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hittmeandtellmeyouremine · 3 days ago

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𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙬𝙤 | 𝙣𝙤, 𝙞'𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨

pairing: bsf!rafe cameron x bear!reader

summary: the "summer kickoff" at topper's doesn't really go as planned, not when you looked as good as you did and rafe had no intentions of sharing you.

warnings: swearing, drinking, and suggestive content.

word count: 2.8k words

song: forever ever - trippie redd

socials chapter one → chapter two → socials chapter two

©hittmeandtellmeyouremine | this is my only account across all social media platforms. please do not translate, copy, or repost any of my writing.

the drive to topper's felt longer than usual. it was filled with an unfamiliar silence and lingering glances that lasted a few seconds too long. not even the music playing was helping. you had to roll your window down, feeling the tension start to suffocate you slowly but surely.

when you finally got there, rafe lead you through the crowded house, his right hand on the small of your back. his height made it pretty easy for him to spot his friends, guiding you over to the guys.

"there goes the dynamic duo" topper cheers the moment his eyes land on you.

"hi top" you smiled, playfully rolling your eyes.

topper's eyes found their way to rafe's arm around your waist, smirking to himself. kelce's gaze, on the other hand, lingers on your cleavage for a moment too long for rafe's liking. when he finally looked up he was met with rafe's cold gaze.

"what's up" rafe mumbled, reaching around you to dap them up with his other hand.

"where's nora at?" topper asked you, glancing around to make sure he didn't miss her.

kelce snickered.

"she got caught up with things, she'll be back tomorrow though" you reassure.

rafe gave topper a look from behind you.

"let me get a few drinks in her first before you start interrogating her" rafe shot, grabbing your waist and pulling you away.

"go deal with your girl" topper waved off, obviously tipsy by this point.

"how many drinks do you think he's had?" you called to rafe as he walked you guys through the crowd.

"too many, that's for sure" he chuckled.

despite rafe's previous statement, you weren't much of a drinker. you would take sips of whatever he was drinking whenever you were together. occasionally, with the girls, you would actually have a drink but that was rare. why did you need your own drink when you had rafe?

he had pretty good taste too, always making it just the right way for you.

he took a few sips of his concoction before passing it off to you so you could take a sip. he watched for your reaction.

"good?"

you nodded.

"yeah? alright, baby" he nodded.

the house was buzzing with warm bodes and desperate energies. the music thumped through the walls, making the liquid in everyone's cups shift. red solo cups littered the house, even in the most peculiar places.

rafe was pressed against you the whole time, his arm wrapped around your waist. his hands felt cold against your warm skin. like fire and ice. his thumb kept slipping under your top, rubbing small, cooling circles directly onto your melting skin.

you were usually glued to rafe's side, it had basically become a second nature to the both of you. this time somehow felt different though. rafe never let you out of his sight, keeping a hand on you at all times. an unusually comforting feeling settled within you at this.

again, rafe never let you out of his sight. not unless he absolutely had to, which was right now.

you waited outside of the bathroom, leaning against the door while rafe was inside. you took a sip out of your, well, his cup and looked around.

there were plenty of familiar faces here, mostly people you knew through rafe. they all gave you polite smiles, but it was clear they only did so because of him. you stood within your little bubble, the few friends you had were all you needed. you were cool with sarah, john b, and that group but you weren't really apart of that group.

outer banks never really felt like yours, not until rafe. rafe walked around like he owned the outer banks because he basically did. no one ever really paid you much attention, unless rafe was there too. all of the guys were too scared to mumble a word to you, because of rafe. the girls were too jealous to entertain you, because of rafe.

it was like everyone had already been assigned their place, yours included. everyone knew you were off limits - everyone from the outer banks, at least.

"you waiting?"

you looked up and saw a tall, curly-headed guy approaching you. he had almond-shaped brown eyes that slightly hooded. curly pieces of the brunette's hair fell in his eyes a bit. a strong jawline and high cheekbones complimented his face nicely.

"oh, no i'm just waiting for my friend to come out" you shook your head.

he nodded and stood next to you, leaning against the wall. he was tall, like the same height as rafe. you could tell he worked out, he had that sleeper build thing that guys were always talking about needing. tattoos littered his light skin, you made out a snake on his wrist.

"you live here?" he asked, glancing over at you.

"mhm" you nodded. "i'm assuming you don't?"

"no, what gave me away?" he chuckled, making you do the same.

"this conversation, no one here really does this" you answered.

"yeah, i've noticed you guys are kind of stuck up here"

"hey!" you said.

"well, half of you guys and the exception of you" he corrected, giving you a smile.

"what are you doing here?"

"visiting a friend, i'm only here for a few days before i head back to new york" he told you.

"really? one of my best friends lives over there too, she's coming back tomorrow" you smiled.

"someone's excited, huh?" he teased, turning to face you now. "i'm cole"

"i'm-

"ready to go?" you heard from behind you, feeling rafe's arm wrap around your waist.

you didn't have to look at him to pick up on the tension that now surrounded you three. you hadn't even heard the bathroom door open to begin with but you didn't need to, rafe made his presence known.

"i'm rafe" rafe added, sticking his hand out to cole. cole gave him a polite, confused smile, shaking his hand.

"nice to meet you dude" he nodded. "i'm just visiting a friend"

"yeah, i can tell. everyone else from the island knows better" he said, chuckling as he said that last part. it wasn't just a chuckle though, it had an edge to it. it was as if it was a warning.

you flashed him an apologetic smile, knowing the mind games rafe was playing with him. rafe loved a good game of mental warfare, especially with another guy, especially when it came to you.

"thank you for keeping my girl company, cole" he said before guiding you away.

"what was that about?" you asked, looking back at him as he pulled you away.

"what do you mean, baby? 'was just being nice" he said, giving a smirk and kissing your cheek.

he didn't give you a chance to respond, leading you back over to the guys. they exchanged knowing looks, seeing the interaction go down from a distance. his distraction doesn't keep you from bringing up a question in your mind, one that you force yourself to ignore.

for the rest of night rafe made sure not to let you out of his sight. he had you perched on his lap while he sat on the couch. you watched topper and kelce wrestle, arguing over some stupid golf thing. rafe handed you his cup occasionally, letting you take a few sips out of it until you felt your skin feel warm for reasons other than rafe.

"come on baby, lets go dance" he said, tapping your thigh and getting up with you in his grasp.

"you don't like dancing" you pointed out.

"no, but you do and i dragged you here so i owe you a dance" he said, guiding you over to the crowd of people.

as rafe led you toward the makeshift dance floor, you felt the bass of the music vibrating through your chest. the crowd was shifting, bodies moving in sync with the rhythm, but you couldn't shake the feeling that rafe’s presence was the one thing that kept you grounded.

he was standing by the door now, still talking with his friend, but his gaze found you across the room. it wasn’t just a glance. his eyes lingered a little too long, and even in the dim light, you could feel the heat of his stare. the attraction was unmistakable. you shifted on your feet, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest, but rafe seemed to notice instantly. he noticed because that was the same effect he had on you, it was his effect.

"watch where you're going baby" he muttered, his fingers digging into your hip in a way that wasn’t so subtle.

if he were anyone else, you would've noticed it. the way he pressed against you a bit harder, the way his grip on you tightened. he wasn't the best at hiding his emotions, especially not this one. he had fought for attention his whole life, he'd be damned if he started doing it with you too.

he didn’t say anything, but the slight tension in his posture, the way he positioned you—his hand resting possessively on your waist, fingers brushing against your side as you moved together—a silent claim.

you tried to focus on the music, but every time your eyes wandered, they found cole. he was still near the door, his conversation with his friend looking like it was coming to an end. his eyes flicked toward you for just a moment too long. it wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but it was to rafe.

"you good?" he asked, almost accusatory.

he spun you around when he got you where he wanted you, looking down at you with those blue eyes you adored. tonight they had a bit of a darker blue in them, his pupils slightly dilated. you assumed it was from the alcohol, yours probably looked the same.

"yeah, i'm fine" you muttered.

you felt something shift in the air. there's a brief, fleeting moment of silence between you two but nothing about it is really silent.

"yeah? so why does that pretty face of yours have a pout on it?" he asked, his hand closed around your cheeks while his thumb slide over your bottom lip.

the tone in his voice, there's something in his voice that makes your stomach flutter in a way you can’t explain. it’s not just concern; it’s possessiveness. he’s watching you like you're the only thing in the room, and that gaze is starting to burn through you

he catches himself, pausing in his action before retraction his hand.

"your lip gloss had smudged" he muttered.

"thanks" you said quietly.

you started to get bored of the party and he could tell. when you got tired of dancing, you situated yourself in his lap but boredom start to nibble away at your mind. your eyes kept wandering, unable to be focused on him with him behind you. you kept grabbing your phone, checking to see which of the girls had texted you.

when you weren't doing one of those two things, you were playing with the ring on his finger. it was a habit of yours, especially when you bored or anxious. rafe acted s your person fidget toy. he didn't mind, made him feel useful. you had a habit of doing that too.

"you ready to go?" he asked, tapping your thigh to grab your attention.

you nodded, looking back at him.

"alright pretty girl, lets get you home" he said. he stood up with you in his hold, telling the guys you two were heading out.

the drive home allowed you to sit in your thoughts, to really evaluate the night. rafe could feel it. he could feel your mind wandering, scoping out the feelings that bubbled beneath the surface.

it scared the shit out of him.

he kept glancing over at you, his gaze heavy and burning. you can feel it but you don't look over it. you can't give him that, not right now. not when you could feel a shift.

you didn't know why this was such a big deal. you kept trying to tell yourself it didn't matter. but deep down, you knew it did. you both knew that.

rafe wanted to stay the night at his house, mentioning something about him having somewhere to be tomorrow. you didn't mind.

he led you through the estate quietly, knowing everyone everyone in the house was asleep. his large hand engulfed you small one, keeping you close until you got into his bedroom and he closed the door behind you guys.

you exhaled softly, not realizing how you were previously holding your breathe. you released his hand, bending over to undo the straps of your wedges. he held your waist, keeping you steady as you did.

he couldn't help the way his eyes ran over you, fixating on your ass pressed back against him. his mind began to wander; imagining the position under different circumstances, wishing it was.

you stood back up, stepping out of the wedges and losing the few inches of height they gave you. he watched you shrink in height, smiling to himself a bit.

"better?" he asked.

"much" you nodded, a smile of relief on your lips.

you turned to face him, looking up at him. he licked his lips, eyes filled with something you couldn't quite place. his eye seem to flicker from your eyes to your lips. it was so fast you convinced yourself it was a figment of your imagination.

for a second, everything around you two seems to go still. it was like rafe was the only thing that mattered, just you and him. everything doesn't seem as confusing as it has been. it all feels quite the opposite actually.

you see him start to lean in.

you think you do, at least. but then he pulls away, letting go of you and moving around you to go over to his dresser.

that fleeting moment you had fades away faster than it came.

bitterness starts to set in, replacing the warmth you previously felt. his presence suddenly felt sour, you didn't even care that he was changing in front of you. not when he had done what he just did, when you were so close.

but so close to what exactly?

you tried to swallow the frustration that was trying its best to claw its way up your throat. you tried to deny the fog that seemed to cloud your mind. you shouldn't be feeling like this, you couldn't be.

"okay, you can have whatever you want" he said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"what?"

he paused, picking up on the coolness in your tone.

"my clothes. take whatever you want to change into" he clarified.

with that he disappeared into his bathroom and you heard him brushing his teeth.

you huffed, going into his drawer and picking out one of his shirts. you slipped it over your top, untying it underneath and pulling it off. you snatched a pair of his his pants too, slipping off your skirt and into his sweats that were a bit too big on you. your jewelry was next, slamming your gold cuff on the surface of his dresser a bit too hard.

"why are you wearing those?"

he was standing in the doorway of his bathroom, leaning against it. his eyes flickered over you. you looked at him with a confused expression.

"you said to take whatever i wanted"

"yeah, but you hate sleeping in pants" he pointed out.

again, rafe knew you. he knew that in order for you to sleep comfortably you had to sleep either in your panties or the shortest shorts. pants were a no go, unless you were sick or it was really cold out. it was neither, so his question stood.

you shrugged.

"you're gonna be hot" he added.

you ignored his words, taking out your hair. he took the hint and got into his bed. the mattress creaked just slightly under his weight. his eyes never left you, even as you deliberately ignored him. he watched you go into his bathroom, your turn to brush you teeth.

you reemerged a few minutes later, getting into the bed beside him.

"you mad at me?" he asked you.

rafe was never really one to sugar coating anything.

you shook your head.

"you sure?" he tried again.

you nodded.

"come here" he said, opening his arms.

you took the invitation, nuzzling your head against his chest and letting him wrap his arms around you. he let his chin rest on the top of your head, hands finding their way under your shirt to rub small circles onto your skin.

you felt yourself melt into his touch, forgetting about the feelings that had been suffocating you and souring your brain. he shut the lights off and you drifted off into sleep soon after.

in the middle of the night you stirred, waking him up. through his half asleep state he felt you kick off the sweatpants, too hot to sleep.

just like he knew you would.

a/n: the chapter's song is definitely what rafe played on the way to the party. try to guess who i based cole on!

socials chapter one → chapter two → socials chapter two

series masterlist

tag list: @princesspeaxhh , @alphabetically-deranged , @malibuhearts ,

either comment or send me an ask to be added to the tag list! must interact to stay tagged.

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stevenrogered · 9 months ago

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Oh, I love this. Classic!

#doctor who #dwedit #doctorwhoedit #dw spoilers #doctor who spoilers #the doctor #ncuti gatwa #jonathan groff #15th doctor #fifteen #fifteenth doctor #mystuff #you can see in the second one #hes trying not to laugh lmao #rogue #this song will always and forever make me think of skins #1k #5k

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ch0llies · 2 months ago

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ROCK ME | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

oneshot - sunshine!reader x goldenboy!chris

Your relationship with Chris Sturniolo is the epitome of a first teenage love. It’s late night drives with the music too loud, whispered secrets under the covers, and sneaking into each other's houses just to fall asleep wrapped up in each other. It’s the kind of love that feels like summer. It’s warm, wild, and infinite. But with him, it’s not just a season. It’s all year round.

story warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), p in v, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial (if you squint), fluff, established relationship, etc. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!

word count: 10k (sorry)

The wind rushes through your beach-waved hair, the summer heat warming your body as laughter bubbles past your lips. The bass from the speakers vibrates through your chest. You’re weightless, golden, and free, just like the setting sun in the sky.

Chris lighty grips the steering wheel with one hand, the other draped lazily over the console between you. His black Ray-Bans sit low on his nose, and he tilts his head slightly, peeking over the frames to catch a glimpse of you.

That signature smirk tugs at his lips- the one that got you hooked in the first place, the one that still makes your stomach flip, the one you could never say no to.

The warm glow of the sun catches on his skin, highlighting the freckles scattered across his nose. He looks so effortlessly beautiful. The kind of boy you’d write songs about. You have no idea how he’s yours.

You’re wearing nothing but an orange string bikini top and a pair of light-wash denim shorts, the fabric rough against your sunburnt skin. Chris isn’t wearing much more. Just pink swim trunks and a backward Somerville High cap, a reminder of your life beyond these summer nights.

But you don’t want to think about that.

Unbuckling your seatbelt, you shift onto your knees, climbing onto the center console. Chris barely has a second to react before you’re pushing yourself up and out through the open sunroof, arms spreading wide as the night swallows you whole.

The second your head breaches the top, you scream- loud and free, the sound ripping through the air and blending with the music. The wind hits you harder than you thought, stealing the breath from your lungs, pushing the extra skin on your face back. The sky stretches out above you, painted in deep pinks and oranges.

Chris’s laughter rumbles beneath you, but his grip is firm when he slides a hand up your waist, fingers pressing against the bare skin just above your shorts. “Be careful, baby,” he yells, his voice barely carrying over the wind, but you hear it. You feel it. The warmth of his palm spreads across your skin, grounding you even as you chase the high of the moment.

You tip your head back, hair tangling messily in the wind, letting out another breathless laugh. The music is deafening, the bass pounding through your body, but all you can focus on is the feeling- the reckless, intoxicating freedom of being here, with him, like this. In love.

Chris’s fingers trace slow circles against your side, his grip tightening as if to remind you he’s there. He’s always there. “You’re gonna get yourself killed,” he mutters, but there’s no real frustration in his voice.

You dip your head forward, glancing down at him through strands of hair, your chest rising and falling with the adrenaline still buzzing through you. “At least I’d die happy,” you tease, voice breathless, full of laughter.

Chris shakes his head, lips tugging into a smirk. “Not happening,” he says, his fingers grazing up your ribs, sending a shiver through you despite the summer heat. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The world feels endless up here, with the wind in your hair, the night sky stretching out forever. But nothing compares to the way Chris’s hands feel against your skin- warm, steady, always there.

You don’t have to look down to know he’s watching you, the way he always does. Like he can’t believe you’re real. He really should be looking at the road but you’re not even mad.

Chris is the golden boy of Somerville High. Captain of the lacrosse team, hometown hero, the kind of guy teachers brag about long after he’s left their classrooms. The guy everyone wants to be, wants to know, wants to love. He walks down the halls like he belongs to them, like Somerville itself is stitched into his skin, and maybe it is.

And you?

You’re the sunshine girl. The one who gets along with everyone, who turns strangers into friends with nothing but a smile. The girl who gets good grades without trying too hard, who sings too loud at parties, who dances barefoot in the grass just because she can. You’re golden in a different way- soft and bright, light spilling into every room you walk into.

Maybe that’s why it never made sense. Why people still don’t get it. But you do. You know how it happened.

You know it started long before anyone else had noticed. Before the stolen glances, before the late-night drives, before he whispered your name like a secret he never wanted to share.

It started in eighth grade, when he caught you skipping class to sit in the empty stands of the football field, watching the sky instead of paying attention to anything else. He sat next to you without a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You get lost up there too?” he’d asked, nodding toward the clouds.

You’d just smiled, something soft, something easy. “Yeah,” you’d said. “Guess I do.”

It started freshman year, when he saw you crying behind the gym after another boy on the lacrosse team that you had a crush on asked a different girl to hoco. And instead of making some dumb joke, he just sat with you. Shoulder to shoulder, silence stretching between you, solid and safe.

It started sophomore year, at some house party, when the music was too loud and the air was too thick and his eyes…God, his eyes. They were locked on you like you were the only thing worth looking at. You don’t remember who kissed who first. Maybe it was both of you, leaning in at the same time, laughter turning into something else, something breathless.

You do remember the way he groaned against your lips, the way his hands tangled in your hair like he’d been waiting for this for years. The way he lifted you, effortlessly and careless, and pressed you against the wall like he was never going to let you go.

But that was nothing compared to the first time.

Junior year. The backseat of his Jeep, parked down by the beach, the moon high in the sky. Your body still damp from the water, his skin burning hot against yours. He looked at you like he was afraid to blink, like he needed to memorize everything. The curve of your lips, the tilt of your chin, the way your breath hitched when he traced lazy circles on your hip.

“I’ve never-” you’d started, but he kissed the words right out of your mouth, slow and deep and reverent.

“I know,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “Me neither.”

Then he was everywhere, hands and lips and warmth and the most intimate parts of him. And you were his, in a way that felt bigger than a single night. In a way that felt like forever.

Now, here you are. The summer before senior year.

You drop back down into your seat, breathless, the rush still buzzing through your veins. Chris doesn’t let go of you, doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed. Instead, he rubs slow circles into your sunburnt skin, his thumb brushing over the edge of your bikini top, something soft in his touch.

You turn your head, watching him as he drives, golden and effortless.

“What?” he asks, side-eyeing you.

You shrug, grinning. “Just thinking about how unfair it is that you’re so pretty.”

Chris snorts, but there’s a blush creeping up his neck. “You’re one to talk, baby.”

Your life is made up of moments like this. Soft, sweet, and beautiful. All because of him.

Like the time he helped you pick your dress for junior year prom.

You’d dragged him to the boutique, standing on the fitting room pedestal while he lounged in one of the chairs, arms crossed over his chest, looking entirely out of place among the frilly pink decor.

“You know I don’t care what you wear, baby,” he’d grumbled, watching as you stepped out in another dress. “You’d look good in anything.”

“You have to care,” you insisted, spinning around so the skirt flared out. “I need honest opinions.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but there was something soft in his gaze as he studied you. Then he stood, walked over, and reached out to tug at the orange fabric, his fingers brushing your exposed back.

“This one,” he said simply, eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “Wear this one.”

And when prom night came, when you stepped out of your house and into the golden glow of the streetlights, Chris just stood there, blinking like he forgot how to breathe.

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me.”

Or the time he came on vacation with your family.

You had spent weeks convincing your parents, listing all the reasons why bringing your boyfriend wouldn’t be an issue.

“He’s basically part of the family already,” you argued.

And maybe that was true, but you were still surprised when they agreed, letting Chris tag along to your beach house rental for a week in July.

It was like a dream. Waking up to the sound of the waves, sneaking out of the room your parents assigned Chris. And especially the mornings you’d both sneak out of the house just before sunrise, Chris pulling you into the water before the world was even awake.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, legs wrapped around his waist as the tide lapped against your skin.

Chris just grinned, his hands holding you tight, safe. “Yeah. insanely in love with you.”

And then, of course, there were the lacrosse games.

You went to every single one, always in the front row, always wearing his number on your cheek in red glitter paint.

Chris had his routine. Right before a game, right before he ran onto the field, he’d find you in the crowd. You’d blow him a kiss, and he’d pretend to catch it, pressing his fingers to his lips like it was some kind of good luck charm.

“You know I have to do that, right?” he’d told you once, breathless after a win, sweat dripping down his temples. “Superstition. Can’t play without it.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased, reaching up to push his damp hair out of his eyes. “So you winning is all me, huh?”

Chris grinned, looping his arms around your waist. “Exactly.” Then, without warning, he picked you up, spinning you in circles until you were shrieking with laughter. “You’re my good luck charm, sunshine.”

And then there was that time. The time that haunts you to this day. The time his parents walked in on you.

Chris’s bedroom. His hands in your hair, your nails digging into his shoulders, both of you breathless, caught up in each other, making far too much noise, until the door opened.

You didn’t even have time to react before MaryLou gasped, spinning on her heel so fast she nearly fell over.

“Jesus Christ, Christopher,” was all she said before slamming the door.

Chris just groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. “We’re so dead.”

The next day, he came home to a box of condoms sitting on his bed. No note. Nothing.

He held them up when you walked in, blinking like he was still in shock. “My parents hate me. I don’t know how I can ever look my mother in the eye again.”

You burst into laughter, doubling over on his bed. “I think they just don’t want grandkids yet.”

Chris groaned, tossing the box across the room. “Unbelievable.”

You had laughed then, breathless and teasing, throwing yourself back onto his bed. But that was months ago.

Chris was still driving with one hand on the wheel, the other now resting against your thigh. His fingers trace slow, lazy patterns over your skin, dipping just beneath the frayed edges of your denim shorts. It’s an innocent touch, but your body reacts like it always does. He has completely burned himself into you.

The warmth of his palm seeps into your skin, his thumb brushing back and forth, featherlight, like he’s not even thinking about it. But you know Chris, know the way his mind works, the way his hands move with purpose, even when he pretends they don’t.

You shift slightly in your seat, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to ignore the slow fire building under his touch. Chris notices, of course he notices, and his smirk deepens, barely visible in the dimming light.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asks, voice smooth, teasing.

You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t carry much weight. Not when your pulse is hammering against your ribs, not when the song “Rock Me” playing through the speakers seems to fit too well, like fate decided to soundtrack this exact moment.

You glance at him, and God, he’s so mesmerizing. One hand gripping the wheel, muscles taut beneath sun-kissed skin, his jaw sharp in the golden light. His lips are parted slightly, tongue running over his bottom one like he’s deep in thought.

Like he’s remembering, too.

“Do you remember summer ’09? Wanna go back there every night…”

Chris exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Remember this song?”

Your heart flutters, something deep and wanting. You know what he’s thinking.

You remember that night. It was after a lacrosse game, after driving three hours to the playoff game that he scored the game winning goal in. Somehow, you ended up tangled in his backseat, hands desperate, mouths hungry.

Your voice had been breathless against his ear. “I want you to rock me, Chris.”

And he did. Again and again and again.

The memory makes heat curl in your stomach, makes your breath catch just slightly, and Chris knows. His fingers flex against your thigh, grip tightening just enough to make your skin prickle with anticipation.

You turn to face him fully, shifting so your knee brushes against the gearshift.

“You’re such a tease,” you murmur, eyes locked onto him.

Chris grins, slow and dangerous. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His hand slides just a little higher, not quite enough, but enough.

You suck in a sharp breath, and he laughs, that soft, lazy laugh that always makes your stomach flip.

The song builds, the chorus swelling, wrapping around you both.

“I want you to hit the pedal heavy metal, show me you care…”

Chris leans in slightly, voice dropping lower. “Sing it for me, baby.”

You shake your head, biting your lip to fight the smile threatening to break free. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

He just squeezes your thigh again, dragging his fingers in slow, torturous circles. “And yet, you’re still in love with me.”

And God, you are. Wildly, recklessly, endlessly in love with him.

Chris just grins, the kind that’s all mischief and golden-boy charm, the kind that makes your stomach flip even after all this time. His fingers linger on your thigh, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You roll your eyes, pushing his hand off playfully, even though you already miss the warmth of his touch. “Pay attention to the road before we crash, golden boy.”

He snorts, but obliges, turning his focus back ahead as the Jeep glides down the quiet summer streets. The sun has nearly disappeared now, the sky shifting from honey-gold to deep navy, the kind of night that feels endless, the kind that makes you believe you’ll never have to grow up.

Then, as if reading your mind, Chris leans back, one hand lazily resting on the wheel, the other drumming against your thigh again. “You hungry?”

Your stomach growls at the mention, making him laugh, and you groan, slumping into the seat. “Shut up.”

Chris shakes his head, reaching for the console to turn down the music. “Nah, this is why I keep you around. You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

You swat at his arm, and he catches your wrist easily, pulling your knuckles to his lips for a quick, teasing kiss.

“McDonald’s?” he suggests, voice light, like he already knows the answer.

Your eyes narrow. “You just want an excuse to get a large fry and make me feed them to you while you drive.”

Chris shrugs, smirking. “And?”

And ten minutes later, you’re sitting in the McDonald’s drive-thru, Chris rattling off the usual order—two large fries, a ten-piece McNugget, a McDouble for him, and a vanilla milkshake for you. It’s routine by now, muscle memory. You don’t even have to ask for extra napkins, because Chris already grabs them, stuffing them in the glove box where he knows you’ll need them later.

The second he pulls out of the parking lot, he’s already reaching into the bag, shoving a fry into his mouth.

“Hey, those are mine,” you scold, reaching over to smack his hand away.

Chris just laughs, shoving another one in his mouth before holding a fry up to your lips, eyebrows raised expectantly. You huff but take a bite anyway.

The drive back is comfortable in the way only summer nights can be. You hum along to the song he had playing on aux, dipping fries into your milkshake, and Chris sneaks sips of it every time you aren’t looking even though you secretly know he does it.

By the time you pull into his driveway, the house is quiet, the lights off except for the faint glow from the kitchen window. His parents are asleep and his brothers probably are too.

Chris shifts into park, then turns to you, smirking. “Wanna come in?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like you have to ask.”

He grins, pushing open his door before jogging around to yours, yanking it open with dramatic flair. “M’lady,” he teases, offering his hand.

You roll your eyes but take it anyway, letting him pull you out before he slams the door shut as quietly as possible. You both make your way to the side of the house, where Chris knows exactly which windows creak, which steps to avoid.

By the time you sneak upstairs and get to his bedroom, Chris is already kicking off his shoes and tossing his hat onto his desk before he goes to his closet and put on a random teeshirt.

You plop onto his bed, stealing a handful of fries from the bag. “You know,” you say between bites, “your parents definitely know we do this.”

Chris flops down beside you, pressing his head into your shoulder dramatically. “Yeah, well, after the whole condom thing, I think they’ve just accepted it.”

You laugh, turning your face into his hair, inhaling the faint scent of saltwater. “You’re never getting over that, huh?”

Chris groans. “I still can’t look my mother in the eye sometimes. It’s so awkward. She definitely saw my dick.”

“She birthed and raised you. She’s already seen you naked.” You laugh.

“Yeah but that’s different!” He exclaims in a whisper, digging his head even further into your shoulder.

You laugh, before setting the food aside and turning toward him fully. He lifts his head from you and his eyes flicker to yours, and for a moment, the teasing fades. The room is dimly lit, the only glow coming from his bedside lamp, casting everything in a soft, golden hue.

He reaches out, tucking a loose strand of your tangled beachy hair behind your ear. “You tired?”

You shake your head, voice softer now. “No.”

Chris nods, thumb grazing the curve of your cheek before he leans in, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your lips. It’s not hurried, not rushed like it so often is. It’s sweet, gentle- like he’s savoring it, savoring you.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“I love you so much, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs.

You smile, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt. “I love you too, baby.”

Chris exhales softly, his breath warm against your lips, his hands never leaving your skin.

His thumb strokes gently over your cheekbone, tracing invisible patterns like he’s memorizing you all over again.

You lean in first this time, tilting your chin just enough to capture his lips again. It’s slow. So slow, like neither of you are in any rush, like you have forever to get lost in each other. His mouth moves with yours effortlessly, no desperation, no urgency. Just warmth. Just love.

Chris sighs into the kiss, pulling you closer, his hands sliding down to your waist, fingers pressing into the soft skin below your bikini.

You shift, pressing yourself closer, and he groans softly in response, deep in his throat. The sound sends a shiver down your spine, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his t-shirt.

He feels so good, smells so good, and you could stay here forever, tangled in him.

Chris tilts his head, deepening the kiss just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. His hand spreads even further across the warm expanse of your back, his touch setting fire to your skin.

You sigh against his lips, melting into him as his other hand skims up your thigh. His fingertips brush along the frayed hem of your shorts, not pushing, just feeling, just reveling in the warmth of you.

When you pull back for air, his lips chase yours, barely letting you breathe before he’s pressing soft, lazy kisses along your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

“Chris,” you whisper, and he hums against your skin, his breath sending goosebumps down your arms.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You don’t answer, just tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans again, a sound that always makes your stomach tighten, makes your thighs squeeze around his hips.

His hands slide to your waist, gripping gently as he guides you into his lap, settling you over him like you belong there- like he’s been waiting for this, for you, all night.

You both pause, foreheads pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync.

His hands are steady on you, thumbs rubbing soft circles into your skin, and when he looks up at you, his eyes are heavy, dark with something deeper than just desire.

Love.

“I jus’ wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs, voice thick, fingers tracing along your spine. “Wanna kiss you slow. Wanna make you feel good.”

Your heart stutters, your body burning with something softer than lust, something heavier than need.

You press another kiss to his lips. Slow and deep and meaningful.

“Then do it.” you whisper against his mouth.

Chris doesn’t need to be told twice.

The moment the words leave your lips, he groans deep and low, something that rumbles through his chest and straight into your core. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as he tilts his head and devours you.

The softness melts into something new, something desperate and raw as he kisses you harder, mouth parting against yours, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip before slipping inside. It’s slow, but there’s an edge now- a hunger, a need.

His hands slide up your back, slipping beneath your bikini top, his thumbs grazing over your ribs and to the front, right over the softest parts of you. You shudder, pressing closer, gasping when he bites your lip, tugging just enough to make your stomach clench.

“Chris,” you breathe, and he hums before flipping you onto your back in one smooth motion.

His body is heavy over yours, deliciously warm, his hips pressing into you as his lips move down your jaw, down your neck, sucking and kissing until your skin is marked with his touch.

You arch into him, hands gripping at his back, before pulling at the hem of teeshirt. He gets the hint pretty quickly and rips it off before diving right back into you.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, lips ghosting over your collarbone before he’s tugging at the strings of your bikini top, undoing them with agonizing slowness.

You shiver, anticipation burning through you as his hands slide beneath the fabric, pushing it aside, palms gliding over your bare skin.

Chris exhales harshly, pulling back just enough to look at you. To really look at you. His pupils are blown, lips swollen from kissing you, his chest rising and falling like he’s trying to keep himself under control.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, shaking his head. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before his mouth is on you again, his head trailing lower, lower, leaving a path of heat down your torso.

Your back arches when his lips brush against your nipples, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly.

“Chris,” you gasp, breathless, already wrecked from just his mouth, his hands, the way he touches you.

He grins against your skin, his hands gripping your hips as he presses a kiss just above the waistband of your shorts.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, grinning with mischief. “I wanna hear you say it.”

You bite your lip, hips shifting beneath him, your body begging for more, but Chris is waiting, his eyes locked onto yours, watching every reaction, every little movement you make.

So you give him what he wants.

“I want you to rock me,” you whisper.

Chris groans, dropping his forehead against your stomach for half a second, like your words just wrecked him.

Then, he looks up at you, and his expression is nothing but pure, unfiltered lust.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes. “Anything you want.”

Chris’s lips trail lower, leaving a path of heat down your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. His hands are everywhere but they’re so fucking slow and deliberate. His fingers tracing over your hips, brushing the frayed hem of your shorts. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and wanting.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. “Can I take these off?” he murmurs, voice low, rough with restraint.

You nod, but it’s not enough for him.

“Need you to say it, baby.”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice barely audible, but it’s all he needs.

Chris groans softly, dragging the denim down your legs, the slow feeling of fabric moving against your heated skin making your core wetter. When he finally tosses them aside, his eyes roam over you, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hands sliding up your thighs, spreading them slightly as he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then higher, higher.

Your fingers dig into the sheets, breath coming in uneven pants as he moves closer, his mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Baby,” you breathe, and he hums in response, lips brushing against the last piece of fabric between you.

You lift your hips instinctively, silently begging, and he chuckles, shaking his head. “So impatient,” he teases, but his voice is thick, strained and you can tell he’s just as desperate as you.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your bikini bottoms, dragging them down with the same agonizing slowness, his lips following the path they leave behind. When they’re finally gone, when there’s nothing left between you, he just looks at you, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you open for him.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he murmurs, completely wrecked and full of nothing but love.

A gasp rips from your throat as his mouth moves against you, soft and slow and perfect.

His tongue slides up and down your folds, separating them and pushing his face even deeper into you if possible.

His hands tighten on your hips, keeping you still as his tongue finds flicks against the most sensitive part of you, drawing a moan from your lips that makes him groan in response.

He loves this. Loves the way you tremble beneath him, the way you say his name like it’s the only thing you know.

“Chris- fuck.” Your fingers find his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you, the vibration sending sparks down your spine.

He takes his time, savoring every reaction, every shaky breath, every whisper of his name. It’s slow and unhurried, like he wants to memorize you, like he needs to.

His tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes at first, teasing, tasting, savoring every inch of you. He groans into you, the vibrations shooting straight through your core, and the sound alone is almost enough to make you fall apart.

But you don’t want it to end yet. And neither does he.

His nose presses against your clit at such a delicious angle as his tongue moves in and out of you, setting a ruthless pace- the pace he knows you need, the one that drives you crazy, the one that has your thighs shaking against his shoulders.

Chris moans against you, gripping your hips harder, pulling you closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough. Like he needs you more than air.

And God, he’s so deep, his face buried between your thighs, the heat of his mouth sending sparks all through your body. You’re gasping, your fingers tugging at his hair, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let up.

You whimper, arching against his tongue, and the cocky bastard grins against you before diving back in, licking into you like it’s his last meal.

“Chris,” you gasp, voice wrecked, breathless.

His grip on you tightens, keeping you exactly where he wants you. “Mmm?” he hums, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

You whimper again, unable to form words, unable to do anything but take what he’s giving you.

Chris pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, pupils blown. He smirks, dragging two fingers through your slick folds before slipping them inside, curling them just right, making you cry out.

“There we go,” he murmurs, watching your face twist in pleasure. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

You can barely breathe, barely think, as he starts moving his fingers in slow, deliberate strokes, his mouth returning to your clit, wrapping around it and sucking softly before licking over again and again.

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging hard, and he moans into you.

“Baby,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out.

Chris just grins against you, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers thrusting deeper.

And fuck, you’re so close but he knows your body too well. Knows exactly when to stop, exactly when to pull back, leaving you on the edge, aching for more.

You whine in protest, hips bucking up to chase his mouth, but Chris just smirks, pressing a teasing kiss to your inner thigh.

“Not yet, ma,” he murmurs, voice dark, wrecked. “I wanna take my time with you.”

Moments later he dives right back in. His tongue is everywhere, working in you with slow, teasing flicks one second and deep, dragging strokes the next. His fingers pump into you at a perfect pace, curling just right, pressing into that spongy spot that has you moaning his name like a prayer.

He loves it when you moan his name. Loves the way your body responds to him, the way your thighs twitch around his head, the way you can’t stop moving and arching into his touch, chasing his mouth, desperate for more.

Your fingers are buried in his hair, tugging, pulling, and he groans against you, pushing you further into the mattress at the same time without even thinking about it.

The vibrations shoot through your core, send a spark of electricity down your spine, and suddenly, you’re right there. Right on the edge, breath coming in broken gasps, body trembling.

Chris feels it, knows it, and he doubles down, fingers fucking into you harder, his tongue relentless, determined to push you over that final edge.

“That’s it, mama,” he murmurs, words muffled against your soaked skin. “Give it to me. Wanna hear you.”

His voice is practically a moan that’s full of pure need, and that’s what does it. His voice, his mouth, his hands- everything.

Your body seizes up, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as the orgasm crashes over you, hard. Pleasure pulses through you in waves, your back arching off the bed, your thighs tightening around his head, but Chris doesn’t stop.

He groans as he licks you through it, his hands gripping your shaking thighs, his tongue still working you over, dragging every last bit of pleasure from your body until you’re whimpering, too sensitive, too overstimulated to take any more.

You tug at his hair, trying to pull him away, but he presses one last kiss against your soaked skin before finally, finally lifting his head.

Chris looks like he just fell from heaven. His lips are swollen, glistening, his pupils blown wide, his breath coming in ragged pants.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning as he moves up your body, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone.

When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You sigh against his mouth, fingers still tangled in his hair, your body boneless beneath him.

Chris chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Goddamn, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “You’re so fucking hot when you come on my mouth.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still trying to catch your breath, and Chris just kisses you again.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hip.

You were still feeling the after effects of your orgasm, chest rising and falling rapidly, skin burning from his touch, his mouth, him. But as the haze of pleasure started to clear, you noticed something else, something that made heat flood your stomach all over again.

Chris was rubbing himself against the mattress.

It was subtle, but once you saw it, you couldn’t not see it. The way his hips pressed into the bed, slow and desperate, his breathing just a little too uneven, his grip on you just a little too tight. His jaw was clenched, brows furrowed, his body tense like he was trying to hold himself back.

“Chris,” you whisper, realization hitting you all at once.

Chris huffs out a breathless laugh, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, like maybe he could hide from how completely fucking gone he is for you.

“Shut up,” he mutters, voice strained, like he’s embarrassed, like he can’t help it.

You feel another rush of heat pool between your legs, because fuck, he looks so good like this. Flushed and desperate, still clothed while you’re bare beneath him, his self-control hanging by a thread.

“You get off on eating me out?” you tease, running your nails lightly down his back, feeling the way he shudders at the touch.

Chris groans, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Ma-”

Your fingers dip lower, tracing the waistband of his swim trunks, and his whole body jerks, his hips pressing down harder into the bed.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut, but it does nothing to hide the way he ruts into the mattress again, like he needs it.

You grin, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re so hot when you’re needy.”

Chris groans, his hands gripping your hips harder, like he’s trying to keep himself from losing it. “I’m about two seconds away from ruining these fucking shorts,” he admits, voice whinny.

You shiver at his words, your own arousal sparking all over again. “Then take them off.”

Chris swears under his breath, kissing you hard, all tongue and teeth and desperation.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, forehead pressed against yours as his fingers fumble with the waistband of his trunks. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You giggle breathlessly, helping him push them down, and the second he’s free, you feel just how much he had been holding back, how worked up he is.

And God, you want him so bad.

Chris presses his lips to your jaw, your neck, everywhere, his body hovering over yours, his hand wrapping around himself as he exhales a shuddering breath.

Then, he looks down at you, pupils blown, expression full of nothing but pure, unfiltered hunger as you wrap a hand around his girthy length.

Chris groans, deep and guttural, his forehead pressing against yours as your words sink into his skin like fire. His fingers twitch against your waist, gripping just a little harder, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked, desperate. “Don’t do that. I’ll finish way too fast.”

You simply laugh but oblige, taking your hand off him. “You always say that but then last all goddamn night.”

He simply smiles down at you. And then he’s kissing you, messy and deep, his body pressing into yours, his hands roaming everywhere and gripping your thighs, your hips, your ribs, like he can’t get enough.

You whimper against his lips, still sensitive, still pulsing from the high he just pulled from your body, but it’s not enough. Not even close.

Chris must feel the way you shift beneath him, the way your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, because he grins against your mouth, his hips pressing down just enough to make you gasp.

“You want more, baby?” he teases, voice rough, laced with something dark and needy.

You nod, breathless, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Chris chuckles, low and knowing, his lips trailing down your jaw, sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“You’re so greedy,” he murmurs, nipping at your throat, making you shiver. “So fucking sweet.”

His hands skim down your body, fingertips dancing over your waist before settling on your hips. His touch is warm, steady, as he spreads your legs further, settling between them like he belongs there. He knows he does.

Your heart is pounding, anticipation burning through your veins as he shifts, pressing his length against you, dragging his tip through your slick folds, teasing you, making you ache.

You whimper, tilting your hips up, desperate for more, and Chris moans, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“God, baby,” he rasps, rolling his hips just right, making your head tip back against the pillows. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

You whine, fingers clutching at his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shudder.

“Chris,” you breathe, voice wrecked, full of want.

He exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours again, his hips rolling into yours at a slow, torturous pace.

“I got you, mama,” he murmurs, voice softer now, full of something deeper, something more.

And then he pushes inside you, slow and steady, stretching you perfectly, filling you inch by inch, until he’s buried deep, his chest heaving, his body trembling against yours.

Your breath catches, pleasure coiling through you at the sheer feeling of him.

Chris groans, his hands gripping your hips tight, his head dropping to the crook of your neck.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, voice muffled against your skin. “You feel so good. So tight.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, pressing your lips to his temple.

“Move,” you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

Chris lifts his head, his eyes locking onto yours. And then he rocks into you. Slow, deep, intentional.

His lips find yours again, swallowing your moans, his hands sliding under your thighs, pulling you closer, pushing in deeper, making you feel everything.

You sigh into his mouth, body melting into his, completely lost in him, in this, in everything you are together.

Chris groans, resting his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his movements slow and torturous.

“God, I love you,” he murmurs, hips rolling faster, voice thick with emotion, with need. “So fucking much.”

You gasp, clinging to him, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

Chris moans at that, his pace picking up just slightly, just enough to make your toes curl, just enough to make you feel the depth of his love, his devotion, his everything.

The world outside ceases to exist but Chris doesn’t stop.

Not after you moan his name like it’s the only word you know. Not after your nails rake down his back, leaving behind marks that will be there for days. Not after he kisses you, slow and deep, like he wants to drown in you.

Not after he pulls another orgasm from you, his name spilling from your lips in a broken, desperate cry as your body clenches around him in a way that was almost painful.

If anything, it only makes him hungrier.

His lips never leave yours, even as he rides you through it, even as he groans into your mouth, hips stuttering, body trembling. But he doesn’t stop. He won’t stop.

He won’t stop until he’s given you everything.

Until the summer heat isn’t the only thing making you sweat. Until the only thing you can think about is him. The way he fills you, the way he ruins you, the way he worships you like you’re the only thing he’s ever believed in.

Chris exhales a ragged breath against your lips, slowing his thrusts just enough to make you shiver. His forehead presses against yours, his body heavy against you, but not in a way that suffocates. In a way that makes you feel safe. In a way that makes you feel like his.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs, voice rough, wrecked.

You nod, but it’s not enough for him.

Chris pulls back slightly, searching your face, brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead. “Talk to me,” he whispers.

You swallow hard, your fingers tracing down his spine, reveling in the way he shudders beneath your touch. “I want more.”

Chris groans, low and needy, like your words just broke him completely. “Fuck,” he breathes, his grip tightening on your hips. Then he flips you over.

You gasp, a surprised giggle slipping from your lips before Chris cuts it off with a kiss, pressing you into the mattress, his body covering yours. His hand slides up your spine, trailing goosebumps in its wake, before tangling in your hair, tilting your head to the side as his lips move to your neck.

“You sure you can handle another round?” he teases, dragging his teeth along your pulse point, making you whimper.

“Yes please,” you breathe.

Chris chuckles darkly against your skin, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the base of your neck before rolling his hips forward, sliding back inside you with ease.

You both moan at the feeling, the delicious stretch, the way your bodies mold together perfectly.

Chris grips your waist, holding you steady as he starts moving again, slow but deep, drawing out every sound he can.

“You feel so good, baby,” he mutters, voice husky, full of reverence. “So fucking tight and wet.”

Your head falls forward, pleasure sparking through every inch of you, your thighs trembling as Chris pounds into you, his name slipping from your lips like a mantra.

His pace picks up, hips snapping against yours, the headboard knocking softly against the wall with each thrust, the room filled with nothing but the sounds of your moans and his ragged breaths despite the fact his entire family lay sleeping behind the walls.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, pulling you up so your back is flush against his chest, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You were made for me.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, overstimulated, but you don’t want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

Chris’s hand drifts lower, fingers slipping between your legs, rubbing tight circles against your clit, his other arm wrapping around your waist, holding you in place as he ruins you.

“One more, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with want. “Give me one more.”

And you do. Your body tightens around him, your head falling back onto his shoulder as another orgasm crashes through you, sending sparks down your spine, making you tremble in his arms.

Chris groans, his grip tightening as he follows, spilling into you with a deep, shuddering moan, his body stiffening, then relaxing against you.

Silence settles between you for a moment, the only sound being the heavy rise and fall of your breaths.

Then Chris laughs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck, arms still wrapped around you.

“You’re actually gonna kill me,” he mumbles, voice hoarse, spent.

You smile, turning your head slightly to catch his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Guess I’ll have to bring you back to life,” you whisper against his mouth and within seconds he has you flipped on your back and has slipped inside you, cock already hard again.

His skin warm and slick with sweat. His breath is heavy against your cheek, his lips barely ghosting over your jaw as he tries to steady himself, tries to regain control.

But there’s no control here.

Not when you’re beneath him, body still trembling from the pleasure he just wrung out of you, looking at him with those wide, needy eyes, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like you need him just as badly as he needs you.

Chris groans, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, kissing your skin lazily, but keeping himself buried inside you because he can’t pull away.

“I can’t stop,” he admits, voice low, desperate. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, tilting your hips up just enough to make you whimper. “I don’t want to stop.”

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze, your fingers tangling in his messy, sweat-damp hair.

“Then don’t,” you whisper, lips brushing against his.

And fuck, that’s all it takes.

Chris kisses you hard, stealing the breath from your lungs as he starts moving again. He sets a deep, steady rhythm, pushing into you, filling you completely, making you feel every inch of him.

Your back arches, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails raking down his back, and Chris groans, rutting into you harder, deeper.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters against your lips, hands gripping your thighs, keeping them spread as he rocks into you, slow and deep, like he needs you to feel this, to know how much he wants you.

Your head tips back against the pillow, a whimper slipping from your lips, and Chris takes the opportunity to drag his tongue down your neck, sucking and kissing, leaving marks he knows you’ll complain about tomorrow.

His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks, making you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist.

Chris grins, pressing another kiss to your lips. “You’re so fucking sensitive, ma,” he teases, voice wrecked. “Still not over the first one, huh?”

You shake, legs trembling, body overstimulated but still aching for more.

“Chris,” you breathe, tugging him closer.

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours, moving his hips in slow, deep thrusts, dragging out every ounce of pleasure.

“Say it,” he mutters, voice dark, demanding. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow circles. “Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitches, your nails digging into his arms as he keeps going, his pace slow but ruinous, building you up again, bringing you to that edge.

“More,” you gasp.

Chris smirks, but there’s nothing cocky about it this time. It’s adoration, it’s pure fucking need.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “Then take it, baby.”

Chris snaps his hips forward, thrusting into you harder, his fingers pressing against your clit, pushing you higher, closer, and you can feel it. You can practically taste the pleasure you were so fucking close.

“Cum for me, ma,” Chris whispers, his voice wrecked, full of love, full of you.

You cum hard, your body clenching around him, your back arching off the bed, your head falling back as you cry out, his name tumbling from your lips for what felt like the billionth time today.

Chris groans, his pace faltering, his grip on your body tightening as he watches you fall apart beneath him, as he feels you squeeze around him, pulling him deeper, dragging him with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- mama” he mutters, his movements growing sloppy, desperate. He thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep before he shatters, his body trembling, his breath coming in ragged pants as he spills inside you again, pressing his forehead to yours, his lips brushing your cheek.

You both stay like that for a moment, tangled together, skin slick, hearts pounding, chests heaving.

Then, Chris chuckles breathlessly, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your lips and pulling out.

“Round three?” he teases, smirking against your mouth.

You roll your eyes, laughing softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Chris doesn’t hesitate.

The second the words leave your mouth, he kisses you. Deep, slow, filthy. Like he’s already planning on making good on his round three comment. His hands slide up your sides, warm and steady, fingers brushing over your ribs before cupping your face, holding you there like you’re his entire world.

And you knew you were.

Your body still burns from everything he’s already done to you, but you want more. You need more. You can feel him pressed against you, still hard, still ready, and it sends another pulse of heat straight to your core.

Chris groans as your nails scrape down his back, his hips shifting against yours, already chasing that friction. His breath is ragged when he pulls back just slightly, his forehead pressed to yours, his pupils blown even wider, his lips swollen and wet from kissing you.

“You’re such a dirty girl,” he mutters, voice wrecked, his hands gripping your thighs, pulling you closer, pressing his length against your slick heat that’s covered in two rounds of both yours and his cum.

You grin, breathless. “And you love it.”

Chris lets out a dark chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw, down your neck, sucking another mark into your skin just because he can.

“Damn right, I do,” he murmurs, shifting above you, lining himself up, dragging the tip of his cock through your cum covered folds, making you whimper.

Your body shakes, overstimulated but aching for him again, and Chris feels it. He feels how sensitive you are, how badly you need him.

“I love fucking my cum back into you,” he groans, his voice full of something dark, something possessive. “God, and you’re still so tight.”

You whimper, tilting your hips up, and Chris chuckles, pressing a teasing kiss to your lips.

“Still so desperate, too” he murmurs. You roll your eyes, tugging him down, biting at his bottom lip, making him groan.

“Just fuck me already.”

Chris laughs, but it’s rough, strained, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Whatever my girl wants,” he mutters but sinks into you nonetheless. It was slow and deep, stretching you all over again, making your eyes roll back and having your nails dig into his shoulders as he fills you completely.

Chris groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes. “I’ll never get tired of that feeling.”

You whimper, still sensitive, still ruined from him, but you don’t want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

Chris lifts his head, tilting your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Look at me, ma,” he murmurs. “I wanna see your pretty face.”

And fuck, the way he watches you as he starts moving, the way his eyes burn into yours as his hips roll in deep, deliberate thrusts- it’s enough to destroy you.

He drags it out, keeping his pace slow, making sure you feel everything, making sure you need him as much as he needs you.

“Chris,” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, and he moans, his hips stuttering just slightly.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters, his lips pressing against your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “So beautiful. So fucking mine.”

You shiver, the possessiveness in his voice making another wave of heat crash over you, making your stomach tighten with pleasure.

Chris feels it, knows it, and he speeds up just slightly, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath hot against your lips.

“Gonna cum for me again, baby?” he murmurs, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles. “Gonna let me feel you?”

You nod frantically, barely able to speak, barely able to breathe, the pleasure building so fast.

“Say it,” Chris demands, voice dark, hungry. “Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

“You,” you gasp, barely able to get the words out. “You, Chris- fuck, I-”

You shatter before you could even finish your sentence. It’s intense, your entire body shaking, pleasure ripping through you harder than it ever has, your hands clinging to him, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Chris groans as you tighten around him with such power, his movements growing sloppy and desperate. And then he’s there too, his hips stuttering, his body tensing before he lets go, burying himself deep, moaning your name way too loudly as he spills inside you.

Chris collapses beside you, breath still ragged, body still warm and sticky from everything you just did. His arm immediately wraps around your waist, pulling you into him, like he physically can’t be apart from you yet. His nose nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your damp skin.

For a long moment, neither of you speak, just basking in the quiet, in the aftermath, in the absolute mess you’ve made of each other.

Then Chris shifts slightly, adjusting his body when he suddenly feels it.

His lips twitch, his fingers gripping your thigh as he slowly drags them up, grazing over the sticky mess between your legs.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

You hum sleepily against his chest, barely registering the shift in his tone. “Hmm?”

Chris grins, tilting his head slightly to glance down at you, his fingertips brushing against the inside of your thigh again, feeling the both of your cum still leaking out of you.

“You’re dripping,” he murmurs, his tone smug as hell, his fingers teasing as he lightly traces over the mess he left inside you.

Your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as you immediately squeeze your legs together, heat flooding your cheeks.

“Chris!” you shove at his chest, your voice shrill with embarrassment, but he’s grinning now, the tiredness in his eyes replaced with something cocky, something full of pure male satisfaction.

“Shit,” he mutters, dragging his fingers up your thigh again, spreading the wetness slightly just to watch you squirm. “That’s so fucking hot.”

Your face burns, and you slap at his arm, kicking at the sheets. “Chris, get something to clean it before I kill you!”

Chris just laughs, looking absolutely pleased with himself, shaking his head as he presses a slow, teasing kiss to your forehead.

“Relax, mama,” he murmurs, but he’s already moving, slipping out of bed, stretching his arms above his head before sauntering off to the bathroom completely naked, because of course he is.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning as you hear him rummaging through the cabinets. “I hate you so much.”

Chris’s laugh echoes from the bathroom. “You love me.”

You roll your eyes, still burning with embarrassment, but when he returns with a warm washcloth, his expression softens. He kneels on the bed beside you, gently running the cloth over your thighs, taking his time, making sure he’s thorough.

His fingers brush over your skin, slow and warm, and suddenly, you’re not embarrassed anymore. Suddenly, it’s just Chris. Your golden boy, your love, the boy who takes care of you even when he’s teasing the hell out of you.

When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth into the laundry bin, slipping back into bed, pulling you against his chest once more.

“Better?” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your hair.

You sigh, melting into his warmth. “Better.”

Chris chuckles. “Good. ‘Cause I’m still gonna remind you of this in the morning.”

Before you could reply, Chris inhales a panicked breath and mutters, “Shit, I’m gonna need to buy you like seven Plan B’s tomorrow.”

You snort, laughter bubbling past your lips as you roll onto your side, draping an arm over his chest. “Seven? You planning on going another few rounds in your sleep?”

Chris grins, brushing his fingers up and down your spine. “I mean, if you’re up for it…”

You swat at his chest, making him chuckle, but then your grin turns wicked, teasing. “Your mom is definitely gonna be disappointed that we didn’t use the condoms she bought for you.”

Chris groans, covering his face with his hands. “Jesus Christ, don’t remind me.”

You giggle, propping yourself up on one elbow. “She literally walked in on us once, Chris. She knows you’re not a virgin.”

Chris peeks at you from between his fingers, giving you a deadpan look. “Yeah, and I still can’t look her in the eye.”

You smirk, resting your chin on his chest. “I think she was just trying to be supportive. Making sure her son’s being safe and all.”

Chris grumbles, shaking his head. “She left them on my bed, Y/N. With no note. Just a silent here, please stop traumatizing me moment.”

You burst into laughter, curling into his side as he groans dramatically. “Aw, baby, your mom just wants what’s best for you.”

Chris scoffs. “She probably heard all that too and is currently regretting every decision she’s ever made.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his collarbone before whispering, “I think she’s just proud her son has stamina.”

Chris lets out a strangled noise before flipping you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, tickling your sides until you’re screeching with laughter.

“Oh, you’re funny, huh?” he teases, grinning down at you as you squirm beneath him. “You think you’re so fucking hilarious.”

“Chris- stop!” you wheeze between laughs, kicking your legs as he keeps going.

Eventually, he relents, rolling off of you with a satisfied smirk. You’re still giggling, breathless, and Chris watches you with this soft look, like he’s completely and utterly gone for you. And you know he is.

Then he sighs, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, c’mere, baby,” he murmurs, sitting up and reaching for the hem of the t-shirt he tossed onto the floor earlier. “Let’s get you fully cleaned up.”

You hum in contentment as he helps you sit up, grabbing another rag from his nightstand and running it gently between your thighs, collecting more of your release that spilled out. The whole time, his eyes stay locked on yours, full of something deep, something warm.

When he’s done, he grabs one of his t-shirts from his drawer that was soft, oversized, and smelling exactly like him and slips it over your head, his fingers brushing over your skin as he helps you adjust it.

“There,” he murmurs, voice low, fond. “My girl in my shirt. Fucking perfect.”

You smile, curling into his chest as he tugs the covers over both of you. His arms wrap around you tightly, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your back.

You sigh, completely melted into him, your body still humming with the remnants of everything he’s given you tonight. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, his heartbeat steady, grounding.

Chris presses a slow, lingering kiss to your hair, his fingers continuing their soft path over your spine, tracing lazy, absentminded patterns like he never wants to stop touching you.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs against your forehead, his voice thick with exhaustion but still full of that quiet, unwavering care.

You nod, nuzzling closer, your legs tangling with his beneath the sheets. “Mhm. Perfect.”

Chris exhales softly, tucking you even closer somehow, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip.

“Good,” he whispers, his lips brushing over your temple. “Gotta take care of my girl.”

Your chest tightens, warmth blooming inside you at how soft he is now, how different this moment is from the desperate, hungry way he had fucked you just minutes ago.

This is what you love about Chris.

That he’s wild and reckless and cocky, but then he’s this, too. He’s gentle, protective, utterly devoted in a way that makes you feel so unbelievably safe.

Your fingers rub absentmindedly against his chest, your eyes growing heavy, exhaustion slowly pulling you under.

Chris hums, his breath slowing, his hold on you never faltering.

“Sleep, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead again, soft and lingering. “I got you.”

And with that, wrapped up in his warmth, in his love, in him, you finally let sleep take you, safe in the arms of the boy who always has you and always will have you.

MASTERLIST

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regressionschool · 4 months ago

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A Quiet Afternoon at Home

The sun streamed through the window of the cozy living room, bathing the space in warm, golden light. Kim sat perched in her highchair, legs swinging idly in the air, her bunny-covered footie pajamas crinkling softly with every move. A large pink bib, embroidered with "Daddy's Little Angel," hung around her neck, slightly smeared with the remnants of mashed bananas from her lunch.

Her expression was one of mild distraction, lips pursed around her thumb, eyes fixed on the colorful cartoons playing on the TV. But the occasional wiggle of her bottom betrayed something else entirely—an unconscious habit born of her complete lack of control. Her diaper, already swollen from the morning, gave a faint squish as she shifted in place, unaware of the telltale signs of what had just happened.

“Kimmy,” called a warm, sing-song voice from the kitchen. It was Sarah, her caretaker, carrying a sippy cup filled with apple juice. She approached with a practiced patience, as if dealing with a little one who had long accepted her place. “Did you make another present for me?”

Kim blinked at her, thumb slipping from her mouth with a soft pop. Her cheeks flushed pink, a mix of embarrassment and resignation crossing her face. She didn’t need to answer; the sagging weight of her diaper said it all. Sarah gave her a knowing smile, setting the sippy cup down on the tray of the highchair.

“Aww, it’s okay, sweetie,” Sarah cooed, reaching over to tousle Kim’s blonde hair, now tied into two childish pigtails. “That’s what your diapers are for, isn’t it? You tried to hold it, didn’t you?”

Kim nodded faintly, her lower lip quivering. “I-I felt it, but…” She trailed off, glancing down at her lap, where her hands nervously fidgeted with the edge of her pajama sleeves. “It just… happened.”

“It always does, baby,” Sarah said softly, crouching down so she was at eye level. “You’re just not big enough to make it to the potty, are you?”

Kim bit her lip, tears threatening to spill. She didn’t protest, didn’t argue, because deep down she knew Sarah was right. She’d been through regression school, where every ounce of her adult independence had been carefully stripped away, replaced with the routines and instincts of a toddler who might think about potty training but could never follow through. The smallest flutter in her tummy was always too late, her body betraying her before she even realized it was happening.

Sarah leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Kim’s forehead. “No tears, sweetheart. Mommy’s here to keep you dry and happy. Well… maybe not dry,” she teased with a light chuckle. “But happy, for sure.”

Kim managed a small smile, the corners of her lips twitching upward despite herself. She clung to the comforting reassurance in Sarah’s voice, even as her soggy diaper grew cold and clammy against her skin. This was her normal now—no responsibility, no expectations beyond simply being the little girl she’d been molded into.

“Now,” Sarah said, lifting Kim from the highchair with ease, her arms cradling her protectively. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into a nice fresh diaper, okay? Then maybe we’ll do some coloring. Or would my little princess like to play tea party instead?”

Kim wrapped her arms around Sarah’s neck, resting her head on her caretaker’s shoulder. She didn’t answer right away, simply snuggling closer as Sarah carried her to the nursery. The familiar scent of baby powder and plush toys greeted them as they entered, the pastel pink walls and crib a constant reminder of just how far Kim had regressed.

As Sarah laid her down on the changing table, Kim let out a small sigh, her thumb creeping back into her mouth. She didn’t fight it, didn’t squirm. There was no point. Her future was as padded and protected as the diapers she’d never leave behind.

For Kim, this was forever. She’d always be the toddler stuck on the cusp of potty training but never quite making it. And, as Sarah lovingly taped up a fresh, crinkly diaper around her waist, Kim couldn’t deny the tiniest spark of comfort in that reality.

#diaper stories #regression school #ab/dl caption #diaper captions #ab/dl stories #wetting diaper #diaper bulge #ab/dl girl #ab/dl #ab/dl diaper

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batboysanonymous · 1 month ago

Text

Make Me Juno

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Y/N never thought she’d crave permanence, yet with Azriel, the idea of forever doesn’t seem so daunting. But when desire turns into something deeper, she must decide if she’s truly ready to let him lock her down for good.

Based on the song: Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

"You make me wanna make you fall in love Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah"

There was something dangerous about the way Azriel looked at her. Something that made Y/N’s breath hitch, made her fingers curl against the silk sheets beneath her. He wasn’t even touching her—yet.

From his place at the foot of the bed, shadows swirling around his broad frame, his hazel eyes burned with a hunger that sent warmth coiling in her belly.

"Are you nervous?" he asked, voice as smooth as the night itself.

Y/N forced herself to swallow, to not look away from the intensity in his gaze. "No."

His lips tilted into something resembling a smirk, and gods, that was unfair. Azriel had no right to look that good, to have such restraint when she could barely hold herself together.

"Then why," he murmured, stepping closer, "is your heart racing?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, hating that he could hear it. But she didn’t answer. Not when he reached out, tracing his fingers down her bare arm, goosebumps blooming in his wake. Not when his free hand cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"You make me want to ruin you," he said, voice so dark, so devastatingly quiet, it sent a shiver down her spine. "But not tonight."

Her lips parted to argue, to beg, but then his lips brushed hers—soft, fleeting, before he pulled away, leaving her breathless.

She wanted him. More than she wanted air.

"I know you want my touch for life If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno"

Azriel wasn’t used to this.

To Y/N sitting in his lap, straddling him as if she was meant to be there. To the soft candlelight casting golden hues over her skin. To the way her fingers trailed along his jaw, her thumb brushing the scarred flesh of his hands, her eyes filled with something he couldn’t name.

"Do you ever think about the future?" she asked, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it.

Azriel tensed. "I—"

Her fingers pressed against his lips, silencing him. "Just listen," she whispered. "Because I think about it. About us."

He swallowed hard. "And what do you see?"

Y/N’s lips tilted into something secret, something only meant for him. "You," she breathed. "Always you."

His chest ached. He had spent centuries in the shadows, never daring to dream of something like this. Someone like her. And yet, she was here, offering him more than he ever thought he could have.

His hands slid up her back, pressing her closer, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his own.

"Y/N," he rasped, forehead pressing against hers. "You’re going to be the death of me."

"Good," she murmured. "Because I’d rather spend a thousand lifetimes loving you than a single day without you."

He was done for. Completely, utterly done for.

"Adore me Hold me and explore me Mark your territory"

Y/N gasped as her back hit the mattress, Azriel’s body caging her beneath him, his wings flaring wide. His lips traced a path along her throat, his teeth grazing her pulse point, sending heat spiraling through her.

"You’re mine," he growled, voice wrecked. "Say it."

A breathless laugh escaped her. "You already know the answer."

"Say it anyway."

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly. "I’m yours, Az."

A low groan left him, his hands gripping her hips possessively. "Damn right, you are."

His lips found hers again, claiming, desperate. And when she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, she knew—there was no turning back.

Not when she had already fallen.

And gods, how he made her want to stay locked down forever.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 4 months ago

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mornings with suguru feel like a pipe dream.

there’s something honeyed in the air, bleeding into the scent of freshly brewed espresso, fried eggs resting on the stove, newly bought flowers on the windowsill — apricot nectar heavy on your tongue, dripping down your lip in a sticky stream. his thumb reaches over to wipe it away before you can even try.

suguru is sitting right in front of you, looking like what dreams are made of. eyes a little bleary, mind still sinking into the reality of morning, hair put up into a messy bun; raven strands tickling his forehead and framing his eyes, warm and fond, a nice mocha brown. he’s wearing a white button-up, the scent of laundry detergent seeping into the fabric. he’s smiling, and you’re so in love you can barely breathe.

he always wakes up before you. always has breakfast prepared, or half-done, by the time you stumble into the kitchen on unsteady feet — you love clinging to his back while he cooks. but you love this even more.

outside the frail glass of your window, the world is subdued by the changing seasons. autumn is in full bloom, the sky enveloped by wet, molten clouds, a light layer of mist; on the ground are a row of golden trees. it’s a cozy, indoor kind of morning, the kind that makes your veins feel all sleepy, heart all tender, as if melted down by the gentle rain — the kind that has you sipping from your cup, rubbing your eyes, watching your fiancé from across the kitchen table.

there’s nectar on your tongue, espresso behind your teeth, and you wish you could open your mouth and speak. but you’re too tired, still far too groggy — far too sentimental. you can scarcely breathe. you can only sit there, and silently think: i could never love anyone like you. could never even come close.

do you have any idea what i’d do for you?

you’re sure he doesn’t. sure he prefers to see himself as your protector, not the other way around — that he’s most comfortable being a caretaker, rather than someone who gets taken care of. you know how he is. it’s in everything; the cup of coffee he made for you, the shirt he draped over you last night. his own, always, as if he thinks the fabric will bring you sweet dreams. it’s in the way he holds your hand when you cross the sidewalk, the way his thumb rubs over your knuckles when you’re anxious. it’s in the rain, gentle and comforting, watering your plant-like heart.

there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

nothing. absolutely nothing.

i’d drink a million cups of coffee, one after the other — i’d run out in the rain and pluck the apricots from every tree. i’d listen to that song you like. i’d listen to it until my eardrums bleed, and still wouldn’t stop.

nothing, nothing, nothing.

he turns his head, to gaze out the window, his bangs swaying gently as he does — and your gaze gulps down the lines of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, every flutter of his lashes. he parts his lips, and murmurs something about the weather. he’s smiling, a soft curve, his eyes just barely crinkled —

and you can’t breathe.

you’re so lovely it kills me.

your chest aches with yearning. you want to reach across the table and touch him, but you’re still too immobilized by how beautiful he is, how intense this love has come to feel. how devastating it is, to have this kind of life, to know you can do nothing but savour every bit of it. you can’t stop staring, drinking in his softened features, that content look in his amber-coloured eyes — the rasp under his velvety voice. your baby, your angel, your sun.

(you want him to shine forever.)

when you look down at the table, there’s an open palm waiting for you. smooth skin, soft lines, gleaming under the dim glow of the kitchen lights.

you look up, and suguru smiles.

he doesn’t speak until you’ve lifted your hand, tangled your fingers together with his. it feels good, the skin to skin contact, the sight of your rings pressed up against one another. his thumb begins to rub gentle circles into the knots of your knuckles, just the same as always. soothing, rhythmic, a mantra you’ve learned by heart.

”something on your mind?” he asks, softly.

(everything.)

”nothing,” you answer, a quiet lull of your tongue, averting your gaze with a heat to your ears. it’s too early for him to be so gorgeous, to aim his unbridled attention in your direction. ”i just love you…”

his lashes flutter, for a moment.

then his mind catches up to your words, and he laughs — breathy and sweet, the slightest gravelly residue. squeezing your palm in his own.

”i love you too,” he croons, lips curled upwards, and you swear you could never tire of hearing him say those words. ”is someone still a little tired, hm?”

”… maybe.”

a low chuckle. he tugs at your hand, gently, bringing it to his lips; they’re warm against your skin, his hot breath seeping out, gliding across your knuckles, stopping right by your ring finger. his eyes gleam with mirth, like the golden leaves just outside your window, pressed against the glass. his voice comes out as a purr. ”do you need another cup, my love?”

his lips trails down, all the way to your wrist, catching onto your pulsepoint. you can’t help but shiver.

”or should i wake you up just like this?”

he’s smiling, and something about it seems smug. he knows exactly how weak you are. and he must think he’s flustering you, acting so suave — but that’s not quite it. when he’s tilting his head like that, he looks more like a puppy than anything, so cute you think you might just melt right through the floorboards.

through the sleepy haze of your mind, to the tips of your fingers; your brain retaliates.

you tug his hand back, bringing yours with it; all the way to your puckered lips. lazily smearing a kiss on the inside of his palm, just barely catching the hitch of his breath, the inhale his heartbeat deigns to swallow down. it makes you smile, against his skin.

(and the tips of his ears bloom with heat.)

everything i need is you. the words are silent, unspoken, only barely mouthed against his skin. i don’t need the rain or the sun. just you, only you.

when you pull away, your intertwined fingers finding their way back to the tablecloth, suguru gives you another smile. almost painfully tender.

you can’t help but feed into each other, like this. on sleepy mornings, when the words don’t come as easy, so actions are all you have. that, and loving gazes. all you can think is that you want more autumn mornings; you don’t want any of them to end before you’ve finished sipping from your cup of espresso, finished watching him from across the table. not until you’ve woken up enough to spill the words helplessly building up in the back of your throat, the butterflies stuffed in between your ribs.

until then, this morning mantra will have no choice but to continue. until then, you’ll opt to stay silent.

until then, all you can do is stare.

(and all your mind can think, is nothing, nothing, could ever measure up to this. nothing in the world.)

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto fluff #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff

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rafesangelita · 6 months ago

Note

hey sweetie, can i request please [🍪] chocolate chip cookie with rafe cameron and based on the song " hard times" by ethel cain. you know how much i like her (both of you are so talented). you're free with the plot, you can make it angst, fluff, smut, whatever you want with a soft or a dark!rafe. as you please. tysm for considerate it and also congrats on your 5k. so proud of you. and take your time !! so excited <3

♡ “i’m tired of you still tied to me, it’s just the way that you are. i’m tired of you, too tired to leave.”— the never ending cycle of rafe causing you pain and making you feel better.

warnings: a lot of angst, barry being the mediator, crying, shouting, description of unprotected sex, emotional abuse (?)

a/n: i won’t lie, i hadn’t really given ethel cain a chance but when i was reading the lyrics to base this fic off of- MY HEART. i related to this song so much, it shocked me how i never gave it a try. thank you for participating and sending in this request :( i love you so much!! @nemesyaaa

you were everything rafe wasn’t. sweet, gentle, nurturing, patient. surely you two couldn’t work, right? instead of your differences driving you two apart, it drew you closer like the pieces of a puzzle. you filled his voids while he filled yours. maybe you were too young, but you couldn’t recognize that love, this love, could be bad. you clung onto the remnants of rafe that was good, to you it overshadowed everything else. the rage, the cruelty, the possessiveness, the pain. it was who he was, and you were okay with that.

“why are you cryin’? i told you about that shit already!” you jumped when rafe slammed his fist down on the table, his knuckles already split and bruised. “you’re shouting at me, what do you expect?” you cried more, your pink nails glittering under the light of barry’s dingy trailer. barry cleared his throat awkwardly, flashing you an apologetic look as you rushed to wipe your eyes. rafe ignored your sniffles while he sorted out his product. “do you really ‘gotta make her cry bruh?” barry took a seat after you left the kitchen.

rafe was quiet for a moment, eyes trailing up to look at your curled up form on the worn out couch. he saw the shake in your shoulders, the ruffles of your long skirt disheveled from laying on the thin fabric. you didn’t ask to be here. you didn’t ask for any of this. rafe’s jaw clenched as he handed the scale over to barry. “weight this out, i’ll be right back.” he grumbled, walking over to you. rafe was terrible at comforting people, let alone you who just happened to be the most sensitive person in the world. “hey..” his voice was low as he squatted down.

you took a breath, moving your hair away from your face as rafe turned you around. your skin was flushed, your cheeks hot while your lips swelled from biting on them so hard. “you look pretty.” he wiped a stray tear from your cheek before pressing a kiss to your temple. “you scare me sometimes.” you rasped, tracing his jaw as he picked you up, scooping you in his arms as your head rested on his chest. rafe walked you two down the dark hallway, and entered a bedroom where he laid you down.

you knew what was coming, your hand finding rafe’s as he hiked your skirt up around your hips. rafe knew you wanted intimacy, unfortunately this was the only way he knew how to give it to you. with every thrust of his hips bringing you closer and closer to that peak, you watched his expression morph into one of confliction. like he was sorry for doing this, but also on the edge of pure euphoria himself. you came with a cry of his name, your fingers wrapping around his digits while you felt him empty himself inside of you.

in those few minutes of post orgasm bliss, he held onto you and kissed you like you were the only thing that existed. it was pure heaven. and like always, just when you think you can stay like this forever, he gets up and leaves you naked and vulnerable. “me and barry got some stuff to do. we’ll be back later.” he stroked your cheek before shutting the door. there, in the pitch black darkness, you listened as the engines of rafe and his business partner’s dirt bikes roared to life, the sound fading away as he left you again.

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allthesmutl0vers · 5 months ago

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Dating Fred and George Weasley Headcanons

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Masterlist Requests/Asks: OPEN (please read) Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader x George Weasley Request: Not a request just wanted to write to fight writer's block. TW: Sexual Situations, Kinks, Some Fluff, Pseudo-Twincest A/N: I feel like I ate with this, tbh. Been working on it for two mf days. 😮‍💨💞 I hope you enjoy! Comment here if you want to be added to the tag list for any/all HP content.

Please feel free to let me know how you feel about this. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. ✨💞

How you got together:

You had been friends with them forever, but you never expected them to have the same feelings towards you as you did for them. None of you were willing to admit it until it was called out by Ginny and her loud ass mouth when she told you guys to 'just fucking kiss already, for Merlin's sake.'

They had just finished a match against Slytherin and won, of course, so their adrenaline was already flooding. You had opened your mouth to fire back at Ginny with some sarcastic ass comment when Fred grabbed your face and smashed his lips to yours, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

When Fred finally pulled back, your head was in a daze, and before you could suck in a breath, George grabbed you by your waist, dipped you, and kissed you with the same passionate intensity.

After that, everything else was history, and the only thought any of you could form was, 'Why didn't we do this sooner?'

Fred

Song that best describes your relationship with Fred:

Good Girls Go Bad - Cobra Starship (Iykyk)

Nicknames he has for you:

Darling: His go-to nickname, he uses it all of the time.

Love: Uses this one when he is being extra lovey, or giving you presents.

Sweetheart: (this one is for when you're in trouble and he wants you to know it)

Kinks:

Biting: Fred loves to bite you while he's fucking you. Leaving trails of bite marks all over your neck and going down your collarbones and, especially, between your thighs when he's eating you out. Though he never breaks the skin, he does bite hard enough to bruise. Fred's biggest turn-on is the sounds that leave your lips when he bites down hard and then licks and kisses the same spot, melting pain with pleasure until you can't tell the difference.

Bit of an exhibitionist: Nothing revs Fred up more than the risk of getting caught, especially if it's George walking in when he has you bent over, face down, ass up. He knows you're with George, too, but it's not necessarily about who catches you two in the act. It's about simply being caught.

"Looks like we've been caught, darling," he taunts with a dark chuckle and pulls your head back by your hair to make you look at George while he pile drives into you from behind. "Show Georgie how good I make you feel. Come on, let him hear how I make you scream."

Begging: Hearing you beg, 'Just fuck me already,' almost makes him break and do it. His response? Shoving his cock down your throat, all the while taunting you with little phrases like, 'What was that, darling? Didn't quite catch that,' or 'But you look so good, down on your knees begging for me.' He will definitely give you what you want, but only after tears are running down your cheeks as your need becomes almost too much to bear. Almost. He's not a complete sadist, after all.

Honorable Mentions:

Hair Pulling I mean, need I say more?

Teasing at the MOST inappropriate times, family dinner? Ha, his fingers are right at the apex of your thighs, silently challenging you to keep your facial expressions schooled.

Breeding Kink: You think he doesn't fantasize about filling you up so fucking full with cum, that it's only thanks to your birth control you haven't gotten pregnant yet? That's fucking adorable.

Favorite Positions:

Face down, ass up: What's not to love? It's the perfect position for Fred to slam into you at the brutal pace that leaves you cock-drunk. Perfect for him to either hold your hips still or slam you back onto his cock to match his pace, all the while leaving perfect little fingertip bruises on your hips. Even better is when he pulls you back, flush to his chest, a large hand holding just under your chin, supporting your weight while he leaves a trail of bite marks down your neck and shoulders while you whimper and plead for mercy, not that you actually want it, he just loves to hear you beg.

Against a wall: Being the exhibitionist he is, Fred will fuck you any and everywhere. An empty classroom, a broom closet, the locker room after an intense quidditch match, win or lose, he doesn't care. So long as he gets you. But there is just something about holding you up with your legs wrapped around him, back pinned to the wall (or a locker), that makes Fred fucking feral. The way he can watch your pupils blow with arousal, your lips part and quiver as your orgasm crashes into you like a fucking freight train, the way you tug on his hair as if you're trying to keep some semblance of grounding as you feel your soul leave your body. Fuck, he's sure he's never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.

Spit roasting: When you're on all fours on the bed (or anywhere, really), and he pounds into you while you suck off George. Fucking you so hard it forces you to take more of George down your throat. What are brothers for? He's not sexually attracted to George, but there's nothing like watching you take his other half while he slams into you. Both of them work in a delicious and synchronized rhythm, filling you up so full that you might just burst, will burst. Body trembling while George offers you sweet praise and Fred reaches around your body, rubbing tight and fast circles over your clit; all the while, they drag you further and further down to hell or up to heaven. Is there even a difference anymore?

Random Head Canons:

Fred is more possessive, not so much that you're not allowed to have friends of the opposite sex. He knows full well he can trust you to tell him if someone makes you uncomfortable. He knows damn well you're not going to be fucking around with anyone else, given how fucking incredible he and George make you feel. Possessive in the aspect that he will brutally, if not mercilessly, prank anyone who so much as looks at you in any way that isn't platonic.

When you chastise him for these methods, he stops because you are bloody terrifying when you're truly angry. He switches to pulling you onto his lap or brushing your hair over your shoulder in front of them to reveal the litter of bite marks he made or the hickies that George made all over your neck, all with the cockiest fucking smirk on his face.

Fred's Ideal Date: While he loves being buried deep inside of you, he loves treating you to an adventure. His favorite? Walking into the forbidden forest, finding the perfect place to swim (he found the best swimming hole with a ledge to jump off of.) In the warmer months, he'll pack a lunch and take you here, loving the adrenaline rush of jumping and diving off of the small cliff ledge. Swimming behind the waterfall and exploring the caves inside with you. In the colder months, he will challenge you to a snowball fight in the courtyard, George is allowed, too, of course, but one of them will always be on your side against the other. Otherwise it's not really fair, is it?

George

Song that best describes your relationship with George:

Ride - SoMo

Nicknames he has for you:

Baby/Baby girl: Uses this as a placement for your name.

Little One: Uses this when he's teasing you; typically whispers it in your ear when his hands are around your waist. Or when he is watching Fred fuck you before he steps in and joins.

Mine/Ours: Uses this one the most in the bedroom when either he or both of them are fucking you.

Kinks:

Hickies: While Fred loves biting, George is a little more gentle. Note that I said a little. He'll fuck you like a whore in church, but he prefers to drag out the pleasure by sucking the soft skin right behind your ear all the way down your body down to your clit, right to his favorite part on your body, which brings me to my next point-

Eating you out: Holy. Fucking. Shit. If this was an Olympic sport, George would take the gold every single fucking time. Sure, Fred knows how to send you over the edge, but George takes his time. Licking and sucking your clit with slow, purposeful movements, drawing out sounds from your throat that sound inhuman. The way his fingers curl just fucking right inside of you, thrusting against that spongy spot inside of you, scissoring them to spread your walls and thrust his tongue in and out. Seriously, this man would live between your thighs if he could. Sending you over the edge again and again with just his devilish fucking tongue and fingers, he gets off on that shit, literally. This man has cum simply from eating you out before.

Edging: Remember how I said George is 'a little more gentle'? This is what I meant by that. George's favorite hobby when he's buried deep inside of you is bringing you right up to the edge, then pulling out, leaving you feeling empty as your walls clamp around nothing. You whine, and you whimper, and suddenly, he thrusts into you with a snap of his hips. Only to do it all over again.

"You want me to fill you up, baby? Is that what you want?" He teases as he only pushes his tip inside. You try to rock against him, to take him in deeper to satisfy the craving inside of you. "Hmm, I'm not sure you deserve it," he taunts as his thumb lands on your clit. Just as you open your mouth to beg, his hand grips your throat, and he slams into you so hard you see stars, his cock buried so deep that you swear you can feel him in your guts as he finally lets you cum with an Earth-shattering cry around him.

Honorable Mentions:

Choking: Because you know what would make you even more beautiful? A hand necklace. His, to be specific.

Bit of a voyeur: He loves watching you get pounded hard and fast when he typically fucks you hard and slow. The way your face contorts slightly differently when Fred is fucking you amuses him like no other.

Breeding Kink to the fucking MAX: He wants your pussy flooded with cum, if some spills out? No big deal, he'll fuck it right back into you. And after you finish school? Yeah, that shit is going into the fucking trash. (But you have no arguments, tbh.)

Favorite Positions:

Riding him: Guiding your hips, thrusting up into you as your hands rest on his chest to hold yourself up. Sure, George is dominant. But that doesn't love to see the look on your face above him as you come apart, over and over again, until you're a sweaty, shaky mess. George doesn't mind reverse- cowgirl, but he'd much rather see your face as his hand wraps around your throat just hard enough to make you dizzy as he tosses you over the edge, following right behind you.

Missionary (hear me out): Who says missionary is boring? Not you. Sure, nothing beats a bed, but George prefers you laid out across his desk. Or with your legs thrown over his shoulders, ass hanging over the bed as he stands and pounds into you. His thrusts are slow and firm, sliding into the hilt and then grinding against your core, making damned sure to draw out every last moan your body can produce.

Between him and Fred: George is not biased when it comes to fucking you in your ass or your pussy, if he's honest. So long as you're on your knees on the bed, while he's in either hole while Fred is in the other, both slamming into you with an animalistic ferocity. Filling you up so full with their cum that it'll be dripping out of you for days.

Random Head Canons:

George LOVES it when people stare/flirt with you. It drives Fred up the fucking wall when George doesn't try to brutally prank or show off just how much you're theirs. But it gets George off when guys try to flirt with you only to have a drink thrown at them, or you simply laugh at them before pointing out him and Fred. While Fred's anger is palpable, George just winks at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. Maybe it's the voyeur in him, but he loves watching you interact with people, male or female, because he knows you're not going anywhere except right back to him and Fred.

George's Ideal Date: George loves to fly with you on his broom, you in front of him as he grips the broom between your thighs. His favorite time to do it is at night, flying up so high you swear you can almost touch the stars as you soar over the clouds. You know this is what you two are doing when he bundles you up in one or maybe two of his sweaters. Because Merlin forbid you get cold. If it's too cold to fly or it's snowing, he loves to take a walk to Hogsmeade and share a butterbeer. So long as he's spending time with you, he couldn't be happier.

I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it. Please don't forget to reblog and comment! ✨✨🤞🏻😇

#weasley twins #weasley twins smut #george weasley smut #fred weasley smut #weasley twins x reader

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iwanthermidnightz · 2 years ago

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When I think back on the Speak Now album, I get a lump in my throat. I have a feeling it will always be that way, because this period of time was so vibrantly aglow with the last light of the setting sun of my childhood. I made this album, completely self-written, between the ages of 18 and 20. I've spoken about how I feel like those ages are the most emotionally turbulent ones in a persons life. Maybe when I say that, I'm really just talking about myself.

I think they might just be the most idealistic, hopeful years too. At this point in my life, I had released my second album, Fearless. It became the breakthrough moment I'd always dreamt of, one that catapulted my career to new realms of success. It had brought with it a tidal wave of pressures and pitfalls and growing pains. All the while, I was encountering the milestones and checkpoints of normal teenage growth. I had cataclysmic crushes and brushes with heartache. I moved out of my parents' house and set my bags down in a new apartment. I hung photos on my own walls and decorated the space where I would sob and cackle and shatter and dream. Sometimes I felt like a grown up, but a lot of the time I just wanted to time travel back to my childhood bed, where my mom would read stories to me until I fell asleep.

In my darker moments, I was tormented by the doubt that swirled loudly around my ascent and my merits as an artist. I was trying to create a follow up to the most awarded country album in history, while staring directly into the face of intense criticism. I had been widely and publicly slammed for my singing voice and was first encountering the infuriating question that is unfortunately still lobbed at me to this day: does she really write her songs? Spoiler alert: I really, really do.

In the years since, I've developed a thicker skin about public criticism and the cynicism with which some people approach the music I make. At that time, it leveled me. I had these voices in my head telling me that I had the perfect chance and I blew it. I hadn’t been good enough. I had given it all I had and been found wanting.

I wanted to get better, to challenge myself, and to build on my skills as a writer, an artist, and a performer. I didn't want to just be handed respect and acceptance in my field. I wanted to earn it. To try and confront these demons, I underwent extensive vocal training and made a decision that would completely define this album: I decided I would write it entirely on my own. I figured, they couldn't give all the credit to my cowriters if there weren't any. But that posed a new challenge: It really had to be good. If it wasn't, I would be proving my critics right.

I had no idea how much this pain would shape me. That this was the beginning of my series of creative choices made by reacting to setbacks with defiance. That my stubbornness in the face of doubters and dissenters would become my coping mechanism through my entire career from that point forward. This exact pattern of enacting my own form of rebellion when I feel broken is exactly why you're reading these very words, and I'm re-releasing this album now.

I went through my first worldwide scandal (the mic grab seen around the world). I experienced the weirdness of trying to get to know a boy while a swarm of paparazzi surrounds the car. Media contacting my publicist for an official statement on why two teenagers broke up. These are weird experiences to have at any age, but even more surreal when you're 19.

I had the nagging sense that in the most intense moments of my life, I had frozen. I had said nothing publicly. I still don't know if it was out of instinct, not wanting to seem impolite, or just overwhelming fear. But I made sure to say it all in these songs. I decided to call the album Speak Now. It was a play on the speak now or forever hold your peace' moment in weddings, but for me it symbolized a chance to respond to the chatter and commentary around my own life.

Some of these emotional revelations were surprising to people. Some expected anger and instead got compassion and empathy with 'Innocent'. Some expected a kiss-off breakup song but instead got a hand-on-heart apology, 'Back to December. It was an album that was the most precious to me because of its vast extremes. It was unfiltered and potent. In my mind, the saddest song I've ever written is 'Last Kiss'. My most scathing is 'Dear John' and my most wistfully romantic is 'Enchanted'.

I'll be forever proud of setting a goal and seeing it through. I'lI always feel shivers all over when I remember singing 'Long Live' to close the show every night on tour. The outstretched hands of those bright and beautiful faces of the fans. Their support was like an open palm that reached out and helped me up off the ground when others were, frankly, mean.

These days I make my choices for those people, the ones who thought I had been good enough all along. I try to speak my mind when I feel strongly, in the moment I feel it. I'm still idealistic and earnest about the music I make, but I'm less crushed when people mock me for it. I know now that one of the bravest things a person can do is create something with unblinking sincerity, to put it all on the line. I still sometimes wish I was a little kid again in a tiny bed, before I ever grew up.

I always looked at this album as my album, and the lump in my throat expands to a quivering voice as I say this. Thanks to you, dear reader, it finally will be.

I consider this music to be, along with your faith in me, the best thing that's ever been mine.

Yours,

Taylor

#taylor swift #speak now (taylor’s version)#speak now tv #sntv prologue #speak now taylor’s version #sntv

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avemryss · 7 months ago

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thinking more about the psychological aspect of solavellan, and before I start, I'd like to stress that this is NOT CRITICAL of it, I actually think it's what makes part of the dynamic interesting. My word isn't the be all and end all, however, this is just my musings on the topic :] Also, REALLY long post! so, more under the read more lol

From Lavellan's point of view, I would personally struggle to see her trusting another lover or close one again for a long time, if ever again. I don't really think people ever talk about the real impact of the things she goes through, or what solas put her through, and the hurt as a result of it. The relationship is never defined between the two of them, it's always spoken about in vague undetermined words from their companions and poetic elvish between the two of them. Are they lovers? companions? partners? it's really up to the player. Leliana says that "you were close", Sera says Lavellan is "in it." Vhenan means home, heart, it's not a word said lightly imo and he tells you he loves her by their second kiss. It's never an official thing, so how secure can Lavellan truly feel?

This could go both ways when it comes to the break up. Crestwood, as a scene, is so interesting to me because the first portion seems like a man brought to his knees by weakness for the woman he loves. The two of them never cease to touch, fingers entwined, shoulders brushing, skin to skin. It's so reminiscent of how Lavellan matches his Hallelujah cadence. They're two parts of a song singing together. It's a gorgeous scene and it's understandable how so many are angry at how it ends because the whiplash between how it starts and what it leaves you with is severe. Imagine this from lavellan's shoes.

You're desperately in love with someone at odds with your people, who is wonderful and enticing and smart. Loving solas feels like loving the whole world, like being free and connected with the stars. But you don't know what this is. And, if you thought you did, how far can you presume? Is Lavellan always on edge, scared to love him deeper and richer than he loves her? or is she in a false sense of security, assuming his affection is forever hers. So when he not only breaks away your faith and trust in your history, plus potentially the vallaslin, she is clearly deeply upset. This isn't a minor fact that simply can be swept aside. The vallaslin is important. And Solas, even with the best intentions, has hurt her. He knows it and there's a reason why he apologises (bc he wimped out on the real truth). How much more does he know about her people that he has refused to tell her or kept from her by omission? Can you imagine the embarrassment, the utter humiliation of that secret? how many memories of them together where she replays his distaste for her people in her mind, knowing that he has access to knowledge that could change her perception of her past? Its ALOT. and thats even before the breakup.

Solas is not kind about the break up. It's rushed (impulsive to me) and doesn't do their connection justice. His composure cracks in places and it's very unlike him. It absolutely blindsides the player, so imagine being in Lavellan's place, AFTER THE VALLASLIN? personally, I wouldn't have been able to function. I half suspect that a sad, calm Lavellan is also in shock or disassociation. Because how else do you cope? The lack of communication between them alone is enough to raise my eyebrows. He promises answers. He confides that she saw through his mask and doesn't tell her what was real, and what was fake. He has given her a kernel truth whilst keeping her in the dark. Everything he told her could be a false, imaginary polite mask or it could be the truth. Where does it end? Where does he begin? Where does she stand?

I don't know if everyone has experienced what it's like to be ghosted or for a friend to simply disappear one day, but it changes you. I say this as someone who has both been avoidant as well as anxious, but you never recover. Someone disappearing like that makes you doubt any reassurance that people won't just evaporate from your life. So when Solas just disappears, the game's single conversation with Leliana feels a little lacking to me. I understand that they can't really dedicate a lot to it, I get that, so I'd like to fill it in. At first, it's search parties. Solas wouldn't just leave her like that. He promised her answers. He started another mural just before they left for corypheus. He didn't intend to just leave, surely.

Days, weeks and months pass. The question is worse than the truth. Is he dead? Did he use them? Was he being truthful when he spoke to her in those ruins, or another polite mask he could hide behind? Is it better if he's dead or better than he didn't deem her worthy enough to even say goodbye? We, as the players, obviously know this isn't true, but she doesn't know that. Does your lavellan assume the worst and be overcome with grief that her one love, her heart, her home, was nothing more than a lie of omission? or is there anger there at his betrayal of her trust once more? I seriously doubt it was easy to forget or dismiss. That kind of disappearance ruins your trust with people. Something. Anything would have been enough.

Again, this is all my opinion on how these emotions would play out and DEFINITELY NOT canon nor do they have to be! But I seriously struggle to see how Lavellan could even come to heal from these wounds within even a two year time skip. By the time of trespasser, almost everyone has left her side. She's almost entirely alone again, save Cullen and Josie (and leliana if she's not divine). And thats okay: they all have rich lives to return to. But that must just reaffirm to her that no one will stay. She is alone. How does she trust again?

And then there is Fen'harel. Lavellan's reaction to fen'harel has always lacked the fear I kind of hoped would be there? I mean this isn't just a minor deity, this IS THE antagonist of her entire faith. I'm assuming that she's lost hope in the gods, even though it's confirmed to her that they're real, but that message has been a part of her since childhood. So learning that he is the dreadwolf, again not from him, but from the fragments of his past must cut her deeply.

Her love was never who he said he was, she knows this, but who is the real man? She's never known him in a context where he can truly show her. Her love is fragmented between each identity he holds. Her trust that he is who he said he is fragments with it. The knowledge that not only has he been watching the inquisition, her, for years without a single hint that he lives or is okay must destroy her. Could you imagine how insignificant you must feel to him? And he essentially affirms to her that yes, in the greater scheme of things, his love and hers are inconsequential. They cannot matter to him because he cannot strive from his path. His indulgence was a mistake. And it's undeniably cruel. I love solas and I cannot argue that he was kind to Lavellan because he wasn't. To me, there is no way to see his actions as kind. Understandable, absolutely and definitely without malicious intent.

Lavellan learns that he loved her just as deeply, if not more. He loved her with all his heart and it did not matter. She changed him and it has only brought him more pain. He loves her too much to even allow her near him, to even give himself that weakness. They are apart from each other in an endless distance, only the two of them in the world. No one else.

Obviously, each Lavellan is different, and I've made a lot of assumptions, but I think it's worth considering. How do you love someone again after all of that? How much can you rebuild your faith after what you have learnt. Lavellan has loved a "god" (I know he's not a god, but for all intents and purposes, he has the power of a god and wears an evanuris crown.) and in turn, a god has loved her. And he left her with one last embrace that will leave its mark on her forever, then he leaves once more. Lavellan is alone.

Each love after is met with suspicion, distrust and comparison. Lavellan is entirely changed. How many pieces of her can be taken away until she is no longer herself? Each person wears a new mask she cannot determine. Where do they begin? Where can she find herself?

How lonely it must be to love someone like Solas and be at the other side of an endless distance.

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persicipen · 9 days ago

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𑑛 “SKIN AFLAME, YOUR TOUCH REMINDS ME OF THE PAST” ﾉ MYDEI. HONKAI STAR RAIL

fem reader ﾉ words 5.4k ✘ spoilerless (vaguely happens before the in-game events) but many references to mydei’s lore. internal monologue on his views on relationships. overthinking king lol he’s more pliant and sentimental here. reader has an established background that is barely mentioned and not important (yet, unless i decide to write more parts cough cough). slow burn but also we’re past that stage. casual intimacy. mydei is lowkey in denial even though he’s eating you out. kissing. cuddling. oral and fingering — reader receiving. explicit, but this fic is not just pure smut (actually, why did i even bother adding it LOL) ﾉ if you see any mistakes, no you don’t, sorry, i can proofread only this much before giving up ✘ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

it took him so many years to finally touch you, perhaps twice more until he tells you what’s locked inside his heart. the whisper of the wind brings a new day, yet he remains in the past, seeing in new comrades friends of old and in you — the one he still calls his dearest.

The Thief Star shimmering on the horizon emanates gentle light, announcing the passing of the previous day. Deep into the dimly lit night, with the bottom of his cup still sparkling in pink of the pomegranate juice mixed with goat milk, Mydei looks up at the starless, greyish sky and wonders how long until enemies descend onto this city. The meteor could be shining deep crimson for all it’s worth — its symbolism isn’t that grim anymore since the entirety of Amphoreus has sunk into calamity regardless if it was shining white or scarlet.

Curious it is that so many people living here haven’t seen the true darkness, heavens sprinkled with stars like flour on the baker’s table. He remembers those and smiles to himself, sensing the sentimental wave washing over his mind.

The rest of his body still buzzes with chatter and laughter of the spontaneous dinner near the blacksmith’s forge. It was fine and put him in a good mood. But warm embers in the fire, prattle and songs, and Kremnoan men patting each other on the shoulders always bring out memories he wishes to digest alone. Just a while ago, he moved up on the terrace next to his lodging, trying to wash away thoughts about the past and finish his drink while lying on the blanket left on the floor.

Watching Okhema fade into a quiet night is boring. Peaceful and easing the tension in his body, but not interesting, and he doesn’t feel like resting yet. There is too much adrenaline still running through his bloodstream to think about sleep; besides, what point would it be now if the morning will arrive sooner than expected?

Just to fiddle with his hands and pass the time, he takes off the heavy gauntlets and the golden plates off his legs, finally revelling in the mild wind stroking his skin through clothes. His arms are hot from wearing metal all day, sweaty under his fingers, albeit quickly drying with each swipe of the breeze.

He once again stares into nothingness but the sound of footsteps nearby jerks him out of his reverie.

It’s you, walking from behind the balustrade, pulling yourself over the marble with grace but visible tiredness.

Not surprising that it’s you since little to no one knows about the passage between the columns that allows one to step onto his balcony without first getting through the guards. It’s useful, even for Mydei. He was insistent on sharing the same houses and rooms with everyone else, but Krateros didn’t want to hear any of that, and thus he ended up with a private quarter and this spot, right next to his room; it would be great for stargazing, if not for the skies forever brightened by the Dawn Device.

“And why are you sneaking around at night?” He says in a gruff voice. “Tough day?”

“How did you know?” You reply with a question to his question, sitting in front of him, leaning over his raised knee as he makes enough space for you on the carpet.

“It’s past the Curtain-Fall Hour. And you bit your lip again.”

“Aah, nothing gets past your keen eyes, does it?” You laugh sheepishly, reaching with your fingers to press on your lips and bite them again, but you stop in the last moment under the influence of his dissatisfied glare. “You know how it’s like with the Council of Elders. The pots with fresh water and food should have been delivered to refugees much earlier, so I’m quite pissed about the fact that only now we have people assigned to do the job…” You end up with a whine, slumping over his knee.

Mydei is happy to see you. He nods, passing the cup to you and waiting until you take a sip, your fingers brushing against his. You don’t drink much, just to taste it, but the pomegranate seeds stick to your lower lip anyway. Before he can instinctively reach to wipe your mouth, you do it yourself against the hem of your dress.

“Manners.”

“I’m tired, spare me the critique. At least the benefit of working near the Marmoreal Palace is that I can take a bath right after leaving.” Your hair smells nicely of flower oils as you push it away from your face and sigh contentedly.

He finds you beautiful no matter if you’re freshly bathed or not, or if you’re exhausted or wear a dress stained with fruit juice. He won’t tell you that. This isn’t the first time you’ve ended up here when your mind needed distraction after long hours of work. It’s become somewhat a habit. If anything, he likes it too.

“I’ve heard you spent some time near the blacksmith’s workshop. Isn’t there too hot to host a party? Did something happen?”

“The forges are always burning. Do they bother you that much?” He chuckles as your eyebrow lifts and your forehead creases with curiosity. “Nothing happened. They had wine and honey brew, which some of the soldiers could not refuse. I followed them to hear their stories.”

“But you don’t drink… Was your evening pleasant, then?”

“I’m certain I would enjoy it much less if I were interested in alcohol.” Mydei pats your head. Your eyes close briefly under his touch. “It’s valuable to know what’s happening among other people, especially during times like these.”

You agree silently.

“Heh, maybe one day I will hear from you an engaging tale of flirting in front of the fire instead of the usual serious blabber.” Your cheeky grin spreads wide across your face, making him sneer in disbelief.

“I consider you serious to a similar degree. What would be more worrying is if you stopped rambling incessantly after work. At least you’re keeping me amused without getting on my nerves.”

“Unlike Phainon?”

“I might take back what I’ve just said about you.”

“Forgive me, I was just teasing you! Don’t look at me with this expression…” You plead, showing him the most innocent face you can manage despite laughter bubbling deep in your throat. “Alright, back to tonight’s celebration— and then you started thinking about the past and decided to leave, hmm?”

“Indeed.”

“You should try telling me some of your stories. Maybe they’d weigh less on your heart then.”

“Maybe another time.” He cuts you off fast.

“I’ve heard that already.” You chortle softly, pinching his left arm through the sleeve. He barely flinches under your touch. “I have another question then, if you don’t mind. Just warning you that it’s quite specific and I allow you to behead me if it’s too personal.”

“I’m always dreading your unexpected questions.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks down at you with half a smile. “But since we are here alone, feel free to do so.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for a while already but couldn’t find the right moment…” You start slowly, moving onto his lap like a curious cat, though you subconsciously pin him in place without an evident chance for him to escape since he’d be forced to throw you off himself first. Out of reflex, his palms settle on your hips to keep you upright if you were to lose balance; his thumbs draw tiny circles on the fabric of your tunic, slightly bunching it up. “Are you… by any chance… a virgin?”

The question is purely evil by his standards — nothing he has ever cared about, and neither wanted to contemplate, yet forever present because of his legacy. Futile were his constant efforts to make it clear that he was not interested in being a king and, less important but still affecting him deeply, not ready either. Not in this lifetime, no matter how long, not even after a thousand deaths.

Thankfully, you were one of those few people that he could trust.

Or so he thought because your inquiring voice still hangs in the heavy air and he wishes you weren’t that likeable because he couldn’t even get mad at you.

He just sighs, resigned.

“Why do you need to know?”

“I don’t. I just want to know but it’s not a demand.” Your finger plays around the golden swirls of his leather belt. “Please, don’t feel obliged to answer.”

“You wouldn’t be asking me that if I had a choice.”

“You can always refuse. I won’t be mad! I’m sorry if I’m pushing your limits, though…”

Your gaze is fixed on his chest as your fingertips caress his skin, exploring the sinuous red markings, and his breathing raises heavily. You would never order anything from him, at least not when it comes to intimacy. That’s a problematic topic for both of you, if you assume correctly.

Even more so if the current state of Amphoreus is taken into consideration. Perhaps those average citizens of Okhema do not feel the dread reaching their feet, blissfully unaware — or without the desire to be aware. Which is, frankly, understandable, as bearing the knowledge of the black tide and the reality behind the borders of the Holy City is enough to make your spirit falter multiple times a day. This is not what one could call a good climate for flirting or looking for love. The chances of losing friends and family are too great.

Besides, swept by the workload between the forever complaining Council of Elders and running errands in Lady Aglaea’s or Lady Tribios’ stead takes too much of your daily time to even think of anything that isn’t helping the cause.

Mayhaps that is exactly why you grew so close to Mydei across all these years of serving Okhema. He’s also involved, even more than you could ever be. Together with other Chrystos Heirs, he represents hope, although his life was nothing but hopeless, if you were to believe the tales and songs you often hear among the crowd. But he protects those who cannot shield themselves. For the very same reason, the majority of his people refer to him as a god king even though he is still just a crowned prince and hasn’t claimed any of the Coreflames yet.

Your innocent curiosity always blossoms between the frown of his eyebrows before they can even form a wrinkle, with your kind spirit taking away all his sturdiness.

He takes a deep breath, again.

“And how do I look to you?”

“I think you had your fair share of lovers. It just doesn’t feel significant to you because you’re always moving forward.” You guess, a bold statement despite the burn on your face.

Mydei remains silent.

Nevertheless, you are not wrong. As far as he remembers, many men and women alike were falling easily and often for him — that he wasn’t counting, but this makes him uncomfortable in his own skin since it implies that they didn’t seem worthy of his time. Quite the opposite. Mydei cared for some of them, enjoyed as well, picking only partners who gave him the resolve to continue his endless journey. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn’t; they got tired or fed up and he was too busy reaching the elusive destination; some wanted nothing else than an immortal warrior protecting them; others died of old age or sickness or defeated by enemies. None had made him weak. But there is something different with you that feels too weakening to ignore…

Albeit your appearance is distinct, so many other traits downright unlike those he remembers — you do bring out from the depths of his heart the same emotions he used to know only in the past. From when his most treasured companions were still alive, when Hephaestion was still sitting beside him in his lithe form. Since then, no one made him feel truly complete.

Not even Phainon…

Not even you…

How many years has it been? Is love even something he can understand outside of just hearing it in another language? He’s aware that this word exists. A concept, not acknowledged by any of his kin.

Has he ever specifically looked for love?

Not after bidding farewells to his friends, wasting opportunity after opportunity to say anything more about his feelings besides calling it a fellowship exceeding life and death. Ingrained forever in his heart, they follow him to this day, in memories. He misses them. Always and forever. But there is a part of him regretting that he hadn’t given himself a chance in a romantic or at least sexual pursuit before it was too late and he grew bitter and hurt, death after death until resurrection was the only thing setting his heart ablaze.

Another issue is that he has never wished for an heir. That would only bring more suffering. If not for him, then for that innocent child burdened with his blood. Even with the use of elixirs from the Grove, he was doubtful if women could avoid getting pregnant after sharing his bed. Especially doubtful since Mnestia’s blessings were often unexpected, breaking all forms of law and order.

But he doesn’t want to think about it now.

Disinterested in searching for a female companion, Mydei considered men as well, as it surely would prevent the risk of conceiving a child. However, it didn’t feel right in his mind to flirt with those who were sons and grandsons of his previous comrades.

But he doesn’t want to think about it now, either.

Such is the fickleness of lovers because Cerces, Titan of Reason, would surely argue about all that, but Titan of Romance was never one to listen.

Now, it is beyond Mydei’s understanding how he ended up tonight with you on that intricately woven carpet, with pillows and half-empty bowls of fruits from the previous feast. Even worse, he enjoys your presence and smiles inside whenever there’s a chance to spend time together when none of you is busy.

But that is a long story. Stupidly so, he thinks about it way too often, reminding himself of all the shared adventures and uneventful days, similar to how he reminisces about his companions of old.

“I am… not interested in that kind of pleasure.” He replies at last.

That was honest enough. But not satisfactory. Your head shakes slowly, accepting his vague words while trying to connect them into something that would let you imagine anything more than that. He must have sensed it because he places his hand over your palm.

“Even if I say more, you won’t find any sufficient reason to my decision.”

“What a pity. Maybe next time if you ever feel like talking with me more. I don’t mind, though…”

Mydei bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste his blood for a second. What do you mean by that?

The sheer confusion of having you on his lap, talking about intimacy, cuddling him and raking your nails gently across his muscles, prevents him from even getting hard in his pants. Laughable. Foolish. As if that would ever happen in reality, like it must be a dream despite him being the one to invite you to spend the evening together since he’s rarely available for a private conversation, even at nights.

His eyes close upon your gentle touch. When will he finally comprehend that it’s making him too weak? Letting your hands on him scatter what little sanity he has left in his mind…

“Have you been always interested in finding out?”

“Hmm, no… But I wonder if you’d ever want to take it further than just letting me on your lap or sharing the same fruit on the rooftops at night?”

His lips purse until the sharpness of his jawline relaxes with a scoff. One day he might actually fall for someone like you. Maybe he already did but doesn’t want to admit it.

Would he let anyone else on his lap or share the same fruit on the rooftops at night? Unlikely.

This small distance between the two of you makes him squirm underneath you. In spite of your everyday guise, now you look confident, although bashful. And he, instead of the recognisable pride and intensity, is clueless, cornered. He pulls you closer by the waist. His body burns hotter the more he tries to stay away.

How quickly you can defeat him with your soft body and saccharine eyes. Mydei would even dare to say that he prefers having you on top, as much as he likes being in charge otherwise. But he cannot stop admiring you either — something about this peculiar aura that makes you as mysterious as you are inviting.

As he thinks, your lips curve around his fingers after placing kisses through them; you keep eye contact as you continue, nuzzling into his open hand. He knows you’re doing your best because otherwise you would rather hide, hoping that closing your eyes is enough to make you disappear. He could smile about it, too, if he did not see such behaviour as sickening. Painfully adorable.

Insecurely flirting, you couldn’t be possibly any closer to the complete opposite of him, yet the more time he spends with you, the more similarities he finds despite those contrasting first impressions. He’s now gently grabbing your cheeks between his palms, as if to ground himself before overthinking your strange familiarity, that you fit here like he’s been doing that for years and not a short while.

A kiss might heal your fears; it must, judging from how quick you are to react. For a moment there is no place left in Mydei’s mind that isn’t occupied by the giggles coming out of you once he allows himself to do more than just taste that sweet flavour of your lips.

This could not get any better, but before he can even relish in this little pleasure, your hands settle on his abdomen. Then you try going further south. When you reach the hem of his pants, your mouth turns dry and your throat clenches, forcing you to stop the kiss when you imagine what this will lead to if he won’t stop you. In turn, his breathing also increases; he knows very well what’s happening and he would gladly give it to you freely if not for a better idea invading his senses.

“Mhm—” His grunt against your mouth is almost indecorous. “Stop your hands.” You pull apart, slightly ashamed of your own eagerness.

While you shy away and look down, Mydei swiftly places you below him, laying your back on the soft carpet. Suddenly he looms over your form and his hair falls to the sides of his face like a golden waterfall. One arm supporting his weight, he pushes some locks behind his ear with the other and then uses it to open your legs without any strength; you are easy to spread for him, but still attempt to regain an ounce of control by hooking a calf above his hips and force him to retain some distance.

“I have never claimed a woman in bed. And I do not plan on changing that tonight.”

“That’s… d-did you have to get us in this position just to say that?” Your voice trembles with an awkward laugh.

“Had you asked that question yourself, you wouldn’t be straddling my lap before that.” He sounds petulant, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning down to kiss your neck. “But if you’re so insistent on getting an answer out of me, I can prove you my lack of experience.”

By that, you understand what he means — a demonstration rather than using words to convince you. Then again, you wonder how else could he demonstrate something that he’s never done before. Does he want you to guide him? Should you?

Instead of allowing you to ponder too much, he ends up with his face between your legs, pulling away the soft cotton of your flimsy tunic. As always, it’s been so easy for you to set fire inside of him; it never takes long nor does much effort on your part to become this desperate mess he tries to contain. Everything about you looks divinely forbidden but tastes like sacred sugar on his tongue as your scent fills his nostrils; it smells sweeter than all the pomegranates. It feels softer than silk when he nips your inner thighs, teasing you until you muffle your first moans in the pillows.

The only thing that doesn’t match perfectly the vision in his head is your body language, which seems reluctant somehow. But how else can he interpret this resistance when your pulse quickens and he knows very well what the agitated rhythm of it means?

“Are you alright?” He asks against your stomach.

“Not at all.” Your voice barely works when you speak and he has to lean closer.

“What? Is everything fine?” he insists, worried.

“Nothing is fine. The crowned prince of Kremnos is kissing my thighs!” You try to laugh off the embarrassment, but it takes another short-breath confirmation, maybe even a whine and some broken words to explain your sudden hesitation. “This is the first time someone moves between my legs…”

“This is my first time getting down on a woman…” He responds without stutter, but his confession gains your attention and you prop on your elbows with wide eyes.

“You’re now making me curious and wishing I knew this story.”

He shakes his head with a smirk. “Irrelevant. Is it even the right time?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting—”

Without adding anything else and stopping your voice, Mydei goes straight to work — slowly, tentative. If he truly needs to get acquainted with that act, then why not do it now with you? When his tongue starts tasting every inch, he hears you gasping in surprise at this unexpected warmth enveloping your pussy.

“Mydei!” You laugh in between whimpers, trying to stop your knees from shaking when he eagerly suckles everywhere around, no precision whatsoever but definitely mapping where you get sensitive. “Ah—! I will not believe that you haven’t touched a woman!”

“Is it that different? Because I don’t think so.” He replies bluntly, raising his head for just a moment before kissing all around your tummy. He has no problem being honest about how little experience he really has. That is mostly because of how you look, all messed up and giggly despite him just instinctively following some clues.

Unable to stop himself from wondering, sometimes his attention to detail gets on his nerves. Why can’t he simply enjoy you as you are, writhing and all excited just because he’s the one touching you? Why does he have to muse if you always get so easily riled up, or is it his influence alone? He doesn’t dare to ask you about your experience, frowning when none of the possibilities can be backed by what he knows about you.

After nibbling around your midriff, he remembers the main goal. He carefully uses two fingers to separate your folds, finding that tender button of flesh pulsating hot under his thumb. Again, you tremble hard underneath the foreign touch, although he believes it feels good enough and he cannot take his eyes off you.

“I wasn’t doubting you…” You chuckle before the moan spills off your open lips.

“Here?” He asks, ignoring everything else.

“Y-yes…” Your voice turns into a sob with the next flick against your clit, unable to talk anymore as Mydei leans forward again.

It only takes him a while to understand exactly how much pressure you need, which direction to apply it and how much of you he should fit inside his mouth.

“Does it feel good?” There’s genuine concern behind these words.

“Yes, yes, it does…”

The goosebumps rise on your thigh under his palm. Whenever you let out a shaky exhale, the only other sound that remains between you two is the obscene one made by your wet cunt sliding against his face. And you enjoy every little bit of it as your eyes roll back, finally succumbing into this new type of pleasure; your nails disappear among the wild strands of his golden hair as you desperately grab and caress them. His name keeps escaping your lips each time his tongue circles your pussy, never focusing on your sweet spot exclusively until it reaches the point where it aches for his attention.

“Mydei, I— you’ve just asked if it’s the spot…”

“Yes. This is why I’m not touching you there.” He smiles.

“H-uh, don’t be like that!”

“Am I doing it well, or do you rather have my fingers instead?” The tone is serious even if he sees the annoyed look taking hold of your expression.

He waits for a response, pleased to watch you fumble while searching for the right word — especially once your hips start swaying unconsciously to regain back the friction that was removed too suddenly. When no verbal answer comes, he lifts an eyebrow with pride at the lack of it because it can only mean that he has flustered you beyond reason. You can only yelp out a timid agreement, too busy hiding your face behind your hand, before he gives it a chance and slides one finger inside.

“Mydei, ugh—!”

“And others complain that I’m incompetent at expressing my feelings…” He croons at your intangible comment.

“Hmph…”

Despite what he initially claimed, Mydei does indeed know how to pleasure women. Perhaps it is not that different, like he said, just to understand the other person, no matter the previous experience. His calloused hands aren’t particularly gentle nor careful as he moves inside but that’s just a matter of getting adjusted to your body; other than that, he knows what he’s doing. He assumes with great accuracy, making up for the lack of habitual gestures with what is his keen instinct. His wrist moves slow yet feels like hammer nonetheless, a firm thrust compared to the previous kitten licks left on your clit which you still sense the dissipating flutter of.

And the sight is no less arousing for him; after licking his upper lip clean, Mydei stares at your gaping mouth and your furrowed eyebrows when his free hand rubs soothing circles on the inner part of your knee. A second finger slides alongside the first to stretch you further, to feel the squeeze of your walls getting snug. They twitch deliciously whenever he curls upwards, reaching your sweetest spot hidden deep within and allowing himself some needy murmurs to match yours.

“It’s e-enough…” You mumble in an utterly unconvincing tone.

“Is it? Do you want me to stop?” He looks up at you, eyes sharply gauging if you truly meant it.

“… No.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, sighing at the mixed response. “Are you close?”

“Y-yes, I think so…”

With your juices spilling all over him, Mydei speeds up until every motion becomes nearly too much. His touch sets you ablaze until there’s nothing else you can do but come undone with a long whine followed by short gasps to keep your breathing steady — though it does nothing to calm the muscles clamping around his digits, even after he stops moving them altogether. He enjoys having you trapped between bliss and oversensitivity, feeling the softness of your warm skin glimmering with sweat and your heartbeat racing underneath the skin.

Any attempts of calming yourself down end up futile while your pussy convulses around his still inserted fingers, covered in your sticky arousal; not that he minds at all. Frankly, he is quite delighted seeing you shaken to such a degree. He would lie saying that it wasn’t rewarding to render you completely vulnerable. Alas, he’s doubtful that this could feel that good with his lack of tact. He’s skilled in the art of war, not love — if he can even call it as such, knowing this word only in one language, nonexistent in the other. Any previous endeavours were always clumsy, frustrating; at least now he’s aware of that, slightly more confident while getting close to someone’s body.

Your state, however? Unimaginable.

It’d be simply impossible to make you that satisfied in a short amount of time and he doesn’t believe that you’d be that much more sensitive than any of his past lovers either. So, where lies the difference? Is it in your eyes that glance at him between fluttering lashes, shiny from tears and with pupils blown wide to cover the colour of your irises almost whole? Do you see in him something more than anyone else? That makes him flinch, bedazzled and iffy at being perceived even through your barely responsive consciousness.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t want to part with your pussy because it feels so good keeping his fingers nestled inside — a warm hug of your slippery walls. He swallows a knot in his throat and eventually withdraws, staring at your opening as it contracts briefly before the climax dwindles entirely. His jaw stays slack with amazement at the glistening surface that welcomes him — swollen, slightly parted around the entrance dripping slick from his relentless pumping. A vision that will haunt him every night before sleep unless he somehow manages to tell you that he needs you more than he’s willing to admit; that he wants to do this again. Then he does it, leans forward once again. Your core throbs tiredly when he brings his mouth right against your sensitive clit.

“Mydei, enough!”

He kisses you there just once, a long-lasting suckle. “Now it’s enough.”

You let out a breathy laugh, weakly fiddling with his hair in amusement. You barely register what is happening anymore until he starts trailing upward; he can only purr once your hands grab him by the neck and pull him up, eager to smooch those lips covered in your own essence.

And here it is again, the sudden urge that hits him when he realises how willingly you cling to him right away after the deed. You wrap your arms around him, holding tight as you both roll sideways on the fluffy carpet before sinking anew into the pillows and silken sheets. Mydei breaks the kiss just to nuzzle into your collarbone and you whisper something similar to ‘I love you’. Although he didn’t hear it clearly, he will not bother asking for clarification.

“I’ll leave you a good memory…” He whispers back with his golden eyes meeting yours as he embraces you closer and settles comfortably on the side to not squish you with his weight.

“Just one?” You pout. “Can I ask for more?”

“Mhm.” He’s thankful you understand what he’s unable to say out loud. Except that he’s more and more desperate to overcome that abstract shyness because it’s humiliating that he’s more scared to whisper in your ear that he wants to bed you than to speak in front of the entire Kremnoan Detachement. “But not right now.”

“Yes, not right now. I feel like falling asleep…” You hum with satisfaction and yawn softly, brushing a few stray locks of his hair behind his ear.

He wants you to fall asleep in his arms, looking at you almost pleadingly after he nearly melts against your palm when it touches his temple. Your fingertips dance through the sharp curves of his features — cheeks, jaw, forehead, nose bridge and back to his lips where they pause for a second, letting him brush a brief peck on them. A sigh leaves his mouth while he holds you tighter as he puts his head on top of yours. The sound makes your heart ache when he mumbles another unclear statement and you’re too dazed to translate his language.

If there ever existed a moment without his worries and legacy weighing heavy on him, that would be now — watching Kephale’s sun gleam at the first morning hour with you still sleeping safe in his arms, cuddled on his chest.

Maybe he will tell you one day that you remind him of his dearest friend…

#manuscript.#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail smut #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr smut #mydei x reader #mydei x you #mydei smut

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