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aliceramblez · 11 months ago

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Dating the Hazbin Hotel Residents 😈

Tags: GN!Reader, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Mature Topics (ie. Suicidal Thoughts, Alcohol Abuse, SA, etc), Spoilers For The Show, etc.

A/N: Ahhh yes, more brainriot for the pile 😌 I was more of a Helluva gal before the show aired, but now I gotta say these blorbos are a dear part of my heart! Hopefully y'all enjoy these as much as I did writing them!

Consider following my main blog @taruchinator for more solid content & feel free to leave a request here for future HCs~

Charlie 🌈

When the Happy Hotel first opened its doors and all of Hell started making a mockery of it, you were probably the only one who took it as a sign to try and improve from the low life that you were. It's not like you had anything else to live for, anyway.

As soon as you enter the building, you're immediately greeted by the bubbly Princess of Hell herself (along with a reluctant Angel Dust) who is more than happy to show you around and welcomes you with open arms.

You've never been shown this much kindness and sympathy for your situation before, so it naturally takes you aback and makes you wonder what the catch is. Turns out there's none and the Princess is probably the only sweet soul to live in this shithole.

As you grow closer, she asks you to drop the title and just call her Charlie. She also shares a bit about her situation and how her mother wanted to save sinners from the extermination each year, and now Charlie felt like it was her duty to continue this legacy until her dreams came true.

You can't help but feel touched over how much she cares, so you silently vow to yourself to help her in any way you can, just like she's done for you.

It doesn't take long before the two of you grow even closer and feelings begin to blossom, but you decide to ignore them since why would a Princess ever like someone like you?

But Charlie proves you wrong yet again, since one day she comes to you a blushing mess and confesses her own feelings, asking if you'd like to go out with her. You can't help but vocalize your shock since she could do so much better than a random sinner. She deserved better, too.

She looks at you with fondness in her eyes. “You've been by my side for so long and supported me every step of the way. Who wouldn't fall for someone like that?”

And thus, you are the luckiest person in Hell because you scored Charlotte Morningstar, and whoever says otherwise can get a knife to their throat.

She's the perfect definition of a sweet and patient girlfriend, never pushing you to do anything you aren't comfortable with (since you really aren't used to such adoration in a romantic relationship), but as soon as you give her the get-go, she'll be sure to shower you with as much affection as she can until the doubts in your mind disappear completely.

You aren't that far behind either. Albeit not as good as her, you do your best to be a comforting partner whenever she needs you. This is especially necessary after an extermination happens, which always leaves Charlie devastated and in need of a hug or words of encouragement because she doubts herself sometimes and wonders if the hotel is even working at all.

You remind her how it brought the two of you together, to which she smiles and agrees that at least something good has come out of it so far.

Vaggie 🎀

Both you and Vaggie used to work in the same legion under Adam with the rest of his exorcists. You knew of each other's existence, but didn't really talk much aside from whatever was needed in the midst of battle.

The day she spares a demon child's life, you're doing your rounds nearby and witness the whole exchange, including Lute coming over and ripping both an eye and Vaggie's wings for showing mercy. You don't know why, but it makes your blood boil.

“HEY! What are you doing?! It was just a kid, why not let it slide?”

And just like that, you become a target of Lute's rage as well, being ripped from your angelic status along with receiving a few nasty cuts, yet surprisingly not as bad as Vaggie herself.

Once the two of you are left to die, you immediately try to tend the girl's wounds with whatever you can. Vaggie can only stare in disbelief at what you'd done and questions why you even did so in the first place—now you were stuck just like she was.

“Guess I just don't like seeing injustice... Who knew Heaven could be so fuckin' shitty?”

You both laugh at the irony of it all, and that's when luck is finally on your side as Charlie finds you in the dirty alley and brings you back to the hotel to heal properly.

For the next three years you two stay at the Hazbin Hotel, helping Charlie in any way you can to try and make her dream a reality since deep down you hope that despite Heaven's corrupt system, there can be a small chance that souls can be redeemed. You hide the fact that you're ex-Anges though, since you don't wanna cause unnecessary drama.

During this time period, the two of you become better friends, having your own inside jokes regarding things you didn't particularly enjoy from your time as Angels, as well as learning more about one another.

You're the one to come to terms with your feelings first and decide to lay them on the table for Vaggie to see—she's always been a straight-to-the-point kind of gal, so if you're about to be rejected, might as well have it be done quick. But of course, she replies with her own declaration and desire to give a relationship a shot, which you're ecstatic about!

It's a bit hard at first since you never got to see much of romantic relationships in Heaven while training for murder every year, but you try and make it work. Both you and Vaggie work endlessly to try and make the other happy, and it only makes you fall for each other even more.

Also Charlie is your go-to wingwoman who will be there to give you the best advice to try and woo your girlfriend. She ships you two so hard.

Angel Dust 🕸

Working at a porn studio under an Overlord who owns your soul can be exhausting. You know this better than anyone since everyone who works under Valentino has contracts that won't let you get far with a leash. This is especially true with your friend Angel Dust.

You know about the things Valentino does to the spider demon—hell, everyone in the studio probably knows, but know better than to say anything about it. You're always there for Angel after particularly rough shoots, doing your best to comfort him in any way you can, though there isn't much you can do given you're in the same spot.

When he tells you he's moving to Princess Charlie's Hazbin Hotel, you're so happy for him! At least that will give him some distance from Valentino and his disgustingly filthy hands when he's not working.

This unsurprisingly doesn't bode well with the Overlord, causing him to throw fits of rage around the studio when Angel leaves for the day. You can't help but make a snarky comment that you definitely regret moments later.

“Can one blame him for wanting space from such an overbearing asshole?”

Without his favorite stress toy around, you end up paying the price for such comments. The kind of pain and suffering he puts you through is completely different from what you're used to. Is this the stuff he does to Angel? He leaves you naked, bruised and bloody in your room, and all you can do is muster what little strenght you have left to head for the Hazbin Hotel.

As soon as the door opens, you immediately tumble forward and start losing consciousness. The last thing you remember is Angel's horrified expression before it all fades to black.

Once you wake up and have been patched up, you explain what happened at the studio, and you could've sworn you saw fire in Angel's eyes as he holds on to you, fearing you might disappear at any moment. He begs you to stay in the hotel with him, and you agree without hesitation.

And so, your new routine of heading to work and then coming back to the hotel becomes blissful, not having to deal with that lunatic mothman more than necessary. You also get to spend time off with your best friend, which is always a plus.

Well, ‘best friend’ might not be the best way to describe it. You'd developed a crush on the spider demon even before this whole incident occurred, and now that you were spending more time with him, it only continued to grow.

With the line of work you two had, romantic relationships didn't seem to be a thing that crossed anybody's mind since why have a permanent partner when you could just go around fucking the hottest people in Hell? But you knew your feelings were far beyond from sexual, but didn't wanna ruin what you already had going for you.

One heartfelt drunken conversation after work however, makes you do a double take—Angel likes you back. And that both scares and excites you. But with both of you going over the pros and cons with each other, you decide to give it a chance.

You make sure to always have Angel's consent when it comes to physical intimacy—anything from holding his hand, to kissing to just cuddling. He jokes about not being a porcelain doll, but deep down you know he appreciates it.

You're also there for the rough nights, when he comes home wanting nothing more than to die again and let the earth swallow him whole. Words of reassurance are spoken and you can only hold him and let him cry as you vow to do anything in your power to stop this from happening again.

Husker 🍺

As one of the first guests of the hotel, like any wayward sinner, you find yourself in the bar more often than you'd like. Alcohol killed you in the first place, yet not even in the afterlife could you seem to pull yourself from its grasp.

It's a somewhat welcome surprise to find out that the bartender is going through a similar struggle. He still serves you drinks and lends and ear whenever he's not busy, but will occasionally drop the words of wisdom to watch your fill.

Eventually you two find yourselves doing this little back and forth and aid each other when you're in your dark places—Husk won't let you near the bottle if he sees you're about to knock yourself out, meanwhile you're there to look after him when he has one too many drinks and can't take care of himself.

Not to say he isn't a good drinking buddy—you've found out most of the gossip around the hotel thanks to this sneaky little cat demon and there's never a dull moment with him around.

You learn about his deal with Alastor during a particularly bad night, when Husk's had one too many and isn't thinking straight. You don't bring it up, but now have an eye open for whenever the Radio Demon drags your friend away.

Angel's the one who brings up your questionable relationship to the surface.

“So... you two like, fuckin' each other, or what?”

Your entire face goes red, and if it weren't for the dark fur you could swear you see Husk looking the same. He's quick to get rid of Angel's nosy ass, but now the seed has been planted in your brain—do you like Husk that way?

After careful consideration, you come to the conclusion that yes, you do. And it's honestly kinda terrifying considering how relationships don't usually work out in Hell, at least from what you've seen. Besides, even if you did try and confess, there was always the possibility of him not feeling the same and just being embarrassed by Angel's comment.

So in an attempt to make your feelings disappear, you stop frequenting the bar. Who knew the best way to stop drinking habits was trying to avoid spending time with your unrequited crush?

But of course, Husk isn't stupid. He sees the change in your behavior and let's it slide for a while, until he eventually corners you and asks what's wrong. You decide to get it all out of the way and tell him how you feel.

To the embarrassment of both of you, he holds your hand firmly between his and darts his eyes toward the corner of the room. “Next time you should ask before going off assuming things, ya got it?”

And so, your glass may have been empty that day, but your heart had never felt fuller.

Sir Pentious 🐍

You meet Sir Pentious when you sign into the hotel, and your immediate thought is just how can this snake man be so adorkable, it should be illegal.

As you greet the other residents and staff, you're quick to strike a conversation with him, which based on his body language he was not expecting. He starts telling you a bit about his weaponry and other contraptions, and you can't help but be fascinated by it.

You're a bit of a tinkerer yourself, albeit you've only dabbled in small scale projects—nothing compared to the massive canons and aircrafts that Pentious seems to be familiar with.

He acts like a kid opening gifts on Sinmas when he talks to you about his inventions, clearly never having anyone show interest before. Eventually he'll even ask for your input on certain smaller projects he wants to work on to help around the hotel, all to thank Charlie for being so kind to him and giving him a second chance. You're obviously eager to help!

You two start spending so much time together that the egg boys have started calling you ‘Boss #2’, much to Pentious' embarrassment and your amusement.

One afternoon once exercises are done for the day, the snake demon seems much more fidgety than usual as he invites you over to his room to continue working on his security system prototype. He's a blabbering mess once he has you sitting down and your heart just can't help but swell at each little syllable.

“Dearest (y/n)... you've, um, well... you are a huge inspiration for my work! A-And I wouldn't have been able to create any of this... without your help. You are kind, and smart and very talented.... and w-well, um I-”

You gotta silence the man with a kiss otherwise you two would be here all day. He's puddy in your hands and you can only giggle in return. “I really like you too, Pen.”

Everyone is either saying they called it or groaning in annoyance because fucking FINALLY, you two were just dancing around each other like idiots. The egg boys are just so happy to have someone else besides Pentious to be in their lives, and will do their best to look out for you just like with their own boss.

So yeah, prepare yourself for some sickeningly sweet gestures from this guy cause he will go above and beyond to get you what you need/want even if it kills him (again). And you can confidently say that you'd do the same in return.

Alastor 📻

After running in the same circles when you were alive, it's no surprise to you to end up in Hell, although you never would've suspected that you'd find yourself in the same place as him. It was honestly a huge relief not having to go through this all by yourself.

As Alastor exerted his dominance over Hell as the Radio Demon, you were powerful enough to be an Overlord yes, but rather liked keeping it on the down low instead of making a spectacle of yourself (Alastor was the one for theatrics anyway). Because of this, only select few knew of your true power and what you were capable of.

Instead, if there was one thing you were known for, it was being the only soul allowed to be close to the Radio Demon without the risk of death.

Yes, Alastor was a sadistic, cold-blooded and egotistical mastermind, but he wasn't a monster. You knew that better than anyone. Although the reactions he had to other demons treating you like a joke or calling you the ‘Radio Demon's Pet’ were not helping his case.

“ł₣ ɎØɄ V₳ⱠɄɆ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ, ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ₩₳Ⱡ₭ ₳₩₳Ɏ Ɽł₲Ⱨ₮ ₦Ø₩ ฿Ɇ₣ØⱤɆ ł Ɽł₱ ł₮ ₳₱₳Ɽ₮ ฿ł₮ ฿Ɏ ฿ł₮...”

“Al, chill. You're gonna make them shit their pants.”

After his seven year absence, you immediately noticed something was wrong with him, and wouldn't stop pestering until he told you the truth—A deal he made and how his soul was now bound to someone much more powerful than he was.

You were obviously mortified and started looking into ways to try and find a loophole to this, but alas the Radio Demon would just give you his signature grin and tell you not to worry about it. It was his battle to face.

But of course you're quick to remind him that you've stuck together through thick and thin even in life, so there was no way you were letting him handle this by himself. You work as a team—always have and always will. You engulf him in a hug.

“We're gonna figure this out, Al. I promise...”

The grin remains, but his eyes widen slightly in surprise. He hesitantly returns the embrace, patting your back and wiping the tears you didn't even know you were shedding.

“There there~ To think such a sweet and innocent soul wound up in a gutter like this. I cannot say I complain as long as I have your delightful company beside me.”

And so when he says he has a plan that involves Princess Charlie Morningstar and her new Happy Hotel, you follow along. Whatever fate has in store for you two, you'll be ready.

Also Charlie is a sweetheart who could do no harm. Knowing Alastor, he'll probably do whatever he can here and there to help around for the cause. You also offer your services as an undercover Overlord, much to everyone's surprise when you reveal your status.

The Radio Demon may have a plan, but something tells you it won't involve bloody murder (unless extremely necessary or if someone really pissed him off).

Like you said—he's not a monster.

Lucifer 🍎

You and Lucifer were good friends at the beginning of Creation. While you were stuck with the tedious task of designing blueprints for the new ‘Human Project’ that headquarters had in store, Lucifer's Seraphim status allowed him to bring creations to life with the flick of a wrist, much to your delight and wonder.

His ideas and pitches for Earth were always so entertaining to listen to, and you would do your best to encourage him to show them to the higher ups to get them approved—His mind was just filled with joy and love and wonder that you'd never seen before.

Which was why it was always so disappointing whenever he'd come back and say that he was shut down and even mocked at. How could Heaven shut down such an imaginative mind in the creation of their biggest project yet?

To say you were devastated when you heard about his fall would be an understatement. You mourned the loss of your friend, knowing that he'd done nothing wrong and thinking it wasn't fair to him to receive such punishment just because he cared for the future of humanity.

Thousands of years later, you overhear the plan for Extermination of Hell kind. You didn't mean to walk by, yet here you were, under the direct eye of the Head Seraphims about to be downcast for something you had no control over—just like Lucifer.

“You're all self-entitled pricks! You think you can do whatever you want just because it doesn't follow what you define as good!”

You get a few good arguments before being cast downwards, leaving you in bad shape in a random alley with no wings and no means of escape. That is of course, until destiny seems to be on your side and Lucifer finds you, completely perplexed to see you here at all.

After getting treated, you tell him about the Extermination so he and Hell can prepare. The conversation of you getting cast down by Heaven gets glossed over, but he can feel the fury building up inside him. You were always doing things by the book—how could they do this to you?

Once the slaughter is over, Lucifer gets a meeting with Heaven and secures protection for both his daughter Charlie and you, to which they begrudgingly agree to keep him outta their hair. You can't help but feel touched by this gesture.

He's also quick to offer you a room to stay in, but you compromise by living in a seperate building from him and Charlie so you aren't a bother even though he says you aren't. In fact, ever since Lilith left, he's had to take care of his young daughter all by himself, so he's more than happy when you offer to help.

It doesn't take long for your feelings to start coming into the surface from all those years ago, and you gotta push them away because he's both married and has a child to look after! Besides, why would the King of Hell ever look in your direction?

Eventually though, he brings up the question with nothing but sweaty palms and a customized rubber ducky that says ‘I love you’ whenever you squeeze it. You blush furiously, but can't help but bring up your concerns, not wanting to replace Lilith in his heart. He looks into your eyes and says that he hasn't been as happy as he is now in the past thousand years.

Cue baby Charlie walking in on everything, and she just smiles and goes innocently. “Daddy! Is (y/n) staying home with us now?”

You two can only chuckle at the cuteness of it and you immediately go to hug her. You couldn't believe that you were blessed with such a wonderful family.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar x reader #vaggie x reader #angel dust x reader #alastor x reader #sir pentious x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #husker x reader #husk x reader

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codenamethebird · 2 months ago

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God I have so much to say about Melinoe's characterization, and the fasinating implications about her future arc/the overarching plot of hades 2. I want to make a larger think piece with pictures but for the moment I'm just going to focus on this one specific thread.

In the wake of the Prometheus reveal, she has a slew of convos about his motivations for siding with Chronos, and the gods basically all go: this is his vengeance for us punishing him a tad cruelly. And Nemesis is like, yeah the gods 100% deserve it. But Meli's responds that he must have more motivation than just vengeance, it can't just be that. But when Prometheus explicitly goes, 'I'm doing this because the gods are horrible to humanity and I love humans,' she basically goes, no he must be lying. That motivation is both too pure, but also humans kind of suck why would you care about them?

Mel's humanity hot takes deserve it's own essay (Ms I think Humans should have never gotten fire and are better when they are dead), and I just want to focus on the former for now. She can not comprehend that Prometheus is fighting the gods for noble reasons. It just does not make sense to her. Mel's world is so black and white. She doesn't understand the nuance of the situation, and the thought that the gods might be actually in the wrong doesn't even get close to crossing her mind.

It's a fascinating (and horrifying) result of her upbringing. Of the constant state of war and the very convenient big bad that is Chronos, the evil monster who stole her family. If she accepts that his side isn't completely evil, that they might even be right in some (even many) respects, she would have to grapple with her whole life. Everything she believes would be thrown into question, the literal thing she was training her whole life for.

She can't have Prometheus fighting for a noble cause, because he fights for Chronos whose the Bad Guy tm. But he also can't be fighting for something as simple as vengeance, because that would also mean she would need to really think about what he's angry about. If the punishment was truly so unnecessary cruel.

When talking to Odysseus about Prometheus, when Ody's saying how much he respected him for stealing the fire despite knowing the consequences, Mel says that it was the price to be paid for breaking Olympus's decree. To her, Olympus's rules are sacred and ultimately good. Unquestionably. Prometheus broke the rules with intent, so to her, why would he be so angry at the consequences? Especially if he knew because of his power they were going to happen.

So he must have another reason, some secret machiavellian plan that drives him. Except as I already said, it brings her right back to him doing it for humanity, which she also can't accept. Because that would be admiting that the gods did something wrong to humans. She twists herself into knots to justify her worldview, and it's fascinating! She's so messy I adore her.

Please Supergiant please the final surface boss has to be a human pleeeaaasse (preferably a living one). Or at least have one (or more) show up in some other capacity. Mel needs to come face to face with the other side and have it utterly destroy her worldview.

And/or have (Pan)Dora betray her for Prometheus, that would also be very fun haha.

#hades 2 #hades 2 spoilers #hades game #melinoe #Prometheus #hades #she just! tears into her #this girl can fit so much isolated child soldier trauma in her #with a dash of autism and being one of the ruling class to really have it blow up #i adore how messed up she is!#how everything that breaks her simple worldview she either brushes aside the importance of it #or just totally ignores it #ill admit while ive always liked her #i did prefer Zag as a protagonist #but now i think if supergiant pulls this off and gives her the character arc she deserves #im going to prefer her #shes just so flawed and blah ive gone on long enough haha

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star-anise · 6 months ago

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Currently getting my socks clean blown off by Rethinking Narcissism, by Dr. Craig Malkin. Which I found, in a roundabout way, from this video on Midsommar, grief, and narcissism.

Tonight I woke up from a nap and accidentally took my morning meds, so I'm going to be up for a few hours because of the meth. In place of sleep, I'll try to roughly sum up some basic ideas proposed by the research the book is based on:

That traits of "narcissism" like entitlement, grandiosity, and feeling special are not inherently toxic. There are times and places they are appropriate and beneficial. If you show up at a hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest, you should not sit and wait to be seen after people with earaches and coughs. (Actually, medical systems are designed to prioritize people with more urgent needs, and you qualify under that system. You are special and are deserving of different treatment than those others, which is why making your needs known, even insisting on it if you're not listened to appropriately the first time, is an extremely good idea. It keeps you from bleeding to death on the floor, and keeps the hospital from getting its pants sued off by your heirs.)

It is more useful to view "narcissism" not as an inherent immutable personality trait, but as a cluster of coping mechanisms. As previously stated, there are times they are exactly the right coping mechanism for the job. However, people we call "narcissists" tend to cling to these ones even when they become detrimental to themselves and others, often because they lack other ways of regulating their emotions and getting their needs met. And that is something they can change, if a person is willing to put in sincere and difficult work. It is not usually fast change; it's a matter of years, not weeks. But a skillbuilding approach turned Borderline Personality Disorder from an immutable curse to a fully treatable (though not quickly treatable) condition, and there's a lot of hope that it can do the same for Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Meanwhile, there's an opposite end to the narcissism spectrum, and it is also pathological and destructive to hang out there all the time. It's an aversion, or even a resistance, to expecting yourself or other people to treat your own feelings, thoughts, ideas, needs, or preferences as important. For Greek mythology reasons, its proposed name is Echoism.

Unfortunately, because most of the damage echoism does is, by its very nature, localized to its sufferer and their own personal relationships, its downsides aren't often talked about. In fact, it's often seen as an ideal moral state, a kind of altruism or saintliness everyone should strive for. As a pathological coping mechanism a person is trapped in, though, it's often more a fear-based reflex than a conscious and deliberate attempt to achieve some real and specific good. It's not actually as beneficial as being able to recognize your needs, desires, positive aspects, and areas of competence or excellence, and bring them forward in your relationships with other people and yourself.

To me this has all been a cross between a gut-punch and a cool, sweet drink of water. There have been other ways to describe echoism over the years, but this feels like the most concise and useful one I've seen in ages.

It specifically puts its pin down in the middle of the moral debate a lot of people struggle with—"What right do I have to put myself forward? What hope do I have of being seen and accepted? Isn't it better not to burden anybody else?"—and says that the problem is not feeling in touch with either side of the equation, but specifically, the inability to move from one part of the spectrum to another when it's merited by circumstances.

When I was a child, I thought Echoism was the answer. It was my ideal. I thought it was what would get me the love and acceptance I wanted, and would keep me safe from the pain of rejection or not being understood. I had no idea it would actually, in fact, be the primary cause of alienation and loneliness for the rest of my life.

Now I'm so deeply thankful I couldn't fully achieve it, in practical terms. As hard as I tried to erase myself, there were always things I loved too much to suppress. I still found ways to express and discover myself in the books I read, the stories I wrote, the intellectual work of school and the experience of pursuing hobbies I loved, my ambitions to be helpful even when they demanded I stop being selfless, and the relationships where I felt safe enough to experience love and acceptance even if I didn't think I deserved them.

There's this question I found a while back that echoed in my bones: Who am I allowed to be around you? Because that's what I felt like, as a child. If I wanted to engage with other people and minimize my risk of harm, it was my job to bend into a pretzel and fit the shape they wanted. And thank god, thank god, thank god, I couldn't fully do it. Despite everything, there were parts of me too strong and bright to lop off completely to get my arms and legs inside the carriage. I was able to take care of myself and let them grow in secret until I found social places I could let them out again. Despite myself, I found ways to grow and thrive, well beyond the trauma that said I shouldn't have.

#staranise original #child abuse tw #child neglect tw #narcissism tw

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captainshyguy · 8 months ago

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its because theyre the closest thing the fandom has to twinks and fandoms explode if they cant ship two little skinny guys or something

I finished Super Paper Mario earlier today for the first time after 16 years of owning and adoring the game and

I have a question for any Limentio / Dimigi shippers out there.

Why

#sorry my friend sent this to me and we both laughed bc like🤝yeah same. anyway this is my mean and mostly true answer #my answer where i give people benefit of the doubt is- (and i apologise for the length lol)#a lot of people are already drawn to spm because ofthe whole 'its the darkest mario game' and the high stakes of it #so getting to explore a fan favourites “dark side” is something people are already interested in- which is why mr l is so popular #and then dimentio usurping count bleck and in a lot of peopels eyes like 'being the chessmaster' gives him a layer of danger and intruigue #which is why he's so popular too. then u put these two 'heehee dark themes- high stakes' cocepts together into super dimentio #people lose their minds. they see it as a window to explore a dark side of a beloved character- with dmentio being a sort of corrupter i th #then it spirals from there into....whatever the hell they do with them. i dont get the fluff lol #personally i think that 'idk i get gay vibes from them and maybe somethig happened in the time they worked together' isnt like...#idk its a bit of a leap but its not the wildlest leap this fandom has made. people do 'heehee they hate each other- enemies to lovers' a lo #but i think i ur gonna do that u really need to own the ick of it. examine what it means #the 'guys. luigi isnt...himself right now he is literally hypnotised' like if ur gonna use that to further their charcters #by using it as a device to show dimetio cutting his bridges with people and deciing he's gonan hurt everyone aroudn him and do what he want #and then use it later for luigi to have to recover from and examine- both the trauma of being taken advantage of in such a moment #and 'why was hypnotised me about that. why did he go along with it' etc like idk i can respect that. bc its not abt the romance #its abt what it does to them and says abt them #BUT THE CRUCIAL THIGN IS YOU CAN GET THAT FROM OTHER PAIRINGS TOO!!!!!#you want to explore dimentio deeply hurting and manipulating someone to see how far he's falling? o chunks. floro sprout #you want luigi angst about him getting hypnotised and recovering from that. NASTASIA DID IT FIRST!!!#but o chunks is a big ole bear and nastasia is a woman and the fandom just arent into them. they have the least attention by far #and at the end ofthe day a lot of fans will go back to the guys theyre into- which...is usually the skinny twinks #i do NOT get dimigi outside of that shallow answer though im sorry. luigi just doesnt like him its entirely twink corruptign yaoi #or 'redeeming dimentio through luigi bc i want him to live or something'#also i say this as both a twink and a big enjoyer of mlm myself lol (and someone whos fave is dimentio)- it just doesnt make sense #i guess at my most charitable i could see- 'the person who dimentio hurt the most helpig him redeem himself' could be compellig #but that leading to romance doest interest me at all and also i think luigi deserves better than to have to reform that bastard lol #also i think its way more interesting if he never comes back lol i like the tragedy of it. he just hurts everyone around him #and then he's gone and they have to live with it #also side note if any shippers want to debate this with me i do not sorry <3 im giving my perspective then running thank u #mario

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jezebelblues · 17 days ago

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cinnamon | h.s | 2

pt 1, pt 2 (completed)

summary: in which two broke college students ignore the fact that they’re falling for each other. (just because you ignore it, doesn’t make it any less real.)

cw: smut18+ (piv) …dare i say…subrry (if u squint), drug dealing/usage, angst, violence, blood (only a lil), college!harry, fem!reader

word count: approx 16.4k

| i needed some softrry i’m not sorry. BUT i am sorry for being a lil late with this final part!! i took a hot minute to edit / drive home from work. all that fun stuff. anyway!! hope u liked it :^)

masterlist

the shift between them was subtle at first.

YN didn’t say anything the next time they crossed paths in the hallway. she didn’t make eye contact, didn’t give him her usual raised eyebrow or sharp comment. she just walked past, her bag slung over her shoulder, her face blank like he wasn’t even there.

it wasn’t dramatic. it wasn’t loud. but it was deliberate. empty.

harry noticed it more than he wanted to.

their usual routine—the unspoken agreement to walk home together after their evening classes—just stopped. she didn’t linger by the exit anymore, didn’t slow her steps like she was waiting for him to catch up.

the first time it happened, he told himself she’d just left early. the second time, he figured she’d had something to do. by the third, it was clear; she wasn’t waiting for him.

and yet, he found himself hesitating by the doors anyway, glancing toward the biology lab like an idiot, only to leave alone, his steps echoing too loudly in the quiet.

at home, it was worse.

the silence between their apartments felt heavier now. he used to hear her faint laugh through the thin walls, the clink of a coffee cup on her counter, the muffled hum of her shitty netflix shows. now it was quiet, like she’d taken all the noise with her and left him sitting in it.

harry didn’t know why it bothered him so much. this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? to keep things simple. clean. to keep people out.

but then he’d remember the look on her face when he said it—it’s not like we’re friends—and something sharp twisted in his chest.

and all he had to sit with was his own guilt and regret.

the distance wasn’t one-sided.

YN hated how much it stung. she told herself she didn’t care, that she was too busy with school and work to think about harry, but that was bullshit, and she knew it.

she felt his absence in the small things—the sound of his voice beside her on those walks home, the way he’d lean against the wall outside their building, cigarette dangling from his fingers like he had nowhere better to be.

she told herself he didn’t deserve her attention after what he said. that he’d made it clear where they stood.

but sometimes, when she caught a glimpse of him—his curls hidden under a backwards cap, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie—she couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was carrying. and why he seemed so determined to carry it alone.

it wasn’t until thursday evening, two weeks since they last walked home together, that their avoidance finally broke.

harry was heading back from class, his backpack slung low, his rings clicking softly against the railing as he climbed the stairs, nails painted a cherry red that already started to chip.

as he reached their floor, the door to YN’s apartment opened, and she stepped out. her hair was tied back, her sweatshirt hanging loose over her frame, a pair of worn sneakers on her feet.

they froze when they saw each other, the air between them thick and awkward.

he glanced at her, then at the stairs, his jaw clenching—not in anger, not in hate, but in quiet hope. “hey.”

she didn’t answer. she just stared at him for a moment, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag. finally, she nodded once, curt and distant. “harry.”

then she walked past him, her steps quick, her head high.

he stood there for a moment, staring after her, his fists clenching at his sides. he wanted to say something, anything, to pull her back. but the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the same wall he’d spent years building.

so he didn’t. he just turned toward his door, the silence swallowing him whole as the door clicked shut behind him.

the house wasn't packed, but it was loud. laughter and bass thumped through the walls, voices spilling out onto the porch where clusters of people leaned against the railing, cigarettes glowing faintly in the dark.

YN hadn't planned on coming.

but her roommate had begged, tugging on her arm like a child demanding candy at a grocery store. "come on," she'd sigh. "it'll be fun. you don't even have to stay that long. besides, you think jays cute, right?"

and YN, with no pressing deadlines and no excuse not to, had reluctantly agreed.

harry didn't want to be here either.

the house hummed with energy—the kind of energy that clung to saturday nights in college. voices blended with the low pulse of bass—heavy hip hop, the faint static of a projector flickering on the far wall casting neon splashes of color across the crowded living room. laughter spilled out from the porch, accompanied by the faint, acrid tang of weed smoke drifting in through an open window.

he slipped inside unnoticed, his nyu hoodie pulled low over his face, his hand brushing the pocket where an empty altoid tin sat snug against his leg.

the thing about acid drops was they were tiny. clean. no plastic bags crinkling to give him away. no smell to catch on clothes. just a few paper tabs, tucked neatly into a tin that could easily pass for mints.

this one wasn’t supposed to take long, anyway. pauli had texted earlier, casual as ever.

bring me four. party downstairs but i’ll be at the same spot.

simple.

harry liked pauli well enough, even if he’d never say it out loud. he was easy to deal with—no drama, no bullshit, and he tipped. if things weren’t so complicated, maybe they’d even get along.

he moved through the thrumming crowd, his eyes scanning the room automatically, checking for the usual signs of trouble.

that’s when he saw her.

YN was tucked into a corner of the living room, half-hidden behind a group of people, her back leaning lightly against the wall. the warm glow of fairy lights strung across the ceiling flickered over her, mixing with the neon hues spilling out from the projector somewhere behind her.

it made her look like art—like she didn’t belong here, needing to be some vibrant watercolor strung high up in a gallery.

she had a red solo cup in hand, her lips curving into the faintest smile as she listened to something the guy next to her was saying. harry didn’t recognize him, not in the dim light, but it didn’t matter. what mattered was how close he stood to her, how his arm brushed hers whenever he moved, how he leaned in like he was trying to fill the space between them.

harry’s eyes drifted lower, tracing the line of her figure almost involuntarily. her shirt clung in all the right places, the loose wrinkles in the fabric shifting faintly when she’d move around. her black jeans, straight-legged with a single slit on the right knee, revealed a faint bruise just above her kneecap.

his eyes narrowed. the thought came unbidden, like bile rising in his throat—a thought he had no right to conjure, no right to mull over.

was it from him?

the thought pushed itself to the front of his mind, uninvited, insistent.

did she get on her knees for him?

he clenched his teeth, ripping his gaze away before it could wander further, before his thoughts could twist into something darker, uglier.

he had no right.

his hand brushed the strap of his backpack, grounding himself as he trudged up the stairs. the second floor was quieter, though the music’s thrum still vibrated the floor beneath his feet.

at the end of the hall, pauli’s door was already cracked open, a faint glow spilling out—a mix of blues and purples that pulsed softly, courtesy of the lava lamp perched on the nightstand.

he stepped inside, letting the door creak wider as he entered.

he looked up from his spot on the bed, his grin as effortless as ever, the glow from the lava lamp catching on his teeth. “harry. what’s up, man?”

he nodded toward him before he pulled the altoid tin from his pocket, flipping it open and sliding four tabs onto the corner of the nightstand. “same price.”

pauli sat up, grabbing his wallet from the bed. “you know me. always good for it.”

he handed over the cash—a neat stack of bills folded lengthwise—and harry pocketed it without a word. “tipped you fifteenthis time.” pauli added with a wink, leaning back onto his elbows.

harry smiled faintly, “‘preciate it.”

he grinned, the blues and purples of the room painting his face like some kind of hipster saint. “likewise, man. let me know if you ever wanna hang. game a little, whatever. always a spot for you here.”

he nodded once, already moving toward the door. “noted, thanks.” (he didn’t stay long enough to hear a response.)

the bass hit harder as he made his way back downstairs, his hand ghosting along the banister.

as his foot touched the last step, marie was already there.

pretty brunette, long legs, and a perpetual smirk that always seemed to say you can’t resist me. she never stopped trying to score free weed from him, always angling her body just close enough to make it seem like an invitation.

“hey, haz,” she drawled, stepping into his path.

he glanced at her, half a second’s worth, his eyes scanning the room as he muttered, “don’t have anything on me right now, marie.”

she pouted faintly, her head tilting just enough to catch the light. “come on. just this once?”

harry stepped past her without a second glance, his tone sharp but dismissive. “not now.” he avoided brushing her shoulder, his steps measured as he maneuvered past her.

the main room was a mess.

a circle of people had formed, shouting over each other as someone recorded the chaos with their phone flashlight. harry didn’t care what was going on—he just didn’t want to get stuck in it.

he b-lined for the kitchen instead, slowing his steps when he caught the low hum of voices just beneath the music.

he wasn’t planning to stop, wasn’t planning to get involved in whatever was going on in there. but then he caught the tone—a mix of light coercion and arrogance, the kind of smug insistence that made his stomach churn.

“come on,” the guy said, his voice smooth, confident. “just one pill, YN. you’ll feel amazing, i swear.”

harry’s stood still, his grip on the strap of his backpack tightening.

“jay…” her voice was quieter, hesitant.

“it’s no big deal,” he pressed, his tone almost lazy. “just let loose. it’s saturday, for fuck’s sake. live a little.”

it was jay. of course, it was jay.

he knew that voice anywhere—smug and dripping with entitlement, like the world owed him whatever he wanted.

“i don’t know,” she sighed, her voice soft, her uncertainty cutting through the noise like static.

harry’s chest tightened, a knot forming just beneath his ribcage. he knew he didn’t have a right to feel anything about this. he’d said it himself—they weren’t friends, even if that was a lie. YN could make her own choices, could hang out with whoever she wanted, could take whatever jay was trying to shove into her hand.

but the knot didn’t go away.

it tightened further when he heard her sigh, gentle and resigned, like she was starting to give in.

that sound sent something sharp slicing through him. before he even realized he’d moved, harry stepped into the kitchen.

YN was leaning against the counter, her red solo cup in one hand, jay towering over her, his arm braced against the counter beside her. his other hand held a small pill—molly, probably—his fingers hovering just inches from her lips.

he looked over his shoulder, startled by the sudden presence. but before he could say a word, harry was on him. he grabbed jay by the bicep, yanking him away from YN with enough force to make him stumble.

“what the—”

his words were cut off by harry’s fist colliding with his face. the sound of bone crunching echoed through the kitchen, sharp and final.

he fell back, clutching his nose as blood began to drip onto his shirt. “what the fuck, man?” he shouted, his voice muffled and nasally.

his knuckles throbbed from the impact, the skin already split and stinging, but he didn’t flinch. his breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling in sharp bursts as he stood there, his fists still clenched at his sides.

he didn’t look at jay.

he looked at YN.

her breath hitched audibly, her chest rising sharply as her lips parted in shock. but she didn’t say anything.

she just bandaged that hand.

she didn’t even glance at jay—not once. her wide eyes were locked on harry, and in that moment, the noise of the party faded to nothing.

his gaze softened, the adrenaline in his chest burning into something heavier as his eyes traveled down.

the bruise on her knee caught his attention again, stark against her skin just above the ripped fabric of her jeans. his jaw tightened, his features shifting slightly—something flickering across his face that she couldn’t quite name.

and then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers again, and the weight of whatever had passed between them felt unbearable.

without a word, he turned and walked out, his shoulders tense, his fists still aching from the punch. he didn’t look back, but YN’s eyes followed him, her chest still tight, her cup clutched tightly in her trembling hand.

jay muttered something—another fucking psycho—but she barely registered it.

the only thing she could think about was the look in harry’s eyes before he left.

three days had passed since the party, and the library was quieter than usual.

a few scattered groups occupied the tables near the entrance, laptops open, notes spread in chaotic displays of end-semester panic. YN moved past them, heading toward her usual spot near the back, a corner table she’d claimed as her own months ago.

but as she turned the corner, she paused. harry was there.

he was slouched in a chair at one of the smaller tables, his head resting in his hand, his elbow propped on the desk. his other hand hovered over a textbook, pen in hand, though he wasn’t writing anything.

he looked tired. dark circles smudged under his eyes, his curls an unruly mess that barely held under the backwards cap perched on his head. his sweater was wrinkled, the sleeve pushed up just enough to reveal his forearm, where faint bruises from something she couldn’t place mottled the skin.

she stood there for a moment, debating whether to turn back, but something in the way his shoulders sagged made her pause.

despite herself, she walked over.

“how’s your hand?”

her voice broke the silence between them, startling him slightly. his head lifted, his eyes locking onto hers, his expression caught between surprise and something unreadable.

“huh?” he croaked, blinking at her like he wasn’t sure if she was real.

she nodded toward his right hand, which was still gripping the pen. “your hand,” she repeated. “you messed it up again.”

harry glanced down at it, flexing his fingers slightly like he’d forgotten it had happened. his knuckles were still faintly red, the scabs on his skin threatening to crack.

“s’fine.” he muttered, his voice low, his tone as casual as he could manage.

she raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “doesn’t look fine.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair and setting the pen down on the open page of his textbook. “you always this nosy?”

she rolled her eyes, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down without waiting for an invitation. “you always this defensive?”

he smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “only when people ask stupid questions.”

“it wasn’t a stupid question,” she shot back, leaning forward slightly. “you punched a guy in the face hard enough to put him on the ground. you’re lucky you didn’t break anything.”

he shrugged, glancing at his hand again. “felt worth it at the time.”

YN’s expression shifted, her brow furrowing slightly as she studied him. “why’d you do it?”

he looked up at her then, his smirk fading, replaced by something sharper, more guarded. “thought he deserved it.”

“that’s not an answer.”

he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her. “what do you want me to say, YN?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with tension. “that i hated the way he talked to you? the way he tried to push you into something you didn’t want? or that it pissed me off seeing him so close to you, like he had the fucking right?”

her breath caught, her fingers curling against the edge of the table.

he let out a sharp exhale, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater as he slouched into his seat again, his gaze dropping to the textbook in front of him. “doesn’t matter. s’done.”

“it does matter.” she whispered, a furrow forming on her forehead from concern.

harry didn’t look at her, but his jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck flexing faintly.

“you don’t owe me anything, harry,” she continued, her tone careful but firm. “but don’t act like what you did wasn’t about me. because we both know it was.”

he finally met her eyes, his expression guarded but not cold. “so what if it was?”

she stared at him for a moment, her chest tight, the words stuck in her throat. finally, she sighed, leaning back in her chair.

but harry spoke first, his eyebrows knit together. “did you sleep with him?”

her eyes darted between his, her lips pressed into a tight line, her shoulders faltering. it caught her off guard, obviously—she could’ve torn into him, yell about how he had absolutely no right to ask her that, but the way his eyes looked slightly glassed over underneath the fluorescent lights made her keep composure. “no, harry.”

he bit the inside of his cheek, nodding with a frown.

finally, she stood, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “take care of your hand, okay?”

the walk home had always been theirs. a quiet that belonged to them.

not awkward, but comfortable, the kind of quiet that felt earned. the rhythm of their footsteps, the hum of the city around them—it was just enough. for weeks, though, that rhythm had been off, broken by the absence of something harry didn’t want to admit he missed.

but now, it was back.

it started on a tuesday.

YN walked out of her bio lab, distracted as she finished sending a text. she didn’t notice him at first, leaning against the wall just outside the lecture hall, his cap pulled low, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

when she did notice, she froze for half a second, her breath catching. he wasn’t looking directly at her, but he wasn’t not looking, either.

she could’ve walked past him. maybe a week ago, she would have.

but instead, she shifted her bag higher on her shoulder and walked toward him, her steps slow, deliberate. “you’re still here?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

harry shrugged, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside her. “just needed some air.”

YN raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “right. sure you did.”

he smirked faintly, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

they didn’t talk much on the walk back to the apartment, but it didn’t feel heavy, not like the silence that had filled the space between them for weeks.

the november air sharpened the sound of their footsteps, campus quieter than usual around them. she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, glancing at harry from the corner of her eye. he walked with his usual loose stride, his cap casting a shadow over his face, but there was something less guarded about the way his shoulders hung, something less tense in the way he moved.

when they reached the front of their building and went up the familiar steps, right into their hallway, YN hesitated, her fingers brushing against the door handle. “goodnight, harry.”

he glanced at her, his jaw working like he was debating whether to say something more. “night, YN.”

he opened the door and slipped inside, leaving her standing there for a moment longer, the faint echo of his voice lingering in her chest.

by thursday, it felt less strange.

harry was already there when she walked out of her lab, leaning against the wall again like he had nowhere else to be.

this time, she didn’t pause. she just walked toward him, her bag slung low on her shoulder, and nodded in his direction. “let me guess,” she said as they fell into step together. “you needed air again.”

he smirked, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets “you’re quick.”

she rolled her eyes, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “quick enough to know you’re full of shit.”

as they turned the last corner before their building, harry finally broke the quiet. “so,” he breathed, glancing over at her, “how’s bio lab? still full of idiots?”

she raised an eyebrow, giving him a side-eye as she adjusted her hood. “you care about bio lab now?”

“just making conversation.”

she hummed, skeptical. “it’s fine. i’m getting through it. probably not as hard as chem, though, huh?”

harry laughed softly, shaking his head. “chem’s fine. can’t say the same for everyone else in that class, though.”

YN slowed slightly, turning to face him. “wait—fine? i thought you said you were failing?”

he smirked, tilting his head as he held the door open for her. “did i?”

she blinked, stepping through the doorway before narrowing her eyes at him. “you’re kidding.”

he shrugged, his grin small but sharp. “guess you’ll never know.”

she opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat, stuck somewhere between annoyance and disbelief.

“night, YN.”

“goodnight, harry.”

by the next week, it was a routine again.

neither of them acknowledged it, but they didn’t need to. the walk home became theirs once more, the silence and conversation fitting together like pieces of something neither of them wanted to break again.

two days later, her radiator would give out sometime after midnight.

it wasn’t subtle—first, the groan of old pipes struggling to keep up, then the sharp hiss of steam escaping. finally, a metallic clunk that echoed through the apartment like the radiator had given up entirely.

she stood in front of it, arms crossed, glaring at the rusty old thing like sheer willpower might make it start working again. the cold was already creeping into the room, the chill biting through her socks and sweatshirt.

she’d called the maintenance guy twice, but as usual, it went straight to voicemail.

she paced for a few minutes, debating whether to try fixing it herself. she’d done it once before with her dad’s help over the phone, but the tools she needed weren’t here, and the memory of burning her hand on scalding metal wasn’t exactly encouraging.

with a sigh, she leaned against the counter, her eyes flicking toward the wall separating her apartment from harry’s.

she hesitated.

asking harry felt like admitting something—weakness, maybe, or a level of dependence she wasn’t ready to face. but the cold was making her breath fog, and the maintenance guy clearly wasn’t coming.

“whatever,” she whispered, grabbing a throw blanket from the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders as she crossed the hall.

when harry opened the door, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

his curls were a mess, his hoodie slouching lazily over his frame, the sweatpants he wore hanging low on his hips. his eyes were half-lidded, his features slack with sleep, but when he saw YN standing there, his expression sharpened slightly.

“what’s up?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

she shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “my radiator broke.”

he blinked, rubbing the back of his neck. “did you call maintenance?”

“twice. nothing.”

he sighed, stepping back and jerking his head toward the corner of his apartment. “give me a second. toolbox is somewhere under all this shit.”

she raised an eyebrow. “you have a toolbox?”

“yeah,” harry muttered, crouching to dig through a pile of books and loose papers. “what, y’think i just let my stuff stay broken?”

she smirked faintly, leaning against the doorframe “honestly, kind of.”

he glanced up at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he returned to his search. a minute later, he stood, a small red toolbox in hand. “let’s see how bad it is.”

the radiator wasn’t just broken—it was practically on life support.

harry crouched in front of it, his knees on the worn wood, wrench in one hand and flashlight in the other. his hoodie shifted as he moved, revealing the sliver of a shirt beneath and the faint line of muscle along his forearm.

she leaned against the counter, clutching the throw blanket around her shoulders, trying not to stare.

it was a radiator, for god’s sake. there was nothing sexy about it.

but somehow, the sight of harry focused, his brow furrowed as he fiddled with the valve, was enough to pull her attention. the way his hands moved—sure, precise, his knuckles faintly bruised—felt like a distraction she didn’t want to have.

“how long’s it been acting up?” he asked, breaking the silence. his voice was low, steady, like he was more invested in the question than he should’ve been.

she blinked, snapping her gaze away from his hands. “um, tonight. but it’s been making weird noises for a while. hissing. clunking. you know, the usual signs of impending doom.”

harry let out a quiet huff, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted the flashlight. “you waited until it died t’deal with it?”

she shrugged, her grip on the blanket tightening. “figured maintenance would actually show up for once.”

harry snorted softly, shaking his head. “rookie move.”

she rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched faintly upward. “okay, expert. what’s the diagnosis?”

he tilted his head, glancing at the valve before pressing the wrench into it. “clogged. pretty bad, too. no wonder it gave out.”

she shifted closer, crouching beside him to get a better look. “and you know this because…?”

“cause i’ve fixed this piece of shit more times than i can count,” harry sighed, his voice laced with dry humor. “y’think i just let it flood my place every time it breaks?”

YN smirked, tilting her head as she studied him. “so you’re saying you’re handy. good to know.”

harry paused, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “wanna find out?”

“oh, ew.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you walked right into it.”

their eyes met briefly, the air between them shifting. YN didn’t move, her fingers brushing the edge of the blanket as she watched him.

he broke the stare first, turning back to the radiator with a soft exhale. the metal creaked under the pressure of the wrench, the sound loud enough to fill the room.

she leaned further against the counter as she tried not to let her gaze wander. but the way harry moved—confident, efficient, like he knew exactly what he was doing—made it impossible to ignore.

“you do this for everyone, or am i special?” she asked, her voice lighter now, teasing.

harry chuckled faintly, his lips quirking upward. “you’re special.”

she blinked, caught off guard by the casual honesty in his tone. “wow. didn’t think you’d admit it.”

he glanced back at her, smirking. “don’t let it go to your head.”

“too late.”

a few minutes later, he leaned back, resting his elbows on his knees as he inspected the radiator. his curls fell forward slightly, the faint sheen of sweat on his temple catching the light.

“alright,” he breathed, “should be good f’tonight. just don’t crank it too high, or you’re asking for trouble.”

she stepped closer, crouching beside him again to inspect his work. “so you’re saying this isn’t a permanent fix.”

he shook his head, wiping his hands on the front of his hoodie. “nope. keep bugging maintenance. eventually, he’ll get sick of you.”

she glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “you ever think about being less cynical?”

he snorted, standing and grabbing his wrench. “not really my style.”

YN followed him to her feet, the blanket slipping slightly off her shoulder as she leaned against the counter again. “well, thanks. for whatever your style is.”

harry glanced at her, his jaw tightening briefly before his expression softened. “don’t mention it.”

their eyes met again, the space between them feeling smaller than it should have.

YN swallowed, her fingers brushing the edge of the counter as she tilted her head. “i mean it, thanks. you didn’t have–”

“YN,” harry interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. “it’s okay.”

the weight of his eyes lingered, his features unreadable but softer than usual, like something unspoken was hanging in the air.

she nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around herself “okay.”

harry grabbed his toolbox, heading for the door. as he opened it, he glanced back at her, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “try not to break it again.”

“no promises.”

the door clicked shut behind him, and YN stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot where he’d been.

christmas break arrived a bit too quick, final exams and whispered see-you-later’s mumbled after lectures.

but YN stayed at the apartment.

so did harry.

it was sometime after eleven when she heard it. the knock had been frantic, sharp, and loud enough to rattle her nerves.

she sat up from her spot on the couch, her blanket falling to the floor as she turned toward the door. it wasn't the casual tap of a neighbor or even the hesitant knock of someone unsure if she'd answer. it was loud. rushed. desperate.

her heart kicked up, the kind of thud that made her breath catch in her chest. she didn't even think before standing, her bare feet padding softly across the floor.

she opened the door without a second thought, and there he was.

his curls were a mess, sticking to his damp forehead like he’d been running. blood smeared his cupid’s bow, dried into the corner of his mouth. his cheekbone was bruising fast, a shadow of purple already spreading beneath the skin. his knuckles, raw and bloodied, hung at his sides, trembling slightly as he stood there, his breathing uneven.

but it wasn’t just how he looked. it was his eyes.

they were glassy, far away, like he wasn’t even really standing there.

her breath hitched as her hand tightened on the doorframe. she wanted to ask a million questions—to demand what the hell had happened, to make him explain. but the way his gaze barely met hers before darting to the floor made her stomach churn.

“can i come in?” he asked, his voice low, rough.

she nodded quickly, stepping aside. “of course.”

harry stepped into the apartment, his movements slow and heavy. he stopped in the middle of the living room, his shoulders sagging like the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

she shut the door softly, her heart pounding as she turned to face him. “sit.”

he hesitated, glancing at the couch like it might collapse beneath him. then he slumped into it, his elbows resting on his knees, his head dropping into his hands.

YN hovered for a moment, watching him, before disappearing into the bathroom. she grabbed a towel, dampened it with warm water, and pulled the first aid kit from under the sink.

when she returned, he hadn’t moved.

“you’re a mess.” she murmured, sitting down upon the coffee table that sat right across from him.

he huffed a weak laugh, his shoulders shifting slightly. “you don’t say.”

she started with his face, gently wiping away the blood smeared across his lips and jaw. the silence between them was thick, heavy, but not uncomfortable. it was full, almost brimming, like there was too much in the air between them to put into words.

harry’s eyes stayed downcast, his breathing uneven as YN dabbed carefully at his split lip.

“this is gonna sting,” she warned softly, tilting his chin slightly so the light hit his face. she worked in silence, her fingers brushing against his skin as she cleaned the dried blood.

he didn’t flinch, but she felt the tension in him—the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders hunched slightly, like he was holding himself together by a thread.

when she finished with his face, she turned her attention to his hands. his knuckles were a mess—split, swollen, and crusted with blood.

“let me see, please?”

harry hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly before he lifted his hand toward her. she took it carefully, her touch light as she began cleaning the wounds—split raw and red.

and then, without warning, harry broke.

it started with a sharp inhale, his chest heaving as he tried to pull in air. then came the tremble, the kind of shake that started in his shoulders and spread like a wave.

she froze, her gaze snapping to his face.

his eyes were squeezed shut, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over, running down his bruised cheeks. it wasn’t a quiet cry. it was raw, deep, the kind of cry that came from somewhere buried so far inside that it was impossible to contain.

YN set the towel down, her fingers still wrapped lightly around his hand. “harry…”

he shook his head, his voice breaking as he choked out the words. “i don’t know how much longer i can do this.”

her chest tightened, her free hand coming up brush strands of hair from his forehead. “do what?”

he exhaled sharply, a shuddering breath that seemed to rattle his entire frame. “all of it,” he croaked, his voice cracking. “the fucking drugs. school. the… everything. i can’t keep it together anymore.”

“you don’t have to.”

his eyes snapped open at that, his gaze locking onto hers. they were red, glassy, but sharper now, like her words had cut through something.

“yes, i do,” he said, his voice bitter. “you don’t get it, YN. if i don’t, it all falls apart.”

“then let it,” she whispered, her voice sharper, the tension in her chest spilling into her words. “let it fall apart, harry. you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

he stared at her, his breathing still uneven, his knuckles trembling in her grasp. the silence that followed was thick, full of everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

but she didn’t let go of his hand.

he sat back against the couch, his chest still rising and falling unevenly as he wiped at his face with the heel of his uninjured hand. his head tilted back, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling like it might hold some kind of answer for him.

then, after a beat, he shifted forward, his elbows on his knees, preparing to stand. “i should go,” he muttered, his voice rough, worn thin.

he rose to his feet, wobbling momentarily before he ambled toward the door.

her frown deepened. “don’t.”

his eyes flicked to hers, hesitant, searching. “YN, i—”

“stay,” she said, cutting him off, her tone leaving no room for argument. “just… stay. at least for tonight.”

he paused, his jaw working as he glanced toward the door. but then he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging like he’d finally let go of whatever excuse he was clinging to.

slowly, he toed off his sneakers by the door, one foot pressing against the back of the other to slip them off without bending. he straightened, looking at her expectantly, unsure of what to do next, waiting for her to guide him.

YN’s chest ached at the sight.

she crossed the room, shutting off the tv and the lamp in the corner, plunging the living room into soft darkness. then she turned back to him, stepping closer, her fingers brushing gently over his hand.

“come on,” she murmured, her grip light but steady as she led him toward the bedroom. the room was dim, the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds.

harry lingered by the door, his steps hesitant as YN turned back to face him. “just for tonight,” she breathed. “just so i know you’re okay. we don’t have to talk about it. not ever, if you don’t want to.”

his lips twitched, almost into a smile, but the weight in his eyes dulled it. “just once, huh?” he whispered, the faintest trace of humor slipping through.

YN nodded, watching him carefully. “just once.”

he shifted, glancing down at his hoodie, the edges of it damp and stained. “can i…?” he gestured toward his chest. “s’kind of a mess.”

“yeah.” her voice was barely above a whisper as she began to fumble with the blankets on the bed.

he reached for the hem of the battered fabric, pulling it over his head in one slow, fluid motion. it clung slightly, damp with rain and speckled with blood, before he tossed it to the floor. his tshirt followed, revealing the lean line of his frame, faint bruises already forming along his ribs, the tattoos that decorated him.

her eyes flicked over him briefly, catching on the dark smudge of a bruise near his collarbone, but she didn’t comment.

he stepped toward the bed, hesitating for a beat before sliding under the covers. the mattress dipped slightly as he settled, his movements slow, unsure.

she slipped in beside him, her movements deliberate, careful, leaving just enough space between them to let him decide. for a long moment, the only sounds were the faint rustling of sheets and the distant hum of the city outside.

harry lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his hands resting loosely on his stomach. his breathing was quieter now, steadier, but the tension in his frame was still palpable.

then he shifted.

he turned toward her, the covers rustling softly as he inched closer, his chest brushing her side as he lowered his head against her shoulder.

she froze briefly, her breath catching as his curls tickled her collarbone, the faint scent of rain and something sharp lingering on him. she moved her arm at his pace, holding his head against her, fingers brushing through his curls.

he let out a shuddering breath, his body softening against hers, the weight of him settling in like was made to fit against her.

she combed her fingers gently through his hair, her other hand resting lightly against his bicep as his arm draped over her.

it was all unspoken.

harry’s breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm against her side. YN’s fingers didn’t stop, the motion soothing for both of them.

just once—it seemed to echo like a taunt. just once, even if neither of them truly believed that.

the hours ticked by slowly, the room heavy with the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, but full.

harry hadn’t moved much since he’d settled against her, his head resting on her chest, his breath brushing faintly against her collarbone. she honestly thought he’d fallen asleep, at least, till he spoke again.

“i didn’t mean t’scare you.” he croaked, his voice muffled slightly by the fabric of her shirt.

she paused, her hand stilling for a moment before resuming its path through his hair. “you didn’t scare me.”

“you don’t have to lie t’me.”

“i’m not.” her voice was soft, steady. “you didn’t scare me, harry. you just… worried me.”

his hand shifted, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of her blanket. “i didn’t mean to do that, either.”

she tilted her head slightly, her chin dipping into his tousled mess of curls. “then stop doing things that make me worry.”

he smiled weakly, the expression brief and half-hearted. “easier said than done.”

they fell into silence again, the weight of his words hanging between them.

YN wanted to ask what had happened, what had pushed him to show up at her door the way he had. but she bit her tongue, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing fill the space instead.

it wasn’t until his hand shifted again, this time fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, that he spoke once more. “s’been a long time since i…” he hesitated, his voice trailing off like the words were too heavy to finish.

her hand stilled, her fingers curling slightly against his scalp. “since you what?”

he exhaled slowly, the sound shaky, almost unsure. “since i let anyone see me like this.”

her chest tightened, the knot of something unnamed twisting deep beneath her ribs. she pressed her fingers gently against the back of his neck, her touch grounding. “you’re allowed to let people in, harry.”

he shook his head, cheek still pressed against her, the movement causing the collar of her shirt to shift a bit lower. “not really.”

“yes, really,” she said firmly, her voice low but resolute. “you don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.”

his hand balled the fabric of her shirt, his body pressing closer to hers like he was trying to absorb the weight of her words. “s’not that simple, cinnamon.”

“it doesn’t have to be complicated, either.”

they didn’t speak again after that, but the tension in the room shifted.

harry’s breathing evened out, his body relaxing against hers as the exhaustion he’d been fighting finally caught up with him.

YN stayed awake longer, her hand brushing gently through his curls, her other hand tracing the muscle in his bicep. she stared at the ceiling, her mind racing with everything she wanted to say but couldn’t. but eventually, her eyes grew heavy, and the rhythm of his breathing lulled her to sleep.

by morning, she woke to the weight of his arm still draped across her waist, the faint warmth of his skin against her own. his face was pressed against her chest, his curls soft and unruly, tickling her jawline. his lips, still split and red, were parted just enough to let out the quietest, almost imperceptible snores.

for a moment, she stayed still, letting the quiet of the room wash over her, the hum of the radiator and the muffled sounds of the city filtering through the window.

but then reality crept in, nudging her to move.

carefully, she shifted, slipping out of his grasp. harry stirred slightly, his arm twitching before falling back against the bed. he let out a soft sigh, his body sinking deeper into the mattress, and YN froze for a beat, watching him.

the bruise on his cheekbone had darkened overnight, a stark reminder of everything that had happened. she stepped lightly toward the thermostat, turning up the heat a touch before padding into the small kitchen.

her fridge was mostly empty, save for a few leftovers and a half-gallon of milk. she sighed, crouching to dig through the shelves until her hand landed on a familiar blue tube tucked into the corner.

ready-to-bake cinnamon rolls.

simple. easy. and hopefully something harry wouldn’t complain about. she pulled the tube out, setting it on the counter before preheating the oven. as she moved, her thoughts swirled—fragments of the night before, the weight of his head against her chest, the broken edge in his voice when he cried.

harry was a puzzle she wasn’t sure she was supposed to solve, but she couldn’t stop trying.

the scent of cinnamon and sugar began to fill the air just as she heard the faint creak of the bedroom door.

YN turned, glancing toward the hallway as harry trudged into the living room, his chest bare, his sweatpants from yesterday still slung on his hips. his hair was a mess of curls, sticking out in every direction, and his eyelids hung heavy, dark lashes casting faint shadows against his bruised cheekbone.

he rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low groan as he stepped further into the room. “what time is it?” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

“almost nine.”

he leaned against the wall, blinking slowly as the scent of the cinnamon rolls registered. “you’re baking?”

“don’t get too excited,” she said lightly, glancing over her shoulder. “pillsbury.”

he smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “good enough f’me.”

YN shook her head, hiding a small smile as she grabbed a plate from the cabinet. “go sit down. they’re almost done.”

he pushed off the wall, his movements slow and deliberate as he sank onto the couch. “didn’t know you were a morning person,” he muttered, resting his head against the back of the couch as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

“i’m not,” she said, pulling the cinnamon rolls from the oven. “you’re just lucky i like you enough to feed you.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes slipping shut. “guess i’ll take what i can get.”

she glanced at him as she set the rolls on the counter, her chest tightening faintly at the sight of him—bare, bruised, and completely at ease for the first time since she’d opened the door last night.

she shook the thought away, grabbing a plate and a spatula as she tried to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest.

when she set the plate in front of him, harry opened one eye, “yeah,” he smiled, his voice still low, almost a drawl. “you definitely like me.”

she rolled her eyes, settling onto the couch beside him. “shut up and eat.”

she stole a glance at harry as he chewed slowly, his head bowed slightly over the plate in his lap. the bruise on his cheek looked worse in the daylight, darker, more defined.

it was uncanny, how vulnerable he looked—shirtless and bruised, curled up on her sofa.

he didn’t look up when he broke the silence. “where’s your roommate?”

“home,” she sighed, “she went back for break.”

he nodded, his focus still on the roll in front of him. “makes sense.”

another silence followed, stretching longer this time, broken only by the faint clank of the plate as YN set it on the coffee table.

he shifted, his fingers brushing the edge of his plate before he set it down beside hers. “can i stay?” he asked, his voice low, hesitant.

she frowned slightly, tilting her head to look at him. “here?”

he nodded, his gaze fixed on the table. “just for a while. i don’t…” he paused, his fingers flexing against his knees. “i don’t feel like going back right now.”

she didn’t respond immediately, her chest tightening as she watched him. there was something raw in his voice, something that made her think he’d never asked for this kind of thing before—not from her, not from anyone. she shifted closer, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned toward him. “you don’t have to ask. of course, you can stay.”

harry finally looked up, his sleepy eyes meeting hers. “just for a while,” he repeated, his voice quieter now.

YN shook her head, her lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “as long as you need.”

he didn’t respond, but the tension in his frame seemed to ease, his shoulders dropping slightly as he leaned back into the couch.

she wasn’t used to seeing harry like this.

his usual confidence—his sharp tongue and quick wit, had softened into something quieter, something almost fragile. the way he slouched slightly in his seat, the way his fingers fidgeted against his knees—it all felt foreign, but it tugged at something deep inside her.

he stayed there for a while, his head tipped back against the couch, eyes half-lidded as he seemed to lose himself in the moment. YN didn’t press him, didn’t say anything, just let the silence stretch between them, comfortable and full.

eventually, harry shifted, sitting forward as he rubbed his hands over his face. “i should grab some clothes.”

she glanced at him, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “from your apartment?”

he nodded, standing slowly and rolling his shoulders as he glanced toward the door. “yeah. but…” he paused, his jaw tightening slightly before he let out a slow breath. “can i shower here?”

“you don’t wanna shower at yours?”

he shook his head, his lips barely forming a pout. he didn’t respond, not verbally at least, but his silence was enough.

she nodded, “go get your clothes then.”

he was only gone for a few minutes, slipping out her door and back in with an armful of clean clothes to change into.

she stood as he locked the door behind him, gesturing toward the hall. “c’mon.” she led him to the bathroom she shared with her roommate, flipping on the light and pulling back the shower curtain. “okay,” she breathed, pointing toward the corner of the tub. “this is my stuff.” she glanced at the bottles lined neatly along the edge. “shampoo, conditioner, body wash. whatever you need.”

harry stood just inside the doorway, watching her with an intensity she tried to ignore. his arms hung loosely at his sides, his expression unreadable but steady.

YN reached for the faucet, twisting it to adjust the temperature, testing the water with her hand before stepping back. “there,” she smiled gently, looking at him over her shoulder.

she hesitated, her hand hovering near the shower curtain, before finally stepping toward the door. “i’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

he didn’t respond right away. his eyes flicked to hers briefly, something flickering in their depths—something warm, quiet, and unsaid. “thanks.”

she nodded, slipping out of the bathroom and pulling the door shut behind her.

harry stood there for a moment, staring at the running water, the faint scent of her body wash already filling the small room. his chest felt tight, but not in the way it had last night. this was different. warmer.

he glanced toward the door, his lips pressing into a faint, unreadable line as he exhaled slowly. it wasn’t much—letting him stay, starting the shower for him, showing him her space—but it was enough to make something in his chest ache.

the night would settle in slowly, blanketing the city in quiet.

her back pressed lightly against the mattress as she stared at the faint outline of her bedroom ceiling. the soft hum of the radiator filled the silence, its warmth finally chasing away the lingering chill from earlier.

harry was beside her again, just like the night before.

at first, they were apart, separated by a stretch of empty space between them. she could feel his presence, though—the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the occasional rustle of the sheets when he shifted. but then, just as she’d started to drift off, he moved.

the bed dipped slightly as he turned toward her, his weight shifting as his arm draped across her waist. his chest pressed lightly against her side, and his curls tickled her jawline as he lowered his head to her chest.

it was the same as last night, yet somehow it felt different—heavier, more—just more.

her fingers combed through his curls again, and he let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing against hers, the tension she hadn’t even realized was there melting away with the sound.

the silence stretched, long and unbroken, until harry’s voice cut through it—quiet, almost hesitant. “are we still friends?”

YN froze briefly, her hand pausing mid-motion before she resumed her gentle combing. her gaze drifted upward, staring at the faint pattern of the popcorn ceiling as his question echoed in her mind. she didn’t answer right away, her tummy tightening as she tried to make sense of what he was asking—not just the words, but the weight behind them.

finally, she nodded, the movement gentle as her chin brushed against his curls. “of course,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the slight flutter in her chest.

he didn’t respond immediately, but the way he shifted closer, his arm tightening around her waist, said more than words could have. she kept combing through his hair, the motion slow and soothing, her fingers tangling lightly in the knots at the nape of his neck.

“this okay?” she asked quietly after a while, her voice barely above a murmur.

he exhaled, the sound low and heavy, like he was sinking into her touch. he only hummed, “mm-hm.”

her lips twitched faintly, a small, tired smile forming as she rested her cheek lightly against his head.

his breathing slowed, his weight growing heavier against her as sleep began to pull at him. YN stayed awake longer, her fingers threaded through his hair, her eyes fluttering shut. whatever this was—whatever they were—it was fragile, unspoken, and entirely theirs.

the rest of the week passed in a blur.

monday

it started with breakfast. YN had woken up early, the smell of coffee already filling the small apartment when harry wandered into the kitchen.

he was barefoot, his shirt hung loosely around his frame, curls a mess, still sleep-tangled, and the faint shadow of the bruise on his cheekbone was beginning to fade.

“you’re up early,” he muttered, leaning against the counter as he grabbed a mug.

she shrugged, flipping a pancake. “someone has to feed you.”

he smirked faintly, lifting the mug to his lips. “you say that like i’d starve without you.”

“you might,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder. “your fridge is pathetic.”

he didn’t argue. he just sipped his coffee and watched her move around the kitchen.

tuesday

the snow came down hard that afternoon, blanketing the streets in white.

they sat on the couch, harry’s legs stretched out in front of him, YN tucked into the corner with a blanket draped over her lap. a movie played quietly on the tv, but neither of them was really watching it.

“you ever build a snowman?” she asked suddenly, glancing at him.

“what, like when i was a kid?”

“sure,” she said, nudging him lightly with her foot. “don’t tell me you’ve never done it.”

he shrugged, his smirk fading into something softer. “once or twice.”

she grinned, leaning forward. “you wanna do it now?”

harry stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head, laughing softly under his breath. “you’re ridiculous.”

but an hour later, they were outside, their hands red from the cold as they shaped clumps of snow into something that vaguely resembled a snowman.

wednesday

harry had offered to cook.

she had been skeptical—especially when she saw him poking around the kitchen like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. “you know how to use that, right?” she asked, gesturing toward the knife in his hand.

he shot her a glare, though the faint grin on his lips betrayed him. “m’not completely useless.”

it turned out he wasn’t. dinner wasn’t fancy, but it was good—better than she’d expected, and she told him so.

“don’t get used to it,” he muttered, glancing at her as he sat back in his chair.

she grinned, her fork tapping against her plate. “you say that like you’re not gonna do this again.”

he didn’t answer, but the faint curve of his lips told her she was right.

friday

the radiator acted up again.

harry fixed it without her asking, crouched in front of the thing with his hoodie sleeves pushed up and a wrench in his hand.

YN leaned against the counter, watching him work, her arms crossed over her chest. “they should probably just hire you as the new maintenance man at this point.”

harry glanced over his shoulder, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

YN shrugged, trying to keep her expression neutral. “it’d be efficient.”

he turned back to the radiator, but she caught the faintest twitch of his lips, the smirk softening into something that made her tummy flutter.

saturday night

harry didn’t leave her bed that night, just like every other night that week.

but this time, there was no hesitation.

he shifted toward her sooner, his arm slipping around her waist as he pressed his face into the curve of her neck.

YN sighed softly, her hand lifting to comb through his curls, her fingers tracing the familiar path she’d memorized over the past few nights. “you know this is becoming a habit.”

harry huffed a quiet breath, his lips brushing against her skin. “maybe s’not a bad one.”

YN smiled faintly, her fingers tangling into his hair. “you saying you like having me around?”

he didn’t answer, but the way his arm tightened around her waist and his body softened against hers was enough.

the pounding didn’t stop.

harry groaned, dragging a hand over his face as the sharp knocks echoed through the quiet of the apartment. his head was still heavy with sleep, his curls a messy halo that tickled YN’s shoulder as he shifted beside her.

the sound came again, louder this time, and she blinked herself awake, sitting up slightly as she frowned toward the hallway. “it’s not mine,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

he sighed, sitting up and planting his feet on the floor. “no,” he muttered, his voice rough. “s’mine.”

she turned to look at him, her brow furrowing. “you’re sure?”

harry nodded, rubbing his eyes as he stood. “yeah. i’ll handle it.” he grabbed his hoodie that hung from her bed frame, tugging it over his head as he crossed through her hallway. the knocking hadn’t stopped, and by the time he opened YN’s door and stepped out, his scowl was firmly in place.

a guy stood in front of his door—college-aged, tall, wearing a puffy jacket and sneakers that looked too clean for someone pounding on doors at this hour.

harry’s steps were slow, deliberate, the sleep still heavy in his frame as he approached. “you’re real fucking persistent, y’know that?”

the guy turned, his eyes flicking over him with thinly veiled irritation. “dude, i’ve been texting you all week.”

YN appeared in the doorway behind harry, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the frame. she stayed silent, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched the two.

he tilted his head, his curls brushing against his hood as he crossed his arms. “so y’thought banging on my door at ten in the morning was a good move?”

the guy shrugged, his tone defensive. “you’ve been m.i.a, man. i need what i asked for.”

harry let out a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he reached up to run his hand down his face. “jesus christ.”

YN stepped forward slightly, her voice cutting through the tension. “this really something that couldn’t wait?”

the guy blinked, noticing her for the first time. his eyes flicked between her and harry, something smug curling at the edge of his lips. “oh,” he said, dragging the word out. “this why you’ve been missing?”

harry stiffened, his jaw clenching as his eyes narrowed. “don’t.” he warned, his tone sharp.

the guy held up his hands, his smirk widening. “i’m just saying—”

“i don’t give a shit what you’re saying,” he snapped, stepping forward. his voice stayed low, but the edge in it made the guy falter. “you‘ll get what you need later and you’ll walk away. clear?”

the guy hesitated, glancing at YN again before muttering something under his breath and nodding. “fine. i’ll text you later.”

harry watched him walk off, his shoulders tight, his hands curling into fists at his sides. when the guy was gone, she stepped closer, her voice softer now. “you okay?”

he shook his head, exhaling slowly as he turned back to her. “s’fine.”

“are you sure?”

harry frowned, the irritation fading slightly as he glanced at her. but he nodded, brushing past her into the apartment.

she followed him, shutting the door softly behind them. “does that happen a lot?”

he didn’t answer right away. he leaned against the counter, running a hand through his curls before glancing at her. “not usually.”

her frown deepened, but she didn’t press. “you sure you’re okay?”

harry met her eyes, his expression softening slightly, though the tension didn’t leave his frame. “yeah,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “yeah, m’good.”

she didn’t believe him, not entirely. but she nodded, letting the silence settle between them as the morning stretched on.

he had left around two, grabbing his hoodie off the back of the chair and muttering something about finally putting food in her fridge.

“i’ve been raiding yours, doesn’t seem fair.”he said earlier, his voice laced with lazy humor as he ruffled his curls into place.

she raised an eyebrow from her spot on the couch, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “that hasn’t stopped you all week.”

he smirked faintly, tugging the hood over his head. “yeah, well. figured i’d give you a break.”

and with that, he was out the door, leaving YN alone in the quiet apartment.

the knock came twenty minutes later, startling her.

it wasn’t the casual tap of a neighbor or the soft knock of a package delivery—it was firm, insistent. she frowned, setting her laptop aside as she stood, her socked feet padding softly against the floor.

when she opened the door, her stomach twisted. there he was—the guy from that morning, his puffy jacket zipped tight, his expression set in something between annoyance and impatience.

“um,” she paused, gripping the edge of the door. “can i help you?”

his eyes flicked over her briefly before he jerked his chin toward the hallway. “harry here?”

her chest tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “no. he’s out.”

the guy huffed, his hands disappearing into his jacket pockets as he nodded toward the apartment behind her. “you know when he’ll be back? he said i could get my shit later.”

“no, he didn’t say.”

he studied her for a beat, his head tilting slightly. “he live with you now?”

she shook her head. “he just… visits.”

the guy smirked faintly, the expression smug. “yeah. figured that much.”

YN bristled, her hand tightening on the doorframe. “look, if you’re trying to reach him, text him. i don’t know anything.”

the guy held her gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in his expression. finally, he stepped back, shrugging. “sure. i’ll text him…again.”

she slammed the door shut, her heart racing as she flipped the deadbolt into place. she leaned against the wood, exhaling sharply as the tension slowly began to drain from her frame.

she didn’t tell harry when he got back.

he’d been carrying enough all week, the exhaustion in his eyes and the weight in his shoulders a constant reminder of everything he was dealing with.

so she kept it to herself.

it wasn’t until later that evening, when they were sitting on the couch with the faint glow of the tv lighting the room, that harry’s phone buzzed.

he glanced at it, his jaw tightening as he read the message.

hey, stopped by urs and then ur girl’s place earlier. said u were out again. just let me know when i can get my eighth man.

harry’s chest tightened, his breath catching as he stared at the screen. “what the fuck?” he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

YN looked over, her brow furrowing. “what’s wrong?”

he turned the phone toward her, his eyes narrowing. “he came here?”

she hesitated, her stomach twisting. “yeah,” she admitted softly. “this afternoon. i didn’t think it was worth stressing you over.”

his expression hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “not worth stressing me over? YN, he showed up at your door.”

“i know,” she said quickly, her voice steady despite the tension creeping into her chest. “but i handled it. it’s fine.”

“s’not fine,” harry snapped, standing abruptly. “this isn’t just about me anymore, okay? if people start thinking it’s okay to involve you—”

“harry,” YN interrupted, standing to face him. “you’re overreacting. he was annoying, sure, but it’s not like he threatened me.”

“doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice rising. “this shit is getting out of hand. promised myself i’d keep you out of it, and now people are knocking on your door looking f’me. that’s not okay.”

“then maybe you should stop,” YN said, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

harry froze, his eyes snapping to hers, the weight of her words hitting him like a punch. “you think i haven’t thought about that?” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less tense. “you think i want to keep doing this?”

her stomach twisted in ways that screamed retreat, retreat, retreat—the frustration in his voice cutting deeper than she expected. “don’t do this anymore, harry. it’s not worth it.”

he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls as he turned away. “you don’t get it,” his voice was tight. “s’not that simple.”

“then make it simple.”

harry turned back to her, his jaw clenched, chest heaving as if he was trying his hardest to keep his composure. “i can’t.” his tone was sharp, the words heavy. “and you don’t get to tell me i can.”

YN frowned, her arms crossing over her chest as the weight of his words settled between them. he grabbed his hoodie from the chair, pulling it over his head before turning toward the door. “i need air.” he left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her alone in the quiet apartment.

harry didn’t come back that night.

YN stayed up later than she intended, the silence pressing in on her. she flipped through a textbook on the couch, barely absorbing a single word, her mind spinning with fragments of their argument.

his face—the tension in his jaw, the sharpness in his voice, it just played on a loop in her head.

when she finally gave up on pretending to study, she dragged herself to bed, the empty space beside her feeling heavier than it had in weeks.

harry, meanwhile, had locked himself in his own apartment.

he sat at his small kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of water in front of him and his phone facedown beside it. the air in the apartment was stale, colder than he liked, but he hadn’t bothered to adjust the heat.

his bed was just in the other room, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie down.

the argument replayed in his head, every word a sharp reminder of how badly he’d let things spiral. YN was right—this wasn’t sustainable. he knew it, even if he didn’t want to admit it. but the idea of walking away from the one thing keeping him afloat felt impossible, like stepping off a ledge with no guarantee there’d be solid ground beneath him.

he rubbed his hands over his face, the bruises on his knuckles still tender, a faint throb reminding him of how close everything had come to boiling over.

when he finally moved to the bed, it was late, the clock blinking 3:42 am.

the sheets were cold, unfamiliar, and for the first time in weeks, harry realized just how much he’d come to rely on the quiet warmth of YN’s apartment.

it wasn’t just the bed or the radiator or the soft glow of her bedside lamp.

it was her.

the next morning, she woke up to the kind of silence that wasn’t comforting, just hollow. she sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, staring at the spot harry would normally take—his arm draped over her waist, his curls tickling her collarbone.

now, it was just empty.

she thought about texting him, but her fingers hovered over her phone, indecisive. she wasn’t sure what she’d even say.

harry didn’t text her either.

the day dragged on, heavy and slow, each hour feeling like it stretched longer than it should have.

she couldn’t help but glance at the wall separating her apartment from harry’s, the faint sound of movement on his side making her chest tighten.

he was close—just steps away. but for the first time in weeks, he felt farther than ever.

and neither of them knew how to bridge the distance.

the next afternoon, coming home from work, she spotted him the moment she turned the corner onto her floor.

harry was sitting on the ground just outside her door, his back pressed against the wall, his head tilted back as if he’d been staring at the ceiling for hours. the faint light from the hallway cast shadows under his eyes, making the tiredness on his face even more apparent.

he didn’t say anything when he saw her. didn’t stand, didn’t offer an explanation.

he didn’t need to.

YN’s steps slowed, her bag hanging heavy off her shoulder as her eyes met his. there was a weight in his gaze, an unspoken plea that neither of them needed to put into words.

she didn’t ask why he was there.

instead, she reached into her pocket, pulling out her keys and unlocking the door.

he stood, slipping off his shoes just inside the entryway as if he belonged there. maybe he did. without a word, he walked the short hallway to her bedroom.

the bathroom was warm from the radiator, but the chill of the night still clung to her skin as she slipped out of her scrubs. she could hear the faint creak of the bed as harry settled into it, the sound an odd comfort after the last two days of his absence.

YN pulled on a pair of worn sweats and a loose sweatshirt, her mind too tired to linger on the why of it all. when she finally climbed into bed, harry didn’t move to face her like he usually did. instead, he shifted closer, pressing his chest against her back, his arm sliding underneath her head to pull her closer.

his body was warm, solid, grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she needed until it was there again.

they didn’t speak.

she twisted the rings on his fingers, the very hand that lay sprawled over her tummy, pressing her into his chest. “harry?” she murmured, her voice worn, tired.

he hummed softly in acknowledgment, his arm tightening slightly around her.

“tell me why it’s not so simple?”

his breath hitched, just faintly, and she felt his hesitation in the way his grip faltered for the briefest moment. “it just isn’t,” he sighed, his voice low, rough against her ear.

“that’s not an answer,” she frowned, her index finger tracing the H of his ring. “not a real one.”

he exhaled sharply, the sound heavy and resigned, and for a moment, she thought he might shut down entirely.

but then he spoke. “s’my mum,” he rasped. “and rent. and groceries. and bills.”

she stayed silent, her fingers pausing against his fingers as she let him continue.

“i grew up watching her work three jobs just to keep the lights on—before we moved,” he mumbled, his voice steady but hollow, like he’d had this conversation in his head a thousand times but never out loud. “and it still wasn’t enough. there was always more t’pay for, always something else breaking, something else needing fixing.”

his chest pressed harder against her back, like he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

“when i got here, i thought things would get better. scholarships, loans—it was supposed to be enough. but it’s not.” his voice cracked, just barely. “it never is.”

“so you started dealing,” she croaked, filling in the gaps he didn’t.

harry nodded against her, his breath warm against the back of her neck. “weed was easy,” he admitted. “then psychedelics. then molly. s’not what i wanted, but… it worked. it kept me here. kept her afloat back home.”

YN turned back toward him slightly, her hand reaching for his. “har–”

he shook his head, “don’t.”

she didn’t push him, her fingers threading lightly through his as she pressed their hands between her chest and his.“you don’t have to keep doing this,” she said quietly after a long pause. “you know that, right?”

his grip tightened, and she felt the faintest shake in his fingers. “i don’t know anything else,” his lips trembled, his voice so soft she almost didn’t hear it.

she turned fully, her forehead brushing against his as she met his gaze, her hand still holding his tightly. “then let me help.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said finally, his voice low, but the bite that usually sharpened his words was absent.

she didn’t flinch. didn’t look away. instead, her lips curved into the faintest, almost tired smile. “i know enough,” she murmured.

they lay there, facing each other now, their cheeks pressed against the pillows. the faint orange glow of the streetlights filtered through the blinds, casting soft shadows over their faces. harry’s eyes softened slightly, but he didn’t argue, didn’t push her away. he just watched as she shifted, her hand reaching out to trace the black ink etched into his bicep.

her fingertips moved slowly, following the lines of the tattooed ship, the sails that stretched across his skin. “i get it. not everything, maybe, but enough.”

her fingers paused briefly on the edge of the ink, her eyes dropping to her hand before continuing. “i’m here because of a full ride. the scholarship’s the only reason i even got to set foot in this city. but it’s not just… given, you know? there are expectations, benchmarks, a constant weight reminding me that if i slip up, even once, it’s over.”

harry’s eyes stayed on her, the faint tension in his jaw softening as he listened. “it’s like…” she hesitated, her fingers still tracing the tattoo. “it feels like there’s this blade hanging over me all the time. like one wrong step, one failed class, and it’ll fall.”

her voice wavered slightly, and she exhaled softly, shaking her head. “i’m scared, harry. scared of failing. scared of… what happens if i do.”

his hand shifted, brushing lightly against her arm.

“and the future,” she continued, her gaze flicking up to meet his. “i think about it all the time. whether i’ll make it through this, whether all of this pressure will be worth it in the end. sometimes it feels like it’s too much, but then i think, what’s the alternative? giving up? i can’t do that either.”

harry’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable, but his hand stayed where it was, a small, grounding touch against her arm.

“so yeah,” she sighed softly, her fingers brushing one last time over the edge of the ship before dropping to the pillow. “i don’t know everything, but i know what it feels like to carry something too heavy for too long. and i know what it feels like to be scared of what happens if you stop.”

he exhaled slowly, his eyes searching hers in the dim light. he didn’t say anything, but the way his fingers tightened slightly against her arm told her he’d heard her.

harry returned to the building just after five, the sky outside dimming as the cold of the evening set in.

he reached up for the key YN had left above the doorframe, something she reminded him of this morning before she left for work. his fingers brushed the cool metal easily, a smile on his lips as he unlocked the door.

stepping inside, the warmth of the apartment wrapped around him, a stark contrast to the chill that had seeped into his bones from the day.

his eyes landed on YN immediately. she was curled up on the couch, a blanket draped loosely over her, the flicker of the tv casting soft shadows across her face. her chest rose and fell evenly, her lips slightly parted in sleep.

harry toed off his shoes by the door, moving quietly as he turned the heat up a notch. his shirt stuck to his skin, damp with sweat and the stale air from hours spent running around the city. he peeled it off, tossing it over the back of a chair before padding toward the couch.

for a moment, he just stood there, his eyes tracing the soft curve of her body beneath the blanket, the way the dim light from the tv illuminated her features.

he didn’t think twice before bending down, sliding his arms beneath her. she stirred faintly as he lifted her, a quiet sigh escaping her lips, but she didn’t wake fully.

he slipped onto the couch, settling her carefully between his legs, her head resting against his lower stomach. she shifted slightly, her cheek pressing against him as he adjusted the blanket to cover them both.

his fingers found her hair instinctively, combing through the strands in slow, deliberate motions. it was a habit he’d picked up from her, from the way she soothed him almost every night, and he found himself wondering if she felt the same quiet calm from it that he did.

the tv flickered in front of him, some show he didn’t recognize playing softly, but his focus stayed on her.

her breath was warm against his skin, her body soft and relaxed, and for the first time all day, harry felt the weight of the world start to lift, just a little.

he thought she was asleep.

until her voice broke through the quiet, soft and drowsy but steady enough to make his chest tighten. “harry, i don’t think we’re just friends.”

his hand stilled in her hair, his heart thudding once, hard, against his ribs. he looked down at her, his breath catching as she shifted slightly, her face turning toward him, though her eyes were half-lidded. “what makes you say that?”

she hummed softly, her fingers curling slightly against his side beneath the blanket. “because friends don’t… do this.”

harry swallowed hard, his hand brushing lightly against the back of her head, resuming its slow, soothing rhythm. “you think so?”

YN nodded faintly, her cheek nuzzling against him. “pretty sure.”

he huffed a quiet breath, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles despite the sharp twist in his chest. “maybe you’re right, cinnamon.”

she didn’t respond, her breathing evening out again as sleep pulled her back under.

harry stared at the tv, his hand still in her hair, the weight of her words settling over him like a blanket of its own.

they'd both drifted off sometime after the quiet settled, the hum of the tv lulling them into sleep. when YN blinked awake, the room was dark except for the flickering light bleeding from the screen, washing everything in shades of blue and white.

she was still between his thighs, her cheek pressed against his naval, his warmth a quiet anchor as his belly fluttered with every breath.

harry stirred beneath her, letting out a low groan as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, his fingers brushing through his curls. he blinked hard, adjusting to the sudden glow of the television. the bruise on his cheekbone had faded to a dull yellow, but his knuckles still bore the deep, mottled stain of healing. they flexed slightly as he shifted, testing the ache.

she sat up slowly, still nestled between his legs, pulling her knees to her chest as she turned to face him.

his smile was soft, lopsided and heavy with sleep, his dimples cutting through in the faint light. his hands found the outer edges of her knees, palms warm and solid as he wiggled them side to side gently. "the bed is probably more comfortable," he whispered, his voice low and scratchy, like he hadn't used it in hours.

but she didn't move. not away, at least. instead, she shifted closer, folding into herself, her toes tucking beneath him in the small space left between them.

her hands reached out almost hesitantly, brushing against his chest, her fingertips tracing the swallows inked beneath his collarbones.

harry tensed slightly, his breath catching just enough for her to notice.

she leaned in, her knees tilting inward, resting along his hipbones. the flicker of the tv painted her face in broken shards of light as she edged closer, her lips a breath away.

he swallowed hard, his voice a warning but barely that. "YN..”

but he didn't move. didn't stop her.

her lips hovered just over his, her breath warm against his mouth, and her voice came soft and deliberate, barely above a whisper. "tell me to stop."

he didn't.

the space between them disappeared as her lips met his, slow and certain, her hands sliding up to rest against the curve of his shoulders.

for a second, he didn't move, like the weight of the moment had pinned him in place. but then his hands shifted, sliding from her knees to her waist, pulling her in closer as the kiss deepened, quiet and unhurried, their breaths tangling in the stillness of the room.

her lips coaxed his into movement until hesitation (almost) fell away completely. his breath hitched as her hands slid up his neck, fingers grazing over the curve of his jaw.

he whispered her name against her lips, the sound a mix of a moan and a warning, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop or pull her closer.

but his hands betrayed him. they gripped her hips firmly, pressing her down until she straddled him, her knees framing his thighs, his back still flush against the armrest of the couch.

her weight settled over him, and harry's breath came out shaky, like the air itself was too much to handle. his hands stayed at her hips, fingers flexing against her like they couldn't decide whether to ground her or let her move.

"we can't.” he managed to say, the words slipping out between kisses that he couldn't seem to stop. the sentence dissolved into a low moan as her lips moved to his jaw, her teeth grazing against his stubble.

she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her own clouded and unwavering, her breath warm against his cheek. "we are.”

the words hit him like a match to gasoline, and his restraint shattered in an instant. his hands slid from her hips to her waist, his fingers curling against the thin fabric of her sweater as he pulled her closer, their bodies flush now. their kisses turned hungry, desperate, like both of them had been holding their breath for too long.

her hands tangled in his hair, pulling softly, and his low groan vibrated against her lips as his grip on her tightened. he tilted his head back slightly, giving her room as her mouth trailed along his jawline, her name tumbling from his lips again, this time softer, rougher, almost pleading.

his head hit the couch's armrest as her kisses worked their way back to his lips, her heat shifting over his in a way that made his breath stutter. his hands roamed higher, curling over the curve of her back, holding her like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

every instinct told him this was a line they couldn't uncross, but the weight of her, the heat of her, the sound of her soft, hitching breaths—it was enough to unravel him completely.

he moaned her name again, softer, almost like a prayer.

so she kissed him in answer.

his hands tugged at the hem of her sweater, his movements rough but not rushed. the fabric slid over her head, leaving her in just her bra, her skin warm and soft beneath the flickering light of the tv.

"fuck," he breathed, the sound slipping out unbidden as her lips found his neck.

the brush of her tongue sent a shiver down his spine, and when her teeth grazed the sensitive skin just below his ear, his hips bucked instinctively beneath her.

his hands slid up her back, fingers fumbling only briefly before unclasping her bra. the straps fell loose, sliding down her arms as he groaned again, low and guttural, the sound vibrating against her lips.

she rocked her hips against him, the friction sending sparks of heat spiraling through his chest. harry's hands flew to her waist, his grip tight like he needed something to hold onto, something to keep him grounded.

“tell me where you need it, h.” the words slipped between her lips through his like a dare as she kissed him again. her hips kept moving, rocking in a way that made his breath stutter.

harry's head tipped back against the armrest, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as her words hit him, a moan slipping past his lips, raw and unrestrained. his fingers curled tighter against her waist, his body aching, straining beneath hers.

"fuck—everywhere.” he muttered, his voice shaking, desperate.

she leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear as she rocked against him again, harder this time, pulling another broken sound from his throat.

harry bucked his hips against her, pressing his hardened cock into her core through the thin layers of their sweatpants. the movement was instinctive, almost helpless, his body speaking the desperation he couldn't put into words anymore.

“harry—” she breathed, her voice catching as she felt him beneath her, hard and wanting.

his eyes fluttered open at the sound of his name, glassy and dark, locking onto hers. there was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, raw and fragile, like she was the only person in the world who could see him like this—needy, exposed, undone.

"you feel so good.” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as her hands slid up his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, taut under her touch.

harry let out a broken sound, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue, but all that came out was another moan as she shifted her hips, pressing down against him with just enough pressure to make him gasp.

"let me—“ she whimpered, "let me make you feel good.”

his hands slid back to her waist, trembling slightly as he nodded, his breath hitching when her lips found the sensitive spot beneath his ear again.

he didn't need to say it, not when every touch, every soft sound from his throat spoke volumes. YN could feel it in the way his body moved beneath hers, the way his fingers pressed into her skin like he was afraid to let go.

his touch moved higher, his palms grazing the curve of her shoulders, brushing over the column of her neck, before cupping her jawline with a reverence that made her chest tighten.

his thumbs rested just below her ears, his hands holding her in place like he needed to anchor himself in the moment. "please..." he breathed, the word breaking on his lips in quiet desperation. his voice was shaky, his accent thickened by the weight of it, and she felt the sound reverberate through her, lighting her nerves like a match.

she lifted herself, her knees pressing into the couch cushions as she rose just enough to give him space. her hands rested lightly on his chest, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heart beneath her fingers.

harry took the opening instinctively, his hips shifting as his hands dropped to his waistband. his movements were clumsy, rushed, but YN didn't move away—didn't look away.

his fingers hooked under the elastic of his sweatpants and boxers, tugging them down just enough to free himself, the fabric bunching at his mid-thigh.

her breath hitched at the sight of him, her body flushing warm as his cock slapped against his naval from freeing himself.

she sat back, her movements quick but deliberate as she tugged her sweatpants and panties down in one smooth motion. the cool air brushed against her bare skin, sending a shiver racing up her spine as she climbed back into place, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of him.

she lowered herself slowly, the heat of him brushing against her soaked cunt, but just before she could take him fully, his hands found her.

his fingers curled against the flesh of her bum, halting her movements, his grip firm but not forceful.

their eyes met, and she froze at the look in his. it was more than hesitation—it was worry, soft and fragile, barely hidden behind the glassy haze of his need.

he didn't say a word, but she didn't need him to. she knew what he was thinking, what was holding him back.

"i'm on the pill," she whispered, her voice steady but soft, her eyes never leaving his.

his gaze flickered, something uncertain melting away into something deeper, warmer. his grip on her eased, and his hands drifted lower, brushing over the curve of her thighs. his fingers spread wide, settling there, his palms grounding her as he gave the faintest nod.

she let out a shaky breath, her hands cupping the sides of his neck as she sank down onto him.

the stretch stole the air from her lungs, the way her body adjusted to his cock, enveloping him fully.

harry's eyes widened, his lips parting as a low, broken groan spilled out, his fingers tightening against her thighs like he was holding on for dear life.

"that’s good—” he rasped, his voice trembling as his head fell back against the armrest. his chest heaved beneath as her hands drifted lower, his body taut with restraint.

but his eyes—he couldn't tear them away. they followed every curve, every shift of her body as she moved above him. her skin glowed faintly in the flickering light of the tv, her breaths shallow and uneven, her lashes fluttering as she adjusted to him.

she was art, every movement deliberate, every curve of her body a masterpiece he couldn't stop staring at.

"s’good baby, just like that.” he moaned his words in reverence, his voice soft and raw. his hands slid up her thighs, his thumbs brushing over her hips as if he needed to memorize every inch of her.

"you're perfect.” he murmured, the words slipping out like a secret he hadn't meant to share.

her hips stilled for a moment, her gaze meeting his, and her lips curved into the faintest smile.

he wasn't used to being fucked like this—any of it. not the careful way her hands steadied themselves on his chest, not the slow, teasing rhythm she set, not the soft, coaxing words that slipped from her lips.

"your cock is so good, harry.” her voice was low and warm, melting into the quiet. her fingers traced the faint lines of his tattoos, her touch light but grounding.

he let out a shaky exhale, his hands flexing against her thighs, the grip of his fingertips faltering as he fought to hold himself together.

"like that?" she asked softly, her voice catching slightly as she rolled her hips again, watching the way his chest rose and fell in uneven beats beneath her.

his eyes blinked open, dark and unfocused, his gaze locking onto hers like he couldn't find the words.

"fuck—yes.” he breathed finally, the words breaking apart as they left his mouth.

she leaned forward slightly, her hips never losing their rhythm as her lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “tell me what you need,” she whispered, her breath shaky. “i’ll do anything for you.”

his breath hitched, his head tipping to the side as her words sank into him, and his grip tightened on her thighs.

"just... just keep going," he rasped, his voice rough and barely holding together. "don't stop—please.”

she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her own soft but blazing with intent as she bounced on his cock.

his jaw clenched, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth, his fingers twitching against her skin. his eyes dropped to her chest, watching the way her tits bounced with each motion, his gaze burning and unashamed.

"yes, baby—fuck.” he muttered under his breath, a furrowed crease cutting deep into his forehead as he tried and failed to keep his composure.

she bit her lip, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as she tilted her hips slightly, drawing a low, guttural sound from him that made heat pool low in her stomach.

his eyebrows knit together in pleasure, strings of whimpers falling from his lips in desperation.

his hands slid higher, curling around her waist as he tried to match her rhythm, but yn was still in control, her movements precise, her focus entirely on him—his body responding to hers like it was made for this.

his lips found her tits, warm and insistent, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before his tongue soothed it, drawing a sharp moan from her.

YN’s back arched into him instinctively, her movements above him never faltering, her rhythm unrelenting.

his hands slid up her spine, his palms flattening against her back, holding her to him as though he couldn't bear even an inch of distance. each roll of her hips sent a tremor through him, his body taut beneath her, every nerve alive and aching with the intensity of her.

"YN—“ he groaned against her skin, her name breaking on his tongue, caught between a moan and a prayer.

his whimpers melted into low, guttural grunts as her pace quickened, her movements growing more frantic. his toes curled, his heels digging into the couch cushions as he tried to hold on, but the way she moved, the way her cunt clenched around his cock—it was unraveling him completely.

her moans rose higher, sharper, each sound pulling him deeper under her spell. his grip on her tightened, his fingers pressing into her skin as though grounding himself in her was the only thing keeping him tethered.

his chest rose and fell in desperate, ragged breaths, his gaze locking onto her with an intensity that made his vision blur.

her body was mesmerizing—her curves, the way she moved, the sheer determination in her eyes as she took him apart piece by piece.

"m’close, baby—please,” he choked out, his voice cracking as his head fell forward, his curls damp against his forehead.

once her heard her come undone, her breath shuddering as she came all over his cock—he was done for.

his eyes squeezed shut, his head tipping back as his toes curled tighter, his muscles tensing with the force of his release. a low, broken moan ripped from his throat, his body trembling beneath her as he spilled into her.

her hand cupped his face, her thumb brushing away the single tear that slipped down his cheek as she steadied her breathing, her body still moving gently along his length, riding out the final waves of their release together.

his hands lingered on her waist, his thumbs brushing over her skin in slow, absent circles, as though letting go wasn’t an option. his gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, soft and unguarded in the quiet aftermath.

she stayed perched in his lap, her body warm and bare against his, her breathing steadying as her fingertips traced the lines of his face. the bridge of his nose. the sharp curve of his cupid’s bow. the faint stubble along his jawline that scratched softly beneath her touch.

her hands drifted lower, finding his, their size so much larger in hers. the bruises on his knuckles were still deep, fading but stubborn, the purple-yellow marks a silent story she didn’t yet know.

she took his hand carefully, her fingers brushing over the tender skin as if she could will the pain away with her touch. harry let her, his shoulders sinking, his chest rising with a soft, uneven breath.

“you make it better.” he murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant, like the words might shatter if he said them too loudly.

she glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly. “your hands?”

he shook his head, his curls falling slightly over his forehead as he pulled his hands from hers, but only to raise them to her face.

his palms cupped her cheeks, his fingers threading gently through her hair, holding her like she was the only thing tethering him to the world. “life,” he breathed, his green eyes locked onto hers. “you make all of its bullshit better.”

her breath hitched, her hands lifting instinctively to cover his, keeping him there as if to say she wasn’t going anywhere.

they stayed like that, suspended in the stillness of the room, their bodies bare and vulnerable but safe. harry’s thumbs brushed softly against her cheeks, his lips parting as his eyes softened even further.

“my heart is yours.” he confessed, the words simple but heavy, his voice trembling slightly at the edges.

YN’s chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking deep. she knew what he meant—he didn’t need to say i love you outright. it was there in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way he couldn’t seem to let her go.

“as mine is yours.” she whispered, “every beat belongs to you.”

the corners of his mouth lifted, the faintest trace of a smile breaking through the intensity of the moment.

they stayed like that, connected, their foreheads brushing as the world outside fell away. they didn’t need more words, not now. it was enough—more than enough—to just be.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles concept #harry styles au #subrry #softrry #fratrry #college!harry #frat boy harry #harry styles smut #harry styles angst

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julymusings · 22 days ago

Text

PORTRAIT jason hates taking photos. it's a shame you find him so beautiful.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. Standing there with a fake smile, posing for a deceptively happy vignette of an unhappy reality feels awkward. He never knows what to do with his hands. He doesn’t like the way his face translates through the lens; the green of his eyes glows just this side of too spectral, his broad, stocky frame towers over that of his siblings, and the scars on his face bring memories of a darker time, an intentional carelessness for his life he used to carry. He leans away when others huddle together to smile. Pretends to notice something behind him when caught in the background of the lens.

Enter you. Only capable of looking at him with hearts in your eyes. Serving on a silver platter what he used to starve and scavenge for in dimly lit bars on the lips of women who only saw him as something to sink their teeth into and then spit out, never sticking around for longer than one night. Jason feasted at first, he’ll admit, stuffing himself to sickness on your unconditional adoration until it was almost too much to bear.

You take pictures of him and gush over them, telling him how pretty he is. How he belongs in a museum. He never believed you, never bothering to actually look at the pictures you take. But pretty soon he’s everywhere; you set him as your lock screen and screensaver, and print photos to frame on your bedside table. When your storage is maxed out, you steal Jason’s phone to flood his camera roll, and he finds that he keeps going back to stare at the photos you take. Selfies where you kiss his cheek and his mouth curves upward just enough to transform him from brooding to disarming; portraits where he looks, not at the camera, but just beyond and his eyes crinkle, the tips of his sharp canines peeking out over his bottom lip. He looks…different. Better. He starts to believe the things you tell him; his beauty is ancient. Michelangelo himself carved the contours of his body. The Trojans and the Greeks fought for a decade over him.

But what is it about this camera, he wonders, that makes his appearance digestible? Is it the way you frame him front and center, the backlighting sun rays extending in all directions behind him, encircling him with a holiness he doesn’t deserve? The scenery against which you capture him, busy nighttime streets under city lights, just dark enough to smooth out his rough edges?

Or maybe it’s just you. Seeing himself from your point of view. Seeing himself as yours. His hooked nose, crooked from being broken one too many times, belongs to you for the early mornings when you trace down the bridge, around his lips, and up his jaw, drawing a portrait with your fingertips. His unruly hair, with streaks of white that make him stick out like a sore thumb, exists only for you to run your fingers through when he lays his head in your lap. His scars are for you to kiss on those difficult days until he can bear to look in the mirror again. He wants nothing more than to be a museum of all things you.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. But when you ask so nicely, showering him with compliments and promises of thank-you-kisses later on, how can he say no?

why are we as a society still striving for more definition and higher quality photos for anything other than, like, x-ray imaging and space exploration. I don't want 8k ultra-max hd in my phone that highlights every hair and pore and eye bag i want grainy and dark and fuzzy because it makes me look hotter and that's a fact. rant over

anyway he's so pretty i wanna take candids of him and kiss his face and squeeze his huge ti-*GUNSHOTS*

this is gonna be my last post for the next few weeks because i have finals. see you on the other side🫡 (born to be a farmer on a remote island, forced to study STEM) i'll be on requests as soon as i'm back trust

#more of my jason todd domesticity agenda #nightwing #batman #red hood #jason todd #dick grayson #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #dc universe #dc comics #dcu #dc robin #robin #batboys #batfamily #red hood x reader

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mondaysaglitch · 2 years ago

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seeing a lot of posts about the new harry potter game, and people saying "oh my god thanks for reminding me to buy it!" man it's almost funny how fucked up people are now-a-days.

we're on a rock hurling through space, and we're all hurting in ways nobody else but us can truly understand, yet some people make the concious decision and put foward effort and money to add onto the suffering of others.

why is the message "don't be a dickwad to people" so controversial? why is basic human decency a thing that people are outwardly proud about lacking?

furthermore, why do some people boast about lacking the brain power to even conceptualize the fact that just because you disagree with someone doesn't mean it's a personal attack against you and you have to do everything in your power to hurt them to get back at them.

formal language and any political issues aside; if you enjoy the suffering of others who exist in real life, get the fuck away from society until you re-learn how to be kind to others. if you derive any type of joy from the agony of others, especially agony that you've directly or indirectly caused? you need to be rehabilitated for a lesson that's supposed to be taught in kindergarden.

and to clarify, no i'm not talking about something like wipeout that's meant to be entertainment. i mean if you watch gore videos for entertainment or buy a game that monetarily supports a transphobe just to get back at those 'troons'. if you get any sick kicks from people who are genuienly suffering and DID NOT sign up for said suffering? you're worse off than a literal child in terms of decency.

i get that end times are coming and violence is more prone than ever, but the fact that there's a group of humans who are downright prideful about the fact that they find pleasure from the pain of others makes me think that society deserves to collapse now more than ever.

#i don't know how this is a controversial statement honest to god #if you think its cool to see others suffer then you're a fucking sicko #it needs to be said but it never is out of fear ig #i think that people deserve the chance to improve and better themselves #but i also want them to better themselves in a place where they dont continue to hurt others #and also now more than ever its so dangerous to give people chances to better themselves around others #beacuse they take the chance to say 'oh im still learning!'#and they never have the self-accountability thats required to actually learn and better oneself #i've had it with civil conversations between two sides that always devolve into 'you're wrong and deserve to die because of it'#which is why i'm implementing something new!#if you want to have a civil conversation with me but refuse to listen to me i'm just going to start making fun of you #and if you're outright rude to me i'll just make a clown out of you #because a truly civil conversation can only take place when two people are willing to listen to each other #and i'm willing to listen to you #but you're not willing to listen to me #which means its not civil you just want to 'logic' me into submission #feel free to reblog this btw we could use more unsaid truths in the tumblrsphere

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kayesfanfics · 9 months ago

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Being Friends with Benefits with Gambit

Warnings: NSFW, AFAB reader, mentions of cheating, one sided love, love triangles around every corner, Morph lowkey has a crush on you

You and Gambit had always been flirty with each other, but nothing that got physical, at least until he came to you one day. He was sick of chasing after Rogue when she didn’t want him back, so he wanted to both make her jealous and let out some pent up energy. You decided to indulge him, admitting to yourself that you really did need a good lay, and you wanted to see Rogue get jealous because of you. So you agreed and let him lead you to his bedroom, which happened to be a couple doors down from Rogues’

After that first night, the two of you went to each other when you were either horny, frustrated, jealous, or all of the above. You didn’t explicitly tell the team but they all knew, having either heard you themselves or hearing it through the gossip that quickly spread through the Mansion. Rogue had shown she was a bit upset, but she also couldn’t blame Remy after making him chase after her and leading him on when she was still shacking it up with Magneto. Still, that didn’t stop the pang in her heart when she saw him whisper to you before you giggled and followed him upstairs. You and Gambit both knew you were hurting her, but Gambit was sort of okay with it and you egged him on, saying she deserved it for leading him on all these months

You watched with disdain as Gambit’s eyes were on Rogue across the table, whom was not paying him any attention. You longed for Gambit to look at you that way, but his heart was still set on the southern belle, yet his dick was set on you. You convinced yourself you were okay with that, thinking that at least he came to you for something, even if it was just sex. But truly deep down, you wished he came to you for so much more. For now though, you pined after him as he pined after Rogue.

“Meeting dismissed. Gambit, Y/N, Jubilee, don’t forget you’ve got the Danger Room with me in an hour. Good luck.” Scott grinned, before leaving the table to go tend to his pregnant wife.

“Looks like we’re gonna get our asses kicked together, chere.” You smiled at Gambit, using the nickname he used on him.

“Yeah, looks like.” He mumbled, watching Rogue leave the room, no doubt headed to Magnetos office. You glared at the back of her head, jealous that Remy was so focused on her that he couldn’t even see you throwing yourself at him right next to him. You glowered and left the table, crossing your arms, knowing he wasn’t watching you leave. You went towards the kitchen to get a drink, definitely needing a beer before fighting Wolverine soon.

“God, that’s gotta suck hard.” You heard a playful voice from somewhere behind you. You turned and saw Morph grinning at you like a creep from the hallway, before he jumped onto the counter you sat at.

“No shit, Morph.” You grumbled, taking a swig of beer as you wallowed in your self pity. “I just…I don’t get it! Why can’t he see I’m better for him? She doesn’t pay him any mind!”

“That’s what he’s thinking about her and Magneto,” he shrugged. “You can do better than him, y’know? You deserve someone who pines after you, Y/N.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“I don’t know…maybe-“

“Oh, this is pathetic.” You both turned to see Wolverine watching you two from the fridge.

“What is?” You asked, looking at Morph in confusion.

“You two! Both of you! All of you! It’s ridiculous, really.” He grouched at you, grabbing a beer for himself.

“Aren’t YOU pining after Jean?” You teased, making him glare at you and Morph snicker.

“This ain’t about me, I’m talking about you! Morph after you, you after that southern weasel, him after Rogue, Rogue after magnet man!” Wolverine ranted before chugging some beer.

“What do you mean ‘Morph after me’?” You asked in confusion, looking up at Morph’s embarrassed face.

“Nothing! He means nothing!” Morph glared at Wolverine, who simply rolled his eyes and went back to his beer.

You grumbled in frustration, finishing your beer and tossing it before leaving. Everything was so confusing in this place, there were love triangles everywhere you looked and apparently, you were in a few of your own. You just wanted Remy to look at you how he looked at Rogue, why was that so hard?

*later that day…*

“Ya know jus’ how ta rile Gambit up, don’ ya chere?” Remy growled in your ear as he kicked shut his bedroom door behind him, your lips locked on his jawline, leaving large and dark hickies behind as your hands clawed at his trench coat. He moaned slightly at your actions, his hands feeling up your body that he carried in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands grabbing handfuls of your ass and plush thighs as he walked the both of you over to his bed. His room was dark and smelled of his colonge, his sheets surprisingly soft as he laid you down on it, immediately climbing on top of you and letting his hands trail up your sides to your breasts, squeezing them and making you toss your head back and bite your lip as he played with them.

“Remy, please!” You whined, desperately needing to feel his touch without your suits blocking his skin. He raked his hands down your chest and abdomen before holding both your thighs in his hands, keeping them wrapped around him as he started to attack your neck with his soft lips. You moaned and grabbed a handful of his wild hair, pushing him closer to you as he sucked at that sweet spot behind your ear that sent shivers down your spine, making your back arch off the bed and press your clothed chests together.

“Why ya always gotta mess wit’ me durin trainin, dollface? Nearly fucked me right there in front’a ol Morph and Scott.” He said between kisses, his red and black eyes watching your face as you moaned and but your lip for him.

“I can’t…can’t resist you!” You pulled his hair so his lips would meet yours in a frantic kiss. “So handsome…so sexy…so wonderful…” you moaned between kisses, out of breath but not caring as you kissed him again and again.

“Aw, you charm Gambit, mon cherie~” he smiled and pulled away from the kiss, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it somewhere behind him. “How bout you show Gambit how sexy he is, huh?”

You smiled excitedly as he got off you so both of you could undress quickly, tossing clothes carelessly onto the floor, so focused on each others bodies you couldn’t care less about the mess. As soon as the both of you were undressed, you grabbed Remy by the shoulders and pushed him onto his back, climbing on top of him and straddling his waist, your pussy sitting atop his dick but not penetrating yourself just yet. You started with kissing his chest and teasing his nipples with your tongue as he folded his arms behind him to watch the show, his usual shit eating grin on his face as he watched you ravage his body. Your hands glided along his sculpted abs, following his happy trail down to his cock, one hand palming it while the other continued to feel up his body. After some more teasing, he bucked his hips up into your hand and raised an eyebrow at you, giving you the signal that he was getting tired of your teasing.

“So impatient~” you purred, trailing a finger down his chest as you crawled down the bed until your face was level with his cock. You grabbed it fully in your hand finally, making him sharply inhale as you started to move your hand slowly up and down his shaft. His arms moved to grip the sheets as you opened your lips to suck on his tip gently, swirling your tongue teasingly and watching him squirm below you. You smirked with a mouthful of his dick until his hand grabbed your hair and shoved you down, his cock quickly hitting the back of your throat, making you choke and gag around him. He heartily laughed at your reaction as he moved your head at the pace he pleased, eventually letting go once you found a good rhythm for him. You gripped his thighs when his hips bucked up into your face, warning you that he was about to cum. You braved yourself by squeezing his thighs until his semen sprayed down your throat, then rubbed his thighs as you swallowed everything he gave you.

“Fuck, chere!” Remy panted as he came down from your high, watching you sit up and wipe your mouth elegantly, your eyelashes batting at him sexily as he caught his breath. He suddenly sat up and pushed you face first into the bed so your ass was up and your face buried in the covers. You moaned as you felt his hand grab a handful of your ass and grope it, before smacking it hard enough to leave a red mark, making you yelp and grip the sheets beneath you. “Think ya can take Gambit now?”

“Yes! Please, Remy! I need you so badly!” You begged him, tilting your head to make eye contact with him behind you. He smirked and slapped your other cheek, chuckling when you squeaked and buried your face into the covers to hide your blushing face. You gasped when he tugged your hair harshly, before feeling the tip of his cock prod at your entrance. Your back arched impossibly more as he slowly entered you, whining as you felt every inch of him in detail slip into you.

He leaned down to press his chest to your back and place a few kisses on your bare shoulder, asking, “Ya alright, chere? Ready for Gambit?”

You nodded desperately and soon felt his cock pumping in and out of your pussy. You let out a choked out moan as he picked up his pace, hearing the smack of his hips against your ass as he thrusted harder and harder. You whimpered out his name pathetically like a prayer, before feeling his free hand slip beneath you and his fingers beginning to rub and pinch at your clit. You cried out at the feeling of all this stimulation at once, Remy’s skilled fingers and hips fucking you just right into his mattress.

“R-Remy, please! Fuck! Rem, I-I’m gonna…ah!” You screamed as he pistoned in and out of you, his hand pulling your hair harshly and his fingers playing with your clit expertly. “Please please please please please! Gambit! R-Rem!”

“Cum fer Gambit, mon ange! You can do it!” He huffed, out of breath from the workout of fucking you. You gripped the sheets so hard your knuckles turned pale as you shut your eyes, feeling the coil inside of you snap with one last harsh thrust of his hips into your pussy. Gambit slowly fucked you through your orgasm, pulling out and rubbing your pussy softly as he set your shaking body down on his bed, getting up and heading to his bathroom. You heard the sink run, before he returned with a washcloth to wipe down your inner thighs. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your abdomen spasming as you came down from your high.

Once clean, he tossed the wash cloth onto the floor with the rest of your clothes and got back into bed with you, tugging the covers over you as he pulled you to his chest. You cuddled into him, hands around his abdomen and face buried into his hairy chest. He mindlessly played with your hair as the both of you relaxed and rested together, holding the other in comfortable silence as your eyes began to feel heavy.

“Remy?” You shyly spoke up, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah chere?” He asked, not moving his eyes from staring up at the ceiling.

“I um…what are we?”

You felt his hand stop playing with your hair and his breath hitch, before he let go of you and sat up, fidgeting with the covers as you slowly sat up with him, holding the covers up to your chest.

“What’s this about, mon chere?”

“You know what it’s about. I can’t…I can’t keep doing this if this is all we’ll ever lead to. I have too many strong feelings for you to do this to myself. I…I love you, Remy.”

He finally looked you in the eyes, and unreadable expression on his face, before he slowly dissolved into laughter. You glared at him and smacked his shoulder, pouring that he wasn’t taking this seriously.

“I’m, I’m sorry, Y/N! Gambits sorry, it’s just…why does this shit always gotta be so damn complicated?”

“You’re telling me.” You grumbled. “Well? What are we? Answer me.”

“We are…we are friends with benefits currently, no?” He grabbed one of your hands. “Y/N, Gambit loves ya very much, it’s just…he also loves Rogue still too. He couldn’t give ya the full attention ya wanted, not right now at least. It ain’t fair to ya, but I love ya both, at least for now.”

You looked at him sadly, despite already knowing he still loved Rogue. You thought about how Morph felt the same way you did about him, and how Gambit felt the same way about Rogue. It was a complicated love triangle…square? Whatever. It was complicated, full of strong feelings, but you knew what you all felt was real and valid for each other.

“I think I can live with that for now.” You sighed, giving him a sad smile before leaning in to kiss him.

#x men 97 #xmen x reader #gambit x reader #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau

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dollfacefantasy · 2 months ago

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kinktober day 21 - sex toys billy butcher x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, sex toys, daddy kink, brat taming

Schlick. Schlick. Schlick.

The sounds of pure torture echo between the four walls of your bedroom. Each wet squelch taunts you. You hate them. Loathe them. Despise them. All because they're not coming from you. No, instead they're coming from the piece-of-shit, fake, plastic pocket pussy your boyfriend was thrusting into above you.

"You're so mean," you whimper, tears threatening to spill over your lash line as you watch the flesh-colored sleeve hide his shaft.

Your sad expression garners no sympathy from Billy. He continues pumping himself into the fleshlight while straddling you. His pupils are dilated as he stares down at your form, limp on the mattress between his legs. His lips curl into that smug signature grin of his.

"Maybe just a bit. But you like that, don't ya?" he taunts, "That's why you were throwin' a tantrum in the first place. Cause you wanted daddy to get you back in line."

"But you're not, you're just like bullying me!" you cry. The tears are no longer potential as they roll down your heated skin, creating wet trails down your face. Your lip wobbles, on the verge of another fit.

"Oh, it's not bullying, love. Just a little discipline," he says, free hand reaching out to stroke down your jaw and lift your chin.

He keeps fucking that stupid little toy. Pumping into it like he should be pumping into you. It's fucked up. Evil, dare you say it. Just plain cruel. It's almost as if you can feel the phantom sensation in your cunt that rests a foot below where he's thrusting. The imaginary feeling of what should be happening makes reality so much more excruciating.

His head falls back and he lets out a moan. He barely ever moans for you. All you get are grunts and low groans, but he lets out that beautiful sound for something that isn't even real? You can't take it. A sob pours from your lips.

"Stop!" you wail.

"Oh, what's wrong, sweetheart?" he coos at you. You love that tone when it's sincere, but right now, it's mocking.

You don't even bother with an answer. You just keep watching him with your glossy eyes and constant sniffles.

He looks so good too which makes it hurt even worse. His face presents an image of peace, his chest shines with a light sheen of sweat. His abdomen twitches as his hips piston into the artificial orifice. You reach out to grab him and try to get the despicable item away from him, but he simply leans back and tuts at you.

"Ah ah. Move again, and I'll make this punishment a whole lot worse."

So you settle back into your collection of plush pillows and watch. In your mind, you did not deserve this. All you'd done was backtalk and tease him in front of the others a little. You'd just wanted a spanking or even a slap to the face or two. You didn't think he'd do something like this.

However, in his mind, this was the most effective form of correction he'd found for you yet. He knew you, and he knew you loved spankings. You loved when he tagged you across the cheek when he was balls deep inside you. Those weren't true punishments, and after the constant old man jokes and ever-present bratty attitude, in front of your friends no less, he was in the mood to properly put you in your place.

He groans as he continues working the fleshlight over his dick, the sticky noises persisting over the sound of your weeping.

"Feels so fuckin' good," he murmurs. A sigh leaves him, and his smirk deepens as he hears the whimper you let out in response. "So tight and soft."

Your crying picks up again. "It's not better than mine."

He huffs out a laugh while his fist keeps moving the toy. "I didn't say it was, did I?"

"You're acting like it," you accuse through tears.

"'m not. Just telling the truth," he breathes, "This thing feels fucking great. Think I should use it more often."

Anguish courses through you and you throw your head back against the satiny pillow case. "Then why don't you just fuck it all the time instead of me?"

His free hand grabs your chin and makes you meet his eyes.

"Watch the attitude. You're not bein' replaced. You were a bad girl, and now you have to deal with the consequences," he reminds you. He feels himself getting close and bites his lip.

You know that face. Normally, it'd bring you joy, but now it just intensifies your agony. "I'm sorry," you sob and cover your face.

"I know you are," he says, softening the tiniest amount. It wouldn't be noticeable to the untrained ear, but you catch it. The slight difference keeps you from toppling over the edge or blubbering out the safeword.

His hand knocks yours away from your face with a tender touch. "Eyes on me. A few more minutes and you're all done."

"Fine..." you pout.

You do watch, but you continue to cry. That wasn't against the rules. You watch as your boyfriend fucks that dumb waste of space and mentally wish death upon whoever it was that invented these things.

He growls. The sound he always makes when he's about to unload, and then his hips sputter and hot ropes of his precious cum shoot into the toy. You bite your lip and try not to glare too hard.

When he's done, he tosses the toy aside. He leans down over you, lowering himself so he hovers near your face.

"Think you've learned your lesson?"

You nod, pouty expression still plastered over your features.

"Good girl," he coos. The words feel like a victory after the series of losses you just suffered.

He kisses your lips, pushing his against you gently. "Daddy loves you. You're still his favorite," he whispers, voice slightly teasing.

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher smut #billy butcher x you #billy butcher x y/n #billy butcher imagine #the boys smut #the boys x you #the boys x reader

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originalwinnerfanfish · 4 months ago

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Well, I did it

Megatron - I love his tfp design. Probably one of the best iteration of Megs. He is huge, heavy armoured, his face covered with scars… He doesn’t looks like an ordinary military leader who is only capable of giving orders, but like real warrior who can destroy any enemy with his bare hands.

So, in the WOF version, he definitely shares some features with Princess Burn, not only because of his might, but also because of his horns shape and dirty-dark scales (that absorbed blood of his enemies)

Starscream - Boy, I hate him so much 🤣… but in the good way, trust me! In my opinion, when the show's creators make you feel such strong negative emotions towards a villain, it means they've done a great job. Also, I think that his animation in the show was absolutely incredible, because even though he's a 3D model, he still manages to move like a 2D character, which is amazing!

I feel that in my design he still looks more like a skywing, than an icewing (which is kinda logical)

Soundwave - This one was tricky. I couldn't figure out what his mask would look like, so I just made his face a really dark color. I think Soundwave has both gifts of the nightwings, and he’s equally great at telepathy and a future vision. So he doesn't really need equipment to predict enemy movements, which makes him an ideal communicator in the WOF setting. His Laserbeak is part of the armor enchanted by Shockwave, and it might also allow him to open portals (but I'm not sure with this one)

Shockwave - My favourite evil genius. He would definitely have animus magic and mind reading. I think Shockwave is the only one who has advanced the study of magic so far, precisely because he combined it with scientific knowledge and created safer methods of using it, that don't damage the mind. It's like if a Mastermind got animus magic in books.

I also like to think that he didn't heal the damaged part of his face just so that his enemies would fear him more)

Dreadwing - This man deserved better! It's really a shame that he was removed from the show so quickly due to financial problems. It would be great if his arc got a proper conclusion in season 3.

Considering that I didn't want to make him a hybrid, it was difficult to choose a suitable color palette. So let’s just say, that I tried my best😅

I don’t think that he would have any nightwing powers, but honestly it doesn’t even matter - this guy can make a bombs, what else does he need to be cool

Arachnid - Did anyone even doubt that she would be a hivewing? Damn, she even got her own “Othermind” virus. Her design was the easiest to work with - just a little poisonous ass (suspiciously similar to Maleficent).

Just like Starscream, I hate her, but in a good way. She's one of the creepiest characters in the entire series, who’s acting like a fucking heartless monster, especially with Arcee, but even so, there's always was something mesmerizing about her. I just really like strong female villains

Knockout - Wery bright and charismatic guy, definitely one of my fav cons!

I tried to draw him as handsome as possible. Worked a lot on the face shape and coloring, and as for me it turned out pretty nice (finally).

Most decepticons think Knockout is as stupid and lazy as all the other rainwings. And it's not like he completely disagrees with that. Of course he’s not stupid and lazy, but if it’s means less dirty work on the battlefield, well, he’ll continue act like a tipical rainwing

(I also believe that Megatron keeps him as an “art”)

Breakdown - Fun fact: "Operation Breakdown" was the very first thing I saw in this series. And it was an interesting experience for 8 year old me. Maybe that's why I'm so scared of eye gouging scenes in movies now…

I think that he didn't have any siblings initially due to his parents nature, and even after meeting Bulkhead, he felt uncomfortable among the other mudwings. And this is why he later chose the side of the decepticons. And maaaaybe because of one cute rainwing influence)

P.s.

I think that, being mostly nightwings and icewings, the decepticons are much more concerned about purity of their blood and rarely accept half-breeds into their ranks.

During the war, there were many animus dragons among decepticons, which is why they have so many artifacts that allowed teleportation and communication at a distance. But, honestly, I still can't imagine what Nemesis would look like in this AU

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kaiserposting · 4 months ago

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How to Subtly Show Someone You're Interested

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2.4k TYPE: Humor, Bad flirting, bickering WARNINGS: huge Kaiser tw

#1 Eye contact

Kaiser has been acting strange.

Usually this would not be an observation you'd be making (as he acts weird all the time so it's not worthy of note), but today he's been so odd, it's starting to bug you even more than his default level of being annoying.

He keeps just… staring blankly. At you. You don't know what you did to deserve this horrible treatment — perhaps you did not grovel enough after accidentally butting into His Majesty’s shoulder, or breathed in his direction too hard without permission, or some other similar tragedy — but it's getting unsettling.

Well, honestly, it was creepy to begin with, but it's making your skin crawl more and more the longer it goes on. Like, what does he want? Are you going to be on the news soon? His eyes are blue and lifeless and evil like always, so you know he can't be up to anything good each time he burns your body to a crisp with his stoic serial killer gaze. It's even worse when he smirks at you while he does it, that's how you know the torture you'll endure at his hands will be slow and painful, and he's already delighting in his demented plans before putting them into action.

Kaiser attempts to maintain his stare down with you while he makes his way out of the training room and you stay behind putting away whatever you need to, observing him in confusion and fear. Though, of course, you would not admit to something as lowly as letting Kaiser intimidate you out loud (since you don't want to partake in an action that seems to give him a mental orgasmic feeling), at least to yourself, you can concede you're on edge.

… That is, until his dedication towards being a scrote proves detrimental even to him because he runs into the wall, hitting about half his face. It seems tormenting you is too distracting for a sick sadist like Kaiser. He palms at his skin, probably seething to himself while trying to seem cool and collected and totally not on the brink of shitting himself in anger on the outside, as if such a small thing as a solid wall could not faze him or even cause him pain.

You point and laugh at him. Kaiser pretends not to see you and walks out tall and proud like nothing happened. This will have to do as your revenge, for now.

#2 Initiate conversation

“Did you have a nice weekend?” asks Kaiser.

“It's Tuesday,” you reply, once again confused. Why is he talking to you, does he have nothing better to do.

“Right,” he says in a casual tone, like he didn't just ask you an irrelevant dumbass question. “The weather is nice.”

You ignore that one, but you can't help wondering if something is wrong with him and if this is an obscure call for help. Blackmail from a drooling fan perhaps? After all, it's unlike him to say anything so boring and ordinary, and you don't imagine he would make small talk with you unless it's a complicated code to signal that his life is in danger.

“What restaurant would you recommend?” Kaiser tries again.

“What?”

There's an uncomfortable silence during which you're just looking at each other, you perplexed and him expressionless, the previous guise of pleasantries and fake sweet smile wiped off. It is possibly even more uncomfortable than anything else that has unfolded between you two in the past. Then Kaiser says, “You know, I think you're an ingrate.”

“What?!”

“You’re not appreciative enough of my efforts.”

“For what?!”

Kaiser scoffs, averse to elaborating due to humiliation (either because of his apparent failure or because it's plain embarrassing to state his intentions when you don't seem receptive to them or because being outright on the matter requires him to express himself, which is in nature disgusting). Then you watch while he walks away from you in a moody fit.

Well, at least if he has the energy to act temperamental, that must mean he's not in any shittier spirits than usual. It is way less unnerving than his earlier civility, for one.

#3 Compliment them

Kaiser has no respect for personal space. Or more like he only deems his need for such important and disregards everyone else's. You know this.

But you can't lie in good conscience that he's gotten this close to you before, examining you, leaning in way too close. Close enough that you feel Ness planning your murder from across the field. Close enough to warrant a harassment complaint.

You assume Kaiser must be looking for miniscule flaws to fake laugh at like a missing eyelash or the fact that you have pores, but instead of doing what you predicted, after a long while of making you almost throw up from nerves — what's with this guy and staring at you like a microbe under a telescope so much? — he says, “You have beautiful sclera.”

???

You bristle at the sound of the strange thing he said. Unperturbed by your visibility negative reaction, Kaiser continues,

“And I love the way you look at me, like you want to kill me. It gives me a thrill.”

What's wrong with this guy? you think to yourself.

“Your bone structure can almost rival mine-”

“Kaiser, stop talking nonsense and go… back to doing something else somewhere away from me.”

“Hmph.” He backs off to a more socially appropriate distance, crossing his arms. “I see you still haven't fixed your attitude.”

“Me? I need to fix my attitude?! When you're the one acting like a depraved person?”

“Wow, if you think that's what I'm doing, you must not understand anything about the world at all,” he says in a condescending tone, smirking at you with played up amusement.

“You have some nerve! Kaiser, go away before I take advantage of my position and put rat poison in your water bottle. It'd suit you to go out that way.”

“You're so obsessed with me.”

After that declaration, he whips around to make a dramatic and majestic exit, with a deliberate swat of his hair to your face. Maybe you'll be spitting out gross blue strands after this. You fume to yourself.

#4 Light touches

Once again, Kaiser is plaguing you. Today's method of inflicting trauma seems to involve more gratuitous touching than usual.

He awkwardly drags his hand over your shoulder.

You stare at him as if this is the most scandalous offense you've been on the receiving end of. Maybe it's not, but he's been walking on your nerves all day with other such inept attempts at caresses. “Did you just wipe something on my sleeve?”

“What?” he asks in a flat tone. “No. Are you dumb?”

Your expression doesn't show anything other than incredulity. Certainly not the fluster and admiration Kaiser is hoping for.

You then go right back to ignoring him like he is dust. This is outrageous, he's going to be sick. Kaiser takes fate into his hands and embraces you stiffly from behind (once again showing his lack of etiquette).

Startled, you ask, “Are you gonna put me in an octopus hold?”

“No? Do you always have to assume I'm going to do something bad to you?”

“Well, it's not like you ever do anything good.”

Kaiser lets go of you even though he doesn't want to — truly a moment of his character development you're witnessing —, his arms dropping limply by his sides while he frowns at you like a kicked kitty. Exquisite manipulation tactic, however, you're not moved by the display at all.

He says, “I still think you need to fix your attitude.”

You roll your eyes and let him have his little moment with his snide remark. An immediate retort hasn't come to mind after all, and you'd rather play it off as disregarding him than admit to the shameful lack of a comeback. It's not your fault his incomprehensible behavior leaves you speechless, anyway.

#5 Be there for them

Kaiser decides to skip this one as it's even more vile than when he lowered himself enough to the point he tried to hug you.

#6 Use humor

Kaiser stands in front of you, trying to think of something funny to say, which isn't an activity he engages in often (as the comedy of his existence is often unintentional or manifests in the form of being a bitch for no reason and antagonizing people unprovoked). During this process, you're once more forced to endure the weight of his unrelenting, vacant stare.

“I have a controversial football opinion,” says Kaiser, finally.

“As usual.”

“The ball is sentient and it hates getting kicked around like that.”

You tilt your head, not understanding why Michael Kaiser would say something so… silly? “Well, I'm sure you take some delight in imagining that,” you say in an unsure voice, not knowing how else to reply.

Kaiser smirks at you in an attempt to shrug off his latest failure and feign casualness. Then he tries again because his spirit is as tenacious as his gawping. “You should always make sure to distinguish between ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I apologize’ at a funeral.”

“Why? Do you speak from experience? Is that a little slip up from when you attended the funeral of one of all those people you killed?”

“No. I think if I killed someone, I'd be the type to facetiously say ‘rest in peace,’ just to piss them off in the afterlife.”

“I can imagine you doing that. Good for you I guess.”

Kaiser snickers to himself — maybe because he's enjoying imagining all his enemies dead — and plays with his fingers in an almost nervous manner, which makes you question if you're perhaps hallucinating. He ponders if he's funny or not.

#7 Text them

(04:55 AM) Michael Kaiser: [5 image attachments]

(06:32 AM) You: why are you sending me shirtless mirror pics lol

(06:46 AM) Michael Kaiser: Wrong person

(06:50 AM) You: did you mean to send that to ness

(07:02 AM) Michael Kaiser: No

(07:05 AM) Michael Kaiser: ???

(07:43 AM) You: well you only talk to me and him so if it's not for us who else could it be for

(07:44 AM) You: lol don't tell me you did that to seem sought after haha

(07:48 AM) Michael Kaiser: Let's stop talking for a little while.

#8 Give them attention

Kaiser gives you plenty of attention, and he doesn't even make you do tricks for it. Like for example right now, when he's poking you in the ribs while you're trying to fill out something unfinished on the tablet during your break.

You slap his hand away. “Kaiser. What.”

He moves onto poking your neck instead, forcing you to wiggle away from him as he continues his antics despite your dodging.

“What do you want?!”

“I just don't want you to feel neglected by me,” he says in a tone he probably believes is suave.

“I don't.”

“You're trying to seem brave, but your eyes give you away.”

“You're crazy,” you say, not even in shock or embarrassment, but rather a very apparent disorientation. “If anything I've been overdosing on you lately.”

“There’s never enough of me. You don't need to pretend just to humble me. It's not cute nor clever.”

“Kaiser, quit it before I cut off your finger and poke you with it instead.”

To your surprise, Kaiser stops. You watch him warily for a few seconds before feeling safe enough to turn around and try doing your work again.

Kaiser pokes you on the sides.

#9 Playful teasing

“You look like shit today,” greets Kaiser with a smirk, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Did they let the clown academy off early today?”

“Kaiser, you're so immature.” You shrug him off. Usually you'd allow the contact, granted he's not being rude or creepy, but he's done the former a nanosecond into the conversation, so you're not going to stand for it.

“I assume you're stupid or uptight enough to take me seriously. That's always fun.”

“Trust me, you're the last person in the world I'd take seriously.”

“No, but really, you're quite unencumbered by the standards of beauty today.”

“So I'm ugly and stupid? Awesome, thank you so much.”

His traitorous hand which had grabbed at your shoulder earlier moves lower around your waist instead, pulling you closer. At his actions, you squint your eyes and look at him as if he is a dirty wet sock. “Don't worry, I'd still take you though.”

This horrendous thing he just uttered makes you gape in shock. Then it morphs into disgust, and you smack him on the arm and retch at him.

#10 Mention being single

You expect something horrific to happen this time when Kaiser approaches you, but instead, out of the blue, unprovoked, nobody asked or moved — as most things are with him — he announces, “By the way, I'm single.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, not sure what to do with this information. “Yeah, that figures.”

“What do you mean? Tons of people want me, but I don't want them back. That's why I'm available, that's all.”

“Don't explain yourself to me, I don't care,” you say flippantly, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to one leg.

“Well, you should.”

“Sure, Mr. ‘Sorry Wrong Chat.’” You snort.

Kaiser upturns his nose and glares at you. “You’re mischaracterizing me and presenting that whole situation wrong. For one, I didn't say sorry.” Then he scoots closer to you, grinning without smiling with his eyes whatsoever. “Anyway, I'll forgive you. As long as you remember the main point, which is that I'm single.”

“I know, dipshit.”

“Wow, can't you rub your little brain cells together, the whole two of them, and understand what I've been getting at?” Kaiser snaps, frustrated that the fruits of his incompetent labor aren't ready for reaping yet.

“It's not my fault you can't say whatever you have to say properly,” you say, delivering your line in a pointed tone so that he can grasp the implication you're making this time.

Kaiser blinks with the small frown still on his face, a remnant of his earlier scowling. Then realization sets in and his lips form a thin line instead. His cheeks color slightly.

You're fucking with him on purpose.

___

Some slop I wrote on my phone on vacation in between drinking and sweltering in my own gooch in the sun. Enjoy or don't

#michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you

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silveryclear · 1 year ago

Text

MOJABI GHOST

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Ex Female Reader

CW: NSFW, Cunnilingus, Thigh and Knee Riding, Bilingual Dirty Talk, Penetration, Rough Sex, Needy, Desperate Sex, Mating Press, Cockwarming

Description: Miguel drops by your apartment after he can’t stand the silence of his penthouse. He misses you, and tonight, you’ll see just how much~

Translation done by yours truly~

Song: “MOJABI GHOST” by Tainy, ft. Bad Bunny

Smoking,

Drinking,

Fucking,

Pretending that I don’t think about you.

I don’t who I’m trying to kid,

For this feeling,

Won’t let me sleep.

And I wish,

I wish, that I could dream peacefully,

That I could dream about you.

Another night alone. Another night without you.

Miguel O'Hara looks over view of Nueva York while drinking from his third glass of whiskey on the rocks; rocks that have melted and diluted the drink that has been abandoned for thoughts about you.

The truth is that Miguel has abandoned many things because of his mind— the treacherous bitch does not stop thinking about you.

Who could ever stop thinking about you, is the question that he should be asking. But he doesn't. And he’s well aware why.

Because that would require him to accept the reality that he fucked up the only thing that had given him happiness and warmth after what had happened with his daughter. And once again, it’s something that he doesn’t allow himself to forgive.

At first, you were only a hindrance, an annoyance which he could not get rid of. You were always looking at him with that sweet expression, ready to face the next anomaly with a smile and good attitude. He couldn’t stand you. The fact that you could face every problem and tragedy, a particular characteristic of spiderpeople, without your spirit being corrupted ... he hated it. He hated it to death.

Yet, observe how easy it is for him to lie. Because in reality, he never hated you. How could he hate the one person who received him with such a unique and special warmth and affection— the woman who, one by one, took down each one of his walls, making them crumble to the ground and fall as he did when he fell in love with you. Although, too late.

He lets out a dry laugh. There is no doubt that he is Spider-Man: the people he loves never stay for long.

Isn't that how he ended up here in the first place?

He sighs, exhausted. I don't want to think anymore.

He takes a swig from the whiskey and frowns, letting out a sound of disgust from the watered down drink and decides to get back into the penthouse. He looks around.

And now what?

Fuck this pity party. Miguel may not be in his five senses at the moment, but he doesn’t think twice before activating his nanotech suit and traveling to your dimension. He doesn't know what is the right to do; If you prefer your space, that he never contacts you again. All he knows is that he cannot stand this purgatory; and that your screams and curses are better than the overwhelming silence of his apartment.

As soon as he steps out of the portal into your apartment, you can already sense each other. It is almost impossible to sneak up on a Spider person, that's why he isn’t surprised when he finds you sitting in your living room, staring at him without blinking.

"What are you doing here?" You ask without emotion after several seconds of silence.

"You know what I came for." he says as he removes his mask and approaches your figure. However, your cold look stops him in his tracks.

“I don't care. I want you to say it.” you say while you stare into his eyes sharply. He deserves it. "Be direct for once in your life."

"Hey," he warns, baring his fangs. “Don’t push it.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, ignoring his warning. "Then leave. I was clear: don't come back until you tell me how you really feel.”

"Don't you think I want to?!" Miguel shouts, frustrated; Not with you. Never with you. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, controlling his anger. When he opens his eyes, you’re surprised to see actual remorse. "I'm dying to have you in my arms again..."

You can’t help to soften your expression when you caught the frustration in his voice and how difficult it is to express his true emotions at the moment. "Then why the hesitation?" You ask softly, your voice a sweet melody to his ears. Then, a sudden thought makes your blood run cold. “...unless I wasn’t good enough for you.” Your voice trembles and you can't suppress the tears that arise.

Miguel’s face falls and without thinking twice, he runs to you and hugs you tightly, snaking an arm around your waist and his hand behind your neck. He listens as you sob into chest and he brings you even closer, his hand gently stroking your back. "Shh... no, my love, that can’t be further away from the truth." He whispers softly into your ear. "I am the one who’s not good enough for you."

Miguel lets out a dry, incredulous laugh. “I'm the worst… to cause the most wonderful woman in all of the multiverse to think the opposite…” He presses a kiss against your forehead and brings you closer to him. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Please, forgive me for being such a coward.” He murmurs apologetically as he buries his face into your neck and breathes in your scent.

God, how I missed this smell~

He leans back and stares into your eyes, stroking your cheeks and wiping your tears.

"I love you," he declares, more confident than ever. "I don't want to keep loving you from afar. I don’t want to run away, fearing that one day I will lose you if it also keeps you far from my arms.” He presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and whispering the last few words full of emotion, "If I still lose you...”

"God, Miguel..." You crumble once again and hug him tightly. "I love you so much," you confess in the midst of tears. "I’m afraid too, we are both spider people, we both risk our lives to prevent Multiverse from collapsing… our job is dangerous and it is painful to think about the great possibility that I could lose you,” You look into his eyes, holding his face in your hands. "But it hurts more to have you so close, and not by my side."

"I know..." He whispers as he leans towards your sweet touch. “I'm such an idiot. I thought I was protecting you from the pain, but in reality, I hurt you even more.” He stares into your eyes, his gaze full of remorse. "You could forgive this fool in love?"

You laugh softly and Miguel swears that his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, you look at him with a mischievous smile. "Hmm, I don't know..."

Miguel groans and looks at you with desperation, as if he needed to hear that he has been forgiven to be calm. "Love, please..." He whimpers softly against your neck, kissing it sensually.

Your grin becomes wider and playful. You take his chin and make him look into your eyes. "But you sound so nice, Miguelito~” You purr. “Do it again~”

Shit...

Miguel feels how his cheeks redden and he short circuits when he hears your playful and dominant voice. It was a side of you that he had never seen. Or rather, one he never tried to get to know. He was so obsessed with controlling everything that he never realized that he kept you from expressing yourself around him.

Damn ... he definitely deserves to beg to you.

"My love..." He kneels in front of you and takes your hands in his. He looks at you with pleading eyes. "Please, I beg you... Forgive me. Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at the sight of the most stoic and stubborn man in the multiverse kneeling in front of you, begging like a dog. Is this a dream? More like a miracle.

"Wow... You really missed me, didn't you, Miguelito~?"

Miguel takes your hand and kisses your palm, staring into your eyes. "You have no idea." He whispers. Your heart skips a beat, blood rushing through your veins at an extreme speed. You feel the love that this man has for you and you cannot avoid the genuine smile that grows in your face.

You place your arms around his neck and you kiss his cheek. "I forgive you. Show me exactly how sorry you are~"

It takes Miguel less than two seconds before he is on top of you, your back on the sofa while his knee separates your legs. It seems as if all your confidence disappears as soon as Miguel touches you, his large hands gripping your waist. You feel tempted to deviate your gaze, but his crimson eyes keep you paralyzed under their intensity, full of lust.

"Oh baby..." he lets out a soft growl as his lips brush against your neck, making you shiver once more. “Eres mía~” (You’re mine~)

His fingers quickly disrobe you, his lips kissing every inch of your soft skin. His breathing quickens, breathing hot and heavy as his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, hand groping the other. He lets out soft grunts and moans of pleasure as he worships your chest, sucking and biting, leaving wet hot marks on your skin.

You grab onto his hair, your back arching off from the couch as he continues his assault. He lets out a particularly long groan when he feels you grind your wet pussy on his knee. He chuckles darkly and presses onto you even harder, making you shiver and moan in delight.

“That’s it mami…” he growls, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. “Grind that needy pussy on me… make yourself feel good.”

A sound of pleasure escapes from your lips. You close your eyes and decide to immerse yourself in the pleasure that both have refused for too long— no longer wanting to deprive your body of what it craves; and your heart from the one you love.

Your arms wrap around his neck, hips bucking against his clothed knee, soaking the nanotech fabric. He can only watch in awe how easy it was to reduce you to a sensitive mess— rubbing and pressing his thigh against your throbbing pussy, gripping your hips tighter as he guides you.

“Oh fuckkkk… Miguel…” The way you so readily give your body to him— it awakens a primal side to him that even he didn’t realize he had. The need to explore how many times he can make you cum without fucking you with his cock had his mind reeling from the possibilities.

Should he finger you now? Should he make you cum on his tongue? Ride his face?

“Miguel… oh Miguel~” you mewl, the squelching sound of your juices on his leg echoing in the room. Small puffs of hot air leave past your lips, your hips bucking so needy and desperate for friction.

However the night ends, what he does know is that he so desperately craves to hear you whine his name like that again.

“Come on, cariño…” he keeps rutting your hips against his thigh, now unclothed as his dick strains against the nanotech clothing that covers his groin. “What do you need~?”

“Need you…” You pant out, chest heaving rapidly. “Need you inside… please Miguel~”

He chuckles darkly. “Already? But baby, we just started~” He teases, slowing down the rubbing against your clit, making you whine in frustration.

“Fuck that! I missed you, maldito!” You growl, making Miguel’s eyes widen when you voice out your frustrations.

This makes Miguel chuckle heartedly, gazing down at you with affection and primal lust. “You missed my cock that much, baby~?”

“Not your cock. You.” This startles Miguel, actually making him blush. His chest fills with so much love and affection for you. God, he needs you so badly.

“Te amo, mi arañita…” (I love you, my little spider…) Miguel murmurs softly before leaning down and claiming your lips softly. A low moans escape from your lips as you feel just how serious he is. “Missed you… missed your touch…” he breathes out against your neck once he pulls away, his lips brushing against your skin. Miguel shivers and groans, loving the way your warm, soft skin feels against his. You can only watch as he worships you, too paralyzed by this feeling to speak. “Missed your smell…” he inhales your scent softly before pressing a kiss on your neck. “Missed your voice… let me hear it please…”

“Ahhhh… Miguel…” you find your voice, breathing out your response as your chest rises and falls rapidly, trembling underneath him.

“Fuck…” he groans from your needy voice. Miguel trails wet kisses down your hot skin, licking away your sweat. His fangs lightly graze your thighs, teasing you with his tongue. He chuckles when you arch your back, whimpering his name, begging to take you— to do something already!

He grins as he kisses the inside of your thigh. “You’ve never been very patient.”

You whine, your hand making it’s way to his hair and tugging him closer to your throbbing pussy. He chuckles and licks a long, agonizing swipe along your glistening folds, making you groan in response. “Good thing I’ve never been very patient either~”

Miguel takes his time, swirling his tongue, lapping up your juices— yet, the way that he grips your thighs, so close to digging his claws into your skin while he groans from your taste— it only makes him look more desperate and feral than when he first begged for you.

You jolt and shiver in delight, the drag of his fat, warm tongue bringing you to heights of pleasure you only had the joy of experiencing with Miguel. The feelings of pleasure were so delicious and excruciating, it makes you buck your hips against his face. You grind your pussy on his face unashamedly, his nose brushing against your clit deliciously.

Watching from below, how your hips arch and you tug harder on his hair is all that Miguel needed to die happily. His groans and harsh breathing muffled by your desperate grinding.

“Mmm… shlppp… mmnh…” His eyes remain trained on your cute expressions, a particularly harsh suck of your clit eliciting a whiny moan from you that had him reeling.

“Fuck… Miguel…! I’m so close!” You whine so pretty and needy. His claws digging dig into your thighs, pressing his face harder against your cunt as he eats you out like an animal.

Miguel moans against your cunt, murmuring for you to cum on his tongue, to do it now. It comes out a wet, muffled mess, but you didn’t care. You were already a moaning mess as you came, spreading your juices all over Miguel’s face. His tongue works on your core like a man dying of thirst, lapping up every drop of your juices and overstimulating the fuck out of you. He never came up for air, submerged between your thighs, delving his tongue deeper, sucking harder. This is where he belongs.

“Mi— Miguel! It’s too much..!” You whine, trying to push his head away but he’s glued to your pussy— and he’s not moving until he’s licked you clean.

After a few more seconds, he gives your pussy one last lick before he comes back up, his tongue hanging out as he smiles smugly. You twitch and writhe underneath him from the overstimulation, gazing at him with a satisfied and dazed expression. He tantalizingly drags his long tongue around his mouth, lips, chin… cleaning up your cum from his face, making sure you watch. “Dios mío, que rico sabes mami~” (My god, you taste delicious mami~)

You whimper, your hole twitching at the erotic display. Miguel watches as your pussy flutters with primal lust, smiling at you like a predator. “You liked that, baby? Do you still want more?”

Before you could respond, Miguel is on top of you, claiming your lips in a hot, sensual kiss. You groan at the taste of yourself on his lips, this only turning you on even further. He grips your ass, bringing your wet core towards his now fully unclothed and erect cock.

“Mmmngh… mmnh… ahhhhh…” You whimper into the kiss as he grinds his cock against your sensitive folds, spreading your juices all over.

“You want this cock, baby? Huh? I can’t hear you. Tell me how badly you want me. Tell me. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you.” Miguel whispered into your ear as he kept grinding himself against you, teasing you once again. You can only cry out, frustration building up inside of you as you feel your hole squeezing against nothing, craving his thick cock.

“Please… Miguel…”

“Dime lo que quieres preciosa… ¿quieres que te lo meta? ¿Sí? ¿Quieres que te coja?” (Tell me what you want, precious… you want me to put it in? Yeah? You want me to fuck you?)

“Yes, Miguel! Just… please!”

As much as he loves teasing you, he needed to nestle his cock inside of you. Right. Now.

“M’gonna bury this cock deep inside you… make sure your pussy remembers the shape of my cock…” He chuckles as he lines himself up with your hole and slowly pushes his cock past that first, tight ring inside your cunt. “Fuck… such a tight fit… bet you didn’t fuck anyone with a dick as big as mine…” he groans and pushes further. “no other cock can stretch you out like mine can…”

“No one… only you…” you breathe out in satisfaction as you finally feel your pussy getting full. “M’so full…”

Miguel lets out a string of curses and groans at the feeling of your tight pussy pulsating around him. “Yeah, that’s right baby… only my cock can fill you up this good.” He smirks as he looks down at you, caged between his arms and large body. “Gonna let me fuck this pussy, huh? Want me to pound you until you can’t think?”

“Yes, Miguel! Yes!”

That’s all the confirmation he needed before he started rutting his hips against yours at a fast pace. No time to start slow, no. This is the type of desperate and primal sex that lovers have after they’ve gone a long time without seeing each other. The type that builds up overtime only to be released in the heated thrust of each other’s hips. The type that has you moaning out gibberish and wrapping your arms and legs around him as Miguel thrusts his hard cock inside, going feral on your pussy.

“Fuck… I missed this… I missed you…” Miguel grunts with every thrust, small puffs of air leaving his lips as he ruts even faster, deeper. His muscles flex with every movement. He presses his hot body against yours, feeling your tits brush against his chest with every thrust.

“M-Miguel… please… harder!” You moan, digging your nails into his broad back.

“Yes…” his voice is so rough, so hungry that it’s almost jarring. Every word he says, every look on his face seems to radiate his intense feelings for you.

He needs you, oh, does he need you.

His arms are like steel on your body, keeping you still within his grasp, and he makes you feel every inch of him, pounding himself into you in a frenzy. This is what he had been looking for, needing. He fills your entire existence for just a moment, completely and utterly enraptured by you.

“Te amo… te amo tanto…” (I love you… I love you so much…) he whispers into your ear, biting and sucking on it. One of his hands makes its way between your legs as he rubs your clit. “Ven conmigo, bebé… I need you to cum with me…” (Come with me, baby…)

“Miguel! Ohh… I’m g- Mmm… Ahhhh~!” Your moans are muffled by his lips against yours. The pounding of his cock, his thumb rubbing your pussy, and this hot, searing kiss was all you needed to finally let go. Squelching hot cum bathes Miguel’s cock and balls as you tremble and writhe in ecstasy.

“That’s it, baby… god, you did so good…” he groans, placing your forehead against his as he ruts his hips faster. Grunting as he chases his own release. Not long after, Miguel is cumming inside your pussy, spurting hot loads of his cum so deep you can feel it in your womb. The moans he lets out sound so raw and desperate, you feel like you’re watching a whole other person.

He sighs in satisfaction, pressing a kiss on your forehead before laying down besides you. He pulls you into his body, his cock twitching as he keeps it nestled deep inside your cunt.

“Fuck… I don’t think I’ve ever come this much…” Miguel lets out a breathy laugh and you look at him in awe. The afterglow of your session makes him look so… ethereal. You blush and involuntarily clench your pussy around his cock.

Miguel chuckles. “I felt that, preciosa~”

You roll your eyes and look away from him, flustered. “Then take it out!”

“Mmm… why should I~? I very much prefer having you close like this.” Miguel inhales in your scent and presses a tender kiss on your neck. The action flusters you further, making you blush at his sweetness and his opposing teasing.

“Te amo, mi vida…” (I love you, my life..) He whispers softly as he closes his eyes, bringing you closer into his embrace.

You smile softly and close your eyes as well, slowly dozing off. Not before you utter the same words back, “Te amo, Miguelito~”

A/N: A little fun fact: this fic was originally written in Spanish first because I wanted to practice writing (specifically smut) in my native language. I might end up posting both languages on AO3.

#fanfic #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel smut #atsv miguel #miguel 2099 #smut #smut writing

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