#me running away from my problems and responsibilities

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Running To You

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You're rescued by a man who you don't even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers

Note: a stressed out steve rogers plus a cutie. it bloomed from the theory of Steve's beard being a symbol of his darker side, or a darker state of mind. In the wat that he would usually pride himself on a neat appearance but lets himself go a bit when he's not at his best.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stumble up over the curb as you check the list on your phone. Oops, you should really look where you're going. You steady yourself and giggle at your own clumsiness. For how precise your inventory is, the rest of you is a bit of a clutter.

You dodge through the onslaught of pedestrians and apologise a deep 'hey, lady' thunders through at you. You quickly dip into the store and shield yourself with the door. You gasp and catch your breath, smiling at the associate nearest to you. The organic shop probably isn't the most exciting place to shop but it has most of the ingredients you need. Raw honey, tallow wax, essential oils...

You greet them with a small wave and 'hi' and turn to look at the shelves along the wall. They don't acknowledge you. Most people don't, not that you mind. You keep to yourself.

The door jingles and another customer enters. They pause by the door and look around. They might be lost. It's not unusual for one more person to wander in but usually they don't stay long.

He clears his throat and you do your best to focus on your list. You're going to need a basket. As you go to grab one from the stack, the man faces you. You shy away and stop short of latch onto one of the mesh baskets.

"Excuse me, miss," he holds up a familiar item; a red wallet with white polkadots. It's yours! "I think you dropped this."

"Oh, my, I did," you give a sheepish smile to his chest. He's an awfully big man. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem," he hands it over.

You accept it and hold it to your chest. You give a tiny shimmy, "thank you so so much!"

You dare to look up and meet his eyes. They're blue but reticent. He scratches his beard as he nods and backs up.

"I think I'm in your way," he grabs one of the baskets and offers it to you.

"Oh, no, but yes, thank you, I need one," you take it.

"Mm, yeah," he smooths out the tuft in his beard that he was pulling on. The hair is thick and coarse; the locks on his head are just as dense, pushed back away from the face, though his chin-length strands try to droop past his ears.

You put your head down and turn back to the shelves. He lingers, seemingly lost as he looks around. What's the odds that in a city like this someone would do something so nice? You look at the list again then peek over at him. He squints at a jar of sourdough starter.

"What do you use in your beard?" You ask then cover your mouth. "I'm sorry, that's not... polite, is it?"

He shrugs, "hm, I just use shampoo, I guess. Face wash?"

"Right. Well, it's pretty shiny." You scrunch up your face. "I'm sorry." You chew your lip in embarrassment. Your cheeks are ablaze. "I'm working on my beard oil. I make it. Um, sell it. But..."

"Beard oil," he repeats thoughtfully. "I don't... I guess maybe I should."

He touches his beard again, a crease between his brows.

"I don't meant to-- I... I'm not... it's cute. I mean. Suits you. I was just--" you show your teeth nervously. "I don't have a beard so..."

"Yeah," he agrees awkwardly and tucks his hair back behind his ears before it can fall forward.

"I ramble..." you drift off and face the shelves again. "I'll stop bothering you."

He inhales and backs up. He turns to the door then stops. You sense his gaze.

"It's a bit busy. Rush hour," he says. "You don't mind if I hide in here with you?"

You glance over. You shrug. "Um, yeah, sure. It's not my store. Not sure how interesting it is."

You fumble between the basket and your phone. You hum and scour the shelves with your eyes, scrunching your nose in concentration. He comes closer.

"What are you looking for?" He asks.

"Soybean oil."

"Soybean oil," he nods. "For..."

"Soap," you cheep.

"Ah. In my day, ma just used fat and lye."

You give his statement a thought. You've seen some recipes from way back. Like long ago. Almost a hundred years now. A lot of people prefer the gentler ingredients.

"Oh, that's cool that she made her own stuff," you muse as you take a canister and tap your spreadsheet to mark off that item.

"Yeah," you feel him trying to see the screen. "You're really organized."

"Can't forget anything," you say.

"Sure." He lurks and looks around before he focuses on you again. "I'm Steve, by the way."

You look at him. He's just as big as the last time you looked. His blue eyes seem uncertain. He can't be afraid of someone like you. You give your name.

"Nice to meet, you, Steve."

"You too," he agrees. "Can I help?"

"Oh, sure. What do you prefer? Rose or Gardenia?"

"Rose is nice," he says.

"I agree," you say and pluck up the small bottle.

"You said you sell stuff?"

"Sure do," you chime. You tuck the bottle into the basket. "You know, you don't have to pretend to care."

"What? I... I'm curious."

You eye him, "well, Steve, I'll believe you, but there's not much to be curious about."

His brows furrow, not so much in agitation, but intrigue. "The beard oil. How much?"

"Oh, you know, I could get you a sample from my hoard. Since you got me my wallet back. You don't have to do all that."

"I want to. I think you right," he runs his hands over his beard. "Needs a bit of taming."

You laugh, "looks good to me. Oh, you can try coconut oil. It's real easy and you can use it in your hair too."

"Coconut oil," he says. "I'll add it to the list. What about yours?"

"Soy wax," you look at your list. "I can use that for lots of things."

He lifts his heads, shoulders wide and straight, looking around on a mission. He strides around the rack behind him and you watch him search a shelf. He picks up two jars. He comes back to you. "Which do you prefer?" He holds up to two different sellers. You take the one in his left hand.

"Thank you," you grin.

"Next," he looks down at your phone.

"Jeez, you sure are helpful," you check again.

"They sell wicks. I need the long ones. Like this." You hold the basket and phone at a length.

He nods again, "on it."

You point him to the corner where they keep the candlemaking stuff and you go back to your own search. He's too quick for you. He has a hole bunch in hand. You have him put half in your basket and he takes the rest back.

Huh, looks like you made a friend.

🎀

Steve holds the door for you. It's so nice you thank him for what must be the dozenth time since you met. Maybe only even an hour ago.

As you get outside, you turn back to him, certain to keep away from the pedestrians who pay no heed to obstacles. "I can take that bag too."

He looks down as the door shuts behind him. "Pretty heavy," he says.

"Oh, I always do that. I forgot my little rolly bag," you shrug. "I can handle it."

"Wouldn't feel right letting you carry it all. Mrs. Rogers didn't raise a punk."

"Is that your mom? I bet she's nice too," you say. "It's alright, Steve. You've done enough. I owe you. My wallet would've been gone with the wind and I never coulda bought all this."

He stares at you, then once more peeks down at the fabric bag. You always bring the reusable; they're much stronger than the paper ones supplied in-store. He chews his lower lip.

"If you owe me, well, you wanna have a coffee? Together?" He asks.

You blink. That's so nice of him too.

"Coffee?" You press your lips together. You feel bad saying no. Not that you want to. It wouldn't be so bad to have someone to sit with. For once. "I don't drink it."

He nods, "tea? Hot chocolate? Water?"

You laugh.

"I'll have a cookie," you offer. "Um," you look up and down the street. "Where..."

"I saw a place. Never been in. Wanna give it a try?"

"Oh, cool. Yeah. I love new places, even if they're scary," you say.

"Here," he takes the other bag from your hands before you can argue. "It's a block back."

"Wait, Steve! I can carry that."

"Not if I'm around," he insists, "come on."

He rolls his shoulder in a gesture for you to follow. You huff and hop into motion. You walk next to him, wary of the oncoming people along the sidewalk. A man nearly bowls you over and you knock into Steve's elbow.

"Oof, I'm sorry."

"Get on the inside of me, doll," he says. "Used to be that people took their hat off when they passed a lady. Now they don't care if... well... you move."

He stops and lets you step across his path. He keeps you between him and the storefronts as he strides on undaunted. You wish you were as brave as him.

"Ah, there it is." He tilts his chin up.

You look ahead. You see the sign sticking out in the shape of a coffee cup.

"Oh, I see it," you hurdle ahead. "My turn."

You pull open the door as he follows. He stops to let another customer out before he enters. You follow him.

"There's a table," he nods.

You follow his gaze to the wall. You lead the way and he trails you. He puts the bags in one of the chairs.

"How about you sit?" He suggests. "What kind of cookie do you want?"

"Oh, Steve, uh," you pull out your wallet, "if they have oatmeal--"

"My treat." He insists.

"You can't do that," you argue.

"You gonna stop me?" He challenges. You gulp and blink at him. You don't think you could stop him from anything. He's quite the figure.

"I guess not." You murmur.

His expression softens, "hey, I'm kidding. I didn't... scare you, did I?"

"N-no," you force a smile. "I appreciate that. Thank you. Oatmeal. That's all."

"Alright. I'll be back." He turns and you see his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath.

You sit and jiggle your leg as you look around. You avoid the coffee shops, even the bakeries. They're always so busy. You are methodical in your ventures but today's seems to have gone off the rails. Not in the worst way. One time, you tried to take the subway and ended up lost in the rain.

There's women who look like they could be on a TV show with their fabulous dresses and perfect waves; a man in a suit with his laptop and a single earbud in, and an older couple near the door. There are many others in the line to get a treat of their own.

You turn in the chair and press your palms to the table. You stare at the wood between your hands. You feel the heat speckling over your scalp, that sense of suffocation burrowing into your chest, the voices swirling around you like a raging wind.

"Here," Steve interrupts your internal panic. He places a large cookie before you and mug. "They had this strawberry cream thing. No coffee."

You look at the pink concoction with a dark red swirl in the middle. "Mmmm," you lean forward to admire it. "Wow. It looks good."

He puts his own coffee down and moves the bags under the table. He sits and unzips his jacket to let the tension out of the fabric. You smile and pick up the cookie. You hide behind it.

"I can't eat this alone. It's as big as my face." You giggle. 

You break it in two and offer him half. He eyes it for a moment then accepts it with a thanks. You take a bite then round your eyes at him. He's staring. Oh no. Is that rude? You chew and swallow quickly.

"What?" You hide your mouth behind your hand.

"Nothing. It's just..." he glances around the shop. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" You make googly eyes and cross them. "Is there something on my nose?"

He snorts. "No. There's not." He sighs. "Just haven't had a nice quiet coffee in a while. It's nice."

Your brows pop up and you smile big. "I'm sorry I'm not a big coffee person. I tried it once and it made my belly gurgle."

"It's fine. Bad habit," he taps the handle of his mug with his index finger. "Are you gonna try that cup of sugar?"

"Not much better, is it?" You pick up the mug and blow over it. You put your lips over the brim and taste it cautiously. You hum. "Mm," you pull it away. "Delicious! This is a tummy ache worth having."

His cheek dimples as he watches you. You fidget against his gaze. He's nice but you never had anyone stare at you so much.

[movingmusically]

What Are Friends For? - Chapter 16

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist

I woke up to the smell of coffee.

For a second, I didn’t move—just blinked sleepily at the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, the quiet sounds of movement in the kitchen. The sheets were warm, twisted around my legs, my body still heavy with sleep.

And yeah. I felt it.

Not just the dull ache between my thighs, not just the lazy satisfaction curling low in my stomach. But the warmth lingering in my skin, the knowing that I wasn’t waking up alone.

Austin was already up.

I stretched slowly, pressing my face into the pillow, exhaling through my nose. I should get up. I should find my clothes, make myself look somewhat functional, maybe even pretend this wasn’t a big deal—because it wasn’t, right?

Except.

Last night.

Last night had been slow. Last night had been something else.

And I was lying to myself if I said I didn’t feel it.

The smell of coffee got stronger. A cupboard door clicked shut.

I sighed, finally pushing myself up, running a hand through my hair. My clothes were somewhere on the floor, but instead of searching, I reached for the first thing I saw—his t-shirt.

It hung loose over my frame, soft and warm, smelling faintly of him.

Yeah. Not a big deal at all.

I padded into the kitchen, the wooden floor cool under my feet.

Austin was standing at the counter, back to me, shirtless, hair a complete mess.

Not fair.

He turned when he heard me, eyes flickering over me once before his lips curled. “Mornin’.”

I made a vague noise in response, covering a yawn with my sleeve as I dropped onto one of the stools at the counter.

Austin huffed a quiet laugh, sliding a fresh mug toward me. “Tired?”

I reached for the coffee blindly. “Wonder why.”

His smirk deepened. “Need me to remind you?”

I kicked him lightly in the shin.

He laughed, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. “You sleep okay?”

I nodded, sipping my coffee. “Yeah.”

And I had.

Which was a problem.

Because I shouldn’t feel this comfortable, this settled in his space. Shouldn’t already know exactly where the coffee mugs were kept, shouldn’t be able to pick up on the barely-there shift in his voice when he asked if I’d slept well.

Shouldn’t be thinking about how much I liked waking up here.

Austin drummed his fingers against the counter, watching me.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He shook his head, smirking. “Nothin’.”

I huffed. “You’re literally staring.”

“Maybe.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still fixed on me. “Just looks good on you, that’s all.”

I frowned. “What does?”

Austin tilted his head, gaze flicking pointedly to the hem of his t-shirt, hanging loose around my thighs.

Heat bloomed in my stomach.

“Shut up,” I muttered, tugging the fabric lower.

Austin laughed, shaking his head, so damn pleased with himself. But before I could roll my eyes and turn away, he leaned in, catching me off guard. His hand curled around my waist, warm and easy, and then—

He kissed me.

Soft at first, like he was testing the waters, but when I didn’t pull away—when I tilted into it, just slightly—he deepened it, fingers flexing against my side. My breath caught, coffee forgotten, everything narrowing down to the feel of his lips on mine.

It was just a second. Maybe two. But when he pulled back, that damn smirk was still there, his thumb grazing the hem of the shirt.

“Looks real good on you,” he murmured, before stepping back like nothing had happened.

I rolled my eyes, gripping my mug like it might steady me instead.

For a while, we just existed in the same space.

Austin leaned against the counter, absently scrolling through his phone. I curled up on the stool, one knee tucked to my chest, slowly waking up.

It should have felt awkward.

But it didn’t.

It felt… easy.

Outside, the streets were still damp from last night’s rain, the fresh spring air slipping through a crack in the window. The flat smelled like coffee and something warm, something familiar.

I let my fingers curl loosely around the mug, staring at the steam curling from the surface.

Austin nudged my ankle with his foot.

I blinked up at him.

“Food?” he asked.

I sighed dramatically. “I guess.”

Austin smirked, grabbing eggs from the fridge. “Got a busy day?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Just writing. Walking Golo later.”

He nodded, cracking an egg into the pan. “You’re not leaving yet, though?”

I glanced at him, wrapping my hands around my mug.

Not yet.

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

Austin’s mouth twitched like that was the answer he wanted.

And me?

I tried not to think about it too much.

We ate at the counter, the conversation light and easy between bites of eggs and toast.

Austin cleared his plate first, stretching as he pushed up from the stool. “Gotta get ready,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I hummed in response, gathering up our plates. “I’ll clean up.”

Austin shot me a look. “You don’t have to.”

I shrugged, already stacking the dishes in the sink. “I know.”

Something flickered in his expression—something I couldn’t quite place—but he just nodded, disappearing down the hall to get dressed.

The flat was quiet again.

I rinsed off the plates, listening to the faint sounds of Austin moving around, the rustle of fabric, the creak of a drawer opening.

By the time I’d finished, the knock at the door came.

Austin’s footsteps sounded behind me as he pulled his shirt over his head, tugging it into place. “It’s too early for this.”

I smirked, sipping from my mug. “You don’t even know who it is.”

Austin gave me a look.

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Right. Fair point.”

We both knew exactly who it was.

And—yeah. Callum. Standing on the doorstep with his hands in his pockets and a look so smug I almost wanted to shut the door on him myself.

“Morning, lovebirds.”

Austin exhaled through his nose, unimpressed.

I just raised an eyebrow. “You always this annoying before coffee, or is it just for us?”

Callum grinned, stepping inside. “Oh, I’m wide awake, Ange. Fully alert. And what a lovely surprise this is.” His gaze flicked between us, landing on the oversized t-shirt I was wearing—Austin’s t-shirt. His smirk deepened. “You know, I was only half-joking about you moving in here for the week, but this is… well, this is just adorable.”

Austin groaned. “Jesus.”

I took another sip of my coffee, calm, collected, not giving him the reaction he wanted.

Callum, unfortunately, was undeterred.

“Sleep well?” he asked, all mock innocence.

Austin didn’t dignify that with a response.

I set my mug down and tilted my head like I was actually considering it. “Yeah, actually.” I shot Callum a sweet smile. “Austin makes a great pillow.”

Austin choked on his coffee.

Callum burst out laughing.

Austin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling like he was already over this conversation. “You done?”

Callum grinned. “Not even close.” He stepped further into the flat, eyes flicking between me perched at the counter in Austin’s t-shirt and Austin, who looked like he was already regretting opening the door.

I rested my elbow on the counter, chin propped on my palm. “Go on, then. Get it out of your system.”

Callum tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Let’s see. I could talk about how disgustingly domestic this looks—”

Austin groaned. “Jesus.”

“—or how you, mate, are so far gone it’s almost painful.”

Austin rubbed a hand over his face. “I actually hate you.”

Callum ignored him completely, turning his attention back to me with a smirk. “And you, Ange, settling in nicely, yeah?”

I sipped my coffee, unfazed. “Just making myself comfortable.”

Austin muttered something under his breath, shaking his head, but there was no real bite to it.

Callum clapped his hands together like he’d seen all he needed. “Right, lover boy, you ready to go?”

Austin shot him a flat look. “I was, until you showed up.”

Callum grinned, completely unbothered. “And yet, here I am.”

Austin exhaled sharply, giving up. Instead, he looked at me. “You good?”

I nodded, stretching as I stood. “Yeah. Think I’ll head back to Callum’s in a bit, get some writing done before I walk Golo.”

Callum slung an arm around Austin’s shoulders. “Golo’s living his best life right now. That dog’s already in love with you Ange.”

I smirked. “He’s got good taste.”

Austin huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he grabbed his bag. He hesitated just for a second before looking at me again. “I’ll see you later?”

It wasn’t really a question.

But I still answered, just to let him hear it.

“Yeah,” I said, voice softer. “See you later.”

Austin held my gaze for a beat longer, something unspoken lingering between us. Then, as he turned, his fingers brushed against mine—light, fleeting, almost like he hadn’t meant to.

Then Callum clapped him on the back. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get to work before you start reciting poetry.”

Austin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, following him to the door.

Callum turned back once more with a smug grin. “Try not to miss him too much, Ange.”

I didn’t bother responding, just tossed a balled-up napkin at the door as it clicked shut behind them.

And then—

Silence.

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair, staring at the now-empty space where Austin had been standing.

For the first time since waking up, the flat felt different.

Not bad.

Just… quiet.

Shaking the thought away, I rinsed out my mug and grabbed my bag. I had things to do, notes to go through. A scene that wasn’t working. Something to keep my hands busy, keep my thoughts from drifting.

Get ready, write, walk Golo, pretend I wasn’t counting down the hours until I saw Austin again.

One step at a time.

I was curled up on Callum’s sofa, Golo sprawled half on top of me, when I heard them.

The front door opened with a low creak, followed by the rustle of jackets, the scrape of boots against the floor, and the low murmur of conversation—Callum’s voice a little louder, Austin’s quieter, more relaxed.

Golo’s ears perked up first, then his tail thumped excitedly against my leg as he wriggled off me, trotting toward the doorway.

I stretched my arms above my head, glancing over just as Callum came into view, ruffling Golo’s ears as he kicked the door shut behind him. He looked exhausted but happy, his hair still slightly damp from whatever chaos the day had thrown at them.

Austin followed a second later, hoodie slung over one shoulder, his t-shirt slightly wrinkled, like he’d yanked it on in a hurry. His hair was damp too, the ends curling just slightly. He looked tired, but when his gaze landed on me, something eased in his expression.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Warmth curled low in my stomach. “Hey.”

Callum groaned dramatically as he collapsed onto the armchair. “Absolute slog today. You don’t even wanna know what they made us do.”

I smirked. “Oh, you mean your job? The job you love? The job you get paid to do?”

Callum scowled. “Betrayed in my own home.”

Austin huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he dropped onto the sofa beside me, his arm brushing lightly against mine. “She’s got a point.”

Callum muttered something under his breath, stretching his legs out with an exaggerated sigh. “Anyway. I’m too tired to cook. Food?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You do realise I don’t live here, right?”

Callum just gave me a look, like that was the stupidest thing I’d ever said.

Austin smirked, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll order.”

“Bless you,” Callum said, eyes already half-closed.

Austin barely acknowledged him, glancing at me instead. “What do you feel like?”

I shrugged. “I’m easy.”

Callum snorted. “That’s what he said.”

Austin sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I actually hate you.”

I shook my head, biting back a smile as Austin scrolled through his phone. He still looked tired, but there was something softer about it now—like whatever weight he’d been carrying had lifted slightly just by being here.

Callum, predictably, lasted about five minutes before falling asleep in the armchair. His head lolled to the side, one foot hanging off the edge, Golo curled up on the floor next to him.

Austin glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “That was fast.”

I smirked, keeping my voice low. “Man’s got no stamina.”

Austin bit down a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the sofa. His fingers tapped absently against his knee, his other hand resting against the cushion between us.

Silence settled.

Not awkward. Just… there.

I stole a glance at him. His jaw was softer like this, the tension from earlier gone, his lashes casting faint shadows against his cheekbones.

“Long day?” I asked quietly.

Austin exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Good, though.”

I nodded, watching him. “Callum wasn’t lying about them working you into the ground?”

Austin huffed a quiet laugh. “Nope. Had us in the cockpit setups most of the day. Feels like I’ve spent hours staring at dials.”

I grinned. “You’re telling me all those flying lessons haven’t made you a pro?”

Austin smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, I’m a pro. Just don’t ask me to actually land the damn thing.”

I laughed softly, pulling my legs up beneath me. “Noted.”

The air between us shifted slightly.

I was suddenly very aware of how close we were. Of the way his hand rested so easily against the sofa, fingers inches from my knee. Of the way his gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, toward my mouth before he looked away again.

I swallowed. “When’s the food getting here?”

Austin glanced at his phone. “Few minutes.”

I nodded, gripping the blanket draped over the back of the sofa, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in my stomach.

Austin stretched, his arm brushing against mine as he relaxed back against the cushions. Then, after a moment, he tilted his head slightly, studying me.

“You get much writing done?”

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah. Got through some edits. Still not happy with one scene, though.”

Austin hummed, his fingers tapping lightly against the sofa. “The one you mentioned the other day?”

“Yeah. Feels like it’s missing something, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

His gaze lingered on me for a second before he nodded. “You’ll figure it out.”

The certainty in his voice made my stomach dip.

“Hope so.” I huffed out a breath. “If not, I’ll just throw my laptop out the window.”

Austin smirked. “Bit dramatic.”

“Not really.” I leaned my head back against the sofa, closing my eyes. “You’ve never seen me in a writing crisis.”

“Not yet,” he murmured.

My eyes flicked open. His expression was unreadable, but something about the way he was looking at me sent a slow warmth curling through my chest.

Then his phone buzzed.

Austin glanced at it, smirking slightly. “Food’s here.”

I exhaled, pushing up from the sofa. “Saved by the bell.”

Austin chuckled, standing too. “For now.”

Austin grabbed his hoodie from the back of the chair as he headed for the door, ruffling Golo’s ears on the way. The dog thumped his tail happily but didn’t move from his spot on the floor. Callum, still slumped in the armchair, made an incoherent noise but didn’t stir.

I stretched, rolling my shoulders as Austin disappeared into the hallway. The flat was quiet, save for the faint sounds of the city outside, the occasional hum of a passing car.

Something about it felt… settled.

That was dangerous.

I glanced over at Callum, still out cold, one foot hanging off the side of the chair. If I was being smart, I could just slip off to my room now—pretend like tonight wasn’t about to feel like another step deeper into whatever this thing with Austin was becoming.

But then the door swung open, and there he was again, hoodie tugged on, a plastic bag in one hand. He shot me a look as he kicked the door shut behind him.

“Don’t worry, got enough to keep Callum happy when he inevitably wakes up demanding food.”

I smirked. “Thoughtful.”

Austin set the bag down on the coffee table, glancing toward the armchair. “You think he’d notice if we just ate his share?”

I bit my lip, considering it. “Tempting.”

Austin huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he unpacked the food. I grabbed a couple of plates from the kitchen, and by the time I sat back down, he was already stretching out on the sofa again, one arm draped over the back, legs spread in that lazy way that made my stomach dip.

He handed me a container, his fingers brushing against mine as I took it.

“So,” he said, leaning back. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong with your scene, or am I supposed to guess?”

I paused, fork hovering over my food. “You actually want to hear about it?”

Austin smirked. “I’m asking, aren’t I?”

I sighed, shifting against the cushions. “It’s not wrong, exactly. It’s just not right yet.”

Austin smirked. “Yeah, that clears it up.”

I shot him a look. “I’m serious. Something about the pacing feels off. I want the moment to land, but it still feels… I don’t know. Too neat.”

Austin nodded slowly, watching me. “Which part?”

I hesitated, tapping my fingers against the side of my container. “The scene where he comes home.”

Austin’s brows pulled together slightly, like he was actually thinking it through. “After the war?”

I nodded. “Yeah. He’s been gone for years, his family’s changed, he’s changed, and the whole street comes out to see him because they all know—”

“They all know what he went through,” Austin finished quietly.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

He was quiet for a second, like he was playing it out in his head. Then, finally—“What doesn’t feel right about it?”

I exhaled. “It feels too big. Too grand. It needs to matter, but it also has to feel personal, y’know? Like, it’s not about a crowd of people cheering. It’s about his mum standing on the doorstep. It’s about his family hesitating for a second before running to him because they can’t believe he’s actually there. I want it to feel real.”

Austin hummed, thoughtful. “And it doesn’t yet?”

I shook my head. “Not quite.”

His fingers tapped against his knee, absent but thoughtful. Then—“What was the first thing your great-uncle did when he came home?”

I blinked.

Austin just looked at me, waiting.

My stomach flipped slightly.

Because he’d remembered.

I let out a slow breath, my voice quieter now. “He whistled.”

Austin tilted his head. “Whistled.”

“Yeah.” I glanced down at my hands. “Every day, coming home from work, my nan said he’d whistle on his way up the street. Everyone knew it was him. And after the war, when he finally got back, they were all waiting, but they didn’t see him at first. Then they heard it—his whistle.”

Austin didn’t say anything.

But I saw it—the way his throat worked slightly, the way his fingers flexed against his knee.

And then, after a beat, he spoke.

“Then that’s your scene.”

I blinked.

Austin leaned in slightly. “Not the crowd, not the big reunion—that.” He tapped his fingers against the sofa. “The sound of him coming home. The thing they all recognised before they even saw him.”

My chest tightened.

Because he was right.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

Austin smirked, but it was softer this time. “Told you you’d figure it out.”

We finished eating in comfortable silence, the weight of the earlier conversation lingering between us. Callum, predictably, stayed asleep, snoring softly from the armchair, Golo curled up next to him.

Austin stretched, exhaling as he leaned his head back against the couch. “Might crash soon.”

I hummed in agreement, but didn’t move.

Austin glanced at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. “What, too full to move?”

I smirked. “Maybe.”

He shook his head, then—without thinking—he reached out, fingertips skimming lightly over my wrist.

Not a big move.

Not a calculated one.

Just… there.

Like he was testing something.

I felt my breath catch, just slightly.

I could pull away.

Could say something sarcastic, roll my eyes, shake it off.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I turned my hand over, just enough to let his fingers graze my palm.

Austin’s jaw shifted, his gaze flickering down to where our hands hovered between us.

He didn’t push it further.

Didn’t lace our fingers together, didn’t make some teasing comment.

He just let it be.

A small thing.

A quiet, unspoken choice.

But maybe those were the ones that mattered the most.

Austin exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

I nodded, pulse steady but a little too loud in my ears. “Yeah.”

But neither of us moved.

Austin’s fingers flexed slightly, his hand shifting like he was debating something. Then, instead of pulling away, his touch skimmed lower, his palm brushing lightly against mine before his fingers curled, just barely, around the side of my hand.

“I’ll walk you out,” I murmured.

His lips twitched like he wanted to make some smart remark, but he didn’t. He just gave my hand a small squeeze before letting go, following me down the hall.

At the door, he turned, his gaze flickering over me, something unreadable settling in his expression.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured.

I smirked, tilting my head. “You telling me or you?”

Austin huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Both.”

A breath, a shift of weight, something unspoken hanging between us.

Then—his hand found my waist, fingertips pressing lightly, deliberate, while his other hand skimmed up, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. My breath caught, my heart thudding against my ribs as his fingers lingered, his touch warm, steady.

This wasn’t a question.

He leaned in, closing the space between us, and kissed me.

Slow, certain, like he already knew exactly how I’d respond. Like he wasn’t in a hurry to let go.

I sighed into it, my fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, his body pressing just slightly into mine, like he wanted to pull me closer but knew he had to leave.

It wasn’t a goodbye.

Just a pause.

Austin pulled back slightly, his forehead barely an inch from mine, his thumb brushing over my hip. His voice was quieter now.

“See you in the morning.”

I exhaled, barely resisting the smile pulling at my lips. “See you in the morning.”

His lips twitched, like he really wanted to kiss me again but was forcing himself not to. Instead, he gave my waist a small squeeze, then finally stepped back, pulling open the door.

I watched as he disappeared down the path, his hands in his pockets, his head tilting slightly like he felt me watching.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

I shut the door, exhaling slowly.

And yeah.

Sleep wasn’t happening any time soon.

Taglist:

@slowsweetlove @thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @myradiaz @butlerrizz @chocolatetree222 @richardslady121

[one-sunny]

Wrong Time | The Key

04: When you move to a new town, you don’t expect to run into your high school sweetheart. Old feelings begin to arise and you are suddenly faced with the complexity of relationships, communication, and the struggle for true connection.

Warning: 18+ only. contains sexual themes and content, toxic relationships, destructive behaviors, complex feelings, jealousy, anxiety, slow burn, angst, Reader x Kid content

The coming weeks bring about an unexpected peace as you begin to blend into your new life, your new friends. Suffocating loneliness begins to drain away and you almost believe yourself able to shove the memory of Sanji back into its own box. All that was left was finding a lock for said box to keep those memories deep inside.

Paint smudges litter blotches of color on your skin and apron. Your eyes were growing tired as you stare at the warm paint tones placed on the canvas before you. It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting there.

Taking a step back, you press your palms against your stinging eyes and decide that it was time for your second coffee of the day. You tug off your apron with a yawn, despite the rather early hour, and head off towards the kitchen.

The atmosphere is calm in the studio today. Mornings were always a rather productive time and you have found that most lock themselves away in an effort to focus on their task until around lunch time. There were still a few hours until then, so you were happy for the peaceful coffee you were about to indulge in.

That is, until you notice a figure leaning back against the counter. Spiked red hair is smushed as Kid lulls his head back against the upper cabinets, eyes closed, and the whirring sound of the coffee machine beginning to fill the silence. You approach casually, uncaring of disturbing his relaxed state. Nami may have a problem with Eustass Kid but you find him quite amusing. You didn’t speak often, too busy in your own works, but he has thrown many teasing remarks your way after his spats with Nami.

As you open a cabinet across from him, his eyes snap open. “Oh,” He mumbles. “You.” A hum in response as you go about preparing one of the other coffee machines, popping in the single cup pod and clicking the button. You can feel the eyes tracking your every movement as you go. Kid then hums in thought, “You’re not as loud as the other one.”

“That supposed to be a compliment?” You raise a brow at him and he laughs, a light and clipped sound.

“That you’re not like Nami? Absolutely.” He smirks at you. Then he is turning to gather his mug of coffee, large hand wrapping around it to warm his fingers. “Saw your work while I was passing by earlier,” He comments. “Not bad.”

A laugh slips past your lips before you can stop it. “Wow, someone has really got to teach you how to give a compliment.”

He dramatically rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of the black coffee. “I know how to compliment people that deserve it.”

“So I only deserve an almost compliment?”

Kid leans in a little bit closer, dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity. “Gotta do a little more to impress me, sweetheart.”

“And who said I was trying to impress you.” You challenge and something shifts in his gaze. Something that Nami certainly wouldn’t approve of, as you hold his eye for a lingering moment.

“Don’t worry, i’m sure that will change soon.”

You raise your brows at him, “Man, that ego is huge, huh?”

“That’s not the only thing that’s huge.” Kid smirks and you sputter out a laugh in surprise. You don’t even get a chance to chastise him before a metal prosthetic hand places to his chest in mock offense, “I meant my big personality.” His smile is more than teasing. “But I like where your heads at.”

“Oh, Im sure you do.” You roll your eyes.

Kid laughs once again, stepping away as if he is going to leave, before turning back to you, “Come by my studio later if you want to actually see something impressive.” A mischievous grin widens, “I mean my work, by the way, if your mind is still in the gutter.” He pauses to cast a slow glance down your paint splotched figure. “Though, I wouldn’t mind that.”

And then he is off to leave you questioning exactly what just happened.

“And what exactly were you doing with Eustass Kid?” Nami’s voice causes you to jump out of your daze. Her arms are crossed and her cheeks slightly flushed in anger, a clear sign that you missed what ever interaction happened in passing Kid.

“Talking.” You simply shrug.

“Just talking?” Her eyes narrow. “Because he looked like he was getting awfully close to you and you didn’t immediately slap him.”

“Might have been flirting but I honestly can’t be sure.” You laugh.

Nami watches you for a brief moment, waiting for a sign that you were joking or a sign of disgust, if not. But you almost seemed… into it? “Ugh, you have the worst taste.” She decisively clicks her tongue at you. You scowl at her, but she’s already going on her rant. “He’s so rude I can’t believe you even got a word in with him. What did you even talk about with that guy?”

“Well, Nami, this may shock you.” You smile at her teasingly. “But he’s an artist too.”

She scoffs, “But he’s so rude. And brash. And hot headed, it’s insane actually. He’s lucky he’s a decent artist or he probably would have been kicked out of the studio already or something.”

“Why? What did he do to be kicked out?”

“Well, nothing specific.” Her head tips to the side as she admits, before frowning. “He just sucks.” She rolls her eyes. “You shouldn’t get involved with him, I can’t imagine he treats women very nicely.”

“And who said I want to be treated nice all the time?” The mischievous grin that pulls to your face in turn makes hers twist.

She groans, “Gross, that’s actually gross.” You simply shrug at her reaction and Nami scoffs. “By the way, you’re coming out with Ussop and I for dinner.”

“Am I? This is news to me?”

“You are!” Nami grins at you. “Ussop was telling our other friends about you and Luffy- we told you about Luffy right?” You nod in response and she goes back to her rambling. “Well he wanted to meet you, so he told us to invite you out and we’ll all grab dinner. It’s not gonna be anything fancy, by the way, just some burgers or something.”

“Nami-“

She stops you in your scolding. “You’re new here, remember? You have to meet more people than Ussop and I.” She crosses her arms over her chest and you know that there is no way to turn her down. “Plus, you think Ussop and I are cool right?”

“Debatable.”

“That means our friends are cool people too.” She rolls her eyes to effectively ignore you.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes absolutely.”

There is no choice but to relent. With your unexpected dinner plans, you bid Nami a farewell to return back to your work. Your little studio smells of fresh air and the slightest tinge of oil. It’s familiar. Comfortable.

Tying your apron back on, you set back to get lost in the process of painting.

Bit by bit, the piece begins to come to life before your very eyes. Grey smudges of paint create the illusion of smoke. It plays into your senses, much to your glee and possible delusions, and you can almost smell the smoke mixing in the air. But that quickly makes you sick as you realize that the smoke is tinged with mint and spices.

Suddenly you are struck with a new motivation to find a key that effectively locks away the thoughts of him.

✐ ᝰ ✐ ᝰ ✐ ᝰ ✐ ᝰ ✐ ᝰ

You were running late.

The city was far more confusing than you would like to admit and your phone’s navigation system seemed to be just as mixed up as you were. By the time you make it to the diner, you notice Nami and Ussop already sitting within a large group at one of the booths.

Ussop pops up with a bright grin, waving you over, and shoving you into the booth beside Nami. That’s when six pairs of eyes all fall onto you. You shift in the vinyl seat and offer the group a smile. Silence falls over the group for a beat too long and you can feel your pulse spike with the nerves of it all.

Until one of them suddenly speaks up.

“These guys suck at introductions, i’m Luffy.” The man offers you a bright grin, his sunny disposition slowly overtaking any of the awkward. “That’s Zoro, Franky, and Robin.” He points to each person in turn. Zoro nods at you in greeting, Franky grinning bright, and Robin smiling politely.

You announce your name with a smile, your shoulders easing from their tension.

“There’s usually one more of us but he’s busy with his girlfriend tonight.” Ussop rolls his eyes.

“Probably still in the dog house.” Zoro snorts. “I almost feel bad for the guy.” He earns many looks that exude skepticism.

“Really?” Nami narrows her eyes.

“Hey, I said almost.”

You quickly learn that the crew is quite the rowdy bunch, each with their own level of high energy that attempts to top everyone else. Even the unassuming Zoro and Robin had their own moments. Conversation begins to flow easily and the laughter freely.

To an outsider, it was as if you had been apart of the group for years. Luffy seemed to be a bit oblivious at times, but he never allowed even a moment of you being left out, quickly filling you in on any minor detail of information.

“Do you work out?” Luffy points a finger at you.

“Oh, uh not really-“

“You should try boxing some time! My brother teaches the classes, he’s always looking for new people to join.” Luffy rambles on before you can even finish your thought. Weirdly enough, it pulls a smile to your face at the man’s bright demeanor. “He’s trying to build the women’s division since there aren’t too many right now.” He continues, throwing a glare towards Nami and Robin. “Because some people keep turning it down.”

“Luffy, not everyone is interested in punching and sweating all over people.” Nami rolls her eyes.

“Well you should be! It’s fun, right Zoro?” Luffy grins as the man grunts in what you can only assume is agreement.

The topics continue to jump around from there as everyone finishes up their food. Eventually the sun has dipped low in the sky and everyone prepares to leave the diner. As everyone slides around the booth, Luffy throws his arm around your shoulders.

“I like you, you gotta come around more, ‘kay?” He has a bright grin on his face and you can already tell that the man would not take no for an answer. So you copy his smile and speak your agreement. “Awesome! Zoro, let’s go! I’m ready to work this meat off!” Luffy is then jogging off towards the green haired man.

Nami and Ussop join your sides with satisfied smiles. “Told you they were cool people.” Nami bumps your shoulder with a knowing smile.

“Ah, they’re alright.” You tease, waving the pair off. “And who knows, maybe your other friend will hate me and want me kicked out of the group-“

“Definitely not.” Ussop laughs. “He’s too much of a gentleman to kick a lady out.” His tone is mocking and pulls a laugh from Nami in turn.

“We’ll see.” You grin. “I’m heading back to the studio though for a late session, catch you two later.” Ussop and Nami bid their farewells before they are off in the opposite direction.

You feel lighter as you walk off towards the studio with a grin pulling to your face. Not only were you settling in now, you were almost thriving. Perhaps you have found your place after all?

Though, there was only one detail that was still tripping you up…

✐ ᝰ ✐ ᝰ ✐ ᝰ ✐ ᝰ ✐ ᝰ

Footsteps echo on the tiled floor and you believe the building to be entirely empty from the stillness of it. You move down the hallway, stopping the short distance at your studio, and digging around in your bag for the key. As you search, you notice a distant screech of metal on metal. This is followed by a string of loud cursing and you can’t hold back your laugh as you recognize the gruff voice. Rocking on your heels for a moment, you debate wandering down the hallway.

That’s when a loud clattering fills the air and your curiosity peaks.

You shove your things back into the bag and approach Studio 07 as if the room alone was a wild animal. The door is already wide open and Kid stands in the middle of the room, back turned to you, metal scattered around his feet. His hands are on his hips and head dropped. You have an easy out, the man oblivious to your presence, but you feel something drawing you in.

“Rough day?”

Kid actually jumps at the sound of your voice. “Way to give a guy a heart attack.” He grunts, sparing you only a glance, before leaning over to begin picking up what had clattered to the floor. You linger in the doorway as he tosses the metal onto his work bench. “You come here to stand and watch, or are you actually taking me up on my little offer?”

“Came to see what all the racket was.”

“Hey,” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Even the greats fail sometimes.” His joke is clouded by the aggravation coming off him in waves.

You can’t stop yourself from walking further into his studio, looking around at the various metal sculptures and half built pieces. “What are you working on?”

He raises an eyebrow at the question, as if surprised at the interest you were showing him. With a sigh he finally jerks his head in a sign to call you over. “This old dude that i’ve done work for,” He grumbles. “Wanted these metal flowers for his wife’s garden, way different from the crap I usually do but he pays big, but it’s just really pissing me off.”

You reach past him to grab one of the flowers that was almost fully formed with twisted metal petals. Twirling the stem between your fingers, you glance up at Kid in confusion, “They look really good, actually, I don’t see the problem.” He makes a ‘tch’ sound in response.

“The stupid little seed things that poke out from the middle of the flower.” He thrust a finger towards the middle of the metal lily to indicate that those were missing. “They’re giving me a headache.” Kid grumbles as he plucks the flower from your hand and tosses it onto the table. “Can’t get the metal thin enough to look good but strong enough to hold the tips.”

You hum in thought, casting a look around the studio. “Have you tried wire?”

Kid is quiet for a long moment. “Wire?”

“Yeah, wire.” You nod in confirmation. Despite knowing that it was a good idea, the glare you were receiving made you question that.

Kid finally grunts in response, crossing the room. “That might work.” He mutters under his breath as he digs around in plastic containers. With a spool of thick metal wire, he silently returns to his bench, collecting a pair of pliers and beginning to flex the metal. You watch in interest as he easily manipulates it as he sees fit. “Hand me those.” His points past you to the wire cutters.

“Say please.”

Kid stalls for a moment to lock eyes with you. His gaze is intense and a complete contrast to the teasing glint in your own. “Hand them over.” He speaks to you in a stern voice that likely gets him his way most of the time. But part of you wanted to see how far you could push.

“Come on, you first.” Your grin widens at the man. “It won’t kill you.”

“Stop being a brat.” His teeth grit.

You shrug, “Stop being a baby.”

“You’re-“ He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale. “Give them to me,” His eyes roll dramatically as you stare back at him. “Please.” He grits the word out as if it is physically painful to him.

“See,” You coo at him as you grab the tool. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” As you hold out the tool for him, his fingers brush against yours and his gaze darkens as he grabs it.

“Shut up.” He grumbles under his breath as he turns back to his work bench. He does a few finishing touches to the wire and once he is sure that the shape could be replicated, he snips the piece with the wire cutters. Then he is shaking his head, “Don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Been working too long, I think.”

“Thanks, I do have good ideas sometimes.”

“Really?” A teasing smirk pulls to his lips. “You didn’t strike me as someone with those.”

“Artistically, I absolutely am.”

Dark eyes lock on yours and you’re suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him. Prosthetic arm rests against the table as he leans a little bit closer. “And personally?”

You swallow hard at the look in his eye. At the proximity. At the way heat floods your body. At the way you find yourself reacting to someone like Kid. He was gruff and obnoxious and not the type that you typically involve yourself with. But that drew you in even more. You were looking to forget someone who was soft and caring, and you may have found the very key to this.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” You offer a teasing smile and Kid sucks in a breath. There’s a shift in the air, something that you’re both aware of, but neither of you speak on it. Kid lingers close to your side as if giving you ample time to bow out. You shift a little bit closer as you look at him through your lashes.

With a bold move, Kid moves even closer to you with observant eyes, placed on either side of the work bench. He now stands right before you, bodies touching as he cages you between himself and the table. “So you did come to see something impressive?”

You roll your eyes in a taunting manor, “You talk a big game, but can you really back it up?”

He laughs a dark laugh, leaning close enough for the tips of your noses to touch. “You sure about this?” His voice is low and his eyes are blown dark. “I won’t go easy on ya.”

“And who said I want you to.”

So your lips clash together harshly, and you almost laugh at the revelation that the dark gloss he wore was pomegranate flavored. One hand grips at your hip while the other moves to sweep a clear space on the bench. Once this is done, Kid easily pops you up on top of the table, standing between your legs.

Hands wander and teeth clash as Kid leans over you, hips grinding into yours. Just as his hand pushes up the hem of your shirt, you pull away. “Planning on closing the door?” You’re breathless as you ask the question.

“Planning on being a brat?” He nips at your bottom lip.

You roll your eyes, “Maybe I am.”

“Then maybe I should leave it open.” There’s a challenging look in his eye that you almost give in to. Almost. Because with your luck, Nami or Ussop would decide to pay you a visit and catch more of a show than they wanted.

“Close the door, Eustass.”

But he grabs your jaw to force your face close to his, “Say please.” The grip was firm and his eyes taunting.

“Shut up and close the door.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” He pulls you even closer, your legs instinctively closing around his hips so you don’t tumble off the table. That pulls a satisfied smirk to his lips. “Say please, brat.”

“You’re insufferable-“

“If you want to walk out of here on your own, you better tell me what I want to hear.” The edge to his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

You were no stranger to random hook ups and you very well knew what they could do for your sanity. What they could help you forget. Who they could help you forget.

So you decide to play into the demands and bat your lashes, “Please.”

Series Masterlist | Chapter 5

Taglist: @thekatisspooky @teacarby

( if anyone wants to be added to the taglist, just let me know!! )

[brown-little-robin]

I think I'm in the "conscious incompetence" stage of being a social animal in the real world and it sucks so majorly. bro what do you do after you realize you're bad at socializing and then in-person interaction gets harder because you know you're failing at it now.

[right-there-ride-on]

thinking about how Gyro 'anti-death penalty' Zeppeli discovers his dark determination and willingness to murder only after the situation concerns Johnny's safety. they make me sick

[karmaajr]

is it just me who absolutely loves when somebody buys/does things for them? and will do literally anything for them? like omg I mean that much to you???? you want me that bad that you'll waste your money on me?? you wanna make me happy?????? IM not the one worrying about making you happy??? LIKE OMGGG TS ACC JUST SHHWHSHWHDHS

like omg my soul is yours for the taking, just please I need to know you care

[kon-konk]

Now that I can put together a coherent thought again, I've gone to the realization that basically all of my favorite characters should not be taking care of someone sick

But a character that my brain says "stay in the next room over or else" about (Yuri) is the exact person I'd want to take care of me. Will I come out of it with nightmares and a fear of doctors? Probably. Will I come out of it not sick anymore? I got faith in Yuri.

[marshadowstea]

okay word vomit to end the day :3

dont read it, this is mine >:[

[davinawritings]

A Knotty Discovery

Pairing: Male Werewolf X Fem Chubby Human Reader

Warnings: Smut, Penetration, Knotting, Sex toys, Ruined Orgasm, Creampie

Summary: You come home to find that your extremely attractive Werewolf roommate has found your collection of knotted dildos.

🖤❤️💕💕❤️🖤

When you walked into your apartment, you were surprised not to see your roommate sitting on the couch in the living room. It was Sunday night, which was your traditional movie night together. Both of you worked but always ensured you were home by five on Sundays. Since you both had Mondays off, you made Sunday your weekly pizza and movie night, staying up late and enjoying each other’s presence.

Decker and you have lived together for over a year now, and honestly, you love it. The only problem was your small, well maybe not so small, crush on him. You couldn’t help it, though; he is just so amazing. He is the exact opposite of you. You are human, and he is a werewolf. While you are short and chubby, he is massively tall and made of muscle. You are soft and gentle, while he is hard and strong.

You cherish movie nights where he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close. You love leaning against his large body and nuzzling into his soft fur. He always manages to brighten your day and make you laugh. He takes care of you and makes you feel love. Unfortunately, he has never expressed any romantic interest in you, so you try to be content with having him as a friend.

It’s already past five, and Decker is usually getting everything set up for movie night by now. You set the pizza you brought home on the counter, thinking he must be running late. You head for your bedroom and decide to take the extra time to put on your cute pajamas.

You certainly had not been expecting to walk in and see Decker kneeling on the floor in front of your closet, your box of vibrators and dildos open in front of him. There are several knotted dildos on the floor beside him, and the largest one is gripped in his clawed hand. Your face heats up immediately, and you accidentally let out a small gasp at the sight.

The noise catches his attention, and his eyes immediately meet your own. You quickly look to the floor in embarrassment at his intense gaze. “Oh, no, pretty girl. Eyes on me. How long have you been hiding this? Hmm?”. You can’t seem to push any words out of your mouth, and you hear him moving because of your lack of response. You stand entirely frozen as he stops before you, using one hand to guide your eyes up to his.

“All these months, you have never shown any interest in monsters. The only male you went on a few dates with, being that loser human, and now I find all this. My adorable little human likes monster cock, well, werewolf cock specifically”, he says with a smirk. You try to pull away, your mortification at an all-time high at his words, but he doesn’t let you budge.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you realize how much I have been holding myself back, thinking you had no interest in a werewolf like me. From the moment I met you, I wanted you sitting on my knot. I wanted to hold your plush body in my claws and never let you go, but I thought you wanted a human male. I had to keep myself from ripping your clothes off every fucking day”. You let out a needy whimper at his words, and a smirk appeared on his face once again.

“Baby, when you wear those little pajama shorts, and I can see your thick thighs, all I can think about is holding them in my hands as I thrust my cock inside you over and over. And last Sunday, when you wore that cute little nighty for our movie night, I swear I was hard all night. All I wanted to do was bend you over the side of the couch and knot you all night long. Your body looks so fucking breedable, baby, and I just want to fill you every moment of every day” he finishes his last statement with a low growl, and it goes straight to your panties.

You wet your lips and reply, “I.. I have always wanted you, Decker. I just didn’t think you were interested in me, so I never said anything”. He shakes his head and says, “Baby, how could I not want you? Everything about you makes me want to claim you, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing, but first, you are going to show me exactly what you do with those toys over there.

You feel a twinge of embarrassment at the thought, but it is quickly overpowered by arousal and lust at the thought of him watching you. He gives you a quick pat as you make your way over to the toys and reach for your medium-sized dildo.

“The big one, sweetheart. I must ensure you are nice and stretched out when I take you. I’m a lot bigger than your little toys over there”, he tells you, his voice a low purr. You almost moan at his words, the excitement of being so filled making you crave him even more.

You slowly take off your clothing, wanting to tease him a bit. As your panties hit the floor, you see Decker take a big inhale and moan. You blush under his gaze, and he gives you his signature wolfish grin.

You place the large dildo on the floor, the suction cup base holding it in place. You kneel over it, lining its tip up with your wet entrance. You look at him as you slowly let your weight push you down on the thick dildo. His eyes don’t leave your slick cunt as he moves one of his hands to squeeze his cock over his pants. You felt your mouth salivating at the sight.

You reach halfway down when you rise up again, leaving just the tip inside you before dropping back down. You continue this until the knot presses against your entrance on each downward stroke. You moan as you watch his eyes bounce all around your body. The dildo feels so good, but his eyes on you feel even better. You release soft whimpers and moans, and you work your body up and down.

“That’s it, baby. Keep riding. Fuck I love the sight of your greedy cunt swallowing that dildo. You look so fucking beautiful, baby. There you go. Go a little faster, baby. I wanna see those perfect tits bounce faster, little one. Fuck princess, I can’t wait to fill you with my cock. I wanna see you take that knot, baby. I wanna see your greedy little pussy stretch around it”, he growls out, lust lacing his voice.

You spread your legs wider and drop your pussy down lower. You move one of your fingers down to your swollen clit and rub tight circles on it. Pleasure slams through your body, and the knot fully pops inside your tight cunt. “Fu-Fuck Decker. I’m cumming. Fuck I’m cumming”, you cry out.

Just as your cunt clenches down at the beginning of probably the best orgasm of your life, Decker wraps his claws around your arms and pulls you up and off the dildo, the suction cup keeping it secured to the floor. You cry out at the ruined orgasm, your cunt trying to clench around nothing, and your clit pulsing in need of stimulation. Tears spring to your eyes as your thighs clench together, trying to get any stimulation at all. Decker is quick to reach one hand down and separate your legs, stopping any stimulation and ruining your orgasm completely.

You look at him in confusion and a hint of betrayal as tears stream down your face. He licks up the tears from your cheeks before saying, “Sorry, sweetheart, but I’ve decided that the first time we fuck, the only knot you are going to cum on is mine.” With that, he pushes you back to lie on the bed as he starts stripping his clothes.

You stare at every glorious inch of his body that gets exposed. Your need for him increases with each second. As his cock is revealed, you audibly gasp. He wasn’t lying when he said he was bigger than your toys. His cock is so giant that even fully hard, it hangs down towards the floor, too heavy to stand upright. The knot at the base is larger than your fist, and your nipples harden even more at the thought of him forcing it inside you.

“Tell me you want it, princess. I need you to tell me now because once I start, I won’t be able to stop. I’ve thought about this for far too long to be able to hold back once I finally have you,” he says, giving you one last chance to back out.

You spread your legs wide, making sure your dripping pussy is entirely on display, and reply, “Please, Decker. Please, I want this, I need this, I need you. Please fill me. Make me yours”. He is on you before you even finish. He pushes your legs up and over his shoulders, his cock resting over your pussy and your lower belly. He thrusts his cock back and forth but holds back from entering you, just working on covering himself in your slick juices.

“Mmmm, I love how soft your body is, baby. So fucking perfect in every way. Drives me fucking mad”, he growls out. Each brush of his cock rubs your pulsing clit, and all you want is for him to push inside you. You are just about to start begging when he finally lines himself up with your needy hole and pushes in. He only goes about halfway, but you are already crying out at the feeling.

He moans your name and keeps thrusting, moving deeper and deeper with each stroke. He watches your body open up for him, mumbling the word perfect under his breath. On his next thrust, his knot hits your entrance, and he seems to lose all control. He grabs onto your love handles and starts fucking you like an animal.

You cry out in ecstasy at feeling so full, his cock slamming into your g-spot brutally on every thrust. Your hands grip his forearms, needing to hold on and ground yourself as he fucks you like he owns you. “Fuck Decker… you feel so good. Don-don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please”.

He moans at your begging, leaning forward to cover your body with his own. Your knees are pushed up towards your shoulders, and his body keeps you in place, unable to move. You cum with a cry of his name, squirting on his cock from the pleasure.

He doesn’t give you any time to recover as he continues using your puffy pussy. You whimper at the overstimulation that sets in, but you don’t want him to stop. You need to feel him knot you. You need to feel him fill you with his cum.

“Your pussy is fucking heaven, baby. I’m never fucking letting you go. Do you hear me? You’re MINE.” he says as his thrusts speed up. His hips slammed against you and pushed you down into the mattress. You only manage to whimper and moan in response, tears streaming down your chubby cheeks in pleasure.

He pulls back almost entirely before slamming his hips down, pressing his knot against your entrance and keeping it there as he tries to push it in. Your entrance puts up a good fight, and he growls, angry at the denial of entry. You start to question whether or not he will be able to fit his knot inside when he shifts his weight so almost all of it is in his hips, pushing his knot harder against your dripping cunt.

Gravity seems to be on his side as his knot is forced into your tight cunt as he drops down against you completely. You scream out his name at the insane stretch, never having been this filled, his tip kissing your womb. Your arms wrap around his back as your nails dig into his fur. He starts his thrusts again, but this time shallow as his knot stays stuck inside of you. Each stroke causes your body to jiggle beneath him, your nipples rubbing against his hairy chest, sending shocks of pleasure to your aching clit.

He pulls his hips back, and his cock pulls your bottom half off the bed by your swollen cunt, before he drops back down. He groans with the motion and continues repeating it. You cry out each time, your pussy overfilled and overwhelmed with the sensation of him.

He slams you down once more, and your legs begin to shake with pleasure. You scream out his name as your cunt once again clamps down on his massive cock, milking him with everything you have. You feel his cock twitching as he lets out a loud growl followed by swears. His cock begins filling you to the brim with his seed. Your already too-full pussy is being filled even more. Your lower stomach bloats and hardens as he cums and cums and cums, his knot not allowing even a single drop of his seed to drip from your cunt.

You cling to him as you both come down, trying to regulate the air in your lungs. He keeps you pressed to him as he rolls onto his back, draping you over his warm chest. You stay like this for a few minutes, just enjoying the feeling of each other’s embrace. As your mind starts returning, you sit up slightly to look at him.

“Why were you going through my closet?” you ask him. He gives you a soft smile and answers, “I was setting up for movie night and wanted to get that fuzzy throw blanket you keep on the couch in the winter. It’s a little cold today, so I thought you might enjoy it. I remember you saying you were putting it in the closet, so I went looking for it.”.

You smile at his thoughtfulness and place a loving peck on his snout. “The throw blanket is in the hallway closet for future reference.” He stares at you for a moment before laughing. His chest rises and falls, causing you to shake up and down. His laughter is quickly interrupted by a moan as your pussy shifts on his cock from the movement.

“Well, we probably have another 30 minutes to rest while my knot goes down, and then we can start movie night. Although I think this time I’ll have you seated on my lap with my cock and knot nice and warm in your perfect little cunt”.

You smile approvingly, moving your head back to snuggle into his warm chest. You never thought you would be thankful that your roommate found your knotted dildos.

🖤❤️💕💕❤️🖤

Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoyed ❤️❤️❤️

[missdynamighttt]

if husband! katsuki had a dream that you served him divorce papers, he would be SO mad at you.

katsuki woke up with a start, his chest heaving as the remnants of the vivid dream clung to his mind. in the dream, you had stood in front of him, utterly calm, as you handed him his worst nightmare: divorce papers.

“it's not you, its me,” you said, your expression indifferent as if breaking his heart meant nothing. "i'm just bored, katsuki."

it wasn’t real, he knew that. but the image of you walking away from him felt too real, too painful. the words echoed in his head as he sat on the edge of the bed, his fists clenched. bored? how could you say that after everything you've been through? even though it was just a dream, it shook him to near death.

and when katsuki saw you later that morning, smiling and greeting him like usual, he couldn’t help but scowl. normally, the sight would calm him, but instead, a strange sense of betrayal bubbled up inside him. how could dream-you say something like that? and why couldn’t he shake the feeling?

“morning, katsuki,” you said cheerfully, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

he turned his head slightly, causing your lips to brush his jaw instead. you blinked, confused. “uh… everything okay?”

“fine,” he muttered, getting up and leaving you all alone in the bed.

all day, katsuki avoided your texts, kept his responses curt, and barely looked your way when you crossed paths at home. you quickly realized something was off but couldn’t figure out what. by evening, you had enough.

"okay, whats your problem? you've been sulking all day,” you said firmly, standing in front of him while he sat on the couch. “you’ve been acting like i killed your damn dog. what did i do?”

katsuki glared at you, his emotions finally bubbling over. “you left me! that’s what you did!”

you stared at him, completely baffled. “what are you talking about? i didn’t leave you. i’ve been here all day!”

katsuki exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “fine. i had this stupid dream, alright? you—” he hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “you divorced me. you said you were bored and just... left me.”

for a moment, there was silence as you processed what he was saying. then, to katsuki’s annoyance, you started laughing.

“you’re mad at me... because of a dream?” you asked, your laughter bubbling out uncontrollably.

“it felt real!” he barked, his cheeks flushing slightly. “you don’t get to laugh! this isn't fuckin' funny! do you know how shitty that felt?!”

“i’m sorry!” you gasped between giggles, clutching your stomach. “it’s just… do you really think i’d ever do that?”

katsuki’s scowl deepened. “its not that. its just... you said it so casually in the dream. like i didn’t even matter.”

you tried to stifle your laughter, but your amusement was clear as day. “katsuki... you’re everything to me. i would never leave you. ever. especially not because i was bored. you’re the opposite of boring. you’re the most stubborn, infuriating, incredible man I’ve ever met.”

he grunted, looking away. “tch. doesn’t change the fact that it felt real.”

you bit your lip, guilt swirling in your chest. you could see how much the dream had affected katsuki, even if it wasn’t real. determined to make it up to him, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him, and cupped his face in your hands.

“i’m sorry your brain decided to torture you like that,” you said softly before leaning in to pepper his face with kisses. “but let me remind you of how much i love you.”

your lips pressed against his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and finally, his lips. each kiss was light and playful, drawing a reluctant smirk from him.

“sweets,” katsuki muttered, trying to keep up the tough act, but you didn’t let up.

you continued your attack, kissing down his jaw and back to his lips, murmuring between kisses. “i'm so happy you're my husband.”

katsuki finally relented, his hands settling on your hips as he let out a low chuckle. “you’re fuckin' weird.”

“and you’re grumpy,” you teased. “but i love you anyway.”

“hmph. i love you too,” he admitted, his voice softer now as his arms wrap around you, brushing your nose against his. “sorry for being an idiot today.”

“you’re not an idiot. just... talk to me about it next time, okay?”

"fine. be my fuckin' wife for forever, 'kay?"

"i promise," you cut him off with a kiss.

and katsuki kissed you back, finally letting the tension melt away, drowning himself in the taste of your and your presence. you're here. you weren't gonna leave him because he was bored. you never would.

"tch. i’m still blaming you for my bad dreams though."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[kuurechr]

Sukuna had woken up like an hour ago. But he didn't move. He stayed as still as he could be, in bed with you. He'd been sitting in pitch black for most of the hour, and he could only feel your legs, which were curled up on top of his torso.

As light began to peek through the windows, he could focus on your face. You were sleeping super well – it was to be expected after the night you both had. Drool dripped from your mouth as it hung open, your hands were splayed all over the place, Sukuna's shirt and your blanket were barely on your body – his shirt rode up and your blanket rode down.

He placed his warm hands on your legs, which were cold. You were always cold in your previous life as well – Sukuna had never liked it.

As he looked at you, in all your knocked out glory, he tried to figure out how to tell you so many things. Nothing worked though. And even if he could think up something, he knew the words would immediately get lost in his throat.

"'Kuna?" You shifted. Sukuna kept a firm grip on your thighs. "You been awake long?"

"No," Sukuna grunted. The lack of any usual morning gruffness in his voice gave him away. You brought your fingers up to his head, running them through his slightly tangled hair. "I have to tell you something."

You stopped abruptly. "Sounds serious."

Sukuna frowned. "Not that serious... I'm just... I was offered a job."

"Oh?" A small smile grew on your face. "You had me thinking that you were going to break my heart or something," you sighed.

Sukuna slapped your thigh lighty. "Are you stupid, I'd never do that."

"I know," you nodded, the smile slightly fading. "The accident just keeps making me think that the worst is gonna happen in my life, y'know? Like – what was my luck to drive your sister in law into disaster."

Sukuna reached out for your head. "That wasn't your fault at all," Sukuna huffed. "Jin and I know that... Kaori too." Kaori. She was a problem for a whole other time.

"I know," you huffed. But it just seemed like your default response. You would still think it was all your fault, no matter what Sukuna insisted. "So, tell me about this job."

"It's a ... teaching thing."

Your brows furrowed. "Since when were you qualified to teach?"

"It's uh, a religious school," Sukuna said the lies as he was told to tell. "Kinda far, but still in Tokyo, so not too bad... and uh, the pay is good."

"Do you want to do it?" You asked. "Money isn't tight, you know, I work too–"

"Yeah, but you hate that place," Sukuna huffed. "If I make enough money at this school, you can volunteer more often or work at that small library near the bowling alley, like you said you wanted to. And I do want to do it," Sukuna added, seeing your mouth open to ask again. "I... I think its' important for me to. It's like my callin' or something."

You snickered. "Calling? Am I just tired or have you gone insane?"

"Shuddup."

You can read more of this on AO3 ! Sukuna's Second Chance

[rafesangelita]

♡ ex-bf!rafe breaks in through your window

warnings: dark content ahead!! (you have been warned and there is a cut before this fic starts!! you are responsible for the media and content you consume), cnc, knife play, rough handling, rafe is masked, death threats, degradation, fingering, restraining, slapping, hair pulling, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, dumbification, unprotected sex, rough sex, choking, asphyxiation, dacryphilia, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, baby trapping threats, breeding kink, use of a safe word, aftercare, light fluff

a/n: inspired by this gif and this photo ໒꒰ྀི˃ ⤙ ˂ ꒱ྀིა

wc: 2.3k

rafe loved to watch you sleep, the natural pout of your lips always making him trace a gentle finger along your cupid’s bow. with your eyelashes dusting the tops of your cheeks, you’d stir softly once you felt your bed dip beside you, an unknown weight now sitting at the edge of your bed. your blanket was resting just below the soft curves of your ass, your babydoll nightgown serving no purpose in concealing you from the dark eyes of your now ex-boyfriend.

rafe managed to wait until your little lamp flickered off in your bedroom before he pulled his mask over his face and successfully snuck in through your window without so much as making a sound. he crept upstairs with a knife in his hand, his mind reeling at the thought of dragging the cold steel against your skin. he was never one to just accept things for what they were, and after tonight he knew that he’d once and for all get his sick and demented point across to you.

lifting the frilly lace trim of your gown, rafe felt his cock stir in his pants when he saw that you weren’t wearing any panties.. almost like you were waiting for him to do this. although he had no problem drawing blood, rafe slipped off his gloves, running the tip of his knife down your thigh ever so gently so he wouldn’t actually cut you. after all, you were his beloved little sheep. the sensation made you stir once more, your eyes fluttering open as you finally awakened from your peaceful slumber.

before you could scream at the sight of the masked man sitting right in front of you, rafe moved fast and clamped a hand over your mouth before holding his knife to your throat. “shut the fuck up.” you whimpered against his palm as rafe decided to straddle your legs so you couldn’t get away from him. you were frozen in fear, the pure unadulterated terror in your eyes only turning him on further. “make another sound and i’ll end you right here.” he said through gritted teeth.

you blinked, your eyes brimming with tears. with rafe dressed in all black everything, you couldn’t make out any of his features in the darkness of your room. despite not being able to see him, you could recognize that chilling voice anywhere. slowly retracting his hand from your face, you let out a shaky breath once he took the knife away from your neck. “i didn’t want things to go down this way, but you left me no choice, baby.” rafe stroked the side of your face, using his thumb to wipe away any stray tears that might’ve rolled down your cheeks.

“seeing you sleep so good without me hurts my feelings, you know that? here you are sleeping like a baby while i’ve been up for days just coming up with this plan to finally see you again.” he slipped off his jacket, revealing his arms to you while your hands stayed glued to your sides. “i-i’m so sorry!” you whispered, your trembling voice feeding his ego like no other. “yeah, you’re gonna be.” he leaned down, running the tip of his nose along the column of your throat before breathing in the soft scent of your shampoo.

you shivered once you felt his hands trail down your arms, his fingertips skimming across your flesh before he hiked up your nightgown so it pooled at your waist. he cursed at the sight of your bare cunt, his eyes flickering up to see your teary gaze already looking down at him. “you must’ve known i’d be seeing you soon, s’that why you aren’t wearing anything underneath?” he smiled, spreading your thighs apart. you turned away, your cheeks heating as you felt exposed in this position.

suddenly you felt a slap, a yelp falling from your lips as you held your cheek in shock. “answer me when i ask you a fucking question.” he ripped what was left of your grown, discarding the sheer material and leaving you naked underneath him. “no! no, i didn’t know you were going to get in here!” you cried, your breath hitching in your throat when he trailed his fingers between your folds. threading his fingers in your hair, rafe tugged you forward, forcing you to look down to where his other hand started working on your clit.

“you’re gonna watch me finger this pretty pussy, you understand? ‘show you that you miss this shit.” your hips moved away from him in a poor attempt to stop his ministrations but it just pissed him off. spreading your pretty lips, rafe pinched your sensitive bundle of nerves, a shriek emitting from your mouth at the sudden shockwaves of both pleasure and pain wracked through your body. “what did i tell you i would do if you made another sound?” he warned, rubbing hard circles on your clit in order to try and get you to scream again.

you took your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down on the poor flesh as rafe filled you up with two of his digits, your eyes rolling back at the added penetration. he was ruthless on your poor cunt, delivering a harsh slap to your clit every time your eyes threatened to screw shut. rafe saw the way your nails dug crescents into your palms, your arms shaking ever so slightly as you fought the urge to push him away at the overwhelming feeling.

with his digits hitting that soft spot inside of you, and his thumb working mercilessly on your clit, it was all simply just too much. finally, you couldn’t help but shut your thighs around his wrist, your slick walls clenching around his fingers. “you’re so fucking pathetic, just look at you. ‘still trying to act like you don’t want this when you’re drenched.” you whined when he forced your legs open once again, this time popping his digits into his mouth to lick them clean.

“it hurts..” you shuddered, flinching once he lifted a hand to grab you by your chin. “good.” he grumbled, unbuckling his pants before dragging you up on your knees so you were on all fours. rafe handled you like you were nothing but a puppet to him, his fist balling up in your hair while his cock sprung up against his stomach. you gasped softly at the sight, your lips already swollen from how hard you were biting down on them. “m’gonna fuck the same mouth that said i was too mean, ‘watch how how you take my cock down your throat the way i trained you to.”

you didn’t get a chance to object before he was dragging his leaking tip across your lips, prompting you to stick your tongue out for him. pulling your hair so your chin was facing up, rafe groaned as the head of his length met the warm, wet, muscle of your tongue before he slid halfway in with ease. instinctively, you moaned around the intrusion, your teary eyes blinking up at him through your eyelashes as he continued forcing himself down your throat.

you gripped the sheets beneath you as he filled you inch by agonizing inch, your throat constricting around him once he bottomed out, the tip of your nose now kissing his pubic bone. holding your head in place, rafe didn’t give you any time to adjust to the stretch before he pulled out just enough to make you whimper once he slid back in, this time drawing a lewd wet squelch to emit from your throat and bounce off of the walls of your bedroom.

“fuckkk,” he laughed, his head rolling to the side, “see? see how good i taught you how to take my cock?” you whimpered, your jaw turning slack as he started thrusting his hips into your already sore throat. the sounds that followed his movements were nothing short of obscene, the lewdness of it all making you feel slightly embarrassed. he continued pulling your mouth up and down his length until you started bobbing your head by yourself, your eyebrows knitting together in discomfort when he leaned down and took a handful of your ass.

with his hips pistoning in and out of your lips, you couldn’t help the squeal that tumbled from your throat when he delivered a harsh smack to your flesh, your cheeks wet as he watched you cry. your tears only fueled him to pick up his pace, your hands flying up to grip his hoodie. pulling out with a groan, rafe spun you around so your face was pressed down into your sheets. with one hand gripping the soft skin of your hip, you cried out when he forced himself inside of your needy cunt. pulling his hoodie off, rafe threw the material to the side so it was long forgotten on the floor, his fingertips holding onto you with a death grip.

he was absolutely demolishing you right now. losing all ability to form a coherent thought or sentence, you blabbered nonsense as rafe fucked you with no regard. “taking me so fucking good, ‘bet you just love it when i break you in like this, huh? you’re nothing but a cock drunk slut,” he groaned, “you look so brainless right now, there’s nothing going on up there in that pretty head of yours.” he laughed, his words making you whine. rafe was too good at this, you felt like you were hanging on by a thread and you hadn’t even had your first orgasm of the night yet.

leaning down, rafe wrapped a hand around the back of your neck before placing a sloppy kiss on your lips, both of you moaning at the contact. “you okay?” rafe broke character for a quick second, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you shakily let out a ‘m-mhmm!’ cursing under his breath, rafe snaked a hand around your waist before stroking your clit with fervor. “o-oh god— rafe!” you hiccuped, your thighs trembling with sensitivity as you laid helplessly beneath him.

you were completely at his mercy, a sob ripping itself from your throat as you went limp, the band in your tummy snapping with an intensity that had you shrieking into your palm. seeing you come undone and lose yourself on his cock was his favorite sight, your writhing form trembling from his skilled hips still slamming in and out of your own. rafe ignored your sharp gasps and pleas for him to slow down until your knees gave out from under you and your tummy met your bed.

you were such a fucked out mess already, rafe couldn’t help but stroke your cheek as he turned you over. “i need to see this pretty face when i pound your pussy in..” he groaned, slotting himself between your thighs. you wished you could see rafe’s face instead of his ski mask, but when you saw his lips curve into a smug grin, you eagerly pulled him down into another kiss as his cock rested hot and heavy on your stomach. he was rough, his teeth nipping your bottom lip before his tongue found yours.

“i’m not stopping until i see more tears run down these cheeks..” rafe whispered against your lips, your eyebrows knitting in confusion before he clamped a hand over your mouth. running his sticky tip along your glossy folds, you waited with a bated breath as he teased your clit. just as you sighed through your nose, rafe slid into you without warning, the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix sent you screaming, the sound being muffled by his hand.

you were just a few thrusts away from tapping out completely, your safe word sitting at the tip of your tongue. rafe could sense your breaking point, your eyes gleaming with desperation for him to finish. with shaky hands, you held onto rafe’s shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist as he grunted against your skin. he was so fucking close, he could feel your walls squeezing around him, ready to take everything he had. just then, his pubic bone started slamming against your clit, the action making you cry out.

“i’m gonna pump you full of my cum, ‘make you have my babies so you could never leave me,” he threatened, “make you all round and pretty with my seed.” you were crying now, your second orgasm ripping through you more harshly than the first. “red!” you sobbed, tapping his chest as an indication for him to stop. rafe was quick to stop his movements, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest as his hips stuttered, both of you gasping once you felt the warmth of his cum spill into you.

rafe shushed you, his demeanor immediately changing as he finally took the mask off, his lips trailing soft kisses along the underside of your jaw. “shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your hips, “you did so good for me, baby.” he praised, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt absolutely spent. “was it too much?” he asked concerned. you shook your head, reassuring him with a peck on the cheek. “nonono— it was perfect, i’m okay.” rafe sighed in relief, his forehead resting against your own.

“the knife was a little scary, though..” you giggled, moaning softly when he pulled out and collapsed on top of you. feeling his weight like this was so comforting to you, you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his broad figure and cling to him in your post-orgasm bliss. “yeah? should i leave it out next time?” rafe felt himself growing sleepy with every stroke of your soft hand on his back.

“..no, i liked it.”

[simkatu]

kids interaction pack + homework override

download on patreon (early access)  (public release - 04/25/25)

this mod adds four new interactions between a child and an adult, featuring custom animations blended from various in-game clips.

base game compatible requires the xml injector

1. go over schoolwork / ask to go over schoolwork

actors: both child and adult category: friendly interactions requirements: – the actor must be sitting on a couch! (similar to the “cuddle” interaction) – the adult must be a family member or a good friend of the child

effects: – improves school performance – increases parenting skill for the adult – increases the child’s mental and social skills – increases responsibility for the child

2. check homework / get help checking homework

actor: both child and adult category: friendly interactions requirements: – the child must have 100% completed their homework – the adult must be a family member or a good friend of the child

effects: – increases parenting skill for the adult – increases mental for the child – increases responsibility for the child

3. complain about feeling bad

actor: child only category: complaints under friendly interactions requirements: – only if the child is uncomfortable or has illness-related buffs from get to work – the adult must be a family member or a good friend of the child

effects: – slightly boosts all of the child’s needs – if the child has an illness buff from get to work, the interaction works similarly to taking medicine

4. beg for a day off school

actor: child only category: complaints under friendly interactions requirements: – only if the child is uncomfortable, stressed or sad – the adult must be a parent, grandparent, or legal guardian

effects: – gives the child a one-day sick day – the child may lose some school performance

known issue: the "go over schoolwork" interaction may glitch slightly when starting or exiting. unfortunately, it's based on the "cuddle" interaction, which has built-in issues i haven’t been able to fix :(

i’m so sorry for being away for so long. i’ve actually been working on mods almost every day, but kept running into problems that forced me to scrap everything and start over. it’s been a really frustrating experience — but i’m so happy i finally get to share this one with you 💛

the mod has two download options:

v1: the first version uses the default ea homework design;

v2: the second version uses books with my custom homework texture (you can also download the homework override separately). i took the university notebook texture, modified it, and added some fun stickers.

[jobean12-blog]

Sunshine

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 6.4K

Summary: It's a beautiful day that turns even more beautiful when you run into the most handsome man you've ever seen...and the grumpiest. Will his good looks be enough for you to stick around and get to know him?

Author's Note: I love a grumpy!Bucky and a reader who just won't give up on him! Kind of sunshine/grumpy trope with enemies/lovers mixed in a little too. This was fun to write and I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy 🥰

Warnings: fun, flirty tension, a tiny bit of angst, grumpy!bucky, fluffy sweetness too

Waiting in line at your favorite coffee shop is always worth it and today, after a restless night, you really need the extra boost. Even though you’re behind schedule the stop is a necessity and despite the busy morning rush the line is moving quickly but apparently not fast enough for the person behind you who lets out a loud and frustrated huff.

Trying to be discrete you turn and look out of the corner of your eye.

The sight of him strikes you in a way you’re not prepared for.

Then the barista calls your name. You blink, dazed but thankfully able to recover well enough to give the barista a warm smile and thanks.

As you grab your napkins and gather your things you can’t help but steal glances at the man. He’s tall and broad shouldered, wearing a leather jacket that shows his biceps shaping the fabric, his long legs are clad in well fitted dark denim, and he’s the perfect mix of masculinity and male beauty.

His brooding expression doesn’t falter as he retrieves his drink order, but he does say ‘thank you’ and to your continued surprise, ‘excuse me,’ to whomever he passes.

With one last longing glance you head for the door, walking out into the sunshine and crossing the street to your favorite bench to enjoy your coffee before work.

You’re focused on your phone while you sip slowly so at first you don’t notice the dark shadow looming over you. But the rumbly and gruff voice startles you.

“You’re in my seat.”

You look up, shielding your eyes from the sun to see nothing more than a large shadow.

“What?” you ask, feeling discombobulated.

The shadow shifts and your eyes widen when you see the man from the coffee shop, his glower ferocious despite your now big smile.

“This is your seat?...It’s a whole bench.”

“Yeah…well.”

You look at the open space next to you and offer out a hand. “There’s more than enough room for both of us.”

His eyes narrow but he sits.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” you say brightly.

“I’m here almost every day,” he answers.

You keep your smile in place.

“Well, I’m running late so that must be why I haven’t seen you before.”

“Then why are you sitting on this bench talking to me?” he asks.

You bristle inwardly but your smile doesn’t falter.

“I still have time. I usually get in early, so it won’t be a problem.”

He stares at you, the breeze catching his scent and blowing it your way.

You try not to inhale, focusing on the fact that he’s super grumpy instead of the fact that he’s super hot and smells really good.

“I enjoy sitting out in the sunshine. It helps me feel grounded before I really start the day.”

The words tumble out unprompted but under his narrowed gaze you find yourself feeling less confident than usual.

He just “hmphs” in response and looks away, taking a sip of his drink.

“You say you sit here every day so what’s with all the…” and you motion to him, “grumpy? Is the sunshine not good enough for you?”

He turns your way again, lips pressed together but his eyes flaring with surprise. Before he can respond his phone rings. He looks at the screen with another mild puff of air then swipes his thumb over it.

“Wilson,” he says gruffly.

His voice drops low, and you look down at your phone, trying not to listen. Most of the conversation on his part is a series of grunts and mumbled responses so it’s hard to follow anyway.

After hanging up he stands abruptly and looks down at you, his gaze lingering before he gives you a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement and starts to walk off.

You yell after him, “I hope you find some sunshine!”

He doesn’t turn around but you’re sure you see his steps falter for just a second.

It’s only after you finish your drink that you stand and start the short walk to work, surprised to catch sight of the grumpy stranger across the street at the local VA, squatting down in front of an older man with a dog.

The grumpiness is gone, replaced by a warm smile that crinkles his eyes. All the air goes out of your lungs.

He looks up at that moment, noticing you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk across the street. His smile fades and you drop your head, speed walking away.

It’s Saturday morning and you’re standing outside the bakery, texting your friend to get their donut order. The door opens and you barely have time to register the whiff of familiar scent that floats by you when you look up and lock eyes with Mr. Grumpy himself.

You smile in greeting.

“You,” he answers.

Your grin widens. “Me. What are the chances? Your favorite bench stealer!”

He sighs heavily and glances back at the door to the bakery before pinning you with his stare again.

Now that the sun isn’t shining in your eyes you have a better chance to see the color of his. They’re blue. A gorgeous ocean colored blue framed by long, dark, and thick lashes.

His attention strays down your body and you feel tingles everywhere his eyes touch.

“Here for something sweet?” you ask.

He never gets the chance to answer because a man comes up behind him and grabs his shoulder, giving him a slight shove to move in front and say hi.

“Barnes! Aren’t you going to introduce me to your beautiful friend here?”

You smile warmly.

“Sam. Sam Wilson,” the friend says in introduction.

“Hi Sam!” you greet and give him your name.

“Barnes didn’t tell me he made a new friend,” Sam says.

“Barnes?” you repeat.

You direct your question to Mr. Grumpy whose been standing there silently murdering Sam with his eyes since he appeared.

Sam smiles triumphantly. “This here is James, but his friends call him Bucky.”

“Hi Bucky. Nice to officially meet you!”

Your tone is light and airy, and you wave.

“Hey,” Bucky answers, then turns to Sam. “Let’s go, the guys are looking forward to these donuts.”

“Is he always this grumpy?” you ask Sam.

Silence falls between you all, but it only lasts a moment, broken then by Sam’s loud cackle.

“Oh, I like her already!” Sam says.

Ignoring your comment-and Sam’s-Bucky repeats, “let’s go Wilson!”

Sam returns the favor, ignoring Bucky and focusing on you. “You should come down and visit us at the VA sometime. He’s never grumpy around the guys.”

“So just me then?” you ask with a laugh.

“That’s just because he thinks you’re beautiful,” Sam winks.

You steal a glance at Bucky and note the slight pink color that paints his cheeks.

“It was nice meeting you Sam. And you too Bucky.”

With those last words and a smile, you skirt past them and walk into the bakery. After placing your order you’re shocked to find Bucky standing at the pickup counter, hands in his pockets and shuffling on his feet.

“Miss me already?” you tease.

He doesn’t answer and instead hands you a business card. You take it and look down, reading the information for the VA and Bucky’s name.

“Thanks,” you say, meeting his eyes again and noting the pink still coating his cheeks.

He doesn’t answer but you think you see his lips lift into what might be a small smile before he casually strolls off.

His jeans are molded perfectly to his perfect ass, and you sigh.

“Are you going to go visit him?” Diana asks through a mouthful of donut.

“Nah,” you answer.

Diana’s eyes bug out of her head with a gasp.

“Um you said he was insanely hot. I don’t’ get it. You don’t NOT go visit.”

“You do if he’s a grumpy jerk.”

Diana laughs. “Maybe he needs to eat more of these donuts!”

You roll your eyes. “He had a whole box of them. He was with his friend Sam who was also hot. I should go visit him.”

“Ohhh make Mr. Grumpy jealous. I like it.”

You shove the card into your bag and grab a donut.

“I think we need more donuts for this day,” you retort.

After a long donut filled debate with Diana you decide to make the call to the VA office. To your happy surprise Sam answers.

“Hi Sam,” you say and tell him your name, thrilled he remembers you.

“I was just thinking I’d like to bring some treats down to the office this week. Is there anything in particular I should get?”

You can practically hear Sam’s smile through the phone. He rattles off some orders and then tells you the days and times that would work. When you hang up you feel lighter just knowing you could do something kind.

You’ve never been in the VA building before even though you’ve passed by it many times. The interior is warm and inviting and has a large walnut desk and matching benches nearby.

At the sight of the benches, you laugh to yourself, wondering if Bucky claimed these seats too.

“Hey.”

You barely catch the quiet greeting but look up to see Bucky standing by a doorway. You suddenly feel hyperalert, every inch of your sensitive tingling and awake. You almost forgot how gorgeous he is, his light blue henley fitted around his broad chest and his dark jeans showing off those long and muscular legs.

Your heart flutters as he crosses the hallway, hard expression on his face, before he stares down at the box of donuts.

“You can’t eat them all!”

He gives you a quelling look, though you’re sure you catch a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I can actually,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone, “but when I’m here I share.”

“What if I want one?” you ask, feeling brave and maybe a little flirtatious.

It takes him a moment to answer as he holds you under his keen regard, sweeping his gaze down your body before it lingers on your lips and finally returns to your eyes.

“Maybe,” he grumbles, then turns on his heel. “Follow me.”

You enter a room with tables and chairs set up and one long counter and cabinets in the back where you see a coffee machine, refrigerator, and small microwave.

“Do you have a favorite?”

His question surprises you and it takes you a minute to realize he’s referring to the donuts.

“OH, yeah definitely. The Bavarian cream is the best!”

“Hm,” he replies.

He doesn’t indulge you with his favorite, so you decide to ask.

“What about you?”

“Glazed,” he says, then adds, “with sprinkles.”

You stare at him for a beat then a laugh bursts out of you.

“I was not expecting the sprinkles!”

You’re too busy laughing to notice his smile.

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I visit,” you tell him when you finally catch your breath.

“You want to come back?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

You don’t have a chance to answer because Sam enters the room with a boisterous greeting.

“There you are!” he says. “So glad you stopped by to see us.”

“And I brought donuts!”

“Perfect,” Sam says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

You look back at Bucky as Sam leads you out of the room. “Don’t eat any of those!”

Bucky’s scoff is the last thing you hear before you step out into the hallway.

After Sam gives you a tour you meet some of the veterans while you share donuts. It’s wonderful to talk with them and make them laugh and you’re happy you made the visit.

Right before you leave you run into Bucky who’s hovering over the last of the box of donuts.

“Slim pickings huh?” you say as you look into the mostly empty box.

“Yeah,” he huffs with a scowl.

“Lucky for you,” you say and open the cabinet above your head, “I stashed one in here earlier before we gave them out.”

You pull out the paper plate and take the napkin off to reveal a glazed donut with colored sprinkles.

He studies you in such a way that your thighs press tightly together in reaction. His expression is irritatingly unreadable as your eyes meet again.

He shifts as if he’s uncomfortable, an awkward silence hanging between you, before he blurts out, “thanks doll.”

His expression morphs into one of surprise and it matches yours, but you recover quickly enough with a warm smile.

“You’re welcome Bucky. Thanks for having me.”

You’re just getting situated with your book on the couch, rain pelting the window outside, when your phone rings.

Sam’s name lights up the screen and you answer with an excited, “Ghostbusters, whaddya want?”

The silence your met with is unexpected as you were hoping for one of Sam’s bright laughs.

“Tell me that’s not how you answer your phone normally.”

At Bucky’s weary comment your smile falls. “Bucky? I thought it was Sam?”

“You sound disappointed,” he points out.

“Only because you seem bothered by my amazing phone answering skills. I’m sorry that one got lost on you. Sam would have loved it.”

“So, if you knew it was me calling what would have said?” he asks.

“Uh…hello?”

“Uh hello?”

“No…just, hell, ugh! Why are you calling me from Sam’s phone.”

Silence again.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah…I didn’t have your number and wasn’t sure you’d answer if I called from mine so…”

“Ok,” you say. “And now that you have mine just text me and I’ll have yours.”

He’s quiet again before he continues in a rush of words.

“So, we’re having our annual fundraiser gala soon and Sam mentioned that you said you’d like to volunteer more, and we could use some help planning.”

“I’m definitely interested,” you cheer. “When should I come by?”

You get all the information you need from Bucky and then hang up, his conversation stilted when you started getting more excited and telling him that you were looking forward to working with him and helping. He hung up with a mumbled goodbye and never text you to give you his number.

It makes your thoughts of his disinterest solidify and you try to let it go and focus on the good you’ll be doing.

The week moves slowly but when Friday comes around you feel the same lightness from the last time you visited the VA. It gives you renewed energy, and you open the door with a smile, searching for the familiar face of Sam or Bucky.

You don’t see either of them, so you head down the hallway to the small dining room. Sam is at the front by one of the windows. He waves, pointing to his phone to signal he’ll be right off, and Bucky is at the counter.

He turns to face you, and you walk over.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hiya doll,” he answers.

Confusion washes over you at his sweet endearment, but you push it down and focus on what he’s holding.

“More donuts!” you exclaim.

“We always have them,” he says lightly. “I got you a Bavarian.”

At your silence you feel his eyes on you, and you drag them away from the perfectly powdered and filled deliciousness in the box.

“Why didn’t you text me?” you ask without thinking.

“What?” he says, his brow furrowed.

“You never text me to give me your number.”

His attention never leaves you, his gaze drifting from your head down to your feet. When he reaches your face again he stares and pulls his phone from his back pocket.

“Can I have your number?” he asks quietly.

“Sure,” you say and take his phone to program it in.

“Thanks,” he says.

“And thank you for my donut,” you finally say. “That was really thoughtful.”

He nods and grabs a glazed before motioning for you to follow him. The rest of the day is spent pouring over invites and food orders as well as any little detail that needs to be squared away before the event.

Most of the time it’s you, Sam and Bucky seated at a table, but Sam leaves occasionally to take a phone call or manage something in the office.

During the down time you learn more about Bucky, asking questions and mostly getting abridged but not unfriendly answers. He seems genuinely interested in what you have to say and that, again, confuses you more as to his intentions-if he has any at all.

Once the sun has set and you’re worn out you help them clean up then gather your things.

“How are you getting home?” Sam asks as you walk together to the door.

“I think I’m gonna walk,” you tell him.

Bucky makes a sound of disapproval behind you.

“What?” you turn and ask.

“It’s late,” he states.

“And?” you answer.

“It’s not safe.”

“I appreciate your concern but after sitting most of the afternoon I want to walk.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

At Bucky’s statement both you and Sam give him a wide-eyed look.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell Bucky.

“Nah, he’s right,” Sam chimes in. “He should go with you. I would offer but I’m in the opposite direction.”

Sam tries to hide his smirk, but it’s written all over his face, so you just smile and accept Bucky’s kind and gentlemanly offer.

“Just gimme a sec. I want to grab something from my bike.”

“Bike?” you murmur as you track his movement toward a sleek black motorcycle parked at the curb.

Holy shit.

He doesn’t say a word as he walks back toward you.

“I didn’t know you had a motorcycle,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says while running a hand through his hair. “You know…easier in the city.”

“Smart and badass. It’s beautiful.”

That’s when he smiles at you, a real smile, for the very first time.

You nearly swoon.

“Yeah?” He looks boyishly pleased about your reaction.

You nod and give the bike one last look before you fall into step beside him. You chat about everything from the upcoming event to how he met Sam and even find out more about his motorcycle. He’s more open and comfortable and indulges you with more details about anything you ask.

As you pass by a bar a large crowd of young people come out, clearly drunk and rowdy as they sway and swerve as a mass toward you.

Bucky links your fingers together and deftly slides you out of harms way. Your skin tingles, little sparks of feeling shooting up your arm and it’s all you can concentrate on until the group passes by and continues down the street in a clamor.

“They seem like they’re having fun,” you giggle. “Thanks for the save there.”

The corner of his mouth starts to tilt upward and then he remembers he has a hold on your hand and his eyes drop and widen and he quickly let’s go, clearing his throat and mumbling, “no problem.”

“Did you ever go out like that and get wild?” you ask after a beat, hoping to lighten the mood again.

“Who me?” he asks and blows a raspberry. “Nah. I’m not really into big crowds much.”

“Then you should really enjoy the gala next week,” you say wryly.

“Right?” he answers. “If it weren’t for such a good cause and important to me, I’d skip it all together and stay behind the scenes.”

“Well at least you’ll have Sam!” you say in support.

“Actually…he’s usually caught up in everything since I leave all the talking and canoodling to him.”

“Canoodling,” you repeat and cover your mouth to stifle your laughter.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I can’t imagine you not wanting to canoodle.”

Your delivery drips with sarcasm, and he throws you another killer smile.

He has the sexiest smile ever. Of course he does. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t smile a lot, because of its killer effect? Or is he really just Mr. Grumpy? One or the other.

When you reach your apartment you walk toward the double doors, thanking him for walking you home. Searching for your keys in your bag you end up dropping your phone, bending to pick it up at the same time Bucky does.

You bump heads and he immediately apologizes and rests his hand gently on your forehead.

“You ok?” he asks, rubbing his thumb soothingly.

“Yeah,” you say, slightly breathless.

His gaze drops to your lips and lingers before coming back to your eyes.

“Hey um…” he starts, those beautiful blue eyes studying you, sweeping over your features, as if tallying every little detail he finds.

“Yeah?” you ask, giving him a sweet and reassuring smile.

“Uh, thanks, for the help today. I’ll see you soon.”

You deflate at his quick departure; telling him it was “your pleasure and you’ll see him later.”

You’re not even to your apartment door when your phone chimes. You retrieve it from your pocket and see Bucky’s name on the screen.

You open the text and nearly drop your phone again.

'Do you want to be my date to the fund raiser?'

Like sunshine bursting through a cloud, you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach, a fluttery warning that you’re way in over your head.

“What are you going to wear?” Diana asks as you stand in front of your closet.

“I have no idea!” you sigh. “I asked for a dress code, and he said ‘formal’…and that’s it. Then I asked what he was wearing, and he said, ‘a tux.’”

“Not very chatty, is he?” she mutters.

You shrug at stare at your closet that has nothing appropriate in it.

“Looks like we’re going shopping,” Diana says as she jumps off the bed and grabs her bag. “Come on, we’re gonna find you something that will knock his socks off.”

Bucky picks you up in a town car, and you smile graciously as he opens the door for you, your internal nerves wild as you wait for his reaction to your appearance.

Unfortunately, his reaction isn’t worth the nerves because he stares blankly at you before giving you an abrupt nod of greeting.

All the while you try not to drool over him in a tux.

When you arrive inside you can’t hide your beaming smile. It looks beautiful. All the details having come together perfectly to create an elegant yet comfortable atmosphere.

“You’re really doing wonderful work here,” you tell Bucky.

He holds out his arm for you and smiles. “Thanks doll.”

“You’re here!”

You turn at the familiar voice. Sam hurries over and takes you in.

“Wow,” he says, raising his brows. “Lucky man Barnes.”

He claps Bucky on the shoulder. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be around if you need me.”

Bucky places his hand on your lower back and leads you across the room to the table. Your breath catches at the sensation of his hand on your bare skin, but you try to shake it off.

His hand presses deeper into your back, and you follow his guide. People greet him and he says hello, but he doesn’t stop to chat.

“Shouldn’t you be taking the time to talk with these people?” you ask.

“Probably,” he says as he pulls out your chair.

You snort because he sounds like he couldn’t care less.

You’re the first people at the table and you stare at the fancy centerpiece.

“It really does look amazing in here.”

Bucky glances over it all, bemused.

“It does. I guess it’s necessary.”

“What do you mean,” you ask.

“I come to these events for Sam and the veterans. I want to raise money and help but if it were up to me it would all be quiet and low key. This kind of socializing isn’t my first choice.”

Turning to study his handsome face, you smile. “Is any kind of socializing your choice?”

He throws you a dark but amused look. “You’re funny”

You hold back more laughter and touch his knee, giving it a soft squeeze. His eyes meet yours and you swallow around the sudden sensation of your racing heart.

Needing to break the intense eye contact, you turn to observe the room, noting that more people are heading to their tables.

You spot Sam talking to a lovely woman and you feel Bucky’s smile.

“Sam likes her,” Bucky says quietly.

“Who is she?” you ask in a whisper.

He leans into you, his breath tickling your cheek as he murmurs, “the daughter of one of our veterans. They’ve met a few times, and I can tell he’s totally taken with her.”

You turn your head slightly, bringing your faces just inches apart. “She’s lovely. I’m sure she likes him too.”

His attention moves from Sam to you, and his eyes narrow as he realizes how close you are. But he doesn’t move back. Instead, he searches your eyes.

Your heartbeat skips and you’re almost afraid to breathe.                      

Needing to break the tension once again, you wrench your gaze away and find Sam shooting you a quick glance.

“I have the sudden urge to run over there and embarrass him,” you say with a devious smile.

Bucky’s answer is to move away but only because he throws his head back in laughter.

“I’d pay to see that,” he replies, mischief dancing in his eyes.

Before long, your table is filled, and Bucky introduces you to the people he knows. The older couple sitting nearest to you is just smitten with both you and Bucky, peppering you with questions and hanging on your every word.

They tell you their life story too, how they found each other and fell in love and have been together ever since. It warms you and you give his thigh another squeeze under the table.

He places his hand over yours and brushes his thumb across your knuckles.

The food comes and you turn his way, lightly tugging on your hand.

“I need that to eat,” you giggle.

“Oh, right,” he says with one more sweep of his thumb before he releases you with a soft expression.

The food is delicious, and you find yourself smiling between every bite.

“You two look like you’re having a good time.”

Bucky stiffens next to you, and you wait for his move before following his gaze to the older woman standing behind you.

“Don’t you look handsome as always James,” she comments then flits her eyes to you but doesn’t say anything more.

Bucky smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Mrs. Whitman. How are you?”

“Fine, just fine. Now I need to steal you away for a moment.”

Bucky’s eyes lift over Mrs. Whitman’s shoulder and his lips turn down in a frown.

“I can’t, sorry Mrs. Whitman. I’m here with someone.”

He looks at you and smiles.

Mrs. Whitman sighs, clearly annoyed.

“You can’t spare just a moment?” she pleads, trying to appear genuine.

“Sorry,” Bucky says as kindly as he can.

Without a goodbye she huffs off and you wait until she’s far enough away before looking at Bucky. His frown melts away as your gazes lock.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Her husband was a veteran, and he recently passed. She’s been trying to set me up with her daughter since, but I’m not interested.”

“I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble,” you tell him.

“No. Not at all doll. She can be rude sometimes, but I think she’s just struggling with grief and doesn’t know what to do with herself. I feel bad, but like I said. I’m really not interested.”

You smile reassuringly then excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a little air. When you return, you see Bucky hasn’t moved from his seat and his gaze is zeroed in on the hallway to the bathroom.

As you cross the room toward him, his eyes drift down your body. His gaze lingers on your bare shoulders and the sway of your hips and by the time you reach the table, you need another restroom break to cool off.

He doesn’t move out of the way, so you have to brush up against him to sit back down. When your eyes meet, his are heated. You stare at each other, the music and chatter around you fading away.

The lovely old woman next to you breaks you out the haze when she asks where the restroom is. You point her in the right direction, telling her you’ll happily escort her, but she refuses kindly and slowly makes her way through the crowd.

Once she’s safely down the hallway, you look away and find yourself staring at Bucky. His face is close.

Too close.

Or maybe just close enough depending on how you look at it.

His eyes search yours and you ignore the rushing in your ears as you close the distance between you and gently brush your lips over his.

Your mouth tingles from the brief touch as you pull away.

He scowls hard at your mouth, but you’re not sure if it’s because you kissed him or because you barely kissed him.

“What…?” he starts to ask roughly, but a loud banging at the front of the room, startles you and pulls your attention away.

Sam stands at a small podium, a smile on his face as he greets everyone.

Nice timing Sam.

‘How’s work today?’

You smile at you phone and Bucky’s name on the screen.

‘It’s going…’ you type back. ‘How about you? I know you said your day was going to be busy.’

‘Up and down. We made some really good progress with one of our veterans today, but we lost one of our oldest members to cancer.’

‘Oh Bucky. I’m sorry it’s been a tough day. Do you need anything? I can come by on my lunch break.’

‘Thank you doll, I appreciate it. But it’s unfortunately something I’ve gotten used to. Comes with the territory.’

‘I’m here if you need anything.’

‘Thanks.’

You’re just clearing your desk at the end of the day when your phone rings. You smile at the sight of Bucky’s name, and you’re not surprised considering you’d received a text to inform you that your delivery had been successfully made.

“Hey,” you greet.

“Hey.” His voice is low, a little hoarse. He clears his throat. “You sent me donuts.’

You grin at how confused he sounds. “I did and cookies.”

In fact, you sent him a dozen glazed- with sprinkles of course- donuts and a box full of assorted cookies from your usual favorite bakery.

“I wanted you to have a little treat after a long day. I know you might be used to it but that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard on you.”

He’s quiet so long you have a horrible feeling that you may have crossed a line. But then he speaks.

“Thank you doll. I really appreciate it.”

You smile and try to quell the butterflies dancing around your stomach. “You’re welcome!”

“I’ve never had so many glazed donuts to myself!” There’s a teasing tone to his confession.

“But you have to share the cookies!” you tell him, trying to sound stern.

“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” he laughs. “But really, thank you.”

“It was nothing,” you say trying to shake off the giddy feeling he’s giving you with a shrug he can’t see.

His voice is gravelly when he promises, “it’s not nothing to me.”

You teeter on your feet. “Well, I’m glad it cheered you up a little. I’m just heading out of work so…”

“So, I’ll let you go.”

Did you hear a smile in his voice?

“I’ll see you this weekend for Sam’s BBQ?”

“Yes! Looking forward to it,” you say.

“Great doll, see you then and I am too.”

With that, he hangs up and you stand at your desk and try to slow the rapid beating of your heart.

Bucky picks you up on his bike and you’re barely ashamed at how excited you are to ride with him.

He revs the engine when he pulls up at the curb where you’re standing and settles the bike with his leg on the sidewalk.

“No helmet?” you ask with a wave.

He sucks in a breath and his eyes are glued to your legs.

“Wrong outfit?” you say as you track his gaze. “I can go…”

“Nope,” he says quickly.

He hops off the bike and offers a hand to help you get on, squeezing his eyes closed when you get close to him and your shoulder brushes against his chest.

“Are you ok?” you ask him, looking up into his blue eyes.

“Yep. All good,” he says, voice strained.

You narrow your eyes at his sharp tone but take his offered hand and help onto the bike. Once you’re wrapped around him and pressed to his back you lean up and say, “what’s going on? You seem grumpy today?”

“Nothing,” he replies before revving the engine and pulling away from the curb.

It doesn’t take long to get to Sam’s and when you arrive Bucky parks his bike and hops off lithely and you wait for him to offer his hand to help you off.

To your surprise he takes you by the waist and lifts you off the bike in one easy movement. Your body is plastered to his as your feet slide to the ground.

You shiver at the contact.

“You cold?” He frowns at you.

“Nope,” you answer, looking away and straightening the bottom of your dress.

Over his shoulder you see Sam walking your way.

“There you two are!” he yells.

You wave and smile.

“You look gorgeous as always,” Sam says.

Sam leads the way to the backyard and Bucky places a hand at your lower back. Your brain fritzes and it’s all you can think about as you walk through the yard saying hello to people as you pass.

When you reach Sarah, Sam’s sister, you greet her with a warm hello, having met her once before at the VA. Bucky joins in the conversation, his fingers still warmly pressed into your skin when he starts to draw little circles on your lower back.

You suck in a breath and trip over your words and then he splays his palm and slides it around to your hip, drawing you into his side.

Your heart stops.

Sarah doesn’t seem to notice or if she does she doesn’t make it known and when Sam calls for her help she rushes off with a promise to come back and chat after.

“You seem to be in a better mood now that we’re here,” you say as you turn your eyes to Bucky.

His eyebrows draw in. “I…you look gorgeous.”

Your lips part and your mouth falls open.

“You always do. You did at the fund raiser. You do today. It’s just…I’m not good at…”

He trails off, his words dying on his lips and his cheeks turning your favorite shade of pink.

His words fill you with relief and you swear that it’s the lingering heat of that barely there kiss from the gala that you can’t seem to forget because the next thing you know you’re grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling his lips down to yours.

You intend it to be a quick kiss, but he brings one of his hands to the back of your neck and the other presses deep into your back as he takes over. Your small gasp turns into a moan, and it ignites him. He deepens the kiss, hungry and desperate and it sets every inch of you on fire.

“Uh, there are children present.”

Sam’s voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of cold water and you move back. Bucky’s hand flexes at the back of your neck as if to stop you from moving away from him. You breathe hard and state at each other.

Best. Kiss. Of. Your. Life.

Bucky appears dazed enough for you to believe maybe it was for him too.

The party around you comes back to life and Sam’s broad smile fills your vision. He claps Bucky hard on the back. “I knew ya had it you Barnes!”

Sam saunters off with some extra pep to his step and you watch him walk back into the house. Bucky’s fingers close around yours and he tugs you away from the crowd.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer but just holds tightly to your hand until you reach a small garden enclosed by a low white fence. At the back there’s a wrought iron bench just big enough for two.

“This is so pretty,” you whisper as he walks you through the garden.

When you reach the bench he turns your way.

“You’re really going to share the bench with me?” you ask playfully.

His answer is to lift his hand to cup your jaw, his eyes dropping to your mouth. You hold your breath as he leans in. The first contact he makes is just a brush of his lips over yours. The briefest sweep.

“I’m sorry I was such an ass that first day we met,” he whispers against your lips. “I was having a rough day but it’s no excuse.”

“It’s ok,” you breathe out. “I forgive you.”

He does it again. Sweeps his lips along yours and you hear the quietest moan escape his throat as he leans in closer, pressing his soft, strong mouth to yours and taking your top lip between his.

With a smile forming against your mouth, he tilts his head and kisses you with a heat that rivals the one only minutes ago. His free hand slides around your waist and smooths along the curve of your spine, dragging you up against his body.

Without an audience he kisses you long enough to have you pulling back for need of air.

“Bucky,” you whisper, grabbing his biceps for support.

“I really am sorry,” he murmurs.

“You’re good at that.”

“At what?” he asks, distracted by your mouth again.

“Kissing.”

He hums. “That’s only because I’m kissing you. And I plan to keep kissing you. For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Forever sounds good,” you whisper at the feel of his lips hovering over yours.

“Won’t be long enough but it’s a start doll.”

[urmum-lovesme]

how would toxic! rafe react to trying to leave him?

So first I thought he'd probably chain y/n up lowkey but then I thought he's such a manipulater so. . . 😼

The light coming in through the large white windows casted long shadows across the walls, and Rafe sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes like he’s trying to physically wipe away the conversation.

"Y/N, I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this."

His voice is low, tired- like she’s the one exhausting him, like she’s the problem. Y/N stands a few feet away, arms crossed so tightly over her chest it almost looks painful. She wants to scream, to shake him, to force him to understand- but she already knows how this is going to go.

"No, Rafe, I—" She exhales sharply, pressing her lips together before shaking her head. Her voice is steadier when she speaks again.

"I put up with a lot of your shit, but—"

"-excuse me my shit-"

"-but I won’t let you cheat on me!"

For a change, she doesn't back down which causes his head to snap up, brows raised in disbelief. His voice carries that familiar, dangerous edge- the kind that tells her she’s treading on thin ice. The words are barely out of her mouth before he’s scoffing, shaking his head as he leans back on his hands.

"I’ve not fucking cheated on you. You’re deluded."

"Right. So I just imagined hearing Topper and Kelce talking about you with some girl at that party I just didn’t happen to go to?"

She lets out a bitter laugh, one that doesn’t reach her eyes and Rafe rolls his eyes in response,

"Jesus that’s what this is about? You’re really losing your shit over a conversation you weren’t even part of?"

"I know what I heard Rafe!"

Her voice cracks, but it’s not from sadness- well maybe slightly- but it’s mainly from rage. From frustration.

"They said you were all over some girl and that you left with her—"

"-That’s bullshit, Y/N. They’re just trying to fuck with you—”

"No, Rafe. They weren’t." Her voice cracks, but she steadies herself.

"because they didn't even know I was listening.”

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. His hands go to his hips, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he looks away like he’s trying to keep his temper in check.

"You’re really gonna listen to them over me?”

She doesn’t say anything, instead averting her eyes from him And that? That sets him off.

"Oh, so what- you don’t trust me now?"

He steps closer, his voice rising. She straightens her spine, blinking back the tears in her eyes as she looks to the boy.

"I don’t know, Rafe. Should I?"

And it’s so genuine, so soft, that for a moment and it makes his anger falter. But Rafe hates feeling guilty. So instead of answering, he shakes his head, laughing humourlessly as he turns his back to her, pacing slightly. His hands run through his hair before resting on the back of his neck.

"This is so fucking stupid."

His voice is quieter now, almost—like if he says it softly enough, she’ll feel bad for bringing it up. But she doesn’t, instead her brows draw into a deeper frown as she speaks again.

"It’s not stupid to me."

And that’s what kills her. That he thinks he can do whatever he wants and she’s just supposed to sit there and take it. There’s a thick silence between them and it's broken when Rafe exhales through his nose, his hands dropping to his sides before he turns back to her.

"So what now, huh?" His voice is almost tired now.

"You gonna break up with me over some dumb fucking rumour?”

She blinks at him.

"If it’s a dumb rumour, why do you sound so guilty?"

And for the first time, he doesn’t have an answer. She looks at him, her eyes filled with resolve, shaking her head slowly as she breathes out a shaky sigh.

“I’m not doing this anymore Rafe.”

The words escape her lips with finality, and without another glance, she turns toward the door. Her fingers curl around the handle, but before she can reach for it fully, she feels his grip on her wrist, yanking her back with surprising force.

"Hey, hey, wait-" 

His voice is frantic now, his hand tightening around her wrist as if he’s afraid she’ll slip away. He pulls her toward him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his grip falters just slightly.

“C’mon baby. . . it’s just a misunderstanding don’t leave.”

She shudders in his grip, the irritation growing her chest. She twists her wrist free, the movement sharp, and she stumbles back a step, glaring at him.

“Stop it, Rafe- We’re done.”

His breath hitches, a flicker of something close to fear crossing his face. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like her rejecting him, walking away from him. The very thought of losing her sets something off inside of him- something ugly and primal.

"No we’re not, stop it."

His voice cracks with an edge of desperation now, and his words come faster and more urgent. He steps forward, closing the space between them, his expression morphing into something less controlled. But she’s had enough. With shaking hands, she grips the door handle again and this time, she yanks it open. Before she can step through, he slams his hand down onto the door, the noise sharp and violent as it echoes through the room.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Her body tenses, but she stands her ground. Her voice is stronger now, though still shaking with raw emotion.

“Yes, I am, you’re a fucking cheat.”

The words are out before she can stop them, and it’s like a slap in the face for him. His face twists in anger, his nostrils flaring. His voice is low and dangerous, the fury in it palpable. He takes a step closer, his chest nearly pressing against hers as he glares down at her.

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“I can’t believe you would do this, Rafe- I can’t fucking believe you.”

She can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension crackling in the air. Her words are barely a whisper, but they hit him like a freight train. The weight of them, the hurt, the betrayal- they sting more than she wants to admit. Her hands are trembling now, but she refuses to look away from him. He watches her with a mix of fury and confusion, a fight brewing in his chest. It’s a twisted battle- part of him knows he’s wrong, knows he’s been pushing her too far. But another part of him, a darker, possessive part, refuses to let her go. He’s never had control slip from his hands like this before, and it’s making him feel something he doesn’t know how to handle. Rafe exhales sharply, hands tightening into fists by his sides as he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re overreacting-"

“No!” Y/N fires back, her voice loud and defiant. “No, I’m not!”

He takes a step toward her, his hand outstretched again, but she pulls away from him quickly, moving further from the door, clearly uncomfortable with how close he’s standing. Rafe asks, his voice tinged with annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to touch you right now”

“I didn’t fucking sleep with her Y/N! What is your problem?”

“You fucking kissed her, Rafe-”

"I was high okay?!"

“That is not an excuse!”

Y/N’s eyes flash with fury as she stares at him, her hands balling into fists by her sides. Rafe’s face twists with frustration, as if he’s still trying to grasp what she’s so upset about.

“Jesus, it was a mistake, okay? I know it was stupid, but it wasn’t like I wanted to be with her.”

Y/N’s expression hardens as she looks at him causing him to pipe up again,

"What you want me to apologise? I'll apologise- I'm sorry alright? It was a mistake."

“You seriously think saying ‘sorry’ is enough?”

She asks, voice dangerously calm, but underneath she was shattering, small pieces of her heart crumbling. She shakes her head, disappointment dripping from her every word.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a fucking prude and didn’t want to go out with me.”

Rafe looks at her, irritated, as he crosses his arms. Y/N stands frozen for a moment, completely dumbfounded. She asks, the words so sharp they could cut through the tension in the room.

“Are you seriously blaming me right now?”

“You’re always so fucking difficult, Y/N,”

His eyes narrow as he steps closer to her and he speaks through clenched teeth. She stands still in the middle of the room, seething with frustration. Rafe watches her carefully, his eyes narrowing in disbelief at her words.

“I’m difficult? I’m dif—okay you know what, fine,”

She says, voice tight with rage as she turns on her heel and strides toward the his wardrobe. She opens it and begins pulling her things out- clothes she kept at his place for the nights she stayed over. A soft rustle fills the silence between them as she stuffs them into her bag. Rafe’s confusion shifts to anger, but he can’t seem to control the rising panic in his chest. He’s high, and everything feels more intense than it should. His thoughts race with the fear that she’s really going to leave.

“What are you doing?”

He demands, his voice growing sharp. She doesn’t answer. She just keeps packing her clothes into the bag as if he isn’t even standing there. He presses, his words harsher now, desperation seeping into his tone.

“Hey, c’mon,”

Still, she doesn’t respond. Rafe’s eyes flick to the door and back to her, his mind spiralling. The paranoia sets in, his voice cracks a little, the crack of vulnerability that betrays the fear gnawing at him.

“Y/N, I’m fucking talking to you!”

Y/N keeps her jaw clenched, trying to hold it together, the pain of everything simmering beneath the surface. But she stays silent. Rafe steps closer, standing on the other side of the bed, his hand pressed to his forehead.

“Baby... I know I fucked up, yeah? I know I did but I won’t do it again- Y/N, look at me. I’m fucking talking to you.”

Her eye's never look up him as she finishes packing her clothes. He watches her, breath shallow, the weight of his actions heavy in the air. She doesn’t react. She doesn’t give him anything. It’s breaking him.

“Shit, c’mon, Y/N- don’t do this”

Rafe mutters under his breath, his voice breaking. He’s panicking now, biting his nail and staring at her helplessly as if that will stop the situation from spinning out of control.

“I’ll buy you anything you want,” he says, desperation coating his words.

“I’ll get you that bracelet you wanted... what was it? Shit... Cartier?”

His eyes dart around as if searching for some answer to fix this, to stop her from walking out. Y/N strides over to the drawer where her perfume sits beside his cologne, each bottle a reminder of all the nights spent here. Her fingers brush the delicate glass, and she pulls it off the shelf, intent on adding it to her bag. Rafe's heart races as he watches her, the panic growing heavier with each passing second.

“No, no, wait, wait-”

He says quickly, his voice rough with anxiety. He steps forward, reaching out to grab the perfume from her hands, his fingers wrap around it, and for a brief moment, she lets go of it, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Her silence is more unbearable than any words she could speak. She simply turns back to her bag, her movements calculated and controlled as she zips it up. Rafe stands there, frozen for a moment, watching her every move with disbelief. Y/N picks up the bag, holding it tightly in her hands as she turns to face him. The tension between them is suffocating, and she doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her teeth are clenched, her expression rigid as if she's fighting the urge to cry.

He can’t take it.

Rafe’s eyes are locked onto her, his expression shifting from panic to something more calculated as he steps forward, reaching out to grip her arms. His hands slide up and down her forearms in a feigned tenderness, but there's an underlying desperation in the way he holds her.

“Y/N…” His voice falters, but he catches it before it gives way entirely.

“I love you.”

His hands tighten on her arms, the grip harder now, like he's trying to hold onto her, as if she might slip away at any moment.

"You’re really just gonna leave me? Just like everyone else- just like… everyone always does?"

There’s a hurt in his voice now, something wounded, but his eyes tell a different story. He’s trying to guilt her, twisting his emotions into something that might keep her here. His chest tightens with the weight of his own manipulation, and he leans closer to her, eyes desperate, pleading.

“Don't you love me?” he whispers, and his eyes glisten with tears that he can't fully control now, though they don’t fall.

“You- you don’t care about me.”

He’s staring at her, holding her with more force now, his fingers digging into her arms, and though she tries to pull back, his grip only tightens.

“Please,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly.

“I... I would do anything for you hear me?”

His hand moves shakily to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin as if trying to feel some kind of connection. His tear-rimmed eyes lock onto hers, and his breath is uneven as he speaks again, his voice shaking.

“I love you. You’re all I have… please don’t leave me.”

Y/N stands there, frozen in place, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy fog. She can feel his panic in the way he holds her, in the way his fingers tremble against her skin. It’s hard to tell where the guilt ends and the genuine emotion begins, but the desperation in his eyes is undeniable. Rafe’s grip on her tightens even more, and then, suddenly, his whole demeanour shifts. His breathing becomes erratic, his face contorting with raw emotion that she wasn’t expecting. He drops to his knees in front of her, his hands slipping from her arms to clutch at her waist, pulling her closer.

“No,” he chokes out, his voice breaking with a desperation that she hasn’t heard from him before.

“You can’t… you can’t leave me, baby please you can’t…”

She stands there, frozen, her mind scrambling to make sense of the overwhelming rush of emotions and the way he’s unraveling in front of her. His face presses into her stomach, and he sobs into her, the sound raw and painful.

“You promised,” he whispers against her, his breath hitching.

“You said you’d never leave me. You can’t do this. I… I can’t do this without you.”

He holds onto her tightly now, his arms wrapped around her waist, fingers digging into her sides as though he’s trying to hold her in place, trying to keep her from slipping through his fingers. She can feel the dampness of his tears against her skin, the weight of his pain crashing against her, and it leaves her standing there in shock, unable to move or speak. She wasn’t expecting this.

This… vulnerability.

This breakdown.

The intensity of it almost paralyses her. Rafe's breath comes in short, harsh bursts as he continues, his voice breaking apart with each word.

“Please don’t leave me baby. . .”

He whispers again, barely audible, as if she might not hear him if he doesn’t say it enough. His body trembles slightly, his hands shaking around her as if he's holding on to the last piece of reality he can. All Y/N can do is stand there, her mind a blur, her heart pounding, unsure of how to handle the intensity of his breakdown. Rafe’s grip tightens around her, his fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt. He looks up at her with those tear-filled eyes, pleading, his voice barely holding together.

“No- no- I love you,” he says again, his voice cracking.

“I fucking love you don’t you get it?”

Her heart aches at the sight of him like this- so desperate. But she feels the weight of everything he puts her under, pain, lies, betrayal, and the suffocating pressure in the pit of her stomach expands at the thought. She shakes her head, her voice trembling as she tries to make him hear her.

“Rafe, this isn’t normal. . .”

She says, her words weak, almost too soft to be heard over the storm of emotions he’s throwing at her. But he shakes his head, refusing to listen. His hands fist tighter in the material of her top, pulling her closer.

“I’d give up everything for you,” he insists, his voice thick with a mix of fear and anger.

“Everything. Y/N you can't leave me-”

“-Rafe, just let go of me.”

She pleads, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t loosen his hold on her at all. She tries to take a step back, trying to break free from his grasp, but he’s not letting go.

“No, no,”

He repeats, his voice growing more frantic, more desperate and then slowly, he moves up, his knees shifting as he rises slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. His face is flushed, his skin red and blotchy from crying. There’s an intensity in his eyes that makes her breath catch in her throat.

“I’d kill for you. Y/N, don't you understand? ”

Y/N can barely breathe, the tears welling up in her eyes as she stares at him, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over her. She’s scared. She’s angry. She’s confused. She doesn’t know how to react to this raw, desperately unhinged version of him in front of her. His hands slide down to take hers, lifting them gently, pressing her hand to his lips. She can’t move, her body trembling as he places kisses on her hand, trailing them down to her ring finger.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice breaking once more.

“I’m going to make you my wife-”

“Stop… please-”

She whispers, her voice barely audible, the words escaping in a broken breath. But Rafe’s grip only tightens, pulling her closer to him again. She closes her eyes briefly, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill. He peaks again his voice low, like a promise, or a threat—she can’t quite tell.

"Going to be mine forever.”

And in that moment, she doesn’t know what to do.

She doesn’t know how to escape from this.

[cloudyluun]

Easy Money | sugar daddy!harry

Summary: What started as a simple transaction—a way to make some quick cash—turns into something far more complicated when Harry refuses to keep things strictly business. He spoils you, adores you, falls for you. But when he finally confesses his feelings, you remind him this was never supposed to be real. The only problem? Somewhere along the way, it became exactly that.

Wordt Count: 8k

A/N: This was a very special request from one of my absolute favourite readers (you know who you are 😉). I had way too much fun writing this, so if you find yourself blushing, looking away from your screen, or needing a cold shower—just know, that was entirely the goal. Enjoy, you little troublemakers. 

Warnings: 

Smut (and a lot of it)

Sugar daddy arrangement turning very real

Power struggles in bed (both of them want control and it gets heated)

Dom!Harry / Bratty!Reader dynamics

Lots of teasing, dirty talk, and tension so thick you could choke on it

Angst & emotional turmoil (Harry catches feelings first and it hurts)

Over-the-top romance (he spoils her, worships her, and claims her)

Explicit language

Mentions of financial struggles

Soft, clingy aftercare that will make you feel things

Read responsibly. Or don’t. Just don’t blame me when Harry Styles takes over your brain. 

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Your phone buzzes with another notification from your bank. You already know what it says before you even look, but the sinking feeling in your stomach urges you to check anyway.

LOW BALANCE ALERT

You sigh, thumb hovering over the notification before swiping it away. As if ignoring it will make the problem disappear.

It doesn’t.

Bills are due. Rent is due. Your student loans are a monster looming over your shoulder, their presence suffocating no matter how much you try to ignore them. Every paycheck disappears the second it hits your account, and no matter how many shifts you pick up or how much you cut back, it’s never enough. The math simply doesn’t math.

You’ve tried everything.

Taking extra hours at work? Done. You’re already stretched thin, running on caffeine and sheer willpower.

Side hustles? Tried. You’ve scoured every "easy ways to make money" list on the internet. You’ve filled out mind-numbing surveys for pennies, signed up for focus groups that never picked you, even considered selling pictures of your feet, only to chicken out the second you realized you had no idea where to even start.

Asking your parents for help? Not an option. The thought alone makes your stomach twist with shame. You’re an adult. You should be able to handle this.

But you’re drowning.

And tonight, after another long shift, after tipping your last few dollars to the bartender in a desperate attempt to pretend you have your life together, you lie in bed, scrolling through your phone, searching for something. A solution. A miracle. A quick fix that doesn’t exist.

Your searches grow more desperate. How to make money fast. How to pay rent when you’re broke. How to get a sugar daddy—

You pause.

The words stare back at you from the search bar, your heart skipping a beat as you realize you actually typed it. You weren’t even thinking. Just letting your thoughts spill out onto the screen, every insane idea passing through your exhausted brain.

But now the idea is there.

And worse—it isn’t immediately repulsive.

It’s not like you don’t know what a sugar baby is. You’ve heard the stories, seen the jokes. Older, rich men paying younger women just to be in their presence. Some arrangements are physical, sure, but plenty aren’t.

And it’s not like you’d actually do it.

…Right?

Your finger hovers over the search results, heartbeat picking up. You tell yourself you’re just curious. Just looking.

Twenty minutes later, you’re staring at the App Store. A bright pink logo sits on your screen, the words SUGAR DADDY APP – FIND YOUR ARRANGEMENT TODAY! flashing below it.

You chew on your lip, pulse thrumming in your ears.

This is insane.

This is absolutely insane.

But what if—

What if it’s just casual meetups? Just talking. Just dinner. Some of these girls are getting their rent paid just for going on dates. What if that could be you? What if this is the answer?

What’s the harm in looking?

Before you can second-guess yourself, your thumb presses download.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. The app opens, welcoming you with a sleek, luxurious design; gold accents, elegant fonts, a promise of “mutually beneficial arrangements.” The signup process is shockingly easy. You pick a username, upload a picture (nothing scandalous, just a cute selfie), and fill out your bio.

“Young, fun, and a great conversationalist. Looking for someone who appreciates good company. Nothing serious.”

That should do.

Messages start coming in immediately.

And it’s exactly what you expected.

Older men with awkward, borderline sleazy messages. Some are direct, offering money in exchange for explicit favors. Others try to be charming but still give off a transactional vibe. None of them make you feel… good.

You sigh, already regretting this. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe you should just—

MATCH!

A notification pops up at the top of your screen. You glance at it, ready to roll your eyes, until you see the name.

Harry.

You blink. That’s… different.

You click on his profile, expecting the same thing you’ve seen all night. But your breath catches.

He’s young. Well—not young, but younger than the rest. Late thirties, maybe early fourties. Sharp jawline, green eyes, a dimple that softens his otherwise serious expression. Dressed in a crisp, expensive-looking suit, but his tattoos peek out from beneath the sleeves, a contradiction that instantly intrigues you.

He doesn’t look like he belongs here.

But then again… neither do you.

Your pulse quickens as you stare at his profile, your fingers hesitating over the keyboard.

What do you even say to someone like him?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitation creeping in. A simple hi feels too basic. A joke might come off as trying too hard. But before you can overthink yourself into oblivion, a new notification pops up.

Harry sent you a message.

Your stomach flips. You exhale, steadying yourself before clicking to open it.

"Didn’t expect to find someone like you on here."

You blink. That’s… not what you expected. There’s no awkward proposition, no sleazy opener, no immediate offer of money in exchange for something degrading. It’s casual, almost intrigued. He follows up before you can reply.

"Not complaining, though. You look like you have good taste in wine."

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It’s charming. Simple. Not overdone. And weirdly enough it works.

Your eyes flicker back to his profile. It really is almost too good to be true. His pictures look professional, but not in the this was stolen from someone else’s Instagram way. They’re polished but natural. He’s sitting in a sleek black car in one, leaning against a marble bar in another. His bio is short, to the point.

“Successful entrepreneur. Generous. Looking for good company, good conversation, and good wine.”

There’s no cringey flexing. No desperate attempt to lure someone in. Just confidence. And it makes you nervous.

Still, you answer.

"I do. But I don’t let just anyone buy me a glass."

A beat. Then:

"Let me take you to dinner and prove I’m worth it."

Your stomach knots. You tell yourself you should be skeptical, that this is exactly how people end up in shady situations, but… there’s something different about him. He doesn’t reek of desperation. He’s not trying to corner you into anything. If anything, he almost seems amused.

Still, you’re cautious.

"That depends on the restaurant."

His response is instant.

"Le Jardin."

Your breath catches. That’s not just a restaurant. That’s the restaurant. The kind of place that has a six-month waitlist and a menu with no prices because if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

Before you can even process it, another message pops up.

"I’ll pay you $3,000 just to show up."

You sit up so fast your vision tilts.

Three. Thousand. Dollars.

For dinner? For a couple of hours of your time?

Your heart pounds. Your rent is barely half of that. That kind of money would give you breathing room, let you live for a moment instead of just surviving.

Your fingers tighten around your phone. Your brain is screaming at you to say yes. But a small part of you hesitates.

You’re not stupid. You know nothing comes for free.

"And what do you expect in return?" you finally ask.

His reply is simple.

"Dinner. Conversation. That’s all."

You swallow. You want to believe him. And against your better judgment… you do.

Your fingers shake slightly as you type out your answer.

"Alright. I’m in."

You set the phone down, staring at the screen as the reality of what you just agreed to sinks in.

You tell yourself it’s just transactional.

No expectations.

No strings attached.

So why does it already feel like something else?

You shove that thought aside as you get ready.

You’ve never been to a place like Le Jardin, never even been within walking distance of it, but you know what kind of people dine there. The rich, the powerful, the ones who don’t check price tags or worry about overdraft fees. You’re not one of them, and it makes your stomach twist as you stand in front of your closet, trying to figure out what to wear.

You settle on a sleek black dress—nothing too extravagant, but elegant enough to blend in. You keep your makeup simple, your jewelry minimal, but when you step in front of the mirror, something about your reflection feels different. Almost like you belong in this world. Like you could make someone believe it, even if only for one night.

The car Harry sends for you pulls up right on time. The driver is professional, dressed in a crisp suit, and doesn’t say much beyond a polite, “Miss?” as he opens the door. The ride is smooth, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows, and the entire time, your fingers twitch in your lap.

You tell yourself this is just a dinner. Just a business transaction. Just easy money.

But then you step into the restaurant, and your breath catches.

Le Jardin is breathtaking. Soft golden lighting, high ceilings, waiters gliding between tables like they’re floating. Everything about it screams exclusivity, like you’ve just stepped into a world not meant for people like you.

And then you see him.

Harry.

He stands as soon as he spots you, and for a second, the air shifts.

You were prepared for him to be attractive—you’ve seen his pictures, you knew what to expect—but this? This is something else entirely.

He’s tall, broad, the tailored lines of his suit clinging to him in a way that makes your mouth dry. Dark curls, sharp jaw, green eyes that flicker with something unreadable as he watches you cross the room.

And then he smiles.

Not a smirk, not a cocky I-have-you-right-where-I-want-you grin, but something softer. Something that makes his dimple crease and his eyes warm.

It’s almost disarming.

He pulls out your chair before you can even reach for it. “You look stunning,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum that slides down your spine.

You blink at him, thrown off. You expected arrogance, maybe a smooth line or two, but instead, he sounds almost… genuine.

You let him push in your chair, smoothing your hands over your dress as you settle in. “I try.”

He chuckles, a quiet thing, and as he takes his seat across from you, you realize he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

Not in the way the other men on the app did, like they were already calculating what they’d get out of you. No, this is different. It’s like he’s trying to figure you out, like he’s curious.

The waiter appears, offering an expensive bottle of wine without asking if you’d like to see the menu first. You don’t even know how to pronounce the name, but Harry just nods, thanking the server before turning back to you.

“So,” he says, resting his elbows on the table, fingers laced together. “Tell me something about you.”

You tilt your head. “Like what?”

“Anything.” He shrugs. “Something that’s not in your profile.”

You hesitate. You could give him something basic, something easy. But for some reason, you don’t want to.

“I hate tomatoes,” you say, watching for his reaction.

He blinks. Then laughs. A real, full laugh, his head tipping back slightly.

“Alright,” he says, still smiling. “Not what I expected, but I respect it.”

The conversation flows effortlessly after that. He asks questions—genuine ones—not just about you, but your thoughts, your opinions, things that have nothing to do with the arrangement. And he listens. Really listens. Holding eye contact like he’s hanging onto every word.

The food arrives—meals you can’t even begin to describe, flavors so rich you feel out of place eating them. But Harry makes it easy, never letting the moment feel intimidating.

At one point, he cuts a bite of his dish and lifts it toward you.

“Try this.”

You don’t even think twice. You just let him. Let him feed you, his fingers brushing the corner of your lips as you take the bite.

It doesn’t faze you.

But him?

He’s gone.

It’s subtle—the way his jaw tightens slightly, the way his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second longer than necessary—but you catch it. And for some reason, it makes you smile.

Dessert comes, and he reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, absentminded motion, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Can I see you again?” he asks.

The look in his eyes is something you can’t quite place.

You don’t hesitate.

You nod, lips curling slightly.

You’re getting paid, after all.

That’s what you tell yourself when the gifts start rolling in.

At first, they’re subtle. A bottle of perfume left on your doorstep, the kind you’d never splurge on for yourself. The packaging alone screams luxury, sleek and weighty in your hands. You hesitate before opening the attached note, curiosity bubbling in your chest.

“Reminded me of you. - H”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. You spritz a little onto your wrist, inhaling. It’s warm, sensual—notes of vanilla and something darker, richer. Expensive.

And then it doesn’t stop.

A few days later, a box arrives. Big this time. Too big for just perfume. You tear through the pristine wrapping to find a designer handbag nestled inside, the leather buttery soft beneath your fingertips.

Your first thought is: What the fuck?

Your second thought is: How much did this cost?

You barely have time to process before your phone buzzes.

Harry: Saw this and thought of you. Hope you like it.

You blink down at the message, at the bag, then back again.

Is this normal? you wonder. Is this what this arrangement is supposed to look like?

You send back a single text.

You: You’re insane.

His response is immediate.

Harry: I like spoiling you.

You don’t know what to do with that, so you just… let it happen.

At first, it’s funny. It feels like playing a role, stepping into a world you don’t belong in. You make jokes to yourself every time another absurdly expensive thing lands in your lap.

Then come the texts.

They start out simple, routine check-ins that could easily be brushed off.

“Morning, love. Hope today isn’t too stressful.”

“Made it home safe?”

“Sleep well?”

But then they start happening like clockwork.

Every morning, without fail—

“Good morning, darling.”

Every night—

“Sleep tight. Dream of me.”

You laugh when you read that one, shaking your head. It’s charming. Ridiculous.

And then there are the touches.

He kisses your forehead when he greets you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he hands you a drink, his fingers brush yours, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. When you walk into a room together, his hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady, like he’s guiding you, claiming you.

The thing is… you don’t encourage it.

But you also don’t stop it.

Because—if you’re being honest?—it’s kind of cute.

And, really, what’s the harm?

You meet up with him again. And again. It becomes a pattern, slipping into your life with alarming ease. Lavish dinners, expensive outings, stolen moments where he looks at you like you’re something rare, something fragile.

Then, one night, it happens.

You’re seated across from him at a dimly lit restaurant, the hum of soft jazz filling the air. Your wine glass is half-full, your plate mostly cleared, and he’s been watching you all night—watching in that way he does, like he’s memorizing you.

And then, almost absentmindedly, he stirs his drink and murmurs, “Didn’t like being away from you today.”

You barely register his words at first, too focused on the way he swirls the amber liquid in his glass.

But then he looks up.

And there’s something there.

Something warm, something vulnerable.

“Missed you,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You snort, reaching out without thinking, patting his cheek lightly. “That’s adorable.”

He huffs out a laugh, but he leans into your touch like a man starved, like it means something to him.

And that’s when it hits you.

Like a freight train, like a sucker punch to the ribs.

You’re in it for the money.

He’s in it for love.

You know it now. You’ve known it for a while, haven’t you? If you really take a second to think about it, you’d realize that every expensive gift, every lingering touch, every look of pure, devoted affection was leading up to this.

You should’ve seen it coming.

Maybe you did, but you ignored it. You chose to believe that this was just fun for him the same way it was fun for you. That he was playing along with the fantasy, indulging in the illusion of something deeper—just because he could.

Because it was easy. Because it was nice.

Because it meant neither of you had to be alone.

But Harry?

Harry was never playing.

And tonight proves it.

The restaurant is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. You knew it would be.

With Harry, everything is excessive. He likes to spoil you, to spend absurd amounts of money just to watch your reaction. It’s fun for him, you think.

But this is different.

This isn’t just extravagant. This is romantic.

The entire penthouse-level dining room is bathed in golden candlelight, the glow flickering off the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the entire city. The table is set for two, an elaborate spread of silverware and delicate wine glasses that you already know you’ll be too nervous to touch. The scent of fresh roses lingers in the air, overwhelming but intentional.

It’s the kind of setup someone arranges when they’re about to propose.

The thought makes something uneasy curl in your stomach.

Harry has been off all evening. Not in an obvious way—no, he’s still charming, still soft-spoken, still perfectly polite.

But he’s quiet.

More than usual.

His touches have been different tonight, too. Deliberate. Lingering. When he pulled out your chair for you, his hands skimmed over your shoulders, his fingers trailing against your skin like he was memorizing the feeling. When he handed you your wine glass, he let his fingertips brush over yours, his touch slow, like he needed it. When you made a joke about the ridiculous amount of forks in front of you, he didn’t just laugh—he looked at you like you’d just hung the moon.

And the way he’s looking at you now?

Like he’s about to say something you won’t be able to take back.

You should stop this.

You should.

But you don’t.

Because you’ve spent so long pretending that this—whatever this is—can exist in some untouchable space. That as long as you don’t acknowledge the shift, as long as you don’t name it, it will stay the same.

But you were wrong.

And Harry?

Harry is about to prove it.

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of music in the background, the flicker of candlelight making shadows dance across his face.

And then—

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your entire body locks up.

The words don’t register at first, like your brain is physically rejecting them.

Because, no.

No, that’s not what this is.

That’s not what this was ever supposed to be.

You feel your heart hammering against your ribs, something hot crawling up your spine, your throat suddenly too tight, your hands suddenly too still.

You blink.

He’s still looking at you.

Still waiting.

Like this is the moment everything changes. Like this is the moment he’s been waiting for.

Like this is the moment he gets you.

But he doesn’t.

He won’t.

You inhale sharply, your pulse roaring in your ears, the weight of his confession settling onto your chest like a ton of bricks.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you, holding you there like an anchor. Like he can sense that you’re about to run.

You swallow hard.

“Harry…”

The smile on his lips falters. Barely.

But you notice it.

You notice everything.

The way his fingers twitch. The way his eyes search yours, desperate. The way his jaw clenches, like he already knows.

You have to do this.

You have to say it.

Even if it feels like you’re about to carve him open.

Even if it feels like you’re about to carve yourself open.

You take a breath.

“This isn’t real.”

It’s quiet. A whisper. A tiny, fragile thing.

But it shatters him all the same.

You see it.

The way his entire body stills. The way the warmth drains from his face, his hands slipping away from yours so slowly, so painfully, like he’s forcing himself to let go.

Like he doesn’t want to.

But he has to.

His throat bobs.

His eyes flicker, something shifting in them—something soft breaking, something hopeful dying.

“Not real?” His voice is quiet, hoarse, like it physically hurts him to ask.

You open your mouth.

But nothing comes out.

Because what do you even say?

What could you possibly say to fix this?

To fix him?

To fix the way he’s looking at you like you just ripped the ground out from beneath him?

You weren’t supposed to mean this much to him.

But you do.

And that’s the problem.

The problem isn’t that he loves you.

The problem isn’t that he confessed.

The problem isn’t even that you saw it coming and did nothing to stop it.

The problem is that when he looks at you like this—like this—you don’t want to stop it.

His hands are still cradling your face, his thumbs ghosting over your cheekbones like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. Like if he just holds you tightly enough, he can will you into feeling the same way he does.

And maybe he can.

Because something about the way he’s looking at you now makes something deep in your chest ache. Makes something warm coil low in your stomach, makes your fingers tremble against the tablecloth.

You shouldn’t be here.

You shouldn’t still be sitting in this candlelit penthouse with him.

You should say something sharp and final, put an end to whatever this is before it gets worse. Before he gets hurt. Before you get hurt.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Because his eyes are flickering over your face like he’s memorizing you. Because his lips are parted, his breath shallow, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

Because when he speaks, his voice is hoarse, wrecked.

“It is for me.”

It knocks the air right out of you.

It’s not pleading. It’s not even a question.

It’s just fact.

And you feel it—God, you feel it.

He has never been playing.

Not once.

Not for a second.

This was always real for him.

And now?

Now, it’s real for you, too.

You should pull away.

You should.

You should tell him you’re sorry, that you never meant to let it get this far, that you never meant to make him fall for you.

But instead—

You tilt your chin up, let your gaze lock with his, let the tension between you thicken and twist until there’s only one way this ends.

“Then make me believe it.”

It’s barely a whisper. But he hears it.

You know he hears it.

Because his entire body reacts—his grip on your face tightening, his lips parting, his chest rising with a sharp inhale.

And then, before you can think, before you can breathe, before you can stop yourself—

His mouth crashes onto yours.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful.

It’s desperate.

It’s months of lingering touches, of stolen glances, of suppressed feelings exploding all at once.

His hands slide from your face to your jaw, tilting your head up, angling you the way he wants, the way he needs. His lips move against yours with a hunger you’ve never felt from him before, all-consuming, his body leaning forward until you have no choice but to grab onto his shirt, fisting the fabric in your hands to keep yourself steady.

You gasp against his mouth, and he groans, deep and guttural, swallowing the sound like it belongs to him. Like you belong to him.

And maybe you do.

His hands are everywhere now—sliding down your neck, tracing your collarbone, curling around your waist as he yanks you toward him. The chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, pulling you up with him, pressing your body flush against his.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging, and he growls, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

You don’t care.

You don’t care about any of it anymore.

Not the arrangement.

Not the money.

Not the way you told yourself this wasn’t real.

Because right now, with his lips hot and insistent against yours, his body pressed against you like he needs you to breathe—

It is.

It is real.

And you want more.

“Harry,” you murmur against his mouth, your fingers tugging at his shirt, nails scraping down his back.

He groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. “Say it again.”

You shiver.

His voice is different now. Lower. Rougher.

More possessive.

You lick your lips, tilting your head, letting your nose brush against his. “Harry.”

It’s all he needs.

He moves fast. One second, you’re standing by the table, and the next, he’s walking you backward, his grip firm but gentle, like he’s guiding you, like he’s making sure you want this.

And you do.

God, you do.

The backs of your legs hit something soft—one of the long velvet couches lining the floor-to-ceiling windows—and then he’s pushing you down, following you without hesitation, his hands bracketing your hips, his body pressing you into the cushions.

His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, kissing, nipping, claiming.

“You have no fucking idea,” he rasps against your skin, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You arch beneath him, your breath stuttering.

“How long I’ve waited for you,” he murmurs, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your dress, fingers dragging over bare skin.

Your nails dig into his back.

This is different.

This isn’t just sex.

This isn’t just fulfilling an arrangement.

This is him showing you what he means.

This is you finally admitting what you want.

“Then show me,” you breathe.

He does.

Harry doesn’t hesitate.

He surges forward, claiming your lips again, this time slower, deeper—like he’s savoring you, like he’s tasting something he knows he’ll never get enough of. His hands tighten on your body, strong fingers splaying against your ribs, dragging up, up, up, until his thumbs are teasing along the sides of your breasts, just enough to make you arch into him.

A low groan rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your skin as he kisses you harder, as his tongue sweeps against yours in a kiss so deep it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

And then he’s moving, lifting you effortlessly from the couch like you weigh nothing, like you belong in his arms. His grip is strong—possessive—one hand on your thigh, the other curled around your back as he carries you across the room.

His lips never leave yours.

His kisses are slow now, teasing, dragging, pulling soft whimpers from your throat that he swallows like they belong to him.

He walks you straight to the bed, laying you down like you’re something precious, something breakable.

But you’re not breakable.

And when he starts to pull away, you don’t let him.

You grip his shirt, fisting the fabric, yanking him back down until he’s hovering over you, his body caging yours in. His breath is heavy, uneven, his eyes blown wide and desperate.

“You want to take your time?” you murmur, fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt, sliding them through the fabric one by one, teasing.

His jaw clenches.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, voice low, rough. “For months.”

Your lips curl.

“So why are you still dressed?”

Something snaps.

Harry growls, yanking his shirt off in one swift motion before his hands are back on you, slipping under your dress, pushing the fabric up, exposing skin he’s been dying to touch.

“You think you’re in charge?” he mutters, mouth against your throat, kissing, nipping, dragging his tongue over the spot that makes you shiver.

A smirk plays at your lips.

“I know I am.”

His fingers tighten on your hips. “Not tonight.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before he’s got you flat on your back, hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head as he stares down at you, chest heaving.

And fuck, he’s beautiful like this.

Eyes dark, lips swollen, hair falling into his face, body hard and tense against yours.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs, voice thick with need, his fingers tracing over the pulse point in your wrist.

“Good,” you whisper back.

His lips crash against yours again, hungrier this time, rougher.

He’s not just kissing you—he’s devouring you.

And you let him.

You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips up, grinding against the hardness pressing between your legs, and he hisses, his grip tightening.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “D’you have any idea what you do to me?”

You smile, slow and teasing, tilting your head, lips brushing against his jaw.

“Show me.”

He does.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, caressing, exploring.

He strips you slow, torturous, dragging the straps of your dress down your shoulders, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, his lips brushing over your collarbone, his hands palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, making you gasp.

“Harry,” you whimper, arching into his touch, nails dragging down his back.

He groans, sucking a mark onto your skin, his tongue flicking over it, soothing, before he starts moving lower.

His mouth trails over your ribs, your stomach, his fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slow, too slow.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the inside of your thigh.

You squirm beneath him, breath hitching. “You.”

His teeth graze your skin. “Be specific.”

You bite your lip, staring down at him, the way he’s kneeling between your legs, eyes dark and hungry, waiting.

You reach down, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly. “I want your mouth.”

A smirk tugs at his lips.

“Good girl.”

And then his mouth is on you.

You gasp, head falling back against the pillows, fingers tightening in his hair as he licks, sucks, devours you like he’s starved.

It’s overwhelming.

It’s too much and not enough all at once.

His tongue moves slow, deliberate, teasing, and when you let out a breathy moan, he groans against you, gripping your thighs, holding you in place as he eats you like he’s trying to ruin you.

Like he’s claiming you.

Your thighs tremble around his head, pleasure building too fast, too strong, and he knows, because he presses his tongue against your clit, flicking, sucking, driving you insane.

“Harry—fuck—”

“Come for me,” he rasps against your skin, voice rough and commanding, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

And you do.

You unravel beneath him, your body arching, pleasure washing over you in waves as you cry out his name, your fingers tight in his hair.

He works you through it, his mouth never leaving you, softening the strokes of his tongue until you’re panting, trembling beneath him.

Then he’s moving, crawling back up your body, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pushes his hips against yours.

He’s hard, straining against his pants, and you reach down, palming him through the fabric, making him groan.

“Your turn,” you murmur, eyes dark, wicked.

His breath hitches.

You flip him over, straddling his hips, pinning his wrists to the bed, watching as his pupils dilate, his breath stuttering.

“You like that?” you tease, rolling your hips against him.

His jaw clenches. “You have no idea.”

You smirk. “Then let me show you.”

And you do.

You roll your hips against him, slow and deliberate, feeling the thick press of him still trapped beneath layers of fabric. His breath shudders, his fingers twitch where you’ve got them pinned, but you don’t let up. You grind down again, watching his jaw clench, the way his body tenses beneath you, all muscle and restraint.

“You like being underneath me?” you tease, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle, feeling the way his abs tense at your touch.

His eyes darken. “Don’t push me, love.”

You lean down, just enough for your lips to ghost over his, barely brushing, teasing, taunting. “Or what?”

His breath hitches. Then he growls.

A low, dangerous sound that sends heat pooling between your thighs.

He bucks his hips, trying to shift the power, but you press down harder, hands splaying over his chest, keeping him pinned.

“Fucking hell,” he grits out, head tipping back against the pillows. “You’re a tease.”

You smirk, rolling your hips again, slower this time. “And you love it.”

His hands flex against the sheets, his muscles straining beneath you like he’s dying to grab you, flip you, take back control. But he doesn’t. He lets you have it—for now.

“That’s it,” you murmur, leaning down, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses over his throat, nipping lightly at his pulse point. “Be good for me.”

He groans, his fingers twitching, desperate to touch.

But you don’t let him.

You grab his wrists again, pressing them firmly into the mattress, locking him in place as you start moving properly, rocking against him, dragging the thick outline of his cock right against your soaked panties.

His breath shudders.

“Jesus fuck,” he rasps, eyes fluttering shut for a second, chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

You roll your hips harder, the friction sending pleasure shooting through you, and when he lets out a strangled moan, you smile.

“Poor baby,” you coo, running your tongue along the shell of his ear. “Does it feel good?”

His jaw clenches so hard you think it might break.

“Y’think you’re in charge, hmm?” His voice is thick, rough, dangerous.

Your lips curl as you grind down again, harder this time. “I know I am.”

Something snaps.

In a blink, Harry moves.

One second, you’re in control—the next, you’re not.

With a low, feral growl, he rips his wrists free, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back so fast your breath catches. Before you can even react, he’s on you, pressing you into the mattress, his body heavy, his hands rough.

“You think you can tease me like that?” he murmurs, eyes dark and dangerous as he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head.

You inhale sharply, shivering at the sudden shift, at the way he’s towering over you, at the raw hunger in his eyes.

“Maybe I wanted you to break,” you whisper, testing, teasing, pushing.

His grip tightens.

“Fucking hell, you’re a brat.”

You smirk. “And you love it.”

His lips crash against yours.

It’s rough, desperate, all tongue and teeth, like he’s punishing you, like he’s claiming you. You moan into his mouth, arching up, pressing your body to his, feeling the hard lines of him against your softness.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down to your thighs, spreading you open beneath him as he grinds against you, letting you feel how much he wants this.

“Fuck,” he groans against your lips, rolling his hips harder, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. “You feel that, baby? Feel what you do to me?”

You whimper, nodding, your head spinning, body thrumming with heat.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, sucking hard at your pulse point, leaving marks. Claiming you.

“Yes,” you breathe, hands clutching at his back, nails digging in. “I feel it.”

“Yeah?” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, dangerous. “You ready to stop playing, then?”

Your breath hitches.

You smirk. “Make me.”

His eyes flash.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, threatening. “You’re gonna regret that.”

His hand suddenly fists in your hair, tilting your head up just enough for his lips to hover over yours, breaths mingling, tension thick and electric.

“As much as I love watching you think you’re in charge,” he murmurs, his voice thick, deep, commanding, “I need to fuck you. Now.”

A shiver racks through you, but before you can respond, he moves.

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, pressing you down into the mattress, his hands everywhere—gripping your hips, running up your sides, ghosting over your ribs like he’s savoring every inch of you.

“My turn,” he breathes, dragging your wrists above your head, holding you still as his mouth finds your shoulder, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your heated skin.

You try to shift beneath him, to gain some control back, but his grip tightens, fingers wrapping around your wrists, pinning you down completely.

“Be good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, lips trailing down your back, teeth grazing over already-sensitive spots.

You whimper, squirming, desperate for more, but he takes his time, teasing, torturing, his touch featherlight as he drags his fingers down the curve of your spine, over the swell of your ass.

“You’re too fucking pretty like this,” he mutters, mostly to himself, squeezing your hips, dragging you back against him so you can feel exactly how hard he is. “Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this.”

Your breath stutters, body burning, every nerve alight with anticipation.

“Harry,” you whimper, rolling your hips back, silently begging. “Please.”

He groans, low and dark, his restraint snapping.

“Yeah?” he taunts, lips ghosting over your ear as he presses his chest to your back. “You ready for me, baby?”

You nod frantically, arching against him, needing, aching—

But he still makes you wait.

Dragging his hand between your thighs, he strokes you with maddening slowness, gathering your wetness on his fingers, groaning at how ready you are.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “Dripping for me already?”

You whimper, nodding. “Harry, please—”

Finally, finally, he aligns himself with you, pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, teasing, waiting—

“Look at me.”

His voice is commanding, leaving no room for argument.

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, your breath catching at the intensity in his eyes—dark, hungry, wild.

He watches you, waiting, holding you there in the moment, making sure you feel it before he gives you what you want.

And then—

He thrusts in.

A strangled moan rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you open, deep and overwhelming.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he buries himself inside you, his grip bruising on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he grits out, his voice rough, ragged, vibrating against your skin. His head falls forward, his forehead resting against the nape of your neck, breath hot and uneven. “You’re so—shit, you’re so tight.”

You arch beneath him, back bowing, body tightening around him in response, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness of him inside you. It’s almost too much, the way he splits you apart, the way he holds you still, like he’s savoring the feeling, savoring you.

Your hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white as you try to ground yourself, try to keep from losing yourself completely.

He must sense it, the way your body trembles, because his grip softens, fingers splaying over your stomach as he kisses your shoulder, slow and tender.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, voice strained but gentle. He noses along your skin, pressing his lips to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

His free hand finds yours, threading his fingers through yours against the mattress, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him before he moves.

And then—

Then he ruins you.

The first thrust is slow, deliberate, pushing deep, making your breath hitch, making your fingers tighten around his.

Then another. And another. Each movement calculated, precise, dragging against every nerve ending inside you, pulling you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips.

His rhythm starts slow, deep—like he’s savoring the feeling of being buried inside you. Like he wants to take his time, to make you feel him, make you remember this.

But it doesn’t last.

The control snaps, his patience evaporating like steam off your overheated skin.

He growls, the sound primal, desperate, as his hands shift—one gripping your hip, the other pressing against the small of your back, keeping you in place as he pounds into you.

The bed shakes beneath you, every thrust sending ripples through your body, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours, lips brushing but never quite kissing, too lost in the moment, too consumed by the way your body wraps around him.

You can barely breathe, barely think, all logic drowned out by the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, wrecking you.

You meet every thrust, grinding back against him, chasing your high, needing, aching—

He notices, because of course he does.

“Yeah?” he pants, voice rough, strained. “You want it, baby? Want me to fuck you like this?”

You nod frantically, gasping, moaning his name, nails digging into his forearm, marking him, branding him.

He growls at the sting, his hand tightening on your hip, holding you still as he drives into you, faster, harder, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the dimly lit room.

And then—

Then he shifts, pulling out just enough before slamming back in at a new angle, hitting deeper, stroking against that one spot that makes you see stars.

You cry out, arching, body tightening around him, pleasure slamming into you like a tidal wave.

His hand moves from your hip to your thigh, gripping, hitching it up, opening you wider, letting him sink in even deeper, making you feel every inch of him.

“That’s it,” he pants, lips brushing against your temple, damp with sweat. “That’s it, baby. Let go for me.”

His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles.

It’s too much. The pressure, the stretch, the overwhelming intensity of it all.

Your body locks up, toes curling, back arching as your orgasm hits, crashing over you in violent, shattering waves.

You tremble beneath him, gasping his name, clenching around him so tight that he lets out a broken moan, his movements stuttering, losing rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck—”

And then he’s gone, head tilting back, mouth falling open as he lets go, spilling into you with a guttural groan, his entire body tensing before he collapses on top of you.

The only sound in the room is your combined panting, heavy and uneven, the sheets tangled beneath you, bodies still pressed together, skin damp with sweat.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, pressing one last, lingering kiss there before he whispers, voice hoarse and spent—

“Mine.”

The word settles between you like a slow-burning flame, flickering, catching, spreading.

His breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling against yours, his weight a comforting anchor rather than something pressing you down. His arms stay locked around you, like he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t plan to.

And for the first time, you don’t want him to.

You don’t move. You can’t move.

His fingers start tracing slow, lazy patterns along your spine, light and absentminded, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

His touch isn’t just post-bliss reflex. It’s deliberate.

It’s different.

And you feel it.

You feel it in the way his body stays molded against yours, in the way his lips linger at your temple instead of pulling away, in the way he wants to stay close—like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

This was supposed to be an arrangement. A job. A transaction.

But the way he’s looking at you now?

It’s anything but.

You shift slightly beneath him, just enough to see his face, to meet those green eyes that are softer than they should be, searching yours, waiting.

And he knows.

Of course, he knows.

Harry’s always been able to read you better than you’d like.

His fingers drift up to your cheek, thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw, his touch gentle—so unfairly gentle for someone who just ruined you minutes ago.

You should get up.

You should remind him of the rules, of the terms, of the fact that this was never supposed to mean anything.

But the words won’t come.

Because the truth is—

You don’t want to leave.

You don’t want to pull away.

And that realization knocks the breath out of you faster than anything else ever could.

Harry’s eyes flicker down to your lips, back up to your eyes, something vulnerable creeping into his expression before he speaks.

"Tell me you feel it too."

His voice is low, careful, but there’s an edge of uncertainty underneath. Like he’s terrified of your answer.

Like he needs it.

You open your mouth, hesitate—because this is the moment. The moment where everything changes. The moment where you either run, or you jump.

And you jump.

You don’t answer him with words. You don’t have to.

Instead, you reach up, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him down.

And you kiss him.

Not because you’re supposed to. Not because it’s part of the act.

But because you want to.

Because you don’t want this to be about the money anymore.

Because it isn’t.

Not anymore.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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