#thank you and thank you for your patience

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (48/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Time to say goodbye.

Warnings: 18+ (fingering, boob sucking, slight anal play, mentions of sex), fluffy fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

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A/N: thank you all for your patience and kind words. I don't know what I'd do without you. I promise I'll be better in the future. I love you. feedback is appreciated.

The first thing you feel is the warm embrace and warm hands brushing through your hair. Still half asleep, you feel the gentle pressure on your head, and Charles slowly and lovingly scratches your scalp as if he wants to wake you up gently. 

Your eyes open just a crack before you decide to close them again and take a deep breath. Charles' chest is against your back, the heat of his skin burning through the shirt you're wearing. His arm is wrapped tightly around your middle and he's lying so close to you, with his head on your pillow and your legs entwined, that you don't know where your body ends and his begins. 

His touch is so familiar, so gentle and reassuring that you would almost fall asleep again if he didn't whisper in your ear.

“Good morning,” he breathes into your shoulder, his lips brushing your naked skin. His hand, which is not running through your hair, slowly slides under your shirt to press you even closer to him. ”How did you sleep, mon amour?”

You take a deep breath and snuggle closer to him. “Not long enough,” you reply in a sleepy voice. Tired, you stretch your head in his direction so that he can continue to massage your scalp. “Have you been awake for long?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Not too long,” he replies, weaving his fingers through your hair. “But long enough to enjoy your company before I have to get up and pack my bags.” He presses his nose against your cheek before gently kissing your temple. 

You smile sleepily. “How about you? How did you sleep?”

Slowly, his hand moves up from your belly, his thumb gently stroking the curve of your breast, while his fingers linger on your ribs. “I dreamt of you,” he answers softly, his lips on your neck. He presses his hips against your ass so you can feel his erection. 

Oh, boy. 

Your pussy throbs as he nibs at the soft skin of your neck. You gasp silently, arching towards him. “And what exactly did you dream?” You reach out and grab his hair to press his face against you. 

His fingers on your ribs spread and move to your bare chest. “You and me. At training camp,” he begins to describe his dream, while his thumb and index finger gently roll your nipple. 

Slightly confused, you turn your head in his direction, your noses nudging each other. “At training camp? Please don't tell me we actually went through your training schedule there.

His green eyes sparkle in the morning light. His hand moves a little further and turns you completely around to face him, his fingers grasp the flesh of your thigh and pull it over his hip so that he can press his hard-on against your barely-clad heat. “Don't worry, mon amour,” he breathes. “We didn't follow my training schedule. But –”

“But what?” You put your hand on his cheek, the stubble pleasantly scratching the palm of your hand. You curl your leg a little tighter around his waist. 

A grin spreads across his beautiful face. “We were still physically active,” he admits, sliding his hand higher up your leg, under the hem of his boxer briefs, which you are wearing. Charles leans forward a bit and kisses the tip of your nose, your cheek, your neck. His teeth brush against your pulse and goosebumps spread across your body. 

Heat rises to your cheeks as his fingers trail over your ass, as if it were the most natural movement in the world. As if you had been a couple for ages. His touch is so familiar that you practically melt away. 

You can't even imagine what the next few days would be like without him. What you're supposed to do here without him, without your roommate. Without your best friend. Without the man you love. 

As his fingers slide between your thighs and he gently brushes his fingertips against your lips before gently rubbing your bundle of nerves, so making you whimper, the alarm on his cell phone goes off. Grumbling and annoyed, he pulls his hand out of your pants before licking his fingers briefly and rolling onto his back. He reaches back to turn off the alarm. Sighing, he grabs you and pulls you onto him. 

Surprised and aroused, you look down at him. “What –”

“I don't want to get up,” he complains, wrapping his arms around your back so that you couldn't get off him even if you wanted to. Which will never be the case in your life. Hell will freeze over before you voluntarily let go of Charles. ”Can't we just lie here and pretend the alarm never went off?”

Your head is on his neck, where you leave feather-light kisses on his warm skin. “That would be nice,” you agree with him and reach out to run your hand through his hair. 

Charles groans softly. “We can pretend, you know? I just don't go to training camp and we both spend the next few days together here, only leaving the bed when we have to, and we don't have to go without each other for a long, miserable time. And then we can go to Kika's New Year's party together instead of only seeing each other there.”

You giggle. “Sounds like a solid plan,” you reply quietly. “But I'm afraid that at some point you gave Andrea a key to this apartment and he would definitely be standing in front of our bed if you weren't standing downstairs on time with your things, dressed and ready to leave.”

His arms tighten around you. “Our bed?” He asks with a grin and raised eyebrows. 

The heat rises to your cheeks again. “Well, you said that you – that we –” You take a deep breath. “You said that we wouldn't sleep apart anymore. And so I thought –”

“I'm only messing with you,“ he smiles and kisses your forehead. ‘This is our bed. In our bedroom. In our apartment," he assures you and lets his fingers slide under your shirt again. Warm fingertips gently press into your spine, eliciting a soft sigh from you. You feel his hard and demanding bulge twitching against your stomach. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.“ You kiss his neck one last time before sitting up. His arms come off you and fall at his side, while your knees press into the mattress next to his hips as you sit up. ”Come on.” You reach for his hand and pull him into a sitting position as well. ”You have to get up.”

Immediately, his arms wrap around your torso again, pressing you against him and positioning you so that your legs can wrap around his hips. You sit straddling his lap and feel his boner against your pussy as his hands roam over your heated body again. 

“I don't want to get up,” he repeats as he leans forward and begins to nibble on your neck. As his lips reach your pulse and he gently sucks on your skin there, you involuntarily rub against him. 

“Charles,” you breathe, hands on his naked shoulders, fingernails digging into his back as he begins rocking you back and forth. ”You have to.”

His fingers grasp the hem of your shirt and without thinking, you raise your arms so that he can pull it over your head. “Says who?” he asks, raising his eyebrow as he throws the garment on the floor. He pulls you close again, fingers sliding into your briefs and kneading your ass as his lips glide hotly across your front. 

Your fingers dig into his hair as his mouth closes around your nipple and he begins to suck. “Oh fuck,” you moan, pressing his face closer to you as you arch towards him. His hands slide deeper into your boxer shorts, digging into your flesh and spreading you a little further for him. “Charles.”

Your best friend lets go of your nipple, but only to suck a hickey into the soft skin next to it. “I know.” As the spot darkens, his mouth slides further and his lips close around your other tit, coaxing another gasp from your lips. His sucks hard, making your head reel and arousal pool in your boxer briefs. 

One of his hands slides lower, fingertips circling your clit before lazily rubbing. You twitch in his hold, your pussy still sensitive from the orgasms he gave you last night, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. You buck your hips into his hand as his fingers close around your nub, toying with it like they did with your nipple a few minutes ago. 

Sparks run through your veins, setting you on fire, burning you to ashes at his touch. 

„My girl“, he moans against your tit, tongue flicking against the bud before sucking again. When you twitch once more, legs trembling slightly, he moves his fingers away from your clit. 

„No, please“, you whine in protest, wanting him closer, wanting more. Wanting him. 

Charles looks up at you, pupils blown and the green almost vanished from his eyes. „Please what? You’re too sensitive, mon amour“, he teases you, fingers sliding further, collecting your juices. When you slightly wince at the overstimulation when he pushes his fingers inside, he kisses your tit, bevore gently biting your neck. „It’s okay. I know what you need.“

He keeps his fingers buried inside you, gently massaging your walls and rubbing against that sweet spot that has you seeing stars, while his other hand catches your slickness thats dribbling out of you. They move up, wedging themselves between your ass cheeks and carefully circling your other hole, wetting it slightly. 

Your brain short-circuits as you realize his intentions. Your head lulls against his shoulder, eyes closed as you huff out hot breaths against his skin. „Charles.“

„Tell me to stop and I will“, he whispers, his clothed erection rubbing against your clit. „I promise.“ 

You weakly shake your head. „Want you“, you whine, moving your hips back slightly against his hand, against his fingers. „Want all of you.“

„You have me“, he promises quietly, almost inaudibly. „You have all of me.“ 

You want to kill somebody when his alarm goes off again. 

With a defeated sigh Charles pulls his hands out of your briefs while you go and grab his phone, turning the alarm off once more. You reluctantly slide off his lap, annoyed that he actually has to get up and ready and pack his bags. 

He looks at you apologetically and kisses your cheek. „I’m sorry, mon amour. Next time“, he smiles slightly before getting up from the bed, sticking his hand in his boxers to squeeze his dick once like it’s normal for you to see that. He then grabs a few things and leaves your shared bedroom while you fall down back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

Since when have you been so open to sex that you don't even mind what almost happened? When you were with Raphael, you didn't even change in front of him – not even after you had been together for a while. And now you're lying here in the bed you share with your best friend, letting him touch you and even reaching out to him when he rubbed your  –

Sighing, you grab a pillow and press it to your face.

How pathetic do you want to be? A virgin who is in love with her best friend, who certainly doesn't feel the same way about you, but with whom you still share a bed and even allow him to touch you?

There's no way you would have let Raphael touch you like that. But Charles isn't Raphael, so you push your thoughts aside.

Being with Charles feels natural, as if you were made to be by his side. It's so easy, even though somewhere inside you still have this queasy feeling that if you let it continue, it won't end well.

But how could it not end well if it feels so good?

“What are you doing?” Charles asks when he returns to the bedroom. He grabs the pillow on your face and puts it aside. He smiles down at you. "You're not trying to suffocate yourself, are you? It's just a few days that you have to get along without me," he jokes, grinning, and takes three steps back as you throw the pillow in his direction.

“You're unbelievable, “ you say and roll your eyes, but you can't suppress your own smile. You watch him pack some sports clothes into a large bag. ”Do you really not have much time to talk to me on the phone?”

Charles, who is folding two T-shirts and putting them neatly in the side of the bag, apparently hears the disappointed tone in your voice, which is why he looks at you and tilts his head to the side. “I know it's not ideal. And I wish it was different,” he begins, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He gently strokes your hair. "I hate leaving you here alone. I hate that my work takes up so much of my free time." He takes a deep breath. ”I hate that you're here waiting for me to come home.”

You take his hand and kiss the back of his hand before interlocking your fingers. The whole thing seems to be weighing on him, which is why you have to be the strong one for both of you at this moment.

You smile at him. “Don't worry. I'll ask Kika if she has time for me over the next few days. After all, I still need a nice dress for New Year's Eve and she sent me a video on Instagram of a shop where you can paint ceramics. And a restaurant where you can have a drink while you're brunching,” you explain. ”I think Pierre is at training too. And then I can help her with the party preparations.”

Your words seem to calm him a little. He presses your hand against his chest. “If you go shopping, take my credit card with you. I don't want you to spend your money when I have so much of it that I don't know what to do with it. You can also go to Maman's. Or Enzo and Charlotte. Or you –” he suggests in quick succession.

You interrupt him. “I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me,” you assure him with a smile. “And in a few days we'll see each other again and then we'll party like there's no tomorrow on New Year's Eve. What do you think?” You waggle your eyebrows a little, which makes him laugh.

He leans down to you so that your noses touch. “What did I do to deserve you?” He asks quietly and kisses your forehead before straightening up and standing up to pack the rest of his things. He squats on the floor in front of the closet, pulling out clothes that he either puts in his bag or puts back on the shelves.

Since you don't want to bother him, you quietly slip out of bed and get ready for the day, before you text Kika and ask if she would like to go dress shopping for her party today, to which she sends you a two-minute voice message telling you which websites she has already scoured and which stores you should both go to so that you definitely find the best dresses for you.

You are sitting at the kitchen counter, all ready and dressed, eating some fruit when Charles joins you. He reaches around you and grabs a piece of apple, which he slides into his mouth without saying a word, before walking around the kitchen island and making himself a cup of coffee.

“When is Andrea coming?“ you ask him, holding out another piece, which he gratefully accepts.

“He should be here any minute now,” he replies, leaning against the worktop in front of you. “By the way, I was serious when I said that you should take my card and buy yourself a nice dress for New Year's Eve.”

You sigh. “Charles, I – you know I don't feel comfortable accepting this.” Hesitantly, you take a bite of your pear.

“That's true, “ he admits and drinks the rest of his coffee before rinsing the cup in the sink. ”But you also know that I like to use my money to buy you nice things. And what better way to start the new year than with a new dress?”

With you. Naked in our bed. On top of me. Inside me. Telling me how much you love me. 

You swallow hard and immediately push the thought aside. “You better be careful, Charlie. If you keep spending so much money on me, people might think you're my sugar daddy,” you joke, but you can't miss the dark flicker in his eyes.

“Don't worry, mon amour,” he smiles, standing next to you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and examining the slight love bite he left on your neck. "You can have my money. I don't need it as long as I have you," he replies quietly and leans down to whisper in your ear. “If you wear a new dress on New Year's Eve but my bank balance hasn't changed by then, we'll spend a lot less time at Kika's party than you'd like,” he warns you. The kiss he gently presses on your temple is soft and loving, in contrast to his tone of voice.

Your breath catches in your throat.

When the doorbell rings, Charles moves away from you. With long strides, he goes to the front door and presses a button so that Andrea can use the elevator. Without saying a word, you follow him into the hallway, where several bags are already waiting to be loaded into a car.

“Good morning,” Andrea greets you both with a smile. He gives you a little kiss on both cheeks before grabbing two bags. "I'm really looking forward to the training camp. This time, I've picked out a few things that are just designed to drive you mad" he grins at the Monegasque, before looking at you. “And don't even think about texting or calling him. Not that your messages would get through somehow, but I think his brain can only focus on one thing at a time and as soon as he thinks of you, I can forget about training.”

“Andrea,” Charles warns his friend sharply, as if he had just revealed one of the biggest secrets in the world.

The trainer laughs. “Don't act like that. I know exactly what's going on here. I'm not blind,” he grins and leans forward to look at you. “Nice hickey, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, turning around and leaving the apartment the way he came in.

And leaving behind two best friends who don't know what to say about it.

Charles is the first to make a sound. He clears his throat. “Um, okay. I have to go, otherwise I'll get in trouble,” he explains and stands in front of you. Hesitantly, he raises his hands and places them on your cheeks to tilt your head back a bit so you can look at him. “I'll miss you.”

You can feel his warm breath on your face, he's that close to you. “I'll miss you too. Send me photos or something when you can. I don't know exactly when you can get on your phone, but when you can – I mean –”

“I promise I'll get in touch with you. Even if it means buying a second cell phone and hiding it from Andrea,” he smiles, stroking your cheekbones with his thumb. ”I don't know how I'll last without you. And especially for several days.”

You shrug helplessly. “I don't know either,” you reply. “But after that, nothing can separate us. Then you won't get rid of me,” you dare to say, your heart beating in your throat. You turn your head and kiss his palm lovingly. “Deal?”

He leans his forehead against yours. ”Deal.”

[luvnoirs]

TWO AM

paring: toxic!paige x fem!reader synopsis: paige gets a late night visit warning(s): porn with plot, angst if you squint, strap usage, just toxic asf tbh word count: 5.8k (got carried away okay)

a/n: luvnoirs ten month writing comeback wooo🤓 this is ib my one edit of paige to the song 2 am by che ecru thanks to ky🤞 also this is barely proofread sawry in advance

p: u up?

what you had with paige couldn’t quite be defined as a friendship—or a relationship. it existed somewhere in the gray, an undefined tension between casual and complicated. but now, after three weeks of seeing your new found boyfriend, cameron, things with paige had come to a halt. before cameron, it was never anything serious with her—just sex. yet when you told paige how things were getting more serious with him, you couldn’t ignore the subtle shift in her behavior.

for one, she started texting you more.

p: you just gon leave me on seen?

nia: stop texting my phone, paige.

her reply was almost immediate.

p: you still replying tho...?

“who are you texting?”

you looked up to see cameron groggily rubbing his eyes, his gaze shifting from you to your phone.

you forgot he was sleeping over tonight.

you forced a calm smile, lying effortlessly. “just azzi. she can’t sleep, so now she’s bothering me.”

he mumbled something incoherent before pulling you closer, slipping back into a deep sleep. you sighed against his chest, silently cursing the situation you’d created for yourself.

cameron wasn’t oblivious to your history with paige. being part of uconn's men’s basketball team, he had front-row seats to the dynamics of your shared social circles. you'd even go as far to say that the two were acquaintances. but the two of you had promised there was no one else in the picture weeks ago, so from his perspective, there was no reason to question that promise at the moment.

still, here you were—responding to the blonde you should have blocked weeks ago. your were definitely strapmatized.

as if on cue, your phone screen lit up with another text from paige.

p: he with you?

nia: yeah, why?

the typing bubbles appeared briefly, then disappeared. for a moment, you thought she might finally give up and leave you alone. but another part of you—the part you didn’t want to acknowledge—yearned to see her again, even if it was just through another message.

tonight was her first night back in storrs. she’d been on the road for away games for about a week now and distance only made everything feel messier. even if it wasn’t about sex, you knew you needed to see her—if only to finally have that conversation about what the hell was going on between the two of you.

you turned off your phone and eased yourself off cameron's chest, resting your head on the pillow instead. his snores grew louder, grating against your patience. just as your eyelids started to fall minutes later, your phone dinged again.

you opened paige's latest message and nearly dropped your phone in shock.

p: come over.

[one attachment]

attached was a picture. you tapped to enlarge it, your pulse quickening as the image filled the screen. paige was sprawled out on her bed, her lights dimmed just enough to set the mood. the photo framed her bare lower abdomen, her toned stomach accentuated by the faint lines of muscle. below that, her boxers sat low on her hips, her right hand resting on the waistband, her thumb teasingly toying with it.

your breath hitched.

she was playing you, and it was working a little too well. your thighs pressed together beneath the sheets as you felt that awfully familiar pressure between your legs. the screen started to dim from inactivity as your widened eyes remained glued to the image. you didn't even need to see her face in the picture to know she had that dumb ass smirk on her face.

and then, a sharp squeeze around your waist reminded you of reality. cameron's arm tightened, pulling you closer in his sleep, grounding you in the present.

quickly, you shut off your phone and threw your head back with a quiet groan, the weight of your decisions pressing on your chest.

paige was relentless and competitive to her core. she was the type who wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted— on and off the court. but this wasn’t about winning, not really. deep down, you knew she was right.

the truth was, you wanted her just as much as she wanted you. maybe more. but admitting that?

no. you couldn’t.

not with cameron lying next to you at least. his presence was a reminder of the stability paige could never offer you. with her busy schedule, she wasn’t ready for a real relationship. you also knew that, in some twisted way, cameron was the stand in for the spot in your life you’d quietly reserved for her.

you turned your head, looking at cameron's peaceful, oblivious face. guilt twisted in your stomach as you carefully slid his arm off you, trying not to disturb him. when his breathing remained steady, you slipped out of bed and into your slippers.

as you passed by the mirror on your way to your closet, you caught sight of yourself: a pink pajama set, loose and comfortable, paired with your bonnet still securely wrapped around your head. you snorted softly at the sight.

you slipped your bonnet off and let your hair fall down your shoulders, too lazy enough to do anything to it besides run your fingers through the loose curls. sliding on your jacket, you pulled your phone back out and typed a quick message to paige.

nia: i'm coming to talk. nothing else paige.

a lie.

p: okay lmaooo

p: i'm on whatever you on ni

nia: and i hope you know im not getting cute for your ass...

her reply came almost immediately.

p: good cause you about to look a mess regardless so it doesn't matter tbh😭😭

seen at 2:03 am.

the walk to paige's dormitory was short. thankfully, you were lucky enough to share the same residential hall as the uconn women's basketball team. by the time you made it to her door, you were already typing away at your phone, letting her know that you've arrived. it wasn't long until you heard footsteps approaching behind the decorated white door before it finally opened to reveal paige just as she was seen in the picture.

her hair was pulled back into a low bun, her usual earring studs noticeably absent. her signature cross necklace hung delicately around her neck, peeking out from the collar of her plain white shirt. she looked annoyingly effortless, as usual.

she studied you for a bit before letting out a quiet laugh once she eyed your fluffy bunny eared slippers.

"don't even start." you muttered, pushing her aside to step in. you knew she shared a dorm with a few of her other teammates so you made your way into her room quickly.

paige followed closely behind you, the soft click of the door shutting and locking breaking the silence.

“you're eager,” she teased lightly, leaning against the doorframe with a casual confidence that made your chest tighten. her hands rested behind her back, and her sharp eyes trailed over you, drinking in every inch. but beneath the teasing tone, she could sense it—the hesitation, the worry clouding your expression.

“relax,” she said, her voice softer now. “everyone's out. jana's hosting a movie night, and i dipped early. no one’s coming back anytime soon.”

a bit of the tension in your shoulders eased at her words, but the frown on your face remained. you couldn’t shake the feeling creeping up your spine. you knew exactly how this night was going to end, and regret was already starting to simmer under the surface, even with paige standing there looking as effortlessly good as she did.

“i shouldn’t even be here,” you muttered, more to yourself than her.

“but you are,” paige shot back with a nonchalant shrug, her lips curling into that trademark smug smile that always managed to get under your skin. “what's wrong? that little boyfriend not doing it for you?”

her tone was sharp enough to cut, her words steeped in both humor and something else—something heavier, more pointed. it made your stomach twist uncomfortably, a mix of irritation and that unexplainable magnetic pull she always had over you.

you sank down onto the edge of her bed, the familiar feel of her purple sheets beneath your fingers grounding you for a moment. she was so... calm about this and it was pissing you off.

“don't talk about my boyfriend,” you snapped, your tone firmer than you intended.

you weren’t heartless. cameron was good to you—kind, thoughtful. and yes, you did like him… but only in a way that felt easy, and far too temporary. the truth, though, was that no amount of warmth from him could compete with the fire paige set in you. and deep down, you knew you hadn’t stayed in bed with cameron tonight because with paige, it was just… different.

as cliche as it sounds, the way she looked at you made you feel seen, like the only girl in the world. being here, on her bed, surrounded by her scent—it should make you feel disgusted with yourself. It should make you feel guilty. but instead, you felt like you belonged here, like you could finally breathe. the weight that pressed down on you when you were with cameron had vanished the moment you stepped into this room.

paige let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head as her eyes remained locked on yours. she pushed off the doorframe, taking her time as she started to reduce the distance between you. her presence was commanding, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet her gaze as she stopped in front of you.

“its a little too late to start acting like the perfect girlfriend, ni,” she murmured, her voice low and steady, but there was an edge to it that sent shivers down your spine. “i didn’t force you to be here. you made that choice all on your own.”

her words hit harder than you wanted to admit, the truth in them cutting through the fog in your mind. you looked away, almost cringing at the weight of it all.

“as if you know shit about being a girlfriend,” you fired back, your voice sharp but not quite as steady as you’d hoped.

“who says i don’t?” paige shot back instantly, matching your energy.

for a second, you almost laughed. paige bueckers in a serious relationship? it sounded absurd. but as you stared at her, waiting for the punchline, her face remained serious, her gaze unwavering. if you squinted hard enough you could even sense some vulnerability behind her eyes.

“p, when have you ever been in a real relationship?” you asked.

paige tensed for a second. “what do you think this is, ni? a game? you think i'm playing with you?”

the way you stayed silent only confirmed your answer.

her voice dropped, and her eyes softened in a way that made your chest tighten. “i haven't." paige said simply as she took a seat next to you. she leaned back against her arms and starred at the ceiling. "i never wanted anyone until we started seeing each other."

you tensed, instinctively turning your head to avoid her gaze. but paige wasn't one to let you slip away so easily. her hand reached out, firm yet gentle, tilting your chin so you had no choice but to meet her eyes.

"I'm serious, ni," she said, her voice soft but unwavering.

and you believed her. paige was always honest, painfully so at times. but it was one of the things you'd always loved about her– how she never sugarcoated her feelings, no matter how raw or inconvenient they were.

she licked her lips before continuing. "i know it sounds bad, but seeing you with him... it made me realize how fucking bad i want you. i wan't to be the one driving you to class, picking you up from work, paying for your expensive ass lululemon and shit..."

a laugh escaped you before you could stop it, your head fall against her chest as your body shook with amusement. "i actually can't stand you."

paige smiled, holding back her own laugh. "for real though. i haven't felt this way about anyone... ever, to be honest. you drive me insane, nia, and i'm not tryna' be just some side piece for you. i want everything– the good, the bad, and the ugly."

'the ugly.'

your laughter faded, and your chest tightened at her words. your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat, and suddenly, the room felt far too small.

your mind wandered, unbidden, to the boy still tangled in your sheets two floors down.

cameron didn't deserve this. he didn't deserve you leaving him in the middle of the night or the way paige could pull you back in with just a few words. but before the guilt could fully settle, paige cut through your thoughts like a blade.

"don't think about him."

you pulled back, scooting away from her defensively. "he's still my friend at the end of the day. i don't want to hurt him."

"and i don't wanna lose you."

the weight of her words hung heavy between you two. you've never seen paige be so vulnerable and real with you and it felt... nice. safe.

you thought back to when you first met her, introduced by azzi as her newest friend from communications class. even then, there was something about paige that drew you in. each greeting that turned into long conversations. the flirty comments that eventually led to sneaky, dirty kisses. every touch, every stroke, every earth shattering orgasm. that connection had only grown stronger over time, weaving itself into the fabric of your life.

but it scared you. it scared you how deep it went, how much power she had over you— and how much you had over her in return.

"don't pretend this doesn't mean something to you." paige lifted her hand up to your face again, rubbing her soft thumb against your cheek. for the first time tonight, the burden of your guilt didn't feel as heavy. you let her pull you in closer, close enough to feel her breath on your lips, to see the exact shade of blue in her eyes. "lemme prove it to you."

one thing bout paige bueckers is that she can prove a point.

you weren't even sure how your lips met so quickly. one second ago you were on the bed with your head in her hand, and the next she's pulling you onto her lap, her lips moving softly but eagerly against yours.

you hummed against her, wrapping your arms around her shoulders to pull her closer, falling back into your old routine. her hands were possessive, gripping the fat on your hips as she moved you ever so slightly against her clothed thigh.

a needy whimper escaped your lips, and you pulled back to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. but paige wasn't done. her lips moved lower, trailing hot, wet kisses down the curve of your jaw and to your neck.

"paige..."

"shh."

without hesitation, she laid you comfortably on your back and situated herself between the instant spread of your legs. her lips found yours again and she slightly bit on your lower lip, grinding her hips down against the thin material between your thighs.

any second thoughts instantly flew out the damn window.

desperately, you deepen the kiss and let your tongue slip through her mouth. your legs wrapped around her waist to pull in her more and your hands found their way underneath her white shirt, her abs flexing against your fingers on each stroke. you swore you could have came right then and there from that alone.

you felt yourself getting lost in her with each passing second. it was like she knew exactly how to unravel you, how to break you down piece by piece until you were entirely hers. every touch, every kiss, every slow grind of her hips against yours sent a new wave of heat coursing through your body.

"fuck, p." you whine breathlessly against her now swollen pink lips. at this point you didn't even know what you were asking for. for more? to stop? you didn't know. you couldn't think straight right now. "i need you..."

paige pulled back, her breaths heavy and uneven, but she had that unmistakable grin on her face—the same cocky, confident grin she had in post game conferences wherever she won a game.

"hm? what happened to all that shit 'bout cameron?"

you groaned her name in annoyance and impatience. if anything, her words would have pissed you off if you weren't so desperate for her lips on you again.

but paige took the hint. her right hand began to skillfully undo each button on your pajama shirt as she dipped her head back down to place a kiss on your lips, then on the corner before leaving a trail down to your navel. after the last button she slowly pulled back your shirt to reveal your bare chest.

she placed a few sloppy kisses on your breast bone before slowly trailing her tongue to your erect nipple.

you moan, your hand immediately found its place in paige's hair, nearly undoing her bun from your tight grip on her roots.

she used her free hand to wrap around your other breast, squeezing it whole before using her index finger and thumb to stimulate your nipple. your hips pressed into her harder, trying to relive the increasing ache that pooled between your thighs. she was touching you everywhere else but where you needed her the most. you were going to lose your mind if paige didn't do anything about it soon.

it's almost as if she read your mind. the blonde stilled your hips, pausing her movements to lift her head. "y'think imma rush this after i had to wait a month just to see you?"

paige's eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with lust, but her blue irises still shone through. her white shirt was disheveled, barely clinging to her frame thanks to your impatient hands, and you could feel the hard ridges of her exposed abs pressing against your throbbing core.

to make matters worse-or better, depending on how you saw it—her silver cross necklace dangled against your chest, cool against your heated skin, a taunting contrast to the fire burning between you.

frustration bubbled up, raw and unfiltered. you let your head fall back onto the pillow, a pout gracing your lips as a desperate whine escaped. every inch of her was driving you insane, and yet, she was holding back.

if paige could see herself the way you did right now, patience wouldn't even cross her mind.

but you could see it, that flicker of hesitation in her gaze, the tiny seed of doubt buried in the back of her mind. she was worried. worried you'd leave. worried you'd go back to him.

gripping her face gently, you forced her to look at you, your tone soft but firm. "i want you, paige. only you. not him."

the moment those words left your lips, something shifted in her. you'd both always known the truth, but saying it out loud felt like tearing down a wall neither of you realized you'd built. paige swallowed hard, her jaw tightening for a moment before she exhaled, the tension melting away.

she shook her head and let it rest on your shoulder, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

"what's so funny?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your body thrumming with anticipation.

paige left a kiss on your shoulder before slowly sliding down your body. her hands found their way between your thighs and spread them wider to make room for her and you nearly cried tears of joy at the long awaited contact. "i'm about to fuckin' ruin you that's what."

paige's fingers moved with practiced ease, sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one smooth motion, taking your panties with them. she tossed the fabric aside, her breath hitching as her eyes roamed over you. for a moment, she was silent, but the low groan that escaped her lips told you everything you needed to know.

"ni..." her voice was rough, laced with disbelief and something darker— frustration, jealousy, maybe even anger. her jaw clenched as her eyes flicked back up to yours, blazing with intensity. "i can't believe you let him see you like this."

a pang of guilt shot through you, but it was quickly overtaken by need. you whimpered, shifting your hips closer to her face, desperate for her touch. "m'sorry... just– please touch me."

you barely registered her murmured response, her voice low and dripping with possessiveness, because the moment her lips latched onto your swollen clit, everything else ceased to exist. god, you could actually cry right now.

she started painfully slow. her tongue hot and flat against your slick folds and she flicked it back and forth rhythmically. her eyes were still glued on to you as you rolled your head to the side with a heavy moan escaping your lips.

"oh, fuuuuck!"

there wasn't a pause or stutter in paige's movements. if anything you could feel her gradually starting to pick up her speed and you desperately reached to death grip the sheets beneath you to gain back a sense of reality.

paige pulled back quickly, her mouth already glistening from your juices. she grabbed both your hands and placed them on your thighs, folding them towards you until the backs touched your chest. "hold em open for me, ma."

you barely had time to comprehend before her mouth was back on you, drawing out a long cry from your mouth.

you felt so exposed, but you knew paige wanted you exactly like this—completely and utterly raw. the sounds coming from your mouth only encouraged her more. she had her tongue latched back onto your clit and applied pressure as she sucked. one hand laid flat against your stomach and pressed down slightly while the two fingers of her other hand pushed inside you, stretching you so deliciously slow that you almost forgot how to breathe.

"so fuckin' beautiful." paige mumbles against you. the vibration from her voice sending literal chills up your spine and you arch your back off the bed. "doin' so good for me."

the wet, obscene sounds of her fingers inside you echoed throughout the room, your arousal dripping down onto the sheets with each precise curl and scissor of her hand.

"fuck, paige. i can't-" your voice cracked, the words barely coherent as your head fell back against the pillow. every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, overwhelmed by the relentless heat building low in your belly.

"yes, you can," she murmured, her voice rough but steady, grounding you as much as it unraveled you. she never faltered, her fingers maintaining their perfect rhythm, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. "come on, baby."

she pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her fingers still deep inside you, stroking that spot that made your vision blur. in one swift motion, she gathered her spit, mixed in with your slick and leaned forward letting it fall directly onto your clit. the deliberate drag of her thumb against the sensitive bud made you cry out. "shit... look at this pretty pussy. all for me, hm?"

you nodded frantically, feeling yourself start to become undone around her squelching fingers. your eyes locked onto hers, dark and heavy. "m' gonna cum. ohhhh— don't stop."

"there you go... let it go, pretty." paige kept the same quick pace of her fingers but replaced her thumb with her mouth, kissing your clit as if it were your mouth and moaning in content. her moans reverberated against your clit, sending shockwaves through your already trembling body.

your suddenly body tensed up as you felt a warm heat of pleasure wash over your entire body. your thighs quivered uncontrollably and your back arched off the bed but paige's strong grip kept you steady. your eyes were squeezed shut so tight that you swore you probably saw god himself, paige's name falling from your lips over and over again in broken, breathless chants as she fucked you through your orgasm.

she didn't stop—not until she'd wrung every last tremor from you. her fingers slowed their pace gradually, her lips placing soft kisses against your oversensitive clit as you rode out your high. finally, she eased her fingers from inside you, leaving you breathless and utterly wrecked.

a soft hum of satisfaction left her lips as she brought her fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean with deliberate slowness, her darkened gaze never leaving yours.

god, you hated her.

you haven't came like fast in weeks. you didn't even want to tell her that cameron had never made you cum either. she'd have a fucking field day.

you laid there– curls falling messily on paige's pillow– completely spent, one arm limp at your side while the other laid across your forehead. your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath while thighs still trembled slightly, and the only thing keeping them spread apart was her hand resting possessively on your knee.

"you good?"

you let out a shaky breath. "yeah."

"good." paige smiled and patted your inner thigh before pushing herself off the bed and finally taking off her shirt to reveal a black nike sports bra.

you were sure you couldn't like her anymore than you already did but, shit, were you wrong. you knew she'd been in gym more frequently especially since her injury two seasons ago, but you never seen the outcome of all her hard work until now. she was so stunning.

she continued to undress herself in front of you, her gaze never leaving yours. it wasn't long before she reached for bedside drawer and pulled out the familiar toy that she loved using on you.

you knew it wasn't true, but you couldn't help but make a joke. "you been using that on other bitches?"

paige adjusted the harness on her so that it sat comfortably, thankfully sensing the humor behind your words and letting out a laugh. "don't fucking play with me."

you reached out, your fingers curling against her wrist as you her down to meet her lips with a kiss. you could feel the weight of the strap resting against your thigh and you moaned against her lips.

"now you're eager for real." paige chuckled softly, pulling back a bit to get a good look at your face.

"i missed you."

something softened behind paige's eyes at your words but they were still dark and possessive. "yeah?"

"mmhm." you hummed against her jaw, leaving soft kisses along the sharp line of it. your hand slid between your bodies, fingers curling around the strap as you guided the tip to your slick folds, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing her. paige's eyes dropped immediately, her breath hitching at the sight.

"shit, nia... you're killing me." her voice was low and strained, a sound caught somewhere between a moan and a growl.

you tilted your head back, pushing the tip inside with a shaky sigh, your legs instinctively wrapping around her hips to pull her closer.

"fuck me." you whispered, your voice full of need, practically begging.

paige didn't need to be told twice. with no hesitation, she rolled her hips forward, pushing herself deeper into you. you gasped at the stretch, your nails instinctively digging into her arms as your body adjusted. her gaze stayed locked on you, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face— the way your head tilted to the side, lips parted, curls falling over your cheeks like a halo.

she pushed in all the way, her hips meeting the backs of your trembling thighs and paused there for a moment, letting you catch your breath.

"look at me, baby." paige murmured, brushing her lips against yours. "lemme see you."

and as her hips began to move in slow but sharp strokes, your head turned and fell against the soft pillow. your eyes struggling to stay open as you felt her stretch you open so deliberately.

paige didn't need your verbal confirmation, though. the way your thighs instinctively widened to take her deeper, the way your lips parted with soft cries of pleasure, and the way your fingers clutched at her back spoke louder than words ever could. every movement, every reaction from you was proof enough.

but just as you felt yourself settling into the rhythm, paige shifted. in one swift motion, she had you straddling her lap, her hands firm on your waist as she guided you into the new position. the sudden change sent her deeper, and you groaned, your head falling forward as your hair cascaded around her face like a veil. the slick sound of your arousal filled the room as your hips settled over her, her strap drenched from your pleasure.

you gripped her shoulders tightly, your nails digging into her skin, trying to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensations. she gripped your hips, her fingers pressing into the flesh with possessive intent.

"show me how good he wasn't making you feel." she challenged. her voice was low and deep with a hint of command that made your stomach twist in the best way.

your only response was a desperate moan as you mustered the strength to lift your hips, sliding up just enough before sinking back down onto her. the stretch was delicious, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. you repeated the motion, grinding against her with a newfound determination, chasing a high that you knew only she could provide.

"there you go, just like that." she rasped, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she spoke, sending a chill down your spine. her hands roamed over your backside all the way down to your ass before giving it a quick smack.

"ah, fuck!" you only rode her harder, whimpering in the crook of her neck. the room felt like it was spinning as euphoria washed over you. everything was hot– the air, her skin, her breath as she continued talking in your ear– you didn't know how long you were going to last but you knew it wouldn't be long.

paige could feel your climax creeping closer with every stuttered breath and trembling movement. your hips moved frantically against her, desperate for release, but the rhythm had turned messy, your body teetering on the edge. without hesitation, paige's hands slid beneath you, gripping the curve of your ass and effortlessly lifting you as her hips snapped forward to meet yours. her thrusts were sharp, precise, and perfectly angled to hit that spot over and over again.

"paige!" you cried, your voice high and broken as the intensity overwhelmed you.

she didn't slow down. not even as your second orgasm tore through you, harder and more intense than the first. the way you called her name, the way your body clung to her, only fueled her further.

somehow, you found yourself on your knees, your body pliant and exhausted yet still eager to take whatever paige gave you.

She moved you as she pleased, flipping you onto your stomach before pulling your hips upward. your head fell limply onto the pillow, your curls sticking to your damp forehead as you tried to catch your breath.

giving you no time to even think, her hands gripped your waist, arching your back further as she slid into you from behind.

it was like something ignited in her—a competitive streak, fierce and relentless, as if she were on the court in overtime with everything on the line. her pace quickened, each thrust deliberate and unyielding, her grip on you tight enough to leave marks.

"so, you were just letting him hit it like this?" paige's voice was teasing, laced with smug disbelief as her fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass, pulling you back to meet her every thrust.

you tried to respond, but all that left your lips was a garbled moan, your body jolting with every snap of her hips. she chuckled lowly, confidence practically oozing out of her as she leaned forward, her chest brushing against your back while her teeth grazed your ear.

"that's what i thought."

you looked a fucking mess— exactly how she knew you'd look— your curls disheveled and slightly tangled, tears slipping down your face, your skin hot and sweaty. her thrusts were faster in contrast to how she first started, sending you down a spiral of pure bliss that felt otherworldly.

you weren't even sure your limbs worked anymore. every single nerve in your body was solely focused and working overtime between your legs. yet instinctively, you reached back and pushed back at her hips as you moved forward, away from her movements.

but paige was quick to grab a handful of your curls and pull you upwards, your back meeting her front. she wrapped her other arm around your stomach, trapping you against her.

"where you going, hm?"

"c-can't..." you could barely speak, only mumbling incoherent, one-word sentences.

paige wasn't letting up. the soft moans falling from her lips right next to your ear only made your walls clench tighter around her, and you felt a flicker of pride knowing you had the same effect on her that she did on you. she groaned, her voice rough and needy as her hand slid up to your jaw, gripping it firmly and turning your head to meet hers. her lips found yours in a messy, desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue, while her other hand moved south.

her thumb brushed over your clit, rubbing quick, relentless circles, and you practically sobbed against her mouth. your body was beyond control now, every muscle tightening as that familiar pressure built in your core, spiraling rapidly out of control. paige's grip on you tightened, keeping you upright even as your legs buckled beneath you.

and then it hit for the third time.

your release crashed through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and shaking as a gush of your climax spilled onto both of your thighs and the already soaked sheets. paige let out a guttural groan, her teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder as her own climax followed right behind yours. her hips slowed, fucking you right through your high.

"damn..." paige finally breathed as she stilled inside you, her chest heaving against your back. she didn't let go of you yet, keeping you steady in her arms as your body trembled uncontrollably.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was both of your ragged breaths. paige's lips brushed against the back of your neck, planting lazy kisses there as her arms stayed wrapped around you.

she let you down gently, letting you finally catch your breath. her hands found your hips, mindlessly smoothing the skin she was previously gripping.

"you okay?"

you could only groan in response, your head buried into the pillow as you avoided her smug gaze. but the small smile forming on your lips gave you away and paige laughed softly.

[tfwbluu]

・ SESSION #1 ・

pairing heeseung + sunghoon & f!reader 2191 words warnings mean!dom!hee & soft!dom!hoon threesome raw sex (stay safe!) oral (f & m rec.) double penetration (mouth & hole) degradation/praise fingering squirting cum eating(?) edging/overstimulation mirrors pwp

To make a reservation, please contact this number: 11_ 30_

Receiving the keycard, you muttered a quiet “thank you” before heading toward the room. The sound of your footsteps filled the hallway until you reached the door. After scanning the keycard, you heard the soft click of the lock. Gently pushing the door open, you stepped inside and were immediately enveloped by a moody, intimate atmosphere.

The dimly lit room enveloped you in, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air as your eyes adjusted to your surroundings. It wasn’t just the lavish furniture or the provocative decor that made your face flush—it was the tension that seemed to thrum in the air.

“My, not only are you late, but you didn’t even notice us,” a low, teasing voice called out behind you. A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, making you flinch in surprise.

“Let her be,” another voice chimed in, smoother and more relaxed. “We have a fifteen-minute late policy, and she’s here at the ten-minute mark.” Finally turning your head, you were met with Sunghoon’s sharp gaze and charming smirk.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” He moved to stand in front of you, his presence magnetic, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

Both men were barely dressed, wearing nothing but loose robes that hung lazily off their shoulders, revealing glimpses of their toned, sculpted stomachs. The slight gap in the fabric left just enough to ignite your imagination, making it impossible not to wonder what lay hidden beneath. Their casual yet careful display of skin made your pulse quicken, the room suddenly feeling warmer.

“We’re pleased to be at your service,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, making your breath hitch. “You should be more careful. Any later, and we might’ve pounced on you.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled shyly, feeling your cheeks burn. “I just got so caught up with work… It's tiring.” Your hands instinctively found their way into his hair, letting him continue to trail kisses along your neck.

“Hmm? That still doesn’t excuse such tardiness,” Heeseung teased from behind, his warm breath ghosting over your ear.

“Oh, shush. Give her a break—she looks exhausted,” Sunghoon countered, shooting him a pointed glance. “Isn’t that why we're here?”

“Hmph, my patience is wearing thin. Get over with it,” Heeseung demanded, his grip on you tightening.

“Don’t mind him, angel. May I?” Sunghoon whispered, his fingers already hovering over the buttons of your blouse, waiting for your permission.

You nodded softly, and with deft fingers, he began unbuttoning your blouse, revealing more of your skin to their hungry gazes. Sunghoon hummed in approval, his lips traveling down to your shoulders as Heeseung unclasped your bra with practiced ease, tossing it to the corner without a care.

“So pretty…” Sunghoon murmured, his voice low and reverent as his hands skimmed over your now-bare skin. “We’re going to have so much fun devouring you.” He tugged you gently into a kiss, his lips firm yet soft, leaving you dizzy.

“Mhm… p-please,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as their touch ignited a fire within you.

“Please what, angel?” Heeseung teased, his hands now fondling your sensitive nipples, rolling them between his fingers. “Use your words.”

“Please… fuck me,” you whined, your grip tightening on Sunghoon’s shoulders as desperation leaked into your voice.

“Say less, princess,” Sunghoon replied with a sly grin before scooping you up effortlessly into his arms, carrying you to the bed.

Sunghoon’s lips found yours the moment your back met the soft, plush sheets. His hands moved with practiced ease, skillfully unfastening your pants and slipping them off, leaving you in just your panties.

You let out a quiet, breathy moan against his lips, your body already reacting to his touch. The warmth of his hands, the way he kissed you—slow and deep—left you breathless. You felt the bed dip as Heeseung moved closer, breaking Sunghoon’s kiss with a commanding presence.

“Hoon, sit her on your lap,” Heeseung instructed, his tone low but firm. Sunghoon obeyed, pulling you onto his lap so your back was pressed snugly against his chest.

“Now,” Heeseung murmured, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, “how about we teach you a lesson for being late?” His words sent a shiver through you as he leaned down, trailing soft kisses down your stomach until he reached the waistband of your panties. Without hesitation, he bit down on the fabric, tugging it down with his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Tsk, you’re already dripping,” Heeseung mocked, his hands spreading your legs apart, which Sunghoon eagerly held in place. His fingers hovered over your soaked folds, teasing you with featherlight touches that left you trembling.

“Hah… Please…” you whimpered, your voice desperate, a pout forming on your lips. “Need you so bad.”

“Mhm. Since you’re asking so nicely,” Heeseung mused, finally letting his fingers dip into your arousal, spreading it around before slowly pushing one, then two fingers into you.

“Fuck, yes—yes, right there,” you cried out, your head falling back against Sunghoon’s shoulder as Heeseung’s fingers curled inside you, hitting every perfect spot.

“Such a slutty little cunt,” Heeseung taunted, spitting on your pussy before moving his fingers faster, his thumb gently flicking over your clit. The sensation was overwhelming, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his touch.

Your fingers clutched the sheets desperately, grasping for something—anything—as waves of sensation coursed through you. Sunghoon tilted your face toward him, his grip firm yet gentle, before capturing your lips in a heated, all-consuming kiss. He swallowed every desperate moan that spilled from you, deepening the connection, leaving you breathless and wanting more. His hands roamed your body, grounding you as Heeseung focused on driving you to the brink.

“P-please, I’m so close…” you mewled, your thighs trembling as the knot in your stomach tightened. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, Heeseung abruptly pulled his fingers away, leaving you shaking and desperate for release.

“No, no! P-please…!” you whined, your body quivering with frustration.

Heeseung tapped your swollen clit, smirking at your reaction. “Because you kept us waiting. Now you’ll learn how long 10 minutes can really feel,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery as he plunged his fingers back into you.

“Shh, I got you, angel,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice soft yet commanding as he pressed soothing kisses along your neck. “You’ve been such a good girl for us... you can take it.”

“F-Fuck! Please… haa… ‘m sorry…!” you whined, squirming in Sunghoon’s arms. His hold was firm yet comforting, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured sweet reassurances. But he made no move to stop Heeseung—only keeping you steady, letting him take his time with you.

Your moans spilled freely as Heeseung’s fingers moved with relentless precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, only to pull back at the last second, leaving you trembling in frustration. His touch was deliberate, every movement calculated to keep you wanting more. The contrast between his torment and Sunghoon’s gentle whispers sent shivers down your spine—one keeping you grounded, the other driving you mad with need.

“Shh… You’re doing so well,” Sunghoon murmured, though his hands betrayed his words, brushing against your sensitive bud before retreating, adding to your frustration.

The vicious cycle continued, each ruined orgasm leaving your body trembling, your sensitivity heightened with every denial. By the nine-minute mark, your resolve crumbled. With a loud, unrestrained cry, your body gave out, squirting around Heeseung’s fingers as your arousal coated his hand. You trembled uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the release you hadn’t been allowed to have.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened as he pulled his fingers away, gripping your jaw firmly to make you meet his gaze. “Did I say you could cum?” he asked, his tone sharp, though there was an undeniable smirk playing on his lips.

“I d-didn't mean to... ngh... ‘m sorry...” you whimpered, tears pooling in your eyes from the overstimulation.

Sunghoon pulled you closer to his chest, his hands gently stroking your trembling thighs, his voice soft and soothing. “Shh, it’s okay, angel,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. He turned his gaze to Heeseung. “Hyung, it’s almost been 10 minutes. I think she’s learned her lesson.”

Heeseung exhaled sharply, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he looked at your tear-streaked face. “Fine,” he muttered, releasing your jaw but not without brushing his thumb against your bottom lip.

Your body sank deeper into the bed as Sunghoon whispered, “You did good, angel. Next time, don’t keep us waiting.” He exchanged a look with Heeseung before they repositioned you. With ease, they placed you onto your back, sliding you sideways on the bed, leaving your head dangling slightly over the edge.

The mirror above reflected every inch of your vulnerability—your flushed face, trembling body, and the marks they had left behind. It only heightened the arousal pooling in your core.

Sunghoon leaned in between your legs, his breath fanning against your sensitive heat. “Such a pretty pussy,” he murmured before pressing a soft kiss to your clit, his lips wrapping around the sensitive bud. The gentle suction had your hips bucking involuntarily toward his face, your hands clenching the sheets as pleasure coursed through you.

Heeseung, standing beside the bed, tilted your chin back so your tear-filled eyes met his upside-down. “Be a good girl for us, hmm?” he coaxed, tapping the swollen tip of his cock against your parted lips.

Eager to please, you opened your mouth, and Heeseung wasted no time, pushing himself in until your lips wrapped snugly around him. “Ha… that’s it,” he groaned, gripping your neck lightly as he pushed deeper, your throat tightening around him. You gagged slightly at the intrusion, tears brimming in your eyes, but you welcomed him completely, letting him set the pace.

The moan that escaped you as Sunghoon licked and sucked at your clit sent vibrations up Heeseung’s length, drawing a guttural sound from him. Sunghoon paused to chuckle, pulling away from your soaked folds, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Pretty girl taking it so good, I feel left out,” he teased.

Without waiting for an answer, Sunghoon adjusted your legs, holding them firmly in his grip as he positioned himself. You barely had time to process the stretch as his cock pressed against your entrance, sliding in inch by inch. “Fuck, so tight,” Sunghoon groaned, watching your expression twist with pleasure as he filled you completely.

The moment he bottomed out, your muffled moan against Heeseung’s length sent a shiver down both their spines. Sunghoon began to thrust slowly, each movement causing you to arch into him, your body trembling under their control. “Look at you drooling all over, such a pretty little cockslut for us” Heeseung murmured, running his hand along your jaw before continuing to move in and out of your mouth, savoring every sound you made.

You could only hum in response, your body pliant as they took full control, drawing pleasure from every inch of you. It didn’t take long before the familiar knot began to tighten in your stomach, your body trembling as the overwhelming sensations pushed you closer to the edge.

“Oh? Are you close, pretty?” Sunghoon teased, his voice low and dripping with lust. His hand trailed down to toy with your sensitive clit while his hips snapped harder against yours, the sound of your wetness echoing through the room.

“Seems like it. She’s tensing all over,” Heeseung added, his hands roaming over your chest, pinching your hardened nipples as your muffled whines vibrated around him. “Cum for us, baby.”

With those words, the knot inside you snapped, your release gushing out in waves, soaking Sunghoon as he let out a deep groan. Your cries, muffled by Heeseung, only fueled them further. Moments later, both men followed, releasing warm spurts deep inside you, filling both ends with their heat.

But even as sensitivity rippled through your overstimulated body, Sunghoon didn’t let up, his hips continuing to pound into you relentlessly. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock as he thrust into you, your body twitching with every movement.

Heeseung finally pulled out of your mouth, allowing your broken sobs and incoherent babbles to escape. “T-too much…! P-please, ngh… fuck!” you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks as you clutched at the sheets beneath you.

“You can take it, angel,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice dark yet soothing as he gripped your thighs tighter, driving himself impossibly deeper.

“Hmm, we know you want it anyway,” Heeseung teased, leaning down to kiss your lips softly, almost mockingly sweet, as though his gentle affection didn’t contrast the relentless way they were working your body to its limits.

And so, they continued, their movements unrelenting as they pushed you further and further, making your head spin and stars dance in your vision.

.

.

.

You had long lost track of how many times you came, your body trembling under their touch. They didn’t stop until you were completely spent, leaving you breathless and utterly satisfied.

author’s note first fic for the event <3 i don’t know if i wrote the hee being mean well but i tried my best . . . also tried to keep it at 2K wc for my own sanity. but either way this is more or less what you guys will receive for when u send in a request for the event ! so far u can see the little sneakpeak of everything on the event archive—also to check the taken slots~ be sure to drop by >///<

taglist @kikidoul @rikiives @contyynishimura @ziiao @lilmarsh-t @bxcndd @laylasbunbunny @d-dilemma

[consistantly-changing]

[Image description: a popup notification from tiktok which says "Welcome back!

Thanks for your patience and support. As a result of President Trump's efforts, TikTok is back in the U.S.!

You can continue to create, share, and discover all the things you love on TikTok."]

It was all a fucking sham. Someone here called it: they'd be "down" a shortwhile, then Trump (the same Trump who started the whole idea to ban it in the first place) would "come in and save TT". Watch the only mass social media in the us not property of an American company get bought out anyways, and Trump to go in history not as a censor, but as a "saviour of tik tok"

[trashytracktales]

Okay i don’t know if you’re still receiving requests so 😭 but i absolutely ADORED inked and it actually inspired me for a request and you’re literally the only one who could give it justice. hopefully😔

so imagine reader not being able to cum for the past few times they had sex, maybe because she was stressed for work/exams/adult life and she hasn’t told lando because she feels bad for it and she doesn’t think it’s his fault. so when he finds out there’s a lil discussion and he PROMISE he SWEARS he will make it his mission on earth to help her to get out of her head and relax and enjoy herself and what they’re doing and he’s like WHATEVER IT TAKES you will orgasm again i promise, even if it takes all night!!

so he’s a man on a mission and when he succeeds they have their best sex ever and she’s having the best orgasm of her life! fireworks !!!!! 🥹🥹

The finish line | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── So… ✌🏻😗 I usually go with the flow when I’m writing, and for this one, it felt right to leave it at THAT (you’ll see). Don’t worry, there are fireworks and Lando achieved his goal. However, I felt it in my bones to keep this one leaning more on the emotional side, because sometimes, less is more. Enjoy!!

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⤿ PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOTS: Inked, Winning hand, Seasons change.

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. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── While Lando is sound asleep after a passionate night together, she wakes up restless and frustrated, unable to ignore the weight of her own insecurities.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── explicit

. ݁₊ ⊹ category ──── F/M

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, mentions of sexual frustration and insecurity, emotional vulnerability such as crying and self-doubt, masturbation, obsessive behavior, fingering, swearing, use of praise and mild dominance, begging & desperation, overstimulation.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 4.5k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Jan. 29, 2025

. ݁₊ ⊹ a/n ──── I know I sound like a broken record, but I don’t want you guys to think that I’m lying. THIS is the current state of my inbox:

Just know that I am trying, but at the end of the day, I’m literally just a girl 🎀 If I didn’t post your request yet, thank you for your patience, I’ll eventually (hopefully) get to it.

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE BEDSHEETS ARE rumpled, and there is a faint scent of sweat and sex that lingers in the air. Lando sleeps peacefully on his stomach, his arm draped lazily over her waist. His soft snores are the only sound that animate the room, but inside her head, her thoughts are louder.

It’s late, and she should be exhausted; well, she is, but mostly on a mental level. Her body feels heavy and restless, the glow of their earlier intimacy only temporarily satisfying a more deeper need that refuses to fade, no matter what she does. Her skin feels hot, especially where he touches her, and her mind races with thoughts she can’t control.

At this point, it’s been too long.

She shifts in different positions, and when it gets too much, quietly, she slips out of the bed, careful not to wake Lando, and pads her way to the bathroom. The cool tiles under her feet send a shiver down her spine as she closes the door behind her with a mellow click.

She splashes cold water on her face, hoping that she’ll wash away every little doubt that way. The shock of it is prickling her skin, but it does little to cool the constant heat simmering beneath the surface. Involuntarily, her thighs press together in a failed attempt to soothe the ache that refuses to dissipate.

Small droplets of water slide down her cheeks as she raises her head, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her lips are parted, her breathing uneven, and her eyes betray the storm churning inside her. It’s become an obsessive ritual, one she can’t seem to give up until she gets all the answers. The shame coils tight in her stomach, a mix of desperation and anger at herself.

Why couldn’t she just let it go?

Why couldn’t she figure out what was wrong?

Her reflection doesn’t offer any of those answers — only a silent, maddening reminder of how close she always gets before it slips away, like sand through her fingers.

She lets out a frustrated exhale, while grabbing a towel from the rack with trembling hands, shaking it out before folding it in half and laying it on the floor. Carefully, she lowers herself onto it, her back pressing against the cold porcelain of the bathtub. The chill bites at her skin, but it keeps her guarded. She pulls her knees up slightly, legs spreading just enough to give her the space she needs, the vulnerability of the position making her heart race. Her fingers tremble as they trace the edge of the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing, closing her eyes to gather the remaining pieces of her patience.

The bathroom is tenderly lit by a single lamp above the mirror, casting a silver glow on her flushed face and the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin.

Weakly, she starts circling her fingers with increasing desperation, her slick heat betraying the arousal that never seems to reach its peak. Her breaths grow shallow, her movements frantic, but no matter how hard she tries, the pleasure stalls, hovering just out of reach. Irritation claws at her chest as her thighs tremble, the pressure building only to evaporate moments later, like a cruel joke.

Tears blur her vision as she slows, finally giving up, her head falling back. A sob escapes her lips, her mind spiraling into dark thoughts, and she pulls the towel tighter around her as if it can shield her from her own failure.

Back in their the bedroom, Lando stirs. His hand instinctively reaches out to her side of the bed, but the cool, empty sheets pull him out of his catatonic state. Half-asleep, his head lifts as he scans the room, his hair mussed and eyes hazy; it’s the faint, muffled sound that wakes him up completely. A muted cry, that he’s easily able to recognize.

His heart lurches, and he’s on his feet instantly, tugging on a pair of boxers. He follows the sound to the bathroom door, pressing his ear to it. The cries are clearer now, but they’re not purely sad — they’re mixed with hushed panting.

His brows knit together, and without thinking, Lando knocks. “Everything okay, love?” his voice is thick with sleep and worry.

She doesn’t answer.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Lando insists, tightening his grip on the doorknob.

Inside, she’s too caught up in her own world to hear anything else. Her hands finally drop to her sides as she lets out another defeated sob, the tears spilling freely on her cheeks. She feels raw and vulnerable, unable to understand why her body is betraying her like this.

Sounding more concerned now, Lando knocks harder this time. “Babe, I’m coming in, alright?”

The door creaks as he steps inside, and the sight before him makes him stop in his tracks. She’s sitting there, legs spread, flushed and teary-eyed, her chest rising and falling in erratic breaths. His mind takes a second to catch up to what’s happening, his gaze flickering from her damp cheeks to the towel beneath her and then finally to the source of her breakdown.

Her eyes widen when she realizes she’s not alone anymore, and she quickly moves to close her legs, her face burning with embarrassment.

“Lando—” she begins, but her voice dies in her throat.

He’s frozen for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, but then he steps closer, crouching down in front of her. His hands reach for hers, gently prying them away from where she’s trying to cover herself.

“Don’t do that,” says Lando in a tender voice. “What’s going on, babe? Talk to me.”

She looks away, the shame too much to bear. “I don’t know,” she stammers, her voice a small whisper. “I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” he prompts gently, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.

She lets out a shaky exhale, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve been trying so hard, but I just—I can’t finish,” she admits finally, her voice breaking.

Lando’s expression softens, and he cups her face, tilting it up to meet his eyes. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, his voice low but laced with concern.

She laughs dryly, “And say what? It’s fine, Lando. I didn’t want to bother you,” she replies, sniffling. “You were sleeping so peacefully, and I thought I could just handle it myself.”

His lips quirk into a tiny, understanding smile. “Baby, you’re never a bother to me,” he murmurs, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “You know that, right?”

She nods weakly, her lips trembling as fresh tears threaten to spill. Lando doesn’t hesitate, sitting down beside her on the bathroom floor, the cool tiles pressing against his bare legs.

His hand moves tentatively to her knee, but he stops just short, his eyes searching hers. “Can I touch you?” he asks patiently.

Her nod is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough for him. He places his hand on her knee, his thumb tracing soothing circles over her skin. He’s quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to approach the situation, but his concern outweighs his uncertainty.

“Come on, baby. It’s just us,” he says, his tone earnest. “What’s really been bothering you?”

She hesitates, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her — his — old t-shirt. The weight of the truth feels too heavy, but his steady presence makes it easier to breathe.

Finally, she exhales shakily and confesses, “I… I haven’t had an orgasm in three weeks.”

Her words hang in the air, and Lando blinks, his brows furrowing in concern. “Three weeks?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows in surprise, as if he’s trying to wrap his head around it.

She nods again, her eyes fixed on the floor. “Look. It’s not you, Lando. I love being with you, and I love the way you make me feel,” she pauses, her voice trembling, and the tears come again, “I think something’s wrong with me. I’m so—I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Her shoulders shake as she cries, and Lando’s heart breaks, seeing her in such distress. He shifts closer, wrapping his arms around her gently, his hand resting on the back of her head.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” he says in a soothing tone. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I promise.”

“You don’t know, Lan,” she sobs into his chest, her hands clutching his bicep. “I... don’t know what else could be wrong. I just. I feel broken. Every time we’ve been together these past few weeks, I’ve tried so hard,” she trails off, the weight of her words crushing her.

Lando feels something dark coiling in his chest as the realization settles like a heavy weight in his gut. Weeks. She’s been suffering in silence for weeks, lying beneath him, taking everything he gave her, and still unable to let go. His fingers twitch with the need to fix it, to wipe away every trace of frustration she’s felt, to drag her into a pleasure so deep she forgets this ever happened. But on the outside, Lando stays calm; he can’t let his frustration show, because this isn’t about him. This is about her. And he’s going to make damn sure she never has to feel like this again.

But… how could he have been so clueless?

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asks in a weak tone, pulling back just enough to look at her.

“I didn’t want to ruin things for you,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “You’ve been so busy lately, and I didn’t want to add to your stress. But it’s not your fault,” she reassures him. “It’s not. It’s me, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Her words cut through him, and he shakes his head, his hand cupping her cheek. “Stop saying that, you’re not doing anything wrong,” says Lando firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “God. Whatever this is, it’s not on you, okay?”

She sniffles, her lip trembling as she looks up at him. “But it feels like it is. Like my body’s just failing me all of a sudden.”

Lando’s jaw flexes, and he feels a sudden pang of anger — not at her, but at himself for not paying enough attention. For being so blind.

“I’m sorry I was so busy and distracted. I should’ve known something was off,” he sighs, voice filled with regret. “I feel so bloody stupid for not noticing how much you’ve been struggling.”

“You’re not—” she says quickly, but he cuts her off.

“No, baby. I should’ve seen that you were hurting.”

Her breath hitches at the sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t want you to see. It’s fine, just… I don’t know what am I supposed to do now,” she whispers, her voice losing intensity.

Lando’s words come out so determined next time he speaks, “We’ll take our time, and we’ll work through it together.”

She looks at him, wanting to believe him, but she’s too caught up in her own head. Without thinking, her hands start trembling as they push against his chest, desperate to get some distance.

“No,” her voice is cracking. “No, you deserve better than—gosh, this so unfair. I’m always so close, and then I lose it. This never happened to me before.”

She covers her face with her hands, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping that next time she’ll open them, everything will get back to normal. But she knows it’s not that simple, so she stays like that, pressing the bridges of her palms on her eyelids until she sees white, sparkly dots.

Lando stiffens momentarily, the weight of her words sinking in. Her pushing him away stings, but he doesn’t let it show, and he doesn’t let it deter him, either. Instead, Lando leans forward, wrapping his arms around her from behind, holding her close even as she tries to fold in on herself.

“It’s okay. We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he whispers, “Just, please. Don’t shut me out.”

She feels his steady embrace, his scent and warmth enveloping her like a protective blanket. “I don’t know what to do,” she admits again and again, hoping that she’ll eventually find an answer.

Lando presses a kiss to the top of her head and tightens his hold. “Is there something I can do? Right now? Something to make you feel even a little better?”

The question hangs in the air for a few seconds before she exhales shakily, attempting to lighten the mood with a weak, joking reply, “I’d like to have an orgasm,” she mutters with a sad laugh, but the vulnerability in her voice betrays her attempt to make light of the situation.

Lando pauses, his lips parting slightly. She feels his chest rise and fall behind her as he takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says simply, his tone laced with quiet determination.

She turns her head to look at him, confused. “What?”

Instead of answering, he adjusts his position so that she’s sitting between his legs. His hands come to rest on her arms, and his touch is light on her skin, as if silently asking her to put her trust in him.

“Just relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Her shoulders tense at first, but as his hands begin to move, caressing her arms with deliberate care, she allows herself to calm down.

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” the girl tells him, tilting her head slightly to meet his eyes. Her hand comes up to cup his jaw, her thumb brushing over his cheek. “You’re always in my mind, Lando. Always.”

Her words make his stomach flip, but he shakes his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “That’s good, baby. But I can’t stand the thought of you feeling this way. Not when I can do something about it. So, let me try.”

He dips his head to kiss her neck, slow and measured, his lips warm against her skin. She shivers, goosebumps spreading across her arms as his hands travel up her sides, cupping her breasts lightly through her shirt. His thumbs brush over her nipples, teasing through the fabric, and her breath hitches.

“Lando…” she breathes, but her protest is weak.

“Shh,” he whispers, his lips still moving against her neck. “Let me.”

With a gentle tug, he pulls her shirt up and over her head, tossing it aside. Her bare back presses against the heat of his chest, and she leans into him instinctively, her body relaxing further. One of her hands reaches back, resting against his thigh, while the other remains on his jaw, her thumb tracing his skin absentmindedly.

His kisses grow lazier, deeper, taking his time to savor her, his hands still exploring her body with quiet reverence. When his thumb brushes over her bare nipple this time, her breath catches, and a soft moan escapes her lips.

“Better?” asks Lando quietly, the question laced with affection and a hint of teasing.

She doesn’t answer with words, only nodding as her eyes flutter shut, her body leaning fully into his.

“You’re safe with me,” he assures softly. As his lips linger on her shoulder, his hand moves lower, tracing the curve of her stomach.

Her body tenses momentarily before melting into him again, exhaling sharply when his fingers trail lower, featherlight, until they dip between her legs. He feels the slight tremble in her thighs as her body reacts, and she instinctively parts her legs for him, granting Lando all the access he needs.

Her gaze drops to his arm, watching as the veins stretch under his skin with every movement. The strength in his hand contrasts with the careful way he touches her, and she can’t help but marvel at the sight. Almost instinctively, her hand moves to cover his — not to stop him or to slow him down, but to ground herself in the moment, to feel the reality of him there with her.

“Don’t think too much, yeah?” Lando instructs her, his breath warm against her. “Focus on me. I’ve got you.”

Lando’s fingers part her folds, and he has to close his eyes at the heat and wetness he finds there, evidence of the frustration and need she had been battling. When his thumb brushes against her clit, he feels it pulse under his touch, sensitive from what she had been doing before he walked in.

“Wanna see how responsive you are?” he asks with a teasing smile, pressing his thumb firmly against her clit without moving it.

She gasps silently, but he keeps his hand steady, his other arm holding her securely against him.

“Easy, baby,” he says, his tone as soothing as ever.

He holds the pressure for a few seconds, then finally rubs slow circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Her breathing deepens, her legs shifting as he repeats the motion: firm pressure, then slow strokes, over and over. The rhythm he sets is almost hypnotic, and he feels the tension in her begin to ease as her arousal builds.

Once a new wave of wetness slicks his fingers, his lips twitch into a satisfied smile, “See that? Such a good girl,” he praises gently.

She whimpers at his words, her hips bucking slightly against his hand. He adjusts his grip, keeping her in place as his fingers move lower, teasing her entrance. He doesn’t push inside just yet, only circling the sensitive area, feeling the way her body squirms and trembles in anticipation.

“Relax for me,” he reminds her, his tone almost pleading, “I’m not going anywhere until I make a mess of you.”

She does as he says, but a soft, desperate cry still manages to escape her lips. Her arm wraps tightly around Lando’s neck, pulling him closer, her lips ghosting over his jaw as her breathing grows uneven. He presses a kiss to her temple, whispering words of encouragement, while his fingers explore her with dexterity.

“That’s it, feel me,” he soothes, his tone gentle yet commanding. “Don’t think.”

He finally pushes a finger inside her, but only the tip, teasing her repeatedly. He feels her walls soft and pillowy as he pumps it in and out, and she feels the stretch on her hole somehow differently. When he pulls out completely, her pussy clenches around nothing, instinctively trying to keep him there.

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he presses his lips against her hair, smiling. “There goes your needy little hole,” he says, his voice filled with quiet admiration. “Told you there’s nothing wrong with you, baby. It’s all in your pretty head.” Lando pauses, his hand still as he tilts his head closer to hers. “Let me clear it for you.”

With that, he pushes his finger all the way in this time. Her sudden gasp hits his jaw, her hips jerking forward at the sensation. He knows it’s not enough, though the way he feels her walls fluttering around him, tells Lando he is on the right path.

“Look how perfect you are,” he praises, his voice a warm caress. “You were made for this, weren’t you?”

Without warning, he adds another finger — just to prove his point — stretching her and going deeper than before. Her moan is breathless, her head tipping back as her hips grind into his hand. Lando groans, feeling the slick warmth of her around him, and the way she reacts to every little movement.

“There it is,” his low voice catches her attention, “Feel that? That’s all you, my love. You just needed to be reminded of how incredible you are.”

He finally sets a rhythm, curling his fingers just right, and her cries turn into something more profound, a broken whimper of relief and pleasure as he works her open with care.

Leaning in, Lando is capturing her lips in a urgent kiss. His tongue slides against hers, coaxing soft moans from her as his fingers keep pumping in and out of her slick heat. He spreads her wetness over her puffy folds, his other hand moving to her chest, teasing and pinching her nipple until it hardens under his touch. He’s deliberate in his movements, having one clear goal in mind: to overwhelm her senses, to pull her away from the pressure of the finish line and make her fall in love with the journey.

His fingers scissor inside her, stretching her further, before curling again, brushing over the spot that makes her cry in pleasure. He presses the bridge of his palm firmly against her clit, applying just enough pressure to have her legs trembling against him. Her breathing turns erratic, her chest rising and falling quickly as the excitement starts to blur the edges of her thoughts.

Lando’s hand never falters, burying his fingers in and out of her with just the right amount of force, the wetness between her thighs making everything slick and obscene. But then, just as the wave begins to crest, he stills. His hand stops and she cries out, her walls protesting around him, as if trying to pull him back into motion.

“It’s okay, you’re doing so well,” he continues with his praise. “We’re close, yeah?” asks Lando rhetorically, waiting, feeling her body tighten and then gradually relax.

Then he starts again, the rhythm maddeningly slow.

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, but just as she teeters on the edge again, he stops once more.

“Fuck, Lando. Please,” she chokes out, her hips jerking against his hand, trying to create some friction. “I can’t—please, let me have it,” her voice is drenched in frustration and need.

He hums against her neck, savoring every sound she makes. “You know I will, baby. But you need to trust me,” he says, voice steady, his fingers suddenly resuming their pace. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you, pretty girl?”

Her whole body shivers, her thighs trembling around his hand as she shakes her head frantically. “No,” she whimpers, “I won’t—please, please. I’ll do anything, just don’t stop again.”

The desperation in her voice tugs at something deep in him. He feels guilty, seeing her so wrecked and desperate after holding this pressure inside for weeks, but when her slickness grows, coating his fingers and hand, he knows she’s on the brink. He can physically feel it.

Smiling, Lando leans over, pressing soft kisses to her flushed cheek, talking tenderly against her skin, “Make me proud,” he whispers, his voice thick with affection and lust.

And that’s more than enough.

Her release comes in a rush, hitting her like fireworks as she cries out his name, her body spasming uncontrollably around Lando’s fingers. He keeps working her through it, whispering praises against her skin while her nails dig into his forearm, anchoring herself to him as the weeks of frustration dissolve into pure, blinding pleasure.

“Beautiful,” says Lando, dipping his head to kiss her.

He bites her lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before soothing it with a soft lick. Then, with a sly smirk, he shoves his tongue back into her mouth, tasting the soft gasp she lets out.

He attacks her senses from every direction — his hand between her legs, the other on her chest, his lips consuming hers. The pressure on her clit, the way his fingers still curl and stretch inside her, the heat of his body pressed to hers — everything feels right again. She’s finally losing herself, over and over, her mind emptying of everything but the way Lando feels, and the way he’s making her feel.

Just like he promised.

Her lips part against his, and the only thing she can think to say it’s his name, that escapes in a broken, breathless cry.

Her cheeks are flushed, the heat spreading through her body like wildfire. The wet, slick sounds of his hand working her fill the bathroom, blending with her breathless moans and the occasional low rasp of his voice. She feels the telltale pressure building once more in her lower abdomen, the one that makes her toes curl and her thighs tremble. And then, like clockwork, the fear starts to creep in — the same fear that’s stolen her release before.

Sensing the shift in her breathing, Lando reminds her, his voice impossibly soft, “You can,” he encourages her, “One more, baby. Look how well you take my fingers.”

Her chest heaves as she finds the strength to glance down, her half-lidded eyes catching the hypnotic way his hand works between her legs, his fingers disappearing into her again and again. The sight is enough to make her stomach tighten, and when her gaze lifts, she meets Lando’s.

He’s already looking at her, his eyes dark with desire but impossibly gentle, filled with reassurance and love. That’s what does it — their unyielding, pure connection. Her second orgasm crashes over her without warning, the intensity pulling a cry from deep within her chest.

“Lando, yes!” she moans, her voice breaking as she clings to him, her body shaking uncontrollably. “Oh my—”

He doesn’t stop, his fingers working her through the overwhelming waves of pleasure. She’s crying, tears slipping down her cheeks, but these are different — they’re tears of relief; liquid euphoria.

The towel beneath her is soaked, her release spilling out in waves, and Lando lets out a low, approving groan as he feels her gush against his hand. “That’s my good girl,” he says proudly, kissing her temple as her cries fade into breathless whimpers. “Look at you. So perfect, baby. You fucking did it.”

She collapses into his chest, her body utterly spent, her mind hazy from the high of finally letting go. And for the first time in weeks, she feels nothing but peace.

Lando keeps her close, his lips brushing against her temple in the softest of kisses, waiting for her to come back to herself. She exhales shakily, the steady thrum of his heartbeat calming her.

Lando tilts his head down, his curls tickling her cheek as he insists, “Next time you feel like this, come to me. Don’t keep it in, baby. We’ll work it out together like we did now,” his words are definitive, the weight of his love for her wrapped around every syllable. He leans back slightly to look at her, his eyes soft but unwavering. “The perfect fit, you and I, right?”

She lifts her gaze to meet his, and he smiles, his dimples peeking out as his hand brushes a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you,” she says. “For knowing me better than anyone.”

“That’s because I love you, silly,” says Lando, his lips grazing hers in a featherlight kiss. “And loving you means taking care of you. Even when you don’t know how to let me.”

Hearing Lando’s words, a flicker of shame creeps in. She realizes she should have told him sooner. They’re a team — they always have been. And yet, she let herself spiral alone, convinced this was something she had to fix by herself.

Before she can dwell on it too much, Lando peppers more kisses to her temple and cheek, his voice deliberately teasing, but laced with something undeniably serious, “Let’s go back to bed,” he says, helping her up. “I’ve got three weeks to make up for, and I don’t plan on wasting a second.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[ciervobizarro]

@meihex 🩸

[biblicallyaccuratemoth]

Big thanks to everyone who sent questions in for the AMA! And thank you everyone for your patience. I received a lot of questions. Like...an honestly shocking amount. So I took the 20 most commonly asked questions (and a few that I just really wanted to answer) and plan on releasing my answers in bursts of 5 once a week for the next 3 weeks!

Some of the questions today are combinations of multiple questions I received. If you need more clarification, please feel free to reach out through my ask button. Happy Moth Monday, everyone!

[mrscaracal]

I feel that the problem with Silksong isn't that it's taking 6 or more years to make, it's the PR - or the lack of thereof - from Team Cherry.

This is what I feel/I've read around. This is based on my experience and what I've read, I don't claim to talk from everyone in the comunity.

I feel like the fanbase doesn't mind the waiting. It's a huge game, the team is 3 people, it takes the time that it takes for it to come out and the fanbase has probably already experienced the disappointment of a rushed-out game, that had potential but got cut/rushed to make it come out faster. We don't mind. We already have Hollow Knight as reference to see a level of complexity that we can expect from Silksong. It would have been better for them to announce Silksong in a later state of development (2021/22) but there can be any number of issues/decisions behind the choice to announce it in 2019, and after it could have been delayed, it's understandable.

But would it be THAT difficult to write something on twitter once a month?!? Even just "The game is still being worked on/tested, thank you for your patience!" would it be enough, instead we've had literal years of radio silence. It doesn't have to be an update of the game every time. Just something to let us know that it's still coming out and it hasn't been cancelled!

Look I will fully admit that I'm excited for Silksong. I'm so fucking excited. I'm not normal and I'll never be normal. I saw that Rickroll video about the release date and for a whole moment it felt like my heart fucking stopped. Ive been watching and waiting since 2019-2020, eager and hungry

...but I can also recognize that it's three people making the game, it's a huge game, and that I am owed nothing. Unfortunate, maybe, but these two ideas can, infact, coexist.

[rainydayathogwarts]

hi! you know your best friends with no boundaries fic, I'm literally obsessed and was wondering if you'd consider writing something similar but with Spencer Reid because I'm also obsessed with him🙏🙏 please and thank you (totally understand if not💚)

And they were roommates - Spencer Reid

summary: Contrary to popular belief, Spencer Reid was not touch starved. In fact, there was nothing more he liked than to cuddle with his roommate. wc: 2.4k+ cw: SMUT, roommates/best friends/ lovers dynamics, panty theft (super brief)

Spencer Reid was not a touchy person. His germaphobic nature allowed him to endure very little physical contact with people, whether they were strangers or his family at the behavioural analysis unit in the FBI. However, it was not to say that Spencer Reid was touch starved, for he had one person he could always count on to give him some physical comfort.

You’d been friends with Spencer since university: you were completing your bachelor’s degree whilst the young genius was finishing up his third phd. In an exhausting night at the library, you’d encountered Spencer, and had complained to him about the library’s organisation system. You’d apologised, “These long nights are really wearing my patience.” But Spencer Reid had surprised you. He ranted on to you about statistics, explaining how a library’s organisation can quickly affect the levels of student productivity. You’d smiled, introducing yourself to him with an extended had. Hesitantly, Spencer shook it, only secretly sanitising his hands when you turned away from him. From that day onwards, Spencer Reid became your best friend.

At first, you had respected Spencer’s boundaries, understanding that he was not a touchy man despite your opposing preference. Then, one night, in a flood of emotions, completely wrecked by his mother’s decreasing health, Spencer had broken down in front of you, and you comforted him the only way you knew how. Your hug had taken Spencer by surprise, but the boy didn’t jerk away from you. Instead, he accepted your touch, leaning into your body's comfortable warmth as you ran a hand through his hair, whispering quiet words of comfort. He spent the night curled up in your arms, head dug in the crook of your neck. That was the first time he stayed in your dorm, and many similar nights followed.

Now, you and Spencer shared an apartment whilst he worked for the bau and you worked a part time job at the University of Virginia, where you were completing your masters degree. Your apartment held two cozy bedrooms, but at this point it was just for show, because you spent most nights cuddled up together on the sofa, your body laying nearly flat over his. The jingle of Spencer’s keys on the other side of your front door gave his entrance away, and you leaped up from your spot on the couch to greet him at the door. Spencer jumped when his eyes landed on you, and he had to readjust his hold on the plastic grocery bag he carried to make sure he didn’t drop it. He hugged you with one arm, letting you take the bag from him as he took his shoes and coat off, leaving them both at the entrance.

“Check in the bag.” He called out as he followed you into the living room. Peeking in the bag, you gasped, seeing the box of microwavable popcorn inside. “Movie night?” You questioned, looking out for Spencer’s reaction. He was smiling widely, nodding proudly with his chest puffed up, cheeks rosy. “I thought we could watch that film you’d mentioned the other day? With Anne Hathaway?” He was taken aback by the tight hug you’d pulled him in, whispering “Oh, you’re the best.” Spencer nervously laughed, resting both hands on your waist.

“Why don’t you get changed and I can take care of the rest?” Spencer nodded, pressing a single kiss on your forehead. You swallowed thickly, turning away from him so he wouldn’t see the giddy look on your face, face hotly flushing. With the popcorn in a bowl and the movie ready on the television, you cozied up on the couch with a blanket, putting your laptop away. Spencer was back in the living room in no time, hopping on the couch right next to you and throwing his arm around your shoulder, tugging you into his chest. Draping your legs over his lap, Spencer put a cold hand on your thigh, and you dug your face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent.

Spencer ran his hand up and down your leg, creating a row of chills across your skin wherever he left his touch. A shiver went down your spine, and Spencer quickly glanced down at you, mumbling “Are you cold?” Your eyes widened, unsure of how to tell him that no, you were not cold. In fact, your body was warming up relatively quickly from his touch. You shook your head silently. Spencer nodded at you, bringing you closer to him, his hand around your shoulders travelling down to your waist.

Silently deliberating, Spencer stared ahead at the screen, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. Spencer wasn’t dumb. In fact, he was the single smartest person he knew, and it didn’t take a genius to decode the messages you were sending him. Spencer ducked down, digging his head in the crook of your neck, and you immediately brought a hand up to string in his soft curls. The rim of his glasses poked your neck uncomfortably, but you didn’t want to disturb him, a feat that was quickly rewarded with a soft kiss in the crook of your neck. Your eyes shot open in surprise, breath hitching in your throat, but you didn’t want to startle Spencer or make him think you weren’t enjoying this. Because, god, you were.

Your eyes fluttered shut when he kissed you again, lips parting as a satisfied breath escaped your lungs. “Is this okay?” Spencer asked against your skin, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. You gasped, nodding quickly, your thighs unconsciously squeezing shut to soothe the throb between your legs. Spencer, with his hand still on your thigh, felt the movement, but he decided to tease for a moment longer, shutting his eyes as he softly ran his tongue over the spot on your neck, closing his mouth slightly to begin sucking on the area. You tried suppressing the moan that bubbled in your chest, but it was a clearly miserable attempt because Spencer’s grin was prominent against your skin, and he finally unhid his face from you.

Spencer pushed you back slightly so you laid flat on the couch, moving from under you so he could hover over you, his glasses swinging inches away from his face, barely hanging on by their grip on his ears. Spencer’s lips were bare centimetres away from yours, but he was clearly waiting for the go ahead from you. “Spence?” The boy hummed, leaning in to press a kiss right next to your lips. “This isn’t going to change anything right?” His breath shook, shaking his head as one of his hands softly ran underneath your shirt, causing you to buck your body upwards into his touch.

“No, no it won’t change anything.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Spencer took your eager hum as a plead for a kiss, so he leaned down, finally pressing his lips to yours. It was like a primal need in him was unleashed, a guttural groan coming out of his throat. Both your hands were instantly cupping his face and pulling him closer to you, parting your mouth further as Spencer sucked on your tongue. You whimpered, one hand travelling down to snake under his jumper. Spencer shuddered, a broken moan escaping his lips. He desperately lowered his hips down onto yours, driving them forward to grind against yours. Spencer broke the kiss, instantly amplifying the moans escaping your lips. “This won’t change anything,” You started, and Spencer reinforced that with a nod of his head. “So fuck me properly, Spence.”

Spencer gasped at your words, his hips unexpectedly bucking into yours, where you felt every ridge of his covered cock. “You-really?” You pushed Spencer away by the chest, observing his face, the colourful light coming from the lit screen reflecting the redness on his face. Your roommate sat back on his knees, watching as you sat up, crawling towards him and forcing him on his back, falling on fluffy pillows.

You climbed over Spencer, sitting on his lap and tugging his pyjama pants down. Spencer watched you wordlessly, adjusting his glasses to sit straight on his face. He finally found the courage to hook his fingers into the band of your shorts and panties, encouraging them down your legs. You watched his reaction, amused at the open-mouthed, wide-eyed, dilated pupil look he was carrying on his face. “Spence?” His head snapped towards you, face flushing impossibly darker at the idea of being caught admiring your body. It was almost enough to distract him from the way your fingers wrapped around his cock over his boxers. His lips bucked into yours, gasping loudly as his fingers tightly gripped your hips.

Leaning forward to press your weight against Spencer’s chest, you kicked your shorts and panties off your legs before sitting back down on his lap. “Can I take these off?” You asked, playing with the elastic band of his trousers. Spencer nodded, a pleading look in his eyes. You giggled, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on his lips, and the second you pulled away, Spencer’s torso was lifting off the couch, eagerly chasing your lips. “Please.” He begged, hips bucking into your hand. You didn’t know if he was asking for another kiss or for you to finally take off his trousers, so you did both, reconnecting your lips as you lowered his boxers.

Spencer sighed in relief, using his tight hold on your hips to drag you forward on his body, closer to his cock. You dug your face in Spencer’s neck, kissing him teasingly, but Spencer impatiently whined, throwing his head back. “Please, please.” Finally, you sunk down onto Spencer’s cock, eliciting a loud moan from him. Your breath hitched and you gasped loudly, saying with a broken voice “I have - have to warn you. I don’t usually get on top.”

Spencer nodded eagerly, immediately thrusting his hips up and rolling you over. You cried out, throwing your head back as Spencer desperately started snapping his hips into you, a certain fervour in his movements. Spencer whined with each thrust of his hips, a breath of air escaping his lips and hitting your face every time his body slammed into yours. A guttural moan dispersed in the air, and immediately, you were pulling Spencer’s face down to yours to desperately press your lips together. Spencer parted his lips to bite your bottom lip, tugging a moan out of your chest. You wrapped your arms over Spencer’s shoulders, forcing him closer to you, and he whined as his arms shook, dropping his weight onto you.

“Sorry,” He whimpered against your lips, “Fuck, I’m sorry.” You wordlessly dismissed his apology, tangling your hand in Spencer’s hair to pull him back into a wet kiss. You heard the creak of his glasses as your faces collided in an eager kiss. Spencer rolled his hips into yours, balancing his weight onto one arm so his second arm could come down to your thigh and pull your leg apart from the other. The new found space allowed Spencer to slide deeper into your cunt, causing you both to moan loudly, your pussy clenching around the wet ridges of his cock. “Oh god.” You cried, words coming out muffled as Spencer glided his tongue against yours

“Please Spence.” You begged as Spencer separated his kiss from yours to look deeply into your eyes, a hand coming up to push the hair away from your face, stubbornly sticking to the glistening sweat. “’Re you close?” You hummed, digging your nails into Spencer’s shoulders as you dug your head into the couch cushions. Spencer smiled from above you, watching as your face contorted into pleasure, failing to squeeze your thighs together for more friction. Spencer groaned, head falling into the crook of your neck and pressing kisses on your skin as a hand trailed down to rub circles on your clit.

Spencer bit down on your neck just as you let out a high-pitched moan, whimpering when his teeth sunk into your skin. Your eyes shut tightly as a shock of pleasure darted up to your abdomen, but Spencer caressed your cheek, begging “Look at me when you cum, please.” Your eyes shot open at his words as pleasure overtook you. You don’t know what triggered your orgasm, Spencer’s pleading tone or the use of the endearing term ‘baby’, but it had you coming anyway, your loud cries filling the air.

Spencer grunted as you came, his pelvis stilling, cock buried inside you. Spencer felt his dick throb as you clenched around him, trying not to cum as you loudly cried his name out. Spencer was only pulling out when you slumped back against the couch, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips. Spencer wrapped a hand around his cock, but you put a hand over his, prompting him to let go of himself. You gently squeezed the base of Spencer’s cock, beginning to stroke him, but there was no need: he was already coming, white, thick ropes of cum shooting out of his cock and onto your tank top.

Spencer sat back on his knees, catching his breath softly as he watched you watch him, a coy smile on your face. You giggled nervously, and Spencer grinned, crawling over you before lowering himself onto you, still hovering over you as he began kissing you. “So, same time tomorrow?” Spencer joked, moving off you and finding your shorts on the floor, carefully helping you slip your feet into the holes of your shorts. “Mhm, doesn’t have to be tomorrow.” You teased, standing up and walking out of the living room. You turned to look at Spencer one last time before rounding the corner to enter the hallway, leaving Spencer alone in the living room to blankly stare at the screen, watching cluelessly as the two characters began arguing, trying to distract himself from the way his cock hardened once more.

Spencer scanned the room, jumping up when he spotted your abandoned panties on the floor. He quickly pocketed them before rushing to follow you towards your bedroom. “What did you say about not tomorrow?” He breathlessly asked as he opened your bedroom door. You spun around to look at him, putting a look of fake shock on your face as he gasped, staring at your now naked body, eyes glued to your tits.

Spencer shut the door, approaching you, and it didn’t open again for a very long time.

[ariespetal]

update! I've been given a quote for the shipping cost, and hopefully that means these guys will *finally* be headed my way as soon as my manu gets back to me after the new year's holiday

Exciting update! the first of the kiibo goods have arrived at my place ^^ Now just to wait for the charms/stickers and plush to finish production :D

[nakylvr]

— STICKY SITUATION

megan skiendiel x fem!reader

summary: being spiderwoman and dating you at the same time has caused some problems for megan, and she's forced to confess who she is when you start suspecting her.

warnings/tags: fluff, established relationship, spidey!megan, language, not proofread

shit. shit. shit.

thirty minutes late. that has to be a new record for megan who was running down the streets of new york trying to get to the coffee shop she was supposed to meet you at. half an hour ago. the ginger hears her phone buzz in her pocket and she quickly takes it out, seeing your message. shit.

my love 💕

do we need to reschedule this? you could've told me you were busy

fuck. with shaky hands, megan types a response as best as she can while running.

megs ❣️

IM ALMSOT THERE I PROMSIW

you let out a short sigh, sitting back against the chair you were sitting in with two coffees sitting in front of you. setting your phone down on the table, your foot taps on the ground as you check the time on your watch. thirty minutes. what the hell was she even doing? she told you she was free, and yet she was now over half an hour late. biting on your bottom lip, you shake your head and start moving to get up right as the shop door busts open.

"yn!" megan rushes over to you, heavily panting from all the running she just did. "i'm so sorry i got caught up with something and i didn't mean to get here this late," she instantly apologizes, slouching into the chair across from you on the other side of the table.

there's something off. you can tell. it's been happening more recently. either she ends up leaving in the middle of your dates or shows up extremely late to the point you aren't sure if she even cares anymore. you'd been thinking about it more recently. but, you force a smile onto your face and shake your head. "it's okay," you reply. "i already got your drink."

megan's face flushes redder than it already was realizing you probably looked like you got stood up on a date and that you remembered what she ordered. "thanks. i'm really sorry again," she sighs, running her hand through her messy hair.

"are you okay?"

the question takes megan aback slightly, looking at you and seeing the expression on your face. "ye-yeah, i'm fine!" she answers with a nod. "just some things."

things. that's the only word she used as her excuse. even when you would pry you would get the same response. and your patience was wearing thin. with a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to think of how to respond, not seeing the way megan's eyes widen out of worry of what you're going to say next.

"meg, i think we need to talk," you say slowly, opening your eyes.

"what?" megan's voice comes out quiet. "about what?"

"about this." you gesture between you two with your hands. "why you leave in the middle of our dates, why you show up late, why you answer the same every time i ask what's going on. it feels like you don't really want me around you."

"what?" megan lets out again, her eyes wide with fear once realizing where this was going. "no, no, no, it's not like that, yn!" she says quickly. "i do want you around, i want you around all the time."

"then why are you so distant?" you ask. "these past few weeks i feel like, like you're making up lies to not see me or to leave. you always say 'things' but you never explicitly tell me what. what are these 'things', megan? or who? because i-i can't sit here feeling like you're not putting the same amount of effort i'm putting into this."

megan sits in silence for a moment, trying to think of a acceptable response rather than telling the truth or lying again. but, she already kept this from you for too long. you were getting suspicious of her, and she didn't want that. yet, the words don't leave her mouth, caught in her throat. "i-" she starts, but nothing else comes out.

shaking your head, you get up from your spot and grab your bag. "you don't need to say anything, i get it," you say. "enjoy the coffee, i already paid for it." you start walking away.

"wait!" megan gets up when you do, starting to follow you. "yn, you don't understand! i-i'm not doing anything!"

stopping in your tracks, you turn and face the girl with a serious look that has her stopping immediately. "you're right, megan. i don't understand. because you won't tell me. so if you want me to understand then you better figure your shit out, cause i'm not putting up with this anymore."

"yn," megan says softly but you've already turned around and started walking again. when you left the store, megan lets out a long sigh and drags her hands down her face.

she had to fix this. she had to tell you. she had to.

for the whole week, megan had been texting you and calling in hopes you'd respond and hear her out. but every time you declined the call or let it go to voicemail that was now filled with her messages, and every text was left read without a response. she knew she messed up, then. she even tried going to your friends, and they told her you didn't want to see her. she didn't know what to do. she wasn't good at this.

then, she got an idea.

after talking with manon about where you would be on the opening night of a movie you wanted to see, she came up with the idea. you two went to the same cinema every time you went to see a new movie, and it wasn't exactly in the greatest area of new york, but it was cheap for two high school graduates. and because of that, she was going to pay one of her guy friends to "save you" from. in the outfit and all. it would be easy, barely an inconvenience at that! she was certain that it would work.

"are you sure you won't hurt me?" keeho questions megan, standing in the alleyway next to the cinema with her.

"i'm 100% sure," megan answers with a nod, leaning against the wall already in her spider suit. "i've literally swung you around the city multiple times, dude."

"and you almost snapped my neck last time!" keeho exclaims.

"okay, well-"

the two go quiet once hearing a group of people talking and the doors of the cinema opening.

"alright, sound scary, okay?" megan tells keeho, pulling the mask over her head. "but don't touch her."

"i can't believe you're ordering me around." keeho rolls his eyes. "you owe me for this."

"i'm already paying you, asshole. now go." megan shoves him out of the alley once the group goes past them.

keeho straightens himself out right when you walk out of the cinema, and he starts walking towards you. you're looking at your phone, clearly not paying attention, and you haven't even met the male before, which has keeho mentally panicking already. "i can't believe i'm doing this," he grumbles under his breath.

reaching into his jacket pocket, as soon as he's in front of you he pulls out the fake knife and grabs you with his other hand. your eyes go wide and you open your mouth to scream but he's quick to cover your mouth and wrap his other arm around you to hold the knife against your throat with your back against his front.

"be quiet if you want to live," he says in a low voice. "i won't hurt you if you listen to me."

you try to scream, but it comes out muffled past his hand as you try to get out of his grip. but he was taller than you, making it difficult for you to try and kick him or move your arms that were stuck at your sides from his arm around you.

"walk with me," keeho tells you as he begins to walk backwards. you're forced to move along with him, your breathing starting to get heavier with panic raging through your body and eyes wide looking around only for no one to be in sight.

"please," you cry through his hand covering your mouth.

keeho mentally curses in his head for doing this, knowing it was a bad idea. but before he can say that he's not actually going to hurt you, he feels a hard kick against his back, making him yell out loud and let go of you and the fake knife. "fuck!"

keeho drops to his knees from the impact, releasing you from his grip as you move and take a few steps back to see him slowly get back up. "dude, what the fu-" he's interrupted when megan's fist swings towards his face and he quickly moves away like she told him to, acting as if he had been hit in the face.

as the two (fake) fight — mainly just keeho getting his ass beat, you watch with wide eyes, taking a few more steps back to see what was going on more clearly. when keeho finally lays on the ground and doesn't get back up, your stuck in your spot, staring at the vigilante who was now standing in front of you.

"are you okay?"

the voice sounds familiar, but the mask makes it sound a little distorted, making you wonder. "yeah," you answer, nodding your head. "thank you."

"are you still mad at me?"

"what?" you question. then, it hits you. "if that's you megan you better take that mask off right now," you say seriously, crossing your arms over your chest.

megan immediately takes the mask off, seeing the change in your eyes and expression realizing it really was her. "uh, surprise?" she says, nervously fiddling with the mask in her hands.

"jesus christ," you sigh quietly. "are you seriously the one who's been running around new york fighting all these different people?" you ask, your voice softening.

"yeah." megan nods. "i'm sorry for not telling you. i didn't know how to tell you, and i was worried that something might happen to you." she looks down at the ground.

you grab her hands that were still messing with her mask. "meg, look at me, please," you say. she listens, looking at you with her puppy eyes that instantly make you smile. "it's okay. i don't blame you for not telling me, i just wish you would've before something like this happened."

"oh, well about that," megan laughs nervously.

one of your eyebrows raise at her words. "what?"

"that's my friend keeho, i paid him to do that," megan confesses quickly.

"you actually kicked me!" keeho says, getting up from the ground and dusting his pants.

"are you fucking serious?" you look between the two.

"yeah," they both answer.

taking a deep breath, you keep yourself from scolding the two for genuinely scaring the shit out of you. megan can tell by the way your grip on her hands tighten, and she knows she's in for it when you get back home.

"we'll talk about this tomorrow," you say. "for now, have a good night, keeho." you smile at the male before turning to megan. "as for you, we are going to have a long talk about everything." your smile drops and you speak in a tone that megan knows means you're serious.

"okay," she squeaks out.

okay, maybe it wasn't the best idea. but at least it worked! that's all that mattered to megan in the end.

[certifiedlibraryposts]

I hope to get back to posting here regularly in the near future, I've had to spend significantly less time on Tumblr for my mental health for a while. I don't think I'll be quite as active as I used to be again, but I would like to bring this blog out of its unannounced hiatus soon.

All of you folks following is equal parts amazing and daunting ^^; But the vast, vast majority of interactions I've had through running this blog have been wonderful, so I thank you all for your kindness as well as your patience with me.

Until later, take care of yourselves, give what time and money you can within your means to good causes, and always support your local libraries 💜

[eveningepiphany]

pirates gold, H.S series part 4

series masterlist

my masterlist<3

summary: another day on the ship with your captor turns into him teaching you a thing or two about the pirate life. but as controversy’s of your past come up, somehow the captain and the princess wind up back in his bed- with anything but sleep on their minds.

warnings: mentions of violence, talk of unconsensual past experiences (not descriptive!) swearing, SMUT: f!rec oral and fingering, m!rec oral with slight edging, p in v penetration, dirty talk, lots of sex, anyways oopsie enjoy

a/n: i genuinely can’t believe how long this took to write and publish. thank you all for your patience, i like to think the sex they have makes the three million year wait worth it. can’t wait to hear what you all think<3

———

Nothing can prepare a person for realising they don't know themselves as well as they thought.

There's a mixture of disappointment, shame, dread. But sometimes, deep down—despite not ever admitting it to oneself— there's can be an element of excitement.

Not always, but occasionally. There’s that moment of wonder, who really am i?

It’s a bewildering spiral of good and bad feelings, you hardly know left from right, or up from down.

Rarely did you do things for yourself purely for the sake of it. Back at home there was someone for everything, not only to do things for you, but to make sure you weren't stepping out of line.

You couldn’t experiment. No finding out who you are deep down. There was never the chance for self discovery.

Now, you’ve landed in a situation where somehow you’re supposed to be more trapped. Yet you don’t think you’ve ever been more free.

No more straight posture at the dining tables of the banquet hall, being left to sit with a cautious mouth for hours upon hours. Engage in colourless and dull conversation while you imagined freedom.

Funny to think of it now… the picture in your head. Neatly pulled back hair. A spotless dress without a hunch of what was past the waters you stared out at every night. It was like trying to explain what something tasted like, yet having never tasted it yourself.

You knew nothing of freedom.

Not until you felt the sea nearly swallow you, the wind whip your hair a mess, the heart in your chest pounding as you ran out of Sintir— a place you’d only ever seen on a map.

Indulging in late night caressing with a pirate, something that selfishly bled into early morning, in his own bed. Hands on bare skin, hands in hair, hands wherever they could feasibly touch without crossing some sort of invisible line. Definitely not something that would’ve flown back in Kelna.

Yet that is exactly what you did a few days ago, and your head has been a complete mess since. After you stooped as low as to beg the Captain of this very ship to stay with you, he did just that. For how long, you dont even know. Long enough a crew mate of his was rapping his fist upon the locked door, calling out in bemused annoyance.

“You're either so hungover you cant move or tied up in there by our supposed-to-be prisoner.”

The heave of his chest underneath your head is ingrained into your memory. A strong huff, perhaps annoyed, but something you hope was from sadness. A regret for having to leave at any point, for not being able to stay forever.

"Free of any ties, Tanner. Just... tired." He calls back, tone rather harsh.

You'd moved yourself off him, "I'm embarrassed i didnt think to do such a thing."

The quip lacked all venom it used to, and you scolded yourself internally. You were screwed.

---

The days since were as bipolar as the weather at sea. You craved him, his touch, his voice of silk. It was like a drug. But you knew better for yourself.

After the hangover wore off, and the reality of what you had done set in. You forced distance between the two of you. He saw it coming, even he played along with it.

You two never stopped the game. You just went from a chess piece on his board to being the person opposite him.

Meant to be playing to win.

Up on deck, now the sun has come back out, everyone is saying the good weather is to return from now. Unsure whether to trust it— like many other things on this ship. You keep your gaze trained on the distance, where the waves ripple and swell. There is still a gusty wind, but the sun is hot on your skin.

Slowly, you chew on the fish roll you made in the kitchen with Zayn. He is a gifted cook, you on the other hand, are far from it. Used to it ‘being done for you’ he'd scorned playfully.

He'd shown you a few things this past week, stuff you feel envigored learning about. Knowing how to live independently for yourself is freeing, just as you knew it would be.

Wiping the crumbs off the sides of your lips with the back of your hand, you wonder how you are to go back to living the way you used to.

Before you could spiral into that rabbit hole, someone interrupts.

"Y/N." Harry said, his tone unreadable.

Tearing your gaze from the far horizon, your eyes met his.

The purple silk top covering him today has a typical amount of ruffles for a fashion heavy pirate. He looks tragically good in purple.

"Yes, Captain." You kept your own voice level.

The past week your walls have gone back up, albeit, haphazardly. You still struggled to stay on your side of the bed. And the few brief moments the connection between the two of you has festered in the air, and you’ve allowed it to linger.

Or better said, the moments you didn’t have the strength to resist it.

Like brushing past him in the kitchen yesterday, his hand coming to your waist as you attempt to squeeze through the gap. He wasn’t holding you, but you stopped dead in your tracks.

For but a second you both sucked a breath in. No longer than that, and then you cleared your throat and pushed past him.

Either way, he's noticed it, obviously. Feeling like he should regret the night after taking you into Sintir. But he selfishly cant.

He can’t regret it when the sensation of your skin is burnt into the pads of his fingers. No part of him is strong enough to forget the way your body felt pressed against him, leg thrown over his waist and curled into his chest.

Yet, despite all of that, back to the game you both went, head first. Your bickering was more contained, but his title of mean pirate was attempted to be restored in your mind.

Maybe he couldn’t forget the imprint of your skin against his, but he did love a good game.

Who was he not to feed into that?

A chuckle rumbles in his chest, “Captain, aye? We back to that are we. Two can play at this game Princess.”

The name makes your stomach stir, a small punch of adrenaline tingling in your limbs. How far can you push this before someone gets hurt?

He leans down to you, the blouse is loose on him and falls at the front. He’s eye level with you but your gaze locks onto the view of his chiseled chest between swirls of purple fabric, the tattoos you can vividly remember tracing with your fingers.

His tan skin is glistening between his pecs… a light sweat over him, making your mouth dry.

Suddenly his hand lifts your chin, “my eyes are up here, dove.”

“Don’t be disgusting.” You scoff, despite being caught in the act.

“What is it you want. Why are you pestering me?”

“Such a princess thing t’say, that im bothering you. You’re on my ship, need I remind you.” His fingers tap your cheek with a smirk.

“Need I remind you, that’s not to any choice of my own.” Your voice is indignant, and you pull your chin from his grasp, turning your face away with a scowl.

He’s pressing your buttons, winding you up exactly the way he knows how.

“Well, I haven’t heard much about how deeply y’long to be back home.”

It works a charm, because you’re quick to snap back at him.

“That is none of your business. And frankly I would rather keep that matter to myself than share it with the people who are responsible for kidnapping me.”

He loves hearing your accent when you argue like that, the pompous royal tone returning briefly to you. So stuck up, said always like a challenge.

Letting out a breathy laugh, his hands suddenly coming to under your arms. He hoists you off the floor like you’re but a parcel of feathers, standing you upright.

“Won’t you leave me be!” The raise in your voice causes a few crew to turn their head at the scene.

“‘M trying to make y’useful ‘round here.” He chides, his hand snakes down to one of your wrists, a smirk pulling at his lips.

The feeling takes you back to the first day on the ship merely weeks ago, when that was the only way you got around.

His hand wrapped around the rope tied around them.

You think back to when you threw yourself off the ship, When he swam out to retrieve you, when his hips pinned you to hull of the ship and he cut the ties free.

“Instead of jus’ leeching our supplies,” his voice draws your attention away from the tan hand wrapped around your wrist. “And laying around not carrying y’weight.”

“Maybe you can just starve me then. That way I won’t be taking away from your precious supplies.”

“So much sass on y’today,” The smirk that comes across his face is devilish, walking you over to the bass of a mast, “c’mere”

He pulls you infront of him, his chest to your back. Forcing himself not to take any notice to your figure, the white blouse covering your top half and the black fitted pants that are tight around your bottom.

“See this rope, how it’s worn?”

Your head turns over your shoulder to catch his eyes, and your heart lurches in your chest as you clock how close his face suddenly is to you. The green in his eyes is captivating in sunlight. With his captivating eyes burning into you, his mouth is still holding a smirk.

You give a swift, forced nod, but you’re not even looking. You’re pretty sure you haven’t even blinked.

This causes a laugh to bubble from his chest, suddenly he’s leaning in.

What the fuck?

Your brain is racing as his body leans towards you, and face is inching closer.

There is no way he’s about to kiss you.

Suddenly he’s placing something in your hands, and his body is going back to its original stance.

He was handing you the rope.

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and he’s surely seen the flush that’s spread across it. It’s making you overheat, and your lungs are rising up and down in your chest ten times as fast compared to just five minutes ago.

What is wrong with me?

You snap your gaze down, hoping that your hair falls enough to cover your flaming cheeks.

“It’s…” your voice falters— great— you’re so embarrassed right now.

“Princess, has a cat got your tongue?” He chides with sarcasm.

“It’s frayed, feels weak, yes.” You nod hastily.

“Good girl,” he watches you purse your lips at his silky praise, and focuses on purely the amusement riling you up stirs in him. Not any of the other emotions that arise.

“Y’gonna help me replace it.”

“Like hell i am. Do you want your ship to fall apart?” You scowl, there is no way you can do that without something going terribly wrong.

“That’s why I’m teaching you, y’could do with a bit of hands-on work.”

Your eyes trail up to what the rope connects to, it’s holding down a part of the sail, helping to pull it taut.

“Taking this off won’t do much since we aren’t on too rough of waters, so it’s a good time t’change it.”

He steps a few feet away from you and retrieves a wad of fresh intact rope. A lot of it too, metres upon metres.

Your body remembers the sensation of it wrapped around your hands and your feet with a slight shiver.

“Firstly, we’re gonna untie and remove the old one.”

“Harry, I don’t know what im doing.” You whine, wishing to be anywhere but here, immediately frustrated.

He tuts, dropping the pile of new rope down next you both, “Zayn did tell me y’were bad at this.”

“Excuse you?” You scoff, shocked at his audacity. Slightly offended.

He steps back behind you, ushering you forward so you’re close to the metal bar that the worn tie is wrapped around.

“Told me y’don’t like being bad at things. Don’t like not knowing how to do stuff.” His voice is smug, like that is a fatal flaw.

“I—“ you’re so annoyed right now.

“I am not!”

“Y’defensiveness only proves m’point.”

You don’t even know what to say to him right now. Truthfully— ego aside— you don’t know if that’s how you get. You have gone laps around the sun without knowing this kind of stuff about yourself.

In defiance, you don’t admit this to Harry. But you stay silent as his hands reach for the knot in front of you.

“Now, princess. Look at this.”

“I’m looking.” You huff.

“Where do you think we’re gonna start untying this, what kind of knot do y’think this is?”

“I have half a clue of what kind of knot this is, Captain.”

“This is a water bowline, angel.” The words mean little to you, but your stomach does a weird squeeze at his confident words, the way his accent makes the word angel sound.

“I’m going to guess this loose end here,” Your right hand extends out, tugging at the few inches of rope that extends out the middle of the knot, “has something to do with untying it.”

He smiles at the way you’re starting to soften at the idea of what’s happening. Yes, you’re still standing tense and your tone is still veering on irate. But you’re indulging, playing along at the least.

A small sense of pride bubbles through him, “Smart girl, it does.”

“You’ll see these knots everywhere on the ship, in many different forms. They’re nice and secure, can take a lot of tension but aren’t hard to tie or untie.”

“This here,” his fingers trace a loop in the top of the knot, “is what you’re gonna pull on first.”

You grab it and he brings his hand to your waist. The action makes you flush as you try and focus.

“Fold it forward, this is gonna loosen it against the standin’ end of the rope.”

You don’t know what that means, but you pull the part he’s directing you to towards yourself, applying a bit more pressure when you see it needs it.

He hums in approval, and your lips purse together, “Now that loose end, feed it out of the wrap in the middle there.”

You do that, and he reaches forward to add tension on the upper section of the rope as you now use both hands to untie the rest of the knot— unhooking it.

“Tha’s it. Now we can replace it, and I’ll show you how to tie the knot.” He takes the old rope and figure 8’s it around a metal hold, so it’s still holding the sail.

He sees your curious eyes at his action, and explains, “We could cut it, but just incase it’s better to have it handy until y’know you’re ready to replace it.”

You nod, and he grabs the fresh rope and sets it up for you.

Grabbing your hands, he walks you through the process first himself, then he unties it to make you do it.

You curse for the first few minutes as you try to tie it properly, but once he guides you again, you’re staring at the tied knot.

“There you go, look at that princess. Jus’ tied ya first water bowline.” He comments proudly, and you can’t help but smile.

“Thanks…” you feel good, accomplished.

“I’m gonna secure it in the eyelet up there now, y’stay down here.”

He leaves you down there. All while you watch him bring the sail in, so he can reach it from the mast. Rope tied to his belt loop, he unties the old one and lets it drop.

You’d stepped back so it could fall without nearly taking you out by the head. Staring with hardly enough shame as Harry worked his fingers to create a new knot through the eyelet of the sail.

His brow furrowed in concentration, unbothered by the metres between him and the deck of the ship as he balanced entirely unsuspended.

His strong thighs are tensed as he holds himself stable, black pants look good on him.

He cut the excess rope off with a dagger and climbed down with ease. Unbelievable how good he can look doing something like that.

Once he’s back down, he walks over to where you stood and admires the new rope alongside you. You aim to pretend you hadn’t been checking him out the whole time.

Nudging you with his shoulder, “And who said princesses couldn’t learn pirate things.”

“I’ve learnt plenty of pirate things.” You state.

“So, what are you, more princess or pirate then, dove?”

With a frown your eyes slant to him, trying to search in his gaze the motive behind the question. So many tricks are up his sleeve, he never fails to remind you that.

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

His eyes scan your face, flickering over you. A tick of silence, and then he curtly nods, “Well, they say practice makes perfect, so don’t think we’re done yet.”

He intends on spending this afternoon with you, regardless of what other things he should be doing.

“I thought it was my turn to teach you something.”

“What? Like how to manage my table manners?”

You can only roll your eyes.

And to be fair, you did plenty of that as the blue sky bled into sunset.

“No, you dolt. If you picked up that fork first they’d barrate you on the spot.”

“Whatever,” he’d sighed, “I find getting your hands dirty with a good meal is the only way to eat something.”

The evil smirk on his face as he’d said that was all telling.

The two of you did both lots of thinking and lots of talking. Lapsing between periods of comfortable silence and discussion.

A part of you wondered if this was his tactic to pry your guard back down. You hated yourself for letting it work, the fact you somewhat allowed him into the works of your brain again.

After finishing the last rope he wanted to replace, you’d stretched out your shoulders.

"Do y'feel accomplished?" His own arms reaching above his head.

"I feel productive, which is rare that happens.”

He starts walking in the direction towards the communal quarters, in presumption that you'd follow.

You do just that, wasting no time matching his pace.

"Thanks. For showing me." The words are hard to push pass your lips, they're clunky and almost shy. But they pack the same level of meaning.

He stops the few steps in front of you, right next to the wall of the communal quarters. He turns around so his full front is facing you. The sun has dipped below the horizon of the sea, the warm golden hour glow sinking with it.

Now it's lingering in that space of inbetween, where it’s not quite dark, but not light enough to class as sunset still.

You can almost relate.

His green eyes have pinned you to a stop as well, your hands falling to the front of your white blouse. The wind is toying with the loose material, gently, your fingers ring the ruffled bottom that cuts off midway down your ribcage.

He's been forcing himself to hold his eyes strictly to your face, not anywhere near the sweetheart neckline thats dipping to show the swell of your chest.

Can’t believe I bought that for her and thought I’d be able to not stare, he thinks internally.

"You dont have t'thank me." He answers truthfully. Despite the fact he may have mocked your lack of gratitude he wholly believes you did him a favour today.

"You showed me how to do something. Something useful, and practical." You remark cautiously, watching your tone doesn't give away too much sentiment, "I cant tell you the last time i've had that."

"Y'can read right?" he chuckles, stepping forward.

"I went to school Harry."

His eyes rolled playfully, finally breaking off you, making you feel like you can suddenly inhale again.

"What do they even teach you there."

"Table manners, exactly the knowledge I so kindly imparted on you earlier." you dryly joked, despite it being entirely true.

"How to talk, how to act, what to do, what not to do." You sigh as you think back on it, walking to go lean against the wall.

"Ooo” he hums, intrugied, "what not to do?"

You prattle off the first ones that come to mind, "Dont get caught lying, it brings dishonour. Dont curse, it displays immaturity and impurity,” a pause, and you scoff— one drilled into any royal in the court, “dont engage in any premarital relations."

His pupils are the only part of him that reacts at the mention of the third rule you listed, they dilate and almost shake with the intensity he’s staring at you with.

A shrug of your shoulders, "That one gets surpassed all the time though.”

At your words, his brows twitch, he thinks you're talking about yourself. The look that passes over his face is unmissable. You can't pinpoint the exact emotion, and honestly, neither can he.

You are old enough to make your own decisions, he reasons. Old enough to decide if you want to...

His brain crafts a million different scenarios. They flash past faster than he can keep up with. Lingering heavily on whether or not it was consensual.

You had spoken about how men in Kelna acted around you. Whispering disgusting things, touching you. He thinks they’d be people similar to Garret, dirtbags who would’ve forced anything if they wanted it bad enough. The thought makes him livid, to his very bones.

"You look worried." You comment ambiguously, toying dangerously with the curiosity surrounding his reaction.

When he doesn’t reply, you take it a step further,

"Does my value decrease if i cant be labelled as a pure, untouched little angel?" Your tone is sarcastic, but the second the words fall from your mouth, he reacts.

His whole body tenses where he stands, and he steps closer to you.

"Y/N." A stern but bordering protective voice comes from him, a way he’s not spoken before. "Do not ever talk ‘bout yourself like that on this ship, or I swear..."

His throat tightens with anger, voice faltering and eyes fluttering with tension. A hand grabs the wall you're standing near. Knuckles white as his fingers dig into it, "I swear t’god, it makes me want to break something."

"If somethin’ happened to you in that fucking ring of psychotic royals—” He spits it out like the thought disgusted him, “You're a human being, not a slab of meat."

It’s not often he feels the need to genuinely punch something. Someone. But right now anyone that has ever done something to you is on his immediate black list.

In the back of his brain, he recognises that in your eyes he’s equally a bad person for what he’s done to you. He stands here a hypocrite.

Furious at anyone whose ever hurt you, yet being the very person that’s holding you somewhere against your will.

The tension rolls around in your stomach, almost making it ache with the sudden anxiety. You’re so utterly confused with how to feel in this situation you force your mouth to move,

"For the record, i was not talking about myself." The clarification comes out meek despite trying to keep your tone unbothered.

He doesn’t attempt to hide his feelings, face contorted into a sneer, “Wouldn't put it past those pigs."

“No one did that to me.” You amend again, this time, your own tone stern.

“Alright Y/N, what did they fucking do to you then?” His question forces you relive every unwanted advance you’ve had to uncomfortably sit through.

Every ‘accidental’ hand placement, every provocative comment directed to you, every situation that made bile from your stomach rise into your throat.

Somehow, you find it in you to argue back, even though you don’t believe Kelna is even a shred better than a ship of pirates, "Its not like im safe in your world either."

It’s clear this is his tipping point.

The heart in his chest clenches and his body is moving before he can register it.

Because suddenly, the space surrounding you is being entirely filled, he grabs you with his hands. There’s not a sliver of violence in it at all, but it does make you jump.

Regardless, he sinks his hands into your hair. He can’t help it, curling them gently into the soft strands at the nape of your neck.

Despite how pissed he is, his touch is nothing but gentle.

It causes you to shudder, unsure if it’s out of unease or somehow a little bit of pleasure— the feeling his ringed fingers graze across the nerves that typically lay behind your hair untouched.

They ping around in your muddled brain, electromagnetic signals making you light headed. It’s overwhelming, how did this even happen?

Even with the soft touch of his fingers, the look behind his hard gaze makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

“I…” you try to make words, yet nothing comes out. Hands against skin are all you can make sense of.

It’s tangible, they’re there. If your strip everything else away, it’s just someone holding you.

Someone touching you softly. Someone who you—deep down, no matter how hard you try to feel otherwise—are okay with touching you.

You can swallow that pill. If only you could make it that simple, of course.

“Harry.”

One thing he’s learnt since having you around is that he can’t handle the way his name sounds when it comes out of your mouth.

Especially not with that whined tone. When it falls from your lips like a plea.

He can’t seem to find the words either. Your feet are planted between his and your own hands are braced on his hips.

“Dove, y’can’t keep bloody doin’ this to me.”

“I’m not doing anything to you,” his hands slide to your face, they cradle your cheeks, “Harry im just standing here. I’m telling you the truth.”

His face feels so close to yours, you swear you can feel the breath that passes through his lips meet your own.

Intimate almost, if you think about it hard enough.

“I don’t care about that, I care about you.”

“You can’t do this to me!” You whine, pushing his hands away, stumbling back. Breaking that connection by force if you have to.

You don’t remember how you ended up like this, with your blood pulsing in your ears and your chest heaving so hard your ribs could break.

Exasperated, “I am fine! I am okay!”

He is at a loss for words. You are so complex, so intricate. His curiosity for you deepens, even when he thinks it can’t anymore.

“I do not need any kind of pity, there is nothing to pity!”

“They made you not trust people.” He says with disgust.

You cant believe he can say that when he literally kidnapped you. And although he’s right to a degree, this experience hasn’t been great for your trust issues either.

“This world made me not trust people.” You gesture out to the ship around you, in sheer disbelief, “I’m standing on a fucking boat in the middle of nowhere because nothing is okay!”

Yelling against the wind, “Because the only thing people care about is themselves, and what they can gain from exploiting others.”

“I am a fucking object to everyone I’ve ever met.”

A part of his heart cracks hearing this, he has to physically restrain himself from stepping closer to you.

Space, give her space, his brain urges him— despite his physical body begging to do the opposite.

“Y/N,” his voice attempts to stay level. He watches your reaction.

Like a timid yet fired up animal, your hair is being thrown by the wind, pupils wild.

“There’s nothin’ i can say that will justify any of this. I know tha’.”

“There’s not.” You snapped, eyes threatening an emotion you can’t imagine letting out around him.

Crying is another thing frowned upon in the court, not unless the circumstance is so dire it warrants it.

You think for a second that you’re going to have the strength to pull yourself together, but suddenly, a wet and salty tear slips past your waterline.

The humiliation inside you that followed the single tear that just slid down your cheek would be enough to crush a grown man.

You knew he’d seen it, your face is flaming with embarrassment.

“This— this conversation is over.” You curtly reply, voice worn as you force out a tone reserved for Kelna.

The way you’re speaking to him like an associate causes him to move, “Y/N, stop—“

But your feet are suddenly moving, “Do not follow me.”

The warning is clear, he hesitates into a stop. Debating what to do.

Give you space or force you to stay in his company?

The conflicting thoughts on his face are clear.

Yet he swallows, and nods.

Then you turn around and walk away.

———

He forced himself to wait an hour. An excruciatingly long one.

After he watched you walk away, he went into where his crewmates were. Predicatably, they were sharing pints and throwing darts. The room was warmly lit, filled with chatter that echoed inside the dark wooden walls. A few of the boys asked where you were as Harry passed them. He could only lie.

“Tired after working.” Was his chosen reply, hoping now was the time more than ever that the crew just took his word for something.

“Probably the hardest she’s ever worked aye?” Tanner drunkenly joked to him, patting his back and throwing another sip of beer back.

Harry had to refrain from shooting him a look. Despite it being something he’d likely say himself, right at that moment, all he felt was worry for you. Even a shred of defensiveness, but that’s a feeling he has to shove down for the moment.

Making way to the cupboards that held their fair share of staple pirate beverages, he pulled a metal flask out and leaned against the bar top.

He forced himself to act as though he was unbothered, and that he was interested in the games of darts unfolding.

However his brain was heavily preoccupied,

Is she okay? Did I do the right thing letting her have time to herself? Is she mad at me?

Questions ran on loop, running a hand through his curls he struggled to reason with himself.

A hand was placed on his back, that interrupted his spiralling thoughts as he sipped at the flask of whiskey. A short sideways glance revealed his blonde haired crew mate.

“Y’seem off.” He quietly remarked.

Niall, often unserious, was surprisingly good at knowing when something was up. And even better at handling it discretely.

Due to that, Harry let out a short sigh through his nose before admitting a shred of truth.

“May have struck a cord with her.”

“Go too far with something, mate?” He asks quietly, curiously.

“No,” he frowns, unsure if he’s insinuating something else, he quickly clarifys, “was talking about the courts, got her upset.”

Niall’s blue eyes dart to meet his captains. Allowing a curt nod before looking back out to their crewmates that are fake tackling eachother over a stolen swig of beer.

“Y’checked on her yet?”

“Givin’ her space. She’s not too happy w’me at the minute.”

He lets out a light snort, “Good choice. Unless she’s thrown ‘erself off the ship, then t’was a bad one.”

“Ha-ha.” He fake laughs and rolls his eyes at Niall, taking a moment to swallow down the anxiety that’s built in his throat.

He can’t avoid stressing about you.

After a few ticks of silence, Niall clears his throat,

“Jus’ careful wit her. For both your sakes.”

He adds on with a pat on the back, “here if you need cap. It’ll be alright.”

Anyone else he would’ve been annoyed for saying that, but Niall is probably wiser than Harry himself. So his advice is taken with gratitude.

“Thanks mate. I’ll be careful.”

After another half hour, he’d had enough of the ill feeling that stirred in his stomach.

He left the room to find himself outside in the now cold but still windy air. It took a second for his gaze to adjust to the darkness, immediately scanning the deck around him for you.

Without any sight of you, he checks all the places he can think you’d be. His room, the cells, the kitchen.

His heart doubles in pace every time you’re not in a place he thought.

Coming out of the kitchen, his quickened pace. Starting to walk along the deck that leads him along the perimeter of the boat.

As he gets closer to the stern of the boat, he feels genuinely sick.

What if you had—

“Y/N!” He gasps without any thought the second his eyes spot your silhouetted frame.

You’re leant against the edge of the boat, staring out into the black water that swirls beneath the ship. He thanks the stars you’re not in it right now, given he was starting to think the worst of the situation at hand.

He doesn’t give you any time to talk before his long strides are invading your personal space. Warm hands coming to your cheeks, turning them to inspect your face for any damage, as though you are some kind of treasure to him.

“Im sorry.” He immediately begins.

“I shouldn’t have pushed m’luck.”

Your eyes scan his, taking in his face as his hands have come to rest in the crook where your neck and shoulders meet.

You still haven’t said anything, which isn’t working in his favour because his words are filling the silence, becoming more risky with each passing second.

“Jus’… the idea of something like that happening to you made me…” his thumbs stroke upwards along the valley of your throat subconsciously, “makes me fuckin’ sick.”

Your lips part as he begins to spill things he probably shouldn’t. Swearing that he can probably feel your pulse in your neck where his fingers lay.

He can’t stop now, “hearing you talk about y’self like that, like y’an object... I know I am no better than any average person in the Kelna courts for what I’ve done to you. But I promise you that I’d take a dagger to my own hands till there was nothing left of them before I ever let something of that nature happen to you…”

A deep breath and he shakes his head, “Not without your permission, darling.”

He doesn’t even care what that’s insinuating. Never does he want you under the impression he has control of you in a sexual regard.

The thought of you even believing that made him sick.

The air around you feels pressurised, and it’s like you’re about to spill even more out to him.

“I am being held captive, yet I’ve never felt more fucking free. How fucked is that?”

He is silent to your admission, shocked into it almost.

“You don’t understand how it feels to go from having to watch your every move, every word, just to stay alive. You are loved with conditions.”

Your voice suddenly heavy with anger again, “People cannot be trusted, everything is always two-sided, no matter what they say to portray otherwise.”

His hands have slipped from you, you’ve started pacing the deck and throwing your own hands out as bouts of sheer outrage wash over you.

“Here, god— you’re atleast half fucking honest with me. I don’t have to conform to any stupid rules to how I speak or sit or dress. I can swear at you, and you only raise the stakes.”

He can’t really fathom that you’re not speaking less of him. That you’re admitting that the life you lead on the ship as a hostage is better than as a princess.

“And I go against every promise I made to myself when I woke up here. I would let you do anything to me, Harry. Do you not understand that? How hard that is to live with everyday?”

“y’implying a lot right now…” he answers.

“You have my permission!” You spit out, pissed off now. At him, for being so charming and handsome that you’ve wound up as the lamb that fell for the lion. And pissed at yourself for being so unable to halt your snowballing emotions for him.

You’re self aware enough to know you’re an idiot, yet you’re still in the same position nonetheless. You’re also going to blame it your lack of education on how to handle sexy pirates that kidnap you for ransom money.

All the same, you’ve come aware that you’d let him do anything to you. You’d do anything to him.

God forbid the day you would do anything for him.

You’re terrified because whether or not this is some kind of fucked up situation of Stockholm Syndrome, you’re too deep in it to turn back now.

“Fucking Jesus Christ…” he curses to the sky, stepping towards you where you’re pacing.

“I hate you, you know! For putting me in this position.” You point at him, stating with contempt once you lock eyes.

“Y/N. Stop.” His voice has dropped several octaves. The wind has urged the curls that usually sit pushed back to fall over his eyes and forehead. Standing over you, his gaze is pinning you to the spot.

His brows are furrowed in an unreadable expression, but you don’t care. Right now, everything you have is about to go on the line.

“Stop what? Telling you that there’s something going on with me— with us here?” You gesture between the two of you.

“Am I meant to tell you that I—“ His hands come to your waist and urge you backwards against the edge of the ship.

The low of your back is pressed into the wooden beam, something you should be scared about realistically, but his hold around you is tight.

“Don’t fucking say it.” He says, “whatever you’re about to say, keep it to yourself.”

“Can’t handle the truth, Captain?”

He tips your chin with his hand, bringing your head on an angle to look him in the eyes, “You won’t be able to handle what comes after that, Princess.”

You’re unsure when both of your breathing became short and laboured. His panting chest made your head physically spin.

“What? Are you gonna put me down in the cells, hang my by the chains on the walls?”

His exhale stutters out of parted lips, “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Ignoring your problems does nothing, Harry. They keep getting bigger while you hide from them. Out of sight out of mind doesn’t work the way you think it does.”

Your frustration easily spreads to him, pushing him closer to a point neither of you can come back from.

His hands grab yours suddenly, they wrap around your wrists and hold them tight between you both. Like he’s grasping for any element of control he has left before everything spirals.

“There is no problem here, Y/N.” He whispers into your ear, voice stern, “do not make one.”

The tension between you both is absolutely palpable, his body is so close to yours it’s spinning your senses haywire.

“So we what? Go back to your room and act like nothings going on… I go get into your bed, and I let you wrap your hands around me like it’s just— it’s just…”

There’s not even a word for it, your voice trails off. His breath hot against your ear, and his one hand still tight around your two wrists.

Fuck it, fuck this, you think.

You turn your face to his, noses bumping.

It’s like the pull between your lips is so strong it’s easier to give in than put an inch of distance between them.

Your body squirms against his. It’s making him wild, he needs you so bad it’s going to break him.

“Not doing it.” He pants out, voice so deep it sounds like he just woke up.

“Not kissing me?”

“Nope.”

“Im giving you permission.”

“Numbing your problems doesn’t make them go away. Feeding into them only makes them worse.” His eyes fluttered shut, brows in a deep frown as he holds himself back with every part of his being.

“So you admit there’s a problem.” Your voice sounds dignified.

The metaphor of your situation has taken on a nickname clearly, and you’re not sure if it’s helping at all.

You nudge your nose into his again, his head falls into a tilt. His mouth so easy to access…

A dance between you ensues. Your mouth moves forward but his moves back.

“It’s so wrong…” he whispers, tongue jutting out to wet his lips. They’re left parted open, air escaping and fanning onto your own.

“I want to rip your shirt off your body right now, how’s that for wrong?”

“if I kiss you, Y/N,” he begins, breath stuck in his throat, “I’ll never be able to send you back.”

And how wrong is it for you to admit that’s beginning to become exactly what you want.

A stretch of silence, and you finally just lean into him. The second your lips meet his, your whole body melts.

Air empties out of his lungs in sweet relief, he swears for a moment he feels so lightheaded that he’s dreaming this whole moment up.

The hand wrapped around your wrists slides off and finds refuge on your waist. A voice in his subconscious is selfishly begging your own soft fingers to touch him wherever they can.

It appears words are suddenly useless to you both, and all that’s important is the kiss that is finally happening.

The meaning behind it weighs like a tonne of bricks, yet somehow makes it all the better. It shows in the way his mouth moves against yours like velvet, kissing back into your upper lip like he’s desperate for you.

He still recalls the first time he caught himself thinking about kissing you.

You were down in the cells, playing the waiting game after pushing him one step too far. It’d been over a day since he’d pulled you out of the water you’d thrown yourself in.

The sun was hot on his skin as he thought of your fully soaked body that he pressed into the hull of his ship. He remembered looking up to your lips as he untied your bound wrists.

They were glossy with water from the sea.

As he thought about, he only could imagine tasting them. Kissing over the salt water until they no longer shone with ocean drops, but with his saliva instead.

He had to physically shake his head at himself. Blaming it on not having been laid in so long.

Didn’t take long to release that was far from the problem when it came to his unseemly attraction to you.

A deep whine sounds from your chest, drawing him back to the present, and he pushes his body as far into your space as it can. You’re physically pinned against the edge of the ship. Theres not a care in the world at the endlessly deep swell of water thats just past you.

You don’t even remember when tongue started getting involved, nor when exactly you worked up the courage to lick into his mouth.

It’s hot, so hot.

His body feels like it’s on fire, and your hands feel that tangible warmth as they slide underneath the purple silk covering his chest.

That heat isn’t just budding in chests, it’s striking hot between legs. Only growing worse by the minute.

“My fuckin’ god…” he groans into your mouth, hands squeezing the swell of your chest.

“You taste devine, angel…”

His words make you tipsy. You smile and kiss him harder, letting his hands roam your body like you’ve never touched eachother before.

Despite the nights he’s dragged a delicate touch along your back and the skin over your waist, it’s nothing compared to this. It’s like you’ve never felt him before. The way his tongue glides against the roof of your mouth skilfully, and firm yet gentle hands are palming the flesh between your ass and thighs.

He’s wasted no time roaming and squeezing every inch of your skin, even over clothes he’s desperately trying to commit it to memory. Rubbing over the swell of your ass like you’re the only thing in the world he wants this bad.

“Harry.” There it was, his name.

The way it falls from your kiss swollen lips in that same pretty plea that sends him spiraling every single time. Yet it was so, so different in this moment.

Sheer pleasure courses through him, and he pulls your leg up to bracket his hip, letting him push himself closer into you. Imagining what lay between the peak of your thighs.

Wishing to see the state of you, wondering if this situation has worked you up to the same extent as him.

You can feel him, every inch. Every hard slab of muscle is pressed into you, warmth radiating off him like rays of the sun.

“My name.” He murmurs into your lips, “Say it again.”

His kiss trails down your neck, sucking gently over your pulse before licking a stripe back up your throat. His saliva leaving a hot, wet trail behind.

“Harry, please… more.” You don’t even have to try, the words all come from your mouth like it’s your only purpose.

His prick is swollen in the black trousers he’s in, shamelessly being pushed into your thigh. The feeling, it’s like heaven. You don’t have any single other way to explain it.

He’s behind layers of clothing and he’s pretty sure this is better than any sex he’s ever had.

Your little experience with genuine sexual interactions has not stopped you at all. And reflecting on every past experience of a sexual nature, they fall incomparably flat to this.

Despite the majority of them being unwanted advances, even the few you engaged in— mostly with random strangers at ballroom parties— were nothing to this.

They took place in dim hallways and in secluded gardens, the kisses were always slimy, laced with the intention of taking anything from you they feasibly could. You always stopped it when you released you felt no desire to go further.

This, however, was happening because no matter how hard you both attempted to deny it, you both wanted it. Wanted eachother.

And this time, all you felt was desire.

Your hand comes down to suddenly cup the bulge of his cock between you. He moans at the feeling, rocking into your palm shamelessly.

“Fuck— I could come jus’ like this. Against your innocent little hand…” he curses into your neck, making your mind swirl with his lustful and dirty words.

“Tha’s no fun though.” He amends, swollen lips coming up to your ear, “Not when I could take you back to our bed…”

Our bed… your hazy brain notes, trying to commit it to memory as his tongue drags lightly over the shell of your ear.

“I could leave your hands free, so you could lace them into my hair. Pulling on it like I know you would while I lick into you, Angel.”

“Or would you prefer them bound up against the headboard? Just as we’ve always joked, all tied up. At my mercy.”

“Please… Harry.” Your whole body feels like it’s been set alight, the pulsing between your legs so intense it made your knees weak.

“Please what, dove? Or you don’t care? As long as someone is looking after that pretty place down here, hmm…”

His hand meets the fabric between your legs, both of you now rutting into each others palms.

You can’t help but whine, “it hurts… Harry. Fuck…”

He shakes his head, leaning in to kiss your lips. He can’t believe you’re so worked up you’re telling him its physically hurting you. He thought it was just him, with his cock so hard he is bordering on being in pain.

“Cmon,” he starts to pull you back, your body leaving the dangerous edge of the boat.

But you hardly can figure out how to walk, almost like a little spring doe. Knees struggling to function.

He picks you up effortlessly by your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. Your arms naturally draping over his broad shoulders, tangling into his messy brown hair.

You whine and push into his chest without any thought. Attempting any kind of friction you can, causing his to laugh. His eyes finding yours, “you’re so needy you’re grinding against my chest…”

His long legs make quick distance across the boat, out of the cool wind and through the winding halls below deck.

Thankfully not running into a soul as he enters his room with you, locking the door swiftly behind him.

The second the latch flicks in place, his lips are back against yours. The kiss is sloppy and desperate, open mouths pushing against eachother like you’ve been apart for weeks.

You’re moaning into his mouth as he squeezes your ass in the dark room. Walking over to his bed, still holding you against him as he climbs atop the mattress.

He lets your back drift down until it meets the plush comforter, but your legs still elevated by his. Ass against his thighs, and his erection tightly pushed against you.

He follows your lips the whole way down, hands rolling up and down your body, lingering against your breasts as he nicks your bottom lip with his teeth.

“This okay?” He breathes out, making sure you’re alright.

“Yes…” You nod, responding without even a second between his question.

He soaks up the feeling that swells in his chest as you consent to him. You said it without an ounce of hesitation. He’s almost feeling honoured.

“This is on your terms, my Princess… you tell me to stop and I stop.”

My. Your brain struggled to compute his possessive words.

My Princess.

You drag your hands up his back, sliding them all the way to his cheekbones.

Your eyes find his.

They lock with intensity. Green gaze piercing into your soul.

Silence ticks over between you, only filled by the panting of your breaths.

Your thumb slips down to his plump lips, pulling down his bottom one. The pad of your finger tracing over its fullness, dipping into the wetness that coats it.

He allows it, eyes fluttering at the gentle yet seductive touch.

He is so gorgeous.

When your thumb is wet with his saliva, you bring it back down to your mouth. He watches you, the action so small yet so utterly filthy as you draw your finger into your mouth. Taking it between your own lips and sucking it clean.

Once you draw it out of your mouth, you keep your big eyes looking at him, “You have my permission, Captain.”

He curses at your words, and they kick him back into gear. His body folds over yours again, meeting your lips with his— fuelled with a fever that makes his head spin.

He tastes like whiskey, and you feel simply drunk off of it. You want to drink him up. He is the warm, tingly feeling in your throat after throwing back a shot of the brown liquor.

His mouth moves down your neck again, kissing and licking as far as your clothes will allow. He gets to the very top of your chest before the fabric gets in the way. Having half the mind to just mouth over your nipple anyway.

But, it’s the satisfaction that’s to come with stripping it off of you. The very clothes he bought.

Fingers shuck the material up over your chest, and your arms lift up instinctively to help him get it off. He’s surprised to see you were without a bra.

There you lay, arms up above your head, back arched against the mattress, and your beautiful chest on display for him.

“Oh, dove… you are a work of art.” He coos, hands immediately coming to run against the soft skin of your breasts.

He stares intently in the dark, suddenly asking, “Can I light a candle?”

His voice is hasty, “I can see you, but not s’well as I would if there was a bit of light.”

“Want t’see your skin coated in that warm light,” he leans down, voice dropping into a whisper, “and so I can watch y’nipples harden when I wrap my mouth ‘round them.”

You nod quickly as you speak a desperate yes, squirming at the idea.

It would be unfair for you also, not to see his chest and tattoos while you two did whatever this was together.

He pecks a chaste kiss over your lips.

“Thank,” kiss.

“…you.” another gentle kiss.

He slides upright, struggling to tear his eyes off of you as he fumbles for a match to light the candle on the sconce mounted to his wall.

You hear the match flick alight, and the room suddenly being cast on a golden glow as he brings the flame to the wick.

Discarding of the match, he wastes no time coming back to where you lay— hair fanned out underneath you. He stands at the edge of the bed, staring breathlessly at you.

He had hummed the second he saw you—properly saw you. Your cheeks are flushed red, beautiful brows upturned into an expression of sheer want.

“Let me take yours off,” you gesture with your eyes to his own shirt, “please?”

“C’mere then.”

You bring yourself up, knees to the edge of his bed. Your hands lift the purple fabric over him, and suddenly the tan, chiseled skin you eye off so often is finally yours to freely touch.

Tattoos and muscles, fine hairs and freckles, he is the embodiment of beauty and sex.

You run soft hands over his abs, the muscles almost rippling as he feels the skin to skin contact. Throwing his head back, he groans into the tension filled air.

Hands wrap around your bare waist, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest.

He follows through with exactly what he’d said moments earlier, kissing a trail down to your breasts before wrapping his soft mouth around the peak of one of them.

Wet and hot, his tongue sucks and swirls until you’re moaning embarrassingly loud. You react like you’ve never felt someone like this before, because truthfully, you hadn’t.

Your spine arches, pushing into his mouth and lacing your hands around his neck.

He pulls away, smirking at the hardened nipple he’s looking after, while you catch your breath.

“My turn.” You whispered, and despite your legs feeling like jelly, you kiss your own way down his chest until you meet his defined pectoral muscle.

Your lack of experience doesn’t show, you’re so eager to please him it makes you only confident. You lick against the warm skin of his chest, lulling your tongue over his own nipple— something a girl has never done to him before.

“Fuck—!” He bites out, teeth clamping down onto his lower lip.

You pay some attention to it before trailing up his shoulder, sucking the skin above his collarbone. Biting against it and making sure to leave a mark.

He slaps lightly at your ass, still covered in tight black pants, just as he is.

“You are so filthy, dove.” His voice lilts, dripping with honey,

“Who would’ve known… to look at you, no one would know you’re the kind of girl that’s going to wrap her hot little mouth on any skin she can.”

“Innocent thing you are, ready to do anything, hm?”

His nose nudges yours so he can get better access to your mouth, kissing into it again.

Merely minutes since he last had his lips on yours, and it feels like the first time all over again. It strikes and stirs hot in your stomach. Making you arch into him again, pressing your chest against his.

“So needy… you must be soaked…” his thoughts spill from his lips out loud.

“Panties that I bought you are probably wet through by now, little cunt all weepy for something it’s never had.”

“D’ya want it, baby?” His sultry voice asks.

“Harry, I want it, I want you.” You plead, and he unbuttons your black pants.

The zipper is pulled down by him, and he slides his hand in between your legs. Cupping over the fabric, it’s almost hot to touch.

“So warm in there, I can feel y’clenching around nothin’.”

He rubs softly over you, and you moan out, rutting into his hand.

His lips kiss you hot and slow as he runs tedious circles over the top of your panties.

Once you’re moaning and arching into him, he slowly retracts his hand out, “get in the middle of the bed.”

You follow his instructions moving to lay in the centre of his mattress as he shucks his pants off.

He’s in nothing but boxers as he climbs above your legs, “No one else has ever made you come, have they?”

His green eyes lock with yours,

“N-no.”

“No one’s ever wrapped their lips around your swollen clit and sucked until you finish against their tongue? Or fucked their fingers into you until you are almost crying?”

You can’t even verbally answer, only able to shake your head side to side.

“Mm, okay,” he hums, lowering down to kiss your belly as he slowly pulls your pants down from your legs.

A smirk rises on his lips as he kisses below your navel, “Then I take it no one’s ever pushed their cock into you?”

Your cheeks were burning as you squeezed your thighs together, only in black lacy panties that he bought you.

“Alright baby,” he smirks, “look at you then, in this little pair of black underwear I got ya. Did you think about what was going through my head as I picked them out?”

“Never thought I’d be privledged enough to see y’in them.”

The warm candle highlights the goosebumps that have already prickled over your skin, each kiss he’s pressed to your bare body has made them spread like wildfire.

He takes his time to tease you, lips lulling over your lower stomach, tongue tracing the upper band of your underwear.

This continues until you’re begging him for anything, “I can’t— h— fuck… Harry.”

Your speech is slurred like you’re half awake, “Please touch me.”

“I am touching you.” He stated, green eyes flickering up to yours, face with devilish intent.

“More…” was the only word you could sigh out to him, unable to hold eye contact with him for longer than a second.

His hand comes to the back of your knee, pushing it up so your legs spread. He licks a slow, pleasing stripe against the dip between your thigh and where you want him the most.

Your hips jut upwards, and his fingers trace over your centre above the fabric covering it. As you whine wordlessly into the comforter, he tucks his finger into the edge seam of your panties. Pulling the elastic back and letting it snap back against your skin.

Not enough to hurt, but enough for the vibration to ripple through your core.

“Jus’ say the words, dove.” He murmurs, kissing over where your clit is.

“Take them off.” Your own hands start frantically pulling the sides down your thighs.

“Tha’s my girl.” He taps over where he just kissed with his thumb, laughing at your attempt to get them off, helping you get them all the way down. Tossing them over his shoulder, leaving them somewhere behind him to be dealt with later.

His eyes finally lock onto your bare body. Entirely naked.

How badly you want him is evident, and his fingers immediately move to run down your dripping centre.

“You…” he speaks, voice raspy and dripping with desire, “are a fucking angel.”

“Prettiest little cunt I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Fuckin’ hell. The things im going to do to you if you’ll let me.”

The second they glide down you, grazing over your entrance, all conscious thoughts and conscious movement disappear. Almost like a magic trick. Suddenly everything you do is automatic, like your breathing or your heart beating. You have no conscious play in it.

This includes the words coming from your mouth.

“Finger me.” You moan shamelessly, clenching around nothing as he touches you.

He almost groans at your request, “Mm, well I gotta stretch you out, hey?”

Taking a few moments to rub over you slowly, he eventually slides his middle finger into you. It glides in so smoothly. Even just the idea of his hands touching you this way has you completely melted, your back arching off the mattress as he moves in and out gently, the subtle rolling inside you enough to send you insane.

“C’mon dove, let me taste.” He pushes your legs open wider.

No part of you registers what he’s saying until his lips attach to your clit, licking over your arousal that’s spread entirely over your core.

“God!” You cry out as he flicks his tongue and curls his finger, the combination heavenly.

It’s bliss for him just watching you, the way your body reacts to every little touch he administers.

Another finger pushing into you and you’re already a mess around his hand and mouth. At whatever point he thought you couldn’t get any wetter, he was entirely wrong.

“Y’gushing around me, baby. Two fingers and you’re clenching like you could finish jus’ like this— so tight too.” His words are spoken against you, and the vibration just makes you fall deeper and deeper.

“Feel so good, Harry.” You moan out, hands finally finding his soft curls. Wrapping around them and tugging his face into you.

The scene is erotic. Pink lips against you, fingers pushed into you. Same tan arm holding onto your leg that you’ve stared at many times before.

His cock is aching while he does this to you, hearing you whine his name like a broken record as he picks up the intensity. Tongue and fingers forming a rhythm, one that quickly is building an intense heat in the low of your stomach.

Sitting up, he removes his fingers without warning as he repositions himself. You immediately miss the feeling of him inside of you, somewhere in the back of your head wondering how you’re ever going to go without the sensation.

It blips suddenly to wondering what the fuck you’re both going to do after tonight… something that would make you overthink into a deadly spiral usually. But it’s quickly forgotten about again when he rests on his knees between your spread legs, and pulls your ass up onto his thighs.

Your legs are spread open completely, he has a view of you he’s only ever dreamed of. Your wet glistening cunt in front of him, entirely his to please tonight.

You’re still babbling out his name like a mantra, mixed with a few different sighed words. Varying from “please” to “fuck” to “touch me”.

They get lodged in your throat when you watch him dip down and lick along you completely. Spitting onto your clit once he gets to it.

Fucking filthy.

You loved it.

His free hand reaches to touch your chest, rocking his tongue against you. Mixing spit and arousal together over your swollen core.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.” He moans into you, flicking his tongue over your entrance.

He’s eating you out so damn well you want to suck him off desperately in attempt to thank him.

It doesn’t take long before the same hand that was pressed into your breast, tweaking your sensitive nipples his sliding back down along your waist.

“Three,” he murmurs into you, “reckon you can take that like a good girl?”

“Yea… yea!” You eagerly nod, your own hand coming to squeeze your breast, “need to feel you.”

“You are so fuckin’ dirty… beggin’ t’take more n’ more of me.”

He holds the back of your thigh as he works to push in a third finger. This one burns, you never put more than two of your own fingers inside of you. And compared to his— size wise— they don’t measure up in the slightest.

The pinch you feel is a mixture of pleasure and pain. But your body registers the sensation that feels otherworldly as you stretch around him.

“Harry!” You whine out, hips stuttering as he slowly curls his three fingers inside of you, “Holy shit.”

He moved feverishly, showing clearly how bad he wants you to come. He wants to watch you entirely unravel between his touch.

Everything is starting to build up in your stomach, the pressure twisting and clenching. Your hand comes up to your own hair, fisting through it at the intensity.

He pumps his fingers in fast, quick movements, curling them quickly inside of you as he watches in complete awe at your bodies reaction to him. Your back is arching, lips whining out beautiful sounds, a light dusting of sweat shines between your chest.

“Taking it so well,” he murmurs, leaning down to attach his lips to your clit as he continues fucking you with his fingers.

The second his tongue swirls over you, you realise you’re about to loose it.

“H-harry—“ the sheer desperation in your voice tells him all he needs to know, along with the pulsating of your entrance.

“Don’t stop…” pleading to him, “i— im gonna come.”

He smiles against you, sucking harshly as you start to squirm and pant underneath him.

“Want to watch it,” he presses a kiss above your clit, “want to watch every second of it.”

You nod feverishly, head starting to spin and body starting to feel like it’s floating.

“Are you gonna show me, dove? Show me just how good im making y’feel?” His voice is seductively low.

“Don’t want you holding back, I want to hear you.”

“Harry.” The thrust of his hand is beginning to tip you over the edge, his words only bringing you closer.

He leans his body over yours, mouth coming to kiss over you. Trailing up your chest until his lips meet yours.

The kiss is open-mouthed and desperate as you moan into it.

You want his fingers as deep as they can possibly fit into you, and you suddenly are verbalising this, “harder, deeper, please…”

“Want it rough, baby. I’ll give you rough.” He chuckles against you.

All the sudden, his pace quickens, and he’s pushing them in and out of you at a rate your brain can’t even keep up with.

The feeling of the palm of his hand slapping against your clit makes your whole body seize up, you cry out in pleasure as he talks in your ear.

“Cmon, let it all out baby.” He coos, voice soft compared to his movements.

Your moans are loud and stuttered out at each thrust. Starting to shake as your stomach tightens, “Please, please!”

His movements don’t falter for a second, and suddenly your orgasm hits you like a train. Whole body shaking as you clench around his fingers.

He even moans as he feels you finish, imagining how it would feel to have your cunt squeezing his cock instead.

You cry out his name so loud it echoes through his bedroom, all while he rocks his fingers through your orgasm.

“That’s it angel,” palm hitting your clit to make you clench again, drawing out the pleasure, “fucking gorgeous…”

“So beautiful, letting me watch your face screw up as you came all over my hand.”

“Can’t wait to have my face down there someday.”

The thought makes you writhe against him, “maybe later, hm?”

“I’ll get my tongue inside of you, play with that pretty clit until you do that all again… finish on m’face.”

He’s dirty talking you as you come down, and even when he finally draws his fingers out of you, you can’t help but want more.

Unsure if it’s just him telling you all the stuff he wants to do, or just how badly you want him in general, you realise how worked up you still are.

Not often would you orgasm and still be craving more, but right now you swear you could be doing this all night with him.

His soaked fingers run up between your chest and come to his mouth. His green eyes finding yours as he sucks them clean, humming as he tastes you.

“Fuck me—“ a sudden burst of energy comes to you, hands coming to push yourself to sit up. During it all, you’d slid off his lap and back down onto the mattress.

“Let me suck your cock.”

He’d straightened upright along with you, sitting back on his knees as he had been earlier.

His brows shot up in surprise as you suddenly had this new found energy, “baby— you haven’t even fully come down yet, just have a moment.”

“Harry.” Your gaze snaps to him, “im going to suck you off until you decide you’re going to fuck me, okay?”

“I need you to fuck me.”

“Jesus Christ.” He curses, throwing his head back. His cock is aching, and he can’t even imagine saying no to that.

“I’m gonna struggle not to finish the second you wrap your lips around me, princess.”

“You can hold it, captain. I want to taste you.”

It doesn’t take you long before you’re pushing him backwards, making his legs stretch out as you kiss him quickly.

He hums into your mouth as you palm at his briefs, squeezing the fabric over his hard cock.

You move to pull his briefs down his thighs, listening to him groan once he is finally out of the tight confines. Pulling away from his warm lips, you look down between you.

Jesus Christ.

Of course the Captain was heavily equipped.

The tip of him was flushed and swollen, you just knew how well it would fill your mouth. He was the embodiment of pure sex. Everything about him.

“Can i?” You glance up, looking at the way his plump bottom lip is taken between his white teeth.

He nods quickly, fluttering his eyes as he pictures the mental image of what you’re about to do to him. How much this is about to fuck him up.

Not having to imagine long. Your body sinks down, knees pushing back on the comforter as you half lay between his legs.

“God—“ he draws out, you haven’t even touched him, but the sight of you is enough to make his head spin.

Your bare ass and the arch of your back is all he can pay attention to as you rest on your elbows between his thighs.

“You look so…” he struggles to find the word, and the thought will never be completed. Your hands wrap gingerly around him, and although you’re unsure how to go about pleasing him, you waste no time licking along the underside of him.

“Fuck!” He spits out immediately, hips flexing upward at the touch.

Lips wrapping over his head, you just go with what feels natural, sucking the tip gently, careful not to nick him with your teeth.

“Y/N.” He sighs out your name, letting you envelop his senses entirely.

He doesn’t know how long he’s going to be able to hold out from finishing in your mouth. He’s already feeling that tightness spread across his abdomen, and you haven’t even been on him for a whole minute.

You hum around him in response to your name, hands sliding up his thighs and meeting the muscles of his chest. Selfishly you palm over the hard slabs, watching his brows furrow in pleasure as you slip further down his length.

Hollowing your cheeks you suck around him, moving up and down gently as his hand laces into your hair.

“You… your mouth is like fuckin’ heaven.”

“Could sit here all night with that thing wrapped around me.”

You revel in the idea, saliva dripping down his cock as you draw back up to having only his tip between your lips. Gently pulling off to talk, “I’d do it.”

He feverishly lets his head fall back, pulling at the hair he’s got between his fingers.

“You’d be a good girl and warm my cock all night with that mouth of yours?”

You nod as he leans down to pull your face up to his, kissing your lips without shame of where they’d just been.

He slides his tongue into your mouth, drawing across your bottom lip, “Another night baby. You wanted me inside of you, so you’ll get that.”

“A little longer on you, please.” You whine, wanting to please him with your mouth just like he had for you.

The briefs hanging onto his thighs get pulled all the way off before your body leans back down, kissing over his length and sucking harshly at certain sides of him.

Who is he to say no to you.

Licking along him, you drag your tongue over his tip before sliding your lips down him again. This time you move faster, and he is trying to keep his thoughts controlled as you fill your mouth with as much of him as you can without gagging.

“Good girl,” he moans, watching your ass rise and fall with each bob of your head.

His prick is practically dripping with your saliva, and he don’t think he’s ever felt a better feeling in his life.

So good that he can only go so long before he’s swearing, and pulling at your hair, “Fuck— Y/N I’m going to come if y’don’t stop.”

You hum around him, having half the mind to just keep going so you can taste him fully. Somehow he finds the strength to hold it off, “No, baby, take your mouth off— please.”

You slide off him with a pop, looking up at him with swollen lips.

The sensation of your mouth trailing up him had him teetering on the edge of his high, “Fuck,” his hips stuttering against nothing as his head is thrown back. Attempting to push down the feeling he was so close to giving into.

Its so hot. Watching his frown get deeper as he screws his eyes shut, all the hard muscles on his body tightening.

His hand comes to his hair as he pulls on it, the orgasm he was so close to was finally receding. You’d just unintentionally edged him.

“Y’so fucking horny.” He pants, “can’t even wait to have me inside you.”

He lifts you up by your arms and pulls you on top of him, chest to chest. You can feel his length curving against your ass as his lips come down to suck on your nipple. Licking over it harshly without mercy.

“Want you to fuck me senseless, Harry.” You moan, back arching into him as you grind down against him, arousal practically dripping down onto his cock.

“Please,” you begin to beg as he works over your breast. You can’t seem to stop the words flowing from your lips, “I want you so bad.”

His mouth moves off your hardened nipple, looking you in the eyes, sighing out a deep breath.

You search his unreadable gaze, and there’s a sudden blanket of silence that falls over you both. Maybe a hint of realisation has set in, in that what you’re about to do is irreversible.

“I jus’ want y’to be sure.” He says, sobering the intense moment.

“Think about it for a moment, okay? Just take a second.” He kisses your cheek, hands rubbing delicately on your back, “I don’t want this to be something y’regret.”

You nod slowly, pursing your lips as you genuinely take the moment to consider everything. You are about to fuck a pirate. Which isn’t even the worst part.

Still, even as you think about the situation, and all the potential repercussions, you can’t find it in yourself to want to stop.

“I know we don’t know where this is going, and we both know we shouldn’t be doing this.” You speak quietly.

He hums in agreement, his pink lips pursed as he lets you talk, “but… no. I still want this.”

“And I rarely ever get to make decisions for myself… so thank you for letting me do that.” You say, voice sounding certain.

“Don’t thank me for that, that should be your right.” He states, brows furrowed.

“Shh, let me thank you anyway.” You nudge his nose to the side, kissing him gently. Lips clicking as you both take a moment to do just that.

“I think i have condoms,” he begins.

A laugh bubbles from your chest at his uncertainty, “You think,”

Shaking his head in a sort of amusement, “I haven’t used them in a long time, dove. I don’t bring girls in here.”

“Yet here I am.”

“Yet here you are.” He hums, hoping you pick up the underlining statement in his words. You are special. Much more than just a girl he’s got in his bed for the night.

“Wanna feel you.” You whispered, implying you don’t want to use anything. And honestly, your whole body ached to feel him for the first time without a condom on. Especially since you knew it wasn’t an issue with it.

“The court mandates us to have a rod…”

He frowns, “what do you mean?”

“So I don’t get pregnant before I’m married. It’s fine it’s reversible… they can take it out. They do it to most girls incase we start fooling around behind their backs.”

“Fuckin’ Hell. I hate them.” He spits, “Always controlling other people bodies.”

“If you’d prefer to—“ the sentence doesn’t even make it out of your mouth before he interrupts,

“No baby, that’s your choice.“ His tone is entirely certain, not wishing to have any influence on your decision.

“As long as you don’t have some kind of pirate STD, i wanna feel you, harry.” You tease, but tone still genuine.

It causes him to laugh, “No STD’s here.”

“Alright, good.” You nod, mouth forming a grin, “I trust you, if you trust me.”

His green gaze searches yours, and you feel the weight of your words for a few seconds until he breaks the silence, “I trust you.”

Nodding, you bring your lips back to his. Giving him a chaste kiss of appreciation that he smiles into.

But now that you’ve committed, that sense of need is rushing back into you. But this time, it’s like the flood gates are open, your movements starting to get quickly eager again.

That gentle kiss quickly turns heated as you grind down over his length, excited he gets to feel you skin against skin.

He mutters into your mouth, “Perfect baby, every inch of you.”

Immensely tired of waiting, your voice whines out a plea, “Fuck me harry, please.”

“M’gonna fuck you, don’t worry.” He whispers, grabbing your hips and flipping you around. Leaving your back pressed into the pillows as he pulls your waist to his.

He looks down at you, hair fanned out and big eyes looking at him with parted lips. His own gaze dips to the supple flesh of your tits, inexplicably excited to watch them bounce as he fucks you.

You can’t help but take the opportunity to commit his stance above you to memory, the muscles of his tan chest and the dark ink of his tattoos. The thought of scratching your nails along his laurel adorning hips…

He can’t take you staring at him like that. He leans down to pepper kisses along your neck— finally grabbing himself, a hiss coming from his teeth as he rubs his tip along you and over your clit.

“Tell me if it’s too much okay?” He says, lining his head up to your soaked entrance.

You sigh out several words of agreement, clutching his shoulders as he slowly starts to push into you.

With how turned on you are, and his early preparation with his fingers, his tip slides into you with some ease. There’s still some tension as he pushes in, “Relax, dove…”

His voice is so deep. He’s still clutching onto every ounce of his control, praying he can hold himself together when he hears you whine as you’re being stretched out by his cock.

“I won’t last long if you keep squirming like tha’.” He screws his eyes shut, holding you still by the hips.

“Fuck—“ it feels so different to anything you’ve ever felt. He curves into you like it was fate, like every inch of him was tailor made to you.

“Deeper, go deeper please…” you beg, nails scratching at the messy curls on his head.

His brain works on overdrive to process the fact he’s the first person to ever do this to you. That you’re experiencing this with him for the very first time.

Virginity is a tacky term for him, in the pirate world it’s regarded as the best thing you can take from a girl. The way it’s treated disgusts him. But the only thing for him that’s important is that your first experience is the best he can give it, and that you feel safe— treasured even. Exactly how you should.

“Takin’ it so well…” He sighs out, finally all the way inside of you.

“Kiss me, Harry.” You say, and he wastes no time leaning down to capture your mouth.

Kissing him with his cock fully pressed into you is an entirely different experience. As your tongue glides against his lower lip, he stutters his hips inside of you. Hand coming to play with your clit as he starts to move gently.

You roll your body against his uncontrollably, wrapping your hands into his hair to pull his lips further into yours.

“Feels so good—“ you groan into the corner of his lips, the stimulation you’re getting feels like it’s coming from all angles. Like you could float away.

“You feel so good. So tight around me, Y/N.” He thrusts a little harder as he speaks, moving back down to kiss you. It’s also harder this time, both your tongues clashing against each other as he starts to build a pace between your legs.

He can feel how coated he is with your arousal, your cunt only growing wetter as he ruts into you.

“Do what you want to me.” You pant out, your body aching for anything he’s willing to give to you.

His green eyes are almost swallowed entirely by his pupils, “Fuck.”

“Can y’take it rough y’think?” He asks, nose bumping yours as you hold eye contact.

You nod feverishly, and it causes his head to throw itself back as he starts to work himself into you harder. Taking the opportunity, you bring your lips to suck against the arch of his throat.

He never wants this to end. He wants to take you like this all night. Change locations, fuck you on the floor, against the wall, bent over his bed, even with you pressed into the counter of the bathroom so you can watch it all in the mirror.

His throat is vibrating as he moans, you can feel it against your lips. You’re licking over his tan skin with your tongue, swearing you can feel the beat of his pulse underneath.

You start to loose yourself in him again, hands drawing down to scratch against the muscles of his chest as you clench around his cock. He is captivating at the best of times, even when you’re 5 feet apart you can get swept up by him.

It’s like a hold down under a wave, you can’t get up above the surface long enough to catch a breath. You don’t know what way is up or down, you’re spinning and all you can feel is him, he is the water glistening with rays of sun that fully surrounds you.

Now amplify that by a hundred and maybe that begins to cover how he feels while he’s inside of you.

Moans start bubbling out of you with each thrust, you feel him hitting that spot inside of you everytime he ruts back into you, balls slapping against your ass as he gives you himself exactly how you’d asked.

He moves his hand off your clit and grabs your hips, angling them up, pulling you flush against him. Entirely rough as he fucks into you at a slightly new angle, this on its own sends you wild.

Your back arches off the bed, crying out as he slams into you, your wet cunt taking him as deep as it allows. Squeezing around him so hard his jaw is going lax, curls on his head sticking to his forehead.

“Good girl,” he groans out, “taking my cock so fuckin’ well.”

“Knew how good this would feel. M’gonna want you all the fucking time.” Slapping your ass, he keeps the filthy words coming from his mouth, “Gonna be bending you over any chance I get, angel.”

“Please…” you nod feverishly, “Need you all the time, need your cock.”

His tattooed arm comes from your hip and runs up along your side, hand cupping your bouncing tits. Squeezing one of them, he then trails up your neck and coming to cradle your jaw. His thumb slides past your lips and presses into your wet mouth.

You don’t need him to even tell you, you just suck on it, letting saliva pool around his warm finger that’s rubbing circles against your tongue. He draws it in and out, rubbing over your plump lips and tracing a line down your chin. Eventually coming to flick his thumb against your nipple— your own spit coating it.

All of this, and you start to feel the pressure build in your stomach, of course you couldn’t last long as he fucked you like this.

“Harry!” His name started to come from your lips over and over again. Legs beginning to shake, heart racing in your chest.

“Gonna come?” he grunts out, “this sweet pussy gonna come around my cock? Drip all over it?”

You cry out as his body pounds against you, his hands guiding your hips into the movement as your eyes physically can’t stay open. You swear stars are beginning to explode behind them.

They squeeze shut as your whole body almost stops working. Your heart and lungs feel like they completely seize as you hang onto the peak of your orgasm for a breathless moment.

“Fuck—“ he hissed out, feeling how tight you’ve gone around him, “I’m gonna finish with you, cmon baby.”

His fingers come to quickly rub over your clit— a few fast, tight circles, and that is all it takes.

Your moan reverberates around the four walls of his room as you come for the second time, bouncing against his cock as your whole body writhes in your climax.

“Harry, I’m coming!” Your voice is pitched so high, half whine half cry as you state the obvious. As if he missed the fast clenching of your entrance around him.

“Fuck— fuck, im—“ He can’t get the sentence out as his cock starts to pulsate, his balls tightening as he realises he’s about to follow along with you.

He gives a final, deep and hard thrust that brings him to his orgasm. You feel the heat of his come inside of you as the movements of his hips become sloppy with each squeeze of his cock.

The strength of his climax is only amplified by you edging him accidentally earlier, he feels this in his bones.

“Yessss—“ The feeling of him emptying out in your cunt is like heaven, “give it all to me, Captain.”

“Want all my come huh, fuckin’ filthy thing?” He rasps, body hunched over at the heat still bursting through his whole body.

You both ride out your highs with eachother. Hands coming to touch eachother all over as your bodies begin to slow down. His palms skate over your breasts, and your own fingers run up and down his tensed arms. The two of you start to stop shaking and squeezing as the high of your orgasms naturally close out.

The sound of panting is all that fills the room. Breaths laboured and exhausted.

“Baby,” he says, sounding entirely out of breath, “took me so good.”

He leans down to kiss you gently, and you whine against his lips, unable to find the words for anything that just happened.

Slowly, you make out with eachother. Tongues licking gently along lips and against one another. An entirely different sort of intimacy from the sex you just had, and a silent form of a thank you as he slides his cock out of you.

He groans into your mouth as he does it, feeling sensitive as he slips out of your warmth. He pulls away to look at the state of you, something he’s not willing to miss.

The sight was something he wish he could capture forever— no matter how filthy it sounds. Your pussy is swollen, all fucked out as his come is starting to drip out of you.

You watch him stare, a prideful smirk on his lips at the mess he’s made of you. Chocolate curls over his forehead, cheeks and lips flushed a warm red, and his tan skin glistening in a sweat.

Looking at him is like looking at a painting.

He longs to lean down and clean you up with his mouth, but it’s clear how exhausted you both are, so he gets up instead— despite you begging him to stay, he kisses your forehead, “Just getting a cloth to clean y’up. I’m coming back.”

Running water over a washcloth in the bathroom, he comes back out to wipe the fresh and damp material over you. You whine at the touch, the area sensitive from two intense orgasms. Despite the dirty nature of it, it makes him smile softly.

Tending to you after he’s fucked you breathless is almost half the treat. Watching you smile back at him, how content you look. Knowing you’re safe in his company.

Once you’re cleaned up, he chucks the dirtied cloth back in the bathroom to be dealt with later, not wasting any more time and coming to lay back down with you.

“Thank you.” You whispered, now that your brain is clearing you’re becoming unsure what to do now. Do you act as normal? He senses your sudden unease like instinct, wrapping a hand around your waist and tugging you into his chest.

“Don’t be shy, y’fine dove.” He kisses you again, hand running over your side comfortingly, “just had m’cock in you, no room left for that.”

You nod into the gentle kiss he’s giving you, pressing your body to his as you feel less anxious now he’s affirming everything is okay.

As you both lay with eachother, softly touching skin, you wonder what this will change. How the after effects of this will alter the future.

You’re hyperaware standing on top of a precipice of change. Despite wishing you could act naive, and attempt to believe that everything can go back as it once was— you know that will never happen. It’s something you’re both excited and terrified of. But in this moment, with the way the captain of this ship is holding you, touching you, kissing you— you can’t help but feel like everything is going to be alright.

———

taglist:

@saturnheartz @slap-me-harry @ilovehsstuff @ameerakane20 @matildasatellite @harrysslut7 @sunflowersey @styleswiftie @anotheryoutubefanpage @straightontilmornin @oknothanks26 @closureesny @angel-upon @brother-lauren @maddie7writes @tenaciousperfectionunknown

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for the next part<3

another a/n:

wow!! so hello

mini catchup on me being absent for literally half of last year!! 2024 I was sooo busy with my studies, but you’d all be proud since I pulled some really good grades last year, so my absence in creative writing field on tumblr did have a reason and at the very least paid off. but I missed posting soo much and I’m so happy to be back. unbelievably grateful for how many messages and inboxes I got about my writing over last year as well, I love you all so much.

i literally can’t believe it’s been so long since part 3 of pirates gold was released. really left yall high and dry😔 hopefully not after this part, I swear this is the longest piece I’ve ever wrote on tumblr, so I hope you all have enjoyed it. I have plenty of plans for part 5 in my notes app so yall keep ur eye out for that.

thank you for not only reading my silly authors note, but for reading this next part. your support means the world, and I am planning on being much more active this year so get excited for heaps of oneshots and other tidbits.

much love to you all, stay safe and hydrated I’ll see you very soon!!

P.S ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR ANY TYPOS I MISSED💔 I have reread this as much as my brain will allow me the last week, I will be making edits over the next little while to fix those mistakes but hopefully there’s not too many x

[spideysquake]

hehehe so i would looooove to finish this but my adhd and insane levels of perfectionism don’t want that to happen… like stare at a google doc with a brain that sounds like tv static levels of not happening

sooo until further notice (or possibly forever), this series is on hiatus :( thank you guys so much for your patience with me, i love you all dearly. but for now, enjoy my random rantings and the occasional social media au…

love you lots,

daisy xx

the infinite playlist - s.s.

based on nick and norah’s infinite playlist by david levithan and rachel cohn

summary: it’s been three weeks, four days, seven hours, and twenty-two minutes since stiles stilinski got his ass dumped by the only girl he’s ever loved. three weeks, four days, seven hours, and twenty-two minutes since lydia ripped his heart out of his chest and stomped it into the ground, effectively rendering stiles incapable of caring about anything that isn’t his band or his best friends. so when lydia shows up at one of his shows – which he explicitly told her not to do – with a new fucking guy following her around, stiles knows that he can’t look as pathetic as he feels. so he gets a five-minute fake girlfriend.

pairings: stiles x reader; ex-stiles x ex-lydia; ex-reader x ex-theo; scott x allison [duh, bitch]

warning/notes: they’re all in college bc it’s all easier that way; cursing [and probably a lot of it tbh]; a lot of angst; sexual themes, and maybe a little smut in there too for fun [i will for sure post 18+ warnings bc some of y'all are children and i don’t need that kind of heat]; lydia is a bit of a b!tch and liam is a sloot and a half [we still love them both tho]; stiles is an angsty lil baby and y/n is chaotic as fuck; basically everybody is bi bc i have the courage to do what the teen wolf writers wouldn’t [jk i love you jeff davis]; idk there will probably be more as we continue

cast list:

nick: stiles stilinski

norah: y/n y/l/n

tris: lydia martin

caroline [gender bent]: liam dunbar

dev: malia tate

thom: scott mccall

scot [gender bent]: allison argent

hunter: kira yukimura

tal: theo raeken

toni/tony/tone: isaac lahey

the infinite playlist playlist

the infinite playlist moodboard

status: on-going

Keep reading

[viagracex]

could you do one where the reader and george have an argument and she goes non verbal bcs of past trauma?

Bruises, Silence, and Bandages

george clarke x fem!reader

summary: a tense argument with george pulls you into the shadows of your past, but his patience and love remind you that healing doesn’t have to be done alone

warnings: Domestic Abuse, PTSD, Verbal Abuse, Physical Abuse, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Self-Worth Issues 

note: Hey everyone, I just want to say that I truly apologize if this chapter made anyone uncomfortable. I wrote this with the knowlegde of an outsider, someone who has seen the effects of abusive relationships and the struggles of healing after them. I’ve done my best to approach these themes with sensitivity and respect, but I understand that everyone’s experiences are different. If anything in this story resonates with you, please know that you are not alone, and I hope you have the support and love you deserve. Thank you for reading, and please take care of yourselves. My mesages are always open 🤍

6.8k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your shared apartment. You stood in the kitchen, hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the countertop. George paced back and forth in the living room, his usually cheerful face contorted with frustration.

"I just don't understand why you won't talk to me about this!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "We're supposed to be partners. How can we fix things if you won't even tell me what's wrong?"

You wanted to respond, to explain the tangled knot of emotions constricting your chest, but the words wouldn't come. It was as if an invisible hand had reached down your throat and stolen your voice. Your heart raced, and you felt the familiar panic rising.

George's voice grew louder, his accent thickening with emotion. "Is it something I did? Something I said in a video? For God's sake, just say something!"

The room began to spin, memories of past arguments crashing over you like waves. Your chest tightened as George's voice echoed through the apartment, his words blurring into distorted sounds. The room tilted, and you gripped the counter harder, your knuckles turning white. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm you.

Suddenly, you were back in that cramped, dimly lit apartment from years ago. The air was thick with the acrid smell of stale cigarettes and cheap beer. His voice—not George's, but his—rang in your ears, each word laced with venom. "You stupid bitch! Answer me when I'm talking to you!"

The sting of his palm against your cheek, the crash of a bottle shattering against the wall—it all felt so real, so present. You could almost feel the phantom ache of bruises long faded. You could feel yourself shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller until you were nothing but a speck of dust, desperate to be overlooked.

Back in the present, George's frustrated sighs pierced through the fog of your memories. "I don't understand," he muttered, his accent thicker than ever. "We were fine yesterday. What changed?"

You wanted to tell him, to explain that it wasn't his fault, that the raised voices and tense atmosphere had triggered something deep within you. But your throat constricted, and your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. The words were there, trapped behind a wall of fear and shame.

George's frustrated voice faded into the background as you sank deeper into the flashback. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps. The kitchen tiles beneath your feet seemed to tilt and sway.

"Are you even listening to me?" George demanded, his voice closer now. You flinched instinctively as he entered the kitchen, your body tensing for a blow that wouldn't come.

George's footsteps halted abruptly. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your ragged breathing. Slowly, you opened your eyes, blinking away the haze of memory. George stood frozen, his expression shifting from anger to concern as he took in your hunched posture and pale face.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice gentler now. "What's happening? Are you alright?"

You tried to nod, to reassure him, but your body wouldn't cooperate. Instead, you slid down to the floor, your back pressed against the cool cabinet doors. George hesitated for a moment before carefully lowering himself to sit beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you.

The familiar scent of his cologne—a mix of sandalwood and citrus—helped ground you in the present. You focused on it, using it as an anchor to pull yourself away from the memories threatening to drag you under.

"I'm sorry," George whispered, his accent softening the words. "I didn't mean to shout. I just... I worry about you, you know? When you go quiet like this, I feel so helpless."

You wanted to reach out, to squeeze his hand and tell him it wasn't his fault. But your body remained frozen, trapped between past and present. In your mind, you could still hear the other voice—his voice—berating you, mocking your silence, twisting it into another reason to lash out.

"You're pathetic," the voice in your head sneered, an echo of your ex-boyfriend's cruel words. "Can't even speak up for yourself. No wonder he hates you."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts. But they persisted, a poisonous whisper in the back of your mind.

George shifted beside you, the fabric of his hoodie rustling softly. "I'm here," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever's going on, whatever you're feeling, I'm here."

His words, so gentle and understanding, were a stark contrast to the memories swirling in your mind. You remembered the constant walking on eggshells, the way your ex would fly into a rage at the slightest provocation. The way he'd grab your arm, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, whenever you tried to leave during an argument.

You could almost feel the pain of those bruises now, your skin prickling with the memory of his touch. Your breath hitched, and you curled in on yourself, making your body as small as possible.

In your mind's eye, you saw yourself cowering in the corner of that dingy apartment, arms raised to protect your face from the blows you knew were coming. The smell of cheap vodka and sweat filled your nostrils, making your stomach churn. You could almost feel the cold, hard floor beneath you as you curled into yourself, trying to become as small as possible.

The memories shifted, and suddenly you were reliving the night you finally escaped. The adrenaline coursing through your veins as you hastily shoved clothes into a bag, the heart-stopping fear when you heard his key in the lock, the burning in your lungs as you ran down the street, not daring to look back.

In the present, George's warm hand gently touched your shoulder, causing you to flinch violently. "Love, you're scaring me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

You couldn't respond. Your mind was trapped in a loop of painful memories, each one more vivid than the last. The sound of shattering glass echoed in your ears, mingling with the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. You remembered the feeling of rough hands gripping your arms, shaking you violently as angry words were spat in your face.

George noticed your constant flinching every time he he spoke. His brow furrowing with concern. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket. "I would never hurt you. You're safe here, I promise."

A part of you wanted to believe him, to trust in the sincerity of his words. But another part, the part still trapped in the past doubted every word.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay. You're safe here."

His words, so gentle and reassuring, stood in stark contrast to the memories swirling in your mind. You remembered the constant walking on eggshells, the way your stomach would churn with anxiety every time you heard keys in the lock. The other man—your ex—had been unpredictable, his moods shifting like quicksand beneath your feet.

There were good days, of course. Days when his smile was genuine, his touch tender. But those moments were fleeting, always overshadowed by the looming threat of his temper. You recalled the first time he'd struck you—a slap that left your ears ringing and your cheek stinging. He'd apologized profusely, showering you with gifts and promises to never do it again. You'd believed him, desperate to cling to the man you thought you loved.

But the violence escalated. Slaps turned to punches, shoves became throws. Your body became a canvas of bruises and cuts, each one carefully hidden beneath long sleeves and thick makeup. The physical pain was excruciating, but it paled in comparison to the emotional torment. His words cut deeper than any blow, chipping away at your self-worth until you felt hollow inside.

The night it all came to a head. He caught you in the middle of packing your bags. He had obviously been drinking heavily, his words slurring as he hurled insults at you. The bottle of whiskey in his hand glinted menacingly in the dim light of the apartment. You'd tried to leave, to escape the suffocating atmosphere, but he blocked your path.

"Where do you think you're going?" he'd snarled, his breath hot on your face. "You're nothing without me. No one else would ever want you."

The memory of his fingers digging into your arms made your skin crawl. You could almost feel the sting of glass shards as the whiskey bottle shattered against the wall, inches from your head. The fear had been paralyzing, rooting you to the spot as he towered over you, fist raised.

In that moment, something inside you had snapped. With strength born of desperation, you'd shoved him aside as hard as you physically could and ran. You remembered the burn in your lungs as you sprinted down the street, the icy rain soaking through your thin t-shirt. You'd left most of you things behind—clothes, possessions, your entire life—but you were finally free.

The months that followed were a blur of cheap motels and sleepless nights. Every shadow made you flinch, every loud noise sent your heart racing. You'd changed your number, your email, even your appearance, desperate to erase every trace of your past life.

Slowly, painfully, you'd begun to rebuild. A new job, a tiny studio apartment, a handful of cautious friendships. But the scars remained, both physical and emotional. You jumped at sudden noises, flinched away from physical contact, and struggled to trust anyone who showed interest in you.

Then George had entered your life like a whirlwind of laughter and warmth. His YouTube videos had been a source of comfort during your darkest days, his goofy smile and infectious laugh a balm for your wounded soul. Meeting him in person had been surreal, like a dream come to life.

At first, you'd been guarded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But George had been patient, his kindness unwavering. He never pushed, never demanded more than you were ready to give. Slowly, you'd let your walls down, allowing yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved happiness.

Now, sitting on the cold kitchen floor with George beside you, you felt those walls threatening to rebuild themselves. The argument had triggered something deep within you, unleashing a flood of memories you'd tried so hard to suppress.

"Love," George's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, soft and hesitant. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Can you look at me?"

You wanted to, to reassure him that this wasn't his fault. But your eyes remained trapped, held hostage by the ghosts of your past.

"Love," George's voice broke through the fog of your thoughts. "I can see you're struggling. Can I hold your hand?"

You wanted to say yes, to reach out and anchor yourself in his warmth, but your body remained frozen. Instead, you managed a small nod, the movement barely perceptible.

George slowly extended his hand, palm up, leaving it within your reach but not touching you. "Whenever you're ready," he murmured. "No rush."

His patience was a stark contrast to your ex's demanding nature. You remembered how he would grab you, forcing physical contact even when you shrank away. George's respect for your boundaries was both comforting and overwhelming.

You stared at George's outstretched hand, your vision blurring with unshed tears. The gentle invitation in his gesture was almost too much to bear. You wanted desperately to reach out, to feel the warmth of his skin against yours, but fear held you back.

Slowly, trembling, you extended your own hand. Your fingers hovered just above his palm, not quite touching. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in your bones.

George remained perfectly still, his breathing slow and measured. "Take your time," he whispered, his accent wrapping around the words like a soft blanket. "I'm not going anywhere."

The kindness in his voice made your chest ache. You remembered a time when gentle words were rare, when every interaction was laced with tension and fear. Your ex had wielded words like weapons, each syllable designed to cut and wound.

You recalled the way he would twist your silence against you, using it as justification for his anger. "Why won't you answer me?" he would snarl, his face contorted with rage. "Are you stupid? Can't you even speak?"

The memory made your throat constrict, choking off any words that might have formed. You curled your fingers into a fist, pulling your hand back towards your chest.

George's expression softened with understanding. "It's okay," he murmured. "You don't have to if you're not ready."

With trembling fingers, you reached out, barely brushing George's palm. His hand remained perfectly still, allowing you to dictate the level of contact. Slowly, you pressed your palm against his, feeling the warmth of his skin seep into yours.

George's thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, the gesture soothing and grounding. "That's it," he whispered encouragingly. "You're doing great, love."

The gentle praise washed over you, chasing away some of the darkness clouding your mind. You focused on the sensation of George's hand in yours, using it as an anchor to pull yourself back to the present.

"I'm going to tell you five things I can see," George said softly, his voice steady and calm. "Is that okay?"

You managed another small nod, grateful for his attempt to ground you.

"Alright," he began. "I can see the sunlight filtering through the curtains, making patterns on the floor. I can see the little cactus on the windowsill that you bought last week. I can see the framed photo of us at the beach on the fridge. I can see the stack of cookbooks on the counter that we never use. And I can see you, love, right here with me."

As George spoke, you felt your breathing begin to slow, matching the rhythm of his words. The vivid flashbacks began to fade, replaced by the reality of your shared kitchen.

His last words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt a flicker of warmth in your chest, a tiny spark pushing back against the darkness that had consumed you.

"Can you tell me four things you can feel?" George asked gently.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the physical sensations around you. Your voice was barely audible as you whispered, "Your hand. The cold floor. My... my heartbeat. The cabinet against my back."

George's smile was soft and encouraging. "That's brilliant, love. You're doing so well. How about three things you can hear?"

You closed your eyes, concentrating. "The clock ticking. A car outside. Your breathing."

"Perfect," George murmured. "Two things you can smell?"

"Your cologne," you said, the familiar scent bringing a sense of comfort. "And... coffee from earlier."

George's thumb continued its soothing motion across your hand. "Last one. Can you tell me one thing you can taste?"

You ran your tongue over your dry lips. "Salt," you whispered, realizing there were tears on your cheeks.

"There you go love," George said softly. "You're here, in our kitchen. You're safe."

The grounding exercise had helped pull you further from the grip of your memories. The kitchen came into sharper focus - the pale yellow walls you and George had painted together, laughing as you got more paint on each other than the walls. The mismatched chairs at the dinning table and the various pictures around the room.

George's smile was warm and encouraging. "That's brilliant, love. You're doing so well."

The praise washed over you like a soothing balm, easing some of the tension from your shoulders. You focused on your breathing, trying to match the slow, steady rhythm George had established.

"I'm sorry," you managed to whisper, your voice hoarse and unsteady. "I didn't mean to... to shut down like that."

George shook his head gently. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice like that."

You wanted to explain, to tell him about the memories that had overwhelmed you, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you tightened your grip on his hand trying to get rid of the pins and needles from your fingertips.

George's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, his touch feather-light and comforting. "You don't have to explain anything right now," he murmured. "But whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here to listen."

His words, so full of patience and understanding, made your chest ache. You almost couldn’t believe that there was a time when silence was met with anger, when every moment of hesitation was twisted into an excuse for violence. Your ex had never been able to handle your non-verbal episodes, viewing them as a personal affront rather than a symptom of your trauma.

You could still hear his voice, harsh and mocking, echoing in your mind. "What's wrong with you? Can't even string a sentence together? Pathetic."

The memory made you flinch, your body tensing involuntarily. George noticed immediately, his brow furrowing with concern. "It's okay," he soothed. "You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you."

You wanted to believe him, to trust in the sincerity of his words. But years of conditioning had left their mark, making it difficult to separate past from present. In your mind's eye, you could see your ex looming over you, his face contorted with rage. You remembered the sickening crack of his fist connecting with your jaw, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth.

The phantom pain made you wince, your free hand instinctively moving to touch your face. George watched the movement,his eyes widening with a mix of realization and horror. "Oh, love," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Did someone... did someone hurt you?"

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, shame and fear warring within you. What if George saw you differently once he knew? What if he decided you were too broken, too damaged to love? Your silence was answer enough.

George's grip on your hand tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you in the present. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his accent thickening with emotion. "I had no idea. I never meant to... God, I'm such an idiot."

His self-recrimination made you want to protest, to assure him that it wasn't his fault. But the words were stuck, your throat constricting around everything you want to tell him.

As if sensing your inner turmoil, George spoke again, his voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with. But I want you to know that whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. And it doesn't change how I feel about you."

His words pierced through the fog of your anxiety, touching something deep within you. You felt the tears now slipping down your cheeks, then another, until you were crying silently, your body shaking with the force of your sobs.

"Can I..." George hesitated, his voice uncertain. "Would it be okay if I hugged you?"

The question caught you off guard. Your ex had never asked for permission, taking what he wanted without regard for your feelings. George's consideration brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

Slowly, you nodded, uncurling yourself from the tight ball you'd formed. George moved carefully, telegraphing his movements as he shifted closer. He wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in warmth and the comforting scent of his cologne.

For a moment, you tensed, your body remembering a time when embraces led to pain. But George's touch remained gentle, his arms loose enough that you could easily break free if you needed to.

"I've got you," he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. "You're safe. I promise."

Gradually, you allowed yourself to relax into his embrace, your tears soaking into the soft fabric of his hoodie. George held you patiently, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while the other cradled your head against his chest. You could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, its rhythm grounding you in the present.

As your sobs subsided, replaced by quiet sniffles, George began to hum softly. It was a familiar tune, one you recognized from his videos - a silly little jingle he'd made up for a brand deal. The gentle vibrations of his chest as he hummed sent a wave of comfort through you, chasing away the last tendrils of your panic.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that."

George's arms tightened around you fractionally. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said firmly. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I never meant to trigger you like that."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at his face. George's eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks damp with tears of his own. The sight made your heart ache. You'd never meant to cause him pain.

"It's not your fault," you managed to say, your voice hoarse from crying. "You didn't know."

Slowly, you allowed yourself to relax against him, burying your face in the soft fabric of his hoodie.

George took a hesitant breathe, his hands rubbing your back. "It's okay," he murmured. "You don't have to tell me about it. Just... can you look at me? Please?"

Slowly, you raised your eyes to meet his. As George's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of concern and tenderness that made your heart ache. "I love you," he said softly, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm embrace. "I love you, and I would never, ever hurt you. You know that, right?"

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with sincerity. You wanted to believe him, to trust in the love shining in his eyes. But years of abuse had left their mark, making it difficult to separate past from present.

"I..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know you wouldn't. Not on purpose. But..."

George waited patiently as you struggled to find the words, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. The gentle touch grounded you, giving you the courage to continue.

"My ex," you said, the words feeling like broken glass in your throat. "He... he wasn't a good person."

George's expression darkened, but he remained silent, allowing you to speak at your own pace.

"At first, it was great. He was charming, funny. Made me feel special," you continued, your gaze fixed on a point over George's shoulder. "But then... things changed."

You told him everything. The first time your ex raised his voice, making you flinch. The way he'd grab your arm, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. The constant criticisms, chipping away at your self-esteem.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue. "It started small. He'd get angry over little things, yell and throw things. I told myself it wasn't that bad, that everyone argues sometimes. But then..."

Your voice trailed off, memories flooding back. George squeezed your hand gently, encouraging you to continue.

"The first time he hit me, I was so shocked I couldn't even cry," you whispered. "He apologized immediately, swore it would never happen again. I wanted to believe him."

George's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, letting you speak.

"It only got worse after that. The violence escalated, and so did the emotional abuse. He'd call me worthless, stupid, tell me no one else would ever want me. And I believed him."

Tears streamed down your face as you recounted the worst moments - the times you'd hidden bruises with makeup, the nights you'd lain awake in fear, the way you'd slowly lost touch with friends and family until he was your whole world.

"I lost myself," you admitted, tears streaming down your face. "I stopped talking to friends, quit my job. Everything I did, every decision I made, was about keeping him happy. But it was never enough."

George's arms tightened around you, a protective gesture that made your heart ache with a mixture of gratitude and residual fear.

"The night I left," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "He was angry about... God, I don't even remember what. Something small. Insignificant. He left. I could take it anymore, I started to pack. When he came home he was so angry.” You took a strained breathe as you continued.

“But that night, I thought he might kill me," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "He'd been drinking, and he was so so angry. Something in me just... snapped. I ran, and I didn't look back."

George's arms loosened around you as he took in the severities of you words, his own tears falling into your hair. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "You didn't deserve any of that. You're so strong, so brave. I'm in awe of you.

George's voice broke as he whispered, "I love you. I love you so much, and I swear I would never, ever hurt you like that."

His words, so earnest and heartfelt, broke something inside you. The dam you'd built around your emotions crumbled, and suddenly you were sobbing uncontrollably, your entire body shaking with the force of your cries.

George held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back. He murmured soft words of comfort, his accent thickening with emotion.

"It's okay, love. Let it out. I've got you. You're safe now."

You cried for what felt like hours, releasing years of pent-up fear, anger, and pain. George never wavered, his embrace warm and steady, anchoring you in the present.

As your sobs finally subsided into quiet hiccups, George gently pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes. His own were red-rimmed and puffy, his cheeks damp with tears.

"Thank you for telling me," he said softly. "I know how hard that must have been. You're so brave, love. So incredibly brave."

You shook your head, feeling anything but brave. "I should have left sooner. I should have been stronger."

George's expression grew fierce. "No," he said firmly. "You did everything you could to survive an impossible situation.”

George cupped your face gently, his thumbs wiping away your tears. "Listen to me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You are not weak. You are not stupid. You are a survivor, and I am in awe of your strength."

His words, so different from the cruel taunts you'd grown accustomed to, made fresh tears well up in your eyes. George continued, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I love you," he said, each word weighted with sincerity. "I love your kindness, your humor, your resilience. I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about things you're passionate about. I love how you always remember to water the plants, even when I forget. I love the little dance you do when you're excited about something."

You felt a warmth blooming in your chest, pushing back against the cold fear that had gripped you earlier. George's words washed over you, soothing the jagged edges of your pain.

"I love the way you scrunch up your nose when you're concentrating," he continued, a soft smile playing at his lips. "I love how you always make sure to ask our delivery drivers if they want a bottle of water. I love your strength, your courage, your ability to keep going even when things get tough."

"I promise you," George continued, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket, "that I will spend every day showing you how much you're worth. I'll remind you of your strength when you forget. I'll hold you when the memories get too much. And I'll always, always ask before I touch you."

As if to demonstrate, he held out his hand, palm up. "May I hold your hand?"

The simple gesture, so respectful of your boundaries, brought fresh tears to your eyes. You couldn’t understand stand how you shed so many tries in such a short amount of time. Wordlessly you took his hand. His words, so full of admiration and love, broke something inside you. You sobbed openly, clinging to him as years of pent-up emotions poured out. George held you through it all, his presence steady and comforting.

As your tears subsided, George gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the lingering wetness on your cheeks. "Thank you for trusting me with this," he said softly. "I know it couldn't have been easy to talk about."

You managed a watery smile, feeling lighter than you had in years. "It wasn't. But... I'm glad you know now. I've been carrying this alone for so long. Thank you for listening," you whispered.

George pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Always," he promised. "You don't have to carry it alone anymore," he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. "I'm here, whenever you need me. Whether that's to talk, or just to sit in silence, or... anything through everything. The good days, the bad days, and everything in between."

You leaned into his touch, allowing yourself to believe in the sincerity of his words. The fear and shame that had held you captive for so long began to loosen their grip, replaced by a tentative hope.

"I love you," George said again, his voice thick with emotion. "Every part of you. Your strength, your resilience, your kindness. I love the way you laugh at my terrible jokes, and how you always remember to water the plants even when I forget. I love how passionate you get about your favourite books, and the way your eyes light up when you talk about your work."

His words washed over you, chasing away the lingering shadows of your past. You looked up at him, really looked at him, taking in the sincerity in his warm brown eyes, the gentle curve of his smile, the faint stubble on his jaw that he'd forgotten to shave this morning.

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice hoarse but steady. "So much that it scares me sometimes."

George's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adored. "Good scared or bad scared?" he asked, a hint of his usual playfulness creeping back into his tone.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound watery but genuine. "Good scared," you assured him. "Like... like standing at the edge of something amazing and wonderful, knowing that jumping in might change everything."

"Well," George said, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "I'm right here beside you, ready to jump whenever you are."

George's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adored. He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn't. Instead, you met him halfway, your lips meeting in a kiss that was soft and sweet and full of promise.

When you finally pulled apart, George rested his forehead against yours. "I know I can't erase what happened to you," he said softly. "But I promise, I'll spend every day trying to show you what real love looks like. If you'll let me."

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. George understood, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Come on," he said, slowly getting to his feet and offering you his hand. "Let's get off this cold floor.

How about we make some tea?"

You nodded, allowing him to help you up. Your legs felt shaky, and you leaned against him for support as you made your way to the living room. George guided you to the couch, wrapping a soft throw blanket around your shoulders before heading to the kitchen.

You could hear him moving around, the familiar sounds of kettle boiling and mugs clinking providing a soothing backdrop. The apartment was bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sunlight, casting long shadows across the floor. You focused on the little details around you - the framed photos on the wall, capturing moments of laughter and joy with George and your friends; the collection of houseplants on the windowsill, each one carefully tended; the stack of board games in the corner, evidence of cozy nights in.

George returned a few minutes later, carrying two steaming mugs. He handed you one - your favourite oversized mug, the one with little cartoon cats all over it. The scent of chamomile and honey wafted up, warm and comforting.

"Thank you," you murmured, wrapping your hands around the mug and letting its warmth seep into your palms.

George settled beside you on the couch, close enough that you could feel his presence but not so close as to crowd you. The two of you sat there on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms, as the afternoon sun slowly shifted across the room. The argument that had been forgotten.

As the afternoon light shifted, painting the room in soft golden hues, George spoke softly. "I've been thinking," he said, his voice gentle. "Maybe we could look into couples therapy? Not because there's anything wrong with us," he added quickly, "but to help us communicate better, especially about... about your past."

You considered his words, turning the idea over in your mind. The thought of opening up to a stranger was daunting, but the idea of having professional help to navigate your trauma and its impact on your relationship was appealing.

"I think... I think that might be good," you said slowly. "But can we maybe start with individual therapy for me first? I feel like I need to work through some things on my own before I'm ready to tackle them as a couple."

George's face lit up with a mixture of relief and pride. "Of course, love. Whatever you need. I'm so proud of you for considering it."

His words warmed you from the inside out, chasing away the last lingering chill of your earlier panic. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," you murmured. "For being so patient with me. For not giving up when I shut down."

George pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment. "I'll never give up on you," he murmured. "You're worth every bit of patience and understanding I can give."

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping your tea and watching the play of light across the room. As the shadows lengthened, George spoke again, his voice soft and hesitant.

"I've been thinking about my videos," he said. "I know I get pretty animated sometimes, especially when I'm gaming. Do the loud noises or sudden movements ever... trigger anything for you?"

You considered his question, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Sometimes," you admitted. "But it's not just you. Loud noises in general can be difficult. And when you get really competitive with the boys, the shouting can be a bit much."

George nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "What if I put up soundproofing foam?" he suggested. "It would cut out the really loud bits. And I could try to be more mindful of my volume when we're filming."

The fact that he was willing to make changes to his content, his livelihood, for your comfort brought tears to your eyes. "You don't have to change your whole style for me," you protested weakly.

"I want to," George said firmly. "Your comfort and well-being are more important than any video. Besides," he added with a grin, "my editors have been begging me to tone it down a bit anyway. They say I'm giving them hearing damage," he chuckled softly.

You managed a small smile, touched by his willingness to adapt. "Maybe we could work on some signals?" you suggested hesitantly. "Like, if things get too intense during filming, I could give you a sign to dial it back a bit?"

George's eyes lit up. "That's good idea. We could have a little system, like traffic lights. Green for 'all good', yellow for 'getting close to the edge', and red for 'need to stop now'."

His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself nodding along. "That could work. And maybe... maybe we could have a code word? For times when I'm feeling overwhelmed but can't quite explain why?"

"Absolutely," George agreed immediately. "What word would you like to use?"

You thought for a moment, then smiled. "How about 'cactus'? Like that little plant you got me when we first moved in together."

George's face softened at the memory. "Perfect," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Cactus it is."

As the evening wore on, you and George continued to talk, making plans and setting boundaries. You discussed ways to handle future arguments, strategies for dealing with your non-verbal episodes, and how to navigate intimacy with your trauma history.

As you sat there, wrapped in George's arms, you felt a sense of peace settling over you. The weight you'd been carrying for so long felt lighter, shared between the two of you. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room and highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air.

You could hear the faint sounds of the city outside - cars passing by, the distant laughter of children playing in the park down the street. Inside, the apartment was quiet save for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the gentle rhythm of George's breathing.

Your gaze wandered around the room, taking in the little details that made this space feel like home. The bookshelf in the corner, filled with a mismatched collection of your favourite novels and George's gaming guides. The framed photo on the coffee table from your first vacation together, both of you grinning widely at the camera, your eyes shining with excitement.

Your eyes landed on George's filming setup in the corner - the ring light, the carefully arranged backdrop, the high-end microphone. It was a stark reminder of the public life he led, the thousands of fans who watched his every move online. For a moment, anxiety gripped you. What if they found out about your past? What if they judged you

Your anxiety must have shown on your face, because George squeezed your hand gently. "Hey," he said softly, "what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with more of your fears. But his patient, loving gaze encouraged you to open up.

"I was just thinking about your fans," you admitted quietly. "What if... what if they found out about my past? What if they judge me, or think I'm not good enough for you?"

George's expression softened, a mix of understanding and determination crossing his features. "Love," he said, his voice firm but gentle, "my fans don't get a say in our relationship. And anyone who would judge you for surviving what you've been through isn't worth our time."

He shifted, turning to face you more fully on the couch. "But more importantly, you are more than good enough for me. You're brilliant, kind, funny, and so incredibly strong. I'm the lucky one here."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, chasing away some of the chill of your anxiety. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I love you," you whispered, the words feeling inadequate to express the depth of your feelings.

"I love you too," George replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "More than I can ever say."

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching as the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, casting the apartment into a gentle twilight. The soft hum of the city outside became a soothing backdrop to the quiet moment you shared. George shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you, his warmth a steady presence against your side.

"Hey," he murmured after a while, his voice thick with exhaustion but filled with tenderness. "No matter what happens, we're in this together. Okay?"

You nodded against his shoulder, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel so terrifying. It felt possible when filled with quiet moments like this, with laughter, with love.

George pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, and you closed your eyes, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing lull you into calm.

The past had left its scars, but as you sat there, wrapped in the quiet strength of his love, you realized something profound: you were healing. Not all at once, not perfectly, but step by step. And with George by your side, maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t have to do it alone.

[hoonieyun]

paint them for me?

pairing: park jongseong x reader genre: romance and fluff warnings: nothing besides a kiss! 18+ not proofread lol synopsis: jay watches you fondly do your nails and once you've finished, he asks you to also do his.

hoonieyun notes: some more fluff before the angst begins... hehe!

wc: 1126

one of jay’s favorite things about you was your pure love and enjoyment of getting your nails done. you often got them done by an independent artist but she had moved away and you never found anyone who was just as good and would do your nails the way you liked them.

in comes jay, who convinced you to learn how to do your own nails so that you could not only save money but also do your nails how you want them done. you were hesitant at first because you knew how much skill and patience it took but that was 3 years ago and now you’re practically a professional. 

you’ve been doing your own nails ever since thanks to the encouragement of you boyfriend who surprised you with a nail kit that had everything you needed to do your nails at home and more. he even built you a station in the corner of your bedroom so you could comfortably do your nails. he loved watching you sit down and do your nails because he thought you were so cute as your brows would furrow and how you’d bite your bottom lip as you focused on doing your nails. 

today, you had found a design on pinterest of some abtract lines and shapes but it was in red and since you had just done a set of red nails, you wanted a different color. you had asked jay what color you should do and after thinking about it briefly, he suggested blue, even going as far as to pick out the specific shade of blue from the various colors of nail polish he bought you. 

“this one!” he says, grabbing it from the shelf with a cute smile. you thanked him with a kiss before letting him go back to his own thing. he would often just play his guitar, nap, or scroll on his phone while you did your nails. he liked accompanying you while you did your nails because you were always one to ask him for his advice, “does this look good?”  or “is this cute, babe?” you’d ask him as if he knew anything about nails but everything you did was cute and so were all of the nails that you did. 

it takes you about three hours to finish your nails and jay would bring you water or feed you snacks every so often to make sure you weren’t getting too tired. you showed them off to him after you had finished and he gently grabbed your hand and observed them, complimenting your nails and placing a kiss on your knuckles. 

when you begin to put your things away, he clears his throat, gaining your attention. “are you tired?” he asks and you shake your head no. “why?” you ask while continuing to clean up your area. 

“well.. i was kinda thinking.. can you do my nails? like yours! but not as long haha” he says shyly, scratching the back of his neck and placing a hand in his pocket. 

“really?” you say ethusiastically. you’ve always wanted to match nail designs with your boyfriend but never knew if jay would be interested. you guessed that since you never asked you never would’ve known so you were ecstatic to see that he was not only down to get matching nails with you but he also asked on his own accord. 

“yeah, honestly i chose this color because i liked it and wanted us to match the same colors.” he explains as you extend your hand out to him. jay grabs onto it gently as he sits across from you on the other side of your table. “aww, babe you’re so cute.” you say with a chuckle as he smiles at you endearingly. you begin to take out the items you had put away so you could also do jay’s nails. 

he was very patient with you and was the best client you’ve ever had, although he was also the first and probably only client you’ll ever have. his nails took less time than your because they were short and didn’t need much work, so you were completed in no time. he watched you with hearts in his eyes as you focused on painting his nails. a smile on his lips the whole time. he loved seeing you do things you loved so if it meant getting his nails done too, why not?

“wow, they look sick baby.” he says, looking at his nails up close. “we match!” he says while flipping his hand over so the back of his hand was directedf towards you, a wide and bready smile on his face. “can i take a picture?” you ask. 

“of course, baby.” he says and you take his hand once more and bring him over to the window near your bed for better lighting. you instruct him on how to place his hands after sliding on some of his rings for extra effect. you position your hand next to his as you take the photo, showing him for approval before you post it on your instagram. 

“they’re amazing, baby. thank you, you’re so talented.” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“it’s nothing, babe. i wouldn’t be half the nail artist i am now if you didn’t encourage me and buy all this stuff for me.” you say with a slight pout and jay chuckles as he recalls the day he surprised you with all of this. you were beyond shocked and even shed some tears because he had gone the extra mile to do something for you that he definitely didn’t need to but because he loved you so much, it wasn’t something you ever needed to ask for. 

“next time, you should choose the design too!” you say and jay nods. pulling out his phone so he could start looking for matching nails designs the two of you could do. he even adds new items and polishes into an online store so you could have more options and although you tell him what you have now is fine; you were sure that he was going to secretly put in that order anyways. 

you often spent time learning of jay’s hobbies and interests, getting to know his hometown baseball team and the ways of baseball, the seattle mariner’s, learning basics on the guitar, and his neverending need to try and make new recipes; to which you’d either be his soux chef or taste tester. 

it was only fair that jay also participated in one of your hobbies. another thing that the two of you could do together and bond over. even if it’s something as simple as getting your nails done.

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @leipforggy

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