#it changes the entire course of the film

[wildsaltair]

get you a man who can do both

[lyxchen]

I think people have kind of lost sight of the type of show that Squid Game is. This show isn't a happy sweet show where bad things happen but in the end everything turns out well. This show is about death and sadness and injustice in the real world and most of all this show is about sending a message.

I am thoroughly impressed by Hwang Dong-hyuk that he stuck to exactly what this show is, even though he knew it was going make people sad. It's not the director's responsibility to make you feel good. It is however the director's responsibility to write a cohesive show that sticks to it's themes and the type of show that it is. That happens so rarely and it happens even less with shows whose concepts a based on the unfairness of the real world.

Hwang Dong-hyuk made and directed an incredibly well thought out show and did not let the pressure of pleasing everyone who watches it get to him and for that I thank him!!

[phantomsies]

𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖙 • 𝖆.𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖙

your biggest fan soon becomes your biggest obsession….

black onlyfans creator!reader (fem descriptions), nerdy!armin, public sex/public masturbation, squirting, mentions of toys, exhibitionism, throatfucking, cumshot

📝: I wanted to go a completely different direction with this but a) it’s no longer kinktober and it would’ve much better suited that and b) nerd!armin just scratches an itch in my brain I can’t quite put my finger on. So enjoy! 🫶🏾 (also, I AM SO SORRY THIS SHIT IS SO LONG 😭😭 I don’t intend on headcanons being this length but I can’t shut the fuck up.)

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nerd!armin had been a dutiful subscriber of (y/n) (l/n)’s or as the world knew you, (performer name) for quite some time. He’d faithfully watched your content, never missing an upload to your sites and shamelessly scrolling your Twitter.

nerd!armin preferred your videos over others because they were so unique. Always willing to push the envelope by shooting in unconventional spaces; your car, public bathrooms and even dressing rooms..a polar opposite to his shy, bashful nature. In a way, he was jealous but also aroused..

from your long acrylics, fluffy lashes, colorful hair that changed from video to video and of course, the beautiful, dark brown complexion that radiated underneath the sun or ring lights, nerd!armin was obsessed.

nerd!armin would lie in bed after a long study session, classes or even a hard day at work..mindlessly stroking his cock in one hand as he held his phone in the other, eyes glued to the screen whilst you performed those lewd acts.

shoving those dildos in and out of your tight cunt, those pretty pink walls and plump brown lips sucking on that silicone toy..stretching yourself open all for his pleasure. A jeweled butt plug shoved into your ass and cream oozing down onto that gorgeous skin and the leather of your seats as you worked yourself into countless orgasms..mewling and begging for the would be viewer to keep fucking you..

“Fuck, I’m about to come, daddy..you’re gonna make me squirt.” Crying out as nerd!armin jerked himself even faster..subconsciously responding back without a single other person being in the room. ”Squirt for me, baby. Come..” Whimpering before exploding with a load of his own..

despite only being an intern, nerd!armin was well off from his freelancing tech work and although it didn’t leave him much room for socializing, he would tip you amicably on all the new content, as well as leave kind, respectful, encouraging words. It wasn’t something you saw often in this field.

it also didn’t take nerd!armin long to realize that you never featured a partner in any of your content like some girls eventually did. Only the various assortment of toys gifted to you by supporters. Which only further fed his delusions when you made a mess and glared into the camera, batting those doe brown eyes before saying “..look at what you made me do..that big dick feels so good..”

nerd!armin, who had only been with one woman sexually in his entire life and didn’t date often, could only dream of being with a girl like you.

so it came as no surprise when you announced that you would be opening a contest to film with one of your subscribers for the first time, nerd!armin leaped at the chance! The thought of getting to fuck the woman he’d hopelessly fawned over excited him.

nerd!armin nearly fainted when he got a DM on OnlyFans one day to see that he had won, asking when he’d like to arrange the meetup.

nerd!armin was understandably nervous on the day you two came face to face..but felt as ease when you continuously reassured him and even made sure that both of you had been tested, as well as protection.

“You’re so cute..it’s nice to finally meet you. Thank you for supporting me..” your gentle voice sent a shockwave of butterflies soaring through nerd!armin’s stomach as you wrapped him in a tight hug…and of course, a tightening in his pants upon laying eyes on his favorite creator. But that was merely the beginning.

nerd!armin found himself blushing when you slowly traced circles all over his skin, examining the single tattoo on his forearm and complimenting the smell of his cologne as the two of you sat alone in the bedroom of the designated filming space of your spacious home. Impressed by the bookshelves full of old literature he passed on the way in.

“Mmmm..you’re nervous, aren’t you?” “…I guess you could say that.” “Well don’t be, I’m going to make sure we have a good time, I promise..”

nerd!armin had no idea just how true you were to your word when less than ten minutes after the camera came on, you were on your knees, tongue extended and a wide smile on your face as he towered over you.

nerd!armin could hardly contain himself when eventually, those glossy brims were now encompassed around his cock. Slurping noises emanating around the room, along with his adorable cries…sloppy drool and gag spit spilling from that wet mouth and onto the pulsating head, shaft and those swollen balls. Disregarding the fact that your pretty face had become a disheveled mess.

“Oh my God…that feels so good, beautiful. Your mouth feels fucking amazing..” “You wanna come for me, baby?” “..yes! Drain me, please..” pathetically pleading whilst relentlessly fucking your throat.

nerd!armin unabashedly spent days, practicing his stroke on a translucent flesh light, feeding it deep thrusts and stuffing it with an ungodly amount of cum, examining your videos like study material..in hopes of gaining some stamina against you.

but nothing could prepare nerd!armin for the sheer sensation that being inside of you brought upon him.. however, he wasn’t the only one caught off guard..especially when he’d gently tug your head down and force you to watch as he glided into that narrow hole.. a move he’d learn from his tapes.

“It’s so big..damn..” “I told you..” giggling to yourselves as your gazes met and he’d begin to move.

nerd!armin almost felt compelled to believe that you were faking your moans like other pornstars so often did…but that misconception was cleared up when your eyes began to trail back, legs began to tremble and a slight bulge formed at the very bottom of your stomach.

“Yes, you stretching the fuck out of this pussy, baby..right there!..” “Am-am I doing a good job?” “You fucking me so good, please don’t stop.”

nerd!armin nearly lost all composure when you all but pushed him away, only to shower him in a stream of your juices. Only increasing as he tapped that swollen tip against your quivering folds.

nerd!armin didn’t last more than five minutes after that powerful climax and began dry heaving as his own neared. Ushering you back to your knees to paint those pretty features and tits with his load.

nerd!armin was convinced that once the cameras shut off, you’d put him out for nutting too quickly. Surely a woman of your caliber would never deal with that again. But yet again, he was proven wrong when you smiled up at him, flicking your tongue across your lips before posing a question. “So..where should we should film next time? We gotta do this more often..”

nerd!armin had found himself the newest and sole object of (creator’s name) affection!

[fanfictiongirlie]

Marvel: Truth or Dare?

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Description:

It's the monthly Avengers Game night, and the others suggest Truth or Dare as a ploy to get you and Bucky together. You and Bucky have been best friends for years and one night suddenly changes that.

Rating: Explicit - Super smutty!

Warnings: Sex, Creampies, Friends to Lovers, it's a little silly, Oral sex (Both male and female receiving), Doggy Position, Missionary, A little throat holding - Barely, Use of 'Good Girl', I think that's all, but let me know if I've missed anything.

Words: 8,815

AN: Hiii, so it's my birthday today! So naturally I thought, well, let's write a nice long Bucky Barnes smutty one shot because it's my birthday. I hope you enjoy!

It was the month Avengers game night, usually one of you favourite nights when card games are the chosen activity, however this night Tony has discovered Steve and Bucky have never played Truth or Dare, and according to Tony, it's a right of passage and we have to play it for their sake's. 

What you didn't know, is that Tony was lying of course, the team had made up the idea to get you and Bucky together. The two of you were in love, and they all know, but neither you or Bucky had realised it yet, so this was their plan. 

"This game is dumb" You say, you were sitting on the floor, laughing at the others whilst you take another swig of your beer. You were sitting leaning against the couch, between your best friend's legs. Bucky Barnes, you adored him, and he adored you, having been best friends for nearly two years now. 

 "Oh, come on. You know you secretly love this game. It's all about the juicy truths and outrageous dares..." He smirked as he playfully nudged your side with his knee.

"Fine" You grumble, though secretly you kinda loved the idea, plus it was great when the entire team was getting along for once. "Who goes first?"

Steve, the ever-so-responsible leader took charge. "I'll start." He cleared his throat and looked around the room. "Sam, truth or dare?"

Sam, ever the showboat, responded without hesitation. "Dare, Capsicle."

You watch as Steve thinks for a moment, the others all looking over with excitement in their eyes. 

"I dare you to... sing a love song... in your best impression of Elvis Presley."

The room erupted in laughter as Sam dramatically stood up, clutching a makeshift microphone (a random pen). Sam then belts out 'Can't Help Falling in Love' with all his heart (and a touch of mockery). The whole group was howling with laughter, appreciating his over-the-top performance. You smiled even harder when you noticed Natasha filming him. 

"Amazing" You say through laughter. Sam bowed dramatically, clearly pleased with himself, while Steve rolled his eyes at the display. The group continued laughing before settling down, with Thor (who was clearly enjoying some Asgardian spirits) spoke up.

"Alright, alright. Now it's my turn to choose" Thor pondered for a moment before his gaze landed on you. 

"Truth or dare" He asks you, a glimmer in his eyes you can't quite place. 

"Have you ever harbored romantic feelings for someone in this very room?" The room suddenly grew quieter, the group eagerly awaiting your answer, including Bucky, who subtly leaned forward, feigning nonchalance.

"How very forward of you Thor" You say. "Yeah, I have"

A collective intake of breath filled the room, everyone's curiosity piqued. Tony, ever the gossip, leaned forward.

"And who might that lucky person be?" his tone was teasing, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"That's not how this game works, one question per truth, it's someone else's turn" You say, grinning at the loophole. 

Steve nodded in agreement, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Fair enough. It's Nat's turn now."

You take your attention away from the game for a moment to look up at Bucky, you poke your tongue out at him. Bucky chuckled at your playful gesture, rolling his eyes affectionately. The rest of the group watched the interaction with knowing smiles, all too aware of the blossoming attraction between you two. 

Natasha, ever the observant one, noticed your subtle glances towards Bucky and your attempts to hide them. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she decided to take advantage of the moment

"Alright" she said. "Bucky, truth or dare?"

Bucky, who had been half-listening, responded without hesitation.

"Dare."

"Brave" I mutter to him. 

Natasha's smirk broadened as she announced her dare.

"I dare you to..." she paused for dramatic effect, the tension in the room growing. "...give Y/N a back massage."

"Nat, I love you" You say with a laugh, your back was killing you from sitting on the floor, you shrug your jacket off, leaving you in a simple black tank top, your shoulders bare to Bucky. "Get to work, Barnes"

Bucky tried to keep his poker face as the other members snickered at Natasha's dare. He looked at you, his eyes briefly roaming over your now exposed shoulders. A mix of excitement and nervousness flickered across his features. Clearing his throat, he tried to play it cool.

"Alright, turn around. Make yourself comfortable on the floor, princess."

"I am comfortable!" You say, wiggling back slightly. Bucky rolled his eyes at your stubbornness, but couldn't help a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Of course you are."

He moved behind you, his hands hesitating for a moment before they made contact with your bare skin. The other members watched with rapt attention, a mix of anticipation and knowing grins on their faces as Bucky began his task. His strong, calloused hands slowly started massaging your shoulders, working out the knots and tension you carried.

"Mmm" You moan softly at his touch. "I needed this, Nat, you're the best"

Natasha chuckled at your praise, a satisfied smirk on her face. But before she could respond, Tony, always the one for sarcastic remarks, couldn't resist speaking up.

"Looks like Barnes is pretty good with his hands." he teased, earning a glare from Bucky.

"Feel free to keep the game going" You say, realising everyone was staring at you and Bucky. 

Tony smirked at your suggestion, eagerly taking the bait. He quickly shifted his gaze to the rest of the group.

"Alright, my turn." he announced. He looked across the room and his eyes landed on Thor. "Thor, truth or dare?"

Thor, still slightly tipsy, bellowed in his usual hearty tone and replied without hesitation. "Dare, of course!"

You roll your head back, looking up at Bucky as his fingers work their magic. Bucky looked down at you with a smirk, noticing your gaze. He kept up the massage, his fingers running up your spine, his touch growing slightly more intimate. The other members were still focused on the game, oblivious to the tension building between you two.

Tony, ever creative with his dares, grinned widely at Thor. "Alright, Thor, here's your dare. I dare you to... kiss the most attractive person in the room."

Thor's eyes scanned the room, a slight blush creeping up on his cheeks. The other members exchanged glances, knowing full well who Thor would choose. Finally, Thor's gaze landed on you, and a wide grin spread across his face.

The room fell silent as everyone waited, anticipation filling the air. Bucky's fingers momentarily stilled on your back, his body tense.

"Me? Thor, really? Me?" You question, not believing the god could find you the most attractive, not when the room was full of beautiful men and women. 

Thor's laughter echoed through the room. The others chuckled, and Tony was barely able to contain his snickering. Loki, ever the opportunist, smirked and muttered under his breath, "This should be interesting."

Thor stood up, swaying slightly because of the alcohol, and made his way towards you.

Bucky's grip on your shoulder tightened, his jaw clenching as he watched Thor kneel down in front of you.

"I don't wanna kiss you" You say playfully, thinking Thor would back out at the last second. 

Thor chuckled at your playful protest, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

"Oh, come on, just one little kiss." he teased, his face drawing closer to yours.

"Make it quick" You say with a playful roll of your eyes. Bucky's hand's had stopped but were still on your shoulders. 

A wide grin spread across Thor's face as he heard your submission. He moved closer, his lips hovering over yours for a moment, teasing you before he finally closed the gap. The kiss was rough and passionate, his large hand cradling the back of your neck as he deepened it.

The others cheered and applauded, clearly enjoying the little show. Tony wolf-whistled loudly, which earned him a smack on the arm from Steve.

Bucky, however, sat silently behind you. His fingers had unconsciously dug into your skin.

You whimper softly, but not from the kiss, but Bucky's fingers which had started to become painful. 

Tony, who had noticed the exchange, smirked and elbowed Bucky in the ribs. "Careful there, Barnes. Don't break the poor girl."

You move away from the kiss and away from Bucky's hands. "Bucky, ow!"

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to." his voice was quiet, filled with guilt. The others had gone silent, the game fading into the background as they watched the scene unfold between you two.

"It's okay" You whisper. "Who's next?"

Tony, ever the attention seeker, raised his hand enthusiastically. "Me, me! I'm next."

"Okay, truth of dare?" You ask. 

Tony didn't even hesitate. "Dare, of course. Bring it on." he said, a cocky smirk on his face.

"Hmm" You say, thinking for a moment, though you knew exactly what you were daring him to do. "I dare yooou to kiss Steven!"

Tony's confidence faltered for a moment, his smirk replaced by a look of surprise. "Kiss... Steve? That's your dare?" he repeated incredulously.

Steve, sitting next to Tony, was equally taken aback, his eyes widening at your suggestion.

"You're clearly in love with him" You say with a grin. 

Tony sputtered, clearly flustered by your comment. The others couldn't help but snicker, enjoying the way the tables were turning.

Steve, the ever-calm one, sat there with a bemused expression, waiting to see how Tony would respond.

"In love- what? Pfft, no I'm not." Tony protested weakly.

"Kiss, kiss, kiss" You chant, the others join in, the room filling with a chorus of 'Kiss, kiss, kiss' 

Tony's cheeks were now burning red, his usual confident demeanor completely crumbling.

He looked at Steve, who was now trying not to laugh. Steve shrugged, clearly amused by the whole situation.

"Come on, Tony. It's just a kiss." he said, his voice filled with playful teasing.

"Oh on! I had to kiss Thor, it's your turn!" You say, the others joining in. 

Tony groaned in mock despair, knowing he was outnumbered. He looked around at the group, who were all watching with anticipation.

"Fine, fine! But only because I'm a team player." he grumbled, turning towards Steve. Steve, barely holding back a smirk, leaned forward, his face mere inches away from Tony's.

The room went quiet, everyone holding their breath, waiting to see if this would actually happen. With a huff of resignation, Tony finally closed the remaining distance between him and Steve, their lips meeting in a brief but unmistakably awkward kiss.

The group erupted into laughter and applause, clearly amused by the spectacle. Tony quickly pulled away, running a hand through his hair and mumbling something about "traitors" and "stupid dares." Steve tried to hide his smile behind a raised hand, but the glimmer in his eyes gave him away. 

"Told you this game was daft" You added, taking another swig of your drink. 

Tony shot you a half-hearted glare, still trying to compose himself after the kiss.

"You're enjoying every minute of this, aren't you?" he said, a hint of playful irritation in his voice. The group continued to laugh and tease, Thor slapping Tony on the back and saying something about "getting over your denial."

Bucky, still sitting behind you, leaned forward and said in a low voice, "You're definitely trouble, you know that?"

"I am" You say proudly. "It's my time again"

The group quieted down, all eyes on you, anticipating your turn. Bucky shifted slightly, his gaze fixed on you.

Natasha, ever a mastermind, smirked.

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare" You say, though after you had said it, you regretted it just slightly. 

A collective "ooh" echoed through the room as you chose dare again. Bucky chuckled and shook his head, clearly not surprised by your choice.

Natasha grinned sinisterly, her brain already working on a plan. "Alright, here's your dare."

"I'm waiting" You say in a sing song voice. 

Natasha leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she delivered your dare.

"I dare you to... sit on Bucky's lap for the rest of the game."

The room fell silent for a moment before erupting into a mix of gasps, smirks, and snickers. Bucky's eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by Natasha's choice. He swallowed hard and looked at you, bracing himself.

"Easy!" You say standing up, your legs burned from being crossed for so long, you stretched your body.  

"You make it sound so naughty, I always sit on his lap!"

Tony raised an eyebrow and nudged Steve with his elbow. "Always, huh? What else have you two been up to?"

Bucky shot him a quick glare, clearly not amused by the insinuation, before returning his gaze to you as you made your way over to him.

"Yeah, during movie nights"

Bucky nodded in confirmation, recalling the countless movie nights where you had ended up snuggled against him on the couch. It had become somewhat of a habit, both of you seeking comfort and closeness during the movies.

The others exchanged glances, amused by the revelation. Wanda let out a cute laugh. "Ah, I see. So, you two are quite... cozy during those movie nights, hmm?"

"Oh shut up" You say as you flop down onto Bucky's lap. Bucky let out an "oof" as you landed unceremoniously in his lap, a mix of surprise and affection in his eyes as he instinctively wrapped his arms around you to steady you.

The others chuckled at your sass, Tony rolling his eyes and muttering something about "lovebirds."

"Dickhead" You mutter back to Tony.

Tony feigned offense, pretending to clutch his heart. "I'm wounded, truly wounded."

Bruce tried, and failed, to suppress a chuckle, while Thor just laughed heartily at the exchange.

Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled you tighter against his chest, as if claiming possession over you. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered so only you could hear. "You're being feisty tonight."

"I am?" You whisper to him, the game continues. 

Bucky smirked at your response, his grip on you tightening just a fraction.

"Oh, definitely," he murmured back, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Around you, the game continued, but Bucky's focus was now solely on you, enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his. He gently ran his fingers along the exposed skin of your arms, his touch feather-light but possessive. You smile to your best friend and then turn back to the game, seeing Wanda was mid dare and currently standing on her head. 

As you turned your attention back to the game, the others continued their playful banter, oblivious to the subtle intimacy between you and Bucky.

Every now and then, Bucky couldn't help but let his hands roam - trailing along your thighs, gently caressing the exposed skin on your back, even playing with a stray lock of your hair. It was as if he was unconsciously staking his claim on you, a silent declaration for the others to witness.

You let out a laugh deep from your chest when Steve was dared to dance to the Macarena. 

"Woo! Go Steve" You cheered. 

Steve rolled his eyes dramatically, but complied anyway, getting up and doing a surprisingly decent rendition of the macarena. The others cheered and laughed, enjoying the sight of their usually stoic friend making a fool of himself. Bucky, still holding you in his lap, couldn't help but chuckle, his chest rumbling against your back.

The time came around to being your turn again, you decide to choose dare again. Natasha smirked at you. 

"Go on, I'm not scared of nothing!" You say. 

"Alright, then." she said, her tone oozing with mischief. "I dare you... to kiss the hottest person in this room."

"Easy" You say without thinking, you turn to Bucky and press your lips to his. A chorus of "oohs" and "ahhs" filled the room as you turned and pressed your lips to Bucky's. For a moment, he was taken aback, surprised by your boldness. But then, almost instinctively, he responded, his hand moving up to cup your face and pull you closer. His lips moved against yours in a slow, almost reverential kiss, as if relishing the feeling of you in his arms.

You forgot about the game, and the others in the room as Bucky deepened the kiss, his hand gently tilted your head to the side to better angle your mouths together. His other hand moved down to the small of your back, pulling you closer until you were completely enveloped in his embrace. He seemed to forget about the game, and the others, as well, completely consumed by the feeling of your lips on his.

A few moments pass and you move away, the both of you breathing heavier than before. 

"Dare complete" You say, your lips still inches away from Bucky's as you feel like you've unlocked something wonderful between the two of you. Your eyes never leave his, and his stay on yours as you feel yourself get lost in his perfect blue orbs. 

Steve, unable to hide his smirk, was the first to speak up. "Well... that was quite a sight."

Tony, still in the dress, rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. "Get a room, you two."

"What a brilliant idea, Tony" You say quietly as you lick your lips, relishing in the taste of Bucky on your lips. 

Laughter erupted around the room as Tony realised what he had inadvertently suggested. The others were clearly enjoying the banter, while you and Bucky chuckled.

Bucky, still holding you in his lap, leaned in close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "You know, that's not a bad idea." he whispered, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

You stand up first, Bucky's eyes were on your movement. Tony, in his typical fashion, couldn't resist a sly comment as you started to walk away. "Try not to break anything, kids."

"Coming?" You say to Bucky, holding your hand out to him. 

Bucky stood up, a small smile playing on his lips, and took your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"Yeah, yeah... we'll try not to." he shot back at Tony before letting you lead the way out of the room.

The others exchanged knowing glances, chuckling softly as they realized what was about to happen. As Bucky followed you out of the room, he leaned in close and whispered in your ear.

"Your room or mine?"

"Yours" You answer him. "Your bed is bigger"

Bucky chuckled, the thought of having you in his bed was already making him eager.

"Good choice." he murmured, his hand sliding down to the curve of your hip as he steered you towards his quarters.

The walk there was a blur, both of you consumed by the anticipation building up within. Once you reached his door, Bucky quickly keyed it open and ushered you inside.

His room was bigger and therefore had a bigger bed than yours. It was huge, the biggest bed you had ever seen, much better than the Queen size you had in your room. You flopped down onto his bed, spreading your arms out on the soft blanket. 

Bucky smirked, taking a step towards the bed, he reached out and gently caressed your legs, teasingly running his hands up along your thighs.

"Mmm" You whisper in response. "Are you sure you want to break every friend rule we have?"

Bucky paused for a brief moment, his fingertips tracing patterns along your skin. There was a hint of hesitation in his eyes as he considered the question, but the desire in his gaze was far stronger.

"I don't care about any rules right now." he said, his voice low and rough with desire, "We'll deal with the consequences later. Right now, I just want you."

"Bucky" You whisper, he climbs onto the bed, crawling over you, you place a finger on his lips just before he goes to kiss you. "I can't handle the uncertainty of that"

Bucky paused, he let out a quiet sigh, his eyes studying your face as his hand gently grasped the wrist of the finger on his lips.

"I know... I know" He murmurs. "But I can't keep ignoring this... whatever this is between us. I can't keep pretending I don't want you, not anymore."

"Promise we'll always be best friends, I can't lose you" You say, your voice sounding pathetic as you plead with him. 

Bucky's gaze softened at your words, his grip on your wrist loosening to where his touch was just a gentle caress. "I promise. No matter what happens between us, no matter where our relationship may go... our friendship will always be there. You won't lose me." He leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours as he spoke the next words, his voice a low whisper. "I swear it"

"Kiss me" You whisper, having the promise of that, and knowing deep in your heart you and Bucky would always be this, you needed his touch now. 

The last restraint holding him back snapped at your command. Bucky wasted no time pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He poured all of his pent-up desire and need into the kiss.

His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against his body as his mouth moved against yours, his tongue seeking entrance into your mouth. The kiss was hungry, almost desperate, as if he was starving for the taste of you.

You kiss him, losing yourself in his touch, it was intoxicating. Bucky's hands wandered over your body, fingers tracing the curves and dips of your form, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

His lips left yours to trail down your jawline and along your neck, leaving a path of soft kisses in their wake. Bucky's hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers gently lifting the fabric to reveal more of your skin. His breath was ragged against your neck as he whispered, "I need to feel you... I need you so bad."

"Me too" You say, whimpering softly as his fingers tease the skin just under your shirt. A low growl leaves his lips, his fingers continued to tease, slowly trailing along the bare skin of your hip, leaving a path of fire in their wake. He lifted his head from your neck, his gaze locking onto yours. His eyes were darkened with lust, pupils dilated with desire as he took in the sight of you beneath him, vulnerable and wanting.

You smirk and move your hand down to your shirt, and slowly lift it. Bucky's breath hitches, his eyes watch your movement, watching the newly exposed skin show. His grip on your hip tightened, his eyes locking onto the newly revealed flesh as he let out a low, appreciative groan. "God, you're so beautiful..." he murmured, his gaze filled with a mixture of admiration and pure, unadulterated want.

You lift your shirt over your head and throw it somewhere in the room, not caring where it lands, leaving you in just your bra and trousers, not having expected this when you dressed this morning, you weren't wearing your 'sexy' underwear, but Bucky was still looking at you like a man starved. His gaze roamed over your body with an intensity that sent chills down your spine, as if he was committing every inch of your form to memory.

With a swift, almost needy movement, Bucky lowered himself back down to you, his lips immediately seeking out the skin of your neck again. His body was flush against yours, his fingers gently tracing the line of your bra strap.

"Whatcha gonna do to me, Bucks?" You ask quietly, your tone dripping with need. 

Bucky's response was almost instantaneous, his voice a low growl as his lips moved against your neck. "Whatever I damn well please." His hands moved to your hips again, gripping tightly as he rolled his hips against yours, showing you just how much he wanted you in that moment. "I'm going to mark you up. I'm going to make you mine. And you're going to let me."

"Yes" You whisper, your eyes on his. 

"Good girl." Bucky's words were whispered against your ear before he started nipping and biting at the skin of your neck. He was marking you, claiming you as his. His teeth grazed over your skin, leaving a trail of love bites down your throat and towards your collarbone.

He shifted, his leg slotting between yours, and pressed himself closer to you. The heat between the two of you was almost unbearable, the need growing stronger by the second. 

You whine softly at the nickname, enjoying it a little too much, you had never had a partner call you that before, never even thought about it, but having Bucky say it, it was everything you needed and more. 

A sly smirk danced across Bucky's lips as he heard your whine, enjoying the way he could get such a response from you. His eyes darkened even further at the sound, the possessive part of him loving the way you reacted to his touch.

"You like that, don't you? You like being called a good girl." he murmured against your neck, his teeth gently sinking into your skin as he continued to mark you up.

You nod, not trusting your voice. 

Bucky hummed softly, pleased with your response. His mouth continued biting and sucking at your skin, leaving a trail of darkened love bites along your neck and collarbone. His grip on your hips tightened, his touch almost possessive, as he held you in place, savoring the way you whimpered and squirmed beneath him.

"Say it." he whispered, his voice filled with an aching need. "Say you're my good girl."

"I'm your good girl Bucky" You whisper, feeling your cheeks heat up. 

A low moan escaped Bucky's lips as he heard you utter the words he craved to hear. He lifted his head from your neck to look at you, his eyes locked onto yours with an almost feral intensity.

"My good girl. My perfect, pretty girl." he stated, his voice filled with a possessive growl as he gently caressed your cheek, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. "You're mine."

"Fuck, all yours Bucky" You whisper. "Please, Bucky I need more"

"You want more of me, doll?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent another shiver of desire through you. "You want to be ruined completely?"

"Don't you want more?" You ask, moving your hand down to your trousers, you undo one of your jeans buttons. 

Bucky's eyes immediately darted to your hand as you began to undo the button on your trousers, the action sending a fresh wave of want through him. His grip on your hip tightened as he watched you with a barely contained eagerness.

"Don't even ask such a stupid question." he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper as he tried to hold back the primal urges stirring within him. "Of course I want more. I want all of you."

"I want you too, help me take these off" 

Bucky grins and moves off the bed and moves his hands to your jeans, playfully he swatted your hand away and started undoing the remainder of your buttons. Once they were undone, he pushes his fingertips just under your jeans, sending shivers through your body. He starts slowly pulling down your jeans, exposing you further. 

"You're so pretty" He whispers when your jeans are down to your thighs, he pulls the fabric off from you, throwing them onto the floor. 

Bucky stands up fully, looking down at you, your eyes trail over his body, finally seeing his hard cock underneath his black jeans, your mouth watered. He looked big, even concealed under the jeans. 

You watch as he moves his hands down to his shirt, in one swift movement Bucky grabs his plain black top and pulls it over his head, leaving him topless. You see the flicker of insecurity in his eyes knowing his shoulder scar was on show for you. Sure, you had seen it before, but this was different. 

You stood up and stepped closer to him, lifting your hands you placed them on both shoulders, allowing your one hand to trace over the scar from his fleshy shoulder to his metal arm. Looking up at him, meeting his eyes. 

"You're beautiful Bucky" You say in a whisper. He closes his eyes for a moment, so you decide to move forward, pressing a kiss to his scar, and then another. You can hear Bucky's breathing, his chest rising against you, and falls as his breathing deepens. 

Stepping back, you look up to him, Bucky opens his eyes, their glossy, so you move forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips. 

"We can stop, you know" You say quietly, you knew Bucky struggled with letting people see the arm, especially when he had nothing else on. To your knowledge he hadn't slept with anyone since coming back from the dead. 

"No, doll" He answers, he lifts a hand and cups your cheek. "I trust you, I want this"

You smile and nod, moving your hands down his naked chest, slightly digging your nails in as you do, he hisses slightly. Your fingers find his trousers, you slowly lower yourself. And whilst your face is in front of his crotch, you undo his belt and trousers and push them down his legs. 

His boxers were a light blue, he had a small wet patch where the head of his cock laid. Without thinking you moved forward and mouthed the clothed tip of his cock. 

Bucky lets out a low groan, obviously not expecting you to do that. His flesh hand moves to your shoulder, holding you slightly to keep his balance. 

His boxers were wet, you moved your hands up to the waistband and slowly peeled them down, his cock flopped down, almost smacking you in the face, instead it smacked against hist hard stomach. You had never seen Bucky's cock before, but you had an inkling that he was huge, that super soldier serum didn't just make his arms bigger, you thought for a moment about how it would even fit inside of you. 

"Are you gonna spend all night staring at my dick?" He asks, breaking you from your thoughts. 

"Might" You answer, you moved your hand gripping him close to the base of his cock. Bucky let out another groan, he was definitely sensitive. You fingers didn't meet, having at least one inch between them. 

You pump your hand a few times, relishing on how he feels, he was rock hard and so veiny under your touch. You adjusting yourself to be more comfortable as you kneel on the floor and move forward a little. 

You open your mouth and lick the head of his cock. 

"Oh" Bucky whimpers. 

You smirk, feeling the excitement bubble in your stomach from his reaction. You lick a few more times before taking the tip into your mouth, your mouth had never been so full, the thought of other places feeling this full sent shivers straight down to your pussy. 

You move your head forward, trying to suck in as much of him as you could, with what couldn't fit you used your hand, tightening your grasp as you did so. 

"That feels so good" Bucky whines, he taps your shoulder, causing your movements to stop. You pull away and look up at him, your eyes slightly blurry from your gag reflex. 

"I don't want to finish in your mouth" He whispers, he takes your chin in his hand and lifts you, you lift with him, standing back up. Your legs felt a little wobbly, but Bucky caught you, moving down slightly he presses his lips to yours. 

You shivered, liking that he didn't care that you so obviously tasted like his cock, and precum. His tongue licked at your mouth, you moaned as you felt his hands grasp at your hips, he didn't stay still moving up across your curves towards the back of your bra. 

He pulled at it, and twisted it a few times before you moved away from his lips, unable to contain your giggling. 

"Don't laugh doll" He says with a playful glint in his eyes. 

"Bras are a bit different than from your time, aren't they?" You ask, you reach back with one hand and pin your bra open. Bucky's eyes watch you hungrily, he moves quickly to your shoulders, using his hands to pull your bra off your arms. 

Leaving you nude on your upper half, you cover your chest with your arms, before realising, this was Bucky. He would never judge you. 

Bucky places a hand on your cheek, meeting your eyes with his. "Be a good girl, go lie on the bed"

You nod, feeling yourself heat up as you follow his order. Moving over to the bed you shuffle up and lean against the headboard, the blankets Bucky had were so soft on your exposed skin, you wanted to spread on them and just feel them. 

Bucky stepped out from his trousers and boxers and steps closer to the bed, his eyes looked over your nearly naked body. Your mouth watered from the sight of him, he stood naked and proud, his cock standing to attention. Slowly he climbed onto the bed, and closer to you. 

"Gonna take these off" He whispers, he sat himself beside your legs and loops a finger under your underwear, his touch against the sensitive skin of where your hip meets your pussy sending tingles through your body. You nod eagerly at him. 

With a cheeky grin, Bucky starts pulling down your underwear, exposing you completely to him. Your cheeks heat up at the slight bush you had, not having shaved for a few days. 

Bucky must of been able to tell you were slightly embarrassed, because he comforted you. "A bit of hair isn't going to scare me off, it's natural baby"

He throws your underwear elsewhere. "Open up for me" He whispers. 

You listen to him, opening your legs, Bucky climbs between them and moves his hands to under your thighs, lifting you slightly. Bucky moves himself first, lying down on his front in a sniper position. And finally he moves forward, first pressing a kiss to just above your clit. You whine slightly, needing him to do so much more. 

"Darling, sounding a bit needy there"

"Needy for you" 

"That's what I like to hear" He whispers before leaning down to engulf your clit into his mouth. You moan loudly, your hips jolted up towards him. Bucky moves his hands to hold you in place, against him as his tongue slips out from his mouth and through your folds. 

You move your hand down to grip his head, weaving your fingers through his hair, moaning loudly as his tongue pokes into your hole. 

You legs shook against his hold, but Bucky held you down, he was making the loudest of noises and maybe if you weren't so far gone you'd be embarrassed but he was sucking your pussy like a man starved. Your head was pressed down against the pillows as Bucky helped you feel better than any other man had ever made you feel. 

Moving slightly, Bucky moves his flesh arm across your hips, holding you down with ease with one arm, whilst he still lapped at your clit, he moved his metal hand down, his fingertips touched your wet, needy hold lightly, enough to make you jolt slightly. Without warning, Bucky plunged two metal fingers deep in your pussy, you cry out loudly as he starts pumping them. 

It felt so naughty, having his metal fingers inside of you like this, it felt forbidden, only adding to the euphoric feeling you were experiencing. Bucky's fingers moved slowly, sinking completely into you and then he would take them out and repeat, all whilst his tongue and mouth were on your clit. You gripped his hair a little tighter feeling that all familiar feeling in your stomach start bubbling. 

"Buck!" You squeal, moving your free hand up to your mouth, you open your mouth and start biting down on your hand. 

"Don't hide, please, let me hear you" Bucky says, his lips tracing your clit as he speaks, driving you wild. You listen to him, and move your hand down, his flesh hand moves up to hold your hand, holding you as your pleasure ripples through your body, exploding, you cry loudly as you feel yourself come, the feeling heating up your skin, and making your legs shake. You hear Bucky moan against your folds as he slows his fingers, allowing you to calm from your high. 

After a few moments, and your body stops feeling as if it were vibrating, Bucky moves away slightly, before moving back to plant a kiss on your clit, causing a shiver to travel through your body. He kisses up, along your stomach, up to your chest, where he takes your right nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to cause little mews to leave your lips. He moves along, kissing between your breasts, sucking lightly at the skin of your cleavage, leaning a small mark on you. 

"Bucky, please, fuck me?" You ask, your voice a little breathless, he looks up, and smirks, moving up even more to press his lips to yours. 

"I'll fuck you, I just needed you feeling so good before I do" He whispers, he moves himself, crawling over you so your legs were rested in between his, his hard cock prodded your clit as he moves. He moves one hand down to grip his cock, you watch as he pumps himself a few times before angling his cock to rub against your clit, he pressed down, causing moans to leave both on your lips. 

"Lemmie just" You say, moving yourself so your legs were on the outside of his legs, completely spread out for him. 

"You're so pretty, fuck, I've told you that before, but holy shit, you're so... breathtaking"

You feel yourself blush from his words, feeling a little silly seeing what he was doing with his cock, he used the tip to rub himself down from your clit to your hole, spreading your increasing wetness over himself. 

"Oh shit doll, I didn't ask..." He whispers, looking down to his bare cock. 

"Bucky, I want to feel you, not a condom..." You say quietly. "I'm clean, I haven't been with anyone in the past two years"

"Okay.. yeah me neither" He whispers, you smile slightly, knowing he was telling the truth. You lean up, ghosting your lips against his, Bucky moves forward, trying to capture your lips but you move away just before he could. You feel him move his dick, pressing the tip against your hole, a whine left your lips as he pushed the tip inside of you, he was large, you knew this already, but feeling it was a different story. 

Moving slightly, you gripped both on his shoulders, bracing yourself for him, Bucky stopped for a moment, pulling out completely, he grabbed a pillow and then used his hand to lift your hips to slot the pillow underneath you. It was far more comfortable, and you'd suppose he would also be able to fuck you deeper from this position. Bucky shot you a toothy grin before pushing the tip of his cock into your pussy, he kept moving, slowly entering you. 

"Oh shit, Bucks"

"Fucking made for me" He mutters, leaning down slightly, his long hair tickled your chest. Your pussy burned, it was a good burn, and the pain only increased the pleasure he was giving you, Bucky only made it better by moving his hand down, his flesh one this time, he pressed his thumb against your clit, moving down slightly to gather your wetness before rubbing his thumb in circles. You gripped him harder, your fingernails leaving crescent moon shapes in his arms. 

His hips met yours when he was finally inside, you thought you could see stars from how good you were feeling. Neither of you moved for a moment, Bucky looked up and leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You both kiss for a while, tangling tongues together, the kiss was different from earlier, this one was more passionate, you could feel that this wasn't going to be a one time thing with Bucky, he wanted you, and you could feel that just from the way his lips moved against yours. 

Bucky moves back, and your eyes open, seeing his eyes, you melt, you always have. 

"I love you" He whispers, so quietly, you almost missed it. You could see the slight panic in his eyes, obviously he mind was spinning, worried you didn't feel the same, but of course you did, Bucky had been your best friend for a while now, and you did, you felt the same. 

"I love you" You whisper. "You can move"

He nods, a soft smile on his face, you came to love those rare smiles from him. Bucky's flesh arm moved up to cup your face as his hips moved backwards, his cock, so hard within you stretched you so perfectly when he thrusted into you, you had never felt so full before, it was perfect, you loved it. You were still gripping onto his arms, you moved one hand up to his hair, pulling him back towards you so you could capture his lips in a searing kiss. 

Bucky picked up the pace, his hips were slamming into yours, the sound of skin slapping echoed through the room. The kiss had been forgotten as you both hold your mouths open as moans leave both of your lips. 

"You feel so perfect" Bucky whispers. "Fuckin' made for me"

"Yes, made for you" You whine back, you stretch your legs as far as they would allow, wanting to feel Bucky fully inside of you, he thrusted into you hard, waiting a few seconds when he was fully stated in you, giving you a few moments to breath and feel the full thickness of his cock. You were hooked, never would you want another men, or another toy. Except for the ones that vibrate, you were sure the super soldier didn't have that ability. 

You wondered if the team could hear you, as the two of you were crying out loudly with moans of pure pleasure, you were a few floors away, but you never know. 

"Fuckin such a good girl, squeezing me like that" Bucky says, his voice raspy. 

You smirked to yourself, and squeezed his dick harder, you moaned loudly feeling him fuck you fast, his thumb pressed down against your clit. 

"Fuck, gonna come" 

"Yes, come for me" Bucky whines, his hips stuttering against yours. "Wanna feel you, come on my cock baby"

His words were what you needed to be pushed over the edge, your legs shut, tightening against his hips as you feel yourself come, your body shook underneath him, his hand moved from your face to hold your neck, he didn't press down, but the hold alone increased your pleasure. You were completely under Bucky's will and you loved it. 

"Fuck, fuck baby" He whimpers, his thrusting becoming slightly more erratic. "Can I... oh fuck... can I come inside of you?"

You nod, feeling at a lost for words, Bucky moans loudly, he moves his hand that was previously rubbing your clit to hold your hip tight as he fucked harder into you. You looked up at him and were taken away, he was so beautiful, so perfect. His hair was sticking to his face, his cheeks red and eyes shut, and he had never looked so beautiful. 

"Fuck, gonna paint your insides darling, cover you in me" He rambles, usually you maybe would of taken the mick out of him. But not today. He moans loudly, almost roaring as he slams his hips into you, keeping his entire cock deep inside of you as his seed spurted deep into you. 

After a few moments Bucky crashed out and laid on you, careful not to crush you. You wrap an arm around him, holding him close to you. 

"You're absolutely going to be the death of me"

"Why didn't we try that sooner?" You ask. 

Bucky laughed, nuzzling a little closer to you. 

"Hell if I know, we've been dancing around this for far too long" He murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Guess better late than never"

"That's true" You say with a soft giggle. "God that was so good"

"Good? Doll, that was damn near mind-blowing" He says, moving his head to look up to you. "Wanna go again?"

Your eyes widen when you feel his half flaccid cock harden again, still deep inside of you. "Is that even a question?" You say. "What would you like Mr Barnes, a ride or all fours?"

Bucky's breath hitched from your words, obviously imagining both scenarios. 

"Damn it, you have a filthy mouth" He growled. 

"I do... so what would you like?" You ask, smirking. "Having me on top of you, bouncing on that hard cock of yours or on all fours ready for you to claim me?"

Bucky lets out another growl, his hands already starting to roam over your body with a possessive touch. "On all fours, I want you at my mercy. I want to take you apart slowly"

"Fuck, yeah, let's do that" You whisper, it takes a moment for you and Bucky to move, he had more energy than you. Lucky super soldier. You move yourself to sit on your knees as he watches from behind you. Slowly you lean down, making sure to spread your legs as you do, giving him a full show of your body. You hear him mutter 'fuck' from behind, causing a small smirk from you. 

You rest on your forearms, shaking your arse to him. Bucky moves, kneeling behind you, you feel his legs against your arse, he hands move to grip your arse cheeks. 

"Perfect" He growls. "Just the way I want you" His voice was rough and filled with a mix of desire of possession. 

"Going to give me a big head with all these compliments" You say. Bucky lets out a soft chuckle, his hands were running up your thighs, gently pushing them apart to give him better access. 

"Damn right I am. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes on. I'm gonna make sure you know it" His fingers continue to trail up your legs leaving goosebumps in their wake as he slowly moved towards your core. 

"Please Bucky, no fingers, I need you" You whimper. Bucky groans at your plea. He grabs himself asn lines up with your pussy, and slowly he pushes in. You can feel how wet you still are, a mixture of your own juices and his come inside of you. It doesn't take Bucky long to be fully within you, the stretch still sent waves of pleasure through you, it almost felt like too much, like he was too big, but you took it. 

His fingers dug into your cheeks, you hoped they would leave bruises, you wanted reminders of Bucky all over your body. 

"Ready baby?" He asks, he leans down and peppers kisses to your back. 

"Fuck, yes" You answer back, your forehead was nearly pressed against the pillows of the bed, and then he started thrusting, only slowly, but the pleasure was unimaginable, you squealed loudly, a string of swears left your lips. 

"Tut tut" Bucky mutters, he slaps your arse cheek a few times, leaving a red mark. "Dirty girl, touch yourself"

"Huh?" You ask, your mind lost in pleasure. 

"Touch yourself for me baby" 

You nod and listen, putting all your weight on your arm, you move the other down to your pussy. Your fingers pressed against you clit, you were so wet, you loved that it was a mixture of you and Bucky as you started rubbing against yourself, just the way you liked it. Bucky's thrusts were hard and slow, and with your fingers in the mix you soon felt yourself coming hard for him, squeezing your cock in your tight grasp. 

"That's my girl, so good, coming for me" He mutters, his hips speeding in their wake as he fucks you harder. "Fuck, this pussy is so perfect, I love it, I love you" 

You noticed that when Bucky started getting close to coming, he would ramble, you loved it, since he was so quiet usually. His hips returned to that erraticness like he had before. 

"God, I wanna keep going" He mutters. "Never wanna stop"

"We have from now on Bucks" You say softly. "Wanna feel you"

"Fuck" He groans, he falls onto you, his hips still going as he spills inside of you, muttering words of love in your ear as he does so. 

You stay still for a while, the both of you, before Bucky gently pulls out of you, causing a small wince to leave your lips, he then flops down next to you, leaning down he grabs his shirt from earlier and wipes between your legs and his own cock. You could have a proper shower in a bit, lying down with Bucky was more important right now. 

"Damn doll" He mutters as he snuggles up to you, his voice rough and filled with satisfaction. "That was even better than I coulda imagined"

"Oh, so you imagined it?" You ask, smirking as you meet his eyes. You both laid close to one another, your noses nearly touched from your closeness. Bucky chuckled softly, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly as he let out a soft hum of agreement.

"You have no goddamn idea." *he murmured, pressing another kiss to your hair. "Been thinking about this for a lot longer than I care to admit."

"Honestly, me too" You say, feeling your heart leap from his words. 

Bucky's heart skipped a beat at your confession, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing over your skin in a soft gesture of affection.

"All this time, neither of us did a damn thing about it." he said with a soft chuckle, his voice filled with both annoyance and fondness.

"Tell me about it" You muttered. "At least we know now, you gonna take me on a real date then?"

Bucky grinned, his eyes lighting up at the idea. He pulled you closer, his hand still cupping your cheek as he gently nudged your nose with his.

"Damn right I'm going to take you on the best damn date you've ever had. You're mine now, doll. I ain't letting you go anytime soon."

"Promise?" You ask softly. Bucky's gaze was intense, his eyes burning with a fierce possessiveness as he spoke. His voice was confident, leaving no room for doubt.

"Absolutely promise. You're mine, doll. Every goddamn inch of you. And I plan to make sure you never forget it."

"I love you, Bucky Barnes"

"I love you too, doll." he murmured, his voice low and filled with sincerity. "I've loved you for a hell of a long time, and I'm never gonna stop. You're mine forever, you hear me?"

Your heart swelled with affection, you leaned forward pressing your forehead to his, closing your eyes. "Forever, Bucky"

"Damn right." he whispered, "Forever. You're mine. And I'm never letting go."

[dontpulloutman]

7 minutes of lewis & yn talking about each other

singer!yn x lewis pullman (more) a/n: i have maybe 2 more singer!yn wips + 1 owen taylor wip. i'm super busy this week so i'm not sure when i can post those uhhh pls be patient w me ty ily i hope u like this

The video begins with the oldest; it’s Lew seated in an interview with Jay and Monica to promote Top Gun: Maverick. “So, it’s safe to assume that all the flight training and exercise needed to stay in shape must take many hours. Who are your favorite artists to jam out and work out to?”

Lewis can’t hide the way his lips quirk, “Recently, I’ve been listening to a lot of Y/N.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see the way Monica and Jay look at him. Knowing glints in their gazes.

“Really?” the interview asks, “I didn’t expect that.”

“No, yeah. She’s great.” Lewis smiles.

“She’s really great,” Jay adds. Monica tries to subtly hide her smile behind her hand.

“I jam out to Bad Blood on the treadmill.” Lewis comments, cheeky smile plastered on his face before Monica changes the topic.

“Muses & Anecdotes, congratulations on the new album!” The radio talkshow host exclaims. Seated across from him, you smile. “Thank you so much!”

“It’s doing really well. All thirteen tracks on Billboard’s Top 20. How does it feel?”

“It feels amazing. I had some doubts about releasing an album entirely on my own again, but I was encouraged by some very close friends and I decided, ‘Hey, why not?’. Luckily, it’s working out so far.”

“It’s more than just ‘working out.” The host teases, and you let out a little laugh. “So, speaking of ‘muses & anecdotes’, can we perhaps have an explanation to what ‘muses’ and what ‘anecdotes’ mean? Not the Merriam-Webster definition, but the YN LN definition.”

You let out another laugh. Letting out a hum, you think of how to phrase your answer.

“When I first started to conceptualize the album, I knew that it would encompass thoughts and feelings of certain events over the course of six years. Anecdotes quite literally means an account of an event that is… amusing or interesting.”

“And what does ‘muses’ mean to YN LN?”

The host eyes you, you catch the humor on their face.

“You know what it means, Rich.”

“I don’t! Promise!” the host is laughing.

“All of the songs in this album are inspired by and dedicated to a special person in my life.”

“That person being…?”

“Oh, stop it," you joke with a roll of your eyes.

The next clip is of a red-carpet interview for the premiere of Thunderbolts. Front and center of the video, Lewis is talking into a mic, he’s grinning at the question the interviewer asked him.

“My muse is here,” he’s grinning, head turning quickly to the side, down the aisle where you’re engaged in another interview of your own.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” the interviewer starts, “But is this your first red carpet together?”

“Yes, it is,” Lewis confirms, “This is… Coming to an event like this has been something we’ve always wanted to do together, but it never really worked out in the past. I’m just happy we’ve finally done it.”

“How do you think YN will react to The Sentry?”

“Oh, I think she’ll hate him. I sent her pics during filming. She absolutely hated the hair. She’s in love with the Void, though.” Lew lets out a small laugh, mind recalling the texts you sent him when the trailer released.

“That was unexpected!”

Lewis gives a wink to the camera, “She loves his hair more.”

“I’m so excited. I’m such a huge fan of everybody, and Flo is one of my closest friends in Hollywood. I just — I can’t wait to see the whole film!” The next clip is YN on the same red carpet, with the same interviewer.

“And of course, you’re here for Lewis too?”

“Yes, of course,” you cut yourself off, turning your head to look for him, “Where is he? — Oh, there.” You see him ahead of you in the press line, talking to another interviewer. “I told him the reason I came today is to see the Void. I love his hair.”

“Lewis told us awhile ago. Not a fan of the blonde?”

“I am! Just… I love the Void more.”

The next clip is a little blurry, taken under the dim lights of your most recent concert. The camera is focused on the stage, where you’re dancing to ‘Dress’.

I woke up just in time, now I wake up by your side

My hands shake, I can't explain this ah, ha, ha, ha

Say my name and everything just stops

The camera turns to where Lewis is watching you from the VIP tent, it zooms in on his face, his smile, and how he whispers your name, before the beat starts up again.

I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

“I feel so lucky to know her.”

The final clip is from a Zoom interview, Lewis is leaned toward the camera of his laptop, a lazy smile on his lips, “She’s my best friend, my biggest supporter.” This whole press junket, ever since the two of you went public with your relationship, questions about your relationship never fails to be brought up at least once. He never gets tired of talking about you.

Comments (274)

ally_browne PARENTS

falsedg0dz yn cant stop yapping abt lewis she released bonus tracks of muses n anecdotes OUT OF FUCKIN NOWHERE???

lewpulledman this is the first celeb couple where i feel like they really like each other

bobonboard girlie cant stop singing abt how in love and horny they r for one another

l0vedstory hard launching at 6 years …. we couldve had 6 yrs of them doing this

ynlewtruther I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT YN’S ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW

millsjules wait why? ynlewtruther she wrote some songs at lewis’s montana place and she said in the interview that she realized he liked her back when she walked in on him playing “snap out of it” by arctic monkeys on the drums dfhgjkdfhg milesjules WHAT???? thats hilarious

voidedyn yn … lewis …. me …. sabrina carpenter paris juno position

[verstappenverse]

hi! can i request that the reader and max anticipate their first child? he was so worried when the reader had a morning sickness and when the reader was about to deliver the baby? he worried whether he could be a good father or not to their firstborn baby. and how he was so protective, care, and just soft with the reader? thank you! i love your fics anyway, you're doing great! i hope you have a very good day ahead!! xoxo.

What If I Get It Wrong?

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max was never afraid of anything, but fatherhood? That’s a different kind of terrifying. As the two of you prepare for your first child, Max is protective, terrified, and completely in awe, and you watch the man you love fall headfirst into fatherhood. (Requested)

4.1k words / Masterlist

You weren’t expecting it to feel like this, equal parts overwhelming and breathtaking. A surreal mix of the mundane and the extraordinary.

Two faint pink lines on a stick, the distant hum of the bathroom fan. The sound of your shaky breathing as you sit on the edge of the tub, blinking down at something that just shifted the axis of your entire world.

Your hands tremble when you press your palm to your stomach. It’s still flat. Still unchanged. And yet… you already feel different. Maybe not physically, but something inside you is new. Expanding. Blooming.

You had a plan.

Of course you did. You’d always imagined telling Max with a smile too wide to hide, maybe over a fancy private dinner at home with the test tucked inside a gift box or a Red Bull baby onesie folded on his plate. Maybe filming his reaction when he opened it. Something worthy of the moment. Something permanent.

You even started writing a card, got as far as, "You changed my life once. Now—."

But when the door opens that night and Max comes in, home late from some media obligations, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and grumbling about TikTok's and something you can’t quite hear. You don’t even get a word in before he presses a kiss to your cheek. “Sorry I’m late. What’re we having for—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words leap out of you before you even mean to say them. It’s not soft. It’s not poetic. It’s raw and breathless and a little panicked.

The silence is immediate. Thick. His mouth stays open mid-word. His eyes flick to your stomach, then back to your face.

“I—” you start, already flustered, “I was gonna tell you in some big, sweet way, I swear. With a whole surprise and maybe a stupid cake or balloons, I even wrote like half a card and now I’ve just blurted it out like a maniac and—”

“Pregnant,” he interrupts.

You nod. Your voice is a whisper. “Yeah.”

It takes another two seconds before a breathless laugh escapes him. He crosses the room in one long stride, pulling you into his arms. His hands cradle your face like you’re something breakable. “You’re serious?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat. “I took the test three times.”

He looks down at your stomach again. Then back at you. Then exhales a shaky breath that sounds like something breaking open in his chest.

“I’m going to be a dad?”

You bite your lip, eyes filling. “Yeah. You are.”

You nod again, and before you can say another word, he’s kissing you. Slow. Deep. His hand presses instinctively to your belly, protective already, and you feel his body tremble as his forehead rests against yours.

The nerves come quickly.

You’re crouched over the toilet, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain, on what feels like your fifth straight day of relentless nausea. Your stomach rolls again, and you groan, dry heaving into nothing.

Max hovers like a man teetering on the edge of a panic attack. He’s pacing the bathroom floor in bare feet, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other holding your water bottle like it might fix something if he just offers it enough times.

“Should I call someone?” he says for the third time in five minutes. “A hospital? Maybe your mum, I think, maybe Dr. Hendriks? I’ll fly him in. We have the jet, it’s—”

“Max,” you croak, cutting him off mid-spiral. “I’m fine. Just... a bit gross.”

He drops to a crouch beside you so fast you almost flinch. His hand is instantly at your back, warm and steady, rubbing slow circles over your spine like he’s trying to manually ease the nausea out of you.

“You threw up twice, you’ve barley eaten anything since yesterday, and you can’t even stand up straight. This isn’t fine,” he mutters, eyes scanning your face like he’s looking for signs of something worse.

You want to reassure him, but all you can manage is another gag and a feeble wave of your hand.

He makes a frustrated sound under his breath, somewhere between a growl and a groan and presses a kiss to your temple. You feel him shift beside you, still kneeling, still rubbing your back.

You’re pretty sure he was supposed to be on a flight to the Red Bull factory two hours ago. His suitcase is still zipped up in the hallway. His laptop sits forgotten on the kitchen counter next to the tea he brewed for you earlier, the tea you couldn’t even look at, let alone sip.

He didn’t even finish drying his hair. It’s still damp, curling at the edges. There’s a red line pressed into his cheek from where he must’ve fallen asleep beside you on the bathroom floor the night before.

“Max,” you mumble, finally able to lift your head. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, exhausted, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack before the baby’s even here.”

He tries to laugh but it comes out hoarse and half-broken. “I just hate this. Watching you like this. I keep thinking, what if I’m missing something? What if I’m not doing enough?”

You tilt your head up slightly, catching the crease between his brows, the lines of guilt that don’t belong there.

“You made me three kinds of toast this morning,” you murmur. “And cut the crusts off, and you held my hair and Googled ginger remedies until your phone died.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you press a hand to his chest right over the spot where his heart’s racing, fast and wild.

“You’re here,” you whisper. “That’s not useless. That’s everything.”

He exhales shakily, eyes locked on yours and for a second you swear they shine.

“I’m just so scared of getting it wrong,” he admits, barely audible. “This whole dad thing. Taking care of you. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done, and I keep feeling like I’m already screwing it up.”

“You’re not,” you promise, curling your fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re already the best dad, because you care so much, because you show up.”

The weeks pass in waves. Ultrasounds. Appointments. Cravings that come out of nowhere at 2 a.m. and leave you both laughing in the kitchen in your pajamas, sharing a jar of pickles and toast with peanut butter. There are stretches of calm, slow, quiet mornings when the Monaco sunlight creeps across the bedsheets and Max wraps an arm around your waist, murmuring something sleepy against your neck. And then there are flashes of chaos, bags packed, schedules rearranged, Max on a video call with his race engineers while still rubbing your swollen feet with one hand.

Somehow, amidst it all, you find a rhythm.

You learn to time what you can around Max’s races, his travel, his returns. You count the days until he’s back, until he’s lying beside you again, one hand stretched protectively over your belly like it’s instinct now.

The first time you hear the heartbeat Max looks like someone knocked the air out of him. His mouth parts. His eyes fill.

“She’s real,” he whispers, the words barely making it past his lips. “Our baby is real.”

You haven’t even found out the gender yet, but he says she instinctively, without hesitation, like his heart already knows something the rest of you don’t.

You tease him about it once, smiling as he folds baby clothes that aren’t even needed yet.

“It might be a boy you know?” you say, watching him hold up a tiny lemon-patterned onesie like it’s the crown jewels.

He looks up from the clothes, something quiet and unshakable in his gaze. “Maybe, but I don’t know, I just feel it, every time I picture the future, it’s you... and her.”

You stare at him, your breath catching somewhere in your throat.

“She’s loud,” he continues, grinning now, his accent curling around the softness of his voice. “Talks too much. Bosses me around. Already a little menace. Definitely your child.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughs, quick and boyish, and leans over to press a kiss to your cheek. “You’ll see. She’s gonna have your fire.”

You don’t say it, but the truth sinks deep into your chest, he already loves this baby with his whole being.

He talks to your belly when he thinks you’re asleep. You catch him doing it all the time, quiet, unguarded moments where his world has narrowed down to two things, you and the life you’re creating together.

When you both lie awake at night, hands intertwined under the duvet, whispering about baby names and nursery colors and what kind of parents you want to be, Max is always a little breathless. Like he still can’t believe it’s real. Like he’s terrified and amazed in equal measure.

“She’s going to change everything,” he murmurs once, voice low in the dark.

“She already has,” you whisper back.

He nods slowly, curling into you like he always does, like you’re the only home he’s ever needed.

Max becomes… soft.

In every possible way.

It’s not just the way he handles you now, like you’re something precious and breakable. It’s not just the way he walks slower beside you or watches your face when you stand up too quickly or how he quietly puts your sneakers on for you when your feet start to swell.

It’s in the little things.

He buys three different pregnancy pillows, a full-body one, a C-shaped one, and some strange ergonomic wedge because he isn’t sure which one will help you sleep better. One night you catch him actually reading a parenting blog in bed next to you, blue light from his phone casting shadows across the duvet. He scrolls silently, occasionally muttering things like:

“Did you know babies can hear our voices by week twenty?”

Or,

“Apparently we’re supposed to play music for her.”

Then there’s the night you find him in the nursery.

It’s late. You’d gotten up to grab water and noticed the light was on down the hall. You pad softly to the doorway, heart already warm with affection and there he is.

Max. Standing perfectly still. The crib is built, assembled a few days ago it sits against the far wall now, freshly made up with soft cream sheets and a stuffed lion tucked in the corner.

He’s just staring at it.

Half terror. Half wonder.

“Max?” you say gently, stepping into the room.

He startles a little but doesn’t turn around.

“Do you think I’ll be good at this?” he murmurs.

You cross the room without answering and slide your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek against the cotton of his t-shirt. He reaches for your hands, holds them tightly over his chest.

“You’re already good,” you whisper.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. The kind that sounds like it’s been sitting in his chest for months.

“It’s just…” he starts, and then pauses, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t exactly have the perfect example.”

You nod, letting the silence stretch. You don’t talk about his childhood much but he’s never needed to say much for you to understand. Jos was many things, passionate, driven, ambitious. But he was also sharp around the edges. Affection was earned, not given freely. Max learned young what it meant to perform under pressure. To please. To succeed, or suffer.

“I’m scared I’ll mess her up,” he says, voice quieter now. “That I’ll push too hard. Or expect too much. Or say something I can’t take back. What if she cries and I don’t know how to make it better? What if she needs something I don’t know how to give?”

You pull back just enough to tilt your head and meet his gaze.

“Max, you’re the most patient person I know.”

He snorts, but there’s not much humor in it. “That’s a word I don’t think has ever been used to describe me.”

“You’re patient with people you love,” you correct gently. “With me. You’ve been soft and kind and so careful this whole time, even when I’ve been sick or moody or irrational. You listen. That’s what she’ll see. That’s what she’ll learn.”

You hesitate, then add softly, “I’m scared too, you know.”

His brows draw together, surprised. Maybe he hadn’t realised, maybe you’ve hidden it well. “You are?”

You nod. “Every single day. I lie in bed and think about how much we don’t know yet. About how overwhelming it all feels sometimes. What if I’m not enough? What if she needs more than I can give?”

His arms tighten around you instinctively, like he’s trying to hold the fear out of your body.

“But then I see you,” you whisper. “And I remember… we don’t have to do any of it alone, and that makes all the difference.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He just turns in your arms, eyes a little wet, and rests his forehead against yours.

“I don’t want to get it wrong,” he breathes. “Not with her. Not with you.”

“You won’t,” you whisper. “But if you ever feel like you are, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He nods slowly. Swallows. “Promise me you’ll tell me if I ever forget, if I ever slip. If I start to become…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

“I promise, but I already know I won’t need to.” you say, holding his face in your hands.

You kiss him then, soft and sure, and he kisses you back like your faith in him is something he never wants to let go of. And in the stillness of that nursery, with your belly pressed to his and the crib waiting quietly behind you, Max lets the fear settle… just a little.

Maybe it’s okay to be scared, as long as neither of you is scared alone.

The last month is the hardest.

Your back feels like it’s been replaced by concrete. Your feet have swollen so much you’ve officially retired every pair of shoes you own except one pair of very ugly slides. You cry at everything, a dog food commercial, a voicemail from your mum, Max just looking at you across the kitchen.

You’re tired in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your body feels like it’s working overtime to grow a person and also remind you of gravity’s cruelest tricks.

Max, meanwhile, has entered full protective mode. As if the impending arrival of your daughter has turned every single instinct inside him up to eleven.

He won’t let you lift anything.

Not a grocery bag. Not a chair. Not even your own overnight hospital bag.

You once reached for a water bottle and he appeared out of thin air swiping it out of your reach with a sharp, scandalized look.

“Max,” you deadpanned, “I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.”

“I’m aware,” he muttered, already unscrewing the cap and handing it to you like a peace offering.

“You think the baby’s going to fall out if I hold a Fiji bottle?”

“No,” he said seriously, “but why take the risk.”

You rolled your eyes then. You do it often now. But secretly?

You love it.

You love how protective he is. How he walks slightly behind you in crowds, like a buffer. How he started driving ten kilometers under the limit the second you entered your third trimester, even though he used to complain that Monaco traffic was basically just expensive cars parked in motion.

You love how he fusses, quietly but constantly. How he now triple-checks that your favorite snack is stocked before leaving the apartment, how he installed a nightlight in the hallway so you wouldn't trip during your nightly bathroom trips. How he downloaded six different white noise apps on his phone so you could try them out in bed. "For practice," he said, “in case she’s fussy.”

But what really gets you, what makes your chest ache with something warm and vast and impossible to describe is the way his face changes every time you talk about the baby.

A softening around his eyes. A slight tilt of his head. The more you speak about her name, about what she might look like, about whether she’ll like racing or painting or maybe dinosaurs, the more he leans in.

He’s never looked at you like this before. Not when he’s on the podium. Not even after winning his first championship. This? This is different.

This is awe. This is devotion. This is Max Verstappen world-class driver, famously unshakeable completely and utterly undone by the thought of his daughter.

He leans down and kisses your skin. “She’s going to wreck me isn’t she?”

“She already has.”

He looks up at you, eyes shining under the soft lamp light, and for once he doesn’t have a smart reply.

Then the day finally comes.

You wake at 3:13 a.m. with a pressure in your abdomen that steals your breath. It isn’t sharp, not at first. Just a heavy, aching pull deep in your core, like gravity has shifted suddenly inside you.

For a moment you think it’s another false alarm.

You shift under the covers, already rehearsing the mental checklist your doctor gave you: hydration, time the contractions, don’t panic. You ease out of bed, try walking to the bathroom, just like they said to do when you’re not sure it’s real yet, but then the pain tightens, sharp and low and unmistakable. It doesn’t come and go. It grips.

Just like that you know.

You shuffle back to the bed and place a trembling hand on Max’s chest.

“Max.”

He jolts upright as if someone’s fired a starter pistol. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it time?”

His voice is gravelly with sleep, but his body is already moving.

You nod, barely able to get the words out through the rising wave of pain.

“Okay. Okay. Alright, okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, as he flings the covers off and springs into motion.

What follows is like watching a pit stop in human form.

Max moves with sharp, terrifying focus. He’s already helped you into the comfiest clothes he can find, sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts, before you even finish brushing your teeth. He pulls the hospital bag from the front closet, double-checks its contents, grabs your water bottle, chargers, snacks, the car keys.

But the entire time, his hands are shaking.

You notice it in the way he fumbles with the seatbelt when helping you into the car. In the way he presses the elevator button three times like it’ll come faster.

By the time he’s in the driver’s seat, knuckles white on the steering wheel, you’re gripping the side of the door, breathing through another contraction.

“Max,” you whisper, chest rising and falling in short bursts. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing, you need to breath.” he says quickly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror even though the road is deserted.

“No, you’re hyperventilating.”

“I’m not, maybe a little,” he admits, cheeks flushed. He loosens his grip on the wheel, forces one deep inhale through his nose.

You reach across the console and take his hand, squeezing through the contraction.

“You’re going to be amazing,” you say through gritted teeth.

He glances at you, eyes shining under the dashboard light. “You’re the one doing the hard part.”

You laugh sort of. It’s half a wheeze, half a whimper. “Hard doesn’t even cover it.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles at the next red light. “Just keep holding on. I’m right here.”

The labour is long.

Twenty hours of chaos and calm. Of excruciating pain and quiet moments in between, your hand curled tight in Max’s.

He never leaves your side.

“I love you,” he says every few minutes, even when you’re too far gone to reply. “You’re doing so good. You’re so strong.”

He hovers beside you, whispering soft encouragements, brushing sweat from your forehead with shaking fingers.

And then, after everything, comes silence.

The kind that feels holy.

The room stills. You collapse against the pillows, exhausted and trembling. And then it happens.

A sound. Fragile. Piercing.

A cry.

Your baby’s first breath shatters the stillness, high-pitched and perfect and real.

Max sags beside you like his legs can’t hold him anymore. He buries his face in your shoulder, and for the first time since you’ve known him, since the earliest days of cautious flirtation and long-distance calls, since the podiums and the plane rides and the quiet "I love you"s you feel him cry.

“She’s here,” he chokes out. His whole body shakes. “She’s really here.”

When the nurse places your daughter on your chest, something in you clicks into place. She’s tiny. Wrinkled. Red-faced and slippery and making the most outraged little sounds, but she’s perfect. She’s yours.

And Max… Max looks like he’s been struck by lightning. He can’t move at first. Just stands there, one hand braced on the edge of the bed, the other hovering like he’s afraid to touch her. His face is wet with tears. He looks shell-shocked.

“She’s…” he starts, but he can’t finish. His voice breaks again.

You reach for his hand and guide it gently to her. His fingertips brush her hand and her tiny fingers curl around his pinky, as if she already knows him.

“Hi, kleine meid,” he whispers. “I’m your dada.”

Just like that he’s gone.

Hopelessly, entirely, irreversibly in love.

Later, after the visitors come and go after your families cry over tiny fingers and kiss your cheeks with soft, trembling mouths, after nurses shuffle in and out with gentle voices and kind hands the hospital room falls quiet again.

Just the three of you now. The soft hum of machines. The muffled hallway beyond the door. The gentle rustle of a newborn’s breath in the bassinet beside the bed.

Max lies beside you on the narrow hospital bed, somehow fitting his long frame against yours like puzzle pieces. One arm is curled protectively around your back, anchoring you to his chest. The other hand rests on the side of the bassinet, fingers still.

You watch him as he stares at her. He hasn’t looked away in over twenty minutes.

Not since the nurse gently wheeled her over and whispered, “She’s all yours now.”

“She’s got your nose,” you murmur sleepily, the exhaustion pulling at you like a tide, but the kind you’d wade into again without question.

Max smiles, slow and full and a little dazed. His eyes are glassy, bloodshot from lack of sleep and tears he no longer bothers hiding.

“Poor thing,” he says softly.

You chuckle, too tired for more than a breathy laugh. “She’s lucky.”

He looks over to you, his gaze heavy with affection. He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there like he’s silently thanking the universe for bringing you through it.

“No,” he murmurs against your skin. “I’m the lucky one.”

You curl into his chest a little deeper, feeling the solid beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His hoodie smells like hospital linen and baby powder and Max, warm, worn-in, familiar.

“You were worried,” you say quietly, almost to yourself.

He nods without hesitation. “Terrified.”

There’s no bravado in his voice now. No need to pretend.

He exhales, glancing back at your daughter. “I’ve been trying to imagine this moment for months. Her face. The sound she’d make. Whether I’d be good enough for her.” His fingers flex slightly against the edge of the bassinet, just brushing the corner. “And now she’s here. And I just keep thinking… how do I live up to her?”

“Still scared?” you whisper.

He hesitates. “Yeah.”

He glances down at the baby again. She’s sleeping now, her tiny fist curled near her cheek, lips parted in a soft, steady rhythm.

“But it’s different now,” he adds. “I think… how is she real? How did we make her? How is she breathing and blinking and making those tiny sounds like it’s the most normal thing in the world?” His voice catches. “How do I ever make sure she knows how much I love her?”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his. He grips yours back immediately, tight, like he needs to feel your pulse to believe any of this is real.

“She already knows,” you whisper. “She’s felt it. She’s felt it every time you talked to her. Every time you rubbed my back or held my hair or teared up during an ultrasound.”

Max looks at you then, and you see it all, the vulnerability, the devotion, the pure, unfiltered wonder that hasn’t left him since the moment she arrived.

You smile through the tears clouding your lashes.

“We’re in this together,” you say.

He nods. “Always.”

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[ozzgin]

hear me out okayy imagine house full of obsessed monster x clueless human reader

I hear you alright. 👀 Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, mildly NSFW, obsessive behavior, stalking

You had been selected for an exchange program organized by the monster realm: one human to live with monsters, and one monster to walk among humans. They called it a cultural exchange.

Of course, you only found out about it after being kidnapped from your apartment. You thought you'd been taken by some mad serial killer and begged for mercy, until they finally dropped you before a regular looking office desk.

"Why the hell is the human so pale? What did you do?"

The monster lackeys fidgeted and mumbled some barely audible excuse. A slime creature poured you some coffee, and you gawked in confusion. The horned beast at the other side of the table seemed to realize his mistake.

"...They didn't tell you anything, did they?"

You shook your head in denial. To their defense, they'd never dealt with a human before. They must've gotten too flustered in the process, forgetting to speak. Or something along that line. You waved your hand, accepting their explanation, then probed for more details.

The whole ordeal is really mostly meant to satisfy their own curiosity towards humans, but they obviously couldn't express it so crassly to you. It's an exchange, you see. You, too, get to learn about monster customs, from the comfort of a shared home.

Thus, for the indefinite future, you'll be living with several creatures as roommates. You have been provided with your own room, naturally, in order to ensure your privacy.

Then again, how much privacy can one possibly get when surrounded by horny, deliriously infatuated creatures? Your underwear occasionally goes missing. You swear you feel watched every time you shower. And even more bizarre, you sometimes wake up to find a sticky film covering your pillow.

It must be anxiety. It was such a sudden change, after all. That's what the monstrous mates tell you in a sweet, caring voice. You appreciate their involvement, completely oblivious to the perversions taking place behind your back. Even the organizer couldn't foresee the unhinged thirst these beasts have for you. He didn't intend to ship you off as a wet dream to a pack of monsters.

"Is this alright, you think?" you ask, doing a little spin in the living room in order to show the chosen outfit from different angles.

The monsters shift slightly in their seats. If they were to be entirely transparent, you'd look much better stuffed with their appendages, pressed between them, coated in their fluids.

"Looks great", one of them manages to mumble, somewhat feverish. He let his mind wander too much.

"By the way, what were you doing last night? I could hear you saying my name repeatedly from your room."

The creature visibly tenses up.

"I was...I was practicing. It's a little hard to pronounce your name, you know? Being human and all..."

"Why didn't you just say so? I can help you with it. We'll practice until you finish properly", you declare with an innocent smile.

God. Keeping their hands off is becoming harder by the day.

[More Monsters]

[oaksgrove]

Fixer-Upper

pairing: John Price x Reader

synopsys: What starts as a simple date quickly becomes something else entirely—because apparently, Price can't flirt properly until he's made sure your place isn't a "death trap." But once the distractions are handled? Oh, he's got other things to fix. And you're at the top of that list.

warnings: Slow-burn to full ignition, Domestic flirting disguised as home improvement, Price being absurdly attractive while doing manual labor, Subtle dominance, Countertop moments, John being a man who takes care of things (and you).

word count: 1910

a/n: Oh god, I have never written anything like this, but it just flowed. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was thinking about Price fixing a door hinge, and the next, he was fixing something else entirely. Sorry or… you’re welcome?

thank you @leteddiebehappypls for the inspiration!

It started with a swipe.

A lazy Sunday afternoon, scrolling mindlessly through Hinge, when his profile stopped you in your tracks.

John, 38.

His pictures were simple—one of him in the soft golden light of a pub, a pint in hand, his beard neat but a little scruffy at the edges. Another of him in a heavy coat, standing near a lake, looking out at something unseen. His prompts were straightforward, no nonsense but with a dry wit that made you smile.

"You should not go out with me if…" "You prefer a man who can’t change a tire."

That made you laugh.

A quick glance at his profile details—he lived nearby, worked in the military (vague), liked dogs, smoked an occasional cigar, and enjoyed old films.

You sent the first message.

And from there, it was easy.

He was charming, but not in the way that felt rehearsed. He asked about your day and actually listened. His voice notes were warm, deep, laced with a quiet amusement whenever you teased him. You liked the way he flirted—subtle, gentlemanly, never pushing too far but always making sure you knew he was interested.

Three months later, after countless late-night talks and stolen kisses in the back of his car, you invited him over for an afternoon date at your place.

You expected a relaxed day—coffee, maybe a walk, maybe some kisses on the couch if things went well.

What you didn’t expect was John Price stepping into your home and immediately conducting a full inspection of the place.

—

"That door hinge is loose."

The first words out of his mouth after he kissed you hello.

You blinked at him. "What?"

He was already scanning the room like a man on a mission, his blue eyes sharp and assessing, he crouched down to inspect a loose cabinet hinge.

He was already moving, crouching to inspect a cabinet hinge, fingers running along the wood.

"You know this is about to come off, yeah?" he said, tapping the corner.

Your lips parted in disbelief. "Are you making a list?"

Price turned, arms crossed over his broad chest, giving you that slow, knowing grin that never failed to make your stomach flip. "’Course I am, love. Can’t have you livin’ in a death trap, can I?"

And the worst part? Every time he found something else, he’d glance at you—this warm, amused glint in his eyes like fixing things in your home was the only thing keeping him from dragging you against the nearest wall.

"John."  You exhaled, exasperated, leaning against the counter. "I invited you over for coffee, not a home renovation. You know you don’t have to do all that," you teased, leaning against the counter, watching him with an amused smile.

John tilted his head, stepping closer. Too close. His broad frame filled the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and suddenly your whole apartment felt smaller.

"I know," he murmured, voice dropping just slightly. "But I’m already here, aren’t I?"

And oh, there was something about the way he said it—like he meant something more.

Your heart skipped.

John had always been like this—quietly attentive, always looking after you in little ways. Making sure you ate, texting to see if you got home safe, standing between you and the street when you walked together.

It was dangerously easy to fall for him.

But you wouldn’t admit that. Not yet.

Instead, you rolled your eyes. "Do you even have tools?"

"We’ll get ‘em."

— 

It was supposed to be a quick trip.

But walking through the aisles of the local construction shop with John Price felt less like a casual errand and more like some kind of slow-burn seduction disguised by home repairs.

You watched from a few steps behind as he scanned the shelves, utterly focused—like a man on a mission. His sleeves were still rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with hair, and when he reached up to grab a toolbox from the top shelf? Yeah. You may or may not have gotten distracted.

He caught you staring. Of course he did.

And the bastard had the nerve to smirk.

"See something you like?" he asked, low and warm, that teasing rasp in his voice curling deep in your belly.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. "I’m just impressed you’re taking this so seriously."

He stepped closer—close enough for you to catch the faint scent of tobacco and cedarwood, something distinctly him. "I take a lot of things seriously," he murmured, his gaze lingering on your mouth for just a beat too long.

And oh, the way he was looking at you—like he was barely holding himself back—made your knees go weak.

—

Back at your place, John’s standing in your living room with a fresh-cut two-by-four rested on his shoulder like it weighed nothing, and he had a tool bag slung over one arm.

You were so fucked.

"Alright, love," he drawled, adjusting his grip on the lumber. "Where do we start?"

Your brain short-circuited for a full five seconds.

Because, fuck, did he have to look so good while doing this?

You cleared your throat. "I, uh—John, you really don’t have to—"

He cocked a brow, stepping in just close enough that you could smell sawdust and the faint hint of his cologne.

"I do, though." His voice was low, deliberate. Gravel wrapped in velvet. "Can’t focus on anything else knowing you’ve got loose hinges and a lock that’s barely holding up."

Oh, that was unfair.

The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to flirt so badly but couldn’t until he handled the absolute crime of a squeaky door hinge—it was absurdly attractive.

Like some kind of gentlemanly home improvement seduction.

You folded your arms, tilting your head at him. "So what you’re saying is, you’d be distracted trying to flirt with me knowing there’s a leaky pipe under my sink?"

His mouth curved into that infuriatingly smug little smirk. "Exactly."

—

Watching John work was almost too much.

The sight of him standing at your kitchen sink, carefully fixing the drip with his broad hands and furrowed brow, was almost too much. Especially when he paused—wiping his hands on a rag—to glance over his shoulder at you.

"You’re staring again, love."

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall. "Can you blame me? Not every girl gets a full home repair service on a date."

John chuckled, that deep, warm sound vibrating in your chest. "Lucky you, then."

And God, he made it impossible not to flirt back.

"Yeah? What’s next—building me a bookshelf?"

His expression shifted. Darkened.

Something in his posture changed, the heat between you suddenly heavier.

"If that’s what you want."

Your breath caught.

And then he stood up, slow and deliberate, dusting sawdust from his palms. He turned to you with that look—the look—like he was holding himself back. Like there was a war raging inside him, one side demanding he be the gentleman and the other telling him to pin you against the nearest surface.

You barely had time to react before he was in your space, moving in like gravity pulled him there.

His hands landed on either side of you, caging you against the counter.

Heat rolled off him, thick and dizzying. The scent of sawdust, cologne, and him filled your lungs.

His fingers skimmed your waist, slow, teasing."So, tell me," he drawled, voice casual, almost teasing, "what else is wrong with this place? Besides the obvious lack of a proper man around to fix it?"

Your mouth fell open.

Oh, he was so full of shit.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him just a little closer. "Oh, so now you’re flirting?"

"Told you, love." His lips were right there, hovering over your jaw, breath hot against your skin. "Had to fix the distractions first."

Christ.

His breath shuddered.

And then—his hands were on you.

Sliding up your sides, tracing your curves, claiming you without hesitation.

"You know," you mused, "you could’ve just said you wanted an excuse to spend more time here."

John chuckled, voice dipping low, warm. He reached for a rag, dusting his hands off with that infuriating, deliberate ease. Then he met your eyes, something wicked flashing behind those deep blues.

"Darlin’," he murmured, "if I wanted an excuse, I’d just ask to stay the night."

"That somethin’ you want?" His voice was pure, slow-burning sin, dragging along your spine like velvet and gravel.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you plan on fixing me, too."

His mouth brushed the shell of your ear. "Oh, sweetheart," he rasped, voice dripping with dark amusement, "you might be my favorite project yet."

Your head tipped back against the counter as his lips traced a slow, burning path down your neck, his beard scratching against your skin.

One of his hands slid lower, pressing against the small of your back, dragging you flush against him—against the unmistakable proof of just how badly he wanted you.

"John," His name slipped out between parted lips, a breathless whisper as your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging—not to pull him away, but to keep him right there.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your throat, and the sound alone sent another wave of heat curling through you.

His grip on your hips tightened—fingers pressing firm, possessive. A silent warning.

"Careful, love." His voice was low, thick, a heated drawl that wrapped around you like silk and smoke. "You start something, you better be ready to finish it."

Oh, fuck.

The weight of his words settled deep in your bones, in the press of his body against yours, in the way his mouth hovered just over your skin like he was barely holding himself back.

You exhaled a laugh, soft, teasing, tilting your chin up until your lips just brushed his.

"Guess we’ll be here all night, then."

His answering growl—low, dark, dangerous—sent a full-body shiver through you.

"Guess we will."

And then he was kissing you.

Hard.

Desperate.

The slow, teasing restraint snapped in an instant, replaced with something raw, something that burned hot between you. His hands roamed, strong and sure, mapping every curve like he was memorizing you by touch alone.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss, swallowing every sound you made. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you into him, fitting you perfectly against him, like he needed you closer.

You barely noticed when he lifted you onto the counter—barely registered anything beyond the feel of his hands, the press of his body between your thighs, the way his mouth devoured yours.

"Fuck," he murmured against your lips, his voice wrecked, his forehead pressing to yours as he tried to catch his breath. His hands didn’t stop moving, gripping your waist, trailing up your sides, claiming every inch of you.

"You okay?" he rasped, and fuck, the way he asked—like he was barely holding himself together, like he needed you but would stop the second you wanted him to—had your heart slamming against your ribs.

You smirked, breathless, brushing your lips over his once more, teasing.

"Oh, John," you murmured, dragging your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

"You better finish what you started."

His hands tightened.

His lips curled into a smirk against yours.

And then—he did.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash

[purplecoffee13]

Cross The Line*

Summary: “Harry and Y/N have always had a great professional relationship, all based on one rule; a line they drew the first time they met. But when one day that line accidentally blurs, Harry finds that he doesn’t want it to go back to the way it was…”

Wc: 13k

Tropes: Boss!rry x Secretary!Y/N

Warnings: A LOT of back and forth (this is what Katy Perry wrote hot and cold about), arguing, curse words, smut, dirty talk, degradation, light ch0king, dom/sub dynamics, edging, b0ndage, and recording while… yk🤗

A/N: I’m terribly sorry to have been testing your patience so much the second half of this year, here is a long one shot to say I’m sorry🥲 and I appreciate all of you and I hope you are happy and healthy and will get everything you want in the new year xx💘💘

General Masterlist

HEADER = POV change

Harry's relationship with his secretary is completely normal.

At least, he’s always thought it is.

Sure, it may have seemed more friendly than the usual boss/secretary relationship, but that was only because Y/N was special. She was one of the kind. Smart, stealthy, and sneaky if need be. She did everything he asked for, sometimes before he even realized he should ask her, and was always ready to do more.

Of course, she was attractive as well. Shit, attractive may have even been an understatement. Y/N was drop dead gorgeous and Harry was entirely aware of it. Her ambition made her even sexier, and it's one of the reasons he hired her in the first place.

When Y/N walked through his office door that first time three years ago, he couldn't believe his eyes.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, those wide eyes staring back at him as she froze a couple feet away from him. She was quick to regain herself, though—he had to give her that. But she was nervous as she sat down, even though her movements were calm and the tone of her voice stern. He saw the slightest shake of those hands of her.

Because that job interview hadn't been the first time Harry and Y/N came across each other. It was actually a Halloween party at some high end secretive club in New York one month prior. A night that ended with them hooking up in one of the private lounges.

Even back then, when he never thought he'd see her again, he knew that he would never forget that night, nor the way her face scrunched up as she clenched around him, or the sounds that she made as he drove into her.

He could see that she remembered it as well as she sat across from him that day, but Y/N had quickly made it clear that she was serious about pursuing a career in the film industry. She said she could prove what a great secretary she could be for him, as long as they could put that Halloween night behind them and pretend it never happened. She wouldn't make him regret it, she had told him. He took the chance.

And she had been absolutely right.

Three years had passed and Harry was still thankful to himself for hiring Y/N. She was the best around; fiercely loyal as well. Y/N had been offered jobs by other companies, but she turned down every last one of them. Harry liked to think their relationship played a bit of a part in that as well.

They had become friends—if that's what you could call it—over the years. They had a playful dynamic filled with flirty jokes and random phone calls and favors that blurred that line they had drawn so carefully during Y/N's job interview.

No matter what, Y/N would be the first Harry would call, every time. Whether it was bad business news or a drunken phone call, her number was most likely to be at the top of his last calls. And she always answered, even though she didn't have to. It was a special bond, and while they always danced on it—especially Harry—they never crossed that one line.

Not that Harry needed to. As a matter of a fact, he had quite the adventurous love life. With plenty of people on speed dial and a charming smile that could make anyone's panties drop, Harry wasn't short on romantic escapades. The one thing they all had in common, though, was that it'd never last longer than a few days, and they were rarely ever repeated.

The same couldn't be said for Y/N. In fact, Harry had never seen her with anyone outside of her work, and he never heard her mentioning anything about it...

He didn't know why, but somehow, that thought popped up into his head last Friday as they sat in his office with a drink, celebrating the outstanding reviews that critics had given the newest produced film that was set to premiere next week. Before Harry knew it, he was asking about it.

"Why are you rubbing your temples?" He questioned, watching Y/N massage the side of her head with her eyes closed. He was leaned back in his seat, whiskey in hand as he observed the woman across from him.

"Tension headache." She groaned in response. Despite her grumpiness, Harry couldn't help but grin. What could he say? She was cute when she was grumpy.

"We are literally celebrating, Y/N. What could you possibly be so tense about right now?" He teased, and felt his stomach swirl as a smile painted her lips. She might have rolled her eyes, but she still thought he was funny.

"Oh you have no idea." She mumbled, grabbing her glass and leaning back into her chair. She took a big gulp, her face pulling at the strong taste of the liquor. Harry chuckled.

"You should relax more. Maybe get a hot date to take care of some of that stress for you." He suggested jokingly. Y/N scoffed at the insinuation.

Shaking her head, she said: "I get taken care of just fine, thank you very much."

The equally teasing tone in which she responded caught Harry seriously off guard. Her slight grin pressed down on his chest, and despite having started this joking banter himself, he suddenly didn't find the topic very funny anymore.

"When?"

Y/N locked eyes with her boss. “What?”

"You're here 24/7, when do you even have time to hook up with someone?"

"You know there's this thing called weekends." She joked, but the amusement faded when Harry's mouth didn't even quirk upwards in the slightest bit. It fell quiet for a second or two, and just when Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, someone knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

Harry had said, and soon enough Robin, one of the managers walked in, telling them everyone was going to the pub down the street to celebrate, and if they wanted to come along.

Harry didn't even have the chance to reject the offer—he'd rather spend his nights with his secretary—before Y/N agreed to go along. Feeling obligated, Harry reluctantly gave in as well.

He ended up going home quite early that night, not even properly saying goodbye to Y/N like he normally would before leaving, and he couldn't get the image of her wrapped around another man out of his head the entire ride home. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was the fact that it shouldn't, and more importantly, couldn't bother him, which made it even less bearable.

Whichever reason there may have been for it, he decided to drown out his thoughts by inviting one of his old hook-ups to his house. But even as he drove himself into her as she kept screaming his name, he couldn't stop thinking of Y/N. When she had reached her climax and he began to chase his own high—Harry was caught off guard by Y/N's face flashing through his mind, and extremely embarrassed when those images triggered his orgasm.

The next week is awkward, to say the least. It started out Monday, when Harry could barely look Y/N in the eye. She had received the sudden cold shoulder pretty well, but Harry still felt horrible about it. His attitude got less stiff throughout the week, but it was still bad.

By the time Thursday rolls around again, Harry still hasn't had the chance to get that weird feeling out of his system. So when he approaches his office and spots Y/N behind her desk smiling at him, a wave of guilt washes over him.

He curses himself as he sinks into his desk chair, absentmindedly turning on his laptop. What is he doing? Y/N is his assistant. He shouldn't let his protectiveness of her get the best of him. He does not want to lose her in any way.

Harry flinches when there is a knock on his door. He looks up, finding Y/N standing in his doorway. Immediately, he signals for her to come in. She seems a bit nervous as she nears him, and considering she's never been nervous around him, his heart sinks at the idea that the cold shoulder he's been giving her the other night might have affected her way more than he thought.

He just doesn't know how to behave instead.

"You have a meeting in conference room C in five minutes. It's the banker's son who's been proposing his script for the past year. I  know your schedule is tight, especially with the premiere coming up, but I thought you might as well get it over with." She says, putting a stack of papers on the table that Harry can only assume is the script. He nods, quirking up the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, smart thinking." The praise falls from his lips in a casual manner, and he doesn't miss the way she physically relaxes at the positive reinforcement. She nods at him, and turns back to the door. Right before she is about to leave the office, she turns around again. Harry leans back in his seat, waiting to hear what she'll say.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last week." She says, and Harry frowns at the apology.

"What?"

"I clearly said something that ticked you off." She explains,her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know we joke around, but I was afraid that maybe I'd accidentally crossed a line—“

"Y/N, stop it." Harry interrupts her, getting up from his seat. Her lips are locked within a second, and she stares at her boss with wide eyes. His stomach twists at the sight of it. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But— if I said something inappropriate then I want to apologize for it." She says, straightening her posture again, biting her bottom lip so he won't see it quiver. As if he doesn't know the way her body works. As if he hasn't known for three years.

Putting his hands inside his pockets, Harry walks around his desk and stands in front of her. A little closer than he needs to, and yet not as close he would like.

"Let me ask you this: How many times have you declined booty calls for me?" He asks, tilting his head a bit. A slight smile appears on Y/N's face, and she pretends to think it over.

"Twenty-seven." Her smile crinkles her eyes, making them even more glassy. Harry quite literally feels his hand itch to touch her face, but he keeps it sternly in his pocket. "I kept track so I could count all the reasons you definitely won't get into heaven."

At that, he lets out a snort. Y/N can't help but chuckle too, and slowly but surely the weirdness dissolves from the room. When the laughter has died down, she speaks up again.

"So... we're good?"

"We're good." Harry smiles at his secretary, and his chest heats up when he spots the faint blush that appears on her cheeks. Jesus Christ, did she become even more beautiful than she was yesterday or was he just too stupid to notice earlier? Probably the latter.

"Well in that case you need to leave because your meeting is like, right now." She reminds him, and he hums in agreement as he gets up from his seat and walks towards the door with Y/N.

"Already gone, love." He winks at her, walking out the door with a lot more confidence in his relationship with Y/N. Maybe everything can go back to normal again. Maybe he was just exaggerating when he couldn't get her out of his head this weekend. Perhaps it was just a glitch, a temporary error in his brain that had come and gone in a flash.

That must've been it, he tells himself as he makes his way to conference room C. He takes a deep breath, musters a polite smile, and opens the door to the room. Harry already knows this guy is going to be wasting his time, but he made a promise to hear him out, so he will.

The guy sitting at the table is the stereotypical spoiled rich son. When John Longwell—a long-time business partner of Harry's— asked him to revise his son's script as a favor, Harry told him he'd do it if he ever found the time. He always hoped John's son would lose interest and forget about the script by the time Harry could find a free space in his agenda, but unfortunately that hadn't been the case.

And although the arc of the story had sounded absolutely horrendous— something about zombies fueled by a brainwashing radio song, which didn't even make sense to Harry because zombies don't have brains—he couldn't back out anymore. So he needs to get it over with, starting now.

Harry loudly shuts the door.

The guy—whose name he can't really remember at the moment—flinches and turns around, a big grin on his face as he gets up from his seat.

"Mr. Styles, it's a pleasure to see you." The man says, extending his hand, which Harry, in turn, takes. He only gives a slight nod before heading over to the other side of the table and sitting down.

"So, where's your script?" Harry asks, eyeing the empty table. The guy looks flustered, opening his mouth to say something, but the opening of the door interrupts that. Harry leans back in his seat when he spots his secretary walk through it, not even eyeing the other guy as she struts over to him and lays the printed out script on the glass table.

"Sorry, you forgot this. It was still on your desk." She says, finally turning to the man to throw him an innocent smile. His sheepish grin satisfies her enough to turn back to her boss and focus all her attention on him. "I also forgot to ask you— do you want to move up lunch today?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tugs up. Over the last three years, the concept of 'moving up lunch' has become a code for 'should I get you out of this early?'. Y/N came up with it a long time ago, and it has stuck ever since.

"Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you, Y/N." He says, and the way a smirk slowly creeps onto her face makes the hairs on his body rise.

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Styles." She gives one final nod before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. Harry would lie if he said he didn't let his eyes fall onto the way her hips moved as she strolled away.

Unfortunately the fun doesn't last long, and with the slam of the door Harry is reminded that he still has to sit through this meeting a little longer. He looks down at the script.

"A Thousand Zombies

By Jason Longwell."

Right, Jason, that was his name.

"Jesus Christ, if that were my secretary I'd have her bent over my desk all day. How do you get any work done?" Jason breathed out, grinning like a stupid fucking schoolboy. Harry quite literally felt the storm cloud that came floating right above his head the second he heard that incompetent loser say those words. His hands balled up into fists at the suggestive comment, knuckles getting whiter by the second.

"Get out." Harry growls. John raises his eyebrows, looking around him as if Harry couldn't have possibly been addressing it to him.

"W— what?" He stumbles.

"I don't do business with insolent idiots. Get out." Harry repeats, getting up from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. John follows his movements, anger starting to cloud on his face.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He exclaims in a failed attempt to sound intimidating. At least, Harry assumes that's what he's trying to do.

"I called you an idiot. Now, get the hell out of my face before I boot your sorry ass right to the front door." With one brow raised, he waits as John tries to muster a response until he eventually gives up and storms out of the room. Harry throws the script into the trash as he walks out of the conference room half a minute later. Y/N is immediately by his side.

"That was quick, I didn't even have time to think of an emergency." She jokes as they walk back to Harry's office together. He raises a brow.

"Yes you did. What was it this time? Food poisoning?" He guesses, holding the door to his office open once they've reached it. Y/N grins as she walks past him and takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Actually, your car was going to get stolen in about five minutes." She responds, the blush of her cheeks revealing the slight embarrassment of having to voice this excuse out loud. Harry's eyes widen as he walks over to his desk, feeling his assistant watching his every move. He quite likes the feeling.

"No way." He laughs. "You just get more creative by the day."

"What can I say, I'm good at crisis management." She shrugs, crossing her legs and getting into a more comfortable position on the chair. Harry tries his best to not let his eyes float to her legs.

"That you are." He murmurs, the huskier sound of his voice giving a different ambiance to the conversation. As Harry feels the mood switch, he curses himself. Why did he have to ruin it?

Y/N clears her throat. "Anyway— why'd the meeting end early?"

"It ended early because Jason Longwell is a sleazy douchebag." He responds shortly, straightening in his seat in an attempt to gain control of the situation again. He can't let himself slip like this again, and she can't know the real reason he kicked out Jason. But there is no denying the sheer rage that boils his blood when that comment flashes through his memory. He hates that the asshole thought he could just speak about Y/N like that.

"Ooh, what did he say when you kicked him out?" Y/N asks eagerly, still in a playful mood. "You did kick him out right?"

"I don't have time to get into this right now. I need to sign those contracts that were sent in yesterday before I go home." Harry says sternly, avoiding eye contact with Y/N as he speaks, but he still sees the slump in her shoulders at his sudden shift in attitude.

"Right, of course." She immediately returns to the responsible secretary she always is, getting up from her seat. He hears her exit the room, heels clacking against the wooden floor. As soon as the door has shut, Harry throws his head back in frustration.

So much for going back to normal.

Playing into the teasing will only rope him further into that forbidden fantasy, and he clearly won't be able to stop himself from resisting her if he does. But he's the one who started all the playfulness, massively screwing himself over he realizes now. If he shifts his behavior, she's always going to think he's mad at her because of something.  But he's going to have to, because Harry can't go back to normal anymore.

Deciding he needs to clear his head, Harry grabs his coat and heads for the elevators without so much as a word. He pretends not to notice the way people's eyes widen when he walks by, suddenly on their best behavior, and although it used to give him an ego boost back when he started, nowadays he just prefers it if people aren't scared of him.

It turns out to be a particularly nice outside for a winter day in London. Not to get it twisted— it's still freakishly cold. It's just that the sun has replaced the endless rain of this entire month. Harry suppresses a chuckle at the irony of the sun finally being out at the very first moment where he's felt so shitty in a long time.

He doesn't know how long he's outside, so he knows it's not fair to be frustrated when he comes back and Y/N isn't at her desk, but he can't help the slight distress that washes over him at the empty seat.

"It's just a date—"

"Your second date!"

Harry creased brows don't do much to hide his feelings when he turns around to see his secretary with a co-worker. The shy smile on her face—accompanied with that blush on her cheeks she always gets when she's secretly giddy about something—disappears at the sight of her boss looking at her like she just killed a puppy.

"Ha— Mr. Styles." She is quick to catch her almost error. Her wide eyes bore into his, filled with confusion and worry. But Harry's frown doesn't give away much, aside. From the fact that he is obviously annoyed.

"I was looking for you." He states stoically, not even acknowledging the employee that is standing next to her. The woman takes the hint and gives Y/N and Harry a small nod before walking away. As soon as she does, Harry turns around and walks towards his own office. He can hear her footsteps following him inside, and with the inconsistent clacking against the floor he can tell she's having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Still, he doesn't slow his pace.

"I need the papers for the donations printed out and on my desk. And I'll need you to move the meeting with the director of the romance movie to Tuesday evening."

"Yes, of course." The breathy response falls from Y/N's lips the second he finishes his sentence, and by the time he enters his office, she is long gone to do exactly what he asked. Harry shuts the door a little louder than intending to, accidentally shaking the framed artwork on the wall.

Y/N isn't very talkative for the rest of the day, that usual spark of hers seemingly having dimmed. Harry's chest is heavy, knowing his cold attitude was the catalyst for that, but he keeps it up nonetheless. He can't help himself from falling back into it every time he sees her face.

A date. She's going on a date. A second one at that. He can't believe it. Is this who she referred to when she said she gets taken care of? His stomach churns at the possibility.

He tries not to, but Harry still gets warped into the spiral of overthinking about 'date' Y/N has tonight. So much, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the time flying by until Y/N knocks on his door at 6PM. Harry spots the coat that hangs over her desk chair, and he realizes the work day is over.

"Everything is done for the day and ready for next week. I also sent the papers about the donations with a courier who owed me a favor, so the documents are signed on both parts and the donations will be officially registered by Monday." She explains, hands behind her back. Her new shy behavior—while quite endearing—is excruciating to see. She had always been comfortable around Harry, until now. Until he had to ruin it for the both of them.

"Thank you." Harry gives her a firm nod.

"No problem." She responds a bit awkwardly. "So... I'm going to clock out for the day."

Y/N has already turned around by them time Harry's voice croaks out a 'no'. She whips her head towards her boss, head tilted as she awaited whatever it was that he was going to say.

"I need those contracts for that romance movie." He says before he can even comprehend his words.

"But you won't be negotiating that deal for another two weeks." Y/N retorts, her tone more stern than usual. He can tell she's tired.

"I don't care. I want them on my desk tonight." He holds his head high, despite knowing damn well what he's doing.

He's stalling. Long enough for... he doesn't know actually. For her to cancel her date? It sounds ridiculous now that he really thinks about it.

"Harry, I have an appointment tonight—"

"I said I don't care. I pay you to do as I ask. This is not something you can argue me on." He grumbles. With how Y/N's jaw is clenched, he can't say the same for her attitude. Without another word, she leaves the office.

Harry's worry begins to grow every minute that passes with Y/N out of sight. But when she returns with a stack of papers in her hand after a bit—seven minutes to be exact—that worry evolves into surprise. Walking over to his desk, she plops the papers on them a bit carelessly before speaking up.

"I had them made on Monday because I like to be a few steps ahead." She elaborates. "Now, if that's all, I'm going home."

Y/N doesn't even say goodbye when she grabs her coat and walks to the elevators. Harry sighs to himself, not knowing how the hell he should handle this. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he really can't do this anymore. He needs to talk to her, if only just to clear the air.

And so, he gets up from his seat and hurries after his assistant.

He catches her just as she walks into an empty elevator, and he joins just before the doors close. Her knitted brows make it clear that she is not in the mood to talk to him.

"I'm sorry... about the documents." Harry confesses, but she doesn't face him. It stays quiet between them for a bit, until the biting sentence falls from Y/N's lips.

"You said we were good."

His heart cracks at her wobbly voice. He can't believe he made her feel this way. If any other person would've brought her to tears, he would've beaten the shit out of them. He reaches for her arm.

"W— we are." He lies. It's the biggest lie he's ever told her, and she knows it, because she immediately turns around.

"No we're not! I said I was sorry if I did something wrong, and you told me it was okay, and now all of a sudden you're being so... cold. I don't understand—" her eyes become glassy. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out his apologies, when Y/N's phone starts to ring. It takes them out of their little trance, and Y/N fumbles around her jacket for a bit until she's finally found her phone. He can't see who's calling her, but it can't be an expected call if he has to judge by the expression on her face.

"Marco, why are you—" her eyes widen at whatever the voice on the other side of the line is telling her, and Harry subconsciously finds himself leaning in a bit in the hope to find out what's wrong.

"What?" Y/N breathes. Her voice is small, and it sounds defeated, tired. The elevator dings, signaling they're downstairs, but Y/N doesn't move, so Harry doesn't either. She seems to notice and lets out a huff before storming out of the confined space and pacing around the lobby.

"You said we had a green light! That was months ago, Marco! Did you even—" She growls, clutching at her phone so hard Harry is afraid she's going to break it. "You know what, never mind. Give me his number."

The Marco guy seems to say something that he really shouldn't have said, because with the way Y/N's face twists Harry swears he can see steam coming out of her ears

"I don't care that they're not answering, I'll make them answer. Give me their numbers and then go find them." She orders before ending the call. And although the thought really shouldn't be crossing his mind right now, Harry can't help but notice how attractive Y/N is when she's mad. He shakes off the thought, telling himself that's the last thing he should be paying attention to right now.

Y/N paces around one more time, cursing under her breath, before striding past Harry and pushing the elevator buttons like a maniac.

"What's going on?"

Y/N shakes her head. "N— nothing. Just a little hiccup that could've easily been prevented. I won't be long."

Harry raises a skeptical brow, but she doesn't dare to meet his eye. She's lying through her teeth.

"Y/N—"

"Harry, really, it's nothing. I'm taking care of it." She tries to convince him, but he notices the way her hands are slightly trembling. "I'm sorry I was unprofessional. You're my boss. It's my job to take your orders, not question them."

Wait, no.

That aching feeling fills his stomach. His entire body, for that matter. He doesn't want her to be a silent and compliant assistant. That's not why he hired her. He needs someone to push back, to joke around with. Shit— what has he done?

Harry finds himself speechless as she enters the elevator and pushes the button of the seventh floor; the office. His brain isn't fast enough to think of what to say before the doors shut and the elevator ascends.

His feet stay glued to the ground as he ponders, his mind reeling like a rollercoaster. Frustration fills his body to his every finger tip. Everything has gone wrong, and he has no idea how to make it better.

At least ten minutes must've gone by by the time that a concierge taps Harry on the shoulder to ask him if he's okay. Still a bit wary, he nods before excusing himself and leaving the building.

Everything is going wrong.

Leaning over the desk with her face buried between her arms, Y/N is unable to hold back the tears that glide over her cheeks.

First, her boss gets mad at her, and she has no idea why. Then, just when they seemed to be okay again, he changed his attitude up again. And what does she do instead of letting it go? She starts a fight. And now Marco drops a disastrous bomb in her lap that could entirely ruin the movie premiere on Sunday. And if that wasn't enough—and she really thinks it was—this sudden crisis caused her to cancel her date of tonight.

It wasn't anything special, really. Y/N had met Jamie a few weeks ago, and they went out last week. He was a nice guy, handsome too, and she thought he was perfect for a short lived affair. Besides, her vibrator just couldn't live up to her fantasies. She was human, she needed to get off every now and then too. It was like Y/N had this itch in need of scratching, one she hadn't been able to reach in what felt like years.

But that wasn't going to happen now. In fact, she was risking being fired if she didn't solve this problem as soon as possible.

Damn! She really thought she had kept it all together, despite the extreme business this year. She thought she'd done a good job.

But that was a lie, because if she had done a good job, Marco wouldn't have ever gotten into the position where an artist on the soundtrack could manipulate the contract they signed. Y/N had told Marco to make it airtight, already having been suspicious of the artists' integrity from the moment they became part of the soundtrack. She assumed that they would try something.

'Chain' was an up and coming band known for their indie sound, but Y/N would just describe them as two pricks. Not only had they been subtly demeaning to her when Harry met with them, barely acknowledging her existence, they were arrogant as well. They came in expecting a lot more money than Harry and the rest of the company were willing to give them. It was absurd that they expected such a big number, but their cocky attitude didn't fade throughout the meeting.

It was truly a favor to the director, why Harry worked so hard to compromise with Chain. The director had been so passionate about the movie, and he had really wanted the song. If one thing was important to Harry, it's that there went passion onto the projects he produced and invested in. So, he decided to help, and eventually managed to struck a deal with the singers. It was still way above the pay grade they should've got—in Y/N's opinion—but they agreed.

Having seen first hand how greedy those two were, she had told Marco—the guy who handled all the legal documents—to make that contract airtight. She demanded to look it over, but because of her busy schedule, she let Marco have another lawyer look at it before sending the contract.

And now, because of a lazy mistake Chain's lawyer found, they are demanding more money or they'll waive their rights to the music. Something which would be absolutely detrimental because the entire climax of the movie, the cinematography and timing are all tuned to the song.

If she doesn't find a way to solve this problem, this entire premiere could fall apart, and it would all be her fault. She gave the green light to Harry, who gave it to the director. It's all her fault. 

She should've fucking read that contract herself, then this would've never happened.

Between Harry being mad at her, the fact that she was in her luteal phase, and this sudden disaster, the tears began streaming down her face, and the soft crying only turned into full on sobs the more she tries to calm herself down.

She allows herself the mental breakdown, but when she begins to regain control of her breath again after a few minutes, Y/N decides that it's enough. She has a job to get done, and no one was going to swoop in and save her.

So, she starts making call after call, ringing everyone in the immediate vicinity of the two arrogant bastards. It's crucial she reaches them before the night is over. Only forty minutes have passed by the time she is on the seventh person, but it feels like an eternity nonetheless.

She flinches when, while trying to reach Chain's tour manager, the elevator door dings and a shadow nears. Her tense shoulders sink a little bit at the sight of Harry, glad it's not some creep. Her brows crease as she watches him walk towards her. He's carrying a couple of bags with... is that food? It sure smells like it.

When the call goes to voicemail—for the third time—Y/N puts down the phone and gets up from her seat, hurrying over to her boss and stopping him before he could reach her desk.

"What are you doing here?!" She asks, blocking his way. He lifts the bags, a subtle, apologetic smile on his face.

"I brought food—" He looks up at her, and his eyes darken as soon as he takes in her face. "Have you been crying?"

Y/N raises her hands to her face, quickly glancing at the ground while she wipes her cheeks before meeting his eyes again. Harry puts the bags down, and it feels like her heart skips a beat or two when his thumbs stroke the skin under both her eyes. He leaves his hand around her face, cupping her jaw while he stares at her with such a piercing pain in his eyes that it makes Y/N's eyes water altogether again.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft, and the feel of his big, warm hands holding her is comforting her in a way she hasn't experienced in a quite some time. Y/N only focused on his chest, afraid that the welled up water in her eyes will spill out again the second she looks at her boss. She told herself the crying was over, so why wasn't she able to control herself?

A few seconds pass, and silence runs between the thick air that makes it nearly impossible to breathe normally. Then, Y/N feels the slight pressure of Harry's hands, inching her head upwards. Automatically, her gaze flicks to that of her boss, and when she sees the worry on his face, a tear escapes her eye. His thumb catches it before it has the chance to roll down all the way down her cheek.

"I messed up." She only says, closing her eyes in shame. Harry says nothing, only letting out a sigh as he continues to caress her cheek.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Y/N reluctantly backs away from Harry's touch, and runs over to her desk to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" She says, her voice laced with such desperation that she internally cringes at it.

"Y/N? It's Marco. I found them, they're at a studio just outside the city."

She hums, grabbing a pen. "Give me the address."

"No, I'm going. This is my mess, Y/N, I'm not going to let you clean it up." Marco croaks from the other side of the line, and Y/N feels his voice tug at her heartstrings.

"Marco, listen to me. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I should've read the damn thing and notice the mistake." She replies, leaning over her desk to grab her coat.

"Y/N, I'll take care of it, okay? I found a fault in their loophole, they're stuck. Let me handle this. You just go home and enjoy what's left of your evening I ruined—" Marco tells her. "Wait, didn't you have a date tonight? Oh my god, did I ruin your date?"

"I did... but it's alright. It probably wouldn't have worked out with him anyway." Y/N chuckled awkwardly and glanced towards Harry, who looked weirdly annoyed at what she said.

"I'm so sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Marco shares the desperate plea.

"You can make it up to me by giving me the address of the studio." Y/N tells him cheekily.

"Y/N..." he warns.

"What? I promise I'm going home. It's just so I know where you are." She lies. Y/N is a good liar, except in front of Harry. Having a tendency to get nervous, she always betrays herself. She's lucky that this is a phone call, otherwise Marco would've known she wasn't planning on going home at all.

Hesitantly, he gives her the address, which she immediately writes down on her hand.

"Okay, thank you Marco. Good luck." She says, hanging up the phone with a lot more confidence than ten minutes ago. She can feel Harry staring her down as she puts on her coat, clearly waiting for an explanation for this whiplash-like behavior.

"I really have to go."

Harry shrugs. "I'll give you a ride. You can explain everything to me on the way to your house."

Y/N shakes her head, walking towards her boss. "No, really, you don't have to."

"Yes I do." Harry argues.

"You really don't."

"Do you have a problem with me bringing you home, Y/N?" He asks as if he's dumb, as if he doesn't know she's secretly trying to go to that studio.

"No!" She is quick to protest.

"Or does it have anything to do with the address of that mysterious studio you've written on your hand?" He teases, and Y/N clenches her jaw in frustration.

"I just— I need to make sure it's handled." She sputters. Harry shrugs.

"From what I heard it's being handled just fine." He points out. "You've got to learn to let things go sometimes, Y/N."

She shakes her head, looking the floor. "I can't. Not with this."

Harry lowers his head, trying to get on the same eye-level as her and searching for her eyes. "Why not?"

"I told you; I messed up." Her voice quivers as she tells Harry the truth. "There was a mistake in the contract with Chain. Somehow they found a loophole, and now they want more money or they'll waive the rights to their song."

"What?!" Harry growls, exactly like Y/N anticipated he'd react. God, he's going to fire her any moment.

"It's my fault. It was a reference mistake I could've easily spotted if I had taken the time to revise it." She admits, feeling extremely shameful of her lazy actions.

"What are you talking about? This is the legal team's fault, they should've seen that damned mistake! It's not in your job description to revise a contract, it's not your responsibility. It's not your fault, Y/N." He explains. She sucks in a breath, his words hitting her harder than she expected. Heart aching, the one sentence rings in her head.

It's not your fault.

That couldn't be true, could it? She was responsible for this deal, and for Harry. She should've seen this coming, even though she couldn't have possibly known. Did she not always pride herself in having this sixth sense, in being ahead of everyone else? What was she without that? What was she if not the best at the one thing that made her special, that set her apart from the crowd. What was she worth without that invincibility?

"You revise every contract, don't you?"

Her eyes flick towards her boss. She doesn't say anything, but the answer is hidden in her pupils. And it seems Harry can read them like an open book. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Two years." Y/N stammers, her arms crossed as if it will keep her body from revealing whatever her mouth won't. Harry just lets out a breathy chuckle before pulling her into his arms, taking her into a sweet embrace. With his chin leaning on her head, Y/N takes the opportunity to bury her face in his chest, trying not to bask too much in the heavenly scent of his cologne.

"Remind me to give you a raise." He jokes in a soft whisper, earning a sniff of laughter from Y/N.

For a while it seems like everything that tore her down, including what went down between her and Harry, didn't exist anymore. There was just him and her, their embrace and a distant ticking clock, the only indicator of time passing. Yet it felt like the world stopped, or slowed down at least, being in Harry's arms like that. And suddenly, that itch that she hadn't been able to scratch in so long, it felt like it was soothed by a stroking hand instead, and in a way it fulfilled her. It just so happened to be a way she did not expect.

The initial shock at the realization—this puzzle piece that suddenly clicked—made Y/N back away. She clears her throat, fiddling with her hands.

"They're supposed to be at this studio right outside the city. It's only twenty minutes away by car. I just need to be sure." She announces. Harry grabs the bags of food he put down before placing his hand on her lower back and guiding the both of them back to the elevator.

"We'll take my car." He states, and although Y/N can tell by his tone that Harry expects there to be no talking back, but she just can't help herself.

"Harry, I told you I can take a cab." She suggests as they wait for the elevator door to open. Harry doesn't respond as he guides them both into the small space and pushes the button for the ground floor. When the door closes, he turns to her, looking down at her with such an intimidating stare that Y/N feels like she's shrinking.

"And I told you: we're taking my car." He says sternly, his low voice twisting her stomach in an interesting way. When Y/N goes to open her mouth again, Harry lays his finger on her lips. He hums in disapproval, shaking his head.

"I was being clear, right?" He asks rhetorically. His gaze sweeps over her mouth before settling on her eyes again. Not daring to speak another word, let alone breathe, Y/N only nods in response.

"Good." Harry responds, a cocky smirk framing his face as he strolls out of the elevator, leaving Y/N breathless and in a slight trance. Blinking a few times, she comes back to her sense and hurries after her boss.

Richard has always been a master at reading people, and this time is no exception. The second he began driving, he raised the partition, leaving Harry and Y/N with some privacy.

Harry really has a knack for hiring the right people.

The first few minutes of the car ride are silent, and Harry spends it observing Y/N as she picked at her nail beds, frantically looking at of the window as if it would make the car move faster. She has so much tension inside that little body of hers; she is clearly in need of a distraction.

"I think I'm jealous."

Y/N's head whips to him, brows raised at the sudden confession. Her body turns with her, knees now in Harry's direction as she leans back into the seat, getting comfortable as she lays close attention.

"Of me?" She asks, utterly confused. She seems very lost, not really connecting the dots. Harry doesn't blame her; that confession was quite out of the blue.

"Of whoever gets to take care of you."

Pure silence. Harry swears he could hear a pin drop. Y/N stares at him like a deer in headlights, probably having no idea what to say or do or think. She gulps.

"What?" Her voice is so soft that he almost doesn't hear her, but since all his focus is on her, he doesn't miss it. Letting out a breath, he leans forward, placing a hand on her thigh. His face inches closer and closer until their mouths are mere inches away from each other. Checking for her reaction with every small movement, he can't help but notice how she doesn't stray away from him. In fact, she leans in, causing their lips to brush against each other.

"The idea of another man touching you, having you, it makes my fucking blood boil." He says, voice hoarse. Her eyes frantically search every last inch of his face, looking for something she seemingly can't find. Perhaps she's attempting to find the usual playfulness that always accompanies any conversation that blurs that line between them. In that case, she could keep looking forever and ever, because he is dead serious. Fuck how it used to be and fuck whatever's right or wrong.

And most of all, fuck that line, because he's crossing it.

Harry closes the small gap between them, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to work up his throat at the sole feeling of her lips against his. What a fucking idiot he was for ever agreeing to forget about that Halloween night. Not that he ever truly did forget about it. Besides her obvious competencies, hiring Y/N was a way of keeping her where he seemed to like her best from the moment they met; close to him.

With that thought in mind, he wraps his hand around her face and pulls her closer. She complies, clicking her seatbelt free to move further towards Harry when he slips his tongue inside.

Their mouths move against each other like it's both the first time and the hundredth time they've done this. So familiar and yet it's like nothing he ever felt before. A sensation so different from three years ago, one so heavy and laced with a detail his brain can't quite seem to grasp. Deep down, he knows what it is, he just can't quite lay his finger on it.

But his body can, and it does, and so does Y/N's, because her grinding against him is exactly what he needs. His hand sneaks around her neck, lips curling into a smile at the familiarity of the curves of her neck and the identical moan that falls from her lips just as it did three years ago.

Harry groans when the car suddenly stops and Y/N falls forward a little bit, the friction against his trousers being a bit too much to bear at the moment. Slowly, the partition lowers, and without so much looking at them through the mirror, Richard speaks up.

"We've arrived."

Wrong. Harry clearly hasn't.

Before Harry can catch his breath, Y/N can get off his lap, and either one can even answer, the partition rises again. Immediately, Y/N throws her face into Harry's neck.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She wheezes out in pure, utter shame. Harry shakes his head, a faint grin on his face. He would have been laughing his ass off if he wasn't so painfully hard right now. Instead, he only pats Y/N's back, telling her it's fine. She groans and opens the car door.

"No it's not! God, I will never be able to look him in the eye again!" She says, punching the bridge of her nose. Harry shuts the door and grabs Y/N's waist, pulling her towards him. She stumbles into his chest. He lifts her face with his fingers, forcing her to look up at him.

"You're going to have to, because I don't want to fire him." He jokes, and Y/N bites her lip to keep her smile from growing too wide. Not wanting to give Harry the satisfaction that he made her laugh, she looks to the side, but her face expression falls quickly.

"This is not my apartment." She notes, looking at the huge building next to her. "This is yours."

Harry nods.

"I can't be at your apartment, I have to—" Y/N stops herself before she can say more. But Harry already knew what she was going to say. Playfully, he raises a brow.

"You have to... what?"

"To... I have to—"

"Sneak out to that studio?" He finishes her sentence, and her eyes widen. She tries to regain herself but her cheeks are flushed and there is nothing she can do anymore. He's got her. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

With that, he places a hand on her lower back and guides her towards his building. She stumbles a bit, but eventually catches onto the pace. But her body language is apprehensive, looking back at the road where Richard is standing. Or well, was standing. Harry ordered him to drive away as soon as they got out of the car.

Still, she turns around in a quick motion, trying to get to a cab. Harry's arm catches her, however, and he pulls her back against his chest. Along with his other hand, he turns her around, catching sight of her big eyes boring into his.

"Don't try me." He speaks slowly, dipping his head down until he finds himself inches away from Y/N. "You know what happens if you try me."

His voice is lower than before, having flipped a switch now that her mouth has been on his. He got a taste for the first time in years, he wasn't going to let her get away now. Y/N's breath hitches, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

Knowing he's got her right where he wants her, Harry pulls back and strolls toward the entrance of his apartment building. Soon enough, he hears those heels behind him and he smirks.

It's silent when they step in the elevator, and for the first few seconds, as Harry leans agains't the wall and observes his secretary, it stays that way. She eyes him a couple of times, her ears getting redder.

"What?" She breathes out, looking down at her body like there must be something wrong if he's looking at her for so long. He simply shrugs.

"Nothing. Just admiring you."

At that, Y/N vigorously shakes her head and crosses her arms. A soft scoff leaves her mouth, one she didn't think Harry would hear, but he did. He takes a few steps towards Y/N, inching her against the wall.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" He asks sincerely, searching for her eyes. When she finally looks up at him, the nervous smile on her face fades a bit.

Harry doesn't like that look on her face. Needing to fix it, he leans forward and plants his lips on hers again, grabbing her face and pulling her into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before her arms are wrapped around his neck and their bodies are impossibly close to each other again.

Tongues delving deeper into each other's mouth, Harry feels himself floating on some sort of feeling. Despite not being able to define it, he is absolutely positive that he doesn't ever want it to stop. And since kissing Y/N causes this specific feeling, the only feasible option is to never stop kissing her. It's the best plan he's had in ages.

It doesn't take long before the situation gets heated, much like it did before, and Harry's hands trail to Y/N's hips to pull her against him. Desperate for any sort of relief, Harry's hips automatically start to move, and Y/N immediately responds. His body feels like it's on fire, and he tries not to let out any sounds as his strained cock rubs against his tight pants.

Harry takes his lips off Y/N's mouth, peppering kisses to her jaw instead. Slowly, he works his way towards her ear, where he stops to whisper in her ear.

"I'm going to remind you how fucking beautiful you are." The hot breath that left his mouth had her shuddering against him, a slight whine escaping her lips. As he leaves sloppy kisses on Y/N's neck, Harry's free hand slowly travels under her shirt, finding her bra.

She gasps softly when his hand starts to massage her breast, the sensitivity of both spots leaving her hot and bothered under Harry. Fuck, she is so fucking stunning, how did she not see it herself?

Suddenly, the elevator stops, and the door opened. Taking a step back, Harry only winks at Y/N before he turns around and strolls out as if it's a casual Friday. As if he doesn't have his secretary, whom he left high and dry, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks when they enter his home, Harry immediately going into the kitchen.

"Absinthe." Y/N breathes out, leaning over the kitchen island. Harry peeks inside his fridge.

"I only have white wine."

Y/N shrugs. "I'm sure it'll have the same effect if I just keep drinking."

Harry chuckles, grabbing the bottle of wine and placing it on the counter. He walks to a cabinet and takes two wine glasses out of it. Placing one in front of Y/N and the other in front of himself, he opens the bottle and starts pouring, not stopping until the glasses are halfway full. Y/N laughs at the ridiculously full wine glass that he pushes her way, but takes it gladly. He doesn't miss the way her breasts nearly spill out of her top as she leans forward a bit further than intended to in order to grab the glass.

"To the unexpected." She says it like it's a dare. Amused, Harry decides to entertain it, and nods his head.

"To the unexpected."

They raise the glasses before both taking a long sip. Y/N rests her arms on the table, giving a perfect view of her tits right in Harry's frame. She smirks when his eyes accidentally fall on it, and Harry's stomach swirls with excitement. She's trying to play.

"Crazy, how fast life can change, isn't it?" She asks rhetorically, and Harry just hums, waiting patiently for her to reveal what she's trying to do. "I mean, I got up today thinking I'd end the day in another man's bed."

There it is.

She's always been smart, and she knows how to push Harry's buttons. Though his fingers grip the kitchen counter tightly, so much that his knuckles turn white, Harry keeps the corners of his mouth lifted.

"And now you're here." He says, head tilting just a bit. She hums in agreement, taking another sip from her wine.

"Yeah, but just crazy to think that I went into the day thinking I'd hook up with someone else." She tells it so innocently, as if she's mostly talking to herself. Harry's jaw clenches as he stalks around the kitchen island and nears Y/N.

"But you're not, though." Harry notes, falling right into the trap. He knows what she's trying to do but he just can't help himself. He doesn't like the idea of her being with another man. He waits for her answer, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I know, but I could have—"

Before the sentence has entirely left Y/N's mouth, Harry's hand flies to her neck. The amused look on Y/N's face tells him enough, but he doesn't care.

"You're not. You're in my bed tonight, and any night after that as far as I'm concerned, so I don't want to hear another fucking word about it."

Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she stares up at him. "You really are jealous."

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, "And you've gotten feisty over the years."

Y/N bites her bottom lip, humming in agreement to his observation. Harry lets out a soft chuckle, tightening the grip on her neck. Y/N gasps in surprise.

"But do you still like to be put in your place?" He asks, inching his face close to hers. The answer is written in her eyes, and yet Y/N doesn't respond. When it's clear that she won't anytime soon, Harry's free hand sneaks around the waist of her pants. She shivers at the touch.

"Well? Do you?" He repeats himself, and slowly but surely, Y/N nods her head. Harry lets out a disapproving noise. "That's not a proper answer."

Closing her eyes, Y/N lets out a deep breath. "Yes, I like to be put in my place."

"That's what I thought." Harry laughs, taking his hands off of her entirely. She frowns, but her eyes widen when he barks out a demand. "Take off your clothes."

He watches carefully as she follows his orders, and she clearly takes her time stripping down to her underwear. When she has, she looks to him for some sign of approval, but Harry just raises his brows. His hands are sunk into his pockets as Y/N lets out a little breath and takes off her bra and panties.

His eyes trail down her body, his cock hurting at the sight of her. God, she's beautiful. He feels like an absolute idiot for not having fought for her earlier, but he reminds himself that he can't change the past and that she is here now, stark naked in his kitchen. A grin spread across his face.

"Do you remember how you addressed me all those years ago?" He asks. It takes a few seconds before Y/N answers, but she gives him a firm nod.

"I called you sir."

Harry nods. "Rules haven't changed. Now, get on the counter."

Her eyes flick to the marble countertop, shock flashing through her eyes. "But Har—"

His right brow lifts ever so slightly. Catching the hint, Y/N stops herself before she can finish the sentence and hoists herself on to the cold countertop. It must not be very pleasant to lay your naked body on that freezing surface, but it was an uncomfortable temporary obstacle. The results would be great, and in about thirty seconds, she'd forget all about that cold touch against her skin.

Harry pulls out one of the bar stools and sat directly in front of Y/N. Spreading her legs apart, he catches sight of that perfect pussy he has been waiting three years to taste again. Like a starved man sat in front of a feast, the urge to dive right in is almost too strong to bear. But before he has her writhing under him, he wants to make her shiver.

"Can't believe it took us so long to get here." Harry hums, tracing his fingers up her thigh, carefully observing the way Y/N tries to control her breathing. Her fists are balled up into curls, attempting to send her concentration to anything else than Harry. He tries not to let his smugness show too much, but he has to say he likes seeing her struggle a bit. A bit of payback for trying to toy with him just now.

"You've always been stubborn." Y/N jokes, a gasp strangling out of her when Harry's fingers ghost over her clit. He chuckles, the tone of his voice so low that it could almost be considered evil.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who wanted to forget about that Halloween night." He notes. Y/N hums.

"I also made the condition to act professionally, but we didn't do that either." Her eyes gaze into his, catching the fond smile with which he stares at her. A faint blush erupts on her cheeks.

"You drew the line." Harry retorted, and Y/N scoffed.

"You crossed it about a hundred times." She argues in response. He only hums, that cocky smirk on his face.

"I did, and consider this hundredth and first time to be the last, because I'm not getting behind that line again."

Y/N has never been so turned on her in her entire life. Harry’s words are the epitome of determination, and the way his fingers slip inside her so easily the second he finishes his sentence only solidifies that notion. The gasp that leaves her mouth is cut short and evolves into a low moan as Harry’s lips latch onto her clit.

Sensitive would be an understatement for her current state. She is aching, and the way Harry is ravishing her almost hurt. But any pain dwells in comparison to her desire she was overcome with at the situation she currently finds herself in. She is on Harry's kitchen counter, legs spread wide open and letting him do all the things that slipped into her dreams over the past three years.

Harry sucks in all the ways that made her squirm, moving his fingers with such ease that made it seem like he has fingered her a thousand times already. As if he knows her like the back of his hand, as if he knows all her secrets, even ones she doesn't know herself.

Y/N's hand buries itself in Harry's hair when he begins to kitten lick her clit, and she feels that inevitable climax inching closer and closer. She wonders how she had been able to keep herself composed for so long, because the high that creeps up on her feels like it was long overdue.

Unfortunately, the sensation comes to a grinding halt when Harry backs away from Y/N. Her head shoots up, and finds him leaning over her body, wearing boyish half-smile that is now glimmering with her juices.

Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other one under her legs, he picks her up bridal style. She holds onto his shoulders, burying her face into his neck as he carried her to his bedroom. When she begins unbuttoning his shirt, he throws her on his bed. She lets out a soft yelp, bouncing onto the bed.

"So greedy..." Harry tuts in disapproval, but Y/N doesn't quite care. She wants him, bad, and now that she's had a preview of what's to come she doesn't want to wait any longer. She needs him and she needs that orgasm.

She pulls him closer by his pants and starts to unbuckle his belt. "You're taking too long."

Y/N is about halfway done when Harry's firm hand wraps around her neck and pulls her closer to his face. Inching down, he growls: "You'll take what I give you."

"Then give me something." She spits back, and Harry's eyes turn five shades darker at her invitation to a challenge. He slowly leans back, Y/N watching his every movement in anticipation.

"On your stomach."

Y/N stomach swirls at the command, and she obeys as quick as she can. It stays silent for a little bit, and she awaits his further actions eagerly.

"Hands behind your back."

Again, she does what he says. Y/N doesn't dare to turn her head as she hears Harry walking around his room. When she feels a silky material around her wrists, she knows enough. He's tying her up.

Knowing better than to do otherwise, Y/N keeps her mouth shuts as Harry makes an impenetrable knot with his tie. She moves her wrists, assessing how tight it really is, and gets interrupted by a punishing slap on her ass. The sting remains for a couple of seconds, and she is sure there is now a red print the size of Harry's hand on her right cheek.

"Ass up." He barks out his final order, no doubt smirking as she changes her position, slightly struggling now that her arms are of no use.

Y/N bites her lip in anticipation when Harry's hand grabs onto her hips, steadying himself behind her. She slightly flinches forward when the tip of his cock teases her entrance, and attempts to speed up the process by leaning backwards a bit. She's rewarded with another slap on her ass.

But then Harry finally sinks in, and that dreadful itch that plagued Y/N for such a long time is finally scratched, over and over again as he begins to pound into her with long, slow strokes.

"Fucking hell..." Harry murmurs, his cock suctioning into Y/N's tight, clenching pussy. He is so big, and it bruises her in all the right ways.

"Oh baby... thaaat's it." He groans when Y/N begins to bounce back on his cock, aiming to get it even deeper inside of her. She is ruthless in her movements, groaning at the overwhelming sensations. When Harry gropes her ass— and his nails bite into her skin—she loses control.

Burying her face into the mattress, Y/N screams as she reaches her peak. The sound of Harry's moans at her pussy convulsing around his cock only strengthens her orgasm. Her mind goes entirely blank as the shattering release ripples through her like an earthquake. The only thing she can think of is Harry's name, and it's the only thing she cries out as the dizzying explosion settles all over her body.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" Harry sneers as he pulls his cock out of Y/N, letting go of her hips. She nearly falls over, her tied up hands making it difficult to catch herself. This orgasm was so intense, she could feel the three years of pent up tension as it washed over her. Her cheeks are burning red and her teary eyes makes her vision somewhat blurry.

Y/N is thrown off when Harry suddenly turns her around and she finds herself lying on her back. The way he towers over her would have been intimidating had it not been extremely hot.

"Came on my cock so fast..." he mumbles cockily, corner of his mouth pulled up like the arrogant bastard he is. "Such a slut for it."

Y/N wants to give him some snappy comeback, but her brain is still fried from the orgasm and she's always liked to be degraded in bed, so she decides to only glare at Harry while he speaks. He catches it, and his grin only widens.

"You know it's true, baby." He tells her, bringing your legs over each of his shoulders. That deviant smirk is the last thing Y/N sees before her eyes roll into the back of her head at the feeling of Harry's cock stretching her out again.

He leans forward, almost folding her in two, and reaches deeper. He stays there for a few seconds—as if he is catching his breath—then slowly backs out of her before slamming right back in. Y/N lets out a screech that, if it hadn't been for the desperation laced in its tone, would've sounded like someone was trying to murder her.

Trying to keep her own moans at a minimum, Y/N closes her eyes and listens to the harsh slaps of Harry's skin against hers, and the groans that escape his mouth with each thrust. The strength behind each movement makes her clench around Harry, who in turn hisses her name as if it were a curse word. It only causes her to clench more. 

"Fuck, such a pretty little whore." Harry praises as he drives into her. Y/N can only whine, her tits bouncing uncontrollably at the impact of his motions. She must look fucking helpless. Opening her eyes, she catches the way Harry looks at her; like she's a dream. Like she's his dream.

"My pretty little whore." He growls, leaning back and holding one of her legs with his arm while the other reaches for her breasts.

"Yes..." Y/N breathes as he begins squeezing her breasts, getting lost in the sensations of him. Somehow it feels like Harry is everywhere. As if he has latched onto a part of her soul and she feels him coming to claim that every time his cock sinks into her.

"Such a tight fucking fit." He groans, taking her nipple between his fingers. "You should see how perfectly your pussy sucks in every inch of my cock..."

Y/N bites her lip as Harry talks, trying not too get too overwhelmed by the filthy things he's telling her as he plunges in and out of her. Her eyes catch the flex of his muscles that occur with every thrust, and she wonders how she got a man so perfect to fuck her stupid like this.

"Should record it... make a little video for just the two of us. What do you think?"

Oh my god.

"Don't you want to see how perfect we fit together?" He taunts, thrusting his hips harsher than before, hitting a spot that had been untouched for quite a while now. Y/N's face scrunches up.

"F—fuck! Yes, yes..." She responds when Harry stills inside of her to await an answer. He chuckles at the apparent hurry in her voice and reaches for—what Y/N assumes to be—his phone, on the bed. His motions are slow and soft, determined to keep Y/N satisfied at least a bit while he logs into his phone and searches for the camera app. She notices the start of his recording by the sudden change of pace and force of his movements.

His camera is pointed right at her pussy as he begins thrusting deep inside of her, and Y/N screams out Harry's name. The concentration on his face as he captures how she takes him proves too much to bear, and she shuts her eyes tightly, head flopping to the side.

She can hear his ragged breathing over all the other sounds that their bodies are making. The small grunts he makes in an effort not to moan too loudly is all she can focus on, and the tension in her belly grows exponentially with each vibrations of his voice that reaches her ears.

Harry slows his pace, putting more emphasis on the impact of his moves. It allows him to bring his free hand down to touch Y/N's clit. Her legs begin to shake the second he does.

"Are you gonna come again for me? I'm so close, baby. I can tell you are too." The softness in the delivery of his words have Y/N's ovaries rattle. She can only nod, a whine that was an attempt at a 'yes' falling from her rosy lips. Harry grins, his eyes flicking from his phone to her face. Everything feels so hazy, much like a daydream.

"Please don't stop." She squeals in such a high pitch that surprises even herself. Y/N had no idea she could go that high. Harry's bringing out an entirely new side of her.

"I'll never stop, baby." Harry rasps, pressing down on her clit in such a way that Y/N becomes cross-eyed for a second. Her nails grip into the bedsheets, the second release rippling through her like a hurricane. She never quite understood the word bliss, until now. This must be it; this feeling of... pure ecstasy.

Like a blank canvas splattered on with all the bright colors that exist in the world; fresh and exciting and psychedelic in a way. Impossible to define yet such a specific feeling. Y/N let all of it tingle from her head down to her toes, wanting to remember it forever.

The continuous pounding Y/N through her orgasm comes to a grinding halt when Harry reaches his own, pulling out just in time for his sperm to coat her puffy clit and swollen tits. His camera is focused on her frame, recording every spurt that paints her. She's the canvas, he's the colors, Y/N realizes. Harry is her definition of bliss.

The words shared between the two are scarce as Harry unties Y/N's hands, picks her up and carries her to the bathroom to clean her up. But the smiles on their faces says enough, both knowing what they feel is rare, and beautiful. Y/N assesses Harry's face, concluding that the soft edges of it makes him look like a proper angel.

When he's dressed her in one of his shirts, he takes her back to the bedroom, where he pulls her against his frame. Y/N wraps one leg around his torso, hugging him from the side with her head buried into his neck. The way his chest rises and lowers fills her with pure ease, and she leaves a few soft kisses in his neck as a silent thank you. Harry only hums in satisfaction, his arm only tightening around you, as if he's afraid you might let go.

"I'm never gonna let you go now." You tell him before you can even fully comprehend your words. Your heart starts racing, afraid that might've been too soon to say.

"Promise?"

Your racing heart is now melting as you turn your head and see Harry holding up his pinky. You are quick to interlock it with your own.

"Promise." You say with a smile.

General taglist: @mema10

[happy74827]

Talk To Me

[Eggsy Unwin x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: With your boyfriend sneaking out 24/7 and always returning with carefully concealed injuries, it's only natural to be concerned.

WC: 3033

Category: Slight Angst + Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

I watched Carry-On last night (10/10 so good), and it got me re-thinking about one of my favorite films. Kingsman supremacy 🙌

『••✎••』

You loved Eggsy. Dearly. Truly.

You loved him so much that sometimes it scared you. How fiercely your heart clung to his smile, how tenderly your hands always seemed to reach for his, how naturally your entire world had shifted around him without you even realizing it. He was yours—scruffy, sweet Eggsy Unwin—and you believed you knew him. At least, you thought you did.

But then, the nights started.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Everyone had their own struggles, and Eggsy never struck you as someone who’d open up easily about his. He’d always been the type to handle his own problems, to wear his hardships like armor rather than show them. But that was before the late-night disappearances, before the quiet footsteps across your floorboards, before you’d wake up in a cold bed at 3 a.m. to find him gone.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was gradual—so gradual you could almost convince yourself you were imagining it. One night turned into two. Two turned into a week. And before long, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The first time you tried to confront him, you did it gently. You’d asked him if everything was okay, masking your concern with casual curiosity. "You seem really tired lately, Eggsy. Is work being a pain?"

Eggsy had smiled, all teeth and dimples, and said, "Nah, luv. Just gotta lot on my plate, s’all."

You believed him because you wanted to.

But then there were the bruises.

The first one you noticed was along his jaw, faint and shadowed under the soft light of your kitchen. He’d winced when you kissed him there, just a tiny twitch of his lips, but enough to make you pull back. "You alright?" you’d asked.

Eggsy had waved you off. "Yeah, yeah, fine."

"Fine."

The word had felt too tight on his tongue, too forced. But you’d let it go because that’s what you did when someone you loved was hurting. You gave them space.

Except the bruises kept coming, each one a little harder to miss than the last. The faint cut above his brow, the stiffness in his shoulders when you hugged him, the way he’d flinch—just barely—when your fingers brushed against his ribs. And you noticed. Of course, you did. How could you not?

There was the other stuff, too. The sudden shift in his wardrobe. Gone were the trainers and bomber jackets, replaced with sharp suits and polished shoes. He’d started wearing glasses—ridiculous little round things that didn’t even have a prescription—and he carried himself differently now. Straighter. More serious. It wasn’t that you didn’t like the change. You did. Eggsy looked good in a suit, and you’d told him as much. But it was the why that lingered in the back of your mind.

Everything about him was changing, and yet you were still supposed to believe he was fine.

You weren’t stupid.

And so tonight, when you’d felt him slip out of bed yet again, something inside you had snapped. Enough was enough.

You stayed awake, feigning sleep as you listened to him shuffle around the room. You heard the soft clink of his belt buckle, the muted sound of a zipper, and then the quiet groan he let out as he bent to tie his shoes. He was trying to be quiet, but you could feel his movements, his tension, the exhaustion radiating off of him like smoke.

The front door closed behind him.

For a moment, you thought about following him. Your mind painted a dozen possibilities—none of them good—and the urge to know was almost overwhelming. But something held you back. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the sick feeling that if you saw what Eggsy was hiding, you wouldn’t be able to unsee it.

So, instead, you stayed. You waited.

And you waited.

Hours slipped by, the quiet hum of the room punctuated only by the ticking of the clock and the occasional thump of your restless heartbeat. You sat in the darkness, curled up on the couch with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

It was almost dawn when you heard it—the sound of keys fumbling at the door.

Your breath caught as the door swung open, and there he was. Eggsy. Exhausted, disheveled, and dragging himself inside like he’d just run a marathon. He tripped over the shoes you’d left by the door, letting out a hushed curse as he stumbled and caught himself on the wall. "For fuck’s sake…"

You watched him for a long moment, your heart twisting. His shoulders were slumped, his face pale under the bruises, and there was an air of defeat clinging to him that you’d never seen before.

Your hand hovered over the lamp beside you.

Click.

Light flooded the room.

Eggsy froze. His wide, tired eyes met yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

"…Where were you?"

Your voice came out steady—colder than you intended—but you didn’t care. You needed answers.

Eggsy straightened up, wincing slightly as he did, and ran a hand through his messy hair. "What’re you doin’ awake?"

"Where were you, Eggsy?" you repeated, softer this time.

He opened his mouth to answer, but you saw the hesitation in his eyes. That flicker of guilt, of indecision. And it hurt.

You watched him—really watched him—take in the situation, his gaze darting from you to the lamp and back again. He looked so tired, the dark circles under his eyes stark against the pale exhaustion in his face. His bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might lie to you.

He always did that when he was nervous, chewing his lip like he was trying to hold the words inside.

And then he sighed.

"Look, luv—"

"No." You cut him off, surprising even yourself with the sharpness in your voice. Your heart was pounding now, a steady thud in your chest, and you swallowed the knot rising in your throat. "Don’t 'look, love' me, Eggsy. I’ve given you space. I’ve ignored the bruises. I’ve let you—whatever this is—carry on without question. But not anymore."

Eggsy’s mouth closed. He shifted on his feet, his wince almost imperceptible, but you caught it. You always caught it.

"Are you hurt?" you asked, voice trembling slightly despite the resolve you tried to hold. Your eyes dropped to the faint, bloodied scrape on his knuckles and the stiff way he held his side. "Jesus, Eggsy…"

"I’m fine." The words came out fast—too fast—and though they were meant to be firm, they only sounded hollow.

You flinched like the word was a slap. "You’re not fine."

He sighed again, this time deeper, and rubbed a hand over his face. "It’s complicated."

"Complicated?" you echoed, your voice pitching with disbelief. "Complicated is when you forget an anniversary or don’t know how to split rent. This isn’t complicated, Eggsy—this is you sneaking out in the middle of the night and coming home bruised and battered, and I’m scared."

There it was. The confession you’d been holding back. The thing that had been gnawing at you for weeks, clawing at your chest every time he slipped away. Your voice broke slightly, the words tumbling out like a dam had burst, and Eggsy’s face softened in a way that almost broke you.

You could see the guilt then, raw and unguarded, etched into the lines of his expression. He took a cautious step forward, but you held up a hand, needing the space to breathe.

"Do you…" Your voice faltered. You didn’t want to say it—didn’t want to voice the fear that had whispered in your mind during the loneliest hours of those nights. “Do you not trust me, Eggsy? Is there something you can’t tell me?”

Eggsy’s head snapped up at that, his brow knitting as if you’d insulted him. "What? No. No, it’s not like that."

"Then what is it?" Your voice cracked, and for the first time since this all started, you felt your eyes sting with tears. "Because I’m running out of scenarios, Eggsy. I thought maybe… maybe it was someone else, maybe you’d stopped loving me. But then I’d see the bruises, and I’d hear you groaning in your sleep, and…" You trailed off, pressing a hand to your forehead. "I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when you’re falling apart right in front of me."

The room was silent save for your quiet, unsteady breaths. For a moment, you thought Eggsy wouldn’t answer, that he’d slip into that shell of his again and leave you stranded in this mess of unanswered questions.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he crossed the room in two quick strides, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss—not like the ones he’d give you after long days or lazy mornings. It was desperate and grounding, like he needed to make sure you were real and that you still loved him despite everything. You froze for half a second, caught off guard by the sudden warmth of his lips on yours before you melted into it. Your hands gripped his wrists, holding onto him like an anchor as your heart hammered against your ribcage.

When he finally pulled away, you stared at him, breathless and reeling.

"Eggsy—"

"I’m sorry," he muttered, his forehead resting gently against yours. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you think that. Any of that." His voice was low and earnest, the accent softening as the words spilled out. "You’re the only good thing in my life, alright? The only thing that keeps me goin’. It ain’t you—it’s me. I’m just… I’m tryin’ to keep you safe."

"Safe?" Your brows furrowed as you leaned back to look at him. "Safe from what, Eggsy?"

He hesitated. You could see the war playing out in his eyes—the push and pull of wanting to tell you the truth but still trying to protect you from it. He was holding something back; you knew that much. Something big.

Finally, he exhaled slowly. "It’s work. The bruises, the nights—I can’t tell you everything, but you gotta trust me when I say I’m doin’ it for you. For us."

"Eggsy…"

His thumb brushed along your cheek, and you realized then that you were crying—just a little.

"You’re right," he admitted softly, the words heavy with guilt. "I shoulda told you somethin’. Not everythin’, but… somethin’. I just didn’t want you to worry, love. Didn’t want you to see this part o’ me." He smiled faintly, the corners of his lips tilting upward. "You deserve better than this mess."

You stared at him, the boy who had somehow become a man without you noticing. His rough edges were still there—still scrappy, still stubborn—but there was something more now, too. He carried weight on his shoulders, weight he hadn’t let you see until tonight.

"I don’t care about the mess," you whispered, your hands sliding down to hold his. "I care about you. And if you’re hurting, I want to know. I want to help."

Eggsy blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to hear that. Then he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly as if trying to shield you from the rest of the world.

"You’re mental, you know that?" he mumbled into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Too good for me, you are."

Eggsy was warm against you, his arms solid and grounding, but you couldn’t let yourself melt into it—not entirely. Not when you could still feel the lingering tremor in his body, the careful way he was holding you like he was afraid of falling apart completely if he let go.

So you didn’t let it slide. Not this time.

You pulled back slightly, enough to look at him, your hands sliding to rest against his chest. He avoided your eyes for a beat too long, gaze flicking toward the floor as if the answers to all of your questions were scattered across the floorboards.

"Eggsy," you said softly, forcing him to look at you. "You’re doing it again."

His brows furrowed slightly. "Doin’ what?"

"Avoiding." You swallowed hard, your voice gentle but firm. "You keep saying you’re trying to protect me, but from what? From you? From whatever it is you’ve gotten yourself into? I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with half-truths and cryptic excuses."

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his lips pressing into a tight line as the silence stretched between you like a taut wire. You watched him, the Eggsy you knew—the one who laughed too loudly, who lit up rooms with his smile—hidden behind this new, heavier version of himself. A man weighed down by secrets you weren’t allowed to touch.

You felt your throat tighten. "If you’re in trouble, I need to know."

"I’m not—"

"Gary." You said his name softly, but with enough weight that he stopped, his shoulders sagging just a little under your gaze. You could see the walls going back up, the way his expression started to close off again, and your heart ached. This wasn’t about control. It wasn’t about digging into things he didn’t want to share. This was about him—the man you loved. The man standing in front of you with bruises and exhaustion, painting him in shades of worry and pain you didn’t recognize.

"I love you," you whispered, the words breaking through the quiet. His head snapped up, his eyes finally locking onto yours. "I love you, Eggsy. But this—" you gestured gently between the two of you "—this isn’t fair. You don’t get to shoulder all of this alone. Not when I’m right here."

You could see the cracks in his resolve then, the guilt splintering through his expression like fractures in glass. Eggsy exhaled, a heavy breath that deflated his entire posture, and he reached up to cup your cheek again, his thumb brushing faintly at the tears still lingering there.

"It ain’t trouble," he muttered after a long pause, his voice low and rough like gravel. "Not like you’re thinkin’. I ain’t into anythin’ shady, I swear."

"Then what is it?" you asked softly. "Please, Eggsy. I’m not leaving. I’m not running. I just need to know what’s doing this to you."

He hesitated again, clearly grappling with something you couldn’t see. For the briefest moment, you thought he might tell you—might rip off the Band-Aid and let you into whatever world he’d been keeping you out of. But then, as if on instinct, he sighed and shook his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before resting his own against it again.

"You don’t wanna know, luv," he murmured, voice so soft it nearly disappeared into the space between you. "I promise you don’t."

You stared at him, your heart twisting painfully. You could feel it now—the invisible door he was trying to close, to lock between you—and the worst part was, you knew he thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was protecting you.

But all you felt was the sting of being shut out.

"This isn’t fair," you said again, your voice trembling slightly. "You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, Eggsy."

His lips parted slightly, and for once, he didn’t have a rebuttal. He just looked at you—really looked at you—as if weighing the woman in front of him against whatever dark reality he’d been hiding.

"I can handle it," you pressed, your voice steady this time. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. I can handle you."

Eggsy pulled back slightly, his hands slipping to your shoulders. There was a flicker of conflict in his eyes, and for the first time that night, you saw a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface. "It ain’t about you not bein’ strong enough," he said finally, his words slow and deliberate. "It’s about me not wantin’ you to see the worst parts of what I do."

"What you do?" you repeated carefully, and you saw him flinch—just barely—like he’d said too much.

"Eggsy, I don’t…"

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. "Jesus Christ, I’m shite at this."

Your eyes searched his. Part of you wanted to press further—to keep pushing until the dam broke—but the other part could see his exhaustion, the way he was leaning slightly against the counter like his legs were struggling to hold him up. He looked so tired. So defeated. And you hated it.

You let out a soft sigh, taking his hand and lacing your fingers through his.

He stiffened.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a question lingering between you, the same one you knew he was struggling to answer.

Tell her.

Don't.

It felt like an eternity had passed when you finally said his name, squeezing his hand gently.

His gaze lifted to yours.

And you let it go.

You didn't push. You didn't demand. You didn't ask. Because this wasn't a fight, you were going to win.

He wasn't ready.

So, instead, you just said, "Promise me something."

"Yeah?"

You hesitated, the words feeling heavier on your tongue than they had any right to be. You swallowed the lump rising in your throat and whispered, "Promise me you’ll come home."

Eggsy stilled.

It wasn't much of a request—more of a desperate hope that this wasn't all leading to some unavoidable ending you weren't ready for. It was an offer of surrender. A silent, exhausted plea to put the pieces back together, to stitch up the cracks before they could break.

He studied you, his tired eyes roaming over the lines of your face as if he could read the question lingering there.

And then he pulled you into his arms, a hand cradling the back of your head. You felt the warmth of his embrace, the weight of his body against yours, and your arms wrapped around him as tightly as you could. For a second, you weren’t sure if he would answer. If he even could.

And then, in the softest voice you'd ever heard, he whispered, "Always."

"For you, always."

[bloodstainedsapphic]

the one where ellie discovers that she has a praise kink minors dni

ellie twisted one final screw into place on the new bookcase she was constructing for your shared book collections. she leaned back, letting out a small grunt once the backache from being hunched over for so long caught up to her. she wiped stray hairs from her face and inspected her handiwork.

you, being a supportive girlfriend, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "atta girl,” you commended, "looks great."

ellie's heart skipped a beat when cursed phrase left your mouth. it was innocent enough—at least the intent behind it in the moment. she glanced over her shoulder up at you, eyes wide and lips parted but not a word escaping. safe to say, all coherent thought was out the window for a fleeting moment. her rosy cheeks only deepened when your sly smile revealed that her reaction hadn't gone unnoticed. ellie would then mumble "thanks" and use her exhaustion from the manual labor as an excuse, which you accepted.

okay, maybe ellie did have an inkling of suspicion about why the phrase affected her. the heat suddenly pulsating to her lower region was answer enough.

and praise already was often sprinkled in when you two were intimate. as a treat. so it wasn't totally new. but the unexpected strike during such an innocuous moment pulled a reaction out of ellie that she hadn’t felt so intensely before. she was just too embarrassed to admit it and wasn't ready to bring it up.

this all changed, of course, during one tired, opportune movie night. sprawled mellowly on ellie's old couch, bodies barely brushing against each other, your gaze repeatedly falls on her silhouette- unable to look away. ellie's perfect smattering of freckles, round emerald eyes, soft bridge of her nose, chestnut hair curved around her jaw. ellie didn't have to do a damn thing; she was just so damn pretty.

finally, your temptation peaks, fueling your audacity to place a deliberate hand on her thigh. you squeeze it, speaking volumes about your growing need. you craved ellie. badly.

a few inelegant adjustments to remove some clothes and get into more comfortable positions later, ellie sinks back into the couch cushion, her torso bare. you take a few beats to seal the image to memory, her soft skin, the curves of her breasts and figure. your suppressed desire unleashed, starting an assault of kisses and bites everywhere on ellie that you can access. the film becomes white noise in the background, entirely forgotten.

your lips, suctioned to ellie's chest, release with a pop. you admire the masterpiece of spattered reddening marks you left all over her skin. the hand previously massaging her other breast starts to travel downwards, tracing her sternum like a trail of flames. your kisses work their way up her neck, these daintier so you can focus on savoring ellie's delicious whines.

your palm grazes the dampened fabric of ellie’s panties, taking great satisfaction in seeing her world turn hazy and glassy-eyed.

“please..please..” ellie whispered- lost for air and desperate. you smirk, feeling your fingers grow wet from her arousal.

you guide ellie to briefly lift her hips to shrug her shorts and panties off, giving you unbridled access to her soaked heat. she parts her legs further, inviting. your mouth goes dry at the sight. you dip your fingers between her glistening folds, the tantalizing movement eliciting a whine from ellie. your thumb finds her pulsing clit and starts slowly tracing circles. once you’ve worked her and yourself up, you press one finger deep into her slick center, trying not to fall apart from how worked up her cries have gotten you.

“you’re being such a good girl for me,” you muttered tenderly, lazily pumping your finger inside her.

the petname hit ellie like a lightning strike. she tells on herself with how she clenches around your digits, her hips bucking up to encourage your thrusts deeper. you turn devilishly cocky when you realize the cause of her unraveling. she’s begging you to keep talking, to move your hand faster and bring her to ecstasy. you keep up the pace, focused on stretching her out until gradually adding a second finger and curling them deeper.

“fuck, you’re taking my fingers so well,” you purr, pairing it with more light kisses and nibbles to her ear.

“mmm…oh my fucking god—“ ellie breathes your name like a prayer, her pleas tumbling out incomprehensibly.

“you like being my good fucking girl, hmm? i didn’t know just how much..you’re so fucking tight…”

your words are ellie’s downfall, a long-awaited orgasm suddenly crashing through her. her entire body shudders, and you guide ellie through the waves uttering similar, delicate phrases, reveling in how the praise undid her. “good fucking girl, atta girl…”

once the throes of pleasure grow further apart, you pull your fingers from her. you bring your wet digits up and press them to ellie’s lips, giving a quiet command for her clean up her mess. “suck.”

ellie, flushed and dumbed out from her orgasm, mindlessly wraps her pretty lips around you, tasting herself on your fingers. the warmth enveloping you is almost overbearing for your own lust. of course, you encourage her as she sucks them clean. “that’s it, my sweet girl. i’m so proud of you.”

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Controversial opinion among Dune book fans maybe, but I loved the changes they made to Chani's character. Making her a fedaykin who is already an experienced fighter before Paul arrives was a brilliant choice. Dune Part Two is a war movie, and this puts her at the center of the action, side by side with Paul, and gives her a much more active role than she has in the book.

We got a hint of where things were going in the beginning of Dune Part One. The first thing we ever know about movie Chani is that she's a fighter. She serves as a voice for the Fremen, telling us the story of their struggle from her point of view. I wrote here about the difference this change makes compared to other adaptations of Dune, what a perspective shift it is to have the world of Arrakis introduced not by an outsider, describing it as a dangerous but valuable colonial prize, but by one of its native inhabitants, who tells us before all else that it's beautiful, her home that she's fighting to liberate. I am so, so glad that the second movie followed up on this characterization.

I never found Chani and Paul's love story in the book particularly convincing, because why would this woman, who already has a prominent and respected place in Fremen society, even give the time of day to her deposed would-be colonizer, let alone fall in love and have children with him? Without a compelling reason for Chani to love Paul, she ends up feeling like a prize to be won, and "indigenous culture personified as a woman to be wooed (or conquered) by the colonizing man" is a trope we've seen and don't need to repeat.

But as soon as you tell me it's a barricade romance I get it. Cool cool cool, I know exactly what this relationship is now and it makes sense. Movie Chani doesn't respect or even particularly like Paul when she first meets him, and she doesn't think he's the fulfillment of any prophecy. She comes to respect him, and eventually love him, through his actions. He's brave--sometimes recklessly so. He fights well. He's willing to stick his neck out on the front lines with the other Fremen fighters. He can (after a little help) hack surviving in the harsh desert environment. He's not too proud to learn from others. He seems to genuinely want to be her equal in a common political struggle. All these qualities make sense as things she values.

Fighting side by side as equals is just about the only way I can see movie Chani falling for Paul. And it fits perfectly with the film's pattern of reversals that Paul's capacity for violence would initially be one of the things Chani likes about him, only for her to be repelled later when she sees what he becomes.

And as for Paul, well, he's had people deferring to him his entire life. Someone who doesn't take any shit from him is probably refreshing. He seems to like people (Duncan, Gurney) who challenge him and engage in a little friendly teasing--and aren't afraid to go a few rounds in the sparring ring.

It's easy to speedrun a romance when you're spending all your time together in mortal danger fighting for a shared political cause. Especially if you then start winning in a war your people have been fighting for decades. Are you kidding me? That is the perfect environment for intense battle camaraderie to turn into romantic love, and lust.

It makes sense that this version of Chani never believes Paul is any kind of messiah. Of course a character like movie Chani wouldn't believe in or trust some outside savior to liberate them. She's been working to liberate her own people for years. The more Paul invokes the messianic myth, the more he starts sounding once again like someone who plans to rule over them, and the more uncomfortable Chani becomes. In this way she becomes a foil to Jessica, the two of them representing the choices Paul is pulled between. It's a great way of externalizing the political and philosophical debates that often happen within characters' heads in the book.

And of course this version of Chani would leave Paul at the end of the film. It's not just the personal, emotional betrayal--although that stings. What common cause does she have with someone who just declared himself emperor and is sending her own people off in a war of conquest against others? Given the important role she plays in Dune Messiah, I am super curious to see how they get her back into the story, but girl was so valid for being willing to just gtfo. Given that she has the last shot of the whole movie, I'm sure she'll be back somehow, and I can't wait to see what they do with her character in any future installments.

[barcapix]

✮ Born To Reign - Jannik Sinner

jannik sinner x royal!fem!reader

sy: rumour has it the wimbeldon competitor has an extortionate soft side for the royals, aka you. the press has seen it, the audience has now seen it, but is it time to open the doors and confirm it? or will you just keep it a secret a smidge longer?

a/n: feedback appreciated. thank you for the req<3 as it’s loosely based on this. also, big thanks to @lxsthings for the idea prompts !

warnings: some italian, + one use of y/n. (not proofread 😔)

-> PART 1 // PART 2

THE RINGS ON YOUR FINGERS ARE BEING TORMENTED RELENTLESSLY, your knee bouncing with every heartbeat, and the occasional sigh of relief in a bid to keep your nerves at bay.

“why are you so nervous?” kate, your mother, whispers besides you. “try to relax a little, this was supposed to be fun for you.”

you smile awkwardly, pulling your hat down just a smidge to hide your face from the attraction of the cameras. “i—just enthusiastic is all.”

your mother nods, resting her hand atop your knee whilst her focus remains on the court. you mirror the same, but now you go to fidget with the band of your necklace instead.

jannik. the guy you never meant to have an connection with, let alone fall for. once you attended one exhibition match, it changed both of your lives entirely. suddenly, you couldn’t go hours without messaging, calling, and it became a difficult task to navigate schedules and distance between you two.

of course, let’s not forget how the rumours spread like wildfire and only added fuel to the fire when the paparazzi had spotted how he left the quarterfinals press conference with his racket bag and your distinct umbrella. or even the time he flew to london under the guise of ‘training sessions’ but just so happened to be seen at the same restaurant you dined at two nights in a row.

to your surprise, charlotte had caught you in action after only the semi-final, but she had promised to brush it under the carpet in exchange for your vivian westwood sunglasses.

otherwise, parents? oblivious.

“game, alcaraz.”

god. is this what torture feels like?

“can you stop fidgeting?” is george who now interrupts. “it’s utterly distracting.”

he’s lucky he’s being filmed on national tv, and in one centre of spotlight otherwise his next public appearance would have him with a bruised lip.

you scowl, hovering your hand over your mouth. “can you just be quiet and watch the game?”

“i was trying to, until—”

“will you both cut that out? shh.” charlotte, your younger sister and better known as the most-matured one, signals a finger to her lips.

george shakes his head; your hands fall dismally to your lap. a whisle blows, signalling a changeover; the crowd’s applause fades into murmurs as the umpire’s voice rang out:

“game, sinner. sinner leads, two games to one. first set.”

with barely a sigh, you watch jannik retreat from the baseline and to his bench. but before even taking a double step, jannik locks eyes up at the royal box, immediately landing on you.

the italian lifts his cap up, enough to display the smile he’s flashing at you. the fan in your disposal is doing little to conceal the blush creeping up on your cheeks, but you manage anyway. to make matters worse, the crowd follows a coo, and you only hope the screen isn’t on you.

wrong. “what’s the cameras bias for you today?” it’s your measly little brother, again.

“after all, she is the patron, george,” charlotte states matter-of-factly. “she deserves this.”

you give your sister a grateful glance, though your mouth stays closed. theres no point feeding george. he’s already smirking like a cat who’s got milk and a scandal to boot.

the match plays on, each rally tightening the knots in your stomach. each echo of the racket sending pulses of nausea through your body. you barely register the commentary or the rustle of your father shifting beside your mother because everytime jannik wins a point, your hands involuntarily clap, just a second too fast.

you try your best to maintain composure, you really do, but there’s no royal status or duty that could outshine how deeply you’ve fallen for him.

far past the point of reason; far beyond the bounds of ceremony.

but it’s done. three sets, clean and brutal. you hold your breath so far that your lungs begin to ache, then the moment the final point is won, the crowd erupts. simultaneously, your legs rise on autopilot to stand, and clap with much pride and little poise, that definitely has william, your father, eyeing you oddly.

yet, you don’t care. sinner drops to his knees and rests against the handle of his racket; your heartbeat thunders louder than any applause.

“right then,” your father says under his breath, adjusting his cufflinks. “let’s go congratulate the champion, shall we?”

maybe too over-the-top and frantic, do you agree and follow your parents down beneath the stands.

back to your usual habits of fidgeting, it’s now with the gold-plated trophy that’s sits almost content in your gloved hands, bar a little shake from the tremble you couldn’t contain.

this is your third year running of being the wimbledon patron, but it’s your first year of actually feeling tense. first year that you’re congratulating someone who knew what your laugh sounded like in the middle of the night—someone who held your face between his palms and told you titles are meaningless when he had this.

you’d thought, having all eyes and media trained on him, he would make it less obvious and at the very least diffuse any smoke of the ongoing rumours. once again, you’re proven wrong because as soon as the soles of your heels dip into the grass, you notice he’s standing still, looking at you. like you’re the only prize that’s worth his energy.

sinner’s gaze doesn’t falter, doesn’t peel. he stays rooted to the spot, only his lips twitching at a grin.

cries and applause thunders through the court as you present the trophy and make a beeline for him. your only focus is keeping this professional, you keep your voice low even if you can’t keep a straight face.

“congratulations, mr. sinner.”

the ginger takes it from your hands, but his fingers intentionally brush against yours like he’s rather reaching to hold your hand than the prize. the touch is barely a second long, but it’s enough to run a shiver up your spine.

he bows. “thank you, your royal highness.”

you nod appreciatively, clapping and joining in with the wave of celebration amongst the crowd. jannik twirls on his heel, briefly flashing the gold against the sunlight.

then, unbothered by protocol, he leans in. he goes to kiss your cheeks and you’re taken aback. “w—what are you doing? you know you don’t have to do this to the patron.”

“it’s my first wbc title. it’s fine if i bend the rules a little. mia carina.”

“you’ll come see me at toronto won’t you?” he says between breaths, then landing a kiss to your left cheek. “for the national bank open?”

his face is just inches apart from yours, the molten heat of adrenaline, exertion, and some expensive aftershave that smells maddeningly like longing breath, landing squarely across your skin. before reaching to kiss your right cheek, he momentarily stops. only for a beat.

“won’t you?”

“if you insist so desperately,” you tease, knowing damn well you’re gonna follow him there anyway. “then i guess i could make an appearance.”

he smirks, chuckling low before finally pecking your right cheek. “i hope to see you in the reception later.”

AH YES, LATER, while the champion is whisked away to the balcony for the traditional photo op; you’re led inside with your family to a private reception room—a moment of reprieve from the public eye. the heels of your shoes echo gently against the polished marble as you step away from the hustle for a sip of water, hoping nobody has noticed how ‘sunburnt’ you’ve really turned.

however, you’re not alone for long.

“ah, there he is,” your father says behind you, jovially extending a hand. “the man of the hour.”

your neck has never snapped so fast. enters jannik, a loose navy towel draped around his neck and his curls still damp from a supposed post-match rinse. he looks tired and sweaty but somehow his face still entitles a glow like no other, his eyes beaming just at the sight of you, nonetheless the actual victory.

“your majesty,” he greets, bowing respectfully before shaking the prince’s hand.

“brilliant match,” your father remarks, nodding approvingly. “i haven’t enjoyed such match in quite a few years.”

“thank you, sir. very kind,” jannik replies, his voice smooth and his hands politely clasped behind his back.

kate smiles. “you must be exhausted! will you get much rest before flying out again?”

“a little. not too much,” he says carefully. “toronto’s coming up quick and y’know.. high demand.”

your parents nod thoughtfully, taking his words at face value. they don’t see the way his gaze flits back to you, the way his fingers twitch slightly at his sides, like he’s dying to touch you again but has to behave. but luckily, your sister does, and she knows you better than anybody.

charlotte coughs suspiciously in the corner. you bite the inside of your cheek to refrain from giggling.

she steps forward swiftly. “mum, dad? haven’t you said we needed to check in with the tournament director before the press conference?”

your mother blinks, shaking her head in remembrance. “oh—yes, what would we do without you, huh. thank you, darling.”

“we wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

william gives one last grin to jannik, patting him on the shoulder with a fatherly sort of force. “well played again, mr. sinner. we’ll see you upstairs.”

there’s merely a squeak of silence after the doors slam shut, when jannik seizes straight for you.

“e tu, mia principessa,” he lands his hand on your hip and swivels you around. “how have you been holding up these past twenty minutes without me?” (and you, my princess)

“not so well,” you raise the back of your hand to your cheek. “can’t you tell?”

jannik laughs, the kind that rattles his chest. his thumb goes to absently smooth over your jaw, across to clip a stray hair behind your ear.

“i still can’t believe you did it. it just feels so surreal,” you breathe.

“why do you sound so surprised, don’t you know i play better when i know you’re watching?”

there it is again. your cheeks are traitorous.

“i’m not surprised,” you scoff, without any bite to it. “i like to call it proud.”

his smile curves slowly, like he’s trying not to let it take over his whole face. “call it whatever you want, but one thing is you were distracting like hell. more than i’d like to admit.”

“what by sitting there.. trying to stay composed and not lose my cool?” you frown.

jannik tilts his head. “you were fiddling with your necklace the entire second set. i know that’s not you staying composed.”

you blink, stumped. “that doesn’t count.”

sinner shrugs, his tone impish. “it does when you’re the only thing i can see between points.”

your lips part in opposed protest, before he reaches for your wrist, reeling you against his chest. jannik’s palms snake along the back of your neck, needing to feel the warmth of your lips. he kisses you with hunger, his other hand frantically dipping to your lower back. he groans against your mouth when you knead at his hair, but that invites him even more.

you take the opportunity to loop your arms around his breadth shoulders; just when you both lean in a little too far, giggles erupt from you, against his mouth as he smiles into it.

you draw back, breathless, examinating each crevice of his face, struck in awe. you’ve never loved a man like him.

“—y/n? are you still in there?”

you practially jolt, a rush of warmth spreading through your body that causes the back of your neck to sweat. you holler. “just—just getting water!”

sinner chuckles behind you, his fingers still pressed into your hips. “he definitely knows how to startle a crowd.”

you resist the urge to swat him, but laugh yourself nonetheless. “that’s my cue to leave anyway.”

your boyfriend makes a small, protesting sound but doesn’t loosen his grip.

“do you have to?”

“do you want them to suspect something?”

he hums, “they’ll suspect either way, no?”

you pinch your lips together, filing with the collar of his bomber jacket. “not if we don’t leave proof, so.. let’s not.”

jannik refuses to let you go, so his hands still splay against your waist reluctantly, however, by planting an innocent kiss on his forehead you allure him to the illusion that you’ll kiss him again, distracting enough to slip out of his grasp.

“i’ll see you later, ‘kay?” that’s so informal of you. but that’s exactly how he speaks. “don’t party too hard while i’m gone.”

you smooth down the front of your dress, combing through your hair for some decorum; one handle twist and you’re gone.

the champion traces his index finger over his lip where you’d kissed him, retrieving his duffel bag, and whispering under his breath: “lei sarà la mia morte.”

he heads in the opposite direction, a little more mentally prepared for the media coverages he has to film, than he was ten minutes ago.

though, what neither of you know is that outside those doors, headlines are already being written. the crowd saw it, national audience saw it—everybody with eyes saw it.

rumour has it, the ‘25 wimbledon champion, first-time italian winner, has a royal weakness.

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli (lmk if you wanna be added or removed ◡̈)

[milla-frenchy]

Trapped

Written together with @aurorawritestoescape

3k6 | Joel Miller x fem reader x Tommy Miller | ao3 Summary: you run out of gas in the middle of nowhere at night. A stranger comes to help Warnings: 18+ mdni. DDDNE, NONCON, DARK Drugging, somnophilia, dacryphilia, kidnapping, hunter/prey,  allusions to past victims, shifting pov Oral (f/m), overstimulation, dry humping, piv, creampies

a/n: @aurorawritestoescape and I wrote this fic for @pedgito 's Spring fever writing challenge and we asked for Backwoods Horror #2 (gas station). Thank you so much for this horror film challenge Ali! 👻 Kate, sweetheart, as always, I loved writing with you 🥹💕🫶 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

Heed the warnings! If any of this makes you uncomfortable, do not pursue reading. We are not responsible for the content you consume. This is not for everyone and that's okay. We don't condone the actions of the characters. 

Kate's masterlist | Milla's masterlist

You were trying not to panic, even though you checked the remaining fuel on your car display far too often. It all could have been avoided, if you hadn't taken the wrong exit, if you hadn't ended up in that godforsaken corner in the middle of the woods, if you hadn't lost your GPS signal. But the last half hour had been nothing but a pile of shit.

Your headlights could barely allow you to see what was around, and you were on the verge of crying when you checked the gas gauge again, the low fuel warning lit for far too long. You swallowed back the tears, when you saw the sign of a gas station, just a few miles ahead.

The station was then in sight, dimly illuminating the surrounding trees, when your car began to hiccup, before it finally stopped once the last drop of gas had been swallowed.

“Fucking hell,” you said out loud but then tried to calm down, telling yourself that it could have been worse.

You looked around, the trees were making the night even darker, and you wondered what animals might be in the shadows. Bears? Someone worse?

You took the key out of the ignition and turned off your headlights to observe your surroundings. You hoped that the station employee had seen your car and would come out to help you. But it didn’t happen.

You grabbed the door handle, your hand shaking uncontrollably. “Come on, girl. Count to 5, take a deep breath, and get out.”

1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

You inhaled and opened the door, walking as confidently as you could, watching your surroundings, listening for the slightest noise, until you reached the gas station.

“Closed,” said the sign on the door. 

Fuck.

You pressed your hand against the glass and peered inside. Maybe the employee was in the storage room? Or gone for a few minutes? But you shook your head. Gone where? There was absolutely nothing around.

You turned toward the pumps and then approached them.

“Out of gas”

The sign was handwritten in red.

There it was, your last hope being crushed. You took out your phone and checked the signal. Nothing.

Fear overtook you, its cold hand gripping your ankles before creeping up inch by inch, freezing your entire body, giving way to terror. You ran to your car, mind blank except for the images worthy of a horror movie.

You slammed the door once seated and activated the central locking. Your hands gripped the steering wheel, and you tried to rationalize your situation. You were safe in your car, you had to hold on to that thought.

It could have been worse.

Minutes passed. You kept checking your phone signal, which, of course, couldn't magically change. You looked at it for maybe the tenth time, when you saw headlights in your rearview mirror. Your instinct was to curl up in your seat, to hide in a rather stupid way.

The car slowed down, approaching you, and you saw that it was a truck. When it drove by, it was hard to say if you were more scared that the driver would keep going or would stop.

 A red brake light came on, then a reverse one, and the truck backed up until it was parked in front of you. Your heart was pounding so loudly that the beating seemed to fill the cabin of your car. A few long moments passed before the driver's door opened and a man got out. You were relieved that he seemed to be alone, you’d probably die of fear if two or three men had been there, in the night, in those woods. He walked slowly to your car, your eyes set on him. He was tall, dark-haired, middle-aged, but you couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“You need help, m’am?”

At least, that's what you read on his lips, since you couldn’t hear him through the closed windows. His gaze softened when he saw your worried expression, and with his index finger he signaled for you to lower your window. He maintained the same distance, didn’t try to approach your car, so you opened it a little. Just to hear him.

“You need help, m’am?” he said, confirming your guess.

“I uh… no, I’m ok. Thank you.”

“Sure,” he said, smiling at you, and started to go back to his car. You rolled up your window and thought about your situation. There might not be anyone else coming for several hours. Or you could find yourself in danger. 

Or you could be in danger with him, too.

“Shit,” you mumbled. “What should I do?”

You looked at your phone again — still no signal. Suddenly a low battery notification popped up. The fear of being alone there, with your phone dead, overshadowed everything else.

“Sir!” you shouted as you opened your door, making him stop and turn towards you.

“Yeah?”

“Could you help me, please? I’m… I'm out of gas and the station is closed."

"Of course," he replied calmly. "I have gas cans on my property. We can make a round trip, and you'll be back on the road with your car in no time."

Your last uncertainty vanished with his reassuring smile. You grabbed your bag, locked your car, and got into his, when he opened the door for you.

“Thank you, that's very kind of you,” you said once he started driving.

“Sure, m’am. I ain’t gonna leave you here alone until morning. My house’s near, so it doesn't bother me at all.”

You smiled at him, your bag on your lap, noticing the music. Probably some 50s or 60s rock tune.

“I bought a coffee on my way home from work, about fifteen minutes ago. I haven't touched it, if you want it.”

You hesitated and your stomach churned. You didn't know this man, you couldn't drink anything he offered. 

But when you looked at him, his eyes were still as soft, his smile still as sweet. A dimple creased his cheek. All he‘d been doing since you’d met him was helping you. You brushed off your worries and thanked him, before bringing the Starbucks cup to your mouth. The coffee was warm and delicious.

“There’s a Starbucks nearby? Seems like there's nothing for miles around!”

He chuckled, then replied “we ain’t that far from a town. A few miles, at most. Did you get lost on your way?”

“Yeah, took the wrong road, and then there was no signal, no GPS. And no gas,” you added, laughing at your own bad luck.

“Well, looks like you've had a bad evening so far.”

“Yeah. Good thing you came by.”

“It would have been a long night otherwise, right?”

You nodded and started humming the song. It was one of your favorites. 

You kept sipping the coffee until all of a sudden sleepiness took over you. You glanced at the man with droopy eyes and saw him looking at you. His lips curled into a smirk as his stare went dark.

You passed out before you had time to think that you should have trusted your gut.

******

Joel was at home when he got a text from Tommy. 

It was a single photo from a security camera at the gas station. Joel zoomed in on the pic and narrowed his eyes. 

It was a photo of you. 

You were alone. Probably scared. Perfect. 

His lips twisted into a wolfish smile. He took in your body and adjusted his bulge. Before getting up he texted back, 

“On my way.”

********

“You’ve been so naive. Getting into a car with a stranger like that…Ugh, baby. Do you have anything in your pretty head?” 

Joel was talking to you but you didn’t answer. 

You were still out, the drug was working perfectly, keeping you asleep in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, vulnerable and pliant for him. Restraining you wasn’t necessary which was a good thing— he didn’t like leaving marks on his girls. Your skin was too beautiful to ruin. At least for now. 

You were naked on an old iron bed, legs spread, thighs resting on Joel’s broad shoulders. He was looking up at your sleeping face from between your legs, his lips over your glistening cunt. 

“It’s good that I took you, you know. I'm not a monster… gonna take good care of you…,” he looked down at your sopping pussy “..of her. Gonna make her wet and ready for me.”

He carefully traced the edge of your entrance with a pad of his index finger, then slid it up to your clit and drew a few tight circles over it. You softly whimpered, making Joel smile. 

“That’s my girl. Giving me these pretty sounds even in your sleep. Sing for me, baby.”

Joel kept swirling your hardening bud with his thumb, drawing soft moans from your parted lips, but soon desire overtook him, and he latched onto your crying pussy. He was licking your arousal off, slurping and growling against your folds, swallowing your juices with loud gulps. His hard cock was straining his jeans, but Joel didn’t want to let him out just yet. Instead he was lazily humping the bed, his strokes short and languid.

“Not gonna cum like that, beautiful, don’t worry,” he cooed, fanning your pussy with his hot breath. “Ya getting all my milk.” 

Your face was twisting with pleasure as you were lying there, your mind deep in the darkness. 

Suddenly Joel heard a noise downstairs. 

His hand darted to the gun in his holster, his eyes fixed on the door. 

Knock, knock - pause- knock. 

Joel breathed out with relief and returned his hand to your thigh when his younger brother entered the room. 

“Fuck, ya scared me. Text me next time you’re close.“

Tommy came up to Joel, taking his jacket off. 

”‘k, next time. Was too busy getting rid of the car.”

Joel looked at him intently. 

“Done?”

“Done,” Tommy nodded but his eyes were glued to your naked body, splayed on the bed. 

“Damn,” he smirked and palmed himself over his jeans. 

“Right? Good catch, Tommy.”

The younger brother gave Joel a wide smile, his chest expanding at the praise. 

“Thanks. But it’s all her. When I saw her at my station …,” he shook his head, “couldn’t believe our luck. She’s perfect. Did you get her with the Starbucks trick?”

“Yeah, works every time,” Joel chuckled.

Tommy’s gaze was dark as he was eating you alive with his eyes, and his hands started unbuckling his belt. 

“Hold your horses,” Joel groaned. ”Ain’t fucked her yet.”

Tommy scoffed.  

“Were ya sucking on her pussy all this damn time?”

“I do to her what I please,” Joel bit back, glaring at his brother. “Made her come a few times. You’ll thank me later.”

Tommy cursed and plopped into a squeaky chair near the bed. 

Joel echoed his brother’s scowl with his own and then returned his eyes to your cunt. He kissed it gently and Tommy scoffed. Your skin was cold and not minding his brother’s mpatience, Joel breathed on your folds to warm your pussy up. “Ahhh…,” you moaned and Tommy squirmed in the chair. 

“‘s ok.” Joel raised his hand, his lips brushing your cunt. “She’s out. Jus’ enjoyin’ herself.”

Joel mumbled “one more, baby,” and pushed his tongue between your folds. He lapped at your pussy, then focused on your clit— began flicking it with the tip, swirling it around, his palms on your hips. 

Your chest was rising and falling fast again, your skin erupted in goosebumps, your face contorted with ecstasy and you came with a little cry. 

You kept mewling like a wounded animal, when Tommy got up and bent over to collect a tear beading in the corner of your eye with his thumb. 

He brought it to his lips and licked it off. Then his eyes returned to Joel  and he grunted,

“Enough. Let’s fuck her.”

Joel would gladly spend another hour drinking from your dripping hole, your juices were headier than any whisky, more delicious than anything he’d ever tasted. If only Tommy had come a bit later. 

Fuck it, Joel thought. His cock was soaking through his jeans, the constant ache of need was buzzing in his balls harder with every second, so when Tommy pushed, Joel parted from your juicy cunt and nodded.  

“Yeah, ‘s time.”

Joel stood up and kneeled on the bed, unbuckling his jeans with one hand, the other wiping his slicked up chin. Tommy licked his lips, excited to start on you, but stayed standing by the bed, waiting.  

Joel set that rule a long time ago—  

”I do the dirty work so I’m always the first.” 

He pulled his jeans down, finally letting his dick spring free, clear drops of precum landing on your naked thighs and mound. He couldn’t wait to pierce you with his cock, but there was something special about you, something that made him lean down and glide his palm between your puffy folds. Your pussy had been generously leaking all the time he’d been eating you out, and Joel gathered some of your wetness to lube up his member with your slick. 

Tommy chuckled,

“Jeez, you’re not in love, are ya?”

Joel didn’t even look at his brother. The only thing on his mind and in his eyes was you — wet, hot and ready for him to devour. 

Holding his girthy cock at the base, Joel settled between your legs and nudged your hole with his fat tip. Your eyelids fluttered but you were sleeping. 

The warmth of your soft pussy sent a shiver through his body and Joel slid his head up and down between your folds, grazing your clit, making you whimper from overstimulation. He could listen to you forever. 

He sensed Tommy’s impatience as well as his eyes on himself but didn’t care. Taking his time, Joel slowly pushed his tip inside you and his head dropped, his grunt ringing loudly in the small room. 

“Fuck… she’s tight.”

“She still better be, when you're done with ‘er,” Tommy grumbled, shifting on his feet. 

“Not a chance,” Joel smirked but immediately choked on a moan when his cock began pushing your walls aside, deeper and deeper, until he bottomed out in your perfect cunt. 

The feeling of you wrapped around his shaft was too strong, and Joel gripped the sheets, sparing your pretty skin once again. With his chest rumbling, he began carefully pumping his length in and out of you, his blown out eyes set on your face, tense with pleasure or pain, or both, he couldn’t know. Then his gaze moved down your sweaty body to your spread pussy, that was swallowing his fat cock again and again.  

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” Tommy growled, unbuckling his belt, and pulled out his cock, hard since the moment he’d seen you naked on the bed.

“No,” Joel barked, not slowing down his pace. “You’ll let me finish. Wait for your turn.” 

“I know, I know, god damn it,” Tommy growled, stroking himself quickly. “Gonna fuck her mouth.” He knelt on the bed and turned your face towards him, forcing your jaw open, spat on his cock and pushed the tip into your mouth, holding it open for his wide girth. A bump formed against your cheek when he pushed in.

“Fuck yeah,” he said, one hand on the back of your head, the other around your throat, to keep you in the position he needed. He pushed in slowly at first, enjoying watching you take it, then deeper and deeper with each thrust, and chuckled when you gagged on his shaft. 

“Shit, ya such a freak. Don’t hurt her,” Joel warned, still fucking into your cunt, your thighs spread wide open around his.

“And what d’you think you’re doing?” Tommy scoffed.

“Making her come. Again,” thrusting in, “and again. Taking care of her, making her feel good. Fuck, this pussy, man…” he added, as if he already forgot about his brother fucking your throat.

“I wish she was awake. Wish I could see her eyes begging me to stop, while I force my cock down her throat.”

“She’s gonna be out for several hours, won’t happen. Fuck, gonna make her come on my cock soon,” he said, placing his thumb against your swollen, overstimulated clit. “Pull out, I wanna hear her,” he ordered his younger brother.

“Ugh, hurry. Fill her up. Need to drain my balls in this bitch.”

“Won’t take long. Fuckkkkk, she’s gonna come, look at that. Look at her face… She can’t take it anymore, but she can’t do shit about it. Right, baby? This cock’s too much for you, uh? Come on, beautiful, come on it. Choke me with your sweet cunt.”

His hand on your hip tightened as he sped up, finger still rubbing your clit, and you moaned again, face twisted with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Look at her! Yeah, giving it to her good, yeah, just like that!”

“Oh fuck, fuck, she’s coming, oh fuck… squeezing me so fucking hard…” Joel groaned, freezing inside you as you climaxed, and he began  shooting his cum deep into your pussy that was milking him. Tommy leaned down and licked a tear that was trickling down your cheek, then he grabbed your hand to jerk himself off with it. 

Holding your hips, Joel started thrusting in again, as deep and hard as ever with each stroke, groaning, head thrown back in pleasure.

He stopped once his balls were fully empty, and looked at your body spread out for him. “You did great, baby,” he said, patting your belly, and pulled out.

“My turn… fucking finally,” Tommy mumbled, taking his place between your thighs. He lay down on your limp body, pushing you into the mattress with his whole weight, and bottomed out in one go. 

“Fuck, you ruined her, motherfucker,” he growled. Joel snickered as he tucked his cock into his jeans and sat in the chair to watch his brother use you.

“Gonna fuck you all night, baby. Gonna fill this whore snatch,” he said, licking at your lips then your neck. “That’s what you wanted, uh? Going in the woods at night, all alone? Fucking bitch. Got what you wanted.”

He quickly chased his orgasm. He always loved to fuck them quickly the first time, knowing that he’d rail them all night long. That he'd come several times, already wondering which hole he would use next. He groaned, rutting into your cunt, squeezing one of your breasts with a hand. He didn't make you come, didn’t want to. Not that time anyway. He had a whole night. 

After he came, he pulled out, not looking at you.

“Shit, she’s good. Even though you already opened her up too much like every damn time.” 

“I love to eat their cunts, you know it. And I didn’t want ya to split her in two. Look at how you fucked her… just pushed your dick in one go. Don’t know why you’re complaining, you love them sloppy.”

“Shit, yeah,” Tommy laughed. “Can’t wait to be hard again.”

“Yeah, me too. You’ll go first this time.”

They fucked you all night, like he said. Taking turns between your thighs. Your body was probably sore but they didn’t care. 

They fell asleep, their cocks red and sensitive, once they were unable to fuck you again. Once Joel’s tongue was numb from eating you out. 

They were so tired that they forgot to tie you up to the bed, when they left the room.

You woke up early in the morning, the sun's rays heating your face. You winced. First at the bright light, then at the pain in your body. You sat up, wondering where you were, and looked around. A dusty room, undecorated, only an iron bed and a chair. 

You quickly glanced over your legs, your stomach, your whole naked body. You felt the pain in your lower abdomen and panicked as the memories from last night emerged in your mind. That man and his truck. The coffee. You stifled a cry, your hand over your mouth. Your body was sticky, and the smell of cum made you nauseous. 

You looked for your clothes but they weren't there. You had to get out of there, quickly. 

You stood up and walked to the door, staggering. Your legs were weak, and the pain was unbearable, but you couldn't focus on it. First, you had to leave. You opened the door as quietly as possible and slowly walked downstairs, preventing the aged wooden steps from creaking.

You stepped out of the house and looked around. There was nothing but trees as far as you could see. 

You started to walk, naked, unable to run, trying to push away the pain twisting your stomach.

I can do it, I have to survive, you thought. 

You didn't hear anything, but suddenly a hand grabbed your shoulder and threw you to the ground.

You screamed but still heard the attacker clearly. 

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” a man asked, excitement thick in his voice. You felt his hard-on against your naked ass before he turned you over, as if you weighed nothing, and lay down between your legs. He looked like the man from last night, but had longer hair.

You tried to push him off you but it took him only a second to restrain you with his big hand around your wrists. To your horror, he began unbuckling his belt and sneered,

“Was damn good to fuck you all night. We love that, using bitches like you. But I like it even more when you whores fight back.”

Assignment mood board:

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Other fics by Kate and me:

Keep on your mean side - Joel x f!reader - dark fic

The Burglary -Joel x f!reader x Tommy - dead dove, noncon

Bad Girl - Joel x f reader x Tommy - dubcon

The hounds of hell - Series - Javier Peña x fem reader x Steve Murphy

Harder than you think - boss!Joel x fem reader x co workers - dead dove, noncon

npt: tagging those who showed interest in the wip wednesday posts ❤️

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @sawymredfox @baronessvonglitter @iamasaddie @schnarfer @604to647 @tateypots @toxicanonymity @arcanefox207 @sunshineispunk

[toomanybrowsertabs]

So, while watching the permit office struggle to exile Joe Hills and reading people's comments on the chases, I keep thinking about puppets, because of a few comments on how hard the permit office team have been working to try and get the better of one little felt guy.

And the thing is, especially in larger productions that use puppets (either filmed or live stage shows), it's not uncommon to have multiple puppets per puppet character. For shows like Avenue Q, this is mainly to do with costume changing and it being a lot more sensible to change out the entire puppet than to try and change a puppet's clothes. For something like Little Shop of Horrors, or an indie show I worked on a few years back, it's more to do with the puppet's scale (Audrey II has to physically grow and you can't really do that with a single puppet. Meanwhile the show I worked on we were filming in a confined space so we had two different miniaturized scales in order to give the illusion of vastness).

For something like the muppets, this is likely to be multiple puppets for multiple purposes - from what I can tell, the Jim Henson company's a bit tight-lipped about this, but you can't convince me there aren't several, say, kermits currently in use, possibly for costuming purposes, possibly for other reasons (there could be a kermit who's built to better withstand travel for talk show appearances, for example).

Anyway, my long winded puppetry talk all to say, of course Joe's hard to exile, he obviously has backup juppets!

[kurooh]

Can you make something with Sero and Shinsou? Maybe they firts eating you out or making you squirt (I'm just really dumb I asked in the comment section and I don't even know if I'm sending it in the right place, it's my first ever ask, so sorry for anything and the bad english, I love your writing so much lots of love for you)

SOMETHING NEW ☆ MY HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. featuring midoriya izuku, sero hanta, kaminari denki, shinsou hitoshi, & takami keigo trying something new in the bedroom with you.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, threesome, oral, facesitting, squirting, a vibrator, filming, orgasm denial, nothing too crazy

xoxo, juno. no worries your english is perfectly fine!! i saw your comment but i’ve been busy so i’m sorry this took a while 🥲 thank you & sending you lots of love <3

MIDORIYA IZUKU + a vibrator

“uhhh, what setting do you want it on?”

you giggle softly as izuku fumbles with the wand, eyes widening when it buzzes out of control once he mistakenly presses the highest setting. “how about you amp it up as we go, ‘zuku?”

he’s flushed down to his neck as his thumb rubs reassuring circles into your thigh, wand moving closer to your cunt. the head settles onto your clit and izuku pushes two fingers inside of you, which you adjust to with a hushed exhale.

“‘s good,” you nod, laying back onto the pillows as heat settles in your lower stomach.

“i’d hope so,” izuku chuckles nervously, curling his fingers inside you and prodding against your g-spot while the vibrations against your clit get barely stronger. “is this okay?”

“hm, yeah,” you huff, wiggling your hips as your hand comes to rest on top of his. he watches as you push the vibrator harder against you, gesturing to the buttons. “do it like you mean it, ‘zuku.”

“are you sure?” he’s painstakingly awkward when it comes to trying something new, having never used a vibrator before or watched you use it. you’d been working together to clear out your nightstands when he came across the pink wand, questioning what it was until you told him and asked him if he’d like to try it out on you.

“of course i am,” you wink, hand slipping away from his and relinquishing control. carefully, izuku presses the button, turning it up and increasing the power of the vibrations against your clit.

the new, welcomed change in stimulation pulls delicious moans from your lips, and his cock eagerly twitches in his pants. with this, he could easily have you sobbing and begging for more. what if he paired this toy with his cock sometime?

the simple thought has him creating an entire scenario in his head, unconsciously amping it up a few settings.

“fuck!” you exclaim, back arching right off the bed as you buck closer to him. “i-izuku, that’s perfect.”

“yeah? feeling close at all?” he hums, voice lilting into a curious, innocent tone. the setting is changed again, buzzing growing louder as your clit swells beneath the head of the toy.

“n-now i am,” it’s so much stimulation and the continuous, random changes of the settings make it so that you can’t catch your breath. just seeing you spread out for him on the bed has izuku’s eyes widening and growing teary as he thinks of how far this could go.

“already, huh?” izuku finds his confidence growing, a large palm coming down roughly against your ass. “know what, baby?”

he flicks his thumb against the button and the change has your eyes rolling back into your skull. some kind of noise comes from your parted, spit slicked lips in place of your voice.

“how about,” his eyes rise to connect with yours, gleaming with something filthy. “you don’t cum till i tell you to? is that alright, baby?”

KAMINARI DENKI & SERO HANTA + threesome

“so, about that bet..” a smug little smile has denki’s lips curling, and hanta’s eyes rolling in aggravation.

“seriously, dude? you wanna ask right now?”

“shut up, there’s no rule against it,” the blonde replies petulantly, sticking his tongue out and still fucking into you, maintaining his brutal pace with long, languid strokes. “so? we’re dying to know.”

you shudder, gagging on hanta’s cock as denki pulls you back onto his own, asscheeks slapping against his thighs.

“i don’t think she can answer you, idiot.” hanta bites back a moan, scoffing towards his best friend instead. denki’s shameless, moaning in between each word he says to either you or hanta.

“feelin’ good, baby?” his jaw clenches at the sight of hanta’s hand on your head, urging you to take his cock deeper into your throat.

the whole reason you’d even gotten into this situation was because the three of you found out you were all fucking one another on the down low. then questions were flying through the air like arrows, each of them hounding you about who you thought fucked better. i don’t know, you’d said, let’s all find out.

drool races down hanta’s balls as you choke on his length, which tenses and thickens on your tongue. “shit, i’m gonna cum,” he gasps, hanging his head and looking down at you with stars in his eyes. “w-will you swallow it all for me?”

“you’re losing for sure, couldn’t even last more than three minutes,” denki laughs, interrupting hanta’s moment of bliss with his stupidity. thankfully, he’s ignored, and hanta pretends he’s not even there, allowing himself to cum down your throat with a groan. he’s forced to steady himself by planting his hands on your back, already beginning to shake as your throat contracts around him.

“real greedy, huh?” he gasps, his voice raspy.

despite all his talk, denki follows suit, desperately rubbing at your clit so you’ll cum with him. thankfully, hanta pulls back to watch, fingers stroking over the taut muscles of your shoulders.

“fuck fuck fuck,” denki sobs, beads of sweat racing down his nose as he feels his body grow hotter. “b-baby, gonna cum inside you—”

your back arches, body nearly collapsing onto the bed. “i’m cumming too,” you manage, swallowing as tears fall from your eyes. your last demand is simple before you fall forward into the duvet. “d-denki, fuck me through it, please..”

hanta’s already hard just from your voices, slowly stroking his cock while denki pushes himself halfway in and lets go with a choked groan. cum spurts into you, and he pulls out quickly, watching as it pours from your sloppy cunt.

“well. i’m ready for another round.” hanta’s voice is playful but you and denki are exhausted, collapsing on one another with heaving sighs.

“dude, read the room,” denki huffs, wiping the sweat from your forehead and offering you a bottle of water.

“oh, you cannot be talking,” hanta snaps, fully naked and jumping up in astonishment. “i recall saying the exact thing when you were—”

they start arguing, and you just turn over and pray you fall asleep. even when they realize you’re trying to sleep, they go back and forth about waking you up.

SHINSOU HITOSHI + facesitting & squirting

“come here, now.”

“are you really sure? i can always just lay on my back like usual, i really don’t want to hurt you.”

hitoshi scoffs, impatiently waving you over with a bored huff. “i promise you won’t. sit down and stop worrying, baby.”

you balk at his lightly demanding tone, crawling across the bed and biting your lip as you position your thighs on either side of his head. still, you’re hesitant — it’s obvious in the way you’re hovering above his face.

“my tongue won’t be able to reach your clit,” hitoshi says bluntly, unimpressed with your nervousness. what are you so afraid of? you’ve been together for so long, you should know by now that he’d be happy to go out between your thighs. air simply doesn’t matter when your pleasure’s on the line.

a whimper slips past your lips and you lower yourself carefully, clit bumping into the tip of his nose. “is this good enough, toshi?”

“mhm,” comes his voice from below you; he’s entranced by the sight of your soaked pussy, practically dripping, all from a few well placed kisses along your body. “relax and enjoy it, okay? i want this—i want to taste you.”

“o-okay,” you huff out, and hitoshi rests a large hand on your asscheek. if he spanks you, you might lose your balance and crush him.

“don’t be afraid to make a mess for me, baby,” his last words are no louder than a whisper, and he gives your clit an experimental lick. his tongue is silky, sticky with the saliva that’s been pooling in his mouth at the thought of tasting you.

“again,” the command rushes past your lips before you can stop it. “lick my clit again.”

hitoshi’s hand comes down hard against your asscheek, and you waver above him; he notices your pointless resistance to sit fully. how cute, you’re that concerned for his ability to breathe.

“where are those manners, baby? as far as i’m concerned, you haven’t the liberty to ask for anything without fully sitting down.”

oh, so he’s trying to force you to take a seat.

but you shut up, lowering yourself down further, and hitoshi lets out a moan of approval, licking up your sticky pussy. glossy strings of slick gather on his tongue, and your taste is truly so addictive that he can’t help but rush in for more without taking a moment to breathe.

“oh, hitoshi,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. he’s pushed two fingers inside of you without any hesitation, filling you up and stretching you out deliciously. the initial sting before the rush of pleasure is a feeling that makes your head spin.

“mmm,” hitoshi groans deeply against your cunt, nose pushing into your clit as he speaks. “put your hand on your lower stomach for me.”

without asking questions, you do as he says, placing a hand right above your pelvic bone. his hand moves from your ass and comes down on top of yours, pushing it down into the soft skin.

“good girl,” hitoshi huffs out, lavishing your clit with attention from his tongue, curling his fingers inside you while also pressing your hand into your lower stomach. a new pressure builds inside you, white hot and only making your pussy even wetter.

what is this?

hitoshi feels the telltale signs of your approaching orgasm without needing a warning; your walls squeeze his fingers so hard they’re almost pushed out, muscles in your thighs tensing on either side of his head. “it’s coming, ‘s coming,” is all you can sob out to describe the unfamiliar feeling that’s taken place inside your body, “hitoshi, it’s gonna—”

oh, the way you say his name is something he’ll always commit to memory no matter how many times he’s heard it. your voice is frantic as you give in to the pleasure, sitting all the way down on his face and then grinding on it. this is what he was after the whole time—he wanted you to use him to get off, take the lead so he’d have no choice but to follow.

“hitoshi,” is all you can sob out, voice breaking into teary moans as you succumb to pleasure. out of control, your pussy gushes waterfalls of liquid onto his face, into his mouth, all over his skin.

even as you’re riding out the high on his face, hitoshi’s sure to help you through it, tonguing at your sensitive cunt and drinking in everything you’re giving him. “it’s t-too much, i can’t take it,” and you try to move off him, but he easily prevents you, taking your clit between his lips and sucking tightly.

the action pulls a pitched whine from you as you realize you cannot move away and catch a break from the intense pleasure.

“toshi—”

“that was fucking perfect,” he grunts against you, licking your mess off his lips eagerly. “i want you to do that again for me.”

“what was that?” you muster, lifting up with a gasp. your pussy made quite the mess — covering his entire face with shimmery slick and other juices.

“you squirted, baby,” hitoshi says simply, “and you’ll get more familiar with it in just a moment.”

“what’s that mean?” nervousness lines your words.

“you’ll get more acquainted with what it is after some practice. it’s better to learn sooner rather than later, hm?”

TAKAMI KEIGO + filming & orgasm denial

“hehe, is it on, kei?”

“shhh! it’s been on, babe.”

you suppress a cute laugh, looking back to the phone propped up on the dresser. from a distance, you see your reflection — you’re on your belly, between keigo’s thighs, face to face with his hard cock. you’d been going back and forth about when he’d go away on missions, how you both needed something better than your imaginations while you were apart.

keigo wiggles his hips, pushing close to you impatiently. you roll your eyes, making a show of leaning forward and taking him in inch by inch, until you’re gagging at his base.

“jesus, fuck—!” his back lurches off the bed and he laughs awkwardly at how quickly he’s reacting, but it dissolves into a groan almost immediately.

his fingers lightly ghost the sides of your face as he looks at you adoringly, “you’re beautiful when you’re sucking me off like this.”

you hum appreciatively, the vibrations resonating through his entire lower body and pulling a gasp from his throat. he wants to say more, but he doesn’t want to have to hear his own voice every second when he’s jerking off in the future.

just the thought of jerking off in the future makes a fantasy play like a video behind his eyes — you, fingering yourself to his moans and gasps of pleasure. how would your nimble fingers toy with your clit in place of his own? would you cry out his name as you cum, tears streaking down your face from the intensity of the stimulation? at the same moment, would he be thousands of miles away doing the exact same thing?

“s-shit, baby,” keigo stutters out a curse, his thighs trembling beneath your fingers, nails pressing into his skin to keep steady. “i’m gonna cum soon.”

his words spur you on, and you take him deeper, increasing your pace. the squelching sound of his cock stroking into your throat grows louder, filling the air. that video is about to become the most valuable file on his phone.

the desperation hangs off every word of his, sending a bolt of pleasure right between your legs. there’s a delicious tension in the air between you, and he’s raring to relieve it, hurtling closer to his orgasm by the millisecond.

one of the biggest pro heroes in japan has been reduced to a shaking mess by your touch; keigo’s wings flap violently, kicking up stray vermillion feathers and messing up the blankets. his voice breaks as you pull your head back, then take him deep into your throat. “i-i’m gonna cum— dove, swallow it all,” with two fingers, you tightly squeeze his base and pull off his cock with a pop.

“what are you—? why did you do that?” this denial is so frustrating that he feels a pathetic lump in his throat and tears pricking the corners of his eyes. he was so close to his euphoric high, only for you to rip it away.

“not yet,” is your calm answer as your free hand pushes his jolting hips down. “soon enough, keigo. let’s have some fun before you cum.”

his wings are trembling, quivering from the force in which his almost orgasm was ripped from his grasp. usually, he’d be annoyed, but this is so devastating and he can’t place why. he tries to nudge your head so you’ll suck him off to completion.

“i’m in control now,” you say into his skin, peppering featherlight kisses along his shaking thighs. you look back at the still recording phone on the dresser, and your lips split into a grin. “kei, it’ll be alright. just a few more times and you’ll be cumming in my mouth.”

he can’t help but feel like there’s dishonesty behind those singsongy words, and nods trustingly. “make me cum for real this time, baby.”