, and you would have loved to think that a stressful period was over, but you noticed his looks. His even more sunken eyes, dark circles under his eyes and the way he would seemingly drift off into space during a conversation. It was obvious to you that he forced himself to stay awake to be with you, and while you loved your brother very much, it hurt worse to see him in such a bad state.

Damian didn't change much, in all honesty. Before he was a little brother who loved to cling onto you, now he was your little brother clinging onto you even more. It was once every blue moon that he would "sneak" into your bedroom to snuggle with you, now it was practically every night. You were usually awake reading a book when the door would creak open just slightly, Damian would peek inside and just look at you expectantly, waiting to be invited in. You scooted over to one side and lifted your blanket and almost in the same instant he would lay in your bed beside you. Whenever that happened you usually went to bed, not wanting Damian to lose any sleep. Together you laid there, Damian climbing into you like a cat seeking every bit of warmth you fand of. You like these social little moments with your younger brother, so it came as a surprise when suddenly he came to you nearly every day. You also noticed how he was on the lookout, trying to find some sort of intruder or something. It really freaked you out at first before you simply thought of it as his child mind.

The weirdest one was Bruce.

Bruce just hovered. That's it. Whenever, wherever, he always seemed to just be there looking at you. It was weird. He too looked at you with an almost pleading look, almost begging you to do something, but you simply didn't know what. What everyone was suddenly on to act so weird.

Bruce was also the one to bring "the problem" up. One day, he sat you down, he had this devastated look on his face. It was obvious something troubled him and at first you thought he had some bad news.

But then he started to talk about how he noticed some bruises on your arms. He went on a rant about how sorry he was that he couldn't protect you, that he just wanted what's best and that if someone hurt you to tell them. For your defense, you didn't mean to chuckle, the whole situation just made sense. Their sudden change their strange behavior, because they thought someone hurt you.

"Oh, I just bruise really easily," you explained, "it just happens sometimes"

To say Bruce was shocked was an understatement. Never had the thought crossed their mind that it was just such a small thing and not one of their enemies trying to take away their most precious family member.

After the talk everyone's behavior changed again, this time for the better. You noticed how everyone seemed more relaxed, no longer on edge and looking for something. You also noticed that they were more careful whenever touching you. Hugs are now more gentle, dragging you around was now just leading you by your hand. You didn't mind either thing. It showed how much they cared, immediately noticing something and trying to fix it, never once trying to make you uncomfortable in any way.

Words could never describe the care that went into everything they did for you.

Taglist: @lilyalone

Thank you so much for requesting!

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