#it was pretty quick but a shift is a shift

[buckysleftbicep]

private gallery 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, sexting, phone/video sex, masturbation (m & f), oral sex (f rec), rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie

summary: sexting while he’s on a mission seemed like a good idea, until bucky comes home early and fucks you like he’s been counting the days.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: hi loves! i love the idea of phone sex / sexting, i think it's pretty hot, and here's my take on bucky doing just that! i hope you enjoy it! love you guys and please stay safe out there!

It started with Bucky's shirt.

One of his old ones, soft from too many washes, black faded to charcoal, sleeves loose enough to slip past your elbows. It hung just a little too long on you, clinging in places and bagging in others, but it still made you feel close to him.

Safe.

Like he was there in the room with you, instead of halfway across the world on some mission that wasn’t quite classified but still distant enough to keep him mostly off the grid.

You hadn’t meant to send anything. You really hadn’t. You were just curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath a throw blanket, nursing a mug of tea that had long since gone cold.

The lights were low, the silence thick, and your phone screen glowed faintly in the dark as you scrolled thumb dragging slow over your camera roll until you landed on the last photo the two of you had taken before he left.

It was a simple one. His chin tucked over your shoulder, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, his arm slung lazily around your waist like he always had to be touching you, which was true.

Your smile was soft. Lazy. Your eyes half-lidded, hair messy from bed. It had been two weeks since that photo. Two long, aching weeks.

He still texted you, when he could.

Little things.

A quick “miss you” before lights out. A blurry image of the skyline, always from strange places. A half-joking voice note once where he said, “They’ve got me living off protein bars. Save me leftovers,” like he wasn’t out there risking his life for something you weren’t even allowed to ask about.

But the replies came slowly, and they were always short—just enough to let you breathe, but never enough to fill the space he left behind.

And it was that space—the hollow of it, the need—that made you do it.

You lifted your phone again, shifted your weight where you sat, and tugged the hem of his shirt just far enough down your thighs to frame the shot.

Your knees were drawn up, one bare shoulder exposed, your smile caught halfway between innocent and deliberate. It wasn’t explicit. Not even close. But it felt like something—a tease, a thread you knew he’d pull if you gave him the chance.

You didn’t overthink it. Just typed:

“Still smells like you.”

And hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

Then you tossed your phone aside like it burned.

Your heart was pounding. You weren’t even sure why.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you in less. Hell, he’d kissed every inch of your skin. Touched you in ways that still made your legs tremble if you thought about it long enough.

But this was different. The distance made everything charged. Every word, every image. And something about that photo—about the softness of it, the suggestion felt like more than just missing him. It felt like wanting him.

You tried not to think about it as you got ready for bed. You left your phone face-down on the nightstand, buried your face in his pillow, and told yourself not to obsess.

But in the morning, the reply was waiting for you.

Two words.

“Fuck. Baby.”

You sat up too fast, stomach flipping, and opened the photo he’d attached.

His boots were kicked up against a wall of stacked sandbags. The sun was low, desert light bleeding gold across the sky, casting long shadows across the terrain.

You could only see the lower half of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the stubble on his throat, the faint tension in his parted lips. It was so him, and so not him, like a snapshot of something private, pulled from a world you didn’t belong to.

Beneath it:

“I miss you like hell.”

You stared at the screen for a long moment, then tucked the phone against your chest and exhaled.

It didn’t stop there.

A few days later, you sent a shot from bed. Nothing scandalous—just the soft tangle of your legs under half-kicked sheets, one bare thigh caught in golden morning light. The caption was short. Flippant, almost:

“Too much space without you here.”

Another from the bathroom—mirror fogged, droplets still clinging to your skin. Only your collarbone and the curve of your neck visible, hair wet, mouth parted like you’d been mid-sigh. You typed:

“Shower’s not the same without you.”

And hit send before your brain could stop your fingers.

Then you panicked. Tossed your phone across the bed, buried your face in your hands and groaned into the quiet.

What the hell were you doing?

He didn’t reply for hours.

But when he did?

“You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You swallowed. Your pulse throbbed low and slow in your belly.

A few hours later, just three more words:

“Show me more.”

And that was when it shifted.

The line between playful and needy started to blur—not all at once, but gradually. Incrementally. Like dipping your toes into warm water and not realising how deep you’ve gone until you’re sinking.

You found yourself leaning into it. Subtle provocations. A bite of fruit caught on camera, lips parted just enough. A sleepy video of you stretching in bed, the hem of your shorts sliding higher than necessary.

You weren’t posing, exactly. But you knew what you were doing.

You left him a voice memo once, late at night—soft laughter curling at the edges, his name whispered like a secret. Breathless. Wanting. He replied with a single line.

“Play that again. Slower.”

The escalation was inevitable.

One night, you propped your phone against a pillow and hit record. Ten seconds. That’s all. Just your hand, sliding low across your stomach, dipping below the band of your sleep shorts.

You didn’t touch yourself. Not really. But the implication was there—the slow exhale, the tension in your muscles, the camera cutting out just before anything too much.

You didn’t write a caption.

You didn’t need to.

He left you on read for an entire day.

When he finally replied, it was a photo—his hand, gloved, twisted tight in a white bedsheet. You stared at it for longer than you should’ve, pulse hammering behind your ribs, and saw the words beneath it.

“I don’t have the words for what you’re doing to me princess”

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You laid in the center of your bed, one hand between your thighs, too wound up to find relief. It wasn’t about the tension—not really.

It was him. Or rather, the absence of him.

You didn’t want the release if it wasn’t his hands, his voice in your ear. You wanted the weight of his body pinning yours to the mattress, the rasp of his breath when he lost control. The look he gave you when he was so far gone in you, he forgot how to be quiet.

By the third week, it wasn’t even teasing anymore.

You were in a tank top and soft shorts, sprawled across your bed. The cotton rode low on your hips, one hand resting just beneath the waistband, fingers grazing bare skin. You took the photo slow. Deliberate. Soft lighting. Warm shadows.

You looked at the camera like you knew what it would do to him.

The caption?

“Can’t stop thinking about you.”

You didn’t expect a response right away, but it came quicker than anything before.

A voice note.

You hesitated—thumb hovering over the play button.

Bucky’s voice was rough. Lower than usual. Just a little frayed at the edges.

“Don’t send that kind of shit unless you want me jerking off to it in the middle of a barrack full of mercs.”

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat.

Then, after a beat—quieter, deeper:

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”

You didn’t send anything else that night.

You couldn’t.

You were already curled around the pillow he used to sleep on, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight, your body wound up with no place to go. You didn’t come—not properly—but you hovered close. Just enough to feel it ache in your bones.

The next morning, your phone lit up.

Call me tonight, when you’re alone

You stared at the message for a full minute, thumbs poised. Then, without thinking, you typed:

“Been waiting for you to ask.”

You hovered over the message, thought about deleting it. But you didn’t. You let it fly.

No reply came.

But just before midnight, your phone buzzed. The screen lit up with his name, and the words:

Incoming Video Call.

Your heart stuttered. Your breath hitched.

And you answered.

The screen lit your face with soft, flickering blue, catching on the curve of your cheekbone, the hollow of your throat. You hadn’t moved since the call came in.

The phone vibrated once in your hand and you stared at his name on the screen like it might vanish if you blinked too hard. And then you picked up—not thinking, not breathing—just hitting accept because you couldn’t not.

And suddenly, he was there.

The image was a little grainy. The lighting was bad—shadows cutting across his face in places, harsh fluorescents glowing behind him. But none of it mattered.

Because even through that poor connection and a scratched front camera, Bucky still looked devastating. Like he’d walked straight out of your memories and into your bedroom. His hair was pushed back, his jaw dusted in scruff, a faint glisten of sweat still clinging to the side of his neck.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

Just those two words. But they wrapped around your spine and tugged hard.

Your lips parted, but no sound came. You’d prepared for this—half-expected it after the last few days—but somehow you still felt caught off guard.

Because this version of him, this present Bucky, this heavy-lidded, shirt-stretching, arm-tensing Bucky was a living weapon, and you were entirely unarmed.

His gaze dropped slowly. His mouth curled just a little.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

You glanced down, smoothing your palm over the fabric like you’d forgotten. The neckline hung off your shoulder. The hem brushed the tops of your thighs. “I just missed you.”

He chuckled softly, but it was breathless. “Fuck, you look good in it.”

You didn’t respond. Not verbally. You just shifted your legs slightly, enough to show the bare stretch of skin where the shirt stopped and your thighs began. His eyes tracked it instantly.

“You’ve been torturing me,” he muttered, voice pitched low now, almost reverent. “All those pictures. All those fucking videos. And now this.”

You tilted your head, letting the shirt slip just a little further down your arm. “Thought you could use a reminder of what you're missing.”

His eyes burned. “Take it off.”

Your chest rose sharply.

He didn’t growl it, he didn’t snap. He just said it—low, intent, like he needed it more than breath.

You peeled it off slowly, fingers curling into the hem, lifting the worn cotton inch by inch until your bare skin caught the light. You pulled it over your head and let it fall behind you, leaving you in nothing but your panties—soft and thin and dark with the heat that had been building through the day.

His breath hitched audibly through the mic.

“Fuck. You’re even prettier than I remember.”

You smiled. “Your turn.”

He didn’t hesitate. Just reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up to reveal that perfect stretch of hard stomach and the dark trail leading below his waistband.

His abs flexed as he pulled the fabric over his head, tossing it off-camera. His vibranium arm gleamed faintly as it dropped back to his thigh, and your thighs squeezed together instinctively.

“You wet already?” he asked, eyes dragging over you like he was memorising it.

You bit your lip. “You wanna see?”

He groaned. “Show me, baby. Please.”

You shifted onto your back, propping the phone just right so he could see your whole body. Your hand drifted down, fingers hooking the edge of your underwear, dragging it slowly to the side until your pussy was bare and glistening in the soft glow of your bedside lamp.

His breath caught. You watched him exhale like he’d just been punched in the gut.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he muttered. “Look at that mess.”

“I made it thinking about you,” you said softly. “Thinking about your fingers. Your mouth. The way you fuck me when you’re too worked up to talk.”

His hand was moving already. Just slow strokes at first, under the waistband of his sweats, but you could see the outline of him—thick and heavy and aching—and when he tugged them down, your mouth actually parted.

“No boxers?” you asked, a breathy tease.

“Didn’t need ‘em,” he said, eyes glued to the screen. “Knew I wouldn’t last long.”

Your fingers moved to your clit, slow circles at first, dragging slick over swollen nerves. You moaned quietly, hips tilting into your own touch as you kept your eyes locked on his face. He was jerking himself now—long, firm strokes, the head flushed and leaking as he tightened his grip.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice shaking. “All fucking mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed. “Always.”

He swore again, his free hand bracing against his thigh as he fucked into his fist, watching you like he couldn’t decide whether to slow down or come apart.

“Spread wider for me,” he demanded, breath hitching. “Let me see how wet you are.”

You obeyed—lifting one knee, baring yourself fully for him. He made a sound then, dark and ragged.

“Fuck, baby. You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I want you to cum with me.”

Your fingers moved faster now, circling, pressing. You were soaked—obscene sounds rising between your thighs as your pleasure climbed. Your hips rolled helplessly into the motion, breath coming in short gasps.

You couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. You were close — embarrassingly close—the pressure in your core wound tight, ready to snap.

“Say my name when you come,” he gritted out. “I want it in your mouth when you fall apart.”

“Bucky,” you moaned. “Bucky, I’m gonna—fuck—”

He was right behind you.

You cried out his name as your orgasm tore through you—sharp and fast and deep—your body arching, thighs trembling, pleasure blinding and raw.

You barely had time to breathe before you heard it—the low grunt, the curse, the slick sound of him spilling over his hand as his eyes fluttered and jaw locked.

“Shit. Fuck. You’re perfect,” he gasped. “Perfect.”

When it faded, you lay there panting, spent, legs still twitching. He mirrored you—head tipped back, chest heaving, hand slick where it rested on his stomach.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

And then he looked at you.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “I miss you James."

“I know,” he said softly. “I miss you too.”

You pulled his shirt back on, the fabric warm from your skin. Bucky smiled, eyes soft now.

“Keep wearing it,” he murmured. “Until I can pull it off you for real.”

“You better hurry home, Barnes.”

“I will,” he said. “First chance I get.”

It was close to 2 am when you heard a knock on your bedroom door, you opened the door without thinking, breath caught somewhere between your ribs.

You hadn’t expected him this early, hadn’t dared to believe he could really be home. And yet, Bucky stood there in the dim hallway light, silent and eyes dark, his chest rising like he’d sprinted the last block just to get to you.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. He just stepped inside, slammed the door with one hand, and grabbed you like a man starved.

His mouth was on yours before the lock clicked. Hot, hungry, no prelude. Just teeth and breath and weeks of desperation, his tongue claimed yours, kissing you like he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was a snarl of lust and longing wrapped in salt and spit and the sound of you gasping his name.

You tugged at his jacket, fumbling the sleeves as he walked you backwards. His hands slid down your spine, possessive and certain, gripping like he needed to confirm you were real.

When the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, he broke the kiss long enough to lift you. Your back thudded against the wall as his hands slipped under your shirt, dragging it up and off like he was tearing away the weeks that had kept him from you.

“No bra?” he asked, voice hoarse against your throat.

You managed a shaky breath. “Didn’t bother.”

His groan was low, a dark rumble in his chest. “Fucking perfect.”

He didn’t waste time. He dropped you on the mattress, eyes drinking in every inch of your bare skin as you lay sprawled across the sheets.

You reached for his belt, fingers eager, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head. His grip wasn’t tight, just firm enough to hold.

“Don’t,” he said, his gaze sharp, locked to yours. “Let me look at you.”

And he did.

His eyes moved slowly, reverently. Taking in every line, every shadow. Your nipples peaked under the weight of his stare, your thighs shifting restlessly where they parted for him. He stepped back, stripped off his shirt with one pull, then dropped his pants and boxers in a single motion.

He was already hard, thick and flushed and heavy against his stomach, and you reached again without thinking.

“No,” he growled, batting your hand away. “Spread your legs.”

You obeyed, legs falling open, your skin flushed and aching. He dropped to his knees between them, hands gripping your thighs, and dragged you closer to the edge of the bed.

His mouth was on you before you could take a breath. One long, hot lick that made your back arch off the mattress.

He moaned into your pussy, the sound guttural and needy. “Jesus, baby. You taste like a fucking dream.”

You fisted the sheets, thighs trembling as his tongue circled your clit, slow and unrelenting. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you pinned as he devoured you. No teasing, just his mouth working you open like he could undo the time you’d spent apart with every stroke of his tongue.

You cried out when he sucked your clit into his mouth, sharp and tight and perfect. Your thighs shook, your breath stuttered, your entire body burning from the inside out.

“Thought about this every night,” he muttered, dragging his tongue down, slipping it into you with obscene ease. “Thought about how wet you’d be. How you’d taste after driving me crazy for weeks.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, already so close it hurt. “I’m gonna—”

He pulled back. Just like that. Leaving you throbbing, breathless.

You whimpered, hips chasing him. “Why—?”

He stood. His cock glistened with precum, flushed dark and twitching. He grabbed himself and stroked once, eyes still on you.

“Turn over.”

You rolled onto your stomach and pushed up onto your hands, arching your back as you felt him behind you. His hands gripped your hips, spread you wider. He dragged the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick, then slid inside with one deep, brutal thrust.

You cried out, nails clawing at the sheets.

He didn’t give you time to adjust. Just started fucking you like he owned you. The slap of his hips echoed in the room, his grunts raw and low, breath punching out of him with every thrust.

“This what you wanted?” he snarled. “Sending me those fucking videos? Making me jerk off in some goddamn bunker?”

You moaned, the sound wrecked. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back so your spine arched for him. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Yours, Bucky.”

“That’s right,” he gritted out. “Fucking mine.”

His flesh hand landed hard on your ass, the slap stinging and sharp, making your whole body jolt. You cried out, and it sent you over the edge. You came with a scream, muscles clenching tight around him, body shaking as pleasure ripped through you.

He fucked you through it, rhythm breaking, hips stuttering. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and deep, a ragged groan tearing from his throat as he emptied himself with your name on his lips.

He collapsed over you, breath hot against your neck, arms caging you in. Sweat cooled on your skin, and your heart raced in time with his.

Slowly, he pulled out, hands gentle now, dragging over your waist, your thighs, like he didn’t want to stop touching. You turned onto your side and he followed, pulling you into him, arms wrapped tight around your body like he was afraid you might disappear.

He kissed your shoulder, softer now. “If I knew I’d be coming back to this,” he murmured against your skin, “I’d tell Val to put me on more missions.”

You turned your head with a tired glare, swatting his chest. “Don’t you dare.”

He grinned, “Kidding princess,"

But his arm only tightened around you, and your fingers stayed tangled with his as the quiet settled between you—soft, spent, and just enough.

a/n: have a great day my darlings! ❤️ please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed it!

[bunnis-monsters]

Cafes and knots

Werewolf x Vampire!Reader

WC: 2k+

warning: breeding, knotting, blood drinking, grinding, pining

A/N: Use code: birthday to get 25% off your first month of my Patreon ^^ this was a Patreon/kofi reward, and everyone on Patreon and kofi got to see this first!

It was one of those nights, the type where you spent every moment of your eternal life on your feet, jogging back and forth between customers.

Working at a cafe for monsters wasn’t terrible. If anyone asked, you would say it was a fun job with great perks.

The only problem you had was the pushy, rude customers that either wanted the manager or something inappropriate from you.

Thankfully, some of your regulars always stuck up for you when a situation got out of hand.

Especially him.

Standing at a little over 6 foot and with a muscular frame, his eyes always followed the sultry sway of your hips as you moved around the cafe.

Usually, he came in twice a day. Once in the morning for a black coffee and donut before work, and once at night for a protein shake and any pastries you had left to fuel up for the gym.

So when someone got rowdy, he was quick to run over and get up in their face. Tobias was that kind of guy, always ready to help.

You had no idea that he had a thing for you, and that’s why he was so defensive over his cute vampire barista.

To most it was obvious you were crushing on him like crazy too, but neither of you were aware of your shared love.

Most of the time you spent the day sighing wistfully, watching him from the register as he chowed down on your freshly baked pastries. He had a huge appetite after his workouts, so you decided to treat him.

Although today was relatively peaceful, the werewolf was still on edge, as if he could sense something was about to happen.

“Toby, something up?”

You walked over, placing a pastry in front of him. “Here, it’s on the house.”

Tobias looked up at you as if you offered him the world, taking the pastry into his hands carefully. The man loved his baked goods, and giving him something like this for free meant a lot more to him than you knew.

“Thank you… and it’s nothing, I just…”

His wolf ears perked up when the bell chimed, signaling someone had just walked in. A nasty looking monster walked in, his horrible body odor spreading through the cafe like a thick miasma.

None of that mattered to you, though. You politely greeted him, smiling as you gestures towards your menu. “Welcome, what would you like, sir?”

“Hey, toots. Black coffee and some of those bagels, stat.”

You blinked in surprise, about to say something before Tobias spoke up. “Don’t talk to her like that, she’s a lady.”

The werewolf was barely holding himself back from jumping up and beating the guy, he just wanted to keep the peace and make sure you weren’t mistreated.

“I wasn’t talking to you, was I, mutt? Now get ya ass back there and make me a damn coffee!”

He raised his hand, about to slap your ass before Tobias caught it mid swing. The sound of bones snapping filled the air, and Tobias began to shift right in front of you.

“I’m not mutt, and you should never even try to lay a hand on her, you hear me?”

The monster screamed, pulling back his scaley wrist in agony before running out the door, cursing the entire time.

“Wow… Toby, you saved me.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you smiled fondly at the man as his fur settled down. Slowly, his body shrank and he was back in his usual human form.

“That’s probably what had me on edge earlier, I could smell the bad vibes from a mile away.”

He sipped on his protein shake, his tail wagging while you smiled at him. Did you know how pretty you were, with your plump cheeks and twinkling eyes?

“I really appreciate it… is there anything I can do to repay you?”

His tail thumped against the booth he was seated in, and he swallowed as he looked up at you. “Well… I enjoy your baking… would you mind coming by my place and teaching me a recipe or two?”

It was clear he just wanted to spend time with you, the person he was crushing on, but you didn’t notice. “Oh, sure! I can come over after work.”

“Sure!”

“It’s a date!”

When he walked out, you sank behind the cash register, hands over your warm cheeks as you squealed.

It was kind of like a date, right? In your mind, he just wanted to bake with you, but to you it was a date!

Once you were home, you scoured through your closet, struggling to find something cute to wear that you thought Tobias might like.

After 30 minutes of trying on clothes and tossing them aside, you decided on something simple and comfortable to bake in that would also be appropriate for a possible date.

You stood outside his door, a parasol keeping the fading sunlight off of your skin. After knocking, you heard some rummaging before footsteps approached you.

Tobias answered his front door, wearing only a bag of sweatpants. Sweat dropped down his toned, tan chest and his tail picked up speed when his eyes met yours.

“Hey, sorry I’m still a bit sweaty from my work out. You smell- I mean you look nice.”

You were too busy staring at his glistening pecs to notice his slip of the tongue. “Ahh, thank you…”

He smiled, wiping his brow before stepping aside. “Come on in, I cleaned up the kitchen a minute ago!”

You bit back a laugh, spotting crumpled baking supplies sitting on the counter. Rolling up your sleeves, you got to work whipping up something sweet.

He hovered behind you, watching with great interest as you cracked another egg into the bowl. It was hard to concentrate when you could almost hear his warm blood rushing through his veins, only aggravated by his post workout scent.

You were definitely aroused, but tried to play it off… Tobias, however, knew your scent was off.

You yelped when he suddenly started to sniff at your neck, moving down your back. “T-Toby, what are you-“

He stopped, his cheeks reddening as he stepped back. “Sorry, I forgot that uh… that’s not normal for non-werewolves…”

He looked away shyly, scratching the back of his head. “You just… smell different.”

His tail wagged, and he tried his best to hide his boner as you continued. Tobias was truly a sweet guy with good intention, he was just a bit of a himbo.

The werewolf followed you around like an oversized puppy, his tail knocking over random objects in the kitchen. Although he was making a mess, you couldn’t help but find him cute. Getting to see him at home where he was comfortable felt like a treat to you!

The sexual tension was rising by the second, and you both felt your arousal growing. Tobias still hadn’t put on a shirt, but he was a little ditsy so you couldn’t blame him for forgetting.

“Hey…” Tobias called out as you put the pie in the oven. “Do you… wanna stay for a movie or something?”

Your eyes widened, and you looked over at the blushing werewolf. Although you wanted nothing more than to stay with him a little longer…

“Sorry, I have to feed tonight. If I don’t drink enough blood I get woozy.”

For a moment, Tobias looked disappointed, but suddenly his face lit up. “Just drink from me!”

Your undead heart leapt into your throat as you struggled to comprehend what he just said. There was no way Tobias knew how intimate it was to drink from someone else, you knew that, but it made your plump thighs tremble regardless.

“A-alright… I guess I can do that.”

He sat on the couch, looking up at you with those big blue eyes of his. “Is this an okay position?”

You nodded slowly, climbing into his lap. He blinked, smiling widely as you pushed his dark hair away from his neck. “Y-yeah, it’ll hurt for just a second…”

Your fangs extended, glinting in the faint light of his living room before you leaned forward to plunge them into his neck.

“F-fuck!”

His large hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you down onto his lap until you could feel the bulge in his pants.

Tobias let out a growl, your flustered expression unseen by the werewolf as he began to move you against his bulge.

“Sorry… just… got all worked up, you know?”

You continued to drink, and his tail wagged when he noticed you rocking your hips with him. When you were full, you pulled away and panted softly, blood dripping down your chin.

Tobias leaned forward and licked it off, his blue eyes cloudy with lust. “… how about you just stay the night?”

Neither of you were thinking much as you made the way to his bedroom, you were too busy locking lips. His tongue entered your mouth, and he pinned you against the wall.

“God, I’ve wanted this for a long time…” he said, staring down at you like a lovesick puppy. “You’re just perfect…”

“You… wanted me?”

All those days spent pining after him, wanting nothing more than to feel his muscular frame against your soft one… you could have had him all along!?

“Let’s not waste any time then!”

You surprised Tobias with your strength when you pulled him along to the bedroom, his ears flicking and tail wagging enthusiastically. He was just a needy puppy that was excited to have you all to himself!

Within seconds you were in nothing but the lingerie you picked out to wear underneath your clothes. Tobias’s cock strained against his sweatpants as he drooled.

“You look amazing… want…”

He sat at the edge of the bed, laying on his belly as he positioned his head between your legs. “Need…”

Tobias pulled the lacy fabric to the side, humping the bed like a desperate dog as he took in your pussy’s scent for the first time.

He lapped at one of your puffy lips, his pupils displaying before he buried his face between your thighs and began eating you out.

You bucked your hips tugging on his hair and moaning while he looked up at you with pussy drunk eyes. Tobias found the way you whimpered and tried to cover your face as he devoured your chubby pussy absolutely adorable.

His tongue moved over your swollen clit, stimulating it as his fingers pumped in and out of you. You could already see a wet spot forming on his sweatpants, knowing werewolves came a lot.

“Wanna… wanna mate…”

Tobias climbed up, panting as he pulled the waistband down and let his cock spring free. It was huge, pulsing, and twitching.

“T-Toby… I wanna mate with you too…”

You whimpered, feeling him press against you. The tip of his cock was already pressing into your cunt, and the stretch was… pleasant.

Your nails dug into his back, leaving long scratches in his thick skin. Tobias was stretching you out nice and slow, keeping one of his fingers on your clit.

“That’s it, that’s my little mate…”

He moved his hips at a moderate place, playing with your nipples and clit to stimulate you. You had the urge to feed, to bite down on him, and when Tobias noticed he leaned forward so you could sink your teeth into his shoulder.

The man was a werewolf, he could take some blood loss, and the idea of you biting and marking his body ruled him up.

“That’s it, mark me up… f-fuck, gonna stuff you full alright?”

Another growl rumbled in his chest and he lifted your hips so he could fuck deeper into you. “G-gonna breed you, okay? Gotta have my pups, you’ll give me a litter won’t you?”

Watching your pussy stretch around his cock, squeezing it when you came was enough to have the man groaning with pleasure. You pulled back from his neck to kiss him, letting your tongue twirl around one another before he turned you so you could lie on your soft belly.

Your face squished against the pillow, and now Tobias could properly mount his mate. His cock twitched inside you as your plump ass rippled with each thrust.

“Gonna cum!”

Tobias groaned out, completely lost in the feeling of your pussy. His seed spilled into your belly, filling you up completely.

He slumped over you, a low purring emanating from his body. When you started to move, he used his weight to keep you still.

“Don’t move… gonna knot you…”

Before you could ask, you yelped at the feeling of his cock swelling up inside of you. You could barely take it, panting softly as a bulge formed in your belly.

He cooed, rubbing the bulge before moving the toe of you into a better position. Tobias cuddled you from behind, leaving bites and kisses on your neck.

“Knotting… I forgot about that part,” you murmured. Do to having a crush on Tobias, you had done some naughty research into werewolf sex that involved a lot of porn and masturbation.

“Mmph, that's the best part… now we’re locked up for the next hour.”

The two of you ended falling asleep long before the swelling went down, and from then on you had yourself a boyfriend.

Work became even more fun… especially when no one was in the cafe.

“B-but what if someone hears us?”

“We’ll be quiet, it’ll be okay.”

You pouted, unable to deny your cute boyfriend when his tail was wagging and his cock was pressed against your dripping pussy. Sure, the cafe was empty, but what if someone walked in?

He fucked into you carefully, sighing as you tried your best to keep your eye on the door while peeking out of the bathroom. Tobias covered your mouth to muffle your moans, leaning down to nip at your neck and lick the marks he left.

“My good little mate, taking me so well… you’re all wet, getting excited at the thought of getting caught, huh?”

You bit your lip, letting out a needy whine as he groped your tits. “You’re insatiable, this is the third time this week…”

“Hey, I can’t help that I’m in rut, and when I smell you getting all aroused when I visit it gets me going!”

Tobias came inside of you, nearly making the two of you top over as he relaxed and rested his weight on you.

Now, you were stuck taking orders from customers who could smell the werewolf’s musky cum on you. It was embarrassing, and they wouldn’t look you in the eye.

“That was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

Tobias grinned as he drove you home after work, and it was hard to stay mad at your sweet himbo. “Can’t have any getting the wrong idea and trying to court my little vampire mate.”

You huffed, then laughed a bit when he gave you puppy dog eyes. “Yeah, I guess not.”

You never thought your crush would like you back, but now you had a great boyfriend and you couldn’t ask for anything better.

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight : @puppyboytranny

[strnilolover]

step brother!matts the type of guy to cum in/on your underwear and make sure you walk around with it all day or at least until he can get his hands on you again

⌗ . . . KEEP IT

WARNINGS : SMUT. MATT CUMMING IN YOUR UNDERWEAR.

you were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.

everyone else in the house had already left—your mom, stepdad, chris—every single one of them left to the family event already. you said you’d be right behind them, matt willing to drive you both in his car since neither of you were ready by the time they were all ready to go.

but instead you were fifteen minutes late.

your back was against your bed, shirt bunched up and bra pulled down, your tits on display. matt was between your legs on his knees—one hand holding the front of your panties down while the other helped glide his cock over your soaked pussy.

“fuuuck.” he groaned, rocking his hips forward again, the head of his cock rubbing against your clit. “god, you’re so fucking wet. bet you’d let me slide in all the way if we had time, hm?” he knew you would if you didn’t tell him to make it quick because you had to be somewhere.

“matt please.” you whined, bucking your hips up to grind against him. and he grunted—more like a growl through his clenched teeth. “y’not not even touching me.” you whispered breathlessly, even you were shocked at how good this felt. at how wet and turned on you were.

“don’t need to.” he murmured. “you’re gonna cum just like this if i keep going. and I’m gonna make such a fuckin’ mess in these cute panties of yours baby.” and you whimpered his name again, quieter this time, trying not to move too much.

his hips rutted faster, messier. “gonna make you wear it out. my cum all in these pretty little panties. gonna sit through dinner, thinking ‘bout me.”

you gasped at that, your walls clenching down nothing at the thought of just sitting around everyone with his cum nestled between your thighs. it was so dirty—but fuck did you love it.

his cock slid over your pussy more, the pleasure making your back arch as he kept rutting right against your clit. matt moaned low and guttural as he jerked his hips a few more times, cussing under his breath and whispering about how good your pussy felt even if he wasn’t inside of you.

it wasn’t long before he was cumming right on your folds—thick spurts spilling over your clit and running down and soaking the fabric of your underwear.

your body shivered when you felt it, a whimper leaving your lips as his hips began to slow. matt panted above you, his eyes fluttering shut before he leaned back and looked between your bodies with a proud little smirk. but you weren’t wearing a similar expression—you started to pout. he didn’t let you cum. you were right there, so fucking close to the edge, and he stopped once he was done.

“don’t change.” and you stared at him wide eyed. your pouty expression faltering slightly. you didn’t think he actually meant it—you thought it was just dirty talk—a heat of the moment kind of thing. he saw the way your face looked and smirked. “i mean it. pull your panties back up, baby. let it stay there.”

“matt..” you tried to protest, but by the look on his face you knew he wasn’t gonna budge. and he made it more clear when he spoke again. “i said wear it.” and you felt your cheeks burn. but you did it. with trembling fingers, you shifted your body and tugged your panties back into place. you could feel the warmth of him still pressed into the fabric, and you flinched at the feeling.

matt smiled at you, his hand coming down to give a few pats to your thigh before moving his body off the bed to finish getting ready.

“good girl. now c’mon, don’t wanna keep everyone waiting any longer. get dressed and later i’ll finally let you cum, yeah?”

a/n : i fear this is hot and i need this to happen to me rn 🥰

[pixie-felix]

O V U L A T I N G

So this drabble has been coming up a lot in my notifications recently so I thought I'd try and write a proper fic for it :) unfortunately I kinda got carried away with the crack, so when it came to the Chan smut the tonal shift was pretty jarring. I got bored trying to make it work and then I got sick of looking at it, so I figured I'd stop stressing about it and just post it in two parts 💁‍♀️

Thank you @a-jazzy-bitch for reading through this and convincing me to keep in the notes I wrote when I was half asleep.

wc: 1.7k genre: cracksmut summary: poly!ot8 x fem!reader lore with condoms galore. so much safe sex. Channie would be proud if he wasn't so pissed at Seungmin. explicit warnings under the cut (they're mostly silly).

explicit warnings: mentions of han’s freaky rodent libido, jeongin being a (literal) sneaky fucker, [redacted] bottoming for the maknae, felix x you x seungmin spitroast, flavoured condoms, ovulating makes you crazy horny.

Once upon a time, Chan would have been embarrassed about buying sixteen boxes of condoms at once. He’d tried to get away with just eight before: one for each member.

One box each seemed reasonable, right? 

But then Han’s freaky rodent libido had kicked in, and he’d gotten through his box so fast he started stealing condoms from the other guys. Chaos had ensued. Arguments about fairness, accusations of favouritism. Tempers had flared, fists had been raised. 

Moms had been mentioned. 

And the whole time you were a needy, horny little mess, whimpering and whining for someone to just shut up and fuck you. Begging like you’d been cock starved for fifty years.

Chan was almost proud of Jeongin, the way he used the argument to his advantage. Quietly sliding over to you and gently lifting you up so he could dress his cock with your cunt, while the others almost came to blows. The way he rolled his hips gently, murmuring no donut filth into your ear while you tried to stay quiet. 

You've always been bad at keeping quiet. Especially with Jeongin. Chan understands, he bottomed for the maknae once. He might not be Catholic, but there's no denying it: that cock was sculpted by God.

Thank fuck Jeongin decided not to be a priest. Dick that good should always be deep in someone's guts. 

It was actually the lack of sound that gave you two away. When Minho stopped to take a breath after a full two minutes of cussing out Jisung and he noticed you were no longer mewling for attention. 

A quick glance over to the bed revealed the reason– the way you were holding one of Jeongin’s hands over your mouth with both of yours. His other arm was wrapped around your waist to keep you still as he ground into you slowly.The seething jealousy stirring in Minho’s gut was quickly stifled by the big boba eyes you gave him, silently promising him a turn too. 

The ultimate hyung-but-one had always been a patient man, and was more than happy to watch until it’s his turn. Especially when the view was that good.

Han was less gracious when he saw what was happening. Cue the cries of betrayal, the whining, the pouting, the begging for his turn. Completely disregarding how it was him and his ridiculous libido AND lightspeed recovery rate that caused the whole kerfuffle in the first place. 

It was Seungmin who snapped, whacking his hyung over the head with a rolled up newspaper and telling him to wait his damn turn. 

Han shut up, pouting those cute quokka cheeks so hard he gave himself muscle cramps. Even then he would not stop. Not even when Felix started peppering his stupid sulky face with tons of teeny tiny kisses, trying to make him giggle and smile and generally cheer the fuck up.

But Hannie sulks as hard as he smiles, in the end being banished to his room and only let out for snacks and bathroom breaks, to stop him from ruining the mood. Not that you would’ve been able to notice, being caught up in a seven way tag team and all…

You did find him later, raiding the cupboards for snacks and hoarding all of the emergency heartbreak ice cream from the freezer– his heart was broken after all. 

On the plus side, he’d written two new songs in his exile– both with the kind of heart wrenching lyrics that’d make you think he’d gone through three divorces, eight jobs, and watched everyone he loved perish in an 18th century shipwreck. Possibly involving a kraken or two.

Two excellent songs, sure to stir the emotions of any Stay. Though the second one–the one about the cure for his heartbreak being your thighs around his head and his tongue deep in your cunt…

Yeah, that definitely wasn’t going on the album.

He gave you his best kicked puppy eyes when you cornered him in the kitchen, clutching his high calorie loot to his chest, holding it like it was his first born child.

Which he promptly dropped, nay, threw to the floor when you shyly asked if he’d come back to your apartment and keep you company for the night.

His face lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, bidding a fond farewell to his junk food child as he scooped you up and princess-carried you to his room. Mumble-babbling something to the tune of yes yes 110% yes please yes yes I would love to come and spend the night at yours but I need to fuck you right now before I actually explode.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Chan realised Han had somehow stolen all of the condoms, including the emergency one he kept in his back pocket.

So, two boxes each it is. Plus one extra box, bought in secret and hidden at the back of Chan’s wardrobe. For emergencies. Right next to the extra emergency first aid kit, in case some overenthusiastic riding ends up with another painful penis incident…

Chan had been worried about the checkout girl taking too long, about one of the others taking his turn and having to wait another rotation before getting inside you. 

Rotation? Explanation:

You might be willing to jump on anyone’s dick in your estrogen-induced haze, but after the Great Condom Theft of 2024, Chan and Minho worked out a strict schedule: keeping your days full of dick appointments while making sure none of the members felt left out.

It worked, mostly. Until unexpected events. Like the checkout girl taking too. damn. long.

But when Chan finally walked back into the dorm (in a cool and dignified manner, he definitely didn’t sprint up the stairs because the elevator was taking too long) the scene awaiting him in the living room was not what he was expecting.

Because instead of Hyunjin having his turn, or even Han sneaking a quick one in… it’s still Seungmin fucking you.

He’d had you in a mating press on the floor when Chan left, (which Chan was 100% not jealous about because that’s definitely not his trademarked move), but now Seungmin's got you on the couch, pounding you from the back while you moan around Felix’s dick. 

You must’ve sucked the blond raw by now, but if the gentle way Felix’s cupping your head and smiling at you is anything to go by, the way he’s brushing the hair off your forehead so he can look you deep in the eyes even as your nails leave little red scratches over his thighs… yeah, he doesn’t seem to mind. Felix has always been into a little bit of pain anyway.

Han is jerking off to the side, because of course he is. 

And Seungmin's designated box of condoms lying on the floor next to the couch, empty. There had been two left when Chan left, and he was only gone for 30 minutes. Chan’s not sure if he’s impressed, relieved, or frustrated. Probably a healthy mix of all three. 

Damn these young ‘uns and their ridiculous recovery rates.

Seungmin doesn’t look up when Chan shuts the door behind him, too busy concentrating on not nutting until he’s fucked you through at lease one more orgasm. But you do. 

You moan something that might’ve been his name, the vibrations finally pushing Felix over the edge and into filling his pretty pink condom. Watermelon flavoured of course, Lixxie always buys you sweet flavours when he wants head. So considerate.

As Felix slips from your mouth, your face lights up into an almost-exhausted-but-radiant smile as you murmur “Channie~” in a tone that makes Chan’s heart melt to mush… and his dick as hard as a diamond.

Seungmin definitely heard that, and there’s no way he misses the way you reach for Chan, but he chooses to ignore it. 

“Minnie.” Chan warns the younger man, who doesn't even spare him a glance and just starts to pound you harder instead. Pressing your face down into the cushions a little more, getting you to arch your back so he can hit it just right, making you cry out in that special way that means you’re about to cum… 

And as he fucks you through it? That’s when Seungmin finally acknowledges Chan, smirking up at him through his sweat-slick bangs as he taunts his hyung:

“Wait your turn, old man.”

“Bad pup.” Chan growls, ready to rip him off you and silently regretting not taking up Minho on his offer to hide strategically placed spray bottles around the door for “when the dog needs to be trained.” 

Before Chan can go and grab a water bottle from the fridge, a quiet whimper interrupts his thoughts.

“Minnie… please. Need Channie.” Your voice is soft. Needy. Irresistible. You must be exhausted at this point, but you’re practically glowing, looking at Chan with that special soft smile you save just for him.

Seungmin groans in protest, fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts just a little harder before remembering consent is key and reluctantly pulling out. But his attitude melts instantly when you lean back and kiss him, your neck twisting enough for Chan to see the mosaic of love bites and hickeys adorning your skin. 

Someone completely forgot the no marking up rule. Or just straight up ignored it.

Chan makes a note to give Seungmin extra dance practice. Not as a punishment of course, that would be petty. The almost-maknae’s hip thrusts just need a little more work. They’re getting sloppy.

The way you whimper when Seungmin strokes your neck brings him back to reality, his eyes snapping open as he feels over the little bruises. He quickly kisses over each one, whispering something sweet in your ear and making you giggle. 

Then he shoots his hyung a grin that says “worth it” and makes himself scarce, taking Chan’s stress levels with him and leaving you lax and boneless on the couch. The way you giggle when he scoops you up makes his heart flutter, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he carries you to his bedroom.

While absolutely not against living room sex (sharing is caring after all, and it’s not like there’s room for embarrassment in a nine-way poly relationship) but right now Chan wants you all to himself.

He even takes the time to lock the door after kicking it shut, balancing your entire weight between his chest and one arm as he flips the handle.

No more interruptions.

part two?

Taglist: @sthaay @bluesungology @chrizzztopherbang @avnche @kemkem33 @mikaelless @lvrgrl-xo @eevenus @furioussheepluminary @sheerfreesia007 @aasthamoon @amazinglystay @delulustardust @galaxy4489 @lil-bear08 @abby-loves-aphrodite @a-jazzy-bitch @incognitoinstigator @minhooofr

[luvseii]

𐔌 creme puffs 𐦯 i. bunny ⋆ mdni ⋆ kitchen sex, quickie

“you look so pretty, mi amor,” bunny purred against the shell of your ear, his hand firmly pressed to the small of your back.

you’d been in the process of baking creme puffs when your boyfriend arrived home from practice, the tent in his pants unavoidable. you purposefully said nothing about it and instead continued whisking, ignoring the hard-on that dug into you when he pressed himself against you, arms around your stomach.

“need some help?” you asked, smiling when bunny nuzzled his face into your neck.

“went through your private story on the way here. big mistake.”

your private story was reserved for bunny and your closest friends—those you felt comfortable seeing you in bikinis and other more revealing outfits. you’d posted a few mirror pics earlier, the clothes a bit too tight on your frame. you smiled to yourself. “did you, now?”

bunny whined into your neck and pressed himself harder against you. you could feel him throbbing through his jersey shorts. “stop teasing. y’know i hate that,” he groaned, still grinding against you. your hips moved on their own, pushing back to meet his soft, subtle thrusts.

“bun…” you sighed, suddenly breathless. bunny pressed his lips to the sensitive patch of skin beneath your ear and sucked gently, pulling a sharp, choked inhale from your throat.

you released the whisk to grip the edge of the countertop, dropping your head forward as you pushed your ass against his bulge. “hurry,” you moaned, but bunny was already undressing behind you. “i have a batch in the oven. don’t want it to burn.”

bunny understood. your dress scrunched around your waist, and bunny didn’t waste time tearing your panties off. he pushed them aside and pressed his leaking tip against your aching entrance, the pressure forcing your hips to shift back against him. you were soaked, making the slide easy as he pushed into you with a grunt.

your mouth fell open with a silent moan as you adjusted to his size, back arching unintentionally. bunny took that as a sign that you were ready and slowly slid out before slamming back in, snapping his hips into you. the sound of his pelvis smacking your ass resonated throughout the kitchen, not nearly as loud as the lewd sounds spilling from your mouths.

your legs shook, bunny’s harsh thrusts sending your hips into the side of the counter with bruising force. you arched further against him, cheek nearly touching the marble as you took him deeper.

“god, you’re swallowing me whole, amor,” bunny chuckled, groaning when you clenched around him. you couldn’t reply if you tried, too fucked out at the feel of him dragging against your walls.

bunny leaned his chest to your back, reaching around until his fingers found your clit, and you saw stars. “bunny, bunny!” you cried as pleasure washed over you, hips bucking as your orgasm approached.

his movement grew sloppy as you squeezed around him, desperate to finish together. bunny let out a beautiful string of strangled curses and moans, his fingers jerking over your clit as he hurried to finish.

“don’t want ‘em to burn…” he tried to chuckle, but the sight of you spasming beneath him stole his breath.

you came with a deep, guttural groan, and your release coated bunny’s cock, making the slide perfect and sending him over the edge. your name left his mouth like a prayer, his grip tight on your hips as he fucked you through your orgasm and into his. he had enough thought left to pull out, his cum spilling over your ass and the back of your thighs in sticky white ropes.

bunny rested his head against the dip in your back, his breath warm through your bunched dress and hands loose around your hips. “quick enough for you, cariño?”

your laugh was breathless, hands sore from how hard you’d gripped the counter. “perfect timing, bun,” you said, right before the alarm went off that the creme puffs were done.

©luvseii, 2025 — do not copy, steal, translate, or use any of my works or pngs to train ai. all works and pngs/dividers on this account belong to me.

[archangeldyke-all]

Papa me want more movie (paramedic sevika) 😞

okay baby here comes the airplane vrooom

men and minors dni

sevika is very protective of her ambulance.

unless you're her patient and she's in the back to treat you, sevika's usually the one driving the rig to the hospital.

it's her baby. when she's not working, silco's the other paramedic driving it. the two of them are precious about the truck, like it's a living creature. they text each other updates during their shifts; if they filled it with gas, when the last stock up was, if the brakes have been sounding squeaky, stuff like that. like it's their baby they're co-parenting, or something.

before she met you, her phone lock screen was just a picture of the ambulance under a sunset. she's such a dork.

so you know sevika's lost her mind when she shows up to pick you up from work in the ambulance.

"sevika. what the fuck." you laugh as she leads you to the giant red truck. she giggles and shrugs.

"gotta take the old gal in to get her oil changed, figured i'd treat my girl to a spin around the block."

"and i'm i the old gal or the girl, in this situation?" you ask. sevika grins and pops open the passenger's side door for you.

it's surprisingly boring in the front seat. granted you've only ever ridden in the back under the influence of pain and drugs but you expected something a little more high tech than this.

"not even a gps?" you ask as sevika jumps in beside you, starting the rig up with a loud sputter from the engine. she snorts.

"what do i need a gps for? i've got the city streets memorized up here." she taps her forehead. "seatbelt." she demands.

god, she's sexy. that big brain of hers-- memorizing every street. you dart out of the passenger seat, ignoring sevika's squawks of protest to press a kiss to her cheek.

that shuts her up pretty quick. she's smiling all shy when you sit back down in your seat and pull on your seatbelt. you giggle, and she shoots you a glare.

"no funny buisness." she grunts. you giggle.

"then why's there a bed in the back?" you tease. sevika glares at you again.

"it's called a gurney, and silco will kill me if i'm late gettin' the rig to the shop."

"doesn't the department send you a replacement rig while yours is getting fixed?" you ask. she nods.

"yeah, but it's hard to find a truck as driveable and reliable as vivian."

"vivian!?" you cackle. "she's got a name?!"

"it was the sexiest name me and silco could come up with." sevika chuckles. "ran wanted it to be 'ruby' but that was way too obvious."

"you think the truck's sexy!?" you cackle. sevika glares at you again.

"baby. you better watch your tone. this is my rig you're talking about. she's been in my life much longer than you."

"oh my god, i can't believe i'm jealous of a truck right now."

"you don't need to be jealous, i'm not fucking the truck."

"you called it sexy!"

"when a vehicle this big can go from twenty to ninety miles an hour in ten seconds, stop on a dime, and carry as much life saving medicine as vivian does-- that's sexy!"

"you hit ninety?!" you screech. sevika cringes, knowing she's in the dog house now. you absolutely despise hearing about how she drives in this truck.

"no-- just-- hypothetically." she mutters, her eyes suspiciously glued to the road. you chuckle and reach over the center console-- where your favorite iced beverage is waiting for you beside sevika's pina colada slushie-- and grab her hand.

"vivian's... beautiful." you try, not sure what a proper compliment for a truck is. "she's a great ambulance. she drove you into my life. she's given me several rides to the hospital. she's protected you every day you work. i'm glad you have her in your life."

sevika smiles sweetly and drags your knuckles to her lips, kissing your hand sweetly. the action makes you feel all fuzzy and warm.

it's quiet for several moments as sevika eases to a stop at a red light, but when she's still she finally turns to study you. "what're you thinking about?"

"i don't think i've ever gone ninety before." you admit.

something about the lack of judgement in your voice has sevika cocking a curious eyebrow at you.

"do you... wanna feel it?" she asks with a mischevious smile.

you gulp. if there's one person in your life you trust to drive a truck going that fucking fast you suppose it's sevika.

sevika's smile is only growing as she watches your nervous excitement.

"we are running late to the rig shop. had to stop for our drinks before hand... we could flick the sirens on... get there on time?" sevika offers, goading you.

you groan and shake your head in shame. "uuugh. okay, fine, but--"

you're cut off by sevika blaring on the horn and flicking on the loud sirens. in front of you, cars merge to make a path for her, and before you can even find something to hold onto sevika's slamming on the gas and taking off.

you squeal. sevika giggles. she's got a bit of a show off smile, but mostly she's focused. on the dashboard, on the road, on the oncoming traffic-- making sure everyone's stopped for her, swerving around assholes who aren't. you realize that if sevika hadn't become a paramedic she could've found a lucrative career in formula 1 racing.

"this is only fifty, drama queen." sevika laughs. you flip her off from the passenger's seat. she hits a turn and you squeal-- and then she's on the freeway, and the city is speeding past you.

"we're so fast!" you giggle. sevika grins.

"soak it up babe, next exit is ours." she laughs.

for just one moment you let go of your fear and let yourself feel exhilarated. sevika's a loon, and she's the love of your life, and you're giggling like a dizzy kid as she speeds down the exit ramp.

"oh, shit!" you gasp as sevika comes to a hard, fast stop at the bottom of the hill, the tires squealing as you somehow manage to stop for the red light.

sevika flicks the sirens off, turns on her turn signal, then turns to grin at you. you cackle.

"you're insane. you do that all the fucking time, don't you?" you ask. she giggles and shrugs.

"i get paid like shit to get shat on all day, i gotta find my perks somewhere. vivian's pretty fuckin' cool, huh?"

you cackle and nod. "she's fucking awesome." you say, admiring sevika's proud little smile. but you're not talking about the truck at all.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette @ellieslob

@xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp @iamastar

@sevikitty @butchchase @nhaaauyen @notlores @mirconreadzztuff22

@veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @strawberrykidneystone @vkumi

@fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25 @sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown

@ruiwonderz @flowersandsuch111 @teethinamber @blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion

@dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth @leeidk87 @cinnamowor1d

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @runawaybaby3 @vikasfemme @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@ferxanda @helaenabugmom @spookymomfriendtm @mzkaylalol @fruitsnpebbless

[tywrites]

secrets that you keep (talking in your sleep) | mateo manta

pairing: mateo manta x gn!reader

word count: 1,267

warnings: implied smut, wet dreams, dry humping

a/n: i need this blanket viscerally. hope you fellow blanket fuckers enjoy <3

part 2

It wasn’t a rare scenario to find you in. Curled up on the couch, wrapped up in your fuzzy, yellow blanket ­- the TV on a low volume in the background, playing some overdramatic reality show. The only difference, however, was that you were sleeping.

You didn’t often fall asleep on the sofa, especially after receiving the dateviators. Knowing that every object in your house was sentient honestly made you feel quite self-conscious a lot of the time. You didn’t even want to think about going to the bathroom. Sleeping on Betty was still a bit new to you but she was so chill about it that it didn’t bother you as much. But you didn’t know Koa super well yet. Sleeping on him felt a bit… awkward.

But here you were, soft snores leaving your mouth as you laid in your slumber. The most awkward part of it was that you’d left your dateviators on. They were slightly slid down your nose, but still working. Since you’d been hanging out with Mateo, you’d had them on to be able to converse with him. But now, your head was slumped on his shoulder, the soft material of his duvet jacket acting as a perfect pillow.

Mateo didn’t mind in the slightest. He actually thought it was adorable, gazing on your sweet, sleeping form with a small smile. He gently brushed the hair away from your face, his hand stilling as you shifted. He definitely didn’t want to wake you up. After a moment, you stopped moving, now cuddled into Mateo’s chest as your own rose and fell in even, relaxed breaths. He chuckled at how clingy you seemed to be in your sleep.

“Wow, mi vida,” he said softly. “Guess the inanimals really took it out of you today,”

You’d both had a pretty busy day. All of the inanimals had needed grooming, Sinclaire had dropped off a pretty hyper Sudsy, and Davi had even done his usual disappearing act again. All in all, quite a chaotic time for you both. Mateo of course was kinda used to it. But you? Not so much.

Mateo very cautiously shifted your positions, taking great care not to disturb your rest as he moved you both to a reclining position on the sofa. He propped himself up against the arm, allowing you to lie fully down on top of him, your face snuggled against his chest. Pure comfort. He sighed in content, allowing himself to enjoy this small moment of peace with you. His eyes closed and for a second, he wondered if he could afford to take a quick nap himself.

His eyes shot open as a curious noise broke through the silence.

He looked down at you, a bit confused. He swore he’d heard you speak.

He waited.

Nothing.

With a small frown, he closed his eyes.

There it was again! It was definitely coming from you. Only, it didn’t sound like words. He observed your sleeping form, silently waiting for it to happen again.

“Mmm…”

Oh.

Oh.

A flush settled on his cheeks, turning his face a rosy red. Maybe he was wrong. You couldn’t be… moaning. Right? You’d fallen silent once again, your face burying itself even deeper into his plush chest. Once in the desired position, you let out a satisfied sigh. He tried his hardest to calm his racing heartbeat. Chill, Mateo. He told himself. You’re clearly imagining things. They wouldn’t be-

“Ohh.. fuck,”

He bit his lip as you let out another moan, louder this time and slightly muffled into his chest. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t imagining this. He suddenly felt kind of creepy, as if he was completely invading your privacy. He would never, ever, under any circumstances, want to make you uncomfortable. And if you knew what he was hearing right now… Mateo felt conflicted.

The noises were becoming more frequent and you seemed to be having a very… pleasing dream. He didn’t want to wake you up… You’d been working so hard today and you really deserved the rest! But you also deserved privacy. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for the pure awkwardness that would fill the room after he woke you up.

He didn’t get that chance.

“Mm… fuck yes… Mateo please,”

He froze. Did you… did you just say his name? Blood pounded in his ears, his cheeks heating up adorably. You whined in your sleep, biting your lip subconsciously as you began to grind your hips against him, searching for any kind of stimulation you could find. All the while, you whimpered out the most erotic noises Mateo had ever heard. He couldn’t believe you were still asleep.

Mateo could barely think straight, the noises you were making going straight to his head. And… straight to somewhere else. His body ran hot when he realised just how tight his usually comfy sweatpants had gotten. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Mi amor, you’re gonna be the death of me...”

He had no idea what to do. Hearing you whine his name like that… It was insanely difficult for him to hold back from waking you up to hear exactly what your dream was about. He tried to take deep, calming breaths, raking a hand through his messy locks. But then, a thought struck him. The others; his fellow objects. They could probably hear you right now. I mean, you guys were literally laying on Koa. The idea of that, of them knowing how badly you wanted him… god, it drove him crazy.

You were still going at it, practically humping his thigh at this point. He honestly couldn’t stand it any longer. If you didn’t wake up soon, he’d be giving you one hell of a wake up call.

“Mateo, I need you… please,”

Ay dios mío, the way you were begging so sweetly for him – it drove him crazy. He felt like he was ready to burst. You two had never actually… done anything before. Your relationship was sweet, romantic and caring. Not that he’d never wanted to! It was kind of an awkward thing to bring up and you both were always so busy. But knowing that you’d been dreaming about it… god, he needed you too. Badly.

He gently placed a hand on your cheek, his thumb slowly stroking it, attempting to coax you from your deep slumber. He knew you slept better when you were with him, but he’d never seen you so deep in your sleep. It didn’t take too long to wake you, your eyes slowly fluttering open, blinking in the light of the TV.

“Fuck, did I fall asleep?” you asked hoarsely, rubbing at your eyes.

He chuckled nervously. “Yeah, you did. That tired, huh?”

You smiled up at him. “Must’ve been…” You yawned, stretching your arms. “God, I had the best dream,”

His eyes widened, looking at you curiously. Did… did you know you were talking in your sleep?

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it was…” You trailed off, a subtle blush rising to your cheeks. “...good, really uh, good,”

He couldn’t hold back the knowing chuckle. “Uh huh, I could tell…”

You looked at him, confusion evident in your eyes. It was only when he purposely rolled his hips up against your own that you realised what he’d meant. The hardness pressed against you left very little to the imagination. Your mouth dropped open and your body burned all over.

“H-how… how did you…”

He smirked, cupping your chin with a soft but firm hand.

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk in your sleep?”

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Thinking about a deadbeat cowboy.

Tw- mentions of noncon, deadbeat bastard of a man , abuse, mentions of violence

He only shows up once he's back from his jobs, horse kicking up dirt as he comes to your lonely homestead. Greeting you smelling like whisky and woodsmoke. Throwing his heavy coin pouch on your oak table with a grin as he presses you into his arms.

"Promised you I wouldn't drink all my earnings away," his boyish grin disguising the anticipation as he waits for a thank you.

You step on your tiptoes to press a kiss against his stubble, at least when he comes to your home he shaves. Your home, not his, this is only a stop to rest his wandering feet, a trough for his empty stomach, and a body to warm his bed. Returning to pin you down beneath him at night.

The first time he had you was nothing short of a nightmare. Ambushing you in the dirt , violent and quick with his hand tight around your throat. A farm dog bent over a bitch. He left you there, in the tall grass outside your home, once he took what he wanted. The only thing you could comfort yourself with was the thought it was over.

The next night he returned, you were too scared to do anything but allow him to violate you again. Fighting got you nothing but a black eye and bite marks, at least with your submission, you got something more. Someone to fix the worn floorboard and the hole in the roof. Someone who eventually stopped fucking you like he meant to only hurt you, placing an unnatural kiss on your forehead as he held you to sleep. When he left after three weeks, you knew the cycle would start again once he returned.

"I didn't know to expect you," you mumble, wringing your apron in your hands. "Didn't make much for dinner only a pie."

Still, he smiles at that. He's not picky when it comes to the temporary domesticity you give him to keep him happy. You've learnt the past year that he always returns to you in between his jobs. Sure, he will darken your door, reeking of whisky, but he won't go to the saloon so long as he sleeps in your bed. Not all women can say that. Or can say their man brings them a heavy purse, treats from cities or traders wagons, jewellery from a wealthy womans neck. So you've learnt to live with it, to not ask him questions about how he obtained his treatures unless you're obviously coy.

He wraps his arms over your shoulders. Asking if there's been any unwanted guests in his absence. Any stray dogs he needs to shoot from his property.

You're not stupid enough to find another man. It would only end up with a bullet hole in his head and one in your ankle. Or maybe your cowboy would put a knife to your sweet face, making sure no other man could ever find you pretty after being ruined at his hands.

"I tell the townsfolk I'm married that my husband rounds up cattle on the ranches. It's only half a lie." You say as you plate up the pie. "Maybe you can come with me to town one of these days so I can prove you exist." You speak too quickly, a sense of panic creeping in. The ring you wear is nothing more than a mirage of respectability, but you needed proof before everyone decided that you spread your legs for the first man to knock on your door. You need there to be proof of him. Before he next disappears. Before it's too late to change opinions.

He only smiles at that. Waiting for you to sit opposite him before he grabs your wrist so hard you nearly scream.

"You're hiding something from me lovely, and we aren't gonna eat until you spit it out. So I advise you to hurry up before the dinner gets cold." He shifts his fingers, and you can swear you hear your joint pop.

"I'm with child!" You announce hurriedly before he snaps your arm in two, the shock of the realisation making him freeze. "I'm not lying about this, I swear ." You're frantic as he stares through you, eyes narrowing at the thickness of your waist - your corset can only do so much to obscure you from someone who's seen you broken down to nothing before himself. You're barely able to breathe through the tension before he starts laughing.

"Well shit. Guess I got to settle down with you now? Can't be leaving you alone with my bastard now, can I?" The amusement in his voice is exasperated rather than malicious, but your hands still tremble at the thought of his permanence.

"Not if I don't want anyone sniffing round my girl trying to do any charity."

[beaviu]

wrong table, right person .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ — sjy

⋆˚꩜｡ 003 :: mr basic

ʚଓ m.list — prev — next

synopsis . ❀ ݁ ˖ yn finally agrees to a blind date to finally shut her bffs up about her tragic dating life. Dressed to impress but armed with zero expectations, she arrives at a café, scans the room, and sits across from a guy who checks every box: handsome yet cute, and surprisingly sarcastic in a way that keeps her on her toes. Only one problem: he’s not her date. Jake, a schools heartthrob laying low not to be caught by his fan girls, is just trying to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee when a stranger slides into the seat across from him and starts talking like they know each other. Intrigued — and a little bored — he plays along. What starts as a mistaken identity turns into a full-blown accidental date. And when yn finally realizes her mixup… she walks away mortified. But Jake? He can’t stop thinking about her. Now he’s determined to find her again — without revealing who he really is. As fate (or nosy mutual friends) brings them back together, their story becomes anything but accidental. Because sometimes, love finds you at the wrong table — at exactly the right time.

As yn stepped into the café, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee enveloped her, immediately grounding her in the cozy atmosphere. Her eyes scanned the room until she saw a guy who could potentially be her future boyfriend, sitting down alone cap on and head down on his phone

Approaching the table, she noticed the empty seat across from him.

“Hey, Intak, right?” she asked with a shy smile.

Jake looked up from his phone, his cap blocking his view and the top half of his face “i think you—“ but before he could finish, the barista’s voice cut in, calling out his order number.

“Oh, you already ordered?” yn said, a little flustered. “Was I that late? I'm so sorry.”

Jake stood up, waving off her apology. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just grab it real quick.”

As he walked toward the pickup counter, he couldn’t help but glance back at the girl now settling into the seat across from where he'd been. Something about her—maybe the way she looked around with quiet curiosity or the slight smile still on her lips—made him suddenly okay with this unexpected meetup.

Walking back with his drink in hand, Jake spots yn sitting at the table, eyes glued to her phone, fingers flying across the screen.

“Hey,” he says, raising an eyebrow as he sits down, “everything alright?”

yn glances up, her expression shifting quickly into a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry—my friends are being annoying as usual”

Jake chuckles, lifting his cup. “i understand that”

yn nods silently then asks “what’d you order?”

“oh an iced americano”

She raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Wow. Basic.”

jake gasps, clutching his chest theatrically. “Basic?! Excuse you, this is the superior drink. Sophisticated. Timeless.”

yn laughs, shaking her head. “Okay, Mr. Basic, whatever you say.”

Jake grins, watching her for a moment before saying, more softly, “You know… you have a really pretty smile.”

Her laughter slowly fades as her cheeks flush with color, and she opens her mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. “I—” Jake quickly leans back, eyes wide. “Shit, sorry. That was too sudden, wasn’t it?”

“No!” she blurts, voice higher than intended. “I mean—no, it’s fine. Just… unexpected.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it’s not awkward—just warm. Comfortable.

He takes a sip of his drink, eyes still on her and breaks the silence. “So... you gonna tell me your not-so-basic order, or is it a top-secret recipe?”

“I don’t know…do you really deserve to know?” yn teases, her eyes glinting mischievously.

Jake raises an eyebrow, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Wow, fine,” he sighs dramatically.

yn chuckles, then stands up. “Let me order it first, and then I’ll show you a visual representation,” she says, flashing him a smile before heading over to the counter.

The café’s quieter now, so she waits for a few minutes, picks up her order, and walks back to Jake. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” she says, an exaggerated pout on her face. Then, with a proud grin, she holds up her matcha latte like she’s unveiling a trophy. “But look at my glorious baby!”

Jake eyes the drink, nodding appreciatively. “I’ll admit, it does look pretty good.”

yn laughs, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she offers him a sip. “Wanna try it? I promise you, it’s the drink of champions.”

Jake grins, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s fine. My iced Americano is superior.”

yn gasps, putting a hand to her chest in mock outrage. “No way! My drink outshines yours in every way!”

Jake rolls his eyes with a playful grin, then decides to switch things up. “Alright, random question. What’s your favorite color?”

yn chuckles, clearly amused. “Navy blue, I guess?”

Jake raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching in a teasing smile. “Hmm, navy blue. Interesting... You’re a uni student, right?”

yns expression shifts, slightly suspicious. “Yeah, I am. Why? You’re not gonna sell my info on the dark web, are you? I’m starting to get worried now.”

“oh cmon i would never do that to you” jake says batting his eyes playfully. yn rolls her eyes playfully “please you just met me”

After about 20 minutes of easy conversation, filled with lighthearted jokes and shared interests, yns phone suddenly starts buzzing incessantly. Jake glances at it, eyebrows raised, and chuckles. "I think you might want to check that? Seems like it’s blowing up."

YN lets out a sigh, a bit embarrassed, and smiles sheepishly. "I’m so sorry, I have no idea why they’re all blowing up my phone. One second let me hop into the ladies room!" she rushes to the bathroom and opens her phone to see a spam of messages from the gc all spamming her name.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ authors note — hehehhehe nd the plot thickens! sorry for the shitty writing I’m still kinda rusty it’s been awhile 💔

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ taglist — @astrobebba @rikchic @zoe1love @t1iqaa @enhanoa @yuyita-rosier @smolderingoasislegion @synamon @blvengene @urfavmelaninatedgeminii @cupidmiyu @naevisringring @swiftcityy @luhvletters @sumzysworld @w3willris3 @skepvids @enhastolemyheart @kimuranirisi @rairaiblog @teenagecheesecakereview @kuroosluthoe @firstclassjaylee

[yup-thats-me]

— Trust • P. Seonghwa

𐙚pairing: bf!Seonghwa x fem!reader 𐙚summary: ❝Y/n trusts her lover completely❞ 𐙚warnings: somnophilia, fingering, piv, cockwarming, humping 𐙚a/n: hope you don't mind me adding smno, noonie😋 also the description is pretty bad :")

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

"Y/n," Seonghwa whined, falling face-first on the girl. "I'm so tired."

Humming, Y/n raked her fingers through his raven locks. "Awe, my baby."

Feeling her lover smile against her skin, Seonghwa snuggled his face deeper into the crook of her neck. "Am I not heavy, love?"

Y/n shakes her head. "I like it, actually," she grins.

Seonghwa's eyes widen, looking at her curiously. "You do?"

"Absolutely. My human weighted blanket," she giggled, caressing his face.

Smiling smugly, Seonghwa holds her close, pressing his ear to her chest. The light thud of her heart beating. The man sighed, matching his breathing with hers.

"....babe?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I," he pauses, shaking his head. "No wait. Nevermind."

Y/n sat up, making Seonghwa fall off her body. "No, I mind. I really mind. Tell me right now or I'll literally combust."

"Damn. Just wanted to ask...if I could fuck you while you sleep," his voice growing quieter by each word.

Y/n smiled, pulling on his cheek. "Of course," she nods.

"Really?"

"Yes," she confirms. "I trust you, Hwa."

And the man could feel his chest tighten. Nodding, he pulls her close, resuming their position.

Y/n however, didn't think he'd size up on her permission this quick, though.

"Darling," Seonghwa called out softly as he treaded lightly into the bedroom. The man face-palmed himself mentally when he saw your form peacefully sleeping.

He didn't mean to be late, though. Finishing up recording as quick as he could, he took the ride home to you.

Sighing, he took his place beside you, snaking his arm under your stomach pulling you flush against his chest. Breathing in your scent, his fingers played with your hair.

It was a hard day at work today. Redoing takes after takes, the man was tired. But he couldn't help his cock growing stiff against your thighs, the shorts you wore riled up to your waist.

And he tries, tries to not get hard when you're sleeping so peacefully right next to him. Taking a deep breath, he lightly humps against your bare thigh, the feeling making his head dizzy.

But it isn't enough. Carefully, he pulled out his cock, rubbing the head to your soft skin, the precum leaking from his tip making it easier. When even that wasn't enough, he slowly lowers your shorts, rubbing himself against your pussy.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Seonghwa pushes himself off the bed, deft fingers running up and down your glistening pussy. You shifted a bit, your body instinctively reacting to his touch.

Seonghwa watched, eyes trained on your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he slips a finger inside you, feeling your gummy walls clenching around him.

"Hwa," you mumble in your sleep. His fingers stops. He really did not want to wake you. When he found no further reactions from you, he slipped another digit in, slipping them in and out of your now wet pussy.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. He needed more.

Aliging his tip to your slick opening, he saddled up behind you, resting his arms either side of your head for support.

He groans as he slipped in without restrain, his head falling back in ecstacy.

"Won't you hold me?"

He grins apologetically. "You awake, love? Sorry."

"Mm," you mumble. "Now hold me."

"As you wish, darling," he grinned, leaning down as his hand snaked around your throat, tilting your chin to make you look at him.

"So good, my love," he praises, kissing your lips. You moan around him, in need of more.

Seonghwa pants, hissing. "Raise your hips a bit, love."

And you oblige, allowing him to thrust in deeper into you. "Hwa," you gasp, sleep erased from your features.

He smirks, leaning down as he kissed your neck. "You're doing so good, Y/n, always so good for me."

"Coming," you whine.

"Come, darling," he said, kissing back of your neck sweetly. "Come for me, love."

And you do, gushing all around his cock. But the man doesn't stop, fucking you through your high. It doesn't take long for him to finish, a few lazy thrusts and he spills into you.

His eyes flicker to where you connected with him, your explosions spilling out of your stuffed hole. He licks his lip, slowly trying to slip out before you grab his wrist, stopping him.

"No more, Hwa," you say, knowing what he was about to do. "Sleep," you say firmly.

And Seonghwa is surprised but he obliges nonetheless, laying down next to you. He was about to take his cock out of your pussy but you stop him for a second time. "Stay, feels nice."

And the man smiles, nodding.

"Your wish my command, darling."

do not copy, steal or translate my work on any other sites. All rights belongs to yup-thats-me© on tumblr

⋆.𐙚˚reqs are openᝰ.ᐟ

[unabashegirl]

Heavy hands — part I

A sheltered university student falls into the dark world of underground fighting—and into the orbit of undefeated fighter Harry Styles.

Author’s Note: I debated for weeks whether or not to share this, but… here we are. This is just a taste of what’s been brewing behind the scenes — the first part of a new ten-part Harry Styles fanfic I’ve been quietly building: gritty, slow-burn, and filled with everything I love in a story. For now, it’s a Patreon exclusive, but I couldn’t resist giving you a glimpse of what’s coming in a few weeks. If you’re curious, or if you just can’t wait… You can join my Patreon and read the full first chapter (and the rest as it comes) for only $2 USD. 🖤 Thank you for always being here, and for letting me tell the kind of stories that linger. I really hope this one does.

📌 here is the link to the tier to get access to heavy hands -> select the tier quick fix -> patreon

📌 word count: 5.1K

Y/N kept her head down as she walked the edge of campus, her breath turning pale in the morning air. She liked the quiet before her lectures started—the way her boots sounded against the cobblestones, the hush in the trees before the day filled in with people and noise and everything she didn’t quite know how to handle yet.

She held her notebook tight to her chest, fingers curled around the edges like it was armor.

The philosophy building loomed ahead, old stone and ivy creeping up the sides. Inside, it was dim, echoey. Smelled like dust and paper. The lecture hall had tall windows and creaky floors and more students than she’d ever been around at once. She took her usual seat—third row from the back, end of the bench—and opened her notebook with quiet care.

No one looked at her. They never did.

She preferred it that way, mostly. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be noticed. It was just… she didn’t know what she’d say if someone did.

Everything about university still felt sharp-edged and overwhelming. The people. The freedom. The way no one asked where she was going or what time she’d be back. After nineteen years of homeschooling, of morning devotions and polite conversation and being taught how to fold napkins the right way, it was like being dropped into another universe.

Her mother still called every night. Still reminded her not to talk to strangers. Still warned her, half-joking and half-serious, that London would eat her alive.

Y/N didn’t argue. She didn’t argue about anything, really. She was the quiet one. The good one. The girl who followed rules because they made her feel safe. And maybe because she didn’t know how not to.

A chair scraped beside her and she flinched, just slightly.

“Hi,” a voice said. “You’re in this class, right?”

Y/N turned her head. A girl with messy blonde hair and black eyeliner was dropping into the seat next to her, unbothered, smiling like they’d done this before. She wore a denim jacket over a black hoodie, silver rings stacked on her fingers. Her boots looked like they’d seen every corner of the city.

Y/N blinked. “I—yes.”

“I’ve seen you in here,” the girl said. “You always sit alone.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned. “I just like this row.”

“You’re new.”

It wasn’t a question, but Y/N nodded anyway.

“Thought so. I’m Liv.” She held out a hand, bangles jangling against her wrist.

Y/N shook it. “Y/N.”

“Pretty name.” Liv looked her over, head tilted. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Y/N managed a tight smile. “I listen more than I speak.”

“Right.” Liv grinned, wide and unapologetic. “One of those. Cute.”

The professor arrived, setting down her briefcase with a thud, and the room shifted into a loose hush. Liv leaned in just a little as the lecture started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You doing anything tonight?”

The question caught her off guard. She shook her head slowly. “No. Why?”

Liv’s smile curved like she already knew the answer. “There’s this thing I’m going to. Bit off the map. It’s kind of… exclusive.”

Y/N blinked. “What kind of thing?”

Liv shrugged. “You’ll see.”

That made Y/N nervous. “I’m not really—”

“It’s nothing crazy,” Liv said quickly, but her grin said otherwise. “Just come. You can leave whenever. You don’t even have to talk to anyone.”

Y/N hesitated. Her mother’s voice rang in her ears: Don’t follow people you barely know. Don’t go out late. Don’t be stupid.

“I shouldn’t—”

“It’s one night,” Liv cut in, soft but insistent. “And you look like you need one.”

Y/N didn’t answer. She stared down at the lines in her notebook, heart knocking against her ribs. Liv didn’t press her after that, just passed a torn scrap of paper across the desk with a time and a station scribbled in smudged ink.

“Text me if you decide to go” Liv whispered.

Y/N hadn’t told her parents she’d moved into student housing.

They still believed she was commuting from her aunt’s flat in Clapham. That she took the Tube each morning and was back home by dinner, curled under a blanket, phone fully charged, doors locked.

It wasn’t a lie exactly. Not the worst kind. Her aunt did live in Clapham, and she had stayed with her for the first week. But she’d craved the silence, the independence. Craved something she didn’t have a name for yet.

So she’d moved.

Her parents didn’t know. They wouldn’t understand.

Growing up, her world had been small. Safe. Her father was a strict man with soft eyes who believed in structure, who said that routines kept a family together. Her mother homeschooled her from the age of five, and her education had been rich in detail, precise and thorough—but narrow. Everything outside their four walls felt like a warning. She was never allowed sleepovers. No television past nine. No unchaperoned visits to the shops. No boys.

“Too much of the world too soon can rot the mind,” her mother once told her.

So Y/N stayed soft. Careful. She read obsessively—books about people who lived wildly, recklessly, freely. She filled journals with lines from poetry she didn’t always understand. She baked bread from scratch. She studied the Psalms. She knew the difference between a pressed pleat and a bias cut. She still folded her underwear into neat little rows.

Her rebellion, if she could even call it that, was quiet. Choosing to study philosophy when her parents had pushed for English. Sitting alone in the lecture hall instead of trying to fit in. Saying nothing when her mother asked for a tour of the uni halls and changing the subject instead.

She wasn’t brave. Not really.

But she was curious.

Sometimes, late at night, she’d sit on the floor of her room with the curtains drawn and scroll through photos other girls at uni posted. Loud nights. Flashing lights. Smudged mascara. Arms slung around boys’ necks. Kisses stolen in club bathrooms. Glitter stuck in collarbones. She didn’t want all of it. But she wanted something.

She didn’t know what.

And now there was a scrap of paper in her notebook. A time. A name. A chance

Later that night, Y/N sat on the edge of her dorm bed, the crumpled scrap of paper warming in her palm. Outside, the hallway was silent except for the faint hum of the building settling into the night. Her roommate’s light was off. No one was supposed to be out this late.

The note had a time and a name — Liv — and a vague meeting place: just outside the dorm’s main entrance.

That was all she knew.

She didn’t know where Liv was taking her. She didn’t even know what she was walking into.

Her parents’ warnings echoed loud in her mind — Don’t go out late. Don’t trust people you barely know.

But Liv’s words floated beneath it all, soft and tempting. You look like you need one.

Y/N folded the note carefully, tracing the ink with her thumb. She felt the familiar pull of nervousness tightening in her chest — the same nervousness she’d felt all her life, at the edge of something new and scary.

Her fingers shook slightly as she mapped out a plan to leave the dorm unnoticed.

Wait until the hall is empty.

Keep my phone silent but with location tracking on.

Wear something dark.

Take the quickest route.

If anything feels wrong, leave.

She exhaled slowly. Maybe this was reckless. Maybe it was a mistake.

But maybe it was also exactly what she needed.

The hallway outside Y/N’s room was empty when she slipped out, every step measured and quiet. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, loud enough to drown out the creak of the old wooden floor beneath her feet.

She hugged her jacket tighter around her, breath forming small clouds in the cold night air as she pushed open the dorm’s heavy front door.

There, waiting just beyond the flickering streetlamp, was Liv. Her silhouette looked sharper than ever—hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket, black boots tapping impatiently against the pavement.

Liv’s head turned, and her dark eyes caught Y/N’s instantly. A slow smile curved across her lips.

“Thought you’d chicken out,” Liv said softly, voice low, like sharing a secret.

Y/N shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m here.”

“Good.” Liv stepped closer. “You ready to have fun?”

Y/N hesitated, cold fingers curling into a fist inside her pocket. She had no idea what she was about to walk into. But the night already felt different—charged. Dangerous. And thrilling in a way she’d never imagined.

“Let’s go,” Liv said, grabbing Y/N’s hand and pulling her toward the dark streets of London.

The city breathed around them—damp, restless, alive. And somewhere in the distance, a low roar rose through the night.

Liv led Y/N down the street, her grip firm but gentle, pulling her into the night that thrummed with a restless energy.

Around the corner, two figures waited by a battered black taxi.

The first was a tall, lean man with dark hair slicked back, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. His leather jacket was scuffed, sleeves pushed up to reveal tattoos—snakes coiled around his wrists and numbers inked like a secret code. He gave Y/N a brief, assessing look before flicking the smoke away.

The second was a girl with a shock of bright red hair tied messily in a ponytail. She wore a patched denim vest over a hoodie and carried an easy, knowing grin, like the city had whispered its secrets just to her.

“This is Tom,” Liv said smoothly, nodding at the man. “And Jess.”

Tom gave Y/N a slow nod — a silent greeting or perhaps a challenge — while Jess winked, playful and mysterious.

Liv’s eyes flicked back to Y/N. “They’re part of the crew. You’ll like them.”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation and uncertainty, but Liv’s steady presence was a comfort she didn’t expect.

“Do you guys… go to uni with Liv?”

It came out a little too hopeful. A little too desperate for connection.

Jess’s head snapped toward her, and she burst out laughing. Loud and sudden.

Tom smirked. “Us? Nah, sweetheart.” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes glinting. “We’re in a different kind of education.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh… like what?”

Jess leaned in, chewing gum like it was part of her attitude. “The kind they don’t put in brochures.”

They both exchanged a look that made Y/N’s skin prickle—like they shared a joke she would never be let in on.

Liv, beside her, just grinned. “Don’t worry about them. They’re harmless.”

But somehow, that didn’t make her feel any better.

They walked toward the Tube station together, the streetlights casting long shadows behind them.

On the platform, Liv’s voice dropped to a low, teasing murmur. “So. What do you think you’re coming to see tonight?”

Y/N shrugged, voice barely above a whisper. “I… don’t really know.”

“That’s the point,” Liv said with a grin. “Not everything in life needs to be spelled out, you know.”

The train screeched into the station, and the four of them squeezed into a carriage, the city blurring past outside.

“Is it dangerous?” Y/N asked, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.

Liv looked at her sideways, eyes gleaming. “Depends on how you handle it.”

Tom and Jess exchanged a glance but stayed silent.

Y/N stared out the window, heart pounding. She didn’t know what was waiting for her at the end of this ride — but somehow, she felt she was about to find out.

The train rattled and groaned beneath the city as Y/N stared out the window, the familiar London skyline replaced by grimy brick walls and flickering neon signs.

They were in East London now. The air felt heavier here, colder, sharper. It carried a bite that made Y/N pull her jacket tighter around her shoulders.

Outside the station, the streets were quieter, narrower, and shadows gathered thick between the dim streetlights. The usual hum of nightlife was replaced by something rougher — the distant clatter of footsteps, the low murmur of voices, the sharp edge of something unspoken.

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She felt exposed, like a small animal caught in the open. Every instinct whispered warning.

Liv’s footsteps were steady beside her, calm and confident.

They stopped in front of a squat, weathered building with no sign out front. A heavy metal door stood closed, cold and unwelcoming.

But from behind it came the thump of music — deep, pulsing bass that vibrated through the concrete beneath Y/N’s feet.

“It’s just a club,” Liv said, sensing Y/N’s tension. “Wait till you get inside.”

The door creaked open before Y/N could answer, and a rush of heat and smoke spilled out, swirling colored lights slicing through the haze.

The room beyond was dark, crowded, and alive — thick with bodies moving to the rhythm, faces barely visible through the smoke and flashing strobes.

Y/N blinked, overwhelmed. This was nothing like the neat, quiet world she knew.

She clutched Liv’s arm, heart pounding louder than the music.

“Just breathe,” Liv whispered. “You’re okay.”

But Y/N wasn’t sure she was.

Inside, the heat hit Y/N like a wave. The air was thick with smoke and the sharp scent of sweat and something sweet—maybe alcohol or perfume—mixing together into a haze she wasn’t used to. Colored lights sliced through the fog, casting strange shadows on faces she couldn’t quite see.

The bass throbbed in her chest, each beat a punch that made the room feel alive and dangerous.

Tom and Jess flanked her like guards or guides. Jess grinned and nudged Y/N gently. “You want a drink? Something to calm the nerves?”

Y/N shook her head quickly. “No, thank you.” Her voice barely carried over the music.

Tom leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Come on, just one. You’ve got to loosen up a little.”

Y/N smiled politely but pulled back. Her throat felt tight, and the loud music made it impossible to hear clearly unless someone spoke right in her ear. She felt like a fish out of water, lost in the current of movement and noise swirling around her.

Jess laughed and tossed her head. “She’s shy, huh?”

Tom’s dark eyes flicked to Y/N, a teasing spark lighting up his gaze. “I like that,” he murmured, stepping a bit closer, his voice low and smooth.

Y/N’s cheeks warmed, but her attention wasn’t on him. She scanned the crowd, feeling small and exposed under the flashing lights.

Liv caught her eye and gave her a quick nod—a silent promise that she had her back.

Still, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong here.

The pounding music pressed against Y/N’s chest like a living heartbeat as she swayed slightly to the rhythm, her arms loose at her sides. She wasn’t a dancer—never had been—but somehow, in the heat of the room and the rush of it all, she’d let herself move, just a little.

A couple of drinks had found their way into her hands over the night—mostly from Jess’s insistent prodding—and though she wasn’t drunk, a gentle warmth bloomed beneath her skin. It loosened her tongue just enough to make the endless chatter around her seem less intimidating, less like a wall she couldn’t climb.

Still, the bass hammered in her ears and her pulse thrummed in her temples, making her glance down at her phone more than once.

She found the screen dimly glowing in her pocket and pulled it out, squinting at the time. Almost midnight.

Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her first night out would go—or maybe it was, but not like this.

She edged closer to Liv, who was leaning against the bar with that calm, unreadable expression that had been a lifeline all evening.

“I should go,” Y/N said, voice just audible over the music. She glanced at her phone again, then around the room. “It’s getting late. I have a class early tomorrow and… I think I’ve had enough.”

Liv’s eyes flicked to Y/N, sharp and calculating. Then she smiled—a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

“You can’t leave yet,” Liv said softly, voice low enough that only Y/N could hear.

Y/N frowned, taking a step back. “Why not?”

Liv leaned closer, the noise swallowing her words but the meaning clear. “Because the main event hasn’t started.”

Y/N blinked, confusion pooling in her chest. “Main event?”

Liv’s smile deepened, but she didn’t answer. Liv tugged Y/N’s hand firmly, steering her away from the pulsing center of the room where bodies had been dancing, lost in the pounding music. The crowd thickened, pressing in around them, but Liv led her toward a narrow space against the far wall, where the air was cooler and the chaos dimmed to a dull roar.

Suddenly, the music cut sharply, replaced by an expectant silence that rippled through the crowd like a wave.

Two blinding lights snapped on, slicing through the smoke and darkness, illuminating the middle of the room with harsh white beams.

A man appeared, gripping a microphone like a weapon. His voice boomed out, amplified and commanding:

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the real show.”

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles.

Liv’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened.

The man paced slowly across the floor, eyes shining with excitement.

“Tonight’s fighters are ready to put it all on the line. Only one will walk away the victor. And remember there’s only one rule in here,” he shouted. “No fuckin’ rules.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

The announcer’s voice lowered, but carried over the noise like a knife.

“ In the red corner…” he called, drawing out the pause like a showman feeding blood to wolves, “you know him, you hate him, you can’t kill him—Marcus ‘The Butcher’ Dale!”

A wave of chaos surged through the room. Screams, whistles, fists pounding against walls and floors.

A man stepped into the light from the opposite side—tall, with broad shoulders, with thick arms covered in brutal, angry tattoos. His face was twisted into a cocky smirk, blood already dried across one knuckle.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

This wasn’t some theatrical show. This was real.

“And in the blue corner, five-time underground champ. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t lose.” He grinned. “The King of the Cut — Harry fuckin’ Styles.”

A roar exploded around them. People were shouting his name, clapping, stomping.

Y/N’s eyes locked onto a figure stepping into the light—tall, solid, tattooed arms gleaming under the harsh glare. His buzz-cut hair caught the white light, and those cold, piercing eyes swept the room like a predator.

Everything inside Y/N froze.

This wasn’t a club. It wasn’t a party.

This was an underground fight.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mix of disbelief and awe swirling in her chest. The roar of the crowd was a distant thunder, and yet all she could focus on was him.

He stood in the center of the ring, a living storm of controlled power. His buzz-cut scalp gleamed under the harsh lights, every sharp line of his jaw set like stone.

Tattooed arms flexed as he shifted his weight, muscles coiled beneath the skin like a panther ready to pounce. Silver rings glinted on thick fingers, catching the light with every movement.

His eyes—cold, calculating, fierce—scanned the crowd before settling briefly on the entrance.

Y/N felt those eyes slice through the haze and land on her, just for a fraction of a second, but enough to make her heart leap.

There was something raw and dangerous in him, an intensity that seemed to pulse from his very bones. But beneath it all, she sensed a quiet hardness—a man who had been through fire and come out harder.

She had never seen anyone like him.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, and for a moment, the heat blossoming in her skin wasn’t from the room or the drinks—it was from something far more electric.

As the announcer continued, the crowd’s cheers surged again, but Y/N’s world had narrowed to that single figure standing tall and unyielding before her.

The announcer raised his free hand, waiting for the crowd to settle—just enough to be heard again.

Y/N’s hand shot out and found Liv’s without thinking, her fingers closing tight.

Liv looked over, eyes dark and steady, and gave her a single, reassuring squeeze.

“You okay?” she asked, her mouth close to Y/N’s ear.

Y/N didn’t answer. Her heart was in her throat. The reality was setting in like ice water.

This was violence.

And Harry—Harry, with the cold eyes and the inked skin and the motionless stance—was about to step into it without flinching.

Y/N’s grip on Liv’s hand tightened until her knuckles ached.

The announcer had vanished into the crowd, swallowed whole by the heat and noise, and the two men stood face-to-face beneath the harsh white lights. No gloves. No headgear. No rules.

Harry hadn’t moved. His expression was unreadable—stone, carved from the coldest parts of him. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, muscles tense and still. The other man—Marcus—was pacing, shaking out his arms, smirking like he’d already won.

Y/N’s voice cracked as she leaned toward Liv. “Why did you bring me here?”

Liv didn’t answer at first. She was watching the ring like it mattered more than the air in her lungs.

Y/N tugged on her sleeve, voice rising, urgent now. “Liv.”

Liv finally turned, her eyes shining in the dim light, something wild flickering there. “Because I wanted you to see what real looks like.”

Before Y/N could process it, the bell rang.

Not a clean boxing bell—an actual iron bell slammed by someone’s fist.

The crowd erupted, bodies surging forward, a roar rising up around them so loud Y/N could feel it in her chest.

Marcus lunged first—fast for his size, all brute force and rage. He threw a heavy right hook aimed straight at Harry’s jaw.

But Harry didn’t flinch.

He ducked cleanly, silent and sharp, then answered with a lightning-fast jab to Marcus’s ribs. The sound of it cracked through the air—flesh meeting flesh, knuckle meeting bone.

Marcus stumbled back, face twisted. He hadn’t expected the counter.

Y/N’s eyes widened.

Harry moved like a shadow—fluid, controlled, terrifying in how calm he was. No showboating. No wasted steps. Just raw precision.

Blood sprayed from Marcus’s nose as another punch landed, and the crowd screamed louder. Someone near Y/N shouted Harry’s name again and again like a prayer or a curse.

She couldn’t look away.

The lights overhead flickered slightly, the smoke rising from the crowd curling around the ring like steam over a fire.

It was chaos—pure, unfiltered violence—but somehow… there was beauty in the way Harry moved. Not just strength. Discipline. Intention.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

He was terrifying. And he was magnificent.

Her heart pounded louder than the crowd.

And she had no idea what kind of world she’d just stepped into.

The fight escalated fast.

After the first few blows, Marcus no longer looked amused. The smirk had vanished, replaced by something far uglier—frustration. Maybe fear.

He rushed forward again with a roar, throwing a savage combination—left, right, then another right meant to break someone’s jaw.

Harry blocked the first two, absorbed the third with a subtle turn of his shoulder, then answered with a brutal uppercut to the gut. Marcus doubled over, gasping, and Harry didn’t wait.

He stepped in. One. Two. Three hits. Clean, fast, calculated.

Each punch echoed like thunder.

The crowd around Y/N was a blur of motion—screaming, fists pumping in the air, bodies jumping and shoving. Some were chanting Harry’s name. Others were yelling for blood.

Y/N stood frozen, her back to the wall, eyes locked on the ring. Her ears rang, not just from the noise but from the sickening, wet thuds of fists colliding with flesh.

Marcus tried to land a knee, wild and desperate. But Harry caught him mid-motion, wrapped an arm around his neck, and slammed him hard into the floor with a move so fast Y/N barely registered it.

Gasps. Cheers.

Marcus writhed, cursing, trying to rise—blood spilling from his nose, his lip split wide. But Harry didn’t let him.

He straddled him in a controlled mount, knees planted firm, and drove a single punch—straight to Marcus’s jaw.

And then another.

And another.

The crowd counted aloud. “One! Two! Three!”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Marcus’s head lolled slightly, dazed, mouth open, eyes unfocused.

The bell rang again.

Loud. Final.

Harry stopped. Immediately.

He rose slowly, blood streaking his knuckles, chest heaving, but his expression unchanged—calm, cold, unreadable.

The room exploded around him.

People surged toward the ring, some climbing over barriers, others throwing money, coats, and drinks into the air. The lights strobed wildly.

Y/N stared at him—this man who had just dismantled another human being without blinking. Not out of cruelty. Not for spectacle.

But because that’s what he came to do.

He didn’t look proud. He didn’t look relieved. He looked exactly the same as he had when he walked in—haunted, sharp, and terrifyingly composed.

Y/N’s pulse roared in her ears. Her skin felt too tight for her body. Her mouth was dry.

She had never seen anything like him.

And she had never wanted answers more than she did now.

Harry disappeared into the crowd like smoke.

One second, he was there—standing over a broken man, chest rising slow and even, blood splattered across his skin like war paint. The next, he was gone. Swallowed whole by bodies pushing inward, cheering, chanting, desperate to touch something that felt untouchable.

Y/N stayed frozen in place, still gripping the edge of the wall like it might keep her upright.

Around her, the atmosphere had shifted. The violence was over, but the energy in the room hadn’t calmed—it had sharpened. Louder music kicked in, harder and heavier than before. Drinks were passed hand to hand. People laughed and shoved and screamed like it was a party.

A celebration.

But Y/N couldn’t celebrate.

She couldn’t drink.

She couldn’t breathe.

The image was stuck in her mind—Marcus lying there, dazed and bleeding, struggling to sit up, the skin of his face swollen and cracked. His mouth had opened like he was trying to speak, but nothing came out. Just blood. Just pain.

And Harry’s fists, silent and cold and exact.

Y/N blinked hard. Her eyes stung.

She turned quickly, pushing through the crowd, her hands trembling as she passed a group of people laughing and rewatching a recording of the fight on someone’s phone like it was a highlight reel.

Her throat closed.

She didn’t know what door she was looking for—just that she needed out. Needed air. Needed to get the sound of bone hitting flesh out of her head.

The first door she reached wasn’t marked. She shoved it open anyway.

The noise cut off like a switch had flipped.

She stumbled into a narrow alleyway. Dimly lit. Quiet. Concrete walls slick with condensation. She could hear the dull hum of the bass behind her, but here, it was muffled. Like it belonged to a different world.

Y/N leaned back against the cold wall, her hands gripping the edge of her jacket, pulling it tight around her chest. Her eyes welled, unblinking.

She didn’t know why she was crying.

She hadn’t been the one hurt. She hadn’t even known Marcus. She didn’t know the rules of this world, didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it, if anything.

But it didn’t matter.

She’d seen pain. Real pain. Up close. And everyone else had clapped for it.

“You okay?”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Harry was only a few feet away. Still shirtless, the blood on his torso now dried to rust. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, lit at the tip, the smoke curling lazily in the cold night air. His other hand rested low on his hip, relaxed.

He hadn’t looked at her yet, not fully. His gaze was angled down, watching the cigarette burn.

She hadn’t heard him come out.

Had no idea how long he’d been there.

Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper. “You scared me.”

Harry glanced at her then, his eyes shadowed but sharp—cut from something darker than the rest of him.

“Didn’t mean to,” he said.

He took a slow drag from the cigarette, the ember lighting the edge of his cheekbone, his expression unreadable.

Y/N’s back pressed tighter against the wall, her voice soft and shaking. “Why would anyone cheer for something like that?”

Harry exhaled the smoke through his nose. A pause. Then, finally:

“Because they’re not the ones bleeding.”

[sucker4vy]

BUSY WOMAN, UNLESS YOU CALL TONIGHT .ᐟ

PAIRING: pedro pascal x actress!reader

SYNOPSIS: Pedro and the reader have been caught together multiple times, and now, all eyes are on them more than ever after she’s spotted leaving his apartment. Though she hasn’t said or made the relationship official, she finally breaks her silence at the Gladiator II premiere when an interviewer asks about the recent sighting.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, age gap (reader is in her mid-late twenties), confusing!pedro, situationship, not technically a smau but does include comments and a few posts, the media is obsessed with reader and pedro, eventual smut, no use of yn (except for posts)

WC: 3.2k

A/N: not me taking a whole other day to finish it 😶 honestly this could’ve been so much longer than it was but next time just watch i’ll make it longer

series masterlist | next chapter

Pedro rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you to the door. He twists the lock and swings it open for you like the gentleman he always is.

As you’re about to step outside, you feel his hand slowly slip away, but it pauses when you do. Turning back to him, you ask, “I’ll see you at the premiere?” Accompanied by an awkward smile.

It’s a question you probably shouldn’t have asked, and judging by his expression, it’s one he’s caught off guard by. “You’re going?” He asks.

“I have nothing else to do that day.” You shy away from him. It was a lie but it’s one that would convince him the most.

Yet for some reason, it still didn't seem to work because disbelief flashed across, quickly replaced by skepticism. “You? Not busy?” You nod curiously at his reaction. “I don’t believe it.”

“Well, believe it,” You laugh softly to yourself and you see his lips twitch, but he’s back to his serious—no, trying to be serious self.

But he can’t help it when the room is filled with silence for another second and then he cracks. He bursts into a hearty laughter and his hand glides up to your nape, guiding your head toward his for a quick peck on the lips.

“Now, I do.” His gaze lingers on your lips, debating whether or not he should steal another kiss—just one last one. You push away before he can lean in again.

Before you turn around he catches a glimpse of a little cheesy grin on your face. “Goodnight, Pedro.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he replies. You look back at him once more as you walk away ever so slowly and you catch him eyeing your body. He notices your figure shift and is quick to look around, suddenly fascinated by his apartment complex. A hand over his mouth and body leaning against the door frame, caught in the act.

You can’t help but giggle at his little sneaky act and you’re pretty sure it’s just as funny to him too because you hear a muffled laugh from behind you. You’ll definitely tease him later about checking you out.

When you step out of the building, you feel the cool air kiss your skin, and you can’t help but wish you had covered up a little more. A skirt was not the best choice for tonight, something you realized a little too late.

In the corner of your eye, you see a white flash. Your eyes widen in surprise as you turn to confront the source, only to find yourself staring directly at a phone.

You move to push the phone out of your face so that you're able to get a look at the actual source, but before you can fully get a good look at their appearance, they're unning for dear life.

In the moment, it’s funny and you scoff at their idiocy, and in that same moment, it hits you. It his you like a ton of bricks.

It feels like everything has slowed down as your mind movesq quick, a thousand thoughts per second, a million of all the possible outcomes run through your head.

Where you are, where you’re standing outside of more specifically Pedro Pascal’s apartment. That photo incriminates you and it’ll prove something that you’ve been trying to keep hidden from the media and yourself.

Behind you, you hear doors open and close, heavy footsteps on pavement, and then a hand on your shoulder. Your head spins around so fast you felt as though you were going to get whiplash.

“Woah, did I scare you?” There’s a teasting lilt in his voice but when he sees your expression, his smile dims. “Is something wrong?”

You exhale deeply to calm your nerves. “I think we’ve been caught.”

—

Different brushes glide over your face, blenders dabbing under your eye, and fingertips gliding over your nose to blend in the highlighter as much as it needed to look perfect.

Your makeup artist, Estelle, who had been all cheery and so talkative seconds ago, is now quiet, focused on her canvas, ensuring everything is flawless. She only speaks when she needs you to tilt your chin up a little or to look that way or this way.

When she’s finished she spins your chair around so that you face her, grabbing you chin gently for you to look at her. Her hand lifts from your chin and ghosts over your nose, drawing back with an unsureness, eyes squinting.

Her face quickly brightens with a loving smile. “You’re all finished!” She spins my chair back around, now facing the vanity. I meet my reflection and I admire Estelle’s work, which she killed like always. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she asks, “You like?”

“I love.” You look up at her with a smile, one that’s genuine but fragile as well.

“You know, this whole time I’ve been doing your glam you’ve been kind of tense, what’s up?” She smirks as if she knows something you don't. “It’s Pedro, huh?”

“No, no, no,” you’re quick to deny. “It’s not Pedro.” Estelle gives you a ‘are you kidding me’ kind of look because the both you know damn well that Pedro Pascal is the reason.

Estelle sighs, walking over to where your dress is hanging. “I know about that whole ordeal, honey. You can’t fool me.” She ushers you to stand up with hand gestures and pushes the dress into your hands. You don’t move from where you stand, only staring down at your dress.

It’s beautiful, bold. Designer? Alexander McQueen. It’s silk and corseted. Though it doesn't really go with the theme of the movie, it’s still a fantastic choice.

It commands attention without screaming for it. It’ll make her stand out on her own terms and possibly, hopefully, draw away attention from all the rumors going around. Maybe everyone will be too focused on her dress and forget about all the times the paparazzi have caught you with Pedro.

But let’s be realistic, you’ll be at the Gladiator II premiere, Pedro’s movie. They’ll be focused less on your dress and more on your appearance, but lucky for you, you have an excuse for that. You’ll say you’re there to meet with the director, that you’re thinking about working with him. You just hope they’ll believe it.

Walking out of the bathroom, you’re met face to face with your assistant, Daphne, whom you call Daph for short. She gives you a once-over and nods her head, looking around and saying, “I don’t know if Pedro’s going to be able to resist you this time around.”

You roll your eyes and mutter a small, “Thanks.” She gives you a thumbs-up and a coy smile.

“Shoes on?” She asks. You nod. “Hair?” Your hairstylist rushes over to you to fix a single strand, tucks it behind your ear, and then steps away. “Alrighty, I think we’re good to go.”

You turn to your glam team, thanking them for all their hard work and then you’re off to the premiere, but not before Estelle shouts, “Say hello to Pedro for me,” which gives everyone in the room a laugh.

You let out a giggle. “Bye, everyone.” And they all give a bye in return, some shouting, “Have fun!”

—

In the car, Daphne is helping you prepare for interviews. You’re sitting one seat over from her, not really paying attention since she has probably been over this a million times within two days.

When she first found out you were going to attend the premiere, she was baffled. “After all the rumors going around? Are you kidding me?” She had said.

You had told her it would be good for you, that you had come up with a reason that makes you look like you are strictly there for business and definitely not because you want to be one of the first ones to see Pedro Pascal in a gladiator costume, possibly all sweaty, and looking criminalally good. You could not pass up this opportunity.

It’s also a chance to clear up any rumors, or at least try to. You’re just really just trying to help your publicist who’s already way too stressed, but you just keep making things worse.

Sunday morning, you had woken up to a phone being pushed into your face, an article with the headline in big bold letters that read “FAMOUS ACTRESS SPOTTED OUTSIDE PEDRO PASCAL'S HOME.”

And it wasn’t your publicist behind that phone, it had been your assistant who had been told by your publicist.

Oh, was Daphne angry? No. She was fuming. “Call him. Now,” she said with a stern tone. And you were going to dial the number to talk things out with Pedro but you really just needed time to let everything sink in, you had just woken up for crying out loud.

You had told Daphne you’d call him later—later meaning that you’d wait for him to call you. He probably hadn’t even seen it yet, or so you told yourself.

So you waited.

And you waited

And, to your disappointment, you waited.

You would check your phone constantly. Every time you found your self drifting off during your meeting you shook yourself awake and checked your phone. Whenever Daphne mentioned something about the rumors you were quick to check your phone.

It got to a point where she literally had to rip your phone away from you just so you can get through a line from a script you were supposed to be rehearsing.

Then, just as you’re pushing your dinner around the plate, you phone buzzes. One buzz. Then another. You freeze

Please don't be a stupid notification. Please—Pedro’s name lights up your screen and you don’t even hesitate to press accept, taking a shaky breath, and brace yourself for what he’s about to tell you.

In the car, Daphne is helping you prepare for interviews. You’re sitting one seat over from her, not really paying attention since she has probably been over this a million times within two days.

She goes through a list of every possible question in every possible form, and you know she's stressed out by the way she just keeps going.

When she first found out you were going to attend the premiere, she was baffled. “After all the rumors going around? Are you kidding me?” She had said.

You had told her it would be good for you, that you had come up with a reason that makes you look like you are strictly there for business and definitely not because you want to be one of the first ones to see Pedro Pascal in a gladiator costume, possibly all sweaty, and looking criminalally good. You could not pass up this opportunity.

It’s also a chance to clear up any rumors, or at least try to. You’re just really just trying to help your publicist who’s already way too stressed, but you just keep making things worse.

You should’ve listened to Daphne when she told you not to go to Pedro’s, that you may get caught and it’ll be a big problem if you did. You wished you hadn’t ignored her warnings and simply just brushed her off saying that it would be fine because look at how wrong you were.

Now, all you can do is hope that an interviewer won’t ask about what’s going on between you and Pedro.

At least Pedro is worry-free, he just thinks that you were kidding about attending the premiere but little does he know you’re about to draw lots of attention right now.

—

Your heel hits the red carpet. No one seems to notice you quite yet, which makes you even more anxious for when they do.

Flashes go off a few yards down the carpet where one of the cast members is posing, not Pedro nor Joseph—but Paul. For now all eyes are on him and for you, there’s a fleeting moment of quiet, not literal silence, but the kind of breathless stillness that lives before impact.

You take a careful step forward and as you grow into the view of one of the photographers. He looks almost unsure at first, and he mumbles, “Is that who I think it is?” It’s loud enough for the person next to him to hear and repeat the same name, her head following his. Then one by one all their eyes fly to you as travel along the carpet.

You straighten up once flashes hit your face, smiling nice and big for the camera. You lift your chin up a little more, your arms are at your sides, one resting at you hip.

You move more down along the carpet, and now you’re standing just a few feet away from Paul. In the corner of your eye, you see that Paul notices you, and he shuffles closer over to you.

You look at him and he’s already smiling. “Picture?” He offers.

“Of course.” You lean more into him, wrapping your arm around him and he follows your movement, his hand placed in the middle of your back.

They shout for you to get a little closer together so you do. You lean your head towards his just a tad for one last photo and then he pats your back. “Thanks.” You give him a nod and follow him off the carpet.

Anyone you saw with a microphone you tried to dodge and stay out of their sight. Weaving your way through the crowds, but you couldn’t ignore everyone.

Some of the cast members came up to you and said hi. One of them was Fred, whom you worked with once. You were surprised that he even remembered, considering it had been a while since you had seen each other. Connie had also come to you to say hello, this was actually your first time meeting her. You’ve only heard of her, never have actually seen her in person before, she said the same thing about you.

Connie was so sweet and you guys chatted for a while, but the conversation was cut short when an interviewer snuck up on you. You felt a tap on your shoulder and Connie excused herself so you could be interviewed without interruption, part of you wanted to beg her not to leave you, but you couldn’t.

Where Connie was standing is where the interviewer was standing now. She introduced herself as Steph from Entertainment Tonight, and you're all rainbows and sunshine on the outside, but on the inside you're about to freak out because you know that they’re about to go in deep with these questions.

She looked into the camera, and so did you. “You, my dear, look breathtaking tonight. I have to say this dress is a moment.”

“Thank you, Steph, it means a lot. I really needed something that was bold, especially for tonight, you know?” She agrees, and then her face shifts into one of curiosity.

“We didn’t know we’d be seeing you here tonight, and we were wondering what brought you out?” She holds up the microphone to your lips.

“I have so much respect for everyone on the team and I wanted to see all the hard work they put into this movie come to life.” You continue, “The story scale, the artistry, the history. It all reminds you why you love what you do and it really inspires you.”

“Of course, of course! All of the cast members are so talented and it's such a big night for them. I love how supportive you are!” Her eyes turned away from your for a split second to give the camera a slick grin, then they’re back on you. Her voice dips, now ever so gentle, “A lot of people think your presence tonight has something to do with Pedro Pascal. You were just seen leaving his place late Saturday night. Is you being here simply a coincidence?”

You blink, smile faltering for just a second before you regather yourself. There’s a pause, then a sigh, and you know your silence speaks louder than what you’re about to say right now. “I didn’t come tonight to answer rumors. But I know that if I’m quiet it just makes the noise louder.”

Hesitating and taking a breath, you continue, “I knew that being here tonight would raise some eyebrows, especially after Saturday. I think it’s just reading a little too much into things. Pedro is someone I care about, yes, but…” You glance off to the side, searching for the safest answer. “But caring about someone doesn't mean there’s always a headline in it.”

Steph is silent for a split second, taking the microphone away from you once she realizes you’re not going to continue. “So, you’re just friends?”

Your eyes flicker toward the camera before returning to Steph, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yes,” is your answer, but your body language says otherwise when you play with the ring around your finger.

“Well, you heard it here first, people. Just friends.” She nods in assurance. “Thank you.”

You’re thankful it’s over, but you can already feel the internet writing headlines. The nerves really got to you during that interview, and you’re sure no one believes that you and Pedro are just friends after you left his house so late at night.

Daphne won’t be too happy either with your answers. You really should’ve gone with what she told you to say in case of this, instead you kind of just freestyled it.

You notice everyone beginning to head to the theatre, so you follow the crowd inside. Before the movie starts, they give a speech to the audience that celebrates everyone behind the making of the film.

One by one all the actors come up and are congratulated, given praise for their work. The whole time you only focus on one of those actors, whose eyes are searching through the audience for one person in particular. You.

He can’t seem to find you in the sea of people, and it’s too late to continue searching because he already needs to take a seat.

So, the movie plays. You sit in the dark, laughing when you’re supposed to, clapping when it’s over, and the credits roll.

To the naked eye, you’re acting normal, but inside you’re unraveling. The entire movie played on one screen, and the interview was on repeat in the other—in your mind.

What if you hadn’t swallowed the part about being more than friends? What if you had told them it was so much more than that?

Frankly, you’re tired of hiding something that has been going on for months. You’re tired of Pedro denying that there’s nothing really going on between you, or at least, you’re tired of him pretending like there’s nothing going on because there is. There’s so much more than what he denies himself.

You quite literally canceled multiple meetings for an upcoming audition on Sunday just so you could squeeze in a fitting for the dress you wore. Replacing a meeting about character backstory for one about about heel height and fabric swatches.

The script you were reading last night? That was for the same audition, now pushed to Wednesday. The meetings for that same audition you had pushed to tomorrow.

And there was a few more things replaced, delayed, or rescheduled just so you could be here tonight. Just so you could support Pedro.

He didn’t ask you to and still, you showed up.

You’re booked and busy. You have a whole career to chase. You have people to call back, scenes to prep, and so much more.

But if he called tonight?

You’d answer.

taglist: @not-the-teen-witch @namelesslosers @oystercat

[yaekiss]

𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆?

꩜ Room Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Male! Sub! Sydney the Faithful, no gendered terms for reader, no mention of reader's anatomy, prostate milking (Sydney receiving), fingering and use of sex toy (Sydney receiving), lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: def tried making this smut fic a lot more lovely-dovey than my usual ones as per the donator's req! hopefully it doesn't come across as too cringy/cheesy >< !! and thank you to the donator for being so niceys and understanding <33 once again, "800-1500 words" qi says. harharhar (2.5k words orz...) ANYWAYS hope you like the fic and thank you so much for donating !!!!!!! ꩜ This was written as part of my Care for a Fic fundraising event for Gaza! If you would to request a fic of your own, do check out the linked event post above ^^

Sydney supposes that there are stranger things than working in a sex toy shop (that's owned by your parent) with your partner. However, these things aren't really coming to mind when there's a patron who's definitely oversharing about their Friday night plans while he's trying to check out their items at the cash register. 

“I've read rave reviews about this model online from people who've bought it before. I can't wait to try it out and y'know, see how many it can wring outta me,” they continue to ramble on cheerily as Sydney tries to key in another product code manually for the umpteenth time today. (Curse you broken barcode scanner.)

“Maybe I'd even beat my personal best of-” The grating sound of the receipt printer working cuts the patron off. 

“Oh oops, my bad, feel free to forget everything I said!” The patron quips with a hearty laugh. “I really do overshare too much sometimes. Thanks for not cutting me off, huh. And for ringing me up.”

Whistling as they leave, the patron finally heads out of the shop, leaving a poor Sydney to stew in silence alone with everything he's heard for the past few minutes.

Unfortunately for him, Sydney does more than stew in silence for the rest of his shift. He finds himself staring off into space while daydreaming about certain activities more often than not, causing the diligent blond you know to make some rather uncharacteristic fumbles. Namely, bumping into your back whenever he follows behind you into the inventory room to restock merchandise. Or accidentally mistyping product codes repeatedly at the cash register.

Concerned about your lover's distracted state today, you pull him into the privacy of the inventory room when the both of you go for a quick break.

“You alright out there? You seem pretty out of it today Syd,” you start off, voice tinged with worry.

“Huh?” Sydney tilts his head before his brain catches up and he processes your question. 

“If you're tired, I could cover for you today while you rest up,” you offer.

You really are too sweet, he thinks. Worried that he might be tired when, in actual fact, he's been too busy thinking about you wringing out orgasm after orgasm from him until he's milked within an inch of his life. 

Heat rushes to his face when he realises that he should probably confess the truth to you in order to reassure you that nothing's wrong. Sucking in a deep breath, he starts rattling off the whole story a mile a minute, eyes trained anywhere except on you.

“...So that's why I've been so distracted and it's because all I can think about is you. Or your hands on me. Or your fingers in me! Whichever works! Ah I've said too much!” 

The silence that drags on after his near incoherent rambling is unbearable. When he finally hazards a glance back up at you to gauge your reaction, he certainly didn't expect you to look this interested.

“Let's ask if Sirris will let me stay over in your room tonight.” 

The remainder of the shift passes by in a blur with the prospect of what's about to happen later on. When the both of you clamber into the back seat of Sirris' car after closing up shop, you politely broach the topic of a sleepover with Sydney. And when they agree, you feel Sydney reach over and give your hand a light squeeze, a shy grin on his face.

“Why don't you shower first and get ready while I prepare?” Shooting him a reassuring look, he kisses you on the cheek before heading off to the bathroom. 

After getting everything ready and establishing a safeword, you instruct your lover to lie on the bed.

“Let me know if anything gets uncomfortable, yeah?” Reaching over to his bedside table, he hears you open a container of lube. Sydney waits with bated breath as you spread the thick substance around on your fingers, simultaneously warming it up. Once you've made sure that the lube isn't too cold, you also apply a generous amount to his entrance.

“Relax for me Syd.” He nods, inhaling before exhaling slowly. Your other clean hand goes to hold his as you massage the surrounding area for a bit. Eyes trained on his expression to monitor for any discomfort, you gingerly breach past his rim with a singular finger. Carefully, you slip more of your finger in, occasionally wiggling it and prodding around to loosen him up more. Each little movement causes Sydney to suck in a short breath, his gaze peering down at where you’ve entered him. Before long, you’re knuckle deep in him.

“Feels kind of strange,” he murmurs to you after you paused to let him adjust to the sensation, “but you can keep going.”

Your second finger enters without too much trouble and once more, you take it slow. After it's fully in, you start with some scissoring motions with both your fingers. This time, you get a bigger reaction out of him. You’re rewarded with the cutest breathy gasps and pants, and when you look back up at him, Sydney’s pupils are dilated whilst he sports a lovely light blush on the apples of his cheek. It’s a good look on him, one you’re keen to see unravel even more as the night progresses.

Belatedly, a thought occurs to him as it rises through the growing pleasing buzz in his brain, He dazedly realises that you’re probing around for something, the pads of your fingers dragging and tracing along his walls. It’s at that second, it hits him, in every sense of the phrase. Something akin to electricity shoots straight through him when your fingers find his prostate. Sydney gasps and jolts beneath you, eyes flying open at the foreign feeling, and that's when he notes how your eyes light up with a devious glint.

Wasting no time, you get to work, honing in on that spot. Immediately, you have your lover’s back arching off the bed as you rub and bully his prostate. Pitchy keening and moaning fills the room as you watch him begin to fall apart on your fingers. 

“Feeling good?”

“U-Uh huh…!” He nods dumbly, words suddenly starting to become too hard to string together.

The filthy squelching noises have him flushing all the way to the tips of his ears. When he squeezes down on your fingers, it's like everything feels too full, too good, too sinful. In the far back end of Sydney's brain, where he hasn't yet lost himself to the throes of pleasure, he realises that he's been grinding down on your fingers, chasing his own high mindlessly. For him to already be reduced to such a state this early on, he wonders how fast it'd take for you to completely ruin him tonight.

He feels the heat building up in him at the thought of placing himself wholly in your hands. Yours to wreck, yours to love. Only you could see this side of him. Sydney's pulse thunders in his ears, with every strategic movement of your fingers threatening to make him spill over at any moment now.

You know your lover well enough to spot the telltale signs that he's going to cum soon. The jagged, raspy groans, eyes rolling back before shutting tight, soft pants of please, please, please. Picking up the pace, you alternate between hitting his prostate dead on and rubbing circles into it. And when Sydney's whole body goes taut, his cock bobbing as white splatters onto his belly, a long, drawn-out moan ripped from his throat, you know you're done with your first round.

You’re gracious enough to let him recover for a bit, pulling your fingers out briefly to reapply another glob of lube onto them. During this downtime, Sydney manages to sluggishly peel open his eyes to peer up at you. Sweat causes his hair to stick to his forehead, but it doesn’t stop you from shifting over and leaning down to press a chaste kiss onto his flushed skin.

“You still with me?” Your clean hand goes to pet the crown of his head. He swears that if he could purr right now, he would.

“Yeah,” he says between languid lazy blinks, “I’m good. Thank you.”

With this confirmation, your two fingers return inside, drawing a breathy gasp from him at the sensation of being filled again. Additionally, you gradually try to fit one more finger in him to stretch him out even more, bringing the number up to three. Once you’ve made sure that he’s adjusted to the extra digit, you instantly resume the brutal pace you had earlier. Still sensitive from before, your dear blond blubbers and pleads for mercy, his head thrown back as he’s plunged back into pure ecstasy again without warning. 

“C'mon, you can give me another one Syd,” you coo out sweetly. The smile on your face is gentle. However, your ministrations are anything but. 

“Ungh! Ah, ah-!” You give him no respite from the growing pressure in him, working him just the way he likes. Always so attentive, eyes constantly watching all of him, learning what things makes him lose his mind. His thighs tense and he clenches tight around your fingers, losing himself to the euphoria clouding his mind.

He's shaking as another orgasm racks through him, eyes rolling into the back of his skull at the onslaught of pleasure. You're ruthless, he thinks, and that's exactly what he wanted.

Heavy panting fills the room as your dear Sydney tries to catch his breath but you don't give him a chance to. You pull your fingers out of him, eliciting a pitchy whine at the sudden loss, before it's quickly replaced by something else prodding at his rim.

Blearily, he looks down and sees that it's the toy that the patron had bought earlier, the exact brand and model they were rambling about. Turns out you swiped it from the inventory room while the both of you were closing up the shop. (“I'll just say we were testing out the shop's products. See if it was good enough to be stocked on the shelves,” you explain to Sydney the next morning.)

Slowly, you ease the toy into his hole after you applied a good amount of lube to it. It's just slightly thicker than the three fingers you had in him earlier, but the stretch doesn't hurt judging by how he's already subconsciously trying to fuck himself on it.

My, such an impatient lover you have here on your hands. But you suppose that this simply makes it easier to give him just what he wants. 

You continue pushing the toy in and angle it directly at the spot that he's trying to hit. His fingers grasp at the sheets underneath him as it ventures deeper within him. Sydney feels it all, the slow drag of the ribbed shaft against his walls, your thumb rubbing circles where you hold him at his waist.

When the tip of it bumps up against his prostate and starts vibrating? Sydney swears he sees heaven.

The effect that the toy has on him is immediate. As soon as you switched on the vibration function, all the breath was punched out of his chest. And the best thing was: It wasn't even on the highest setting yet.

“Ack! Too muh- hnn -much! No more!” Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he begs pitifully.

“You know the word to say to get me to stop Syd,” you say cupping his cheek gingerly. All he does is lean into your touch, nuzzling into your hand as if all he wants to do is to melt into you.  He cracks his eyes open, gazing at you with nothing but trust and adoration.

“Want me to keep going?” Your voice is impossibly tender and Sydney's heart pounds at the intimacy and affection of it all.

“Keep goin’, hah! Please!” He hears you laugh at his pleas and he doesn’t think he’s heard anything else more beautiful.

With his heightened sensitivity from all the previous rounds, it's not long before he's squirming, his mind melting into goo as the familiar heat within him is growing yet again. Instinctively, one of his hands shoots out and goes to find your unoccupied one, lacing your fingers together.

“Kiss me, p-please, please, ah! Needddd you!” Sydney's unintelligible babbling mixed with the whirring noises of the toy in him. Unshed tears glitter on his lower lashline, beautiful strawberry blond hair splayed out around him like some sort of divine angelic halo. How could you not want him, not need him?

Diving in for a kiss, he meets you halfway, his arms going to wrap around you tight as your lips crash together. He can’t believe he’s so lucky to be able to be yours. After holding back for so long, you’ve managed to coax out this side of him, introducing him to things he’s never even dared to want for. Perhaps, you truly were some sort of angel. One that, by chance, crash-landed into his life. One that’s loving enough to promise themselves to him, one that he can’t help but promise himself to.

“Hng! Love you! Looove y-you!” He all but slurs as he quickly approaches his peak. Burying his face into the crook of your neck, a string of unrestrained moans and muffled “Thank you! Love you!”s escape from your lover, punctuated by sharp hitches of airy gasps. It doesn’t take too long before his body is drawn taut as a bowstring, tongue lolling out from his mouth as he tips over the edge. As he rides out his high, Sydney grasps onto you like a lifeline, like he needs you to breathe. 

Turning the toy off, you let Sydney lay back down onto the bed before removing it from him and setting it aside. You give him a once over before smothering his face in kisses.

“You did really well, Syd,” a quick kiss pressed to his lips, “You with me? How’re you feeling?”

The hazy fog in his brain clears a bit and allows him to answer, “Mmm… Tired.” Lazily, he sits up, leaning against the headboard of the bed. You nudge a bottle of water into his hands, one which he very gratefully takes.

He downs half of the water, then bumps against your shoulder lightly, “You drink some too. Are you also feeling alright?” Sydney’s hand laces with yours.

“I’ll be better after a shower,” chuckling, you point at the terribly messy state of him, “and I think you could use one too.” Pulling him off the bed, you lead him to the bathroom for the both of you to wash up. (You definitely did not laugh when you saw how wobbly Sydney was on his legs after all that.)

Once dried off and the both of you are tucked into his bed, cuddling without leaving any space between you two, you see Sydney’s eyes threatening to close.

“Go to sleep, Syd, g’night.”

“Good night beloved,” a yawn, “Do you think we could beat our personal best we set today?”

“What?” Sydney’s question snaps you out of your drowsiness and you open your mouth to ask him how many rounds exactly he wants to try going for next time but it’s too late. He’s already snoring lightly against your shoulder.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

If you'd like to request a fic of your own, do consider checking out my event post!

[itoshiabi]

My angel walked me home

Summary: After a party, Haruka walks you home and shyly admits he wants you as his girlfriend, not anyone else. Your warmth melts his calm facade, revealing how deeply he feels.

The school party ran longer than expected.

Music pulsed through the halls, laughter, flickering lights, the warmth of friends and shared drinks—it was all golden in that moment. But now the streets outside are emptying fast and the wind feels colder than it should.

You stand under a streetlamp, dress swaying gently in the night breeze. Wine-red. It hugs your frame in a way that's quiet, not flashy—elegant, graceful, but undeniably stunning. Your hair brushes your shoulders, loose and soft under the golden light. A matching shade of lipstick curves on your lips. Brown heels tap against the pavement as you shift uneasily.

You check your phone. Then glance around.

The street is too quiet for comfort.

You don't like walking home alone. Not tonight. Not looking like this.

Then—

"Y/n."

The voice cuts through the air, soft and low. Familiar. You freeze.

Your head whips toward the sound.

And there he is-

Haruka Sakura.

Your breath catches.

He stands just beyond the reach of the streetlamp, half in shadow. His white-and-black split hair falls across his face, framing those striking mismatched eyes—gold and silver, gleaming like twin stars.

But he isn't looking at the world.

He's looking at you.

And for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

The way your dress hugs your curves, the soft flutter of your hair, the warmth in your cheeks—all of it glows like something out of a dream. You're radiant in the kind of way that doesn't try to be. That's what stuns him most.

Sakura's eyes widen before he can stop himself.

His heart stumbles in his chest.

You're… beautiful.

Too beautiful.

Then you see him.

And you light up like the world just gave you everything you asked for.

A smile spreads across your lips. You lift your hand and wave, heels clicking as you run toward him.

"Oh my god!! My angel is here!!"

Sakura jolts.

His ears burn red. Jaw tightens. Blood rushes up his neck like fire.

Angel?! What the hell was that?!

Why does that sound so soft when you say it?

You stop in front of him, still glowing, still smiling like you've just been rescued by someone divine.

"Wait—what are you doing here?" you ask, breathless.

He shifts. Hands in pockets. Doesn't meet your eyes.

"I… was just passing by," he mumbles.

His voice cracks slightly.

Lie.

You know it. He knows it.

But you don't call him out.

Instead, your smile widens."Doesn't matter. You're here now. So you have to walk me home, okay?"

He blinks. "Huh?"

You bump your shoulder into his, teasing. "At least do that much as my friend."

That word lands like a bruise in his chest.

Friend.

But he doesn't flinch.

"Tch. Fine."

You two start to walk side by side.

The night is cool. Wind rustles through trees and through your hair. Sakura keeps sneaking glances—quick flickers, then back to the ground. His fingers twitch in his pockets. He tells himself to calm down. To stop staring.

But you're too pretty like this. Too soft. Too close.

It's not fair.

"My friends from Bofurin told me about your party,' he says suddenly. His voice is quiet, but steady. "Said you'd be late."

You glance at him, surprised. "Oh?"

He shrugs. "I just… wanted to make sure you got home safe."

There. He said it.

Something warm touches your expression. You slow a little, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"That's really sweet of you."

He coughs into his hand, looking away fast. His ears are red again.

He hears it though—sweet.

You called him sweet.

You two keep walking.

Then suddenly, you speak again. "You'd make the perfect boyfriend."

He stumbles mid-step. "What!"

"I'm already jealous of your future girlfriend," you tease, laughing softly. "She's gonna be the luckiest girl alive."

His heart slams in his chest.

Lucky?

Someone else?

He stops walking.

Your footsteps pause too. You turn back, confused.

"Haruka?"

He lifts his head.

And this time, he looks directly at you. No flickering. No hesitation.

Those strange, beautiful eyes burn with something raw.

"That's annoying," he mutters.

Your brows lift. "Huh?"

He holds your gaze. "I don't want a future girlfriend."

You blink. Something flutters wildly in your chest.

"What do you mean?"

His voice drops, just above a whisper.

"I want it to be you."

Silence.

The breeze fades. The world holds its breath.

And then— before he could deny what he just said, your lips curve slowly. A soft, knowing smile.

"I was waiting for you to say that, angel boy."

Sakura's entire soul short-circuits.

You step closer, eyes shining.

"I'd love to be yours."

That's it.

That's the final blow.

His face explodes with color. He hides his mouth behind his hand like it can somehow stop the heat rushing up his entire body.

"You're insane," he mutters.

You giggle. "You like insane girls."

He doesn't reply.

He doesn't need to.

The rest of the walk is quiet. Easy. Full of stolen glances and thudding hearts.

And inside Sakura's chest, something unfurls—wild, terrifying, soft.

And he just...... Lets it happen.....

[taebinlvr]

— myungjae bending you over the kitchen counter

wc : 934 nsfw + mdni . . . the idea of this came to me in the middle of the night and i haven't been able to stop thinking about it,, i'm a needy myungjae PREACHER

boynextdoor masterlist .

────────────────────────────────────────────

“pleasee, baby? just real quick?”

the voice of your loving boyfriend cooed into your ear, as his chest pressed up against your back and his arms snaked around your waist. he held you firmly against him, shamelessly starting to grind his raging hard-on against your ass.

you had just gotten home from work, an unusually long shift that left you extremely exhausted – and your lover extremely needy. you started working more hours just a couple weeks ago at your boss’s request, but jaehyun – and, honestly, yourself – hadn’t gotten near used to it yet.

“‘hyun, wait a second- can i at least take a shower, first?” you breathed, feeling a growing warmth settle into your core as jaehyun’s hands slid under your shirt, one splayed on your stomach as the other palmed at your bra.

“there’s no point, i’m gonna make a mess of you anyway.” he smiled into your neck, pressing firm kisses and playful bites into your skin.

you showed little resistance as jaehyun maneuvered you away from the hallway, where you stood, and into the kitchen. you stumbled into the counter, your bag and its contents spilling out over the surface as you let go of it in order to grasp at the counter’s edges instead.

“just wanna pound that pretty pussy, baby.. can i please?”

you realized quickly that you couldn’t stop him, even if you wanted to. not only was his mind hard to change when he touched you so needily, when his eyes were glossed over with a hazy desire – but you wanted it, too. you could already feel a wetness soaking into your panties, your hole aching through the fabric with a need to be filled.

submitting yourself to him, you bent over the counter, crossing your arms and resting your cheek against your skin as you glanced over your shoulder to watch. you could swear your cunt throbbed at the sight of his drunken smile against his flushed face.

“fuck, so fucking hot when you’re bent over for me-” his hands moved quickly, thumbs hooking your waistband before pulling down both your slacks and your panties in one swift movement. he moaned at the sight of your glistening pussy, a shiver running down your spine as you watched him hurry to pull his length out of his shorts.

“been waiting all day for this..” jaehyun practically whimpered as he lined up the head of his cock at your opening, small, needy sounds falling from his lips as he teased it. “god- i’m not gonna fucking last-”

loud, drawn out moans were dragged from the deepest parts of the both of you as jaehyun slid in between your folds, every inch sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine.

he doesn’t even wait – as soon as he bottoms out in you he’s already pulling back out, slamming back into with full force and at a ruthless pace. his thrusts aren’t steady or clean, either. they’re messy. sloppy. needy.

“fuck, fuck, fuck-” his moans are different from his regular low, husky tone. they’re higher-pitched and whiny, ripping through his throat as desperate cries with every thrust he’s shoving into you.

“j-jaehyun, slow d-down-” you choke out, your own moans barely able to compete with the volume of his, “‘s s-so.. rough-”

“i can’t, y/n- i fucking can’t-” he pants out his words. you could see in the way his half-lidded eyes are laser focused on your throbbing cunt that there was nothing else on his mind. you were utterly at his mercy as he desperately fucked himself into you.

“h-here- put your leg up for me.” although his pace doesn’t slow for a second, he takes a moment to remove one of his hands from your ass, tapping the surface of the counter beside you. with shaky legs, you obey.

but the new angle the position opens you up to is enough to make you see stars. your nails dig into the soft skin of your arms as you practically scream into the air, your knees threatening to buckle beneath you with every thrust.

“‘hyunnie-” you cry, “‘m g-gonna cum soon..”

“please baby, please,” he tears his eyes away from your cunt to meet your gaze, mouth agape at just the sight of you, “cum all over this dick, please- making a fucking mess for me.”

one more rough thrust and you’re fulfilling jaehyun’s request, your cunt mercilessly twitching and spasming around his length. your head slams into your arms, your skin muffling your cries as your legs finally undo beneath you. moving quickly, jaehyun catches you, his rhythm never faltering.

but it’s only a few moments later, as your cunt is still desperately clamping down around his cock, that he reaches his own release. the moan he lets out is practically pornographic, loud and whiny as if he hadn’t cum in weeks. it was only then that he stilled inside of you, his throbbing length softening within your walls.

jaehyun leans down, his chest pressing against your back as he’s moving your hair out of the way of your neck, giving him the space to leave gentle kisses on your skin. you were both still half dressed, both of your trousers pooled around your ankles with your shirts clinging to your sweaty bodies, now rampant with the scent of sex.

but as his lips are pressing into your neck, his hands are tracing up your waist, taking hold of the hem of your shirt before lifting.

“baby..” his voice was already hoarse, his words coming out as a breathy moan.

“can we go again in the shower..?”

[princesevsnape]

Marauders Era Boys - Sharing a bed for the first time

Characters: Severus Snape, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Barry Crouch Jr & Regulus Black

Remus Lupin:

He is very nervous

He is constantly making sure that you are comfortable

Remus would definitely read to you

He would be surprised when you cuddle up to him, but he would quickly relax because it feels so natural

He wraps his arm around your shoulders as you rest your head on his chest

He places soft kisses on top of your head as he continues to read to you until he feels you fall asleep

Once he notices your breathing has changed and that you’re asleep, he will put his book down, turn the light off and fall asleep with a smile on his face

If he wakes up in the night from a bad dream you are quick to soothe him and help him get back to sleel

James Potter:

He teases you about how lucky you are to be sharing a bed with him

He is so arrogant about the situation it makes you roll your eyes and laugh at him

He tells you that if you find the pillows uncomfortable you can rest your head on his chest and he will be your pillow whilst winking at you

He wraps his arms around you pretty much straight away, saying he’s just cutting to the chase because he knows you won’t be able to resist cuddling up to him

Sirius Black:

He is confident but a little nervous too.

He is flirting with you the whole time, but he’s also worried about offending you and having you kick him out of the bed

He’d flop down on the bed and pat the space next to him where his arm is already outstretched hoping you will crawl straight into his arms

When you snuggle your head into his chest he would tense up a little not used to the affection

But he is quick to relax again

Severus Snape:

He is very hesitant about the situation

Severus will stick to his side of the bed not wanting to disrespect you in anyway by being too close to you

He would apologise profusely if his hand accidentally brushes against yours

He does his best to make sure you’re comfortable.

He even offers to sleep on the floor if it would make you more comfortable

When you shift closer to him he freezes unsure of what to do, but he relaxes when you tell him it’s ok

He is surprised to wake up in the morning to find you curled up against him your head resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t want to move because he doesn’t to risk waking you up so he stays completely still just watching you with a small smile on his face

Barty Crouch Jr:

He is so cocky about the situation

He completely loves that you have to share a bed with him

He fidgets a lot, and even nudges you playfully

He might suggest playing a game of truth or dare.

If you choose dare, he 100% dares you to kiss him

He casually drapes an arm around your shoulder and says if you get cold just snuggle into me and then winks at you

He would try and keep you awake as long as possible because he doesn’t get to sleep very quickly. Nudging you or tickling you if he notices you drifting off

He steals the blanket on purpose so that you’ll have to snuggle up to him to get warm

In the morning he will genuinely apologise if he was too much of a dick by keeping you up

Regulus Black:

He makes sure you’ve got enough space

And makes sure that you’re comfortable

He would be a bit hesitant to get too close to you. Not because he doesn’t want to but he doesn’t want to be too presumptuous or disrespect you in anyway

If you inch closer he tenses up a bit but then quickly relaxes because he knows you’re in control of the situation

He opens up to you about his family

Regulus might find himself unintentionally reaching for your hand or playing with your hair, when he realises what he was doing he would apologise and quickly pull away. When you tell him it’s ok he might slowly reach for your hand again

He always makes sure that you have enough of the blanket covering you he doesn’t want you getting cold

He smiles when you rest your head on his chest. He’s not used to being this close with someone but it feels so natural that he doesn’t question it