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ninisdollie · 2 months ago

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summer bummer - jake sim 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which reader and Jake see each other only in the summer, finding themselves between tangled sheets and filthy words. But this year, it’s not just sex anymore.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x jake, friends with benefits! to lovers, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m rec), riding, multiple positions, spitting, porn with a little emotional plot idk.

word count: 7.0k

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

The field by the lake hadn’t changed, same driftwood benches, same cooler of cheap beer half-buried in the dirt, same old Bluetooth speaker trying its best to fight against the crackle of the fire. A few faces had grown older, a few new ones floated in from the city for the summer, but the rhythm was the same.

You always traveled back to your hometown for vacation, where you could forget about your city girl live, where most of your childhood friends still lived, where you spent the days tanning under the burning sun and drinking margaritas.

You were perched on a log near the flames, cold drink in hand, sweat beginning to bead at the nape of your neck despite the breeze off the water, despite the thin fabric of your short flower dress. Your friends were around you, Jay had brought his guitar like always, Heeseung was already tipsy, throwing rocks into the lake and yelling about something stupid. It was light, fun and meaningless. But you couldn’t stop checking the curve of the dirt road, waiting.

He was coming tonight, you knew it. Jake Sim.

It was never official. Not a relationship or a fling. It was almost like a summer tradition, like fireworks and iced tea and peeling sunburnt skin. You came back every year, and so did he. Like gravity, something written in body. No goodbyes, no promises, just heat and hands and stolen nights that left you wrecked until fall. You’d known him for years at this point, same boy who almost drowned in your parent’s pool at twelve, same boy who kissed you in truth or dare, same boy who knew your body much better than yourself.

The thing is, you barely spoke the rest of the year. A couple likes on Instagram. A birthday text, maybe. But no late-night calls, no long conversations. It was easier that way. If you talked too much, it would start to feel real. If it felt real, you’d both ruin it.

But still, you knew what it meant when you saw his name light up your phone two weeks before summer.

Jake Sim: you coming back this year?

Your fingers trembled over the keyboard.

Me: of course, always.

Because it didn’t matter how much time passed. The second your eyes met again, everything came flooding back, the way he kissed you like he was starving, the roughness of his voice when he begged to stay inside just a little longer, the way your bodies fit like puzzle pieces designed by the sun itself.

You weren’t in love. But it was close enough to hurt when you had to go back to your city every year.

So you both kept a silent deal. You didn’t ask who he fucked in the winter. He didn’t ask if you missed him in the spring. You only cared about the here and now, the sticky, sacred months of July and August. You only cared about sweat-slicked skin and beach towels and his hand gripping your throat like it was the only way he knew how to say I missed you.

Your stomach twisted when you heard it.

Tires crunching over gravel, laughter, car doors slamming.

You didn’t even have to turn to know because you felt it.

He was here.

It had been eleven months, two weeks, and six days since he last fucked you against the wall of your aunt’s bathroom at the end-of-summer party. You’d cried after. Not because of him, but because leaving always felt like peeling your skin off and flying back to a world where Jake didn’t exist.

But now he walked in like he owned the night, as always, that soft and chill aura like he didn’t care about anything in the world. Sun-kissed and cocky, rings on his fingers, black tshirt clung to his chest like it was begging for your attention. Ni-ki was beside him, already tossing a grin toward the group by the cooler, but Jake?

Jake looked straight at you.

The air left your lungs like a punch. You hated that it still did this to you, turned your insides to syrup and your thighs to heat. One look, that’s all it took. You didn’t smile, or wave. Just sipped your drink and looked back like it didn’t matter, letting the breeze wave your hair against your face.

“Finally decided to show up.” Heeseung dabbed him up, but his eyes were still locked on your face.

He stopped a few feet away, slow steps bringing him just close enough to let your body register him, his smell, his shadow, the ghost of his hands already on your skin. His voice was casual when he finally spoke.

“City girl had the time to come this year” he said, the exact same thing he said last summer. The same damn line.

Your lips curved around your drink, glossy and shining under the warm light of the fire.

“I always come, Jake.”

He smiled like he wanted to say something filthy about that. Like he remembered every single time. Then his eyes trailed down your body, slow and intentional because of course he wanted you to notice. You squirmed a bit, flipping your hair over your shoulder.

The fire was crackling between you two. Ni-ki called his name, someone handed you another beer, which you rejected with a smile, Sunghoon yelled something about “going crazy this summer”, but it all blurred. The music was loud, but your heart was louder.

“You look good,” Jake added, voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You smiled softly, tilting your head, took in the curve of his arms, his thick lips, the gold chain glinting at his collarbone, the heat in his eyes.

“I always look good” you whispered back.

He chuckled, stepping back, walking away like he hadn’t just lit every nerve in your body on fire.

But you knew how this would end.

Because he was here looking at you like he hadn’t had a decent orgasm since the last time you moaned his name.

After a few hours, the fire started burning low. People had thinned out, some stumbling back to their parents’ houses, others crawling into tents by the lake or paired off under trees in the dark. The music had died to background static. Your drink was warm and half-full, forgotten in your hand. The air was still thick with smoke, beer, and heat that clung to your skin even after sundown.

You’d been sitting on the edge of a blanket, legs stretched out, staring into the dying embers and the star-full sky, when Ni-ki wandered over, car keys dangling from his finger, hair a bit messy.

“You need a ride?” he asked, voice lazy, smile crooked. “I’m sober, Jake’s coming to.”

You hesitated for only a second before you saw Jake trailing behind him.

One glance from him was enough. That slight tilt of his head, that litlle smile on his lips, the way his eyes dipped down to your mouth just for one second before biting his lips. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the side of the car, one hand in his pocket, eyes still on you.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Thanks, Ki”

Inside, Ni-ki’s father’s truck smelled like weed and cologne and dried lake water. The windows were halfway down, the music low and thumping with bass. You were pressed against the cool leather, the hem of your dress creeping up your thighs with every shift. Jake climbed in right beside you, not even pretending to leave space, it wasn’t even necessary for him to sit besides you, and his thigh brushed yours, firm and warm.

Neither of you said anything.

Ni-ki started the car and chatted from the front, his voice a cheerful hum against the dark. Something about the girls by the cooler. Someone puking behind the dock. You nodded, made a sound of agreement, but every nerve in your body was tuned to Jake. His arm was stretched lazily across the back of the seat, fingertips just grazing your shoulder, his touch already setting your skin on fire. He smelled like smoke and sweat perfume and him. Familiar and dangerous.

“Is school going well?” he asked under his breath, close enough that his mouth nearly touched your cheek.

You turned toward the window.

“Yeah, it’s been nice. You?”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled again and let his hand drop, light and casual, until the side of it was resting against your bare thigh. It wasn’t even obvious. Ni-ki didn’t notice, too busy driving and still talking, and Jake didn’t move. His fingers didn’t trail, just a slight pressure. But it was enough to remind you of every time he’d had you spread out in the back of a car like this before, drunk off each other, reckless and flushed.

The road dipped, and the jostle made his palm shift higher on your leg.

You bit your lip.

“Cute dress,” he murmured. “Little short, though.”

You pulse started to rush, and it was suddenly so hot inside the car. Then his fingers crept under the hem of your dress, brushing the inside of your thigh, higher and higher, until you felt your whole body clench.

“—right? So I told Heeseung not to piss his girlfriend off—” Ni-ki kept talking in the front seat, totally oblivious, laughing at his own story.

Meanwhile Jake’s fingers brushed against the thin cotton of your panties, and exhaled through his nose.

“You wore these for me?” he whispered, dragging one finger slowly over the damp seam, right where you were already pulsing for him. “Or did I get you this wet just now?”

You swallowed hard. Your head hit the back of the seat.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t wait to taste you this summer”

You squeezed your legs shut instinctively, but he just pushed his hand between them, forcing them apart again. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, hot and greedy and slow, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His middle finger circled your clit, gentle but focused, rhythm cruelly steady. Your hips twitched. You tried to keep your face blank, heart racing as Ni-ki kept talking about girlfriend drama and god knows what else. Jake leaned back in the seat like nothing was happening, laughing and his friend’s jokes, keeping the conversation, like he wasn’t making your thighs shake under the cover of your dress.

And all you could do was clutch the edge of your seat and pray your breathing didn’t give you away.

“Hey, Y/N” Ni-ki said. “You think your parents will let us throw the pool party this year?”

You could barely hear him, you couldn’t even answer. So you just hummed, but it came out more like a moan, and Jake chuckled besides you because he had two fingers inside you now, slow and shallow, more teasing than satisfying.Every twist of his hand dragged against your sweet spot and pulled a silent scream from your throat.

His lips brushed your ear again.

“You’re so tight, baby. You miss me?” he asked like he wasn’t knuckle-deep inside you, like this was all small talk.

You nodded once, shaky and pathetic, and he smiled.

Ni-ki pulled up in front of your parent’s place, headlights sweeping over the front porch.

“You want us to walk you up?” he offered, turning in his seat.

You jolted, heart hammering.

Jake’s fingers slipped out of you just in time, slow and slick, leaving your panties soaked. He brought his hand to his mouth casually, like he was stretching, and sucked the tips of his fingers clean while staring you dead in the eyes.

“Nah,” Jake said smoothly, voice casual. “She’s good.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for the ride, Ki.”

But you weren’t. You were literally shaking.

You stepped out of the car on trembling legs, your thighs wet, your panties ruined, and Jake’s grin burned into your memory.

Your parent’s didn’t allow you to host the pool party this year, since the damages of last summer were still ghosting in the house. So Sunoo, being the good friend that he was, offered his pool.

The party was already in full swing by the time you showed up, loud music, wet footprints all over the tile, floats bobbing in the pool, and a cooler full of drinks that had long since lost their ice. The heat was sweltering. The sky was cloudless. And everything felt like it was pulsing with that hazy energy.

You found your friends by the pool, and smiled at them. You slipped off your sandals, dropped your towel on a sun chair, and waded straight into the pool, cool water wrapping around your body like a sigh.

Jake was there too.

He was across the pool, shirtless in red swim trunks, tan skin glistening wet, a beer bottle tipped to his lips as he leaned back against the edge with that lazy, devastating smirk. His hair was damp, curls pushed back, and he had that look in his eye. The one he only wore when you were in the room.

You hadn’t spoken since the night in the truck. Just a few glances, a look across the lake. He was busy this summer too, you knew that, his father needed help in his job, so you weren’t seeing him that often. But you still felt him every second since.

And now, he was watching you float through the water like he already had you pressed up against the pool wall, hand between your thighs, making you come so hard you’d choke on his name.

You kept your face blank, kept swimming. But your heart was going wild.

Everyone else was drunk and loud. Sunghoon was doing cannonballs, Jungwon was begging someone to make more margaritas, Ni-ki was DJing from the patio like his life depended on it, but your whole world narrowed every time Jake’s eyes dragged over your chest, your stomach, the way your bikini clung to your hips.

At one point, you reached for your drink from the edge and felt his presence behind you before you even heard his voice.

“You trying to kill me in that bikini?” Jake murmured, chest brushing your back in the water. His voice was low and close, mouth inches from your shoulder. “Or is this just for attention?”

You didn’t turn around.

“We both know i don’t need to ask for your attention.”

He chuckled, dark and quiet.

“You know i love when you get cocky.”

You don’t even remember who touched who first.

One second, Jake was behind you in the pool, his breath grazing your neck like a threat, and the next, your fingers brushed his underwate, just enough to say now. You didn’t look back, it wasn’t necessary because he followed.

You climbed out slowly, water cascading down your legs, your bikini clinging to your curves like a secret. Jake was only a step behind, eyes locked on the drip of water trailing down your spine. No one noticed, or maybe they did and didn’t care. This was how it always happened. One second, you were mingling, the next, you were gone.

Inside the house, the music got muffled by walls and closed doors. You walked past the kitchen, past the hallway, past the laundry room, and Jake’s hand caught yours. Pulled and turned. He shoved open the bathroom door and you stumbled inside, your back hitting the wall, cold tile kissing wet skin.

Then, his mouth was on yours.

He tasted like alcohol and fresh fruit and he kissed you like a man unhinged. His hot mouth devouring you, breathless and not giving but taking. Tongue deep, wet and sloppy, teeth sharp, pulling your lower lip and sucking it, no space between you. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was months of repression, of thinking about this exact moment, of remembering how tight you were around him, how loud you got when he hit just the right spot.

Your back hit the wall with a thud, and his hands were everywhere, palming your ass through your bikini bottoms, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, sliding up your spine to twist in your wet hair and tug your head back, like he was scared you’d disappear again. You felt his hard length beneath the damp fabric of his shorts, grinding into you like he couldn’t hold himself back.

Jake pulled back just long enough to look at you.

“You look fucking unreal right now,” he breathed, eyes blown. “I’ve been losing my mind all fucking year thinking about this pussy.”

His voice was hot and low and filthy, his hand sliding down your stomach, slipping under your soaked bikini bottoms without hesitation.

“You missed me?” he murmured, middle finger dragging through your slit. “Huh, baby? You missed this cock?”

You moaned, too breathless to lie. Head spinning, eyes hazy and brain already shut down.

He grinned like he already knew.

“Of course you did. This pussy was made for me.”

He shoved your bottoms down, let them fall wet to the floor. Then, he dropped to his knees like it was instinct. You barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on you. Tongue hot, fast, messy and desperate. Jake moaned into your cunt like he’d been starving all year. You moaned into your hand and let your head fall against the wall as his tongue licked a wide, greedy stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, sloppy, shameless and relentless. His fingers dug into your thighs in case you’d pull away and he ate you out like this was his last meal.

“God,” he groaned, voice muffled against your heat. “always so fucking sweet.”

You rocked your hips forward into his face, already breathless from how deep he was buried between your thighs. Your pussy dripping on him, pulsing and hot. His hair was damp from the pool, and now from sweat, his working like he was worshiping you.

Your fingers laced through his curls, pulling.

“Jake—oh my God.”

He didn’t stop. Just growled into you and pulled you closer, spreading you wider, tongue fucking into you as if he couldn’t decide whether to tease or devour. Then, his thumb slid up, wet from your slick, pressing soft tight circles against your clit as his tongue fucked in deeper.

You gasped, back arching.

“Jake, please—”

“You gonna come on my mouth?” he asked, almost sweetly. “You gonna make a mess on my face, baby?”

He was smiling against your sex, completely obsessed, like your shaking thighs and broken voice were exactly what he wanted to ruin. Like he wouldn’t be satisfied until you fell apart right here in the bathroom with his tongue buried inside you and your moans echoing off the tile.

You whimpered, trying to hold yourself up, but your knees were already buckling.

“Please, Jake—don’t stop—”

“Oh, I won’t,” he muttered against your clit, voice low and wrecked. “Not until you’re dripping down my chin.”

Then he sucked again. Hard, wet and loud. Totally obscene and shameless, his tongue flicking fast, his thumb grinding into your clit in tight circles, dragging your orgasm out of you like he was starving for it. You gasped, hips jolting forward as heat crashed through your spine and exploded in your belly.

Jake groaned into you, tongue lapping up every bit of your mess like it was his job. His arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place, making sure you felt every second of it, felt how messy you were, how wrecked, how much he loved it.

You came hard.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your toes curled, your hands scrabbling for the sink behind you as pleasure split you in half, hot and dizzying. Your whole body trembled, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your pussy pulsed around nothing, empty but aching, soaking his mouth and chin.

Jake only pulled back when your legs gave out.

He caught you, barely, arms around your waist, eyes heavy and glazed as he looked up at you, his face glistening with your slick, lips red and shiny, hair messy from your hands in it.

“So fucking good” he said, voice ruined.

Then he kissed you again, messy, open, licking into your mouth like he wanted you to taste yourself on him. In one movement, he shoved down his trunks and grabbed your thigh, hiking it up against the wall.

“You ready?” he said, lining himself up and thrusting in all at once, bottoming out. You gasped. “Gonna fuck you just how you like it.”

He was thick and deep and so fucking hard, stretching you open like your body had been waiting for him all year. His length throbbed through your soaked walls, still senstive but still wanting more. You cried out, back arching as Jake buried himself to the hilt, brutal thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice low and ruined in your ear. “You’re so tight around me. Like this pussy’s been waiting all year, just for my cock.”

You clenched around him at the words, helpless, already overwhelmed. Your nails dug into his biceps as he held you pinned between his chest and the cold edge of the bathroom counter, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide open. He moved deep, dragging strokes that made you choke on your breath. His cock hit that spot inside you perfectly, rubbing against your slick, sensitive walls, making you tremble with every push.

Your head fell back, lips parted, completely at his mercy.

“God—fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, hips snapping faster. “Missed how you squeeze me. Missed these pretty fucking sounds. You make me insane.”

He grabbed your hips, slamming you down onto him harder, faster, skin slapping against skin as the bathroom filled with the sounds of filthy, frantic sex, wet, breathless, obsessed. The air inside was so hot, the mirror foggy, your body wet not only with water but with sweat and spit, every inch inside of you burning for him.

You wrapped your legs around him, holding on tight, body jerking with every thrust.

“Jake—oh my god—yes—fuck me, please—”

“I am, baby,” he growled, pounding into you. “Fucking you like you need.”

He kissed you, teeth and tongue and bruising need, before pulling back to spit the next words right against your mouth:

“That’s right. This pussy’s mine when you’re here. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.”

A loud groan left his mouth, losing rhythm for a second, driving into you harder now, ruthless, like he wanted to fuck you so deep you’d still feel him tomorrow, his thrusts pounding into your soaked pussy, his body smacking against yours in loud, wet sounds that echoed off the walls. You moaned loud at that, barely holding back from coming again.

“I’m gonna fuck you all summer,” he hissed in your ear, fucking you harder. “Every night. Every morning. You understand?”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen, aching clit, rubbing tight circles that helped the pressure on your stomach start to build with so much force.

“You wanna cry on my cock again like you did last year?” he taunted, thumb dragging up to your clit as he pounded into you harder. “Huh? Gonna make a mess for me like a good fucking girl?”

Your body didn’t hold back anymore. You came again, gasping, clenching around him so tight he cursed into your neck, hips jerking as he came with you with a thick moan, hot, deep, full. He spilled inside you so familiar and warm and good, and you whimpered at the feeling. God, you missed it so much.

You collapsed into him, slick and shaking, still pinned to the wall as he caught his breath, mouth dragging across your collarbone like he couldn’t stop touching you.

“God,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “I’m not letting you go a single night without this dick.”

Jake then pulled out slowly, the loss making you whimper again, and his eyes lost between your legs watching how you dripped him down your thighs, he bit his lip at the view. Then kissed you again, fast but hot, helping you put on your bikini bottoms again, still a bit dazed from the strong orgasm.

“You never do, anyways.”

He chuckled softly, putting his shorts on and hissing at the sensitivity on his cock, then placed a kiss on your forehead, winking an eye.

“Summer’s just getting started, baby.”

The days passed with not much happening. Parties, nights by the lake, fishing, movie nights in someone’s old basement. Almost every night ending the same way, everyone either passed out or going home.

Except you.

And Jake.

It always started with a look. That same look. Then a brush of his hand at your hip while you were helping clean up. Then a muttered, “Come with me,” while the others weren’t looking.

And ended with the two of you tangled in the backseat of his father’s car, windows halfway fogged, leather seats squeaking under the shift of your weight. You straddling him, panties shoved to the side, Jake’s hands gripping your waist tight as you rocked your soaked pussy over the thick, heavy length of his cock. Him fully inside you, buried deep, sweat dripping from his hairline as he hissed through his teeth. The night quiet except for the sound of your skins slapping together.

“Fuck, baby—” his voice was hoarse, raw. “You feel so fucking good. Always so tight for me.”

His nasty words always making you come even harder around his length.

“I’ve been thinking about this since you left,” he whispered, grabbing your ass and helping you move faster, harder. “Jacking off in my room like a fucking loser, imagining you bouncing on my cock just like this. Every fucking night.”

“Every summer,” he whispered. “You’ll always be mine.”

Other times were lazy sundays in his room, after a wild night, makeup still on your face, mascara smuged, but he always told you you looked beautiful that way. The sheets clinging to your bodies thanks to the sweat and the heat, Jake leaning his back against the bedframe, legs parted and you between them.

Still lazy, but hungry.

His cock already hard. Thick, flushed, glistening at the tip like it had been waiting for your mouth since the second he pulled you into the house.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed when you kissed the head, feeling him throb in your hand “You trying to ruin me, baby?”

You smiled, slow and wicked, as you licked a fat stripe up his shaft.

“I thought I already did.”

Jake’s head dropped back against the pillow, his hips twitching when you spat on his length, tongue swirled around the tip again, tasting the salty precum. You took your time, pressing kisses all over, teasing him, dragging your mouth down to his balls, licking and sucking until he was breathing through clenched teeth, abs tensing with every shift of your tongue.

“Shit—fuck” he gasped when you finally wrapped your lips around the head and sank down.

You moaned around him in response, and Jake swore, one hand flying into your hair.

“God, baby—your mouth is so fucking perfect.”

You bobbed your head slow, letting your tongue slide along the underside of his cock, eyes locked on his face the whole time. You loved watching him fall apart, how his brows pulled together, how his lips parted in these breathless, broken moans. His whole body went tight under you, muscles flexing, thighs trembling with every stroke.

“You’re gonna make me come already,” he panted, voice shaking. “You’re so fuckin’ nasty, just—shit—look at you.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, breath hot against his cock.

“Then come,” you whispered, stroking him slow, tongue flicking at the tip. “I want it. In my mouth. On my face. Wherever the fuck you want.”

Jake groaned.

“God, I almost forgot how filthy you are,” he muttered, hips lifting, fucking into your fist as your lips wrapped around him again.

But when you both were drunk, it was even more messy.

Laughing too loud, bumping into the hallway walls on the way upstairs, hands already all over each other before the door even closed.

Jake’s breath hot in your ear, mouth on your neck, his fingers tangled in the hem of your dress as you shoved at his chest, stumbling backwards into the room.

“I fucking want you,” he slurred, lips grazing your jaw, voice ragged. “I want you so bad it’s fucking sick.”

“You always want me,” you whispered, giggling breathlessly as he kicked the door shut and you both tripped into the mattress like lunatics. “You’re obsessed with me.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned you down into the bed, kissing you hard, messy, open-mouthed, teeth clashing, tongues tangling.

“I am obsessed with you,” he muttered against your mouth. “I think about you all year. Think about your moans, your thighs, your fucking cunt—”

“Jake—”

“I jerk off to the sound of your voice,” he hissed, already yanking your dress up over your hips. “To the memory of you riding me. You fuckin’ haunt me.”

You gasped when he tugged your panties down fast and rough, mouth hot on your throat. He didn’t even wait to undress himself properly, just unzipped, shoved his pants low, pushed your legs open and spat on your pussy like he couldn’t take it one second longer.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby—this pussy missed me, didn’t it?”

He shoved into you in one brutal thrust, no teasing, no warning, just full length, all of him, thick and throbbing, slamming into your soaked heat like he was making up for lost time. And you screamed, legs wrapping around him as he rutted into you without rhythm, just hunger and need.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted. “You feel fucking insane. I’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”

His hands were under your ass, lifting you into every thrust, bed creaking under the pressure. His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.

“I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” he whispered. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own fucking name.”

“You already do,” you moaned, nails dragging down his back.

Jake slammed deeper, taking every inch of your insides, pussy walls clenching around himc swallowing him like you were made for him, the room spinning not just from the alcohol but from the heat.

“You want it rough tonight, huh? Want me drunk and desperate, just using this pretty pussy ‘til I can’t even move?”

“Yes—fuck”

“You’re mine,” he spat, gripping your face, thumb sliding into your mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m yours—” you whined around his thumb, eyes rolling back.

He cursed, pulled out halfway, then slammed in again so hard you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m fucking yours!”

The air was thick with sweat, your bodies slick and tangled, the whole room smelling like sex and tequila and the kind of hunger you don’t come back from.

It was routine, it was habit. It was everything you could ask for. Because Jake didn’t just fuck you, he worshipped your body. Every thrust said mine. Every kiss felt dangerous. Every time he came inside you, it felt less like sex and more like surrender. He knew you so well, knew exactly what to say, where to touch, which speed to use. No other man had ever satisfied you the way he did.

And lately, he looked at you like you were a secret. Like you meant something. His touches were softer, his kisses more tender. He laid on your back and trailed his fingetips in slow circles and hummed songs in your ear.

But it scared you. You knew things with Jake wouldn’t be easy. He lived here, he belonged here, away, moving through calm days and quiet nights. You were different.

You were a city girl, you went to college, went to parties, woke up hangover on your friend’s penthouses.

It would never work. And never seeing him again, that really scared you.

So you kept your feelings tucked behind your tongue, hidden in the back of your throat behind every moan. You kissed him hard and pulled his hair and begged for more, but you never said please don’t fall for me.

Because sometimes, you thought maybe he already had.

And sometimes you thought maybe you had too.

Those thoughts were still consuming you days later, one morning in Jake’s bed.

You could hear the birds outside. The fan humming above. His slow, steady breath against your collarbone. Jake was still tangled around you, warm and heavy, like he’d melted into your skin overnight. His leg between yours. His arm around your waist. His hand—God, his hand—resting just under your breast, like it belonged there.

You wanted to stay there forever. In that golden, sleepy silence. Where nothing had to be said. Where everything could still be just sex and tequila and tradition. Where the feelings hadn’t spilled out yet.

But then he spoke.

“I don’t think I can do this again another year,” he said softly, voice hoarse with sleep.

You blinked slowly. Your body stiffened, but only just.

“What?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“This. Us. Fucking for a month and then going back to acting like we don’t know each other the rest of the year.”

You lifted your head, your heart already thudding in your chest. Jake was looking at you. Hair messy, lips still kiss-bitten, eyes swollen with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know we said this was casual,” he continued. “I know that’s what you want. But it’s not casual for me anymore.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“I don’t want to wait eleven months to touch you again. I don’t want to only be yours in July. I want to wake up like this every day. I want to know what it feels like to take you out, not just sneak around.”

“Jake…”

“I want to know what it feels like to love you without pretending it’s just about sex.”

That word.

Love.

You sat up, pulling the sheet to your chest even though he’d seen every inch of you a thousand times. Even though he had your come drying on his stomach, your moans still in his mouth.

“Don’t say that, Jake” you said, voice suddenly cold.

“Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Because this wasn’t supposed to be that. That’s not what we do.”

Jake sat up too, confused, bare chest rising and falling as he tried to read your face.

“You can say everything to me when my cock’s inside you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “But the second I say I want more, you run?”

“I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been running since last summer. And the one before that.”

You stood from the bed, searching for your underwear like it was some kind of armor. The same scary thoughts in your head, the reality of it all hitting you.

“It’s not going to work, Jake. I told you since the beggining”

“No, you told me you didn’t want more.” He leaned forward, voice tighter now. “And I believed you. Until you started kissing me like I was the only thing keeping you breathing. Until you started holding me after like it meant something.”

You paused. Still facing the wall. Too afraid to look back.

“It’s safer this way,” you said quietly.

He laughed, bitter and humourless.

“Safer for you, maybe. But I’m the one who’s been waiting all year like a fucking idiot, hoping this time would be different.”

You turned to him finally, heart in your throat.

“I never asked you to wait.”

“No,” he said. “But you made it impossible not to.”

There was silence for a moment. And then Jake stood too. Naked, wrecked, still beautiful in the morning light. His eyes softer now. But sad. So fucking sad.

“I would’ve given you everything,” he said. “I still would.”

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed your dress, your phone, and walked out of the room with tears in your eyes and his name like a stone in your throat.

The city felt bigger than usual.

You stood in the middle of your room in a t-shirt that wasn’t yours—his, oversized and worn-in, somehow ended up in your suitcase, probably from the night you threw up in his lap—sleeves pushed up to your elbows. It smelled faintly of saltwater and sweat and the faded remnants of Jake’s cologne, like a scent memory you were scared would disappear the second you washed it.

Your suitcase was still half-open on the floor. You hadn’t unpacked.

Outside, the city roared like it always did, sirens in the distance, someone yelling two blocks away, a motorcycle growling past, but all you could think about was the way the crickets used to sing by the lake. How the air back there tasted like bonfire and beer and warm skin. How the quiet meant something when it was wrapped around Jake’s voice and his breath on your neck in the dark.

You padded barefoot to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water with shaking hands, but your stomach felt like it was folding in on itself.

Everything was fine.

But then you opened your phone.

And scrolled.

And there he was.

Jake, half-naked on the dock, laughing with Ni-ki, holding a beer, dripping wet from the lake. Jake, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on your bare thigh, sunglasses low on his nose, smirking like he owned the world. Jake, leaning over you in the backseat after Sunoo’s pool party, whispering filth into your mouth while everyone else was drunk and distracted.

Your heart twisted, sharp and slow and sick.

You hadn’t seen him since that morning. Since you ripped yourself out of his sheets and out of his arms and walked away with your pride held like a shield across your chest.

He didn’t come to Sunghoon’s goodbye party, he didn’t come to the last movie night in Jungwon’s basement.

He didn’t text. He didn’t call. He didn’t even look at your story.

And you didn’t reach out.

And now, in the dim hush of your apartment, with the AC buzzing and your body wrapped in his old shirt, the weight of it crushed you.

You slid to the floor, back against the bedframe, phone in your lap, eyes burning.

Because you wanted to be the girl who could let go. The girl who could take the pleasure, take the heat, take the memory, and walk away untouched.

But this time you weren’t her.

This time, you wanted more.

You wanted mornings. You wanted winter. You wanted him.

But you were too scared to say it.

So now you sat in the silence you chose, surrounded by his ghost, with nothing left but a hundred memories that all smelled like sex and regret.

You hadn’t turned on the lights, letting the soft blue glow of the television flicker across the room, even though you weren’t really watching anything. Just letting sound fill the silence.

And then… A knock.

You blinked. Stilled. For a second, you thought maybe you imagined it.

Then it came again.

Three gentle raps against your apartment door.

Your heart flipped. Your chest tightened. You stood slowly, like moving too fast would make it disappear. And when you opened the door…

Jake was there.

In the hallway, under the soft yellow glow of the broken light overhead, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something worse, like maybe he hadn’t slept in days. Like maybe he’d replayed that morning in his head a hundred times, and it still broke him every time.

“Hi,” he said softly.

You stopped breathing.

He looked… wrecked.

And beautiful. Standing in front of you like he had no idea what he was supposed to say now that he’d actually come.

“I didn’t know if you’d open the door,” he admitted, voice quiet.

You swallowed, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I almost didn’t.”

Jake let out a soft breath. Nodded. Then looked up at you, eyes shining a little too much.

“I had to see you, i booked the cheapest ticket” he said. “I couldn’t just let it end like that.”

You said nothing. Just looked at him, bare, faced and trembling, still holding the doorknob like it was a weapon.

He took a tiny step forward.

“I fucked up. I should’ve let you have your space. I should’ve waited. But I couldn’t. I’ve been losing my fucking mind thinking about you.”

“Jake…”

“No,” he said gently. “Let me say it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice thick now. Full with honesty and feelings.

“I meant everything I said. I meant it when I told you I wanted more. I meant it when I said I couldn’t keep doing this once-a-year bullshit. Because it’s not just summer to me anymore. It’s not just sex. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Your chest ached. He looked straight at you, no shields, no teasing smile, just a boy standing at the edge of something terrifying, begging you to take a step toward him.

“I’m in love with you,” he said, barely a whisper. “I think I’ve been in love with you my whole life, since the first time i fucked you. And I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

You blinked fast, heart beating so loud it hurt.

“I didn’t know how to… I thought if I said it out loud it would ruin everything.”

He nodded.

“So did I.”

“But it didn’t,” you said, voice trembling. “It ruined everything not saying it.”

Jake gave the softest smile. Sad, but hopeful. Like he still wasn’t sure if you were going to slam the door or fall into his arms.

So you reached for him. You grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulled him inside, shut the door behind him. And when your mouth crashed into his, hot, desperate, full of all the things you hadn’t said, Jake knew.

You were his.

Not just in summer or just in bed.

Just completely his.

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ari-ana-bel-la · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, I was wondering if you could write something about Charles Little daughter being the flower girl at Charlotte's and Lorenzo's wedding (happy for the newly weds). Just something cute.

Wedding

The air in the countryside estate shimmered with the golden touch of the afternoon sun, casting gentle rays over the white and blush roses wrapped around the wedding arch. Rows of white chairs were lined up on either side of a silk-lined aisle, soft string music filling the air as guests whispered, their eyes darting toward the grand French doors of the house where the bridal party would soon emerge.

Charles adjusted the tiny bow sitting delicately on his daughter’s curls. "You ready, ma chérie?"

"Mhm," Yn replied with a serious nod, clutching her small basket of petals like it was the most important mission in the world. Her pale white dress, carefully chosen by Charlotte, fluttered gently with the breeze. "Uncle Lolo said to walk slow and sprinkle nice. Like this!" She demonstrated with an exaggerated swirl of her hand, petals floating to the gravel beneath their feet.

Charles laughed softly, smoothing down the puff of tulle on her skirt. "Perfect. You’re going to be the best flower girl ever."

Behind them, Arthur was already snapping pictures, kneeling to get the perfect angle of Yn's proud, glowing face. "She looks like a little princess," he said, adjusting his lens. "Charlotte is going to cry."

"I might cry," Charles joked, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. Yn giggled, beaming up at him.

From the house, a call rang out. "We're starting in five!"

Pascale made her way over, elegant in a navy blue dress, her hair swept back in soft curls. She crouched down to kiss Yn's cheek. "Go show them how it’s done, mon ange. And smile for Uncle Lolo, okay?"

"Okay, Grandma!" Yn chirped, bouncing slightly on her heels.

As the music shifted, the guests turned their heads, murmuring in appreciation. Lorenzo stood tall at the end of the aisle, hands clasped in front of him, a nervous but excited smile on his face. When the first bridesmaid began her walk, Charles leaned down.

"That’s your cue. Go ahead. Slow and graceful, just like we practiced."

Yn took a deep breath. Then she stepped forward, one tiny foot in her white ballet flats after the other, petals falling with each measured step. Her face was serious with concentration, eyes flicking to where Lorenzo waited, then to the guests, then back to her basket.

"Awwww," rippled through the audience.

Charlotte's sister, standing off to the side with her own bouquet, wiped a tear away. Arthur took rapid shots, whispering, "Too cute. This is going on my wall."

Lorenzo's eyes softened. As Yn reached him, she held up the empty basket proudly.

"You did amazing, sweetheart," he whispered, crouching down to kiss her cheek.

Yn giggled, covering her face with her free hand before scampering off down the side aisle, where Pascale opened her arms. She climbed into her grandmother's lap and wiggled happily, showing her empty basket to Charles, who sat next to them.

"Did you see me, Papa? I didn’t drop it all at once!"

"I saw," Charles said, giving her a proud kiss on the head. "You were perfect. Charlotte and Uncle Lolo are going to talk about it forever."

As the music swelled again, every head turned toward the bride. Charlotte stepped out, radiant in a shoulder-free gown, her golden hair twisted elegantly, soft makeup catching the light. Lorenzo's breath visibly hitched, and even Yn paused her chatter to gasp.

"She looks like a princess!" Yn whispered.

Pascale laughed softly, hugging her. "She does, doesn’t she?"

Yn leaned into her grandma's shoulder, mesmerised. "I want to be that pretty when I get married."

Charles smirked. "Not until you're fifty."

The ceremony began, and Yn stayed incredibly well-behaved, whispering only occasionally to Charles or climbing gently into Arthur's lap for a better view. Arthur didn’t mind one bit, holding her steady as she twisted to watch Charlotte and Lorenzo exchange vows.

"Why is Uncle Lolo crying?" she asked.

"Because he loves her," Charles answered softly. "And sometimes love makes you feel so full, it comes out your eyes."

Yn nodded sagely. "I think I love Auntie Lottie too."

"We all do, sweetheart."

The vows were beautiful. Lorenzo spoke of the quiet mornings they spent in their kitchen, the way Charlotte always read the last page of a book before starting, the way she made him feel at home even on his worst days. Charlotte talked about the patience Lorenzo had, his devotion to his family, the way he looked at her like she was the center of the world.

When they kissed, everyone stood to clap, and Yn squealed, clapping wildly along with them. "Yayyyyy!"

After the ceremony, guests mingled under the soft shade of white tents, sipping champagne and nibbling on hors d'oeuvres. Yn became the darling of the afternoon, rotating from arm to arm like a tiny guest of honor.

She twirled with Charlotte’s sister on the dance floor, hugged Arthur as he showed her the pictures he’d taken of her, and giggled when Pascale shared a biscuit from the dessert table.

Eventually, Charlotte made her way to them, her veil gently taken off, her smile bright and relaxed.

"There’s my favorite flower girl," she cooed, crouching down in her dress.

Yn reached out, carefully touching the lace skirt. "You’re soooo pretty. Like a fairy."

"Oh, mon ange," Charlotte laughed, tears returning to her eyes. "You’re the sweetest. Come here."

Yn wrapped her arms around her new aunt, snuggling into the layers of silk. Charles came over just as the two hugged.

"She’s already planning her own wedding," he teased.

Charlotte grinned. "Don’t let her pick me as her flower girl. I’d never do it as well as she did."

Yn blinked up at them. "You could do it, Aunt Lottie. But you'd have to wear pink."

Lorenzo appeared beside them, arm sliding around Charlotte's waist. He crouched next to Yn again. "You were so amazing today, sweetheart. Can I keep a picture of you in my wallet forever?"

"Only if you give me one of you and Aunt Lottie too," she said solemnly.

He chuckled. "Deal."

Later, during dinner, Yn sat on Charles’ lap, carefully eating her pasta with the same concentration she'd given the flower petals earlier. Occasionally, she'd glance at the sweetheart table where Charlotte and Lorenzo sat, heads close, hands entwined.

"Papa," she said softly, tugging on his collar.

"Oui, baby?"

"Will Uncle Lolo and Aunt Lottie be together forever?"

Charles kissed her temple. "I think so, mon amour. They love each other very much."

"Okay," she whispered, satisfied. "Then I want to come to their house every day."

He laughed, holding her closer. "They’ll never say no to you."

As the night carried on, the sky fading to dusky rose and then indigo, fairy lights twinkled across the estate. The first dance drew cheers, and though Yn began to fade, yawning into Charlotte's sister's shoulder, she perked up long enough to slow dance with Charles when he swayed with her on the side of the dance floor.

"Best wedding ever," she murmured sleepily.

"I think so too, sweet girl," he whispered, resting his cheek against her curls.

By the time the cake was cut and the music turned livelier, Yn had fallen asleep on Pascale’s lap, her bow a little askew.

Charlotte came over, kissing her forehead. "Thank you for being our little fairy today."

Charles smiled, brushing a curl from Yn's face. "She’ll dream of this for weeks."

"I will too," Charlotte whispered.

The stars blinked above them, and the laughter of friends and family drifted into the night.

Love had been celebrated in the most magical way—with a little girl in white tulle at the heart of it all.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you! I know I'm a bit late, but better now than never.

-♡○♡

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tartarusknight · 11 months ago

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Steve Harrington who doesn't die. No matter what, he'll wake up afterwards. He learned it young when he survived a car crash that killed his mom. And he struggles after her death, not knowing why he survived when she didn't. As he grows up, he can't relax and parties to try and be full of something lighter. But he drinks too much at one party and he doesn't have a good friend to rely on.

As time goes on, Steve dies by Billy and by the Russians. He doesn't really understand but he begins to accept it. But he also becomes more careless. Which is how Eddie finds him.

Eddie had been able to see ghosts since he almost died from his dad. The first ghost he ever sees is his mom and she passes on after getting to hug him goodbye one last time. After that Eddie sees the few elderly people who died at the end of their lives. And the people who died too early. He got stuck as the freak for all the times he's accidentally talked to someone who wasn't there.

He had talked with Benny who was worried about that young girl. Barb who was so mad about being left behind by her friend. But he hadn't seen Will Byers and it made sense when he was found eventually. But he did hear some things from the agents stuck at the middle school who looked torn apart. Eddie learned of the Upside Down earlier but promised Wayne he'd stay out of it.

Until he saw Steve sitting on the edge of the pool, looking at his body floating in the water. There was some blood swirling in the water and it made Eddie sick. But Steve just stared blankly at his own body before sighing and standing. He froze when Eddie locked eyes with him. He glanced at the pool than Eddie. "Hmm," he gave him a small smile and moved past him.

"Wait!" Eddie called afterwards and Steve paused, "aren't you, like, I don't know needing something? Most ghosts-"

"Oh," Steve chuckled, "this won't last much longer." He stated and walked away but before he even reached the door back into the party he blinked away. Eddie let out a scream when Steve's body spasmed and his head flung up out of the water. There was still blood on the side of his face but he was alive. Steve groaned as he pulled himself out of the pool. "See," his came out hoarse and Eddie was just so confused.

#idk just a little guy #steddie #stranger things #pre steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #knightly talks #powers au #i guess

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rin-may-1103 · 4 months ago

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Delilah's Language (part four)

Previous | Master Post | Next (to be written)

The nice female scientist (whose name Danny can't remember) turned and started leading them through the crowd. Dr. Trynul huffed but stuck close, probably to try and find a way to discredit Danny's ability. (The two brothers followed but stayed silent, just watching with, for some reason, confusion AND excitement.)

Damian turned and looked up (not by much, mind you) at Danny, curiosity oozing off him in purple streaks. "You said they used their whole bodies, could you clarify?"

Danny hummed, tilting his head as he thought about how to, well, not dumb down the explanation, but make it more digestible. The kid was smart, but he didn't need a whole history lesson topped off with social science and cultural themes. That would just be a waste of time, especially during a birthday party.

"The gorilla language, specifically the purple-backed gorilla dialect I know, uses a mixture of gestures and sounds. Somewhere between, like, 75/25 and 85/15. The vocal aspect is used to emphasize." Danny began, nodding his head as he thought it out.

Damian frowned, but green fog floated around his head, showing that he was concentrating on what he was being told and not upset.

"So, a grunt after a gesture could mean it's a statement or fact. Like someone saying they ARE going to do something. A chirp after a gesture could mean a question, like COULD I do this? Unlike human languages, gorillas focus more on straightforward and simple communication. They don't really have any reason to stretch out what they want or need; they just need to make sure the other understands quickly and clearly."

"What, they don't talk about pretty flowers they saw?" Dr. Trynul cut in, rolling his eyes.

"They could," Danny hummed, ignoring the condescending aspect of the question, "they like talking to each other when they have nothing else to do, and they're smart and opininated creatures. they like pretty things, I'm sure they do talk about pretty flowers or leaves they saw."

"Sure, and I bet they also tell each other about how they keep their fur clean and what mud makes them look bad."

Damian was glaring at the man, obviously getting fed up with the interruption. Danny would usually just deal with the man and slowly drive him crazy to the point he leaves Danny alone, but Damian looked like he was ready to stab the guy. (Not like Danny would stop him if he did, but like, Danny should do something about it before that happens.)

Danny glanced at the woman leading them; she was too focused on her conversation with another scientist to be paying attention. which was good, because what Danny was about to do and say was true, but he still would prefer to gather more evidence for an air-tight case. Can't do that if other people wanted to look into it, legally.

"You know," Danny started, clasping his hands behind his back while keeping a straight face. "I wonder if your colleagues would like to know that you've been manipulating your research data."

Dr. Trynul whipped around and glared at him while Damian and his brothers slowed down in confusion and surprise. Danny kept walking.

"How dare you accuse me of such scandalous actions? I should report-" he started, quickly speeding up to match Danny's pace.

"Three papers, released to the public and scientific community. Published under a well-known science journal and written by the one and only Dr. Jake M. Trynul." Danny started, glancing at the large glass tank to the right, where a few otters swam by, gleefully splashing around and having fun.

No one but the four people walking with him was paying attention.

"The connection between environmental factors and animal behavior, Gorillas and the effect humans have on them, and finally, your newest paper, the effects of human and gorilla relationships," Danny listed, ticking them off on his hand.

"I might not be a scientist, Dr. Trynul," Danny smiled, stopping and turning to look at the man, "but I do know how to read data and do the math myself. You have blatantly manipulated scientific data gathered by yourself and your team and falsified finds all so you can trick others and, more specifically, your superiors into investing more money and resources into your research."

Tilting his head, Danny studied the man in front of him, who was flushed red in anger and clammy with nerves. Danny hadn't given any evidence that what he was saying was true yet, but the man still glanced around like someone was going to strip his license right then and there. (Which was evidence enough if you asked Danny, no one got that nervous over baseless claims.)

"You might happen to remember that I had been given the opportunity to help your team with researching and studying Dalilah and her family. An opportunity that allowed access to the team's whole process. Which meant I had access to the unedited and raw data that had been collected. Data, I might add, that I had been required to read through and help collect."

"i don't know how you've managed to do this with so many bright minds on your team, let alone get it past so many others, but i'd like to remind you Dr. Trynul, that if this did get out, with all the evidence I do have, mind you, you'd be in some serious trouble. Not only would your license be revoked but you'd face possible imprisonment. fraud, especially on a federal level, is taken very seriously."

The man gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing for a few seconds before he settled on growling at Danny, "You're lying, you don't have anything. This is libel! I should get you arrested for defamation of character!"

"Oh, bless your heart," Danny held a hand over his chest and batted his eyes, watching as the man grew even more furious. One of the brothers, Dick maybe, choked and started caughing.

"First of all," Danny started, holding up a finger, "libel is written defamation. Slander is oral defamation. Second of all, you can't get me arrested for defamation. You'd have to provide evidence that I had intended you or the public harm. And file the case in a state that deals with criminal libel. which I just said doesn't apply here."

"Third of all," Danny crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow, "I've been collecting evidence for months now. The only reason you're not being interrogated by the authorities and your superiors is that I've been busy with other things. So, I suggest you pack your stuff, go home, and evaluate your life. because I'm definitely going to be submitting my evidence after today."

Well, not right away. Like he said earlier, Danny wanted to collect more evidence. Like, sure, what he had now would definitely get the man in trouble, but Danny wanted air-tight.

Turning away, Danny started walking in the direction their temporary guide had disappeared. Damian and his brothers took a moment but quickly started following.

"holy shit," Tim breathed, glancing back at the seething man. "Do you actually have the evidence, or were you making that up to scare him?"

"I actually have the evidence, but it's back home, so it'll take 'while before I can actually submit it." Danny admitted. now that that was taken care of, he could get back to what he was actually here for.

"Alright, 'nough about him. Y'all wanted to hear about Dalilah and the language." Danny clapped his hands, turning his head to look at the three. The two older brothers looked like they'd rather continue questioning him, but Damian practically lit up in yellow light, all confusion and glee (?) from before disappearing.

"You said they liked talking when they have nothing else to do, do they not typically like to converse?" Damian asked, an almost unnoticeable skip now in his step.

"That's the thing, they talk all the time. They use a more elaborate and obviouse dialect when bored and a more straightforward and instinctual one when busy. It's fascinating." Danny smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, there you guys are!" their temporary guide cut in, "I thought I lost you guys. Come on, Delilah is just up ahead. She's going to be so excited to see you, Danny."

Danny smiled, picking up his pace when Damian (not rushed, because the kid seemed way too formal to do something as 'childish' as running) caught up to her side.

Glancing back, the two brothers were nowhere in sight.

Next (to be written)

#danny is a genius #especially with languages #dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #danny phantom #danny fenton #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #batman #dead silent #but like they're both ace #because i said so #part four #delilah's language AU #are there spelling mistakes? most definitly #pretty sure i spelled delilah as dalilah #oh well

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emacrow · 5 months ago

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God is a baby

The world was in panic as Justice League couldn't do anything, a glowing green metorite ball the size of Neptune was heading directly toward Earth.

The green lantern corps couldn't do anything to move the direction of the metorite, Superman couldn't even get near without feeling faint, believing that there was kyptonite on the metorite stopping him.

Not even John could make any deal that involved that metorite at all.

Many city panic, started fighting, crying, and broken down. Many religious groups accept their fate.

Gotham City refused to go out quietly as everyone was throwing a simultaneous party. Even the villains went all out, even Joker didn't cause harm to anyone, much less made a joke at all..

Joker tremblingly held a very old playing joker card that Batman had since their first fight years ago while his eyes, one still black from earlier look to the last live being recorded with Batman's voice speaking on the live, He stayed along side in gotham even when end of the world was here.

Clark Kent stayed with his ma and pa house, lois Lane, holding her hands.

The world stood still as the seemingly the end was close by.

Only for the glowing green metorite was rapidly slowing down, nearly the same length by as the moon even if it was gigantic in comparison.

A gargantuan hands seen to have grasped it, the hands itself were covered in stars and dust as a loudest chirp could be heard around the earth.

Bright bluish green eyes the size of the sun slowly blink with curious, a gigantic toddler the twice size of Jupiter, a chubby face covered in dwarfs star made freckles, a glowing green necklace that held the tiny dwarf pluto, hair the covered Most of the darkness that was the night sky like strains clouds made from the heaven themselves.

A massive deep blue puff escaped the gargantuan being's mouth, raining down all over the earth, where tiny pure crystalized ice was the size of a baby pearl that never melted.

Everyone who was watching the live or was watching outside could see the being clearly.

The metorite threatened to end all life on earth as they knew it was stopped by a god.

The god slowly turned, the bright white hair swaying star dust everywhere in the sky as they were turning to someone and floated away, the joyous young laughter of a toddler echoing on earth.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny is the ghost king #de aged danny #dc universe is much more smaller then Dp universe #Danny's core is space and protection #danny is a giant ghostling playing in his space theme playbox #not realizing it's actually space and he in the center of it all #he chased after he misplaced space rock realizing it headed towards one look a like of dc comic solar system he made years ago #danny doesn't understood the concept on time in his playbox and doesn't realized the universe clouds he made are actually real multiverses #nobody will never tell how joker started crying turning to laughter in that moment after the earth was saved #clockwork is that tired time god sitting with Rhea watching Danny play in his little play sandbox

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nanamisgirly · 5 months ago

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SERIES

previous << part.1 >> next

cw geto is maybe bi here idk, chubby nerd!reader with a bit of attitude, tbh there's no cw it's borderline between smut and fluff

˖ 𑣲 comments and reblogs are always appreciated ma girliees :33

womanizer!geto loves fucking women. truly he does! they are all wrapped around his fingers and all he has to do is glancing at them. and this goes for the whole campus!! even boys would fuck him if he'd give them the chance. and maybe, if the mood struck just right at a party or in a messy, drunken threesome/orgies, he does fuck the boys.

but womanizer!geto has also a nerd bestie. the typical nerd girl. she was everything but his type. nothing that looked like his usual hookup girls. she was not fit, but not exactly fat. just chubby. her acne scars from high school still there with still some pimples that comes and go. and of course the infamous nerd glasses that didn't seem to want to stay on her nose.

you were not someone womanizer!geto would ever fuck. that's why you're friends. strictly platonic. he liked how you never batted an eye at his reputation, never judged, never treated him like a conquest. you both grow close through the years together in the same degree, during the late nights session study in the library before exams, for you it was monnnths before exams, you're a little ball of stress.

womanizer!geto doesn't like when guys approached you. not because he cares—why would he? it just...doesn't make sense. you're not the kind of girl men chase. not the kind they brag about. so he makes sure to lecture you about it—especially about frat boys. "they’re the worst," he mutters, arm slung lazily over your chair as his knee bumped against yours under the table. "trust me, nerd. they only act nice 'cause they wanna see how you moan." you rolled your eyes, setting your pen down with an amused scoff. "do you think i've never fucked, suguru?" you shrugged, smirking at his clueless expression "just 'cause i'm shy and a 'nerd' doesn't mean I don't enjoy a good fuck." well, you were lying but he doesn't need to know that. you were probably having sex every couples of months and it wasn't even that good. your voice was light when you added, "thanks for the concern, though." something in his chest stutters. and for some reason, he has to look away.

womanizer!geto has no shame. he lets girls climb into his lap, lets their hands wander, lets them grind against him right on the couch with people around. almost fucking them on the spot. but never when you're around! why? well, he tells himself it's respect. at least, that's the excuse he clings to. because why else would he pull away from a pretty thing palming his cock just to go talk to you? right? he's just...pitying you. that's all. and yet—when he finally starts to feel his cock hardening in his pants, he tells himself it has nothing to do with your wide, innocent eyes blinking up at him. nothing to do with the way your lips part, soft and expectant. his dick is...delayed. yeah. just slow to catch up to the last girl's game. horrible by the way.

and of course womanizer!geto is trying to subtly adjust his pants. he's forcing his mind elsewhere—anywhere else—because if he lets himself think too hard about how fucking pretty you look right now, he's going to have a problem. a big one.

womanizer!geto keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet. only because you are his bestie! don't get any ideas on that. he found the picture cute that's it. the two of you, standing under a canopy of cherry blossom, petals floating around you like something out of a dream. his strong arm wrapped tightly around your plush waist, your round soft tits pressing against his chest. it had been an innocent day. really. he had dragged you out after hours of studying, calling you a nerd and insisting you needed air before your brain cells ended up smeared on the library table. what was supposed to be a thirty minutes walk turned into four hours. and when you reaching this pretty alley he couldn't help but suggest a pic—just for the memory! and obviously his arm was around you only to male sur you both fit in the camera frame. obviously. he was not dying to touch you!

and now here it was. the damn polaroid in gojo's hand. the white-haired menace grinning like he just found the greatest blackmail material of all time. "damn, suguru, you look so whipped." geto's eye twitched.

"look at this! holding our nerd like she's breakable—aww, how so sweet!!" gojo snickered, flipping the photo dramatically. "and—hold on. did she kiss your cheek?" suguru said nothing, jaw locked as his mind instantly flashed back to that moment—how you rose on your tiptoes, one hand pressing slightly on his broad shoulder to steady yourself as you leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. he had frozen for a second and he vividly recall your flushed face, wide eyes as you apologized profusely, muttering something about being 'carried away by the moment' and how it was simply a 'friendly' gesture.

his cock begins to stir at the memory of your soft lips against his skin. his heart skipping some beats.

"wait—holy shit." gojo barks out a laugh. "you keep this in your wallet? what, you jerk off to it?" your entire soul leaves your body. geto sees the way your eyes go wide, the way your hands fly to your face in horror.

and that's it. geto slowly stands up, cracking his knuckles and rolls his shoulders. "satoru," he said, voice eerily calm. gojo gulped. he was a dead man walking.

womanizer!geto tells himself he's just messing with you—that the way his fingers linger when he wipes a stray drop of your melting ice cream isn’t because he’s imagining how warm and soft your mouth would feel wrapped around his fingers. he convinces himself that when you lick your spoon, tongue flicking over the tip—his cock is not aching dreaming to be at the metal-stenciled place. and his rock-hard cock has definitely nothing to do with the way your thighs spread soft and full against the couch or the way your tits bouncy sightly every time you shift.

womanizer!geto is totally fine when you stretch on the couch next to him. arms up, back arching, body pushing forward, making your curves more prominent, making that cute little tummy press out—wait what?? geto shook his head trying to get back to his senses. no need to highlight it was impossible with the way his cock twitched in his pants.

womanizer!geto, obviously, does not want something with you..he does not want to bury himself into the plush softness of his nerd best friend, does not want to hear how sweetly you'd whimper his name. she's not his type!!!!

°‧★ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁( 。 •̀ ᴖ •́ 。)

a/n chubby girls are the biggest win 🙂‍↕️☝️

#my brain went all in fr #i hope this is coherent #jujustu kaisen #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #fem reader #jjk smut #geto headcanons #suguru smut #suguru headcanons #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #x you fluff

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skzophreniic · 5 months ago

Text

Miss Possessive

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 when someone else eyes your man at the Fendi afterparty

featuring: Christopher Bahng x AFAB reader

warnings: suggestive

notes: kinda late but idc lol. inspired by Miss Possessive by Tate McCrae.

The Fendi afterparty was in full swing—golden lights reflecting off champagne glasses, designer-clad elites laughing too loud, music thrumming beneath the conversations of Hollywood’s most coveted faces. It was the kind of place where power hummed in the air, where influence was measured in glances and whispers.

Chris had his arm around your waist, his fingers tracing mindless patterns against the silk of your dress. He was effortlessly charming, flashing that dimpled smile at executives and fellow artists alike, his Australian lilt melting smoothly into conversation. You loved him like this—glowing, confident, in his element.

His eyes light up when he spots somebody in the distance, his grip loosening on your hip.

“Gonna go say hi to someone real quick,” Chris murmured close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Come with me?”

You glanced up at him, catching the excitement in his expression. He lived for moments like this—connecting, networking, floating effortlessly through rooms filled with people who mattered. And you loved seeing him like this, loved knowing how easily he fit into this world.

But right now? You weren’t in the mood to entertain small talk.

“You go ahead,” you said, offering a small smile. “I’ll wait here.”

Chris hesitated for a fraction of a second, his fingers grazing your side like he was debating whether to push. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave your waist one last squeeze before slipping away, weaving through the crowd with an ease that came naturally to him.

You swirled the champagne in your glass, watching from a distance as Chris greeted the man with an easy smile, his shoulders relaxed, his charm effortless. He was always like this at events—engaging, magnetic, impossible to ignore.

And neither was she.

Standing just a little too close to the man Chris was talking to, her arm looped loosely through his, yet her gaze was fixed elsewhere. Fixed on Chris.

You noticed it immediately—the way her lashes fluttered as she watched him, the way her lips curved, not in polite acknowledgment but something softer, something indulgent. She was interested. Not in the man beside her, the one she was presumably here with, but in yours.

The realization settled over you like ice water, sharp and immediate. You’d seen this before—too many times, in too many rooms just like this. Women who thought their status or their beauty somehow made them untouchable, that their interest was a gift, not an intrusion.

She wasn’t even trying to be discreet about it.

You stayed quiet, simply watching, your expression unreadable as Chris continued his conversation, seemingly oblivious. He laughed at something the man said, dimples flashing, and you didn’t miss the way her lips parted slightly, like she was already imagining what it would be like to taste that smile.

Bold.

Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass, the cool surface grounding you. You weren’t the type to make a scene, weren’t the type to claw at Chris’s arm like a warning. Your confidence ran deeper than that.

Chris, as if sensing your gaze, glanced over his shoulder then, his expression softening when he saw you. His eyes lingered, and for a moment, the entire party seemed to fade into background noise.

Then, just as quickly, he was saying his goodbyes, excusing himself from the conversation. You didn’t miss the way she watched him go, her lips pressing together like she was debating something.

Too late.

Chris was already making his way back to you, his attention exactly where it should be. Where it had always been.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low as he slipped an arm around your waist again, reclaiming the space that had never been hers to take.

You let out a quiet hum, lifting your glass to your lips, your gaze flickering past him for only a second—long enough to see her still watching, her expression carefully composed but not nearly careful enough.

Chris followed your gaze, and something in his expression shifted. Understanding dawned, slow and steady, before amusement danced in his eyes. He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he turned back to you.

“You know,” he murmured, leaning in so only you could hear, “you don’t have to pretend you’re not annoyed.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Who said I was annoyed?”

Chris grinned, giving your waist a squeeze. “You’ve got that look,” he teased, voice full of knowing. “The one where you’re pretending not to care, but you’re already making up ways to subtly ruin her night.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, finally turning your full attention back to him. “She was looking at you like she wanted to take a bite.”

Chris let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “You do realize that was his wife, right?”

You barely blinked, lifting your glass to your lips. “And?”

Chris grinned. “And maybe she was just being friendly.”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “Chris. She was practically undressing you with her eyes.”

His dimples flashed as he grinned wider, but before he could say anything, you tilted your head, considering. “Or,” you mused, voice dripping with amusement, “maybe they’re into that sort of thing.”

Chris choked.

You watched with no small amount of satisfaction as a flush crept up his neck, his usual effortless confidence flickering for just a second. “What—” He cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “You think—”

You shrugged, all faux nonchalance. “Wouldn’t be the first time a couple tried to recruit you.”

Chris groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. “Jesus. Don’t remind me.”

You smirked behind your champagne glass, watching as he rubbed a hand down his face like he was trying to physically erase the memory.

“What was it that one guy said to you? Something about how he and his girl would ‘love to explore your energy’?”

Chris visibly shuddered. “I am begging you to never repeat that sentence again.”

You laughed, letting your fingers trail along the nape of his neck. His skin was warm, the heat creeping up from his collar, and you couldn’t resist the way he reacted to you, how easy it was to pull him in when you wanted to.

You glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of her again. She was still watching—her gaze dipping once more, as if mapping out his body, as if picturing all the ways she might get closer. Bold, but ultimately useless.

Chris was already here, with you.

You decided to prove the point.

With deliberate slowness, you let your hand slide lower, fingers pressing into the small of his back as you leaned into him, your lips grazing just beneath his ear.

“You know,” you murmured, voice soft enough that only he could hear, “if I was annoyed, I’d have a much better way of handling it than ruining her night.”

Chris inhaled sharply, and you felt the way his body tensed under your touch. His grip flexed on your waist before settling firm, almost possessive. “Yeah?” he muttered, voice lower now, rougher.

You let your lips brush the edge of his jaw, just for a second, just enough. “Mmhmm.”

Chris exhaled slowly, his hand shifting—sliding down, fingers pressing into your hip in a way that felt like both a warning and a plea

His fingers dug into your hip, just enough to make his point. “Careful,” he murmured, voice rough at the edges. “You keep this up, and we’re leaving this party early.”

You smirked, entirely unbothered by the threat. “What a shame that would be,” you mused, dragging your fingers just barely under the hem of his blazer. “Missing out on all this networking.”

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip flexing again—like he was reminding himself where you were, who was watching. But his eyes darkened, and you knew he wasn’t entirely in control of himself anymore.

You had him.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his fingers slid just a little lower, his palm pressing flush against the curve of your hip. His body shifted, subtly angling you away from the rest of the room, from prying eyes, but you caught it—the way she was still watching, her expression unreadable, her lips pressed into a careful line.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet. Possessive in a way that didn’t require theatrics.

And then, just to seal it, you leaned up, brushing your lips against the shell of Chris’s ear, making damn sure she saw the way he shivered.

“Baby,” he muttered, like a warning, like a plea.

You pressed your smile against his jaw. “Mmhmm?”

Chris exhaled through his nose again, steadying himself, and when he finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes burned. His amusement was still there, but now it was tinged with something else, something hotter.

“I’m getting you another drink,” he said, his voice low, steady. But his fingers lingered on your waist, like he didn’t actually want to step away.

You tilted your head, gaze steady. “I don’t need another drink.”

Chris huffed out something that was almost a laugh, but his fingers flexed against your waist like he was hanging onto his last shred of composure. His jaw tightened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and then he shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“No,” he said, voice rough. “You definitely do.”

You arched a brow, lips twitching. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose as he took another step away. “Because,” he said, voice rougher than before, “if I stand here for one more second, I’m gonna forget we’re at a party.”

You smirked, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way he practically forced himself to step back. He needed the space—needed to pull himself together, to break the spell you’d so effortlessly cast over him.

Chris was disciplined, always the one in control, always the level-headed leader who could charm his way through any situation. But right now? Right now, his composure was cracking at the edges, and you loved knowing you were the reason why.

He cleared his throat, dragging a hand down his face before glancing toward the bar like it was some kind of lifeline. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered, already turning.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t need to. Because the second he put even a step of distance between you, he hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before shaking his head, like he was trying to clear you from his system.

You didn’t look away.

Not at first.

No, you let her stare, let her sit with it, let her marinate in the realization that whatever fleeting fantasy she’d entertained—whatever sliver of hope she’d foolishly clung to—had never stood a chance. Because this? This wasn’t a maybe. This wasn’t an opening.

Chris had already made his choice.

So you lifted your glass that Chris had just handed you, slow and deliberate, meeting her gaze with something just a touch too sweet, just a shade too knowing. And then—because you could—you raised it in a silent toast.

A petty, razor-sharp little acknowledgment.

I see you.

Her expression barely flickered, but you caught it—the subtle shift, the way her fingers curled slightly at her side, the way her lips pressed together in something that wasn’t quite a smile. She didn’t like being caught. Didn’t like that you knew exactly what she had been thinking.

Didn’t like that she had lost before she’d even started.

You took a slow sip of your champagne, savoring the moment, before finally, lazily, turning your attention away. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? She didn’t matter enough to keep looking at.

Chris did.

And Chris? He was watching the entire thing unfold, his gaze flicking between the two of you, amusement flickering beneath something darker.

"You’re insufferable," he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

You tilted your head, all innocence. "What ever do you mean?"

Chris let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, but you saw the way his fingers flexed around the glass in his hand, saw the way his jaw tightened as he leaned in, voice just for you.

"That was mean."

You shrugged, unfazed. "That was mercy."

Chris huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but the way his fingers curled around your waist said he wasn’t entirely unaffected. His grip was firm—just shy of possessive, like he needed to ground himself in your presence, like he needed to remind himself that no amount of fleeting attention from anyone else could touch what was his.

"You’re a piece of work, you know that?" he murmured, eyes still dancing with amusement.

You smiled, slow and sweet. "And yet, here you are."

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, his dimples flashing as he tipped his glass to his lips. "Yeah," he admitted, voice low, warm. "Here I am."

And that was it, wasn’t it?

You didn’t need to stake your claim, didn’t need to sink your claws into him in some desperate display of ownership. Because Chris wasn’t looking at anyone else. He wasn’t thinking about anyone else.

And the way his hand slid lower, fingers pressing into the small of your back like he couldn’t help himself? The way his eyes softened, darkened, like you were the only thing keeping him tethered in a room full of noise and flashing lights?

That said everything.

So you let the moment settle between you, let the warmth of the champagne hum through your veins as Chris traced absentminded circles against your hip, his fingers slow, lazy.

His hand slid lower, a warning, a promise, before he took a slow step back, eyes still locked onto yours. "We should go," he murmured, voice rough. "Before I forget how to behave."

You hummed, pretending to consider it, even as your body leaned into his touch like it already knew the answer. “That bad, huh?”

Chris let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening against your waist, his breath fanning warm against your cheek as he dipped closer—just close enough to make your pulse stutter. “You have no idea.”

You knew exactly what was running through his head, how tightly he was holding the last threads of his composure, how close he was to losing the game he always played so well.

So you tipped your chin up, gaze steady, letting your lips just barely graze his jaw as you murmured, “Then what are we still doing here?”

Chris exhaled sharply, like he was physically restraining himself, before shaking his head with a breathy laugh. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, already slipping his hand into yours, already leading you through the crowd with a singular purpose.

You let him. You followed, matching his pace, feeling the heat of his palm against yours, feeling the weight of his gaze every time he glanced down at you like he was already thinking ten steps ahead.

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aleksatia · 5 months ago

Text

Please Verify Your Lover Before Proceeding

One of the strangest nights of your life. You had a little too much at Tara’s birthday—the drink tasted light, but turned out vicious. Your brain took a vacation through a Deep Space Tunnel, and your body was on full autopilot.

Somehow, you ended up with him, fully convinced it was the right one. But oh, how wrong you were—drunk and blissfully unaware, you’d just mistaken one of your men for another.

Author’s Note: Please don’t take these drabbles too seriously — they’re purely for fun and unhinged emotional relief. I desperately needed a break from the recent angst spiral to be able to return to it with (somewhat) intact mental health 😅 Logic may have been slightly sacrificed along the way, and yes — this is basically an AU.

CW/TW: Impaired consent due to intoxication, Mistaken identity during intimacy, Sexual situations, Mild voyeurism / indirect third-party involvement, Emotional confusion / post-intimacy guilt or shock, Strong language & innuendo, Humor + chaos.

It wasn’t… Caleb?!

You didn’t remember falling asleep—only that the table was sticky, the music was loud, and your messages to Caleb had begun to look more like encrypted runes than words. But you’d been so sure he’d understand. He always did. He was reliable like that.

When arms slid under your body, you didn’t resist. Of course he came.

The world swayed as he carried you, steady and strong. You nuzzled closer to his chest and sighed. Everything smelled clean—sharp, cool, and oddly antiseptic—but you chalked that up to his military instincts. Caleb always smelled like order.

A car. Then motion. And then—blankets. Pillows. The faintest hum of electronics nearby. Hands tucking you in like you were fragile. Like you mattered.

“Stay,” you mumbled, fingers clinging to his sleeve.

He exhaled through his nose. “You need water.”

You frowned. “You never let me just feel things. Always hydration and discipline.”

“That’s hardly a criticism.”

You cracked one eye open, just a sliver. His silhouette hovered near the bed, sharp and still.

“I asked you to stay,” you said again, lips barely moving.

“You also asked me to bring snacks,” he murmured. “And a crowbar.”

You groaned into the pillow. “That sounds like me.”

“You texted me eight times in ten minutes.”

“I thought I texted you once.”

“There were diagrams.”

You made a noise of protest, buried your face deeper in the pillow, then muttered, “Well. I wouldn’t have let anyone else see me like this.”

Silence. A rustle of fabric. Then the cool press of a glass against your hand.

“Drink,” he said softly.

You did. Begrudgingly.

Because of course Caleb would come for you. And of course he’d bring water.

You drifted off with the world tilting gently beneath you, like the bed was floating somewhere through space. The weight of him settled beside you—solid, grounding, exactly where he was supposed to be. You reached out, blindly, and found his hand. Twined your fingers with his and dragged his palm to rest flat against your stomach. He let you. Of course he did. He always did.

Sleep took you again.

You weren’t sure what woke you. The dark still pressed heavy against your closed eyelids. But your body stirred, aware before your mind caught up. His chest was warm against your back. One arm wrapped tight around your waist. Your legs tangled together beneath the blanket.

And he was hard.

You shifted—just a little—and felt it. The unmistakable pressure, hot and firm against the curve of your backside. Your breath caught. A single beat passed. Then another. Your pulse quickened.

Desire slid into your veins like heat meeting cold.

You didn’t think. Not in full sentences. Not in anything that might pass for logic. You only felt: the warmth of his skin, the weight of his body, the way his presence lit something low and needy inside you.

You turned, slow and quiet, until your chest met his. Eyes still closed. Your nose brushed his throat. You inhaled deeply, searching for that familiar scent—leather, wind, the faint sharpness of steel.

Your hand found the plane of his abdomen. His skin was warm, smooth, the muscle beneath taut and unyielding. Your fingers followed the line of it lower. Slipping beneath the edge of his waistband. Seeking.

He gasped.

The sound was rough. Strained. Not what you expected.

But it didn’t stop you.

Your hand closed around him. Firm. Intentional. He was already hard, already pulsing with heat, and you stroked once—slow, deliberate.

The moan that tore from his chest startled you. Not because of the sound itself, but because something about it was… off.

Not unfamiliar.

But wrong.

Before you could process it, his hand shot out and caught your wrist—tight, urgent. He didn’t push you away. Not yet. But the question was there, suspended in the air between you, pulsing louder than the beat of your heart.

Still, you didn’t stop.

Your lips found his throat. You bit—softly. Your tongue traced the line of his jaw, then higher, brushing the shell of his ear.

“I’m aware of what I’m doing,” you whispered, voice low, slow, thick with sleep and need. “And I’m not nearly as drunk as I was.”

His breath hitched.

You smiled.

“Let me thank you,” you murmured, your fingers flexing slightly, teasing his grip on your wrist. “For taking care of me.”

His fingers trembled against your wrist. The grip loosened—not quite a surrender, but not a refusal either. An uncertain signal. A warning draped in permission.

You ignored it.

You didn’t want hesitation. You wanted heat. Contact. Caleb would’ve already had you on your back by now, reckless and absolute, dragging you under without room to think.

But this? This felt… cautious. Careful.

Too careful.

You pushed the thought away.

With one fluid movement, you rolled on top of him. Straddled his hips. Your thighs pinned his firmly in place as you shifted, slow and deliberate, letting the friction of his arousal drag against you through too-thin fabric.

He exhaled like you’d knocked the air from his lungs—and then, suddenly, he surged upward.

His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against him, and his mouth found yours in a kiss that was nothing like Caleb’s.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t dominant. It was hungry and startled, like he was discovering the shape of you for the first time. Like he didn’t know how to kiss you—only that he had to. Urgently. Now.

It should’ve been a clue.

Instead, it turned the fire in your chest into something wilder.

You moaned into his mouth. Your hands fisted in his shirt—no, bare skin now—your nails scraping across his shoulders as you ground your hips down again.

“Caleb…”

He froze.

Every muscle in his body went taut beneath you.

And then—his hands shot up. Not to push. Not to hurt. But to catch your face, firm and deliberate, his palms warm against your cheeks as he held you just far enough away to see you clearly.

“Open your eyes,” he said, voice sharp. Not cruel—but commanding.

Not Caleb’s voice.

Your heart stuttered.

You opened your eyes.

And stared straight into green.

Not warm purple. Not storm-dark, half-lidded with possessive heat. No.

Sharp, clear, unflinching green.

Zayne.

You jerked back like you’d been shocked, your limbs tangling in sheets that weren’t yours, weren’t his.

This was Zayne’s apartment. Zayne’s bed. Zayne’s body.

And you were half-naked, straddling a man who wasn’t the one you’d summoned in your drunken haze.

Your voice cracked. “Oh my god.”

You scrambled back so fast you lost the sheet. There was a heroic attempt to rise with dignity, followed by a valiant battle with the comforter, and then—gravity. Your heel caught on the edge of the blanket and you toppled clean off the bed.

The floor greeted you with a muffled thump. Fortunately, Zayne had expensive taste. The rug was thick, soft, and tragically unjudgmental.

You lay there for a second, face-down, tangled in linen and a full-body mortification spiral.

From above, Zayne’s voice: “Another point in favor of sobriety.”

You groaned into the rug.

“Impaired coordination,” he continued, in a tone that could only be described as clinically disappointed. “Reduced motor skills. Poor spatial awareness.”

You flailed upright with the rage of a woman who wished the carpet would eat her alive. Your face was on fire. Your hair looked like a stormcloud with trust issues.

“You’re not helping,” you hissed.

“I’m educating.”

“Zayne—!”

“Also: tendency toward misidentification of romantic partners. Should I add that to the list?”

You made a strangled noise. A mix between a gasp, a sob, and the dying shriek of someone who had just remembered exactly where her hand had been several minutes ago.

“Are you writing this down?” he added mildly. “I can fetch a datapad.”

“I’m never drinking again,” you muttered, yanking the sheet tighter around yourself like it might smother the memory. Or you. “And if I do, I’m never texting Caleb for help again.”

There was a pause.

“Why would he send you, anyway?”

Zayne tilted his head, expression infuriatingly neutral.

“Possibly,” he said, “because you texted me. Not him.”

Your face went very still. Then very pale.

“Oh God,” you whispered. “I… I didn’t say anything indecent, did I?”

He didn’t answer.

Your stomach dropped.

“…Zayne?”

He looked at the ceiling. “There were words. Phrases. Some suggestive punctuation.”

You let out a dying noise.

“And a photo,” he added blandly.

You buried your face in the sheet. “Please don’t finish that sentence unless you want to resuscitate me.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—so dryly you almost missed the humor under it—

“…I’ve already cleared it from my device.”

You made another noise.

Possibly a prayer. Possibly a scream. Possibly both.

You mumbled into your hands, voice muffled and pitiful, “Zayne, I’m so sorry. You should’ve left me there. Let me deal with my drunk disasters alone…”

Without warning, he reached for your wrist and pulled you upright, settling you on the bed beside him with calm, practiced strength.

“Look at me.”

You shook your head instantly. “I can’t. I’m too embarrassed.”

“That’s your punishment,” he said, voice flat but glinting with something undeniably sharp. “You kissed me. While thinking I was someone else.”

You winced and slowly peeked up at him—only to find no trace of anger. None.

Instead… he looked like he was on the brink of laughing.

Zayne. Laughing.

There was warmth tugging at the corners of his mouth, rare and real. His eyes shimmered with quiet amusement. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him this entertained by anything—let alone by you.

And then—his hand moved.

Gently, his knuckles traced the curve of your cheek. His fingers tucked a rogue strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that stole the breath right from your lungs.

“So,” he said softly, “you and Caleb. It’s serious?”

You closed your eyes, barely whispering, “Zayne… please don’t.”

But his voice was quiet again, low and steady. “You can message me. Or call. Any time. No matter what state you’re in. I mean it.”

You didn’t even realize you’d leaned into him until your shoulder brushed his. Your body betrayed you—drawn toward his warmth, the way his presence steadied everything. Your pulse slowed, and then shifted. It wasn’t beating for Caleb anymore.

It was singing. For him.

“For the record,” you murmured, “what if I… try to seduce you again?”

His voice was a breath against your ear.

“Did I resist the first time?”

You swallowed hard. Then—he whispered:

“Just promise me, next time… you’ll be sure it’s me.”

And you nodded. Because next time, it absolutely would be.

It wasn’t… Rafayel?!

You hadn’t meant to end up in his bed. That much you’d be forced to admit later—probably while he quietly reviewed the sequence of your poor decisions like a disappointed professor grading a very chaotic thesis.

It had all made perfect sense at the time. Tara’s birthday had involved five kinds of glowing drinks, three games with suspiciously flexible rules, and one hot tub that felt like the gateway to another dimension. By the time you stumbled out into the hallway, barefoot, blissed out, and humming a song you didn’t know, your brain had decided it was time to find him.

You’d made it to the door. That counted. The hallway swam slightly, edges soft in the low light. The lock read your fingerprint and clicked open. Inside: dark, warm, quiet. Moonlight spilled faintly across the floor. Familiar outlines slid past as you moved—sofa, shelf, the slight turn toward the bedroom.

You didn’t think. You didn’t need to. Your body knew the way.

So of course you’d climbed into the bed without thinking. Of course you’d tucked yourself against him and whispered half-intelligible things into his skin. And of course, when strong arms wrapped instinctively around you, you took that as confirmation that yes, this was right. This was where you belonged.

He shifted under you when you kissed the hollow of his throat, but didn’t speak. His breath stilled, then deepened. When your fingers trailed down his chest, finding the edge of the sheet and the warmer skin beneath, he flinched—but still said nothing.

So you kept going.

He tasted like the dark—clean, quiet, unexpectedly warm. The muscles in his stomach twitched as your mouth moved lower. His fingers curled in the sheet. You caught his wrist, guided his hand to your waist, and exhaled against his neck, letting your body press fully to his.

It was quiet for a long moment. Then—his voice, rough, barely above a whisper.

“You’re drunk.”

You hummed an agreement against his collarbone and licked it, slow and deliberate.

“We shouldn’t,” he said. But his hand stayed on your hip.

“We won’t,” you lied.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he pulled you closer.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was a sudden, visceral shift—the kind that made you gasp against his mouth and cling to him harder. His mouth found yours like he’d waited years to taste it. His hands moved over you like he was mapping terrain he hadn’t dared to touch before.

This wasn’t quite the slow-burning, theatrical Rafayel you were used to. He liked to draw things out—playful, teasing, all about the build-up. But this... this was different. Urgent. Focused. Like he’d waited long enough and wasn’t in the mood for his usual games.

It wasn’t a thought, not really. More like a drunk idea dressed up as instinct. Your fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, gathering soft fabric, dragging it upward. He shifted—just enough to help—and the shirt came off in a blur of warmth and motion. You blinked at the bare skin in front of you, something in your brain slurring oh yes, that’ll do, and you pressed your hands to him like the rest of the scene couldn’t continue without contact.

When he pushed you down into the mattress, you welcomed the weight of him. His hands moved with surprising coordination, slipping under the fabric of your dress, tugging it down with quiet urgency. When his mouth found the curve of your jaw, your throat, your shoulder—you arched into him, fingers tangled in his hair, your dress forgotten somewhere near your knees.

He groaned—quiet, desperate—and for a second, his forehead pressed to yours. His breath was ragged. His eyes never left your face, even in the dark. Then he drew back just slightly, the moonlight skimming across your skin—and he stilled. His gaze moved over you, unhurried, almost cautious, like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to touch. Not quite the hungry, theatrical boldness you’d come to expect. No smirk. No whispered praise. Just silence, and a look that felt... different.

Like he was seeing you for the first time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, the words almost accidental, half-swallowed.

You smiled lazily, fingertips skimming his ribs.

“I thought you’d be used to me by now,” you said, your words slightly slurred, softened by heat and alcohol. “My body’s not for watching tonight. It’s for enjoying. For doing things.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat—something between restraint and surrender—and kissed you again, harder this time. His body moved against yours in a way that left no doubt: he wanted this.

He wanted you.

So when your legs wrapped around his waist, he didn’t stop you.

And when your hands slipped down his back, dragging him closer, he moaned into your mouth.

And then—

“God,” you whispered, “I’ve wanted this since I saw your last painting… the way you had me sprawled out, all silk and shadows—like you were already touching me.”

The words hung there for a moment, sticky with heat, stillness, and something just a bit too specific.

Then—he went absolutely still.

Not the intoxicating stillness of desire. The clinical, surgical stillness of a mind calculating disaster in real time.

You blinked up at him, a little dazed, your body still aching from the closeness, the heat of his skin against yours.

"Rafayel?" you said softly.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he said, calm and mechanical, "Lights. On."

There was a barely audible click—and then light flooded the room like divine judgment.

You froze.

He was already half-sitting, breathing heavily, shirtless and flushed, his eyes locked on your face with a mix of focus and sheer, silent horror.

And then you saw his face.

Not rose-blue eyes glinting with mischief. Not a lopsided, teasing mouth.

Not Rafayel.

You saw precision-cut cheekbones, sky-blue eyes sharp as scalpels, and a jaw that had never once wobbled mid-sentence with poetic nonsense.

Xavier.

You shrieked.

Actually shrieked.

You slapped both hands over your bare breasts with a speed that could qualify you for Olympic fencing and scrambled backward in the bed, pulling the sheet up with wild eyes and lungs full of panic.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, suddenly and violently sober. “Oh my—oh my GOD—”

Xavier, to his credit, didn’t move. His breathing was steadying. His expression was unreadable, but his knuckles were white against the mattress.

“I thought—” You stared at him like he’d grown horns. “I thought you were Rafayel!”

“Yes,” he said tightly. “I noticed.”

“I didn’t just crawl into the wrong bed—”

“You broke into the wrong apartment.”

“I kissed your neck!”

You flushed, vividly, because that hadn’t been the only place you'd kissed—just the only one you could admit out loud.

“I was painfully aware.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I was... reassessing reality.”

You buried your face in the sheet with a strangled sound of anguish.

After a moment, you heard him get up—quiet, efficient. Fabric rustled. Then something soft landed next to you.

You peeked out from the sheet.

It was his T-shirt. White, loose, and—dear gods—smelling exactly like him. A mix of clean cotton, green tea, and that cool scent you’d never been able to place, only feel. It was like someone distilled self-control and made it wearable.

You looked up at him. He stood by the bed, wearing only joggers, one brow raised.

“Put it on,” he said calmly. “Before your shame kills us both.”

You yanked the shirt over your head so fast you nearly headbutted yourself in the process. It fell down over your thighs like a dress. You smelled like him. That was worse.

You sat there, radiating nuclear embarrassment.

He watched you for a long moment.

And then, quietly: “You really thought I was him?”

You nodded, mute.

“In the dark. After drinking... whatever that glowing thing was.”

You sighed, covering your face. “I regret ever convincing you to switch to a biometric lock and give me access.”

“I don’t,” he said quietly. “I just regret being the wrong destination.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, not close. Measured. That familiar weight of his presence returned—less physical now, more intellectual. You glanced sideways at him, unsure what you were allowed to say.

“I should go,” you offered weakly.

“No. You’ll trip. Or misidentify someone else. You’re a hazard tonight.”

He sighed. “Stay here. I’ll take the couch.”

“Fair.”

He glanced at the ceiling. “Let’s try not to confuse the doors next time.”

That earned a groan. “I’m never going to live this down.”

“I might require compensation,” he said dryly.

You turned, still hugging your knees. “How do I make it up to you?”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Next time,” he said, “you come to the correct bed. On purpose.”

You blinked. “Wait. Are you saying—”

“Fully conscious,” he added. “And able to tell your men apart.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I’m sober now. That could technically be—”

“No.” His voice was softer now. “Not tonight.”

He reached out, gently touched the crown of your head, and pressed the softest kiss there—quiet, a little too tender. Your heart seized.

“Tonight,” he said, “I’m still trying to process the fact that I don’t leave enough of an impression to be distinguishable in bed.”

You winced. “I mean... in the dark... you did feel a little like him...”

He gave you a look that could have withered a houseplant.

“I’ll stop talking now.”

“Wise.”

Still, he stayed close. He reached for the crumpled blanket and helped you lie back, adjusting the pillows behind you with quiet efficiency. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. He pulled the blanket up over your waist, smoothed it once, and stepped back—not far, just enough to give you space you weren’t sure you wanted.

He turned to leave. You caught his hand.

He froze.

When you spoke, your voice was quiet, stripped of awkwardness.

“If I confused you with someone else... that doesn’t mean I never wanted it to be you.”

His eyes met yours.

“I’ve wanted it to be you,” you went on, “for longer than I like to admit. But you’re so... precise. Reserved. I didn’t want to cross a line. I didn’t want to lose what we do have, whatever it is.”

He was silent.

Then he smiled. Just barely. A corner-curve of the mouth. Trouble in disguise.

He stepped over to his nightstand, tore a page from his notepad, and scribbled something.

You sat up as he folded the note and tucked it beside your pillow.

“Good night,” he said.

“Xavier—what’s this?”

He was already at the door.

“Open it when I leave.”

And then—he was gone. Out of the room, the door closing behind him with soft finality.

You opened the note. In clean, minimal handwriting:

"1x Free Visit. Valid for: the right door. Condition: Full sobriety. —X"

You sank back into his bed, clutching the note to your chest. Your fingers found his pillow—still warm, still carrying the quiet, unmistakable scent of him—and you pulled it close, burying your face in it with a helpless little sigh. Half in love, half in horror.

Somewhere, in the haze between drinks and desire, you’d made a mistake.

But maybe—just maybe—it had been waiting to happen all along.

It wasn’t… Zayne?!

How on earth had you let Tara drag you into a masquerade party?

If only you’d known what was coming.

You’d arrived in your normal clothes, and within minutes, she’d stuffed you into the only spare costume she had left. You’d barely downed your first drink when you caught your reflection in the mirror: an almost indecently short nurse’s dress, thigh-high fishnets, unforgiving heels, and—because humiliation demands layers—two pigtails perched like cherries on a sundae.

Glass after glass drowned out the voice of reason until, eventually, you started having fun. Maybe a little too much fun. Because that’s when the idea formed.

You messaged Zayne.

“Still working?”

He replied almost instantly. “Yes. Another sleepless night. Want to keep me company?”

You smirked, picturing his face when you’d peel off your coat and reveal the gloriously inappropriate disaster you were currently wearing.

“Call me a cab and you’ll get a surprise,” you typed, giggling.

You dropped him the address. The letters on your screen were already beginning to dance, so you tucked your phone into your purse and made a wobbly descent toward the pickup point.

You passed out in the car.

Your legs carried you on autopilot when you arrived. The building seemed darker than usual, quieter. Like a hospital at 3 a.m.—eerily clean and vaguely menacing. You could’ve used a saline IV and a glucose drip, but you soldiered forward, heels clicking ominously against marble floors.

At one point, you had to catch yourself against the wall, nearly toppling over. You burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Someone whistled.

Zayne?

He didn’t usually whistle… but then again, he didn’t usually see you like this. Drunk. Sultry. One wardrobe malfunction away from a lawsuit.

“Doctor,” you slurred, dropping your purse with a dramatic gasp. “I think I need assistance.”

You bent down in the least ergonomic way possible—legs locked, heels steady, dress defying gravity. Your hands fumbled across the floor, patting around blindly while he, poor man, had an unobstructed view of everything that made your outfit barely legal.

“What are you waiting for, Doctor?” you purred. “Put me to bed, stat.”

“Might need an ambulance,” he muttered.

“Tonight, you are my ambulance. My emergency contact. My…” You paused, reaching for a word.

“Grateful audience?” he offered dryly.

“Well, if you’d rather just watch, Doctor. Or are you going to perform a proper exam? I think I twisted my ankle…”

He chuckled.

Zayne—laughing?

You blinked at him, trying to steady the room, but he stepped in, catching you carefully beneath the arms and lifting you upright. Then, without a word, he scooped you into his arms and began carrying you toward the bedroom.

You looped your arms around his neck, closed your eyes with a happy sigh, and let yourself melt into the warmth of him.

Once you were laid out on the soft bedspread, you stretched out one leg toward him—gracefully, or so you believed. The stiletto heel pointed at his chest like the barrel of a gun.

“My ankle, Doctor,” you reminded him.

Obediently, he slipped off the shoe. His strong, confident fingers wrapped around your foot, gently massaging it. It felt so sweet—so good—you tilted your head back, relaxed, and moaned.

He braced your leg against his chest and reached for the other. The second heel hit the floor with a dull thud. He began to knead your other foot, and it awakened something in you that felt anything but patient-like. Your heart pounded loudly beneath your ribs, urging you toward something bolder. Braver.

Your leg began to slowly slide down his torso, inch by inch, until it came to rest precisely where you wanted it—against the hardness that told you he wasn’t as detached as he pretended.

You heard him exhale sharply. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around your ankle.

“You need sleep and hydration,” he said, voice low, breathless. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Nooo,” you drawled, pouting. “I’ve been a very, very naughty nurse tonight.”

He paused.

Not just physically—his whole energy shifted, like something inside him pulled tight. His hands were still on your ankles, but they weren’t moving anymore.

“You’re drunk,” he whispered softly. “This isn’t fair to you.”

You blinked, pouting deeper. “Ugh. Your professional ethics are showing.”

His thumbs brushed lightly over the bone of your ankle. “They tend to, when my patient is trying to seduce me.”

You stretched like a cat, deliberately languid, as your calf slid back up his chest. “I may be tipsy, but I’m also extremely committed to bad decisions. And I would absolutely do this sober.”

He didn’t speak.

You tilted your head, arching a brow—at least, you thought you did. It was hard to tell with the ceiling gently rotating overhead. You squinted, trying to make out his face. But the low light, the alcohol, and the sheer gravitational rebellion of the night blurred the lines of his features. He was all shadows and warmth and intent.

“Unless… you’re just not interested?”

That got him.

He surged forward—fast, smooth, a whisper of movement—and braced himself over you, catching your wrists with one hand, his body caging yours without fully touching. His face hovered just above yours, close enough that his breath tickled your lips.

“I’m interested,” he said, voice low and strained. “That’s the problem.”

You grinned.

“I knew it,” you whispered. “Even doctors are weak to naughty nurses.”

Still grinning, you reached up, hooked a finger through the front of his shirt, and pulled him closer. His nose bumped yours. His hair brushed your cheek. His breath hitched.

You crashed your lips against his in a kiss that was all wine and wicked intent. He let out a surprised breath—half gasp, half groan—but his body was already surrendering. Resistance ebbed away with every exhale.

With a burst of surprising strength for someone three cocktails and a questionable decision deep, you pushed him back onto the bed and immediately latched your mouth onto his nipple, biting just enough to make him jolt. His fingers tangled in your hair, breath catching.

Your lips continued their descent, tracing his abs like a cartographer mapping out forbidden territory. The soft trail of your tongue drew out a sound from his chest—low, needy, beautifully vulnerable.

You’d just reached his belt when you purred, mock-innocent:

“Mmm, Dr. Zayne, I think you’ve just entered my private treatment room...”

“Oh, cutie,” came the reply, tinged with amusement, a spark of offense, and a whole lot of lust, “I think you just fell into your own damn trap.”

Your fingers froze mid-buckle.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Your head gave a small shake.

No. Nope. Not yet.

Because now you knew. You knew exactly whose voice that was.

Still crouched low, you began to slide—gracefully, like a wartime spy—off the bed, dragging half the sheet with you. It took some maneuvering, but you made it to the floor in one piece, curling under the blanket like a small, trembling tent of denial.

“Do you think if you can’t see me, I’ll just disappear?” came Rafayel’s voice, far too amused for anyone who’d just been mistaken for someone else. He shuffled to the edge of the mattress.

You could feel him hovering.

“Say I’m dreaming,” you mumbled from under the blanket, your voice muffled by mortification. “If you’re any kind of gentleman, you’ll pretend I’m asleep and this was all a fever dream.”

“Naaaah,” he replied in a pitch-perfect mockery of your earlier whine. “Up until ten seconds ago, it was a very sweet, very erotic dream. I’m not quite ready to downgrade it to a nightmare just because the starring role was apparently meant for someone else.”

“Raf...” You had no idea what to say. Your head was pounding, your dignity in shreds. “I swear, this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh really?” he drawled. “Because it looked a lot like a drunk and debauched nurse opening the gates of heaven before kicking me headfirst into hell. Or are you going to tell me calling me by someone else’s name was a charming little accident?”

You peeked your nose out from under the blanket to breathe, and his face was suddenly right there. Way too close. That smug grin said it all: you owed him emotional reparations until the end of time.

“I don’t even know how I ended up here.”

“Yeah,” he smirked, tugging the blanket off your head and grabbing both of your ridiculous pigtails in one hand, pulling you closer. “I gathered that much. What I don’t know is how often you pull stunts like this with your good doctor.”

“What? No!” You struggled slightly, trying to pull back, but he tugged again, tilting your head up with a wicked glint. “There’s nothing serious going on! A girl has needs, okay?”

Rafayel tilted his head. “Sweetheart, I saw those needs up close and in high definition.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “Etched forever in my memory. Like a museum piece. ‘The Lustful Nurse: A Study in Confused Devotion.’”

You groaned and tried to bury your face in the sheet again. He didn’t let you.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, catching your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes. “You wanted a doctor. I stepped in. Professionally. Valiantly. Heroically, some might say.”

“Heroically?” you snorted. “You didn’t even stop me!”

“I did, cutie. I said something about hydration. And moral boundaries. But then your foot was—how do I put this—communicating with certain regions of my anatomy, and I lost the thread.”

You sputtered a laugh before you could stop yourself. His grin widened, full of wolfish charm and barely-concealed affection.

“I’m just saying,” he continued breezily, “next time you feel overwhelmed by your... medical urgencies, I’d prefer you direct all prescriptions and referrals to me directly.” He leaned in slightly. “I happen to think I played the role of attending physician beautifully.”

You tilted your head. “Does that mean… you’ll forgive me?”

He pretended to ponder. “Hm. That depends. Will the cure involve exactly the moment where we left off?”

You blinked.

“With the nurse on top, making some very compelling arguments with her mouth?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Only if the nurse is sober.”

“Oh, definitely sober,” he agreed. “I want her full faculties engaged when she begs next time.”

You rolled your eyes. “And what if next time, she shows up in horns and a succubus tail instead?”

His eyes gleamed. “Darling, that is your default setting.”

Before you could retaliate, he grabbed the sheet and wrapped you up like a particularly offended caterpillar, tucking the ends with unnecessary flair.

“Hey!” you squeaked, now entirely cocooned.

“There,” he said, with deep satisfaction, flopping you gently onto the mattress like a tragic little gnome. “A very dramatic gurney roll. Perfect hospital protocol.”

He leaned over and pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a beat.

“Rest now, Nurse Chaos,” he murmured. “Your doctor will go brew you something for the hangover of the century.”

And with a final wink, he vanished toward the kitchen—barefoot, shirtless, and infuriatingly smug.

You sighed into the pillow, flushed and cocooned, and groaned: “I am never drinking again.”

From the kitchen, his voice rang out cheerfully: “Liar.”

It wasn’t… Xavier?!

You were so drunk you didn’t remember ordering a car. But apparently, you had. Your phone—bless its barely functioning GPS—had autopiloted to the first name on your address list. And that felt… correct.

The car ride was a blur. The city swayed too much. You told the driver about the ocean at some point. He didn’t respond.

When you stumbled out in front of the building, something felt off. The lights were dimmer than usual. The entryway looked taller. Moodier. But you were too focused on the door—because for some reason, it refused to open.

You glared at the scanner, then at your hand, as if your fingerprint had betrayed you.

Eventually, after a prolonged and increasingly hostile battle, the lock beeped. You triumphed with a muttered, “Told you.”

The elevator was missing.

Replaced by a flickering light and an echo.

You turned. Someone stood by the stairwell.

No. Two someones. Identical silhouettes in matching black. Both leaning against the wall like shadows in waiting.

“Hi,” you said carefully.

Both of them smiled. It was disconcerting.

You blinked. “Are you... the neighbor?”

One of them nodded. The other tilted his head in sync.

You decided that meant yes.

“I’m looking for the elevator,” you whispered, as if sharing a classified secret.

“Out of order,” one said.

“Stairs only tonight,” the other added, perfectly in time.

You squinted. “…Okay.”

The stairwell was infinite. You lost a shoe on the third landing, your dignity on the fifth. Your left heel gave up entirely and got left behind somewhere between realms. You told it you’d come back for it.

Eventually, floors blurred into memory. The hall looked darker than it should’ve. You walked along the wall like it owed you support.

And then—him again. Them.

Same neighbor(s). Same smirks. Still somehow here.

You blinked. “Didn’t I pass you?”

“Not yet,” one said, cheerful.

“Still on track,” said the other.

You frowned. “Where’s… he?” You didn’t say the name. You didn’t need to. Your brain filled it in: Xavier. Of course.

One of them pointed to a door. The other followed the gesture like a synchronized swimmer.

You nodded gratefully, only swaying a little. “Thanks, Mr. Neighbors.”

The door surrendered instantly—possibly out of self-preservation. You stepped inside with a victorious little “Hah,” completely and utterly confident…

…that you were finally at his home.

You were, quite literally, trapped in your own dress.

One arm was hooked behind your neck, the other somewhere near your lower back, and the fabric had bunched halfway over your face like a smug, pastel-colored straitjacket. Your shoulder popped audibly as you twisted in what you were reasonably certain would qualify as a Cirque du Soleil audition gone wrong.

Somewhere in the room, a crow cawed.

You flinched. “Shhh. Bird,” you hissed at it. “Don’t judge me.”

You staggered blindly toward the edge of the bed, hands fumbling forward until they landed on what you assumed—hoped—was Xavier. The solid warmth under your palms shifted slightly. And then—

A sound. Not a protest. Not quite a groan.

Something… different.

“Babe,” you slurred affectionately, still muffled by the offending dress, “help me. I’m being strangled by haute couture.”

The air around you shifted. A dip in the mattress. The brush of hands—warm, steady—finding the zipper and carefully easing it down your spine.

Strange. He always had cool hands.

“Curious,” he murmured, voice low and amused.

“Right?” you replied brightly, stepping out of the uncooperative fabric as he pulled it down. “Also, before you say anything—I don’t know how I got here. I couldn’t find my door. And I was thinking about us and… I figured, you wouldn’t mind if we kept things casual. No pressure.”

“No objections,” he said easily.

The dress pooled on the floor. His hands paused at your hips, waiting.

You didn’t move. Your legs weren’t really cooperating anymore.

You sighed and flopped backward onto the bed—unexpectedly plush. Softer than usual. Your brain tried to inform you that his mattress wasn’t this springy. You silenced it with a groan.

“You just gonna sit there?” you muttered, eyes half-shut.

“I don’t think you realize—”

You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his wrist and pulled him down beside you. Somewhere in the corner, the crow cawed again.

You winced. “Ugh, it’s back. Rude.”

Something flickered uneasily in your chest, like a memory trying to surface. Something wasn’t quite right.

But nothing had been right since the third round of absinthe.

“He’s warning you,” he whispered, so low it barely reached your skin. “You’re drunk. Not thinking clearly. You should leave.”

But his voice didn’t move away. His hand didn’t loosen. His mouth stayed close—too close.

You exhaled shakily. “Shut up and kiss me,” you muttered. “You can give me the lecture tomorrow.”

He hesitated for half a second.

Then: “If I start, I won’t stop,” he warned, his voice suddenly hoarse. Deeper than usual. Rougher.

Maybe he had a cold. Poor thing.

“And does it look like I want you to stop?”

You opened your eyes just enough to reach for him. Your fingers slid into his blonde hair—soft, thick, impossibly light. Almost glowing in the dark. You tugged gently, guiding him down to you.

He hovered above you, braced on his arms, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. Then—his mouth dipped.

He didn’t kiss you right away.

Instead, he ran his tongue slowly along the curve of your lips.

You gasped, mouth parting instinctively, and he kissed you—deep, searching, intense. Different.

You moaned softly, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close. His body felt broader, heavier. Or maybe you were just very, very small tonight. You couldn’t tell.

And you didn’t care.

“Here,” you whispered, breathless, guiding his mouth to your shoulder.

He obeyed. His fingers brushed the strap of your bra aside with reverent slowness, and his lips descended—warm, deliberate—on your skin. A rush of goosebumps chased the touch, spreading outward in every direction.

Yes. You were exactly where you wanted to be. And his mouth was following that same map.

Both your hands tangled in his hair, urging him downward. Your pulse was a drumbeat under your skin, and your hips rose instinctively when his lips traced down your sternum, lower, over your stomach, kissing every inch like he was memorizing it.

You were burning.

“More,” you gasped, arching beneath him. “Please… lower. There…”

He paused.

“As much as I want to—”

“Please,” you interrupted, too desperate to care. “While I’m still brave enough.”

Something in your voice must have undone him, because he stopped resisting. Slowly—agonizingly—he eased your underwear down your legs. His hands were steady. Careful. But everything in him was tight with restraint.

He kissed the inside of your thigh. Then—closer.

Your back arched violently when you felt him—tongue, lips, heat—all of him focused on one singular purpose. His movements were slow at first, cautious, like he was still asking permission with every breath. And when you answered in moans, he got bolder. Greedier. More confident with every cry that escaped your lips.

Your legs locked around his shoulders. The world narrowed to the rhythm he built between your thighs. Your hands fisted in the sheets, your head thrown back, mouth open in broken sounds.

You couldn’t hold it. You were close. Right there.

And then—

“Please, Xavier—don’t stop—”

He froze. A beat of silence. Then—

“Kitten,” came the voice. Low. Dangerous. Almost purring. “I can almost understand how you failed to notice where you were. But mistaking me for another man…” A pause. “That’s nearly a mortal insult.”

From the corner of the room, the raven cawed again.

Your blood turned to ice.

Eyes wide, you finally—finally—looked down.

Not blue. Glowing red. Smoldering. Amused.

Everything slid into place with a sickening click.

“Sy—Sylus?!”

He licked his still wet lips, slowly, like he’d just finished dessert and wasn’t entirely satisfied. “Disappointed?”

You squeaked. Instinct took over—you clamped your legs tighter around his neck in pure panic, your thighs locking like a wrestler’s hold.

“What the hell are you doing in Xavier’s apartment?! With your damn bird?! Were you following me?!”

“Sweetie,” he drawled, voice vibrating between your legs, “I’d like to remind you that you broke into my house, seduced an innocent man—” he paused, smirking, “—and are currently attempting to murder him with your divine thighs.”

You released him so fast he nearly fell backwards.

He caught himself with a laugh, rolling onto his side with the elegance of a man who’d never in his life been embarrassed.

You scrambled toward the headboard, dragging the sheet with you, curling in on yourself like your bones were trying to retreat into your body.

He propped himself up on one elbow. “God, you’re adorable when you’re horrified.”

“I’m traumatized!”

“You say that,” he mused, glancing meaningfully at your flushed cheeks and the way you were still breathing hard, “but your body tells a very different story.”

“You—! I called you Xavier!”

“I noticed,” he said, mock-wounded. “Took me a whole half-second to recover.”

“You could’ve stopped me!”

“I tried. Several times. You were extremely persuasive.”

Sheer horror twisted your face. “If you really wanted to stop me—!”

“I didn’t,” he said plainly.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Then:

“You took advantage of my condition!”

“Kitten,” he sighed, tone maddeningly patient, “it never crossed my mind that you were disconnected from reality and didn’t know who you were seducing. Shall I throw myself out the window in penitence? Or would a dueling pistol be more poetic?”

“You’d survive the bullet,” you muttered darkly. “I’d have to try a guillotine.”

His lips twitched. Despite yourself, yours did too.

He noticed. Of course he did.

And then he delivered the killing blow: “I’m happy to pay for your therapy bills for the rest of your life. If you’ve been… emotionally scarred.”

You snorted.

“No. I… I think I’m okay.” You hesitated. “Sylus.”

“Yes, kitten?”

“We’re adults. I hope no lasting wounds were inflicted.”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “Only to my ego. But I shall take this trauma to the grave. Shall I drive you back to your… actual lover?”

You flinched. “Xavier’s just a friend,” you said slowly. “Well… a friend with benefits. Sort of.”

You swallowed.

“But with you… it was different. I didn’t realize how different until…”

Your voice dipped.

“Until I couldn’t stop wanting more.”

For once, Sylus didn’t grin right away. His eyes darkened, and the smirk curled slower this time—deeper. Sharper.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he murmured. “Just don’t make the same mistake twice.”

You blinked. “The drinking, or… you?”

He chuckled. “Kitten, we already crossed that line. Might be time to consider someone a little more... stable than your friend with occasional benefits.”

You snorted. “I’d rather start with dinner.”

He stood, stretching lazily, reaching for his shirt. “Dinner after dessert? Bold move.”

You watched him check his watch. The smug bastard.

With a sigh, you pulled the sheet tighter. “The dessert was good. But the waiter cleared the plate too fast.”

His eyes gleamed as he looked back at you. “Then next time, sweetie, the waiter will bring the whole damn menu.”

He stepped closer, then paused, amused. “Now get dressed. I’ll take you home—unless, of course, you’d prefer to linger in the restaurant.”

You gave him a flat look. “Turn around.”

He laughed. That low, rich laugh that made your pulse misbehave. And then he moved—close enough to feel the heat from his body. Two fingers caught your chin—his thumb and forefinger gentle but sure—and he tilted your face up just enough to press the softest, briefest kiss to your lips.

“I adore you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You good with the dress on your own?”

You nodded dumbly. He stepped back, already halfway to the door. “Good. Be quick.”

You blinked. “Wait—you’re leaving? Just now?”

He flashed a grin over his shoulder, hand on the doorframe. “Don’t worry. Next time, kitten—I’ll cancel everything.”

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

You stared at the door. Still half-wrapped in a sheet. Still burning.

Gods help you. You were in so much trouble.

It wasn’t… Sylus?!

You’d somehow made it home on your own, though the details were fuzzy at best. All you really remembered was that your heels had developed a personal vendetta against straight lines, repeatedly dragging you leftward, and at least twice you nearly embraced a lamppost like a long-lost lover.

You’d spent an impressive amount of time talking to a stray cat outside your building. He meowed, you answered—telling him, in great detail, that Sylus was probably going to hold your drunken calls and voice messages over your head for at least the next decade. Especially if you kept making them during business meetings.

You and Sylus were in that strange stage of something that wasn’t nothing, but also wasn’t something. There was intimacy. Oh, there was intimacy. But no promises. No forward motion. Just a precarious dance between magnetic pull and emotional inertia.

The memory of him made your stomach twist. You’d almost called him again, just to say you couldn’t make it up the stairs. That he should come carry you, arms and all, straight into bed and wrap you up in his sinfully warm embrace.

So when you saw the leather jacket draped over the arm of your couch, you didn’t question it.

Of course he’d come.

Of course he’d let himself in.

And of course he’d decided to take a shower. You could hear the water running in the bathroom, steady and confident, like it belonged to him.

You methodically stripped down to your underwear, fully intending to throw on your robe, only to remember that said robe had likely fallen victim to last week’s laundry crisis.

Doesn’t matter.

Waiting for him to come out felt like a personal attack. You simply didn’t have that kind of patience. Besides, something about the heat, the scent of soap and steam, was pulling you in like gravity.

You cracked the bathroom door open.

The air hit you like a sauna—thick with steam, saturated with warmth. Light filtered dimly through the haze, barely illuminating the tiled space beyond. Inside the glass enclosure, the outline of a naked male figure shimmered like a mirage. He stood with his back to you, a thick lather sliding down from his hair, tracing the lines of his shoulders and spine.

You grinned.

With a quick shrug, you let the last of your clothes fall, and stepped inside the shower, the heat swallowing you whole. Silently, deliberately, you slipped your arms around him from behind.

He jolted.

You responded by digging your nails gently into the firm ridges of his abs, resting your forehead against the damp heat of his back.

“Shhh. Don’t say anything, okay?” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “My head’s already splitting. Just… help me get clean.”

For a moment, he was motionless—utterly still, like your touch had turned him to stone. You could feel the rapid thrum of his heart under your fingertips, every inch of him wound tight. And then, wordlessly, he shifted to the side, letting the stream of hot water hit your skin.

You closed your eyes and tilted your face up into it. Water filled your ears, muffling the world, like slipping under the surface of a dream.

“This is a terrible, terrible idea,” he muttered at last—but you felt him reach for the bottle of shower gel.

“Right now it’s a medical emergency,” you mumbled back. “You wouldn’t leave a helpless girl in need, would you?”

Your hand trailed down his chest again, teasing—until he caught it, firm but careful, and turned you gently so your back was to him.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he began to soap your shoulders and arms with the soft rhythm of the loofah. Tender. Meticulous. Each motion measured like a vow he wasn’t sure he should make.

It was starting to feel less like a shower and more like a very specific kind of torture.

When he reached your hands, he took them one at a time—cradling each palm, massaging your fingers slowly, purposefully, working the thick, fragrant lather between them like it was the most important task he’d ever undertaken. Then the other hand. Same care. Same unbearable, aching slowness.

When the loofah returned to your back, he traced long, deliberate lines over your skin. Gentle swirls. Careful strokes. Avoiding—so infuriatingly precisely—anywhere remotely intimate.

Your blood turned to molten heat.

He hesitated. You didn’t.

You caught his wrists, tugging them forward, down and then up—guiding his palms over your belly, then higher, until you pressed them firmly against your breasts. You felt the slight tremor in his arms, the sharp inhale against your neck. That surprised you. Sylus was never hesitant. Not once. But maybe… maybe he was punishing you, making you work for it after your little drunk-dial escapades?

You leaned back into his chest, into his touch, giving him space—permission.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard. Pressed right against you, nestled between your cheeks, unmistakably eager.

You moaned, slow and approving, your spine arching just slightly, sliding your soapy skin against his torso. A tease. A promise. A challenge.

His grip tightened.

Resisting.

Why? Was he mad?

But you knew exactly which buttons to push.

“Don’t stop now,” you purred, voice dipped in syrup. “My legs need your attention too.”

He exhaled against your neck, ragged and low, like a knight realizing the battle was already lost. “You’re not yourself,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t…”

“Then leave,” you murmured, swaying your hips back against him. “Unless you’re too polite to walk out mid-procedure.”

He didn’t leave.

He moved.

More soap. More silence.

Then a shift.

He sank to a crouch, one hand slipping down your thigh, the other gently lifting your foot. Water cascaded down your body as he lathered your calf with careful strokes, like he was preparing you for worship, not hygiene.

You reached out blindly for the wall, chest rising and falling with ragged, expectant breaths.

There was something so devastatingly intimate about it. So unassuming and utterly charged. Like your skin had become a live wire and his hands knew exactly where to touch, and more dangerously—where not to.

Your entire body buzzed with the aching need for him to forget his restraint.

To finally, finally stop pretending he didn’t want this just as badly as you.

Smirking to yourself, you reached—decisively—for the bottle of intimate wash, squeezed it into his waiting hand like it was a silent command.

For a few long seconds, he just stood there, his palm full of scented foam, unmoving. Until you parted your legs just a little wider in wordless invitation.

And then—you felt him.

There. Exactly where your body pulsed with need. Exactly where you’d needed him all along.

His fingers slid between your folds, gentle at first, exploring with maddening patience. Soft, slow strokes that made your knees weak. That dragged needy moans from your throat, one after another.

It felt different.

Unfamiliar.

Too… unfamiliar.

“Sylus,” you whimpered, your voice ragged, “you’re killing me tonight with this patience…”

And then—

He froze.

The heat disappeared, the contact broken. A faint chill rushed down your spine, goosebumps blooming across your skin.

You blinked, suddenly, sharply aware of a single terrifying thought:

Sylus had told you he’d be out of town. Work trip. He mentioned it during one of your calls, half-distracted, but clear.

So how was he here?

How was he in your shower?

Your stomach dropped.

You turned. Slowly. Reluctantly. As if giving your brain time to come up with any explanation, any excuse, any miracle.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you looked up into a face that was very, very much not the man you thought you’d been grinding against in your own shower.

Oh gods.

Oh hell.

This wasn’t Sylus. This was someone else entirely.

And in that moment, standing there stark naked, soaked to the bone, legs still parted like an offering—you wanted nothing more than to melt into the steam and swirl straight down the drain.

Preferably with the rest of your dignity.

“Pip-squeak,” he said slowly, clearly, planting his hands on either side of your head against the wall. There was nowhere to run.

“Tell me you didn’t expect the leader of Onychinus in your shower tonight.”

You bit your lip. Your chest was still rising too fast, your brain pulsing against your skull, and the thick steam made it hard to breathe. You tried the fainting strategy—gracefully sliding down the tiles like a wilting Victorian heroine.

It did not work.

Caleb caught you halfway down with a sigh and set you firmly back upright, unimpressed by your performance.

It was then that you realized—fully, painfully—that you were completely naked. You crossed your arms. Then your legs. And very carefully avoided his eyes.

Unfortunately, that meant your gaze landed squarely on—

Yep. Still hard. Still very hard.

Caleb followed your line of sight, made a vague sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, and turned away. In one fluid motion, he wrapped a towel around his hips and tossed you a second one without looking.

You caught it. Barely. And wrapped yourself up like a guilty burrito.

Now that your brain was clawing its way out of the absinthe swamp, you couldn’t for the life of you explain how you’d managed to confuse two very different men. But to be fair…

They did seem equally capable of awakening some deeply primal needs in you.

You groaned. “This is humiliating.”

Caleb glanced over his shoulder, towel still knotted dangerously low around his hips. “For you. I’m traumatized. I have decades of cold showers ahead of me now.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re traumatized? I groped my best friend and begged him to shampoo my sins away!”

“I did shampoo you,” he said flatly. “I’m considerate like that.”

“Caleb.”

“What.”

You hesitated. “You’re… not gonna make this worse, are you?”

He arched a brow. “Define worse.”

You gave him a long, warning look.

He held up both hands. “Fine. I won’t mention the moaning. Or the way you pinned me to the glass like a woman possessed.”

You whimpered into your hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Done,” he nodded solemnly. “We’ll bury it. Deep, deep in the vault. Like national security secrets.”

A pause.

“Unless,” he added thoughtfully, “you’d prefer a repeat performance. Next time with scented candles and less identity confusion?”

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “Caleb... are you flirting with me right now?”

“I was naked and obedient in your shower. I think the flirting ship has sailed.”

You laughed. Helplessly. Warmth bloomed in your chest where panic had been just moments ago.

Then he stepped closer, voice dropping low, quiet:

“All righty, Pip-squeak. You’re still swaying. Get some water. Get in bed. And if you ever confuse me with that white-haired bastard again, I will take it personally.”

Your smile widened. “So you forgive me?”

He reached out, knuckled a stray wet strand of hair from your cheek. His touch lingered.

“If the cure,” he murmured, “is what almost happened five minutes ago—then yeah. You’re fully pardoned. But next time?”

You leaned into his hand.

“Next time, I won’t be stopping you,” he said softly.

And just like that, your pulse forgot how to behave.

1K notes · View notes

redeemingvillains · 6 months ago

Text

closed & locked - lorenzo berkshire

summary: fact: you are overwhelming smitten with lorenzo berkshire. fact: you think he's smitten with you too. but when you and pansy hear something you shouldn't have, it has you questioning everything you thought you knew about hogwarts' biggest flirt.

words: 3.5k

warnings: v suggestive, probably a bit 18+

author's note: i apparently write for enzo now? who knew. we only have @pizzaapeteer & @prythiansprincess to blame as they have been fueling my obsession completely. i loved this! it was so fun to write! mwahhh!

soundtrack: where i wanna be - arizona

_______when she speaks, it's a dangerous fantasy ________that sets me free, to where i wanna be

Your fingers curled into Pansy's as she tugged you along beside her in the dark corridors of the common room until you reached an alcove along a small landing that provided you both with a glimpse of the boys below. Your heart was thrumming in your chest as you tried to quiet your breathing and she waved the extendible ear excitedly in front of you; you shook your head thinking, again, how crazy this was.

"Don't you want to know what they talk about?" she'd asked you twenty minutes ago as she attempted to pry you away from studying for your potions exam in the library.

"Not particularly, no" you argued as you laughed.

"Really?" she drawled as she tilted her head and put her hand on her hip. "Not even what a certain boy has to say about when he might finally sack up and make things official with you?"

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

"That's-that's not what they sit around and talk about, surely..."

"Well, we can't know for certain unless we try, can we?" she pushed.

She knows me too well you thought now as you watched her lower the extendible ear down just out of sight of the group below. Whether she was excited for juicy gossip or was simply sick of listening to you go on and on about him, Pansy knew that hinting at anything to do with Lorenzo Berkshire was the secret to getting you to do pretty much anything, because gods you couldn't get enough of him.

Even now, you were teetering on your tiptoes trying to catch a glimpse of his lithe figure, the way you knew he'd be sprawled with his legs spread wide on the couch with his cocky smile and his long fingers that he liked to rustle through his thick hair... you felt noticeably hotter under his oversized sweatshirt as you grasped it away from your heated skin. Gods I need to get a hold of myself.

He was the flirt of your year, so you hadn't taken his attention seriously at first, but then banter became flirting became innuendos became his warm palm pressed against yours as he pulled you into him at a Slytherin house party, his plush lips finding yours as his hand cupped your face and you swore you felt fireworks in your rib cage.

You'd been kissed plenty of times before, but after that first kiss with Lorenzo, you weren't actually sure anymore.

He kissed you in a way that no one else ever had; he kissed with his entire body, his hands grasping your face or tangling his fingers in your hair, his lips soft and demanding, his tongue doing ungodly things to yours that had you grabbing for him as he undid you one seam at a time, his hips pressing into yours in a way that you felt in every fiber of your being, and when he let out a low groan against your mouth? You were fairly certain you departed from earth completely before floating back down in a haze.

Simply put, you were instantly and irrevocably addicted to him.

And the better part of you believed he felt the same way.

At first everything between you was purely physical, how often and how fast you could tear each other's clothes off, but then he'd started to slow down, to take his time with you, to pull back and lock his eyes with yours in way that felt incredibly intimate; he'd kiss you lavishly, fully, just exactly the way you loved and he'd hold you long afterward, adamant every time that you stay the night, pulling you into his arms so your head rested on his bare chest where you could hear his heartbeat and the rumble of his voice.

And you'd talk for hours, sometimes even until the grey of dawn snuck beneath the curtain of his window; he'd trail his fingers down your bare back or play with your fingers, tangling them with his own until he rested them over his heart.

He told you what scared him, what excited him, he talked about his future and, more often than not, your place in it. Surely, you thought, as you frequently did, it'll only be a matter of time until he makes things official.

But the topic always seemed to evade your conversations, and a growing part of you consistently wondered why, your insecurities popping up every time you heard another girl talk about him or another rumor circulated about who he might have hooked up with despite his adamant denial...

Pansy motioned you closer to her and the ear in her hand and you could just make out the recognizable timbres of your friends voices through the tinny line.

You both leaned in eagerly for several minutes, until you came to the realization that the boys were just as talkative and exciting together as they were with you... which was not. at. all.

After an enthralling forty-minute discussion about quidditch you were both sprawled on the floor, struggling to keep your eyes open.

"Paaannnns" you whined in a whisper.

"You don't even have to say it. Terrible idea" she acknowledged. "Why are they soooo boring?"

You were about to answer her when you recognized the sound of your name and sat up quickly, eyes meeting hers.

"Where is she tonight?" you heard Mattheo ask.

"Studying, s'got a potions exam tomorrow" Lorenzo said casually.

"Hmpf" Mattheo laughed, and then, "Does that mean Aurora's coming by then?"

Several of the boys laughed.

And your heart plummeted so fast into your stomach you grasped the wall next to you to steady yourself.

"AURORA!?" Pansy whispered ferociously, looking just about as panicked as you felt. "Aurora Bellhaven!?"

You shook your head in disbelief, in shock, as you felt the stinging pressure of tears behind your eyes. There was another girl?

"Fuck off" you heard Lorenzo say.

"Whaaaat? I think it's sweet" Mattheo answered.

You were going to kill him.

You were going to kill all of them.

They knew, they fucking knew Lorenzo was hooking up with someone else and didn't tell you, not even Theo who you'd been friends with longer than Pansy. They all let you walk around like an utter fucking fool. You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment as the tears fell hot against your cheeks and you felt Pansy's arms around you.

"You could just cut that bullshit and lock things down with YN bro" you heard Theo say, but it felt like far too little too late for the sentiment even as you peeked through your fingers as Pansy.

"Seriously, what is the plan there?" Mattheo asked.

"Ehh, you know how it is" Lorenzo drawled.

And you held your breath, because you were quickly learning that you certainly did not know how it was.

"We're a thing, but the door's never completely closed."

Someone let out a low whistle.

And you heard a deep exhale like one of the guys blew out a breath in surprise.

"Cut throat, mate" Blaise muttered.

"Fucking stupid" Theo said and you could picture him shaking his head, his eyes glacial; he'd never approved of the two of you together and you were slowly realizing this may be exactly why.

"And how does she feel about that?" Mattheo asked.

"It's pretty clear she doesn't know, you ass" Theo snapped as you heard the thud of what sounded like a pillow being thrown.

There was the sound of scuffle, then a moment of silence, and then the topic of conversation changed, simple as that, leaving Pansy staring at you in open-mouthed shock before you slid your hands over your face again to muffle your own sobs.

What. The. Fuck.

The next morning Pansy marched down the stairs that led to the common room from the girls' dormitory to find Enzo in his normal spot, leaned against the wall, waiting for you.

"She's not coming" she said sharply as she walked past him.

"Well good morning to you too" he said, sitting up straighter before glancing at the empty stairwell and then back to her. "What do you mean she's not coming?"

Pansy spun to face him.

"I mean she doesn't want to have breakfast with you, and she doesn't want to see you today."

He reared back and his face broke into a smirk like she'd told a ridiculous joke.

"One, of course she wants to see me, don't be fucking daft. And two, what are you? Her guard dog? Mind your business, Parkinson, meddling doesn't suit you."

Pansy could tell he was trying to play it cool, but the way his eyes were narrowed and the way he had snapped at her at the slightest notion that he wouldn't get what he wanted, wouldn't have you, meant her words had had the desired effect; she'd listened to you actually cry yourself to sleep the night before, and she was more than ready to lay into him.

"She doesn't. want. to. see. you" she retorted, enunciating every word. "And I'm not her guard dog, I'm her friend, who happens to love her and care for her, two emotions you seem utterly incapable of. I'm not going to sit back and watch you take advantage of her anymore."

His eyebrow cocked at that.

"Babe, I promise you she would not call what I do to her taking advantage" he said as he smirked again. "If anything, she's taking advantage of me, but it's okay, I like it that way."

"You're disgusting" she said, rolling her eyes as she walked away from him.

He and Pansy had never been close, but she'd also never come at him like that. His hand flexed in and out of a fist in frustration and confusion as he watched a few other girls come down the stairs, none of whom were you.

Had he woken up in an alternate reality, because what the fuck was going on?

Breakfast was...weird.

Enzo had walked to the Great Hall alone, in silence. He was normally content to listen to you talk, to feed off of your morning energy, the way you seemed excited about every new day; he didn't realize how much he relied on that, he felt groggy and moody and instantly reached for the coffee.

Everyone had left your spot open on the bench next to him like you might appear out of thin air, slip in beside him, slide your hand onto his thigh or snuggle your head into his shoulder. But you never did. And he could definitely do without the third-degree he was getting from Theo who stared angrily at him all morning. But he brushed last night's conversation off, it wasn't his fault he didn't want to sit around and talk about his feelings.

For the rest of the morning his eyes searched the corridors for you like a lost puppy, your extended absence and Pansy's comments starting to properly bother him now as he cursed the fact that you didn't have any classes together today.

So when he laid eyes on you that afternoon in the courtyard, he felt a physical weight leave him. Fucking finally he thought, walking towards you, eager to talk to you, to touch you, to confirm for himself he hadn't dreamt the last four months you'd spent together. He was genuinely thrilled to see you... until he wasn't.

You were talking to the guys on the starting line of Hufflepuff's quidditch team, and his feet slowed as he watched you smile shyly and tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear in the very way you used to with him in the earliest days of him trying so damn hard to flirt with you.

He felt something distinctly primal shift in his chest. He swallowed deeply and a thought fluttered through his head that sounded an awful lot like 'Mine'.

He steadied his stride, walking right up to you as he wound an arm around your shoulder.

"Boys" he said dismissively.

"Babe" he shined, looking down to see your wide eyes looking up at him.

He smiled and breathed a sigh of relief; he could read you like a book he'd written himself and he knew you were looking at him in a way you'd never looked at anyone else, starry-eyed, glazed over with affection, full of adoration. Got her he thought.

But then your eyes shifted. In an instant, he watched them change in front of him like a wall coming down as you stepped out of his grasp.

"Good luck at practice" you waved to Cedric Diggory, who might as well have had hearts in his eyes as he watched you go and his teammates laughed and patted him on the back.

Enzo's attention snapped back and forth between your complete dismissal of him and the obvious way Cedric was checking you out.

"Hey - Hey! Eyes right here you fucking prick" he said, shoving Cedric's shoulder in an effort to get him to stop looking at you.

"I'm sorry?" Cedric scoffed.

"Don't fucking look at her like that."

"Like what, Berkshire? And what difference does it make to you anyway?"

Enzo could feel his blood running hot in his veins.

"I know you two had something going on" Cedric continued, "But, what is it she said, boys? Something about the door never being completely closed? Sounds like an open invitation to me."

Enzo's heart dropped into his stomach.

And for the first time in his life, he didn't have a snide remark or a quick comeback at the ready. The bell rung for class and the Hufflepuffs turned to leave, laughing as they left him there staring after them.

He carded his hands roughly through his hair and then over his face. The door's never completely closed? Hadn't he said that exact thing the night before? So why did hearing it now make him feel physically sick.

Enzo’s head was fucking scrambled, and by the time dinner came around, he couldn't tell if he wanted to scream, punch someone or to light something on fire.

Everyone at the table could sense his mood and gave him a wide berth. You weren't there, because of course you weren't and he sat in furious silence, shoveling food in his mouth.

And then, through the muffled noise of 1,000 people eating together in one room, he heard the distinct sound of your voice, your laugh and it was like his body was attuned to recognize it as his eyes shifted despite himself to see you standing with Dean Thomas in the doorway. In reality it wasn't a big deal, plenty of people were milling around or coming and going, but to him it felt like there was a spotlight on the two of you.

Dean was standing far too close to you and looked far too comfortable and happy about it, like he was flaunting it as you laughed again. Enzo wanted to steal the sound right from your lips, to put it in a jar and stash it somewhere only he could listen to it, because it was the same sound you made when he kissed the sensitive spot where the base of your neck met your collarbone and no one had the right to hear how fucking perfect that was besides him.

"Bro" he heard Blaise say, trying to get his attention.

But he couldn't look away.

The same fire that burned in his veins before had reignited now as he watched the two of you leave together. Why the fuck were you ignoring him and brushing him off all day? And when did every guy in the four fucking houses decide they had a chance with you when he'd spent the last four months making it abundantly clear that they didn't.

"BRO!" he heard Blaise say again, and his eyes snapped to him to see him gesturing at the table just in time for every goblet within arms-length shatter, spraying glass, water, and pumpkin juice all over the table. His anger had radiated strongly enough to shatter glass. Fucking perfect.

Someone cast a quick spell to clean it up, but the group was now staring between him, your departing figure and back again.

"Bet you'd like to close that door now, wouldn't you?" Theo muttered under his breath.

And everything clicked into place.

"You told her..." Enzo sneered as his eyes narrowed at him.

"What?"

"You told her I said that!" he said, his voice rising accusatorily as he pointed at Theo.

"I think you're a right idiot when it comes to her, that's no secret Enz, she could do a hell of a lot better–"

"–Oh, fuck off!–" Enzo said, getting to his feet.

"–But, I didn't say anything to her. You're both my friends. Bro code and whatever."

"No, she knew, she said it to Diggory."

"What?"

"He asked her about us and she said 'the door's never completely closed'!"

Fury was radiating off of him in waves, and several heads from other tables began to turn at the outburst.

"And that bothered you?" Theo clarified.

"Of course it fucking did!!" Enzo said, nearly shouting now. How fucking stupid could Theo be?

Theo gestured to him as if to say "See?! If it bothers you, how do you think it makes her feel?" Gods. How fucking stupid could Enzo be?

"Fuck!" Enzo said, exasperated as he tried to gather himself before he moved to run after you.

You were bone tired.

You had been sleepwalking through the day on less than an hour's night sleep, simultaneously fighting the urge to stay strong and to give up completely, to shuffle into Lorenzo's room, to curl into his soft, rumpled sheets that smelled like him, to curl into his arms, to let him help you forget everything you'd heard the night before.

But even thinking about what he'd said had the dam of pressure building behind your eyes even though it felt impossible to produce any more tears.

You turned down the last corridor before the dungeons which was empty and quiet with nearly everyone at dinner, when you heard quickening footsteps and turned to see Lorenzo's tall figure behind you.

"Salazar fucking Slytherin" he cursed, nearly out of breath. "You have been impossible today."

You opened and closed your mouth, your body attempting to process being alone with him and being this close to him; you could smell his cologne, could see the faint freckles on his nose, the hair falling over his face, the perfect curve of his lips and eventually the feel of his warm skin against yours as he grabbed your hand.

"Come onnn—" he said, teasingly, pulling you into him despite the resistance you showed.

Fuck he knew exactly how weak you were.

"—I don't know what you've been playing at, but I'm exhausted and I'd love nothing more than to peel every piece of clothing off of you and—"

"–Shame. Aurora just isn't doing it for you?" you quipped.

You had envisioned so many other more clever ways to confront him, but being this close to him, this tempted by him left you no choice. You had to say it as much to hear it yourself as to confront him.

Regardless your words had the intended effect as you saw his eyes widen, his mouth fall open slightly and his grasp on your hand loosened enough for you to pull away and wrap your arms around yourself.

"Merlin" he said as he ran his hands over his face and groaned as anger and pain welled up inside you.

"Fine" he said flatly, a little angrily, in a way you hadn't heard him speak to you before. "You want to know about Aurora?—" he asked, letting his cold gaze fall on you.

You tried to stand a little straighter. No. Yes? No? You opened your mouth but couldn't form a coherent reply.

"—Cause I am more than happy to fill you in on exactly how she and I spend our nights together" he said, taking a step towards you.

You took a step backwards and your face fell, as you bit your bottom lip to keep from crying.

"Lorenzo" you said quietly, begging him to stop whatever torture this was.

You saw his jaw tick at your plea.

"Aurora makes the best sleeping draught of our year."

Confusion and panic were written on your face as you tried to figure out what he was saying as his eyes met yours, unwavering.

"I don't..." you started.

He moved to close the space between you and cupped your face in his hands, holding your gaze to his own.

"I'm so fucking pathetic for you that I can't sleep when you're not with me. So I have to pay that girl an ungodly amount of money to make something to help."

Your eyes searched his, seeking even a hint of untruth and finding none. You opened your mouth and closed it again for the thousandth time as you brought your hands to rest on top of his.

"But I thought..."

"Yeah it's very clear what you thought based on the way Pansy nearly hexed me this morning."

You swallowed and closed your eyes, shaking your head to try to sort out this information.

"But you said despite what we have the door's never completely closed, I thought that meant—"

"—I knew it! I fucking knew Nott told you, I'm going to kill him!" he said, letting you go and stepping away as his hands curled into fists.

You bit your lip guiltily but didn't feel like giving him an ounce of your truth until you were sure you had all of his.

"Lorenzo" you said quietly, your voice wavering slightly, pulling his attention back to you. "Why did you say it?"

He sighed deeply as he turned back to you, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"You're the only one that does that" he said.

"Does what?" you asked, confused.

"Use my full name. And it fucking kills me every time, to hear how perfect it sounds on your lips—“

"—D-Don't change the subject."

"I'm not."

You frowned at him.

"Look…the boys hound me relentlessly about you. It's constant. All the fucking time, especially Theo" he said, getting worked up.

"And I wanted to bring us—this up—" he gestured between you "—But they started making it seem like such a big deal, like it needed to be a fucking marriage proposal; how was I going to do it? When was I going to do it? What was taking me so long? And at a certain point I didn't even know how to go about it anymore and started psyching myself out..." His face scrunched in a way you hadn't seen before as he looked down at his feet.

Was he... nervous?

"...Like, maybe you didn't even want that with me, or didn't even see me like that because why the fuck would you, you know? I don't have the most...stellar reputation, and clearly you have no shortage of fucking options... And the idea of asking you and you saying no?!?" he scoffed and grimaced, shaking his head. "Not an option, not a chance I was willing to take."

He shrugged.

"So I thought it was better to just let it play out, to stop wishing for shit that's probably too good to be true anyway and just try to enjoy what I could... I don't know… But I do know that today absolutely blew without you. Turns out I really really don't want that door to be open, YN, not even a little bit."

A sweet, slow smile spread across your face.

"But seriously Diggory's fucking dead next match, and I look forward to a long chat with your boy Dean Thomas as well."

You smiled wider and rolled your eyes, reaching to tangle your fingers into his.

"So, just to clarify" you said as you stepped towards him, "The door is closed? We're...?" you let the question hang as you gestured between the two of you. A thing?

"The door is very closed. Locked. With a fucking armoire in front of it, love, has been. There's no one else, there's not going to be anyone else."

For a brief moment, you felt overwhelmingly foolish at what you'd accused him of as you blushed deeply and averted your eyes. But reading you like he always did, Lorenzo moved to kiss you, not wasting another minute of this godsforsaken day to get his lips on yours, to hear your soft sigh of relief against him and the way you melted into him, slowly winding your arms around his neck, your hands tangling into his hair as his tongue tangled with yours.

He picked you up, pulling your legs around his waist as he began to walk you the rest of the way to the common room, never breaking contact even as you laughed and squeezed him tighter.

"Mmpf-wait-wait! It wasn't Theo" you said, pulling back briefly.

"What?" he asked, breaking your kiss only long enough to press you against the wall and begin kissing his way down your neck.

You lost your train of thought as your mind went hazy at the feeling of his wet, warm lips against your pulse.

"T-Theo didn't tell me anything, so don't be mad at him."

"So, what, you reading minds all of a sudden?" he joked. "What am I thinking right now?" he asked as he ran his hand up your thigh, under your skirt.

"I don't need to read minds to know that, because I'm thinking the same thing, Lorenzo" you whispered, drawing out the length of his name and feeling his grasp on you tighten in response.

"Fuck, I literally don't care how you knew, love. We're here now and you're fucking mine and I intend to spend the rest of the night showing you exactly what that entails" he said, kissing you again before carrying you off to his room.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey, @mattiesgf, @sleepiibunniiii, @darlingshecried, @girllblogging777, @foivetimesacharm, @clar2aa, @broadwaybaby123, @slytherinscreamqueen, @chelawrites, @loverliner, @smut-anarchy, @locknco

#lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire fanfic #slytherin boys

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strawberrymatchawhore · 1 year ago

Text

p power

rafe cameron

“take it from him and i leave him with nothing”

summary- john b cheats on you with sarah cameron you get revenge by getting with her brother

warning- DUBCON, sex under the influence, raw sex (wrap it folks), drinking, smoking, partying, fighting, sex tape (reader knows hes recording but doesnt know he sent it to her ex), semi public beach house sex, meanish pussy drunk rafe lol

you took a hit of your pen, gently coughing from the amount you just inhaled. you were currently in your boyfriends room, confronting him. you had caught john b cheating on you with sarah cameron, kook princess and someone you thought was your friend.

“can you not do that in my room? take this seriously.” john b said swiping his hands in the air to get rid of the cloud puffs floating. you scoffed, the audacity.

“i dont give a fuck about what youre asking for me to do right now john b, you cannot be for real about me taking this seriously.”

“i dont know what to tell you, she was going through something. she needed me.” john b gave his bullshit excuse which made you even more angry.

“what about me, did you even think about me for one bit before you decided to fuck her ?” you screamed at him, getting up from the couch ready to leave the room. as you have your hand on handle, john b grabs it. his large hand covers yours.

“i love you.. please” he pleads, eyes getting wetter.

“dont touch me with that dirty ass hand john b, i shouldve known. no matter how much i showed my love for you, no matter how much i cared. you will always choose her.” you gritted through your teeth.

“i-”

“no, its okay. im done with this shit.” your voice cracks and you slam the door in front of john b's face, driving away with tears blurring your vision.

AT THE PARTY

you strut your way into the party, the annual bonfire that happens the same week every year. you grab a pink solo cup and fill it to the brim with jungle juice. you had already pregamed before and begged your friend to drive you here, laughing at yourself when you caught yourself tripping over the pile of beer cans on the floor. obvious that you were feeling the effects of the weed and alcohol combining.

you were tired, physically and mentally, you couldnt deal with anyones bullshit anymore. especially after what happened earlier in the day, you just needed a break.

“what are you doing here ?” you heard a voice question from behind, you turned and saw rafe cameron looking at you up and down.

“oh hey rafey, nothing honestly just trying to forget shit you know ?” you down the rest of your drink and turn again to retrieve another cup. before you can take a sip out of it, it gets knocked down by rafe. who angrily walks over to john b and sarah cameron who were conversing with each other in the corner.

oh shit

“the fuck are you doing bro? chill.” john b says and backs up. sarah tries to intervene by calling his name and you just stand there interested in what was about to happen.

“you feel good about yourself ??” rafe pushes john b, getting ready to instigate a fight. you fight the urge to run up and defend your man. but you stayed still.

this is what he deserves

sarah cameron stops her brother in his tracks and tries to stop him, he ignores her.

oh yeah try to get him to stop, cheater.

“looks like you got my sloppy seconds... good luck with that. shes a real handful” john b insensitively says, rafe continues his way toward him. and within a second throws a hard punch to his face. john b falls to the ground and rafe looks over him.

“you like that shit johnny ? huh ?” he moves and hovers over john b's body, and continues to beat him unconscious. kiaras dad finally pulls them apart, and you walk over to rafe checking to see if he was okay. sarah starts to angrily push rafe, but he doesnt budge.

“sarah you better stop that shit before you end up on the ground just like john b.” you glared at her angrily and pushed her away before gently grabbing rafes arm and walking away with him.

……..

“jeez rafe you really fucked him up…” you said while wiping the blood off his knuckles with disinfectant. he winces when you finishes it off with ointment.

“yeah i dont know what i was thinking, i just.. its just that he pisses me off so much an-” rafe drunkingly rambled, you hesitated. but then losing to your own thoughts you grab his face and kiss him. you quickly pull away fluttering your lashes, mouth slightly open. taking short deep breaths in and out, nothing but the sound of waves crashing could be heard.

“fuck im sorry.” your voice cracked, tears forming in your eyes. you even shocked yourself with that action, moving your hand from your face you fidget with your bikini top. rafe then gently grabs your face and makes eye contact, kissing back but with more passion. everything in the room starts to blur and your focus is only on him. he pulls away and begins to hover over you. cornering you further into the plush couch.

“nah don’t apologize.. just kiss me back” rafe whispers into your ear making his way down to your neck, giving it light kisses and sucks. his hands wander around your body, you begin to grow desperate and grind yourself onto his thigh, hands rubbing his back. you grabbed his hair to pull him closer to you, he groans in response.

"you dont understand how badly i want you.." he kisses you deeper.

"..how badly i wanted to do this." he backs up and takes off his shirt, his abs and buff body glistening from the ocean water combined with the low light of the moon. he lowers himself and his hands reach for your bottoms, untying them then tossing them onto the floor.

your breathing hitches when you feel his cool breath on your pussy, rafes arms grab at your thighs and spread your legs open.

"oh fuckkk" you lightly moaned when you felt his tongue on your clit making slow but rough licks. rafe laughs and moans into you, sending vibrations throughout your whole body. he looks up at your and makes eye contact with your glossy glazed over eyes.

"you taste so fucking good." he continues to lap at your juices, you looked at the blonde. dazed and memorized by how pretty he was. forgetting all your worries and troubles because of how good he worked his mouth. it was over for you when you felt his fingers prod at your entrance.

the combination of his long thick fingers sliding in and out of your wet pussy and his mouth on your clit drove you over the edge.

"fuck, you gonna cum f'me? please cum baby." he slurps and fingers you faster, your chest heaves up and down before you cum all over his face and make a mess. but rafe doesnt stop there, he removes his fingers and uses both his arms to hold your legs open. continuing to eat you out.

"oh my go- fu- please.. too much! rafe please sto-" you mewl trying to close your legs to no avail.

"uh uh stay still f'me" rafe tuts, eventually he stops and gets up, his mouth and chin dripping with your juices. he grabs your jaw and kisses you before taking off his shorts, the classic calvin klein banding accentuates his v line and you could see his bulge.

you sit up and your fingers hook at the band and pull his boxers down, immediately his cock springs up and hits his stomach. your eyes widened.

"its not gonna fit." you say, his tip is leaking with precum and you fight the urge to swallow him whole right then and there.

"dont worry it will." his hand pushes you back down and he uses his knees to spread your legs. rafe starts to rub himself up and down your pussy, circuling his tip around your clit. and you let out a satisfied hum. he was fighting the urge to just shove himself completely inside you and fuck you deep into the couch. rafe eyes your phone, and leans over to grab it.

he hovers the phone over your face and unlocks it, opening your messages app. he clicks on john bs contact and sees that he left 30+ texts, laughing at the idiot rafe then clicks on the camera feature.

“rafe w-what are you doing?" you asked, closing your legs shyly. your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"dont worry, just trust me." rafe responds, leaning down to kiss you sloppily before he pressed record on the camera. using his free hand to push your thighs apart he moves the camera closer to your bodies, your lower body and his are in view. rafe then uses his fingers to spread your lips, showing the camera your slick. he slides two fingers inside you and gives it a few pumps before he removed them.

"open up f'me." he gently taps your cheek and slides the two fingers into your now open mouth. his long fingers caressing your tongue, automatically you start to suck his fingers. cleaning them.

"thats it... good job baby." he admires the way your plump swollen lips wrapped around his fingers, at this point his cock was aching in need to pump you full of his cum. he must have you.

"please rafe.. need you." you whined and looked up at him, watery eyed and pupils blown. you desperately moved your hips, and thank god he started to rub your aching pussy with his cock again. the both of you were hungry and needy. gentle whines filled the room, and rafe eventually slid himself in.

"oh fuck." rafe dragged out, slowly pushing deeper and deeper inside you.

"youre so tight, holy shit. mmmmm." bottoming out he stayed there for a moment to let you adjust. he was so long and thick, you felt every vein on it in your walls. you seriously had nothing to say, no words could have been let out to describe what you were feeling right now. pure ecstasy.

the both of you continued to say nothing as rafe sped up, drilling harder and faster into your wet pussy. his balls slapping against you ass, nothing could be heard besides moaning and the sound of his rough thrusts. you could barely see anything aside from rafes figure but you were sure that his back and biceps were now covered in scratch marks from you. the bright flash of the camera blinding you, you've never been filmed like this before. and the thought of you being slut out on camera made you even more wet.

"such a good fucking slut for me, youre takin' me so well." his free hand gripping tight on the fat of your hips to guide himself against your sweet spot.

"oh FUCK!" you let out a combination of a moan and scream when he continued to hit that spot, the knot in your stomach growing tighter.

"does your ex fuck you like this?" he slows down his pace, but you were too fucked up to respond.

"huh?" he asked and slid out just to snap hips back into you bringing you back to reality.

"no! oh fu- youre so much bigger.." you moaned, your pussy leaving a white ring at the base of rafes cock.

"yes yes yes. ah!" you whined when he sped up, which you didnt think was possible. rafe was pounding you so hard you were seeing stars. your hand went to cover your mouth but rafe slapped it away, and put it on your lower stomach.

"dont do that i wanna hear you moan f'me."

"you feel that?" rafe asked, you could see his cock bulging from your stomach.

"god- squeezing me so fucking tight..." rafe grunted, and lowered his hand to rub circles on your clit. your mouth slack and open, boobs bouncing up and down from rafes thrusts.

rafe wasnt even sure if he was getting all of this on frame, he was jackhammering into you like he hated you. he relished in the way your cunt clenched around him like you were made for him. and he was sure you were. all perfect, pretty and stupid for him.

"rafe i feel like im gonna pee, stop!" you screamed out and gripped his bicep. your stomach burned in pleasure and you felt like it was going to explode.

"pl-please oh my god, oh... my"

"thats it baby, squirt all over my fucking cock. youre so pretty like this." your eyes started water even more, he was fucking you so good you stared crying. overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions and feelings.

"so cute when you cry for me, if you keep doing that im gonna cum inside you." embarrassed you turn your head away and shake your head, the squelching and sight of your cunt was so sloppy and messy. rafe gripped your jaw and forced you to look at the camera.

"open your eyes sweetheart, keep looking at me." his fingers made their way down to your throat and squeezed.

"fuck." he whimpered, rafe has never done that before. the both of you were shocked but youve never been turned on this much.

"mmm keep doing that, you sound so fucking hot rafe." you urged him.

"im gonna cum, can i cum inside you? please baby" he begged, his thrusts becoming less controlled.

"yes, fuck. i need you to fill me right now. i wanna see your cum dripping out of me, breed me." the both of you were whiney, your cheeks were wet and your legs were shaking and sore.

"shit, you are so perfect.. this pussys so p-perfect." rafes body was tired, rutting into you like you were nothing but a fleshlight. his tip twitching inside you before he came deep into your cervix, making sure to push every ounce of his seed inside you before pulling out. and filming your dripping cunt before he ended the video.

rafe didnt have evil intentions but he wanted to let john b know what he lost, who would want to miss out on a girl like you?

*attached video*

"shes busy rn bro"

5 hours later you were laying next to a knocked out rafe, finally sobering up you went to check your phone. the most recent message being from none other than your ex.

why is he spam texting me?

"what the fuck? youre such a bitch" the text read, confused and curious you decided to scroll up. only to get surprised by a video of you and rafe from earlier. you dropped the phone in shock and turned to see rafe who woke up from the sudden sound. you picked your phone back up and shoved the phone into rafes face.

“what the fuck is this rafe?!"

5K notes · View notes

norcigs · 2 months ago

Text

TEACH YOU

synop: rough jealous sex! very little plot, mostly just p0rn

warnings: charles is pretty mean, pnv, creampie, face fucking, use of slut, bitch, whore, toy and more.. dom charels, sub reader, spankings!, lot of degrading, some praise, aftercare!!!!

🛁: 4.8K words

you were being bratty. you knew that, you saw the way his jaw locked in place and eyes cut over you. you were pushing the line, and not letting up. charles hooked his pointer fingers in your belt loops on either side, pulling you flush against him. whispering something before he kissed the top of your head.

“if you keep acting like a whore, i'm gonna start treating you like one” he leaned into your ear, before he planted a punctuated kiss to your head, for any onlookers to be fooled by the intimacy.

did he think purring in your ear like that was gonna have you backing off?.. it only made you want it more. thighs clenching as you looked up at him with big wet eyes.

“what do you mean baby” you asked, as your voice towed the line between peace and war. batting your eyelashes, begging him to crack, to show a hint of the blaze behind his sugarsweet exterior.

unfortunately for you, charles didn't need much convincing. hand reaching around your jaw, gently, but demanding. jerking your gaze back onto him, as he pulled you in closer.

“dont act fucking dumb with me” his tone was laced with venom, as warmth spread from your crotch. he moved his hand to rest at the small of your back. not speaking, but still telling you, stay.

the party roared around you, your short red dress, floating against you. charlie's white shirt, wrinkled and top button undone now. people danced and shouted, but there was a stillness around you both. charles, all but twitching, as he waited for you to place the final straw. he could tell you whatever he wanted, praise you, degrade you, anything to make you act right. but both of you knew your mind was made up. you wanted to be taught a lesson, and he was just the guy to teach it. a guy walked toward you, definitely drunk, but carrying a cockiness that made him insufferable.

“hey pretty lady, is this guy your boyfriend” he slurred. charles' hand was still resting on your back. you leaned into him like he was familiar. his hand locked around your side, claiming. eyes darting to you, knowing before you responded, that you were not going to pass up an opportunity to piss him off.

“depends who’s asking” you responded, more for charles than anyone else. the answer was a resounding yes. the hickey he left on your ribcage last night, and the thin silver 16 necklace around your neck was proof enough. charles was your boyfriend, you belonged to him. no amount of teasing or flirting would change that.

the drunk guy took your response as an invitation. his hand raised towards yours, in an act to maybe pull you away. your hand didn't move to him. that wasn’t the game you were playing. charles’ hands dragged from behind you, around to rest on your stomach, encapsulating you. he leaned over your shoulder to speak to the man. hands only keeping you more flush to him. you rolled your hips against him, just in case you weren't already in enough trouble.

“trust me mate, you couldn't handle her” he told the guy, smirking like he had already won. really, he had. you two had an unspoken understanding of what it meant when you acted like this. it was never a betrayal of trust, nor an excuse for you to stray from him. sometimes, you just wanted him to fuck you with the possesion and boiled-blood only this behavior gave him. as the drunk walked away, not daring to tempt your boyfriend again, he dropped his head to your ear, kissing behind it.

“follow me to the car, dont say a fucking word until i ask you too,” he seperated from you, quickly spinning on his heels and walking out. his weight against your back missing made you feel hollow, and gave you an itch only he could scratch.

he didn't turn around, didn't wait for you, didn't slow a step. he walked to the car and sat in the driver’s seat. your heels clicked behind him as you tried to match his longer stride. he started the car without opening your door, or even glancing towards you. for a split second, you thought he might drive off and leave you there, wet and wanting.

when you sat down, dress riding to just below your crotch, you leaned toward him. warm hands wrapping around his bicep, needing to touch him. you pulled your face to his arm, kissing the top of it, sweetly. eyes staring up at him like he was heaven.

“sit still and dont touch me” he said, short, as he peeled your hands off himself. dropping your hands back to your lap, he finished “bad girls like you have to be punished”. his hand snaked around the back of your neck, as he found a grip that made you complacent to how he turned you. twisting you to look right up at him

“do you understand that, slut?” his eyes were dark as he searched your entire face for any glimpse of hesitation. unsurprisingly, he was met with your mouth parting, eager, and your head nodding hard enough to bounce your breasts.

the ride home consisted of you pushing your hips into the seat, and doing anything for charles' attention. pouting and whining when his gazed stayed straight forward, unimpressed by your begging.

parking the car in your driveway, he got out and muttered a quick “follow” to you. you listened, desperate to get inside so maybe he would finally touch you. he continued up the stairs toward your bedroom, as you turned to lock the front door and scurry up with him.

“baby, are you upset with me, i didn't mean–” regret pooled in your throat as charles had never used the silent treatment after you teased him. usually, he would take you to the club bathroom and turn you into mush as he ruined you. ruthless, fast, and mean. but this was different, this was calculated.

“didn't mean to what?” he cut you off as you stepped into the bedroom behind him. “didnt mean to act like some cheap fuck for any guy who stared at you?” he scoffed. “it seemed pretty intentional to me baby, and now you have some apologizing to do” he finished as he stepped towards you, closing the door behind you and keeping you surrounded against the wall.

he put both his hands around your neck and pulled you into a kiss. controlled by your throat, you had no say in how he kissed you. taking whatever he gave you, as your head had already started to go a little fuzzy. one hand moved to the back of your head, hand fisting your hair before he was pulling you down. he leaned over as you landed on your knees.

“been running this fucking mouth all night, gonna show you what it’s really good for” he told you, hand reaching to his belt, unbuckling himself. ripping down his black slacks, and pulling you up enough to be level with his cock.

he kept one hand in your hair, and used the other to free himself. moaning as you made eye contact with his cock. his grip hurt, but your mouth was watering. it was big, and heavy, and he popped it against your chin with force.

“open bitch,” your jaw slacked as he didn't waste a second before filling your throat with his length. your throat was wet and greedy, sucking instantly. he grunted as he angled his hips to fit fully inside you. you were gagging around him, tears already stinging your waterline.

“is this what you wanted? wanted my dick as close to your brain as possible? so it could teach you your fucking place?” he mocked you, as he used his hands to pull your head on and off his cock– using you like a toy.

he laid the back of your head against the edge of the bed, lifting a foot to be level so he could pump himself down you with more force. hips snapping back and forth, his tip bruising a place in your throat you didn't know existed.

you clenched your hands and thighs together. staring up at him as he took what he wanted from you. tall and strong, head tilted back like he was in another world. his hands wrapped around your head, guiding you, felt oddly gentle now. your cunt leaking as you thought about how safe you were. he could be as rough as he wanted, you could fall apart for him completely, and the whole time you would never have to worry, it was still your charlie. your throat relaxed as you thought about how much you loved him.

“thats my girl, just let me use you” his head was still tipped back, but the way his dick was twitching you knew he was close. your tongue started doing what little it could to make it feel better for him. licking and suctioning anytime you could while he fucked your throat for just his pleasure. his mouth parted as noises fell softly from him.

your hands raised to his, his eyes shot back down to you at the softer touch. your doe eyes looking up at him like he was everything. he let his hands go from where he was using them to fuck your face, as you gently guided them back. you continued sucking him at the pace he had set. too hard, and too deep for how you usually liked it. but it was driving him crazy so you weren't going to stop now.

“fucking slut-” his words were long, drawn out like moans. “my fucking slut– all mine, you belong to me” his hands clasped behind his back as he only bucked softly into your begging throat, while you did the rest of the work for him. stood towering above you, like a statue, as you knelt before him, like something to be owned.

he grunted and bit his lip as hard as he could. his hips snapped forward as he kept his eyes trained down onto yours. you felt his whole length twitch before wet hot spurts were coating your throat. his hand reached back around to rest on the top of your head. he slowed your pace, only letting you bob gently, as he worked through his high. eyes shutting, lost in the moment. he blinked them back open to see you still staring at him wide-eyed, with your hands on his thighs keeping his cock as deep as possible. lips puckered perfectly around his length like you were made for it. pleasure surged back through him, sending a shiver down his spine. one last rope hit the roof of your mouth, before he was pulling you off completely.

spit connected his cock to your mouth until you pulled away far enough for the strands to break. you sat back on your ankles, gazing up at him, drunk in love and lust. he sat on the edge of the bed, and used the back of your head to guide your mouth to his. kissing you gently, like even after that, he could break you. the kiss held an unspoken tenderness, one that said, i love you and i trust you.

he grabbed your arms and guided you to crawl up to him, then adjusting to pull on your waist to help you up higher. the kiss began to blur from sweet promises to heated passion. he held your weight as you sat above him, straddling his waist. the kiss was messy now, teeth clacking and spit still resting on your chin. his hand found its way back to your scalp, clenching a fistful and pulling your head down. breaking your lips apart, and exposing your neck. his lips found your sensitive spots instantly.

“should leave dark marks on you hm?” he questioned between kisses, “so people can see what a nasty girl you are?” he continued as his fingers found their way to your still covered core. “parade you around the paddock? my pretty little girlfriend, who just lets me use her like a fleshlight? is that what you want, baby?” he finished, mocking, looking at you with the same stupid innocence you gave him earlier tonight.

you were whining into him now. the need to be fucked out weighing any attitude you had left.

“tell me what you want” he whispered against your skin, taunting you. you curled into him, getting any amount of closeness and friction you could.

“you charli, want you” you pouted and looked at him with gentle desperation. his hand wrapped back around your throat and pulled your lips just millimeters from his.

“dont use that sweet little name, i told you what happens to whores like you. you wanted this” his voice was sharp, hands rough against you. but somehow, his eyes were still so caring. you nodded pathetically as you dropped your head to his shoulder. he pulled the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders. letting it drape around you and lifting your tits out from behind the fabric. he pulled the bottom of the dress up to rest around your waist. your garment bunched into a belt now, he didnt bother pulling it all the way off of you.

your panties showed as he exposed you to him, red lace, breath leaving his mouth before he could catch it at the sight of you. pulling them to the side, he ran his fingers through your folds, never filling the emptiness.

“soaking fucking wet and i havent even touched you yet” he told you as your cheeks flushed. “does sucking my dick really get you this hot, bitch? or do you just like pissing me off?” you wanted to respond, wanted to shave a little cockiness off of him. but as you opened your mouth to retort, he dipped his fingers inside you. all that fell from your plush lips was an uncontrolled moan.

“yeah? you got something to say?” your hips were rolling, shaking your head no, as you didn't dare do anything to make him want to take his fingers out. riding him, leaking on his fingers, as he was barely one knuckle deep inside of you.

“all fours” was all he said as he lifted you to the spot of the bed next to him. knees resting right on the edge of the bed, back arching as you rested on your elbows. he stood behind you, feeling his warmth and stature radiating against your skin with the close proximity. he stared at your heat as you clenched around nothing, waiting. pushing your hips back as it ached to be so empty.

he slapped your ass, the sharp sting shooting through you as his hand soothed the red mark. you bit your lip, trying to keep yourself quiet, failing. the flash of pain returning as he reddened the other cheek.

“how many do you think you deserve, baby?” he stepped closer to you, dick standing straight up and bumping against your clit. his voice was tempting you, basking in the pleasure he got from making you choose your punishment.

“five, five charles please” you said as you struggled to even keep yourself on your elbows. fists clenching around any bedding they could as you desperately tried to keep yourself from falling apart. the slapping noise was louder this time, so was the strangled moan it pulled from you. it hurt more, longer, hitting the same spot he had before. his hand did what it could to soothe you, rub the pain away. but as his left hand connected harshly with the opposite side of your ass again, your moan was unmistakably pained. stinging and sharp, a softer moan following as he gripped the skin of your butt tight.

“taking your spankings so well, being so good for me” he praised you, knowing just when you needed it. keeping you stupid, and rutting against his dick. “can you take your last one honey?” he asked you, voice tender now. he was really asking, you could say no, you knew you could. beg for mercy and he would give it to you, no further questions. he would continue passed it, not letting it ruin the moment if you couldn't. never wanting to hurt you anymore than you asked him to.

“please” was all you muttered as you arched your butt further up to him. the cutting sound and pain followed, softer this time. not noticeably, not unless you really knew charles.

“thats my girl, shh, i know baby” he coaxed you. his hands rubbed at your skin gently. your moans were more sobbish now as the pain slowly weakened against your burning ass.

he grabbed your waist, demanding, controlling, pulling you flush against his front. your cunt parted as his dick made room for itself. separating you, but not filling you. raising your hips ever so slightly so your clit would grind against the veins of his length.

“tell me what you need, tell me who you need, slut” his voice was a ragged whisper. your whole body burned. heat radiating off of you from the inside out. the rush of dopamine feeling overwhelming. your head was spinning as you kept wrecked cries from leaving your mouth. you felt it start to hurt. the emptiness, the need, the want, the itch that covered every part of your skin he didn't touch.

“you– ple– please fuck me” tears streamed down your face as you lost control. it was overpowering. you wanted to turn around, fall to your knees, and cry for his dick. you wanted to tell him you couldn't live without it for one more second. every nerve in your body alight as he hummed softly to you.

he pulled back from you, separating just barely. you felt your throat open, ready to sob, before you could he plunged his cock into you, bottoming out immediately. the noise that was pushed from you was one of pleasure, or relief. they were so blurred together you couldn't tell the difference. he stayed still, for just a moment. a breath long enough for you to adjust, prepare. then he pulled halfway out and snapped his hips back against you with force.

you extended your arms, not capable of staying stable on your elbows. pushing your own face down into the mattress. this time, he used his hands to push your form forward, his tip just barely feeling the cold air before he pulled you back, rough.

the noises were perfectly disgusting. the wetness of your cunt squelching around him. the clap of your hips reconnecting. the way you moaned, charles would describe it as fucking angelic. him grunting behind you as your pussy sucked his cock like it needed it.

completely arched down, charles moved his hands to rest more on your lower back and hips. he used you for leverage. you held a majority of his weight as he pulled his cock and bottomed out with speed and strength. the rhythm was blistering. fast, hard, fucking, not making love. it would hurt tomorrow, but it felt too good to think about that right now. hell, you wanted it to hurt tomorrow.

“who’s pussy is this” he asked you, trying to hold back the purrs that threatened to fall from his own mouth. he moved his hand to the back of your head, turning you to look sideways. you could see him now, just out of the corner of your eye. he could see your face, see just how gone you were. smiling as you faded in and out of reality, thinking solely about his cock pumping in and out of you. his words finally made their way into your fuzzy head.

“is y-yours, always yu-rs” you slurred, eyes rolling gently as you let it all go. charlie wasn't sure if that went more to his dick or his heart. either way, he was now completely focused on making you cum around him. still using your arched back as leverage, he kept rutting into you relentlessly.

he angled his hips just slightly, perfectly adjusting for his tip to land right on the spot that makes you– you were screaming into the mattress. walls fluttering around him like his dick was made to fill you. knocking against the spot that drove you crazy, he watched as everything else left. all that was in your pretty little head was him, his dick, and pleasure.

you clenched around him so tight, it was making it hard to pull out. your cunt was pulling him in, and keeping him held there. he used his hold on your hips to pull and push you onto him. it helped with the movement, but the suction your hole had around him was maddening.

you bounced back and forth at charles’ mercy now. your body was limp, moldable to whatever he wanted. like the only muscle you had left was your tight fucking cunt. every part of you shook as he all but ragdolled you against him.

you opened your mouth to speak, to warn him. but the way you were gushing and clenching around him– he knew you all too well. his tip punished your sweetest spot. a bundle of nerves so deep inside you, somewhere only he could touch.

“i know baby, cum for me, show me how pretty you are when you fall apart” he told you. not needing you to waste any amount of thought on telling him what he already knew.

you tipped over the edge, as he collided with you again, deep and hard, he watched as you found the top of the climax. he couldn't help himself. pulling his hand back and spanking you one more time. the noise was harsh as the sweat on you and his hand aided it. the pain sent you tumbling off the peak before you had any say in it.

your eyes squeezed shut as every muscle in your body lit on fire, clenching up and relaxing entirely. your vision went hot and white behind your eyelids. your ears rang and your mouth dried up. like all of your other senses had shut off completely. like you were controlled entirely by your cunt, and by charles fucking in and out of you.

his thrusts were shallower now, gentler. he worked you through it. feeling the pleasure pour through you when he brushed against the spot he had been bruising. he tried– really tried, not to finish until he milked every drop of pleasure out of your orgasm. but the way your pussy was begging him to fill you, he couldn't deny it any longer.

you felt the surge of warm, stickiness coat your insides. another wave of pleasure washing over you without warning. like charles finishing sent an entire other orgasm crashing through you. you shouted his name like it was the only thing you could remember.

as euphoria drenched all of him, he kept rocking you back on him, coaxing you both. skin buzzing, brain fuzzy, you lazily fucked against him to take everything he had to give you. slowly, you both came down, as charles pumped into you a few more times. the remaining pieces of your orgasm raked through you, sending shivers to different parts of you, until his cock had rubbed every itching nerve satisfied.

your walls squeezed him barely as he left his length inside you while you both caught your breath. his hands were soft now, distinctly different from just moments ago. he leaned over you fully, letting his weight comfort you, ground you, pull you back to reality. brushing your hair to the side and kissing your shoulder so sweetly you could taste it.

“that’s it pretty girl, did so good for me” he whispered in your ear from behind you. hand rubbing and squeezing your sides. “took me so well, made me so proud” he continued as you finally found the strength to raise your eyelids. you blinked, heavy and slow, as a whine escaped you. his cock resting against bundles of nerves that felt overstimulated now. even as he was softening, he was still too big for your aching pussy.

“you ready?” he asked you. genuine, eyes searching. he didn't want to pull out abruptly, didn't want to empty you until you were ready. until you had come down enough to decide when his missing member wouldn't hurt more than it filling you.

“mhm” was all you had in you, as your tight suction relaxed and loosened around him. he dragged out gently, both of you mushy and softening. he rolled you over on your back, as delicate as you imagined an angel might. he returned to laying on you, giving just the right amount of weight to ground you but not overwhelm you.

he tucked his head into your neck, smiling against your soft skin. light kisses scattered across the area and trailing to your collar bones. you watched him, lazy. eyes full of love, admiration, and most importantly, trust.

“i love you” you told him, dreamy and blurred. his heart swelled as he pulled back to look at you. how beautiful you looked now, messy and taken. every inch of you was soft and longing to be held. an ache opened in his chest as he watched you. his beautiful girl.

“i love you, doll” he responded, accent heavy as the tiredness set in. “wanna shower? or just wipe off?” he questioned, not wanting to push you past where you wanted to be.

“jus sleep” you said as he smiled at you, so in love. he wanted you to be relaxed and comfortable. but he cared too much about you to let you go to sleep like this. he kissed you once more, soft, spit connecting you both as he pulled away.

deciding for you, he stumbled to the bathroom and ran a washcloth under cool water. grabbing a dry towel as well. he returned to you, pouty, missing him. he grabbed your pjs, something comfy, light and loose.

something between protective, nurturing, and caring flushed charles skin as he knelt down to clean you up. you were exhausted, half asleep as he pulled you to sit up. using the dry towel to wipe your skin down, taking precaution not to be too harsh with the rough towel. he knelt down to your most intimate area, still radiating heat.

“this is gonna be a little cold, bubba, ill be quick” he said as he separated your knees and kissed the inside of your thigh. hissing as he used the wet rag to wipe your leaking and sore pussy. wiping you clean like you were a piece of fine art. detailed and delicate.

he pulled your panties up, cute pink ones with a little bow on the front, soft and silky as to not irritate your skin anymore. pulling his tshirt over your head, you giggled to each other as your arm got caught in the wrong hole.

throwing on a pair of shorts and using the dry towel to wipe himself down, not at all minding your sweat mixing with his. he was finally able to crawl into bed with you. you were very sleepy, lulling into a drowsy state each time charlie looked away from you.

he pulled your form up to his, laying your head on his chest and pulling your knee to have your leg over him as well. his thumbs drew light patterns and shapes on your thigh, as he pulled the covers over you and let you sink into his comfort.

“you okay baby?” he asked you, you didn't need to talk much. he just wanted to be extra sure you were as happy with tonight as he was.

“better than okay, you're pretty good in bed” you joked, tired, but cheeky. he laughed, honestly. mainly it was air escaping his nose, but his smile was big and you could see the white flash through the dark.

“i love you baby” he told you as your breathing slowed. he repeated it a few more times as you fell softly into the embrace of sleep. when you were drifted off entirely, he allowed himself to follow you. eyes heavy as the sound of your heartbeat was echoing around his head, as if it were his own.

#i have no excuses #this is just filth honestly #i would ask for forgiveness but ik u guys are whores too tehe #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 #cl16 smut

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