#he BARELY missed a chasm

[wildskissed]

I'm over here working on Yennefer and I hear my sister playing one of her solo runs and she just goes, "Oh my God, I accidentally made Astarion bite Gale in battle and now everything is wrong! I have to reload! Gale disapproved and Astarion is complaining about bile! THE CAMERA ANGLE CHANGED!" Meanwhile, I'm cackling...

[screampied]

𝜗𝜚 SWEETEST (CREAM)PIE ?!

☆ sum. you let him finish inside for the first time and he's never been the same since. toji, nanami, choso, gojo, sukuna.

warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, major breēding kinks, size kink, talks of pregnancy, praise, manhandling, mating press, pròne bone, doggy, pússy drunk men, dirty talk, implied multiple rounds, overstim, choking, squırting, praise, spanks, spıt, biting, bòob fondling, cum... balls... lots of cum

☆ CHOSO KAMO.

“p- please,” he swallows, beads of sweat racing down both sides of his forehead. you’ve never seen him so needy before. breathy minuscule gasps leave from his lips after each succulent thrust from your hips. “oh fuuuck,” he whines, your maddened bouncing against him already causing his pretty raven eyes to roll way back into the depths of his head. thin sable tresses of hair stick to his skin like glue as he’s openly glancing at your perfect cunt swallowing him whole every single time. your grip was purely enticing—he clenches down on his jaw as his scarred open palms cling to your rickety waist. “baby, wanna cum inside. wanna give you a-all of me.”

with a sleazy lopsided grin, you lean in to kiss the right side of his mouth. coral pink lips of his twitch at your sudden contact before he moans. “do it choso,” you sweetly coo, continuing to rut your jostling hips against his. your warmth—he couldn’t ever in his right mind fathom how good you felt from the inside. choso fell in love the second he eased his eager cock into your gummy walls. your words were as smooth as silk. “ ‘s okay, baby. you can cum inside.”

“okay,” he whimpers, and as your hips continue to buck, he buries his face into the cute exposed crook of your neck. “ ‘m not gonna miss, promise.”

choso bites down on his lip as he’s continuing to plummet his full balls into raw.

his breath continues to hitch and his head tosses itself back in sweet rapture.

“fuck, fuck, ‘s gonna be so much,” he whines, slick bodies grinding against each other in pure rhythmic sync. he’s just as hot as you—sweltering with perspiring sweat. your drooling chasm continues to grip around him and he’s hungry for more. with the way choso’s black lashes flutter and his hooded eyes droop, you could tell he was visibly pussy drunk. his brows furrow in pleasure as he feels your hands swiftly wrap around his neck. “y- yeah, choke me baby. please, fuck me.”

your bouncing against him accelerates quicker as he’s chasing his incoming orgasm—it’s coming quick and he can barely prepare himself. the pointed tips of his ears burn with parching heat as your plush keen thighs ricochet onto his own, continuously slap slap slapping against his skin. “that’s it, ‘cho,” you whisper, your body swerving back and forth to match his crazed tempo. he’s sitting up, taking in the flawless view of you riding him. so pretty, he’s practically speechless. nothing leaves out from his lips except for sweet melodic whimpers and looping cries of your name. “good boy, jus’ let go for me. make a mess, ‘s okay, baby.”

choso’s heart continues to race at your obscene words and he leans into your touch once your hand cups his right cheek. “y- your good boy?” he mewls, already feeling the slight twinge of tightness engulf around his cock. it feels so good, he’s always been poor with eye contact but at this current moment—his eyes never left yours. this new feeling, he couldn’t describe it. it left a saccharine taste in his mouth and he wanted more.

“my good boy,” you press a wet kiss near his temple, and he’s almost drooling at the spongy texture of your pussy squeezing and hugging around him. he’s getting off to your praises every time—it fuels him. choso’s hands never leave from your jerking waist and he’s trembling right underneath you. “hold my hips, yeah, that’s it,” you coo against the soft shell of his ear. choso whimpers, trying to follow your lewd instructions. he’s awkwardly holding you upright, making you bounce quicker down on his dick before he’s biting into your neck. “baby, ‘s okay, give it t’me.”

“fuck,” he gasps, compressing his pink glossed lips. he feels the pang of tightness that wraps around him and he doesn’t want the feeling to ever shy away. choso’s whining was so loud, it’s like a ringtone that you wanted to constantly hear on repeat. his hands remain on your waist, guiding your movements before he’s getting more vicious. just a tad bit—he’s hearing the sloshing squelches yelp out from your pussy and a large full breath gets caught in his throat the moment he cums. “baby, babyyy.”

there’s a subtle popping in his ears once he finally feels it. the searing hot friction that glues against both sloppy mounds has his silently babbling out more whispers of your name. your broke him—he was an entire sloppy mess and the cute pussy drunken grin that slowly spreads against his lips prove that. you moan right with him, running your tangled fingers through his black loose locks. it was so intense—and as he’s finally cumming, his voice cutely cracks.

“hngh,” he squeezes his eyes shut, now filling you up with such mucilaginous masses of cum. it’s so much, so thick that it’s overwhelming a bit—even for him, and he leans in to kiss you. it’s a wet filthy kiss, he’s not as passionate as he usually is and this time, he’s more sloppy. as his tongue moves in tavern with yours, he’s still shamelessly dumping loads and loads into you, gifting you with such hot amounts of seed. “i- i love you,” he whimpers between kisses, strands of saliva colliding against yours. his heart’s thumping right out of his chest in hurriedly beats as he’s holding you, using his left hand to give your right asscheek a soft needy squeeze. “s- so much.”

“i love you—too,” you moan between unkempt kisses as parching ropes spurt deep into your womb. your thighs were sticky, and he’s panting before tenderly nibbling against your bottom lip. choso was so in love. once your pointer finger runs a straight line down his bare chiseled chest and you give him that look, he’s damn near ready to propose. you had him weak, and he only wanted to fill you up more again, and again. .

choso grows quiet as you both come to a halting pause. his strong beefy arms wrap around your torso and he’s holding you close, devastatingly breaking away from the kiss with a pout. “y- you milked me,” he whines, leaning down toward your neck to seep his teeth into your skin softly. he can’t help but suck against your collarbone, gingerly swirling his warm tongue near your flesh. so sweet, you’ve got him hooked and it’s only been a few minutes. “i wanna—i wanna do it again, baby.”

“of course you do,” you sweetly tease, feeling as full as you’ve ever been. choso came so much that it’s spewing all down your thighs. you’re weakly grinding against him before you cup his face one more time—planting a chaste kiss on his lips once more. “y’know, you could get me pregnant, choso.”

his eyes light up at your words, and a whine leaves his lips once he grabs your ass again. “pregnant,” he repeats in a low voice, his adam’s apple bobbing. “i- i wanna try gettin’ you pregnant now, baby,” and his eyes meet yours. the most feral look he’s ever gave you by far. you gulp, and choso leans into your ear, a hand reaching down toward your cunt to squeeze it. “teach me more. i- i wanna make you a pretty mommy, please.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“hah, don’t say nasty shit like that ‘n not expect ‘ta get pregnant afterwards, doll,” a gruff voice murmurs from behind you, and suddenly you find yourself flipped over on your back. landing with a soft oof, a big palm swats against your ass and his swollen cockhead slaps down against your sopping leaky slit. toji groans, narrowing his eyes at your wet cunt, flicking a tongue across the notorious scar that always lives down the right side of his lip. the bed strenuously shudders inward from the abrupt weight and he’s slowly easing himself inside. “god, thought about fillin’ this pretty pussy up since i first laid eyes on you.”

“do it then,” you grumble, moaning once his fat fingers drag further down your twitching folds. right at your exact words, he smacks your ass again without warning and you let off a cute yelp. “ngh,” you bite the inside of your cheek, preparing to take even more of hod thickset heavy inches.

toji was always big—you feel your mouth starting to shamefully water at how he’s easily stretching your cunt open. you’re so quiet that you hear yourself squelching and squeaking around him, ‘pop’ after ‘pop’ ringing through one ear and out the other. “quiet, babygirl. this slutty pussy should be the only thing who’s talkin’, not you.”

you moan at the familiar position you were in yet again—his favorite, doggystyle.

toji always made sure you had the most presentable arch for him, and he grunts the second his dick’s stretching you out from the inside. “atta fuckin’ girl, thereeee we go,” he feels you writhing, groaning at the gummy texture of your walls mightily gripping around him tight. toji gnaws on his lip once he sees your ass throwing back into him forward and he snickers once he catches you’re trying to secretly crawl away.

“hey,” he cocks his head, wrapping all five digits around your neck softly. at his grasp, he reels you right back into him and you moan once his cock’s resuming to deeply barrel itself inside until it can’t no more. “you wanted a good fillin’ so y’er gonna take it, not run,” and your cunt immediately pulsates from his lewd risqué words. “got me?”

“y- yes,” you whine, and you can’t help but gasp at the way your legs nearly give out just from his weighty size alone. you’ve taken him more times than you could count, but every time always felt like the first. your hands precariously grab onto the velvet-colored sheets before you bawl them up into your sweaty open palms. “fuuuck, jus hurry up toji. always take so fuckin’ long.”

“caaareful,” he warns you in a gruff voice, and he starts pounding right into you. you almost choke on the saliva that resides near the far back of your throat as his sharp hips pivot. there’s a sly undertone in his words as he speaks—and toji’s cock buries deeper into your soaked cunt until he’s really nice and snug. “you watch how ya speak ‘ta me. for all i care i could stop right now ‘n make you finish yourself off.”

a pout curls against your lips at his words, but his hips were just so mean and sloppy. you’re jerking back and forth against the stained sheets with his crushing weight endlessly hovering right over you. just a few more inches and he’d be literally crushing you for real, pounding into you much deeper than he already was.

“fuck,” you bite down on your jaw, and the bed starts to wail out in sweet agony. the constant creaks were getting hard to ignore, and callused hands of his continue to spank your ass every few seconds. “tojiiii, fuck right there . . please,” and he’s so deep that you feel his jutting dick pump in gummy areas that made your stomach churn. so good, all you could even think about was imagining his cum spilling all down your thighs and flooding your cunt full. “cum in—ow!”

he jibes once his rough bare hands snake between your slick thighs, gifting your slobbering stuffed pussy with a single mean smack of its own. you moan at his touch, and as you’re just profusely sopping wet, you grind your teeth against each other as his rowdy pace becomes even more ruthless. with toji—he could never keep his hands off of you, you’d have to pry them off. he’s touching and feeling you up everywhere, giving you slow yet deep thorough strokes every second.

scarred big hands grab near your tits, massaging the centers of his thumbs against your nipples as he’s now in prone bone. “yeah, that’s it,” he lets out a raspy whisper next to your ear. as he’s slowly swerving his hips into yours, his long tongue flicks against your lobe. “you don’t care about nothin’ dontcha, you jus want a fuckin’ baby, huh,” and he’s still got both hands attached to your breasts, moving his lips to pepper toward your neck. you moan from his hot touch, feeling your cunt eagerly gape up around him. so thick, the stretch always made your mouth water and knees buckle within you. “wanna be my pretty mama, all swollen ‘n pretty jus for me. you want that don’t ya?”

“y- yes,” you nod, his mushroom tip continuing to kiss near the goopy insides of your cunt. toji sinks his teeth into your neck, and he grunts once his rhythm starts to get relentless - he’s snapping into you deep and he’s hitting you raw. your tongue was all lolled out and you were very much dumb from his cock. completely dumbfounded—not a single thought went through your mind, and as he’s tempestuously pumping you full of heavy inches, his head tilts back once he finally cums.

viscous sweaty limbs glissade and rub off against each other as he slows completely down. toji groans loudly, and it’s a sexy guttural bellow that makes your cunt pathetically twitch. “oh fuck,” and as if on que, hot balmy ropes trickle right into you, shooting way into your sweet welcoming womb. toji’s pants grow heavy, and he feels your weak body shiver right underneath him. it’s cute. his big burly arms flex as he wraps each bicep around you whilst he’s still plugged in, giving you ribbons of seed that then starts to tear down each of your trembly thighs.

“ugh, fuckin’ messy girl,” he swallows, and your honeyed slick unapologetically pours right on him, making an even bigger mess. his hips movements were as slow as a snail—and now, he’s just holding you, still propped up from behind. toji groans hoarsely into your ear, hearing your squelching cunt moan out its own desperate pleas before he tantalizingly pulls out. “god, look at this shit.”

your breath grows shallow and shaky as he’s still pressed on top of you—sinking his weight against your own trembly body. the bed dips at the pounds of heavy weight and toji creeps a hand down between your unsteady thighs again, this time brushing a few plump fingers down your clit.

“mhm,” he huffs, a swollen fat thumb scooping up a few excess remnants of cum before bringing it toward his lips. once he spins you around so you could face him, you watch with dewy hooded eyes. you’re panting heavily before he shamelessly laps the mess up with his tongue. toji pops his thumb right into his mouth before pulling you into a sultry wet kiss just for you to taste it for yourself. with two echoing smacks of crashing lips, he pulls away, tenderly rabbing your chin.

with a smug, sleazy grin pulling against his lips, cold viridescent eyes bore into you and he pats your tummy. “you’re gonna be such a good mama for me, yeahhh you fuckin’ are.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO.

after you let nanami finish inside, it’s almost as if he’s a changed man. he fully submits to you, and once you let him finish inside, he quickly becomes addicted. he wants you to do it again, and again, and again—milk him for all that he’s worth, use him for your pleasure instead of his.

“use me,” he pleads in a gruff voice, his back hitting against the fat cushioned pillows made of cottony fluff. just a few seconds ago at the least, he just came inside and yet, he wants more. he wants to feel more of you, and as you return his lustful gaze, you’re met with the most kindest fawn eyes. nanami still had his work clothes on, barely. his tie was halfway tugged out and his slacks were halfway on. nanami’s tucked out collar had lip stain marks stained everywhere, all because of you. he clings onto your waist as you’re still stuffed with such amounts of cock before he repeats himself, his husky voice cracking and faltering from each sentence. “use me, sweetheart. i need it, need you.”

“say please,” you lean up against his ear, hot breath fanning up against the sensitive shell of his earlobe. nanami shivers, and the blond tresses that stick against his forehead tickle against your skin. you’re so close—you can smell his loud wooden cologne scent, you can even almost taste it. he always wears the brands you really like. nanami groans from your continuous teasing, feeling his own dumps of cum stir inside of you as your hips continue to jostle against him.

with a longing grunt, he sighs. “please, please use me,” and you feel his beefy arms wrap around your body. you teasingly trail a finger down his perfectly sculptured chest, toying with the loose fabric of his tie and watch as his lips squeeze up into a needy pout. your hips—he was never ever a match for them, for you.

nanami stares at your pretty thighs that merely stick together due to such amounts of glutinous candied ropes trying to ooze all out of your cunt. he grows sheepish, scratching down near the undercut of his hair. “m- my love, you’re . . bein’ quite the tease t’night, no?”

“i just like hearing you beg,” you sweetly coo, and his pecs abruptly clench. your pussy’s keeping him so warm that it’s almost not fair. nanami’s panting like a dog as his arms wraps around you. he’s so pretty like this, all defenseless and submissive—the pout that continues to spread across his lips was only the icing on the cake. once you move again, you’re barely even moving your hips and yet you’re still keeping his dribbling seed stuffed inside. it’s thick and creamy, a few droplets start to stream down the insides of your thighs and he can’t help but drag a finger against the tenacious stringy strings of hot perspiring cum. “fuck, you feel it too, ‘ken?”

nanami swallows, and he’s just speechless as he feels himself delicately pumping you full of all that he’s worth—its lewd enough to make his mouth, and his favorite part was to just grow quiet and listen to the harmonic sounds of your sloppy talkative cunt squelch out its final concluding sounds. so sweet, he holds you tight before burying his face right between your breasts, nodding weakly. “y- yes,” he mumbles, and his entire body was hot. all because of you, there’s a sweet lingering taste in his mouth and his eyes continue to grow hooded and low from your gripping sappy folds.

“ugh, sweetheart. ‘m gonna cum again jus from how good you feel,” he warns softly, his tongue gently lapping near your exposed nipples. you gasp, letting off a shivering moan yourself once his faint kitten licks swiftly turn into full blown sucks. he’s sucking on each of your tits tenderly, with care. “mmph,” his mouth was full, and strands of saliva drag out from his lips as he gives each mound its deserved uninvited attention. every few seconds, nanami’s brown eyes peer back up at you and that’s when you deuce to give his head a soft pat. “you drive me crazy, honey.”

“i know,” you whisper, your arms still thrown over his slump heavy shoulders. nanami’s face softens the more he looks at you and oh, he’s so in love.

a twist of a smile purses against his lips as he sees you leaning in. once he sits up again from your chest, nanami’s entire body feels weak the moment you entrap his quivering soft lips with a kiss yet again, taking his shallow breath away once more.

“ ‘s okay, relax,” you purr in a syrupy voice between wet needy kisses, your hips continuing to rut up against him again in soft juddering jerks. he groans in your mouth, scissoring your swollen insides with his flaccidly soft cock. fuck, he was so sensitive. his entire body felt as if it was on autopilot, and your teasing didn’t exactly help things. your pretty cunt’s got him caught and enticed in a trance that he never wanted to escape out of — and that’s when a whine leaves his lips once he realizes that he’s cumming again.

spurts of hot seed shoot into you raw and he pulls away from your lips to gasp for air, digging his stubby nails firmly into your hips. “fuck, fuck,” and even his swear words sounded so pretty. nanami prefers it like this so much—he prefers it without the stupid feeling of rubber getting in the way, he prefers to feel the real thing.

you feel his swollen heavy base sink down from underneath you as he’s pouring such thick viscid clumps inside of you. “fnhh, hold me,” he pleads, and he’s shivering. you raise a brow and he grumps before abruptly rephrasing his lewd sentence, adding on a single word. “. . please.”

“good boy,” you whisper, holding him tight. nanami’s a mess crumbling right within your hold and he gnaws on his lip at the feeling of himself flooding you full. with cute exaggerated deep breaths, he’s languidly dumping in yet another hot load of cum inside of you. buttery white strings tape and glue against the sides of your legs and he feels his heart pulse quicken at your sudden praises. “that’s it, let go f’ me. make a mess, baby. ‘s oka—”

“just marry me already,” he moans, cutting you off mid-sentence. his face flushed and he just couldn’t take it anymore. he needed you, and he was already whipped. nanami can barely comprehend the things he’s spewing out from his wet parted lips but he doesn’t care. his face goes to shove back into the valley of your chest before he speaks in a cute mumble.

“fuck, i need you to be my wife. w- wanna do this every day day with you. please marry me, please.”

☆ SATORU GOJO.

“but—but baby please,” he pouts, his bottom lip quivering as he stares at your cute twitching body writhing underneath him.

frosty blue eyes rover down toward your stomach and it’s so cute—so swollen and plump. he’s been filling you up for hours, though of course for satoru, those hours only felt like minutes. his stamina was always equivalent to a horse. when it comes to satoru gojo, he fucks you mean and good at the same time until you’re just a babbling mess with his cum dribbling down your thighs.

like you are now,

he’s got you in nothing more but mating press and his weight’s nearly crushing you. satoru’s hovering over you and he leans in to tenderly suck near your exposed collarbone. “more, ‘m not done. my angel’s tummy isn’t plump enough yet.”

“ ‘toru, you always do this,” you moan, shaky flimsy arms wrapping around his broad pent up shoulders. he returns your gaze, and as the two of you lock eye contact, he’s nothing but feral. satoru’s heavily panting, bottomed out entirely inside of your pretty pussy as you’re trapping him with your sopping wet warmth. you’ve lost track of how many rounds it’s been, all you knew was that you were just as much of a mess as he was. satoru leans in for a kiss and you merrily return it, gasping once he starts to hump on you. he can’t help it, and his big broad hands sneak toward your bouncy tits, grabbing them softly. “ngh, ‘m full ‘toru, fuck.”

“but i wan’ you to get fuller,” he whispers in a raspy tone, and snowy white strands of hair occlude his eye sight from the constant unsteady movements. he’s so pretty, even more pretty up close. satoru’s thrusts become sloppy within seconds, and his fat cock’s emitting out even more slimy ropes of cum.

he grunts, burying his face into your neck as your sappy folds drip with racy filth of its own. so good, you can hear his choking whimpers continue to coo out from the back of his throat as his washboard abs press right up against your chest. “ugh, good girl. take it all f’me, you always take it so good everytime, fuck,” his brows curl up due to the overwhelming feeling of inevitable euphoria. satoru licks a stripe near your neck as he’s still rocking his hips into you slowly, and he grunts. “good girl, make me a daddy. ‘m gonna give you all my kids, promise.”

as he scrupulously pivots his hips further into you, his tremulous pants become more and more raspy. that little subtle detail about the changing patterns of his heavy breathing was attractive. his cock freely rummages through your greedy walls and satoru bites down on his lip, hard.

he was practically bending you, stretching you out as if your limbs were nothing but elastic. “s- satoruuu,” you babble as your cunt continues to clamp on and around him. so sloppy, your own sappy slick juices create a lewd concoction of filth as both bodies continue to move and pulverize against each other. the sharp collision of his hips that repeatedly slams into you leaves you speechless and entirely dumbfounded. he’s so rough, yet his hands were always gentle and tender. satoru loved more than anything to treat your pretty jerking body underneath him like a rag doll. “fuck, slow down ‘m gonna cu— oh!”

his bumpy crownhead vigorously kisses up against your sweetest spot thrice, and that’s when you feel finally yourself letting go. his hips punctuate within each jagged thrust and you don’t even realize that you’re gushing right down his cock. it was a feeling unlike any other.

“mhm,” he raises a brow, feeling a sudden spurt splash against him. satoru’s breathing gets irregular again as the bed resumes to creak until it’s just crying out desperate pathetic mewls. with skin continuing to stick against skin, you two were practically glued to each other. satoru’s throat grows dry once he registers that you just squirted on him, and he’s got the most smug expression. “oh,” he hums, slowly raising up one of your legs. with droopy eyes and a lazily hung open mouth, you watch as he playfully licks your ankle. “my baby jus squirted on me ‘n she didn’t even ask, how rude.”

“s- satoru,” you stammer out his name again, and you’re so feebly dumb from his cock that those same three vowels continue to slither from your lips again and again and again until you sound like a broken record. your body shook underneath him and he softly grabs your chin, still barreling his hefty cock deep inside. a shadowing flush of embarrassment overtakes you as you feel yourself staining the sheets with a grey forming tint. instinctively, your hands go up to cover your face and satoru snickers.

“nuh uh don’t do that,” he sweetly purrs, grabbing your wrists and planting a kiss near the center of your forehead. once his lips ghost against your skin, you feel hot again and he flashes you a cheeky grin despite how he was sweating bullets. “such a pretty girl,” and you moan, feeling him slowly pull out. the slippery piles of cum drool out from your saturated folds and you hear the ‘popping’ squelches slosh. satoru kisses the back of your hand, and he aligns himself once more, leaning up close to your ear.

“but baby, you’d be an even prettier mommy.“

☆ SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“stupid woman,” the demon snarls, slumping back against his royal throne with you straddling him.

all various crimson eyes of his maliciously bore into you as you’re grinding your hips against him, bucking sloppily into his very being. one of his arms wrap around your waist before he tilts your chin up to face him directly. you’re met with the eyes of the notorious sukuna ryomen, and a thumb rubs against your bottom lip before he scoffs. “tsk. is that what you truly desire? to be stuffed by me until your weak cunt’s all flooded with my cum?”

“y- yes,” you say in a whiny tone, hauling your flimsy arms over his broad shoulders. sukuna’s body was very big, and his frame was even bigger. you had some amounts of mercy since he was sitting down—but if he was standing up, you’d have an another force to be reckoned with.

his warmth frequently envelops your pasty walls as you continue to move in careless sync with his sharply structured hips. but fuck, every time your ass jostled into him, you felt his second cock that’s stacked from behind brush up against your swollen cunt. those brief feelings of gripping friction always makes your thighs shiver and send a school of butterflies to assault inside the pits of your stomach. you moan, secretly wishing you were taking both of him instead of just one. “finish inside, ‘kuna. please, i need it.”

he jeers at your plea, holding you in place as your body continues to grind straight into him—sweet wanton whines slip past your glossed lips as his bulbous tip continues to thrust into you in and out. “what you need is some manners, girl,” he playfully flicks your forehead, and you let off a sweet pouty whimper.

“uh huh,” and he lies further back against his regal throne, sitting upright with his left thigh bouncing to tease you even more. skin roughly slaps amongst each other in such a crude way that it makes all of the hairs near your neck stand up. every sound being made echos through his chambers and you’re just hoping that no one heard. the demon then grabs your chin again, pressing a chaste deep kiss onto your pretty quivering lips. “fuck, ‘m gonna make you my queen. ya gonna give me dozens of demon brats, ‘s that what you want, princess?”

“mhm,” you nod, and he barely gives you a chance to reply with the way his crooked lips slam onto yours. sukuna tastes sweet, he always does.

a rich sugary flavor coats his forked tongue as your own delves straight into his mouth. your body blissfully saws against his in such insane sync that it makes you feel tingles everywhere.

sukuna smugly hums, feeling your cute curious human hands roam down the edges of his silky made kimono. “please,” you croak between sweet needy kisses, his cock repeatedly hammering up against that spot every single time. it was as if his cock was a dart and your swollen pulsating cunt was the target. after each striking sloppy thrust, he’s hitting bullseye every second. with the way he’s hitting you in all the right spots at the right exact time, it scratches a carnal itch in your brain that leaves you utterly stupid for a few seconds. “make me your queen, ‘kuna. breed me, make me f- full.”

by this point, he’s just using you as his own personal—favorite—fleshlight. two wide hands glue to your waist, sharp dark fingernails teasingly stroking against your skin as he’s bouncing you up and down his bulging massive shaft.

you moan, feeling his ruby red eyes stare at you menacingly the entire time, and you’re chasing each drawn out pant of your shallow irregular breaths. “c’mon then,” he snarls, baring a single serrated fang. the both of you were so so close to shooting blanks until it eventually comes. everything comes immediately like a wave. “take it, princess.”

within seconds, you’re creaming down his cock and he’s pumping you full of thick ribbony ropes.

your cunt throbs the second he spills an entire whopping load inside of you raw, and you nuzzle your face into his neck. “s- sukuna,” you stammer, and your walls were forevermore oh so greedy, adjusting to the way your pussy convulses around him. you both cum in torrent and a surge of electricity pulses through each of your veins. it’s a slight feeling of tweaking pangs that efflux through the undersides of your thighs before your entire body erupts with shakes. “fuck, ‘s much.”

“ ‘n ya better take every drop, s-shit,” he groans, suddenly getting quiet once he feels your jittery hips start to pick up its bouncing again. he’s still sensitive, and he hisses before slumping back against his throne, trying to keep up his stern somber façade.

sukuna’s entire body was dipped in sweat, and his pink slit brows arch together in euphoric agony.

silence is his next response, and he’s still holding you by the waist, an oozing dribbling knot plugging into you effortlessly. it’s so warm and sweltering hot, a temperature you couldn’t even describe as well as your pussy ever could. the very pit of you stomach coils in lewd awe as you’re met with his now flaccid cock just stilling inside of you.

“c-curses, fuck me,” the demon shrills, grabbing your hips and bringing you to a pausing halt.

and for a split second, you could have sworn you just heard him, the king of curses whimper. .

[pin-k-ink]

CORRECTION ⋆✦⋆ ushijima wakatoshi

synopsis ➸ after a fight that was entirely your fault, you’d do anything to make it up to your husband. and by anything, you really mean anything.

tags ➸ dom!toshi, size kink duh, belly bulge, cockwarming, dirty talking, degradation, punishment sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, manhandling, spanking, slight asphyxiation, rough sex

wc ➸ 3.6k

The living room settled in tense silence, only the faint ticking of the wall clock filling the stillness between you and Ushijima. He sat rigidly on the couch, back ramrod straight as his piercing gaze stayed locked onto the volleyball match playing across the TV.

You lingered by the entryway for a long moment, worrying your lower lip as you studied the stern lines of your husband's profile. Even in his obvious frustration, you couldn't tear your eyes away from that strong jaw peppered with the faintest hint of stubble—a delicious reminder of how he felt like rugged velvet under your touch.

With a shaky inhale, you finally summoned the nerve to approach the couch. Ushijima didn't so much as twitch a muscle as you settled onto the cushion beside him—cognizant of the careful distance you left between your bodies out of instinct now. More than once before, you'd gravitated into his personal space during an argument only for the overwhelming pull of his presence to leave you utterly distracted and undone far too soon.

"'Toshi..." you began hesitantly, craving the familiar cadence of his name on your tongue despite the circumstances. "Can we talk about this? Please?"

Your plaintive murmur seemed to drift across that weighted chasm without any effect. Ushijima's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, but beyond that razor-sharp movement he remained utterly motionless. You recognized the subtle tells immediately—those micro gestures so easily missed by anyone not intimately attuned to each infinitesimal shift in his demeanor.

Despite his frustration, he was pointedly restraining himself from any potential overreactions in the moment. Years of sharpening that single-minded discipline coiled like taut cords beneath his olive complexion as Ushijima listened in silence. His strength of will always hit you with renewed reverence in these tense moments between you both.

"I shouldn't have said those awful things earlier," you pressed on, hating the tremor in your voice but pressing forward regardless. "You were just trying to help and I...I lashed out in the worst possible way when you were only looking out for me like always."

You fell silent again as Ushijima worked his sharp jawline, clearly processing your paltry apology behind that unshakable mask of restraint. You studied the minute details greedily—the burnished gold flecks gleaming in his irises, the faintest hollow of his cheeks carving into sharp relief whenever his jaw tensed in irritation. The familiar pull of adoration despite your self-recrimination threatened to steal your breath entirely.

Because no matter how he punished you with frigid indifference or terse retorts, Ushijima remained the single most beautiful man you'd ever feasted your eyes upon in your entire life. A sublime vision of rugged, masculine strength burning with unshakable passion tucked beneath that stoic exterior that few ever got to taste the true depths of so intimately.

Heart pounding against your ribcage, you finally indulged your impulses in the face of his frustrated silence. You scooted closer, allowing your palm to drift over the thick cable of muscle joining his throat and collarbone in a whisper of contact.

Ushijima drew a sharp inhale through his flared nostrils, but he didn't cease you. So you traced your fingertips further down over his pec, feeling the coarse fabric stretched taut over his sinuous chest. You swallowed hard at the heat and hardness radiating off him—achingly familiar textures you recognized better than your own skin.

"I'm sorry..." you rasped out once more, barely restraining a whimper as you slid your palm across his abdomen next.

You watched Ushijima's knuckles whiten around the remote gripped tightly in one large fist, his jaw ticking with the minute clenches and releases indicating his struggle for control. Lower still, you drifted over the rigid corrugation of his stomach, fingertips dipping beneath the hem to find the sublime ridges of his Adonis belt finally. Shameless in your worship, you followed the carved trail lower to palm the distinct swell of his cock already tenting the front of his sweatpants openly.

Ushijima let slip a low groan then, eyes fluttering shut briefly as you boldly kneaded the rigid length through the thin material. You licked your lips reflexively, mouth flooding with saliva at the sheer masculine musk wafting off that sensitive area you'd mapped and savored so many times before.

"Please, 'Toshi..." you demanded with a raw tremor of need roughening your voice now. "Let me make this up to you properly..."

Olive-toned lids sliced back open to pin you beneath the full weight of that blazing glare. You held his scorching scrutiny steadily as Ushijima seemed to silently weigh his next calculated move in the wake of your unashamed seduction attempts.

Then his large palm anchored itself against your nape forcefully, dragging you forward until your parted lips ghosted his own in dizzying proximity. You whimpered openly at the molten brand of his touch and piercing focus honed solely on you entirely.

"You've been very naughty indeed, wife," he rumbled out with a dark, rasping undercurrent that made your belly swoop with visceral heat. "Purposefully testing my restraint like a spoiled brat desperate for a thorough... correction, aren't you?"

You shivered bodily at the wicked promise laced through his gravelly benediction, aching to shift closer and chase more of that delicious friction and searing drag of his calloused palms over your sensitized nerves. Somehow though, you managed a jerky nod instead—surrendering over without further protest to Ushijima's unholy thrall and the intimate torments sure to follow.

In one graceful, unhurried movement, he tugged you fully into the cradle of his lap. Those large palms anchored your hips flush against him as his hooded stare drank in the sight of you spread so wantonly across his solid bulk.

"I'm not finished punishing you yet, little minx," Ushijima promised through barely parted lips, calluses raking over your lower back possessively. "But I suppose indulging you some sweet relief along the way couldn't hurt...as long as you take all of it, of course."

He didn't wait for an answer, large palm wrapping around your nape once more to tug you into a brutal kiss that stole your breath entirely. Ushijima devoured your every whimper and whine hungrily, the slick slide of his tongue tangling against your own enough to make you melt further into the furnace of his embrace.

It felt like an eternity before he finally eased off the drugging assault of his lips and teeth and tongue. Your mind whirled with a pleasant haze as you swayed dazedly, struggling to regain your equilibrium in the wake of Ushijima's devastating attentions.

"Take off your panties," he ordered in a husky baritone, those callused hands falling away from your body. "Only your panties."

You trembled faintly, fingers trembling as they obeyed the directive immediately. You lifted up onto your knees just enough to slip your underwear off beneath the hem of your— his shirt, thighs slick and sticky with your arousal as you settled back into his lap.

Ushijima's nostrils flared with his shallow, ragged breaths as his hungry gaze raked over the obscene display. One large palm slid over your inner thigh, nudging your legs open wider for his viewing pleasure. You shuddered visibly as he traced his thumb down the slick seam of your cunt, his touch so infuriatingly gentle and slow.

"You're always so wet and ready for me, my love..." he rumbled out, gaze darkening further at the way your arousal smeared his thumb with a shiny coat. "It's almost a shame I have to be so cruel, but you deserve nothing less, don't you agree?"

You shuddered again, thighs trembling with the strain of remaining upright as he continued to tease and torment you so cruelly. "Y-yes, 'Toshi," you managed to reply hoarsely, fingers twisting into the thin cotton covering his chest. "Please..."

He gave no indication of acknowledgement, continuing his leisurely torture of tracing over every inch of your slick folds save where you craved him most. You bucked your hips up, searching for the relief that eluded you, only to earn a firm slap on the ass for your trouble.

"Patience," he reminded you in a clipped tone, not bothering to slow the torment even as he disciplined you. You whimpered but forced yourself to be still, fingers digging into the hard planes of his pecs as he toyed with you so cruelly.

It felt like forever until he finally brushed against your swollen clit. You shuddered visibly, eyes rolling back with a guttural groan at the sensation.

"I know what you want, love..." Ushijima rasped, dragging his thumb in firm, tight circles against the bundle of nerves. "I know what this greedy cunt craves, but you've been so disobedient and naughty. It'd be unfair of me to give you the relief you so desperately need, wouldn't it?"

"I'll behave, 'Toshi, I swear," you gasped out, hips rocking against his touch despite yourself. "Please, please..."

The rough pads of his fingertips circled your entrance, teasing you with the slightest breach but never enough to penetrate. You let out a frustrated sob, tears blurring your vision with the intensity of your need.

"Oh, you're definitely going to behave..." he agreed, the subtle edge of a threat lacing his husky baritone. "And you'll learn to appreciate my punishments properly, too."

Before you could process his cryptic statement, the blunt head of his cock nudged your slick folds. You sucked in a sharp breath as the chubby tip dragged up and down, coating himself in your essence with each agonizing pass.

Your husband wasn’t a small man by any stretch of the imagination—and his girth and length had been daunting even on your wedding night. You'd been nervous, yes, but he'd been a patient and attentive lover that made sure to leave no part of you unsatisfied.

But this? This was an entirely different level of fullness as Ushijima slowly impaled you inch by agonizing inch, stretching you around the thick length until you swore he'd split you in two. You'd barely adjusted to the overwhelming sensations when he gripped your hip with a punishing hold, pulling you down fully to seat him to the hilt inside of you.

"Now sit still," he ordered gruffly, emerald eyes flashing with dark intent as he reached for the remote control abandoned beside him. "I've got a game to finish and you're going to help me enjoy it."

"Wh-what do you—"

The question died on your tongue as he resumed the program, his other hand splayed possessively over the curve of your hip to keep you from moving. He gave no further explanation, gaze flickering back to the TV as he leaned back into the couch cushions once more.

You stared at him incredulously, mouth hanging open as he proceeded to ignore your presence entirely. Your eyes widened with disbelief when you realized the full extent of his plan—the wicked, horrible, cruel plan he'd concocted to punish you.

"No," you groaned, shaking your head vigorously. "No, please, 'Toshi! This isn't fair!"

His grip only tightened on your hip, the pressure enough to bruise in the most delicious way possible. "Fairness isn't an issue when it comes to punishments, love," he replied mildly, as if he wasn't balls-deep inside you and refusing to move. "Now, behave. Otherwise you won’t get my cock for the rest of the week."

You let out another miserable sound at the threat, the sheer idea of him leaving you unsatisfied and craving his touch for an entire week enough to make you go insane. Tears blurred your vision as he continued to watch the game with utter nonchalance, acting as if his cock wasn't sheathed in the tight grip of your cunt.

You were so painfully full and yet, you wanted more. Craved that delicious friction that only came from Ushijima using your body in whatever ways pleased him most. The urge to rock and grind against him overwhelmed your senses, but his grip held you steady.

You looked down to where his cock pierced into you so deeply, your eyes widening at the slight bulge of his girth visible through your lower abdomen. You whimpered, the sight of it turning you on beyond belief. You clenched and squeezed around his hard length, reveling in the way his nostrils flared and his jaw tensed slightly.

At least he wasn't entirely unaffected.

A wicked idea suddenly sparked, lighting your insides with a fresh wave of fire. You leaned back, bracing yourself with a hand against his knees until the outline of his cock jutted more prominently through the soft skin. You swallowed hard, taking a steadying breath before you pressed down on the bulge with your other palm.

Ushijima let slip a guttural sound then, the noise low and dangerous and so fucking sexy you had to bite your lip to stifle a whimper. But the damage was already done, your hips giving an aborted roll on instinct before he stilled you.

"Behave," he warned you in a raspy undertone, those piercing eyes honing in on the subtle outline of his cock visible beneath your lower belly. He let out another groan, his fingers digging into the meat of your hip hard enough to leave new marks.

You couldn't help yourself—not when you knew how much it affected him, too. You repeated the motion, rolling your hips forward with a gentle press. Ushijima's eyes fluttered shut, his breathing growing ragged and shallow.

You did it again and again, each time pressing down with more and more pressure until the game became little more than white noise to your ears. All that mattered was watching Ushijima's self-control slowly slip as you worked his cock deeper inside you with every deliberate thrust.

His fingers fell away from your hip, and you didn't waste the opportunity. Your pace was slow and steady, grinding him into your slick walls with a filthy grind of your hips. His head lolled back, the veins in his throat protruding starkly as he finally succumbed to the pleasure of your body.

You continued riding him torturously slow, working every last inch of his impressive girth inside you until his cock kissed the opening to your cervix. Your clit dragged along the coarse hair of his pelvis on each downward thrust, and soon your own breathing became ragged with the intensity of your pleasure.

You were so close—so fucking close, your toes curling and core tightening with each delicious glide of his cock against your spasming walls. Just a few more strokes and you'd have the release you so desperately craved...

Only then Ushijima's strong arm locked around your waist, tugging you back into his chest and pinning you there with his iron-clad grip. You cried out, the denial making your skin burn and pulse thrum wildly.

"Did I tell you to move?" he demanded in a ragged voice, teeth nipping the shell of your ear sharply.

"Please, 'Toshi," you sobbed out, nails biting into his forearm as you squirmed in his hold. "I'll be good, I promise. Just fuck me, please!"

His free hand slid over your inner thigh, spreading them apart and leaving your aching pussy exposed and dripping. The rough pad of his thumb found your clit, drawing torturous circles against the bundle of nerves as he nipped and bit at your neck.

"That’s too bad," he replied in a husky rasp, the dark edge to his voice making your belly swoop. "Because I'm not done with my game yet. If you move one more time without permission, I'll pull out and finish in my fist instead. Do you understand, love?"

You whined and whimpered but managed to jerk your head into a nod. "Yes, yes, please..."

"Good girl," he rumbled, giving your clit a final flick before he resumed his hold on your hip.

You forced yourself to remain still and silent, not daring to move an inch lest he make good on his threat. Tears slipped down your cheeks at the agony of waiting and watching Ushijima continue to ignore you in favor of the game.

His fingers flexed against your hip, a subtle tremor in the muscle and tendons that betrayed his struggle for control. He was holding back, you realized, not willing to give in just yet. You clenched around him deliberately, reveling in the way he twitched and hardened even further.

The sudden roar of the crowd from the TV was enough to startle you both, and Ushijima let slip a guttural growl as you tightened reflexively. Your heart pounded wildly, and you could feel the sweat slicking his chest beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Fuck it," he swore under his breath, finally reaching for the remote and switching off the TV with a flick of his thumb.

In the next instant, Ushijima's large palms wrapped around your hips. He lifted you up, pulling out and flipping you around so you were bent over the arm of the couch. One large palm pressed between your shoulder blades, pushing you into the cushions. The other grabbed your hip, anchoring your lower half up so your ass jutted out lewdly.

He nudged your thighs wider with a knee, and then he was sliding back into you. You moaned at the fullness, the delicious stretch of your walls around his thick girth. You fisted the couch cushions, burying your face into the plush fabric as he finally began pounding into you with a ruthless pace.

His grip was bruising, but you welcomed the ache, reveling in the sweet mix of pain and pleasure that only he could bring. His other hand slid over the slope of your ass, and you shivered as he caressed the tender flesh before a sharp smack rang through the air.

"Greedy, insatiable whore," Ushijima growled, palming the abused skin as you gasped and rocked back into him. "Making me break my own rules. Now I'll have to discipline you some more, won't I?"

"Yes," you cried out, his name falling from your lips like a benediction as his hips pistoned into you with a punishing rhythm. "Yes, yes, punish me, 'Toshi! Please!"

He gave your ass a harsher slap, the sting making you yelp and writhe beneath his weight. You could feel him throbbing and twitching inside you, his own orgasm fast approaching.

"Is this what you wanted, little minx?" Ushijima demanded in a husky tone, his hand sliding from your ass to curl over your throat. He pulled you upright, forcing your back to arch and breasts to thrust out as his fingers flexed. His other hand smoothed over your lower belly, thumb tracing the slight bulge of his cock spearing into you.

"Y-yes," you gasped out, head falling back onto his shoulder as he pounded into you with brutal precision. You reached up and twisted a hand into his hair, gripping him tightly as he nipped and sucked at the juncture of your shoulder.

"I can feel myself in you, love," he rasped, his hips slapping against yours in a wet, filthy slide. "Can you feel how deep I am? How your cunt's swallowing me whole?"

"Yes, yes, yes," you sobbed out, eyes rolling back and lashes fluttering. The hand on your stomach found your clit, the rough pads of his fingertips stroking and circling the sensitive bud in a dizzying tempo. "So deep, 'Toshi, so full!"

"Cum for me, sweetheart," he ordered in a husky baritone, his hips losing their steady rhythm. You could feel his cock twitching and throbbing inside you, and the knowledge that he was about to lose control set off a fresh wave of arousal. "Now."

Your body obeyed before you could even process his demand, every muscle and tendon in your body going taut with a force so intense it was nearly painful. You clenched and spasmed around him, hot, fragrant liquid gushing and squirting around his cock as you came harder than ever before.

"F-fuck," Ushijima groaned, his cock throbbing and twitching inside of you as you came undone. He buried his face into your neck, hips stilling as his release spilled deep inside you. He kept pumping his hips, the warm flood of his cum clinging to your walls and filling you so completely.

He held you upright as you both came down from your highs, his breath hot and ragged against your throat. His hand slid over the soft skin of your belly, the other still gently massaging your clit to prolong your orgasm.

It took a moment for you to regain your senses, blinking dazedly as he carefully lowered you onto the couch. You shuddered as he pulled out, a hot rush of his release seeping from your swollen cunt. You winced, the sensation almost painful as you slumped bonelessly into the cushions.

Ushijima knelt before you, olive-hued eyes roving over your thoroughly ravished form as if to assess his work. A faint flush stained his high cheekbones, his dark hair disheveled from your greedy hands and damp with perspiration. He leaned forward, large palm sliding up your inner thigh as he pressed a kiss to the tender flesh of your sex.

You shuddered at the tender gesture, fingers twisting into his hair once more. "Did I... Am I forgiven yet?" you managed to rasp out, wincing slightly at the hoarseness of your voice.

His lips curled into a slight smirk, gaze flashing up at you knowingly. "Not yet," he rumbled, his fingertips stroking lightly over the soft petals of your cunt. "I don't think you've learned your lesson properly just yet. Now, why don't we go upstairs, hmm? I have a few ideas of what I can do to you next..."

[cordeliawhohung]

Thoroughfare

interwoven; maledicted || ao3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader

Undone fibers and tissue — you are Simon’s magnum opus. The greatest mess he’s ever created.

cw: fucked up soulmate!au, dub-con, smut, alcohol, forced breeding kink, dacryphilia, implied kidnapping, implied baby trapping, simon is a little insane, bound by dreams and memories trope, reader is hyperfeminine

In his dreams, Simon rips you apart with bare hands and teeth.

Sinew and fibers undone, iron on his lips, flesh filling the chasm of his belly. Fingernails grow short and bloodied as he delicately picks apart every inch of you that the universe reveals to him. Easy as tearing through wrapping paper. You are a gift. The only glimpse of light that can make it through the depths; the suffocating layers of earth and soil he’s buried under. 

At first, he is convinced you are just like any other dream. A figment of his imagination. You appear after he kills Roba, with his skin still slick with the viscera of the men he had slaughtered in the name of revenge. A fine thing to look at. Soft — softer than him — with untainted eyes. A gaze not stained by death and horror. His first dream of you is the first time in a long while that he sleeps through the night without a nightmare. Domestic. You smile and laugh for the entire dream. Gentle. An angel. 

It is not your only appearance. Somehow, Simon is lucky enough to be blessed with weekly dreams of you, if not more. He dreams of warm tea, and hands smaller than his wrapping around a cup. He dreams of bright smiles and flowing dresses. Of liquor sweeter than he’d ever order. A chaste kiss with a stranger. Expert fingers typing at an office keyboard. A scraped knee from missing the landing to your apartment. 

You have become his only solace in a world that wants nothing more than to smother him. Crush him and grind him up until there’s nothing left of him — a red paste to feed the worms. For once, he gets to look at the world and enjoy it in ignorance, just as you do. Soak up the beauty of it without glancing over his shoulder. Smell the roses and not worry about pricking his fingers. He sleeps, so he can dream of you; his strange little visitor. 

It isn’t until a few years after your sneaky arrival into his mind that he entertains the fact that you exist in the conscious plane. Something living and breathing. A tangible being. This revelation invades his mind when he dreams of you in front of your vanity, skin clean and fresh from the shower that still wets your skin. A perfect canvas for the makeup you paint yourself with when you go out with friends. 

If he were conscious, his pupils would swallow his irises at the way the wand of your gloss drags across your lips. His thumb would twitch, wanting to replace it, to feel your breath against his skin. Warm him up until he melts. A dripping mess to pool on the floor and ruin that lovely, pristine blouse. 

Goosebumps ripple over your exposed skin halfway through your routine, and you freeze, fingers still gripping your applicator. The features in your face harden — growing cold as if you’ve seen a ghost — before relaxing as your eyes find yourself in the mirror. Your lips press together, then split open to speak. 

“Do you dream of me too, Simon?” 

He wakes with a start. Thick sweat coating his bare chest, scars angry and searing, heart throbbing against his ribs. It’s impossible to tell if it’s fear or infatuation that has his blood singing the way it is, reverberating through tight veins and arteries like a gushing river. He doesn’t care to attempt to differentiate the two feelings. In his mind, they’re both the same; they both feel like impending death. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued on the cigarette-yellowed ceiling above him as he tries to recall the way your lips moved when you said his name. 

There is not a religious or superstitious bone in Simon’s body. He has seen the brutal truth that if there is some superior power holding the cards, they certainly haven’t cared enough to lend him a hand. But he believes in you. In your existence. He believes there is a heat that dwells underneath your skin that will sear away everything that ails him. A softness to you that counteracts his puffy scars and calloused hands. A sweetness that he wants to siphon out of you and devour whole. 

All he has to do is find you. 

It’s an impossible task when he’s usually on the other side of the planet. Heavy gunpowder, disgusting residue, the recoil of his 1911 in the palm of his hand. Simon is the antithesis of you. Sharp where you are gentle, bitter where you are sweet. He thinks that’s why he’s so drawn to you, polar opposites pulling to one another until they crash and burn; superheated sugar melting and blazing through his skin until all he can think about is the pain and you. 

Your voice speaking his name rings loud and clear on his ears as he drags himself through the threshold of his flat. He wonders if you would say his name in real life just as sweetly as you did in his dream. Dead on his feet, he hasn’t slept in a proper bed in weeks, and the plush mattress almost feels foreign against the ache in his back. Usually he knows better than to try and sleep fresh off of deployment. High anxiety and fried nerves force him to toss and turn for a majority of the night, reliving the feeling of gore soaking the threads of his uniform and gloves. 

Countless weeks of long nights have meant there’s been no time for him to sleep, and if he can’t sleep, then he can’t see you. Whether you know it or not, you’ve become his anchor. His gift. The one thing he can focus on that brings him pleasure instead of pain. So he forces his eyes shut and —

He hates what he sees. 

Fresh, unclaimed skin glistening in the faint lighting of a stranger's room — your skin, that soft and beautiful flesh he dreams of every night — you’re in perfect view of a man he doesn’t recognize. Synthetically sweet moans pour from your lips as this stranger — this son of a bitch, this bastard — lazily pumps his cock into you. Even in his unconscious state, Simon can feel the unbridled rage ignite in his chest, flames licking up the cells of his heart until it’s nothing but embers and charcoal. 

Who the hell is fucking his girl? 

Even from an outsider's perspective, he can tell the sex is terrible. Knees bent awkwardly, heels in the mattress as you lay on your back, hands pawing at your own tits for some sort of stimulation as this man fucks you with the slowest speed Simon has ever seen in his life. There’s no friction. No build up of pressure to get you to keen and whine. Your moans born of pity quickly drown in your flings own euphoria as he whines, cock half buried in your cunt. 

He’s finished already.

An unsatisfied but cleverly covered moan leaves your lips as your fling carefully holds onto the condom as he pulls out of you, being courteous enough to not spill. (It’s the least he can do, saying as how he obviously couldn’t make you come). He quickly ties it off, having already caught his breath (he hadn’t worked that hard anyway. Not nearly as hard as you deserve) before he smiles at you with a sigh.

Then there’s the awkward conversation. A terminal lack of chemistry. Polite laughter and reassurances fall from your lips, rehearsed so well it’s almost painful. Too thoughtful for your own good for someone who couldn’t even consider you in such an intimate exchange. A smile swells in the apples of your cheeks as your partner excuses himself to shower, to rid himself of any evidence of you on his body, like he refuses to bask in what little glory he was able to pull out of you. 

Metal squeaks, and the water heater sputters to life. You lie alone in that bed, half spun, yearning to grow tighter. Simon should have seen it coming — your hands slipping between your legs. It’s only natural for the pads of your fingers to dip and toy with the furious, worked up flesh of your clit. There is nothing leisure about it. No teasing yourself — no, everything you do is expertly done. 

Now, it’s an actual task to keep quiet, to not moan and groan as you fuck yourself open on the three fingers you hastily shove inside of yourself while your other hand works at your clit. You’re a better solo performer than you were with that stranger — that motherfucker, that transgressor — and it doesn’t take long at all before your eyes are fluttering shut. The steady rise and fall of your chest heaves with your breaths as you pulse and writhe around your own fingers. You stay like that for as long as you’re willing to risk until you quickly wipe the lingering wetness on your fingers into your thighs before —

Simon stirs, cock painfully hard, straining against his boxers, throbbing. It’s normal for him to sweat when he wakes up from dreams, but not like this. Sticky, thick, heavy; his want taints him to the point of ruin. Seeps from his pores where it soaks into his bedsheets. He grunts as he props his body up on his pillows, heedy desire too heavy on his body. 

There is not a single speck of shame to be found inside his conscience as he yanks the band of his boxers past the crest of his hips. He wastes no time wrapping his hand around himself, blood pulsing through the veins of his cock, searing his hand with each stroke. Unlike you, with your desperate, quick fingers and unrestrained desire to get yourself off, Simon teases himself. Thumbs over the raging nerves in the head of his cock, lazily bucks into his own hand, squeezes just as hard as he thinks your cunt would. 

You. You. Christ, you’re all he can think about. All he dreams about. Haunting him like the grass stains on his uniform or the echo of a gunshot in a small room. Deafening. All consuming. 

It’s only fair that he consumes you back. 

He imagines what it would be like to undo you. Watch your eyes glaze over until you’re nothing but a content, mindless thing. He wonders if you’d cry trying to take his cock for the first time. There’s a certain girth to him that your lover certainly doesn’t have, and he thinks he’d enjoy the brine of your tears. Salty. The only thing on you that isn’t sickeningly sweet. Something that can match his abrasiveness. 

“I dream of ya. All the fuckin’ time,” Simon hisses. Fatigue coats his vocal chords with thick gravel, rumbling deep in his chest as he groans. Glossy lips around his cock, hands rubbing at the length of him that you can’t reach — he craves it. Imagines it so vividly he can almost taste the sex in the air of his stale, hardly lived-in bedroom. “Dream of you fuckin’ other men. Dream of how I could do it better. You’d like that, yeah?” 

Umber eyes peer through the darkness and land on the vague, fuzzy outline of his body. Wide hips, meaty hands, pulsing cock — he hopes you’ll be able to see it when you sleep. He wants you to wake up with that same burning want that you’ve bequeathed to him. 

“Sweet thing, so soft, arent’cha? I know you. Know what you need. Sweet girls like you always need it rough. Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll get you askin’ for it. Have you on your goddamn knees beggin’ for me.” 

Simon doesn’t make a show of it when he comes. There’s no need to overperform for you. He just makes sure to take in every detail. The steady dribble of cum that slides down his cock into the unruly hair at the base, the angry protruding veins, his own hitched breath and panting. He stares, and stares, and stares until he starts to go soft. 

“Hope you dream of this tonight, sweetheart,” he purrs. 

That’s the only name he calls you by. Sweetheart. Whispers it to the void in the morning when he pulls himself out of bed just before dawn. Asks if his scars turn you on as he lazily shaves his face in the mirror. Mutters wish me luck, sweetheart with a gun in hand, and the sound of roaring plane engines drowning his voice out. 

You leave him treats. Luring a dog with a still wet bone. Twirling in the mirror in cute outfits he craves to tear through with a knife. Popping your lips in the mirror after applying a fresh layer of gloss. Your fingers in your cunt after another failed hookup.

He kills a mercenary in Mexico and wonders if the shade of his blood would look good on your lips. Wants that same shade to stain the base of his cock in smeared lipstick and spit. He sees the bright, piercing pink of brain matter and he thinks about your tongue — what it would look like lulling out of your mouth as you moan. Simon expertly weaves the destructive nature of his hands with your delicate existence until you are nothing but a corrupted glitch in his mind. His cherished gift he can’t help but ruin because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. 

There are some nights when mere thoughts and dreams of you alone aren’t enough to quell the tempest that makes his hands itch with the urge to shred and devour. It’s an easy affliction to satiate on the field when he’s got a knife in his hand. It’s significantly harder when he’s on his third week on leave and he hasn’t heard the death rattle of an enemy — his favorite song. While you are mouthwatering, you aren’t quite tangible enough to pick apart the way his fingers yearn to do so, so he wanders to someplace a bit more stimulating. 

Terminus. The end of the line. He always finds his way back to this bar one way or another. Never to drink, oddly enough. There’s always going to be the rough parts of him he refuses to uncover; the rigid scars on his skin, and the sharpness of his teeth. A thick balaclava always covers anything that would give him away as the blood thirsty devil he so desperately attempts to suppress. No, he never goes to Terminus to order a pint and sit in some dark, sour corner of the building while all other patrons crowd around the dart boards or billiard tables. Simon goes to Terminus because it’s a close walk from his rental, and they sell Kentucky bourbon by the bottle.

A heavy wave of heat hits him as soon as he enters the building, but he doesn’t even stumble as he makes a beeline for the counter. Friday night brings a thick crowd with bodies that pulse and dance to their own tunes as liquor courses through their body and rids them of all the pain and filth of the week. He’s waiting for longer than usual as the bartender — a man who Simon reckons is about as old as the establishment itself — zips between customers as they stumble along and order more poison to cure their pain. Normally, he doesn’t show up on a weekend; he knows better than that, but he’s drowning in a special kind of storm tonight.

Simon is a patient man. He has to be, with his line of work. Relentless in his endeavor to beat his enemy to the mark. Yet, even a man as stoic and persevering as Simon gets antsy when his back is towards the entrance. Door swinging open and closed, allowing the slightest summer breeze to waft through the tight room. The urge to glance over his shoulder and assess every inch of that room haunts him, but he ignores the itch underneath his skin. 

Instead, he focuses on the sounds. The idle chatter of guests as they slip throughout the room, crawling over the establishment like insects. Thick wood splintering as tiny needles drive tip first into the dart board to his left. Laughter and heavy accents, shitty jokes, clinking glass, hoppy beer, body odor, dense nicotine —

A giggle. 

Simon Riley never freezes, but he does the first time his ears are graced with your voice outside of his dreams. He’s in limbo. A terrible purgatory that makes his ears ring as his dark eyes scan the bar with the skill of a bloodthirsty dog. Deadly. Efficient. Your blood sings to him, and he follows the song until he finds you leaning against the wooden wall next to a billiards table. You’re watching some nameless freaks play a game as you sip on some fruity drink through a straw. 

Dark, mid-rise jeans sit satisfyingly low on your hips, and the flesh on your stomach is poorly covered by a thin tank top that doesn’t want to roll past your ribcage. You’re melting, sugar sweet sweat coating your chest, caramelizing deliciously on your skin. Cute, dainty, dull, teeth flash as you giggle again, laughing as some poor sod misses an easy pocket. 

He wants to run his tongue along your neck, lick up that nectar glinting in the dim lights before ruining you. Fingers twitch in time with his pulse as his heart beats harder now than it ever has in any other moment — if he doesn’t move soon, it’ll rip free from his chest and run off without him. 

He didn’t even have to track you down. Like a true gift, you fell right into his lap. 

“The usual?” 

The ancient bar hand grabs Simon’s attention and pulls him back to earth with a swift yank on his leash. Sharp eyes shoot back at him — seemingly annoyed he was pulled out of his daydream — before they soften and he huffs. The man looks impatient, irritated that he’s taking up his valuable time during such a busy night. 

“Bourbon. Angel’s Envy. Neat,” he responds. 

Bewildered, the bartender shrugs as he slinks off to get Simon’s drink, and the moment the glass is in his hand he tosses a few quid on the counter before stalking off into the crowd. He approaches you from the side, though he’s certain you wouldn’t notice him if he came from a more direct route. He waits for everyone to crowd the table, waits for you to be shoved to the back, content against the wall, drink in hand — ripe for the picking. 

You don’t flinch when his hand wraps around your waist, thick pads of his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your waist. He wants to grin at that fact — like you already know that you belong to him — but he doesn’t. Cold. Collected. You look up at him with glinting eyes that quickly grow wide with recognition. The beginning of his name forms on your glossy lips, but doesn’t quite roll off of your tongue. 

“Been lookin’ for you everywhere, sweetheart,” he says, voice a harsh whisper. 

Your eyes flutter, enticing and sweet, like you’re trying to blink sand from your eyes. “I… I didn’t think you actually existed,” you admit. 

He raises a brow, and it dances underneath his mask in a challenge. “Yeah? Is that why you asked if I dreamed of you, too? Were just takin’ the piss outta me?” 

“No- well, I mean… I had a feeling. That you existed,” you say, laugh hissing between your teeth as your gaze drops. 

Melting already, and he’s hardly got his hands on you. 

Amber liquid swirls in the glass in Simon’s hand as he holds it out for you to take. You look at it with cautious eyes, teeth sinking into your lip before you look back at him. 

“This is… this is insane, isn’t it? I mean, you’re real. And I’m real.” You swallow thickly, skin heating as his thumb slides underneath the hem of your tank top. “So everything I saw… was real? Your work, you- you’re in the military? You’ve seen me at my most… open. I’ve watched you… you know… And, uhm… I don’t know what…”

He smirks, breath pushing out of his lungs, fanning across your face even through the fabric of his balaclava. “I told you, didn’t I? I know you. I know what you need, sweetheart.” 

You have no time to answer before he’s raising the glass of bourbon up to your lips, and there’s no choice but to drink. Simon tips the glass, and you let the liquor wash over your tongue. He chuckles at the face you make — it’s too brash for something as sweet as you — yet you swallow every last drop. A thin bead sits on your bottom lip, threatening to dribble down your chin, and he uses the knuckle of his index finger to wipe it clean. 

“I know what you need, and you know what I want,” he continues, head tilting to the side — a predator sizing up his prey. “Let’s not draw this out any longer, yeah?”

Once the door of Simon’s apartment is shut and locked behind him, he’s got your back against the wall. Exposed flesh of your arms pinned beside your head, moans muffled by his lips on yours. Despite the bourbon, he can still taste the mixed drink you were nursing before; syrupy sweet. So fitting. His fingers release your hands before they’re ghosting down the center of your chest, tracing your sternum with professional precision. If he presses any harder, he’ll tear through skin and bone, sink into your blood, into the muscle of your heart, fresh ichor coating his hand with a delicious treat. 

Instead, he yanks your tank top up to your collar bones before pulling down the hem of your bra. Your tits fall free with a gasp from your heaving lungs, and he sinks his teeth into his prize. Bite after bite. Sweet as a peach, just like he knew you would be, and you bruise just as easily as one too. You whimper as he marks you, sharp canines staking claim with pressure harsh enough to draw blood. If it’s too much for you, you don’t say anything. 

You try to return the favor. Palm of your hands pressed against the firm, thick muscle of his chest, pawing at him, trying to feel him through his clothes. You’re not intimidated by the scars that paint his skin, or the roughness of his character. He’s always been like this for as long as you’ve known him, and you’re very familiar with Simon Riley. 

So you trust him completely as he yanks you down the entryway and toward the kitchen. It’s implicit. In your nature. Soft, pliable. Bending. And it’s in his nature. Rough. Demanding. Forceful — your lower back collides with the counter where Simon usually prepares his meals, and he’s aggressive when he unzips your jeans and pushes them past your hips. 

“You’ve been dreaming of this too. I know you have.” Simon grunts as he turns you around, hip bones pressing against the unforgiving countertop as his clothed cock grinds against your bare ass. You try not to wince at the sting of the corner cutting into your thin skin. “Every night. Been watchin’ me just as long as I’ve been watchin’ you. My gift. My sweet fuckin’ angel.” 

Though he assured you that he would have you on your knees begging for him, Simon doesn’t have the time to waste. He crouches down, face level with your ass as he spreads the meat of your thighs apart as far as they’ll go with your jeans restricting your knees. There’s no hesitation as he dives in, tongue lapping at your hole, saliva mixing with your wetness. Muscles tense, throat constricts, and heat courses as you bend forward, elbows resting on the counter to give him better access. 

Searing heat builds in your cunt as his tongue explores around your clit. It’s messy, hardly put together. Like a dog that can’t keep the food in his mouth as he’s chewing.

He wants to stay there forever, lapping at you like the bad dog he is, but he can’t. There’s an incessant pressure building inside of him, broiling, threatening to melt you in the very palm of his hands if he’s not quick. So he pulls away, still aching for you, and spits a thick glob of saliva on you for good measure before standing tall behind you. 

Metal grinds together as he unzips his jeans, and your own ears perk up at the sound. “Do you have protection?” you pant. “I’ve got a few rubbers in my bag if- hey- Simon!” 

Flesh burns and stretches as Simon bullies himself into you. It steals the air from your lungs as he presses, and presses, and presses, until there’s nothing left of him that you haven’t swallowed whole. It’s easy. Slick. He forces you open, giving you no choice but to give in. A strained whine leaves your lips as he rocks his hips, thick cock splitting you apart, legs too restricted to even give him more room inside of you. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” he grunts, hands pulling you back against his chest by your shoulders. “We already confirmed, I know what you need, and you know what I want, yeah?” 

Your mind blanks the moment his thrusts bear weight. So full, then void, and then spilling. It racks your nerves, renders them fuzzy, bogged down with too much syrup that you can’t move fast enough through the stickiness to connect the dots. Gooey. Soft like taffy. You stretch and pull for him as his relentless pace renders you as a puddle in his hands. 

You know what I want. 

You know what you need. A good fuck. That’s why you’re here to begin with, isn’t it? To make love to the man who’s been haunting your dreams with gore and violence. To fall into the gravity of him that you couldn’t escape even if you tried. You thought you knew what he wanted. Same as you. To fuck the girl who’s been giving him a toothache from the sweetness of her voice. But now? As he’s grunting in your ear, hands pawing at your tits, fingers gripping your throat? 

Now, you’re not so sure. 

Still, the pleasure rips through you with a demanding ache you can’t ignore. So needy and worked up from the neglect of your failed love life and array of shitty partners, he feels you start to unwind. Melt and separate as your moans fall free — pleasant and the only filling thing he’s had in his entire life. Your face contorts from the intensity of it all, diaphragm spasming as you hiccup and cry, fresh and hot tears streaming down your face. 

Simon coos and coddles, fingers reaching for your jaw as he turns your face to the side. Hot breath tickles the fresh streaks on your cheeks as he chuckles, patronizing. 

“Cryin’ sweetheart?” he asks; a question he already knows the answer to. 

His tongue lies flat against your skin as you whimper, and he licks your tears like it’s fresh bourbon from the cask. He prepares himself for the salt, the addicting brine, but it doesn’t hit him. Even as you’re being torn apart, flesh pinched free from bone in his hands, you’re just as sweet as you always are. 

“S-Simon, please,” you babble, face trying to wrench free from his tongue. 

“Is there a damn thing on you that doesn’t taste this good? You’re a fuckin’ mess and still… could live off of you forever,” he promises into the raw skin of your cheek. 

There’s a few more minutes of nonstop, demanding thrusts from Simon before the pressure snaps and floods around you. You come with a sob, eyes screwing shut as his cock continues its assault — that demanding rhythm that saps you for everything you’re worth. Liquid. Mush. Bone with the marrow sucked free. Undone fibers and tissue — you are Simon’s magnum opus. The greatest mess he’s ever created. 

He finishes not too long after you in a fury of thrusts and a growl you can feel rumbling in his chest. It leaves you raw. Muscles tingling and dancing underneath your skin. Body spent. Eyes blurring with tears. He keeps himself plugged inside of you, grip slowly becoming loose as he trails kisses along the side of your neck — like he only acknowledges how fragile you are after he’s done breaking you. 

“Sweet angel,” he whispers, cock twitching inside of you as he speaks. “Let’s clean you up.” 

You wake up in his bed the next morning with the window open and the birds attempting to chirp over the sound of car engines and city white noise. Soiled clothes cling to your skin, cum staining your panties and the insides of your thighs from the two other rounds Simon insisted on going for. You’re spent. Licked clean until your sugary crust dissolved, and now you’re nothing but a bare, gooey center. Sheets stick to your body as you sit up, body yearning to stretch, only for a tattooed arm to yank you back onto the mattress. 

You’re face to face with Simon, and your muscles are too mushy to argue with him. His fingers trace your makeup-stained face. Old mascara sitting in the creases of your eyes from heavy tears, glitter from your lip gloss seeping into your chin and cheeks. He adores it. A beautiful mess — the only chaos he can create that is still worth loving. 

But you’ve been here long enough. 

“Morning,” you greet, voice faint. He does nothing but hum in response. “If uh… I can shower and maybe borrow your clothes, I can head home here soon. Get out of your hair.” 

“Not happening,” he replies, voice so sharp you flinch. 

You clear your throat in a poor attempt to regain your composure. “Well, uh. We should probably head to the pharmacy. The morning after pill would be a good idea considering-”

You’re silenced by his hand gently grazing your cheek. He looks human lying there next to you, half of his face smushed into a pillow. Almost. There’s something wrong with his eyes. A darkness lurking there that you hadn’t noticed before. Or had you just forced yourself to be blind to it? You watch him with wide eyes as his gaze narrows, a seething question burning on his tongue. 

“The fuck do you think this is, sweetheart?” You swallow, and it feels like razors tear you apart the whole way down your throat. “Dreamin’ of each other? I’ve been craving you for fucking years. Think this is all just a coincidence? Think this was all for one good fuck?”

“You… don’t seem like the type of man to be superstitious,” you admit. 

His glare undos you as the muscles in his jaw tense. He leans up, towering over you as you lay under him, face mere inches from yours as his upper lip fights back a snarl. 

“We’re in this for the long run, sweetheart,” he says as if he’s staking a claim. “I’ll get you nice and fat with my kid if you aren’t already, and I’ll take good care of the both of you. Protect you. Make sure I never have to dream about you again because you’ll always be right here.”

“That’s crazy, you’re speaking nonsense,” you say, “I-I hardly know you.” 

“We’ll go down to the registrar's office,” he continues as if you never even spoke in the first place. “Next month you’ll be my wife and we’ll make good on the mess our minds have been making of each other for the last few years.” 

Palpable fear plagues your body, forcing your bottom lip to quiver as you shake your head at his utter nonsense. This… this is insane. He’s insane. But weren’t you aware of that much? How many men have you watched him kill? How often have you watched him wash the blood from his gloves, or claw out of an early grave? Heard him chuckle as a man groveled and sobbed, begging to be let go, just for him to skewer him with his knife anyway? 

What else did you expect from a man you met at Terminus? 

While Simon dreamed the good dreams — the fair dreams of sweet smiles and smooth liquor — you’ve been the antithesis of him. You’ve had the nightmares, the sweats, the anxiety. Every single image you ever saw of his life had been a warning. A siren screaming for you to run. A premonition of the trained hunter that’s been on your savory scent for years. And still, you fell right into his trap as if you weren’t taught the exact way to wiggle out of it. 

“What else have these dreams been for, sweetheart? I’ve been huntin’ you for years. Not lettin’ you go now just ‘cause you’ve got cold feet.”

Teeth embedded in flesh, now all you can do is squirm as Simon’s lips press against yours. He no longer needs to dream of ripping you apart. Flesh from bone, sinew shredding and snapping. Now, he can do that all from the comfort of his bed as he devours you — his lovely wife — soul and all. 

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ cloud nine. ✦ 」

Mattheo riddle x reader [part2]

Summary: The "jinx girl," as they call her, is said to bring bad luck. However, when Mattheo Riddle decides to get to know the school's most neglected girl and takes matters into his own hands, Y/N's life is turned upside down in a mere night.

Warnings:fluff,smut, angst

Words: 11.2k

The whispers followed me like a shroud, a constant murmur that swirled around the edges of my existence. "The jinx girl ," they hissed, punctuated by snickers and pointed fingers. Bad luck, they believed, clung to me like a second skin, a misfortune I carried wherever I went.

Hogwarts, a place that promised magic and wonder, had become a labyrinth of avoidance. Empty seats flanked me in Potions, desks strategically moved away in Charms, and hushed conversations abruptly stopped when I entered the room. I was a pariah, a freak, the girl who supposedly brought misfortune upon anyone who dared come close.

Every dropped potion, every sprained ankle, every lost Quidditch match - all blamed on me, Y/N Y/L/N, the harbinger of bad luck. Hogwarts, once a dream, had become a prison. Even the ghosts seemed to cower at my presence.

Professor Flitwick, a whirlwind of energy and charm despite his diminutive stature, announced a project for our Charms class.

"Partnering up for a Conjuring Extravaganza!" he squeaked, his voice a high-pitched melody. "Showcase your enchanting skills with a partner of your choosing!"

The room erupted in excited chatter, students scrambling to find their partners. I, however, remained rooted to the spot, a familiar ache twisting in my gut. Who would want to pair up with the cursed child? As if sensing my despair, Professor Flitwick's bright blue eyes twinkled in my direction.

"Don't worry, Miss Y/L/N," he chirped, "there's always a perfect match for everyone!"

His words offered little comfort. The pairings continued, each giggling duo a stark reminder of my isolation. Just when I resigned myself to another solo project, a voice cut through the din.

"I'll pair with Y/L/N ."

The classroom fell silent. Heads swiveled in unison, disbelief etched on their faces. It was Mattheo Riddle, the Slytherin prince with a reputation as sharp as his intellect .

Professor Flitwick, however, beamed like a firework had gone off in his tiny fist. "Excellent choice, Mr. Riddle!"

My jaw dropped. Mattheo Riddle? Partnering with me ? the jinxing girl ? It was as unexpected as a dragon hatching a pixie. A ripple of surprised murmurs coursed through the class. Did he just volunteer? Was this a cruel joke?

stole a glance at Mattheo, half expecting a smirk or a sly wink that would shatter the illusion of kindness.

But instead, he met my gaze with a genuine, albeit hesitant, smile. It was a rare sight on his usually stoic face, a flicker of warmth that sent a jolt through me. He sauntered over, his confident stride somehow softened as he approached me.

"Fancy working together, (Y/N)?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. It was the first time he'd ever addressed me directly, to talk to , and the informality sent a wave of heat rushing to my cheeks.

"I... I uh, sure," I stammered, still struggling to process the situation.

Professor Flitwick launched into the specifics of the project, outlining the different magical creatures we could try conjuring. Mattheo, however, seemed more interested in me. He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper.

"So," he began, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "what kind of magic are you most comfortable with love ?"he said, pulling up a chair next to me.

My heart skipped a beat. No one had ever used that term – "love" – with me before. It was a small word, but in that moment, it felt like a lifeline thrown across the chasm of isolation.

A hesitant smile tugged at my lips. "I, uh, I'm actually quite good with summoning charms," I confessed, surprised by my own boldness.

His smile widened. "Excellent," he said, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm more of a transfiguration specialist. We could combine our strengths."

Combine our strengths? The thought of working alongside Mattheo, of learning from him and maybe even teaching him a thing or two myself, sent a thrill through me.

A comfortable silence settled between us as we delved into the project details. Professor Flitwick's lecture faded into background noise . Mattheo surprised me with his easygoing nature, his sharp intellect tempered with a dry wit that made me laugh, a sound that felt foreign escaping my lips.

Finally, Professor Flitwick called out the end of class. "Alright, class! Dismissed! Remember, be creative, be precise, and most importantly, have fun!"

My heart still hammered in my chest, a mixture of trepidation and a strange, exhilarating thrill. Mattheo gathered his books, and as he turned to leave, he caught my eye “ see you around Y/L/N “

The crisp autumn air sent a shiver down my spine as I settled onto the worn wooden bench in the school gardens. pulled out the book I burrowed from the library earlier , determined to bury myself in its intricacies and forget the entire debacle.

The rhythmic crunch of gravel on the path drew my attention. I glanced up, bracing myself for another encounter with Pansy and her posse, only to find Mattheo approaching. His expression was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and something I couldn't quite decipher.

He stopped a few steps away, a silent question hanging in the air. Surprised, I stammered, "M-Mattheo? What are you doing here?"

A hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice softer than I was accustomed to hearing from him.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Was this real? "I, uh, sure," I managed, gesturing to the empty space beside me.

He sat down, our shoulders brushing slightly. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words. Stealing a glance at him, I noticed his gaze fixed on the book in my lap. "Studying for the Charms exam?"

I shook my head. "Actually, this is more of a personal read. It's about obscure magical creatures."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh? Intriguing. Anything interesting?"

Hesitantly, I explained the book's exploration of Fae lore, their connection to emotions and the delicate balance they maintained with the human world.

To my surprise, Mattheo listened intently, occasionally asking insightful questions that sparked further discussion. We delved into the complexities of Fae magic, debated the ethics of human interaction with these mythical beings.

A playful glint flickered in his dark eyes, and a hint of a smile danced on his lips as he listened to my passionate explanation of Fae lore.

"Why – why are you smiling like that?" I asked hesitantly

"You just look so passionate about it," he explained, a genuine smile gracing his features.

"Actually, it’s totally my uncle fault he was the one who got me into it," I confessed, a fond smile playing on my lips. "He used to read me Fae tales before bed when I was young. Now here I am, analyzing their magical properties."

"Are you close with your uncle?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Yeah, very close," I replied, then hesitated, a shadow crossing my face.

He picked up on the shift in my mood. "Everything okay?"

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the question that had been gnawing at me since the library. "Why are you doing this, Mattheo? Is this a dare or something?"

He frowned, genuine confusion etched on his face. "Why would you say that?"

"You know," I rambled, gesturing at the empty garden around us. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid of what?" He tilted his head, his dark eyes holding a hint of amusement.

My breath caught in my throat as he reached out, a playful glint in his eyes. He brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, sending shivers down my spine. "Me?" I whispered, barely a breath escaping my lips.

He smirked, amusement flickering across his face. "You look pretty cute to even scare a fly, love. Why should I be afraid of you?"

His words, laced with a hint of flirtation, left me speechless. His touch, light as a feather, lingered on my cheek, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"You don't understand," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Look at the garden, no one is here because I'm here. They believe... they believe —"

He cut me off before I could finish my frantic explanation. "But I'm here, aren't I, love?" he said, his voice a husky murmur. My heart pounded like a drum solo, the world around us seeming to fade away.

"You shouldn't be," I managed, my voice small and breathless. "I don't understand why."

"I'm not playing games with you, I promise," he replied, his voice firm. I hesitantly nodded, closing my eyes as the weight of his words settled upon me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, a heavy sigh escaping my lips.

"Don't be," he said softly. "I understand. And you know what? I don't care what they say. And to be honest I don't even care if it was true..."

smiling , I looked up , meeting his gaze."So you're the first "

He leaned back, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "Let's just say," he began, his voice low and intriguing, "I know you weren't the reason Ronald broke his leg before the last Quidditch match."

A surprised laugh escaped my lips."And," he continued, his smile widening, "I also know that the explosion in Potions last year was entirely Harold's fault, not yours."

I burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet garden. The weight of the whispers seemed to lift with each peal, replaced by a lightness I hadn't felt in years

"You were just there, like everybody else," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "So why would you take the blame for that?"

He leaned forward, his face so close now that my laughter subsided, replaced by a nervous flutter in my chest. "You know what they say about what happened in first year," I began, voice barely above a whisper.

"It stays with you till your last," he finished the saying, his dark eyes holding mine. A grateful smile tugged at my lips.

"So when Charlie from down the street brought the rumors from our neighborhood to school, and then spread that story about me jinxing Seamus during his first Quidditch practice.. and let's just say Neville's unfortunate Gillyweed incident didn't help my case too so a that everybody seemed to believe it ," I explained, finally voicing the truth I hadn't thought anyone would ever be interested in hearing.

"That's not fair," Mattheo said, his voice firm.

"Yeah," I sighed, "but as my Nana always says, some children are born with tragedies in their hands." A bittersweet smile crossed my lips. "And by some children, she means me."

"She sounds like a cruel woman," he muttered.

I laughed, a touch brittle. "If you think my Nana is cruel, you should've met my mother then."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, a confession I hadn't meant to share. My cheeks burned with a sudden, hot shame. Mattheo, however, didn't seem repulsed. In fact, his expression softened further.

My voice trailed off, the weight of the past suddenly overwhelming. Sharing a secret like that felt like opening a wound I'd painstakingly hidden for years. The air hung heavy with unspoken words, the setting sun casting long shadows across the quiet garden.

"I-I think I should get going," I stammered, pushing myself out of the chair, my resolve shaky at best.

A cool hand gripped my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. My breath hitched as I turned to face him , his gaze a storm of emotions swirling within its depths "Don't run away yet."

My cheeks burned even hotter, but I couldn't seem to tear my gaze away from his. "I'm not running," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't release my wrist. Instead, his grip softened, his thumb gently stroking a soothing circle against my skin. The simple touch sent a shiver down my spine, a stark contrast to the cold isolation I'd grown accustomed to.

"Then can I interest you in some Butterbeer tomorrow evening?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful charm. "Three Broomsticks, perhaps? We could continue our discussion about Fae magic, or maybe you could tell me more about your Nana and your… interesting family history."

A surprised laugh escaped my lips. The idea of spending another evening with Mattheo, outside the confines of a school project, sent a thrill through me.

A smile, genuine and unrestrained, bloomed on my face. "I'd like that," I replied, my voice a whisper against the backdrop of the settling evening.

Sleep that night was a distant dream. The events in the garden replayed in my mind on an endless loop. Mattheo's hand in mine, the warmth of his touch lingering like a phantom sensation, his unexpected concern for my story – it all sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

The morning sun filtering through my dormitory window found me wide awake, staring at the ceiling with a tangled mess of hair and a giddy smile plastered on my face.

But then came the most agonizing decision of the day – what to wear? My trunk overflowed with the usual witchy robes, all shades of black and grey. None seemed appropriate for a… date? Was it a date? My cheeks burned at the thought.

Finally, I settled on a compromise. A dark green skirt that swirled around my knees, a crisp black blouse , and my trusty black boots. It wasn't extravagant, but it felt… me.

The walk to the Three Broomsticks was a mess a disaster as I was trying to figure out the right direction . As I pushed open the creaky oak door,I tried to breathe and calm my self down, My eyes scanned the room, searching for Mattheo amidst the bustling patrons.

And then I saw him, tucked away in a corner booth, a solitary figure amidst the chatter and laughter. Relief washed over me, followed by a jolt of something warmer as our eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gestured for me to join him.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I walked towards him, a self-conscious fluttering in my stomach. Reaching the table, I slid into the booth opposite him.

his gaze lingering a beat longer than necessary on my face. "you..," he finally said, a low whistle escaping his lips. "You look..." he trailed off, searching for the right word.

My cheeks flushed a rosy hue . "I look?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Radiant," he finished, his voice a husky murmur.

My breath hitched. No one had ever used that word to describe me before. "Radiant?" I repeated, a nervous laugh escaping my lips.

"Absolutely," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Though, I have to say, for a second I thought you weren’t coming “

“ oh I’m so sorry I was just trying to find the way I, uh, I've never actually been to the Three Broomsticks before," I admitted, hoping to deflect from his unexpected compliment.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Never? But it's practically a Hogwarts tradition!"

. "I guess I've been more focused on the library and…avoiding crowds."

A flicker of understanding crossed his face. "Well, consider this your official initiation," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Prepare to be overwhelmed by sticky tables, questionable singing."

The waitress returned with our drinks, placing them carefully on the table.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, momentarily shattering our peaceful bubble. A boisterous group of students, their laughter echoing through the room, flooded in. My stomach lurched as I recognized them – Charlie Spinnet , flanked by his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, her face twisted in a sneer.

Unlike the usual sneer of Pansy Parkinson, Charlie's expression was a confusing mix of anger and… was that a hint of disappointment ? He locked eyes with me, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something more complex in his gaze before it hardened back into a scowl.

Before I could decipher the meaning of it all, Pansy spotted us. Her voice, dripping with her usual malice, sliced through the warm bubble we'd created. "Look who is there," she drawled, directing a flirtatious smile towards Mattheo. "Hello there, Riddle."

Mattheo responded with his trademark icy drawl, "Parkinson. Always a pleasure."

She gave a curt nod before returning to her group. Charlie, however, didn't follow. His gaze remained fixed on me, an unsettling intensity in his eyes. I met his stare, a knot of unease forming in my gut.

"He's jealous," Mattheo said casually, leaning back in his seat. My jaw dropped.

"Jealous? Of what?" I stammered, completely bewildered.

"He likes you ," he replied with a knowing smirk.

A bewildered laugh escaped my lips. "He likes me ? Mattheo, the boy ruined my life" I interjected, my voice laced with a sharp edge. In truth, life hadn't been a cakewalk before Hogwarts either.

Just then, a loud shattering sound erupted from our table, sending shivers down my spine. My cup of butterbeer, which Charlie had probably targeted with a stray jinx spell , lay in pieces on the floor. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the pub as everyone turned to stare

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to control the spike of panic rising in my chest. This was exactly what I'd feared. when I opened my eyes again, my gaze met Mattheo's.

Unlike me, he wasn't angry. Instead, a mischievous glint sparkled in his dark eyes. he was smirking.

"So, you said this is your first time at the Three Broomsticks, love?" he asked, a playful smile on his lips as he stood up. I felt a pit forming in my stomach, unsure of where this was headed.

"Yeah," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then let's make it unforgettable," he declared, his smile widening. He turned towards Charlie's table, his gaze locking onto Charlie's. Pansy, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and apprehension, suddenly looked terrified.

Mattheo strolled over to their table, a confident swagger in his step. Reaching down, he casually lifted Charlie's untouched butterbeer He held it out to me with a charming smile. "Here, love," he said, not sparing Charlie a glance.

Charlie watched the exchange, his jaw clenched. "Is there anything you want to say, Spinnet?" Mattheo asked, his voice deceptively calm. Charlie just shook his head.

"Do you like toads?" Mattheo asked again a question so out of place it left us all speechless.

"S-seems like I do," Charlie stammered, his voice barely a squeak.

"Good," Mattheo said simply.

Then, in a blink, it happened. A blinding flash of light erupted from Mattheo's outstretched wand, enveloping Charlie. Before anyone could react, the speechless Charlie had vanished, replaced by a , green toad hopping comically on the table.

My scream was lost in the cacophony of shouts and gasps. Pansy let out a bloodcurdling shriek, scrambling back in her chair. Crabbe, for once, looked utterly bewildered.

Mattheo remained calm amidst the chaos, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Ignoring the stunned patrons, he reached for his pocket and placed a couple of pills on our table.

"I would take him back to the castle if I were you," he said to Pansy with a chilling smile. "Unless you prefer the company of amphibians."

Pansy was speechless, her face pale with a mixture of fear and fury. All she could manage was a strangled, "Merlin's Beard!"

Turning back to me, Mattheo offered his hand with his usual nonchalant charm. "Shall we go, love?" he asked, his voice a gentle contrast to the chaos he'd just unleashed.

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, following the familiar path towards the Black Lake. Finally, we reached the water's edge, the gentle lapping of waves against the shore providing a soothing counterpoint to the earlier frenzy. Mattheo gestured towards a large, flat rock nestled under a willow tree. "Mind joining me?" he asked, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

I nodded, still processing the events of the evening. Charlie's transformation, Pansy's terror, it was all a bit surreal. Sitting down on the rock, I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

"So," Mattheo began, a playful lilt to his voice, "first date, and I turn your potential bully into a toad. Not exactly the charming introduction I was hoping for."

I glanced at him, surprised. "Date?" I stammered, a blush creeping up my cheeks.

His smile softened. "Well," he began, " we did ditch the project discussion for butterbeer and…, then turning someone into a toad… definitely not your typical Tuesday."

I couldn't help but laugh, My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I… I never thought…" I stammered, completely flustered.

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch sent shivers down my spine. "Neither did I," he confessed, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Thank you," I said, taking a deep breath, " it's the first time anyone has ever defended me like that. Not since my Uncle."

Mattheo's smile softened. "Well," he said, his voice gentle, "consider me your knight in slightly-unconventional-Slytherin-armor then."

I laughed a blush crept up my cheek

Silence descended between us, broken only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the lapping of the lake.

"You mentioned your Uncle," Mattheo said, his voice curious. "Tell me about him."

"He's a bit of a character," I began, a smile playing on my lips. "He travels the world, studying ancient magic. He's probably in some remote location right now, chasing myths and legends he’s so brave ."

"Sounds fascinating," Mattheo commented, his voice laced with genuine interest. "But you're not close with anyone else in your family?"

The question hung in the air, and I hesitated for a moment, unsure how much to reveal. But something about the sincerity in his eyes, made me want to share a part of myself I rarely opened up about.

"Well, I'm not exactly their favorite," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "You see, my arrival wasn't exactly... welcomed."

Mattheo's brow furrowed in concern. "What do you mean?" he asked gently.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the murky waters of my past. "My mother ,she found out she was pregnant with me. At the same time, she learned about my late brother's… illness. He died tragically, just two days before I was born."

"She… she blamed me," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "She believed I somehow took his place, that I was the reason he was gone."

He squeezed my hand gently, as if offering silent comfort.

"And your father?" he asked, his voice low and controlled.

"My father," I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "He said I stole his son's place. He never showed me any affection, always seeing a shadow of my brother instead of me."

My throat tightened, and I struggled to continue.

"But then there’s nana … well, she is a healer," I began, taking a shaky breath"She believed in a strange kind of balance. She used to say, 'A soul for a soul.'" A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the chilling words. "'Sometimes,' she'd say, 'life takes one thing and gives another’. She just wished it had been my brother who lived."

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and serious. "That's a terrible thing to say to a child. None of that is your fault. You didn't ask to be born, and you certainly didn't cause your brother's illness."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. The weight of their rejection, the constant reminder that I was somehow unwanted, had always been a heavy burden to carry.

Then, with a tenderness that took my breath away, he brushed his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a stray tear. The simple gesture, so full of empathy and understanding, felt like a dam breaking inside me. The tears that I'd been holding back spilled over, flowing freely down my cheeks.

Mattheo didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He simply sat there, his hand cupping my face, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that both scared and excited me.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "They don't deserve you , Not your mother, not your father, not sure your weird grandmother . They are blind to the incredible person you are."

His words, sincere and heartfelt, washed over me like a soothing balm.

"You are strong," he continued, his voice husky with emotion. "You are brave. You are kind. You carry the weight of their cruelty, yet you remain kind. That is a strength they will never possess."

His thumb continued to brush away my tears, his touch sending shivers down my spine.

As he spoke, the space between our faces seemed to shrink. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his gaze holding mine captive. The air crackled with a tension that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Then, before I could even think to stop him, Mattheo leaned in closer. The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his hand on my face and the anticipation building within me.

His lips met mine in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a fleeting touch, barely a whisper, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through me.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. A nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips.," is this your first kiss? “ he murmured, his voice husky.

A slow nod confirmed his suspicion , he leaned in again, this time deepening the kiss. This kiss was different – moving with a rhythmic dance that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, a blush crept up my cheeks. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo echoing in the quiet night.The taste of his lips lingered on mine, a sweet and intoxicating sensation that left me craving more.

"So," he said, his voice slightly breathless. "Forget everything I said about first impressions being unforgettable. Maybe this is a better way to start things off."

The next weeks unfolded like a whirlwind. Mattheo became a constant presence in my life, his shadow seemingly falling across mine with an uncanny frequency. Whether it was bumping into him "accidentally" on my way to Herbology, finding him "coincidentally" seated across from me in the library buried in the same obscure text on Fae magic, or him "miraculously" appearing just as I was leaving the Great Hall, it was clear he was making a concerted effort to be around me.

His tactics, though slightly obvious, were nonetheless charming. He started leaving small gifts on my desk – a fascinating book on Veela lore, a single perfect white rose

No one had ever gone out of their way to make me feel special before. Mattheo was doing just that, chip by chip, breaking down the walls I'd built around myself.

His "accidental" helpfulness extended to academics as well. He started leaving me beautifully illustrated books on ancient magic, conveniently "forgotten" on my desk. During Potions, he'd mysteriously materialize behind me just as I was about to accidentally add Flobberworm mucus to my Amortentia potion (a near disaster that could have had…interesting consequences).

One afternoon, while struggling with a particularly complex Transfiguration spell, Mattheo walked in on my frustration. He didn't laugh or poke fun,Instead, he sat down beside me, his patience as impressive as his knowledge. He explained the spell with a clarity I hadn't experienced before, his hand brushing against mine as he pointed something out on my parchment.

By the end of the week, I'd not only mastered the spell but found myself drawn to Mattheo in a way I hadn't before.

Mattheo's efforts extended beyond "accidents." He started introducing me to his friends. Theo and blaise ,Then there was Enzo, Mattheo's half-brother. With his playful demeanor and infectious laugh, Enzo made me feel welcome within their circle. I found myself enjoying their company, their camaraderie a stark contrast to the loneliness I had grown accustomed to.

One evening, while studying in the common room, , Enzo, sauntered over , He slid into the seat next to me, ignoring Mattheo's glare.

"Hey there, love," Enzo said, his voice dripping with a flirtatiousness that made me feel uncomfortable. "Studying hard?"

Before I could respond, Mattheo spoke up. "Enzo, perhaps you haven't noticed, but Y/N is busy."

Enzo simply chuckled. "Relax, brother. Just trying to be friendly." He leaned in closer to me

Enzo whispered, "He can be quite possessive, don’t you agree?" I couldn’t help but laugh, which was Mattheo’s last straw.

"Back off, Enzo," the words laced with barely contained anger , Enzo smiled and with a shrug and a playful wink at me, he sauntered away.

The most surprising consequence, however, was the complete absence of whispers. The rumors that had plagued me since childhood seemed to vanish overnight. Not a single snide remark, not a single pointed finger. The silence was deafening, and yet, strangely comforting.

Was it fear of Mattheo, or something more? Either way, I didn't question my newfound peace.

The stolen moments with Mattheo became a cherished secret language.

One particularly rainy evening, after a long and tedious double Potions lesson, Mattheo found me huddled in the deserted library, desperately trying (and failing) to decipher a particularly cryptic passage in a dusty old tome.

"Having trouble with the love language of Goblins, love?" he drawled, his voice a welcome sound in the quiet of the library.

I looked up, startled, my cheeks flushing at the sight of him. "Mattheo, you scared me!"

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Just offering my expertise in the finer points of ancient languages," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

He pulled up a chair next to me, the scent of his cologne filling my senses. As he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he attempted to translate the passage, a spark ignited between us.

Emboldened by the privacy of the deserted library and the frustration of the Gobbledegook text, I turned to face him, my lips brushing against his ear as I pointed to a particularly confusing line.

Suddenly, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Mattheo's hand cupped my cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw. His gaze held mine, a storm brewing in its depths.

"There's another way to learn this language," he murmured, his voice husky with suppressed longing.

Before I could respond, he closed the gap between us. The kiss was different this time. It was slow, searing, filled with a raw emotion that sent shivers down my spine. It was a kiss that spoke not just of affection, but of a growing possessiveness, a silent claim on my heart.

We pulled away breathlessly, foreheads resting together. The quiet of the library thrummed with the intensity of the unspoken words hanging in the air.

"Maybe Gobbledegook isn't so bad after all," I finally whispered, a shy smile playing on my lips.

Mattheo chuckled, a deep sound that resonated within me. "Perhaps not," he agreed, his eyes lingering on mine for a beat longer than necessary.

One blustery afternoon, while seeking refuge from a sudden downpour in a hidden alcove near the greenhouses, we found ourselves alone. The air crackled with unspoken tension as we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, the rain drumming a steady rhythm on the stone walls.

He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering from my face to the storm raging outside. "This weather is something else, isn't it?" he said, his voice barely a whisper above the wind.

"Unpredictable, like magic itself," I replied, my own voice barely a murmur.

Suddenly, he turned to face me, his eyes a storm brewing within them. Before I could react, he cupped my face in his hands, his touch sending shivers down my spine. The space between us evaporated as he leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek.

"You're unpredictable too, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with something raw and primal. "In the best way possible."

And then, he kissed me. It was a kiss unlike any I'd ever experienced. It was fierce and passionate, filled with a yearning that mirrored my own.

I was hunched over a particularly dense text on Herbology, wrestling with the intricacies of magical plant growth, when a shadow fell across the page.

Looking up, I met Mattheo's gaze, a teasing glint in his dark eyes. "Lost in the world of Venomous Tentacula again, love?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

I swatted playfully at his hand, a smile tugging at my lips. "These Bulbadox Bulbs are more stubborn than they look," I grumbled.

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Maybe they just need the right touch," he murmured, his breath warm on my ear.

Before I could react, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the offending passage. A jolt of electricity shot through me, my heart skipping a beat. He lingered for a moment too long, his touch sending goosebumps erupting across my skin.

"See?" he said, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sometimes understanding comes from a different kind of connection."

His words were a playful jab, but the intensity of his gaze held a deeper meaning. I felt my cheeks flush, a secret smile spreading across my face.

"Maybe," I replied, unable to tear my gaze from his.

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Mattheo leaned in further. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a wave of warmth cascading through me.

It was a soft, lingering exploration. He trailed a finger down my neck, sending shivers dancing across my exposed skin. My breath hitched in my throat, and I leaned back into his touch, a helpless moan escaping my lips.

He chuckled against my skin, a low, throaty sound that sent a delicious tremor through me. "You should see the way you blush, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

My cheeks burned even hotter. This wasn't the stolen kiss under the moonlight, this was something more intimate, more raw. It was a secret shared between us, a confirmation of the growing connection that thrummed beneath the surface.

Suddenly, the library door slammed open, shattering the intimate moment. Madam Pince, the stern librarian, swept in, her beady eyes scanning the room. Mattheo and I both straightened up, a sheepish grin on his face.

"No hanky-panky in the Restricted Section, young man," Madam Pince barked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Mattheo, ever the charmer, flashed her a boyish grin. "Just helping a friend with her research, Madam Pince," he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Madam Pince narrowed her eyes at us for a moment longer before muttering something about "frivolous students" and disappearing behind a towering bookshelf.

As soon as she was gone, Mattheo let out a low whistle, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Looks like we've been caught," he said, a hint of regret in his voice.

I couldn't help but laugh, the tension broken. "Maybe we should stick to the Herbology section next time," I teased, butterflies still fluttering in my stomach from his touch.

He took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Maybe," he agreed, his eyes holding mine. "But who knows what secrets lurk in the Restricted Section?"

Suddenly, a voice broke through my concentration. "Y/N!"

I looked up to see Charlie Spinnet standing awkwardly in front of me, a hopeful smile plastered on his face. My stomach lurched, a flicker of unease coursing through me.

"Charlie," I stammered, unsure of what to say.

"Hey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Before I could answer, mattheo’s voice cut in, laced with a dangerous edge.

"Actually, she can't," Mattheo drawled, His eyes narrowed at Charlie, a dark glint flickering within them.

Charlie gulped, his hopeful smile faltering. "M-Mattheo," he stammered. "I just wanted to…"

"Whatever it is," Mattheo interrupted, his voice low and cold, "it can wait."

The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. My heart hammered against my ribs, caught between the awkwardness of Charlie's unexpected presence and the possessiveness radiating from Mattheo.

"But—" Charlie began, but Mattheo cut him off again.

"No buts, Spinnet," Mattheo said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Now, if you'll excuse us,"

He took my hand possessively, his fingers wrapping around mine with a force that left no room for argument. Before Charlie could stammer another word, Mattheo practically dragged me away.

We walked in silence for a moment, the only sound our hurried footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. My cheeks burned with a mixture of annoyance and a strange sense of… satisfaction?

"Mattheo, that was a bit harsh," I finally said, breaking the silence.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. His gaze was intense, a storm brewing within its depths.

"He shouldn't have bothered you," he said, his voice low and possessive.

"He was just trying to talk to me," I pointed out, a hint of defiance creeping into my voice.

"And what exactly did he want to talk about?" Mattheo challenged, his jaw clenched.

"I don't know," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. "But I should have been allowed to find out, shouldn't I?"

Mattheo seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, his emotions flickering across his face. Finally, he sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away.

"Look," he said, his voice softer now, "I just… don't like the idea of someone else getting close to you."

My heart skipped a beat. Was he… jealous?

"Why not?" I couldn't help but ask, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

He hesitated – a rare sight that sent a thrill through me.

"Because…" he stammered, searching for the right words. "Because maybe you mean more to me than I care to admit."

The words hung in the air. A smile bloomed on my face, wider than it had in weeks.

"Is that so, Riddle?" I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He met my gaze, his eyes filled with a newfound vulnerability. Leaning in closer, he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face with his thumb.

"Maybe it is," he murmured, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine.

Before we could explore that maybe any further, a loud cough echoed through the corridor. We sprang apart, startled, to see a smirking Enzo leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

"Oh please don’t let me stop you ," he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Mattheo scowled, his usual bravado returning. "Get lost, Enzo," he snapped.

Enzo, unfazed, simply chuckled. "Just making sure you're not neglecting your studies, brother dearest," he said, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Professor Flitwick wouldn't be happy if he caught you missing his lecture because you can’t keep your hands to yourself those days "

My cheeks burned even hotter. "We weren't… ," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Enzo chuckled. "Whatever you say, sweetheart . But don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Though, if you're looking for a more private place next time, I know a few hidden alcoves that are perfect for… well, you get the idea."

"Thanks, Enzo," I said smiling trying to get away from this conversation as fast as possible .

"Anytime," he replied, throwing a playful two-finger salute before disappearing back down the corridor.

Mattheo and I stared at each other for a long moment, the tension thick in the air.

"I think I need to go …" I began, unsure how to proceed “ see you at ummm….”

"...Great Hall," Mattheo finished my sentence, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment. Though his earlier possessiveness had surprised me, I couldn't deny a flicker of warmth at his reluctance to see me go.

"Yeah, the Great Hall," I confirmed, unable to meet his gaze for too long. The lingering confession, the stolen moment almost-kiss, hung heavy between us.

As I sank deeper into the worn armchair, a group of giggling Gryffindor girls approached, their chatter drawing my attention.

"Y/N!" Lavender Brown announced, her voice bright with excitement. "Did you hear? There's supposed to be a total lunar eclipse tonight!"

My heart skipped a beat. A lunar eclipse? A shiver of excitement ran down my spine. For the first time in years, I hadn't even been aware of such an event. But more importantly, they were inviting me.

Parvati Patil chimed in, her dark eyes sparkling. "We're all planning to gather near the lake to watch. It's supposed to be incredible! Are you coming?"

"I…" I stammered, unsure how to respond.

"Oh, come on, Y/N," Padma, Parvati's twin, nudged me playfully. "It'll be fun! We can all gossip and make wishes under the moonlight."

A lump formed in my throat. It was a simple question, but it felt monumental. An invitation to not just witness a celestial phenomenon, but to be included, to be a part of something.

For a moment, I simply stared at them, my mind struggling to process the shift. Was this real? Did they genuinely want me to join them?

"I don't know," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes. "Maybe…"

"Don't worry, Y/N," Lavender reassured me, sensing my hesitation. "It's up to you. But if you do decide to come, we'd love to have you."

With a warm smile, they turned to leave, their excited chatter fading as they descended the stairs. I watched them go, a wave of indecisiveness washing over me.

The rest of day went by quickly as I was still thinking about the invitation then mattheo I looked around searching for him

I spotted him by the courtyard, leaning against a stone pillar, his usual air of nonchalance masking a hint of concern. As I approached, he pushed himself off the pillar and met my gaze.

"Hey," he said, his voice laced with a question as his eyes scanned my face.

"Hi, Mattheo," I replied hesitantly.

"Everything alright?" he asked, his brow furrowed. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from my eye with a gentle touch .

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "There's a lunar eclipse tonight, did you know?"

He blinked, surprised by the abrupt change of subject. "A lunar eclipse?" he echoed.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Apparently, it's supposed to be the biggest one in years. Everyone's going down by the Black Lake to watch it."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Everyone, huh?" he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Well," I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush, "not everyone. But some people. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil invited me, and…"

I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Did I dare ask him to join me?

"And?" Mattheo prompted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"And," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes, "I was wondering… would you maybe want to come with me?"

The playful smile vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "With you?" he echoed.

I looked back up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yeah," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "If you want to, of course."

He held my gaze for a long moment, the silence stretching between us. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, warm and genuine.

"I'd like that very much, love ," he said, his voice a low rumble.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and pink, I made my way towards the Black Lake. The crisp autumn air buzzed with excited chatter as students from all houses gathered, blankets and snacks in tow, eager to witness the celestial spectacle.

A warm hand brushed against mine, sending a jolt through my system. Turning, I met Mattheo's gaze, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. He wore a casual smirk, but the way his hand lingered on mine spoke volumes.

he breathed, taking in the scene before him. "Didn't expect the whole school to be here."

I chuckled. "Apparently, lunar eclipses are kind of a big deal."

We weaved through the crowd, Lavender and Parvati waving to us over Theo , Enzo even Blaise was there too that was really unexpected . We settled in, surrounded by the cheerful chatter and laughter.

As the moon began to cast its silvery glow, a hush fell over the crowd. Everyone turned their eyes skyward, captivated by the gradual darkening of Earth's natural satellite. Mattheo, however, seemed more interested in me than the moon. His hand brushed mine again, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

Leaning closer, he whispered in my ear, his voice husky and warm. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

I nodded, unable to tear my gaze from his face. "It is," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine. Just as I thought he was about to kiss me, his voice dipped even lower.

"come with me. "

The surprise on my face must have been evident. "Where?" I stammered.

he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Trust me, it'll be worth it."

We walked for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle in the bushes. The air grew thicker the deeper we ventured, and a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of my excitement. Just as I was about to voice my concerns, Mattheo came to a stop in front of a section of gnarled oak trees, their branches intertwined in an almost unnatural way.

"Here?" I asked, eyeing the dense foliage with suspicion.

He smirked, his eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy. "Here," he confirmed, stepping forward and pushing aside a thick curtain woven from the very leaves themselves.

To my astonishment, a hidden passage unfolded behind the makeshift doorway. A narrow path, barely wide enough for two people, stretched into the darkness, illuminated faintly by glowing mushrooms that dotted the damp stone walls.

My initial apprehension warred with the budding trust I felt for Mattheo. Taking a deep breath, I gripped his hand tighter. "What is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Just trust me," he murmured, his touch surprisingly gentle.

We walked in silence, the air growing colder and the earthy scent more pronounced. The path eventually led to a sturdy wooden door hidden within the rocky wall. Mattheo pushed it open, revealing a sight that took my breath away.

It was a small, circular room, but its crowning glory was a large, arched window that took up most of one wall. Through it, the eclipse was on full display, the shadowed moon hanging in the inky black sky. But unlike the darkness of the forest, here, the view was clear and breathtaking

I breathed, my surprise echoing in the stillness of the night.

Mattheo chuckled, a hint of pride in his voice. "Told you it was worth it."

"This is…" I stammered, searching for the right words. "Amazing."

Mattheo smiled, his hand moving to brush a stray curl from my face. “We found this place a while back," he explained. "It's kind of a secret."

He pulled me towards the window, his arm wrapping around my waist, stood behind me , gazing up at the celestial phenomenon unfolding above us. The darkness, once menacing, now seemed like a vast, inky canvas upon which the eclipse played out.

"It's even more breathtaking from here, isn't it?" Mattheo whispered, his voice warm against my ear. , his words laced with something more than just the wonder of the eclipse.

I could only nod, my throat suddenly dry. The beauty of the celestial spectacle was undeniable, but it paled in comparison to the feelings Mattheo was stirring within me.

A warmth bloomed in my chest, a response that surprised even me. Mattheo's presence, so close and unexpected in this hidden haven, sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

As if sensing my shift, his arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the backdrop of the crackling fire.

Then, his lips brushed against my ear again. This time, the words were different. Softer, more intimate. "You're even more breathtaking," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down my neck.

My eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze reflected in the moonlight filtering through the window. The eclipse, forgotten for a moment, seemed to cast an ethereal glow on his features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Before I could form a coherent thought, his lips met mine. The kiss was tentative at first, a soft exploration that sent a wave of warmth through me. Instinctively, I reached up, my fingers finding purchase on his arm.

A contented sigh escaped his lips as he deepened the kiss, his hand finding mine and intertwining our fingers. The touch sent a jolt through me, a current of electricity that ignited a fire within.

When he finally pulled away, a breathless gasp escaped my lips. My cheeks burned, my heart hammered a wild rhythm against my ribs. A shy smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

His gaze never left mine.He leaned down again, his lips trailing a path of fire down my neck. He paused at a sensitive spot just below my ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.

Unable to hold back a moan, I arched my neck into his touch, a silent plea for more. His hand reached down, skimming the curve of my hip before settling lightly on my lower back as I felt the wall behind us

He was going to stop I know that he was going to hold back again "Wait," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. Looking into his eyes, I saw a storm of emotions – frustration, amusement. It was a look that made my heart skip a beat, a look that made me feel a dangerous mix of power and surrender.

"I want to " I stammered, unsure how to articulate the jumbled mess of emotions swirling within me.

"You sure?" he asked, his voice husky with suppressed desire.

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out, "I want this, Mattheo. I mean…I've never done this before, but I trust you. And I want it."

"Let's take things slow, alright?" He whispered softly in my ear and i nodded, his lips finding their way back to my neck, tracing over the mark he had just left behind.

"Mattheo," I moaned when he nipped at the same spot again, his teeth sharp and his lips unyielding.

"God my name sounds like heaven from your lips" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

"Have you ever touched yourself, love?" His question caught me off guard, my breath catching in my throat as I shook my head. I had wanted to try but never mustered the courage.

"It's okay, my love," he reassured, his hands sliding under my top, caressing my skin with a tender touch that sent shivers down my spine.Then he gently pushed me up, settling me on the nearest table. "I'll take care of you."

Pressing more kisses to my neck, his hands moved to my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as he lifted my skirt slightly. "Is this alright?" he asked, his breath hot against my neck.I smiled at him and nodded again

“I’m going to touch you now, Just tell me when you want to stop, and I promise I’ll end it,” said with determination, his fingers brushing my cheek i nodded leaned forward to kiss him instead of just responding.

He did as he told , his fingers sliding into my pants proceeded slowly, finding my most sensitive spot, eliciting pleasurable sensations that made me arch my back and cling to him.

slowly rubbing circles around it. He used light pressure, but it felt amazing. His gaze intently watched my response, figuring out what i like.

He picked up the pace and pressure, sending pleasurable shocks through my body. my back arched as the ache between my legs increased. 

“God you’re so wet for me." he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire. "Does it feel good?"

“ Yes , it feels so good.” I moaned softly, my voice barely audible as waves of pleasure washed over me.

"Can I?" he asked, seeking my consent.

"Yes, please," I begged, my desperation evident in my voice.

"It might feel strange at first, but I promise it will get better quickly," he reassured, and I nodded in agreement. With my consent, his finger slid between my folds, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. My hands found their way to his shoulders as I rested my head against them.

"Breathe, my love," he whispered, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of pleasure. I obeyed, inhaling deeply as a symphony of moans escaped my mouth, each one a testament to the pleasure coursing through my body.

"Mattheo," I moaned, his name a mantra on my lips.

"Yes, love. Talk to me," he encouraged, his movements slowing to allow me to catch my breath.

"There's something..." I tried to say, but pleasure engulfed me, leaving me speechless.

His lips found mine, his kisses distracting me from my thoughts as I succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure he offered.

"Just let go for me," he whispered against my lips, his breath igniting a fire within me that sent me spiraling into bliss.

His thumb applied pressure to my clit, sending electrifying waves of pleasure through my body. I gripped his shoulder tightly as he carefully added another finger, causing me to close my eyes in ecstasy.

"Don't close your eyes, love. Look at me," he urged, his voice filled with desire and a hint of command. I obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers found that specific spot inside me, unleashing a sensation I had never experienced before. It was so intense that I couldn't contain my scream of pleasure, feeling like I was soaring among the clouds.

He continued to target that spot, his gaze fixed on me as if he could read my every reaction. With a satisfied smile, he spoke soft words in my ear , reveling in my response.

His touch remained gentle yet firm, guiding me through the waves of pleasure until I reached the pinnacle, my body trembling in his embrace as I experienced a euphoric release unlike anything before.

"It's alright, I'm here," he murmured, his words a soothing balm as I surrendered to the pleasure that consumed me.

As I floated back to reality, I found myself in his arms, his gaze filled with tenderness and adoration. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a deep, passionate kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions.

"Maybe you mean more to me than I care to admit too , riddle," I repeated his earlier words. But what I truly wanted to express was that, ,I think I'm in love with you, Mattheo Riddle.’

From that night onward, everything shifted, and my life transformed into a fairy tale. The intensity of my feelings for him grew so profound that a day without seeing Mattheo felt like an eternity, leaving me yearning for his presence. He cherished me as if I were the most precious gem in his life, and to say that I loved him would be an understatement; my emotions ran deeper than mere words could express.

Despite our unspoken declarations of love, we refrained from exploring further sexual intimacy after that intense encounter. However, the desire and longing between us only grew stronger, leaving me yearning for more moments of intimacy with him. Each kiss, touch, and gaze across the room spoke volumes of the love we shared, even if the three words were never verbalized.

The end-of-year party hosted by Slytherin was a legendary affair, whispered about in hushed tones by those who had attended in previous years. Despite hearing countless tales about the extravagant festivities, I had never been tempted to go, for me, it had always been an off-limits fantasy , one I didn't dare to try and make true.

As the "jinx girl", stepping foot into such a renowned event felt like a risky move. The thought of facing judgment, scrutiny, and potentially being ostracized by my peers held me back from even considering attending.

However, in those few months everything changed. I found myself shedding my inhibitions and fears, stepping out of my comfort zone and embracing new experiences. The bonds I formed with other Slytherins grew stronger, and I even made friends outside of Mattheo's circle, feeling more at ease and confident in social settings.

The Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry was as legendary as the end-of-year party itself. This year, however, a shared misfortune had united the two houses in a grudging camaraderie. Professor Flitwick, bless his innocent heart, had stumbled upon Blaise Zabini and a very surprised Gryffindor tangled together in a rather compromising position in a dusty basement corridor. Let's just say, both houses lost a significant number of points, paving the way for Ravenclaw to snatch the coveted House Cup in a landslide victory.

So, as the day of the party approached, a thrill of anticipation danced in my stomach.

"Mattheo," I said, catching his attention as I approached him and his friends. He gently guided me to sit next to him, holding my hands with a tender touch

“ yes love ? “

"Are we… are we going to the party tonight?" I asked, trying to gauge his reaction.

He looked up, surprise flickering across his face. "The party?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You… you want to go?"

I felt a flicker of self-consciousness, but I held his gaze. "Yeah," I admitted.

“Honestly, Y/N," he said, "it's a bit… childish."

"Childish?" I repeated, surprised. "But everyone says it's a lot of fun!"

Enzo, chimed in with a shrug. "He has a point. It's mostly just first years causing mayhem."

There it was , that hesitation. Mattheo rarely said no to anything I asked.

He studied me for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. He glanced at Enzo, exchanging a silent communication that left me puzzled.I don’t really understand I know they used to go every year .

He looked at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. Then, a slow smile spread across his face.

"Alright then love ," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "If you want to, then we'll go."

The Slytherin common room was a whirlwind of emerald and silver. Green streamers snaked across the ceiling, enchanted banners proclaimed Slytherin victory in various forgotten contests, and a cacophony of music and laughter filled the air. My heart pounded with excitement, a delightful mix of anticipation and nerves.

The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with laughter and music. Everyone seemed genuinely happy to have me there, chatting and mingling as if I had been a regular attendee for years.

However, what struck me as odd was how Mattheo and Enzo never left my side. It was as if they were guarding me, anticipating something that I wasn't aware of. Despite their usual easygoing demeanor, there was a sense of alertness in their actions that left me curious and slightly uneasy.

As the night progressed, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched, not in a malicious way, but more like a protective gaze. Mattheo and Enzo's constant presence by my side felt both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

I tried to brush off my unease and enjoy the party, engaging in conversations and joining in on the festivities. However, the nagging feeling that something was amiss lingered in the back of my mind.

It wasn't until later in the evening, when Mattheo and Enzo exchanged a meaningful glance, that I realized there was more to their protective behavior than met the eye.

Chaos erupted in the common room as Charlie Spinnet, stormed towards Mattheo. "Get her out of here now ," he growled, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Or I'll do it myself."

Before Mattheo could respond, the room fell silent. A Slytherin seventh-year, Adrian Pucey, stood on a nearby table, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hold on there, Spinnet ," he boomed, his voice cutting through the tension. "This year, we're doing something a little different… a play!"

A cheer erupted from the Slytherins, many of them eager for a change from the usual prank wars. Mattheo , however, remained unconvinced. He narrowed his eyes at Adrian, suspicion etched on his face.

As the play began, I couldn't help but notice the similarities between my name and the name of the girl portrayed in the story. It didn't take long for me to realize that the play was about a jinxing girl, and it described in vivid detail everything I had confided in Mattheo about my family and my troubled past at the lake that night.

Panic clawed at my throat. I stole a glance at Mattheo, but his face was a mask. He reached out a hand towards me, but I flinched back instinctively .

The room fell silent, every eye glued to me and the unfolding drama.

Onstage, the actress portraying me continued, her voice dripping with drama. "…driven by ambition, she stole her brother's place, but a terrible curse followed. Wherever she goes, misfortune befalls those around her. She's the jinx girl, a harbinger of bad luck!"

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Whispers erupted like flames, spreading fear and suspicion. I felt them scorching my skin, their judgment a suffocating weight on my chest.

Suddenly, a new scene unfolded on stage. A group of actors, portraying Hogwarts students, stood center stage. "Here's the dare," boomed one, a mock sense of bravery in his voice. "The boy who approaches the jinx girl and brings her to the party… wins!"

Suddenly, a commotion arose from the back of the room. Enzo and Theodore Nott , their faces grim, pushed their way through the crowd towards the makeshift stage. "Stop this!" Enzo said, his voice laced with fury. "This is out of line, Pucey!"

The actors scrambled off the stage, bewildered and slightly scared. The common room dissolved into chaos. Accusatory whispers turned into heated arguments. Pity and fear flickered in averted gazes. I even overheard someone mutter, "Did she really kill her brother?"

The roar of the party faded behind me as I sprinted down the Slytherin common room's hidden corridor, tears stinging my eyes despite my desperate efforts to hold them back. Mattheo's voice calling after me, pleading, only fueled my desperate need to escape.

"Y/N, please!" he shouted, but I ignored him, my feet pounding a relentless rhythm against the cold stone floor.

"Y/N!" he called again, his voice closer this time. Panic surged through me, lending me fresh bursts of energy.

Just as I reached the portrait leading out to the dungeons, a strong hand clamped onto my arm. I spun around, ready to lash out, but it was him – Mattheo, his face etched with a desperate worry I'd never seen before.

He tried to reach for my hand, but I recoiled violently. "Don't you dare touch me!" I screamed, my voice raw with hurt and betrayal.

He flinched, his hand hovering awkwardly in mid-air. "Y/N, love, just hear me out," he pleaded.

"Love?" I spat the word back at him, incredulous. "Don't call me that." The weight of everything that had just happened crashed down on me. The staged play, the public humiliation, the sickening realization that it had all been a dare.

"It's not what it seems like," he stammered, trying to explain. "I—"

"You what?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "It was all a lie, wasn't it? "

"No, no, I swear," he said urgently. "Everything that happened between us was real. My feelings for you…" His voice trailed off, his eyes pleading for me to understand.

But the damage was done. The carefully constructed trust – it had all crumbled to dust in the face of this cruel betrayal.

"Don't," I choked out, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. "Don't lie to me anymore."

A sob escaped my lips, and despite the anger burning within me, a part of me ached for the connection I thought we shared.

"Just give me a chance to explain," he pleaded, but I shook my head, unable to bear the sight of him anymore.

The truth, however distorted, was clear. "Wouldn't you deny it was a dare?" I challenged him, a flicker of defiance sparking in my tear-filled eyes.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. For the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine pain cross Mattheo's usually guarded features.

"No," he finally admitted, and I felt a wave of numbness wash over me.

As I turned to walk away, he continued, "It was at first, but I swear that from that night at the Broomsticks, everything was real. I even forgot about that stupid dare. Everything that happened between us was real, you know that."

I scoffed, wiping angrily at my tears. "I don't know anything anymore," I said.

"Foolish me. That's why you didn't want Charlie to talk to me that day, wasn't it? Because he was going to expose you?"

""No, Y/N, I just didn't want you to get hurt __“

"You what?" I cut him off again, my voice trembling with fury. "How generous of you," I said sarcastically. "But look, you win now, Riddle. Won't you go celebrate? It was their dare,"

"I don't care about anyone else but you," he said fiercely.

I stared at him, incredulous. "Then why does it feel like you care about everything else more than me right now?"

He took a hesitant step forward, but I didn't back away this time. I met his gaze head-on, my heart a tangled mess of emotions.

"I can't lose you," he whispered, his voice filled with desperation.

"You already have," I said, the words like shards of glass in my mouth. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain I was experiencing.

"I ___ i love you," he confessed, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Love. The very word felt like a mockery.

I looked him straight in the eye, my voice surprisingly calm despite the storm raging within me. "And I hate you, Mattheo Riddle," I said, each word laced with the bitter taste of betrayal.

With that final declaration, I turned away, leaving him standing alone in the darkened corridor, the portrait swinging shut behind me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅

[sweetcherryharry]

i love you, i'm sorry

based on the song 'i love you, i'm sorry' by gracie abrams.

pairing: harry styles x actress!reader

i promise the next one shot i post won't be angsty!! haha i just love it.

(masterlist)

Two Augusts ago, the world was theirs. Y/N, a rising actress with a radiant smile and a captivating screen presence, had just landed her breakout role in a critically acclaimed film. Harry, the soloist singer from one of the most known boy bands worldwide, was on the cusp of global stardom. Their paths crossed at a star-studded after-party, a whirlwind of flashing cameras and intoxicating energy.

Their connection was instant, a magnetic pull that drew them together like moths to a flame. Y/N was captivated by Harry's wit, his passion for music, and the vulnerability he revealed beneath his confident exterior. Harry, in turn, was mesmerized by Y/N's intelligence, her infectious laughter, and the way her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief.

Their romance blossomed in the spotlight, a whirlwind of red carpet appearances, stolen kisses backstage, and late-night jam sessions in dimly lit recording studios.

Y/N's career soared as she took on challenging roles, her performances garnering critical acclaim and adoration from fans. Harry's solo career skyrocketed to fame, their music topping charts and filling stadiums with screaming fans.

But as their individual stars rose, the cracks in their relationship began to show. The demands of their careers pulled them in opposite directions, leaving little time for the intimacy they once cherished.

The constant scrutiny of the media added another layer of pressure, their every move dissected and analyzed under the harsh glare of the public eye.

As Harry's band embarked on a grueling world tour, the distance between them grew, a chasm widening with each missed call and unanswered text.

Y/N poured her heart into her latest film, a drama that demanded her full attention. Long hours on set and emotional scenes left her drained and craving the warmth of Harry's voice, the comfort of his touch. But his calls became sporadic, his texts filled with vague apologies and promises of making it up to her.

One sweltering August evening, after a particularly draining day on set, Y/N's phone finally buzzed with an incoming call from Harry. A wave of relief washed over her as she eagerly answered, her voice trembling with a mixture of longing and frustration.

"Harry! It's been days," she exclaimed, trying to keep the hurt from her voice. "I've barely heard from you."

"I know, love," he replied, his voice muffled as if he were speaking from a crowded space. "I'm so sorry. It's been crazy out here."

"Crazy? Or just too busy for me?" Y/N retorted, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.

A heavy silence settled over the line. "Don't start this again, Y/N," Harry sighed. "You know how hectic touring can be."

"But you promised to call more often," she said, her voice rising with each word, like the crest of a wave before it crashes. "You promised to make time for us, even when you're on the road."

Her eyes, once filled with trust and understanding, now held a glimmer of doubt. The weight of his broken promises bore down on her shoulders, reminding her of the distance that had grown between them.

They had talked about this, hadn't they? It had not been the first time the topic had arisen.

Three times now, they had sat down together for a call, their hearts filled with hope, and he had reassured her with promises of improvement.

But like sand slipping through one's fingers, his pledges faded into emptiness after a few short weeks. The sting of betrayal pierced her heart, leaving her feeling lost and alone.

"I'm trying, okay?" Harry snapped, his patience wearing thin. "But it's not always easy. You have your work, I have mine. We can't expect to be glued to each other's side all the time."

His words stung, a harsh reminder of the growing distance between them. "Maybe you're right," Y/N said, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe we're not meant to do this anymore."

A tense silence followed, broken only by the sound of Harry's ragged breathing. "Is that what you want, Y/N?" he finally asked, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.

Y/N closed her eyes, tears welling up. "I don't know what I want anymore," she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. "All I know is that this isn't working. It's not the way it used to be."

More silence. Then, a resigned sigh. "Maybe you're right," Harry echoed. "Maybe it's time we both moved on."

The call ended abruptly, the silence echoing in Y/N's ears. She collapsed onto her bed, tears streaming down her face. The love she'd once cherished felt like a distant memory, a fading dream.

Ever since that day, they haven’t spoken.

Two years drifted by, a silent chasm stretching between them, filled with unanswered calls, unsent texts, and a lingering ache of what could have been.

Y/N immersed herself in her career, her ambition a shield against the pain of their separation. Each successful role, each award, was a testament to her resilience, a badge of honor earned through countless hours of dedication and the shedding of silent tears.

Harry, on the other hand, had soared to fame. Sold-out stadiums, chart-topping hits, and a whirlwind of adoring fans marked his journey. Yet, amidst the deafening roar of applause, a quiet yearning gnawed at him, a longing for the warmth and laughter that had once filled his life.

One night, as Y/N mindlessly scrolled through social media, her thumb absently swiping past countless posts, a video thumbnail caught her eye. It was from a popular Pop news account, and the post was recent, just published a few seconds ago.

It was a grainy, fan-recorded clip of Harry's final show in Europe. The caption read, “Harry Styles singing a new, unreleased single about heartbreak on one of his shows on August 18th.”

A date seared into her memory, the two-year anniversary of their heartbreaking split.

Curiosity, mingled with a bittersweet pang of nostalgia, compelled her to click on the video. The familiar strains of Harry's voice filled her ears, but the song was new, raw and vulnerable, a far cry from his usual upbeat anthems. As the camera zoomed in on his face, she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes, a vulnerability she hadn't seen in years.

"This song," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "is special to me. It's for someone who I hurt deeply. Someone who I never stopped loving, even when I was too proud to admit it."

Y/N's breath hitched. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob. It was as if he were speaking directly to her, across continents and time zones, his words piercing through the carefully constructed walls she'd built around her heart.

Tears streamed down Y/N's face as she listened to his voice with the guitar melodies, the lyrics pouring out of Harry like a confession, a desperate plea for forgiveness.

I love you, I'm sorry.

The words echoed in her mind, each syllable a painful reminder of their love lost. The video ended, leaving Y/N breathless and overwhelmed.

A wave of emotions washed over Y/N – sorrow, longing, and a flicker of hope she hadn't dared to feel in years. It was as if the distance that had separated them had vanished, replaced by an invisible thread connecting their hearts.

The video ended, leaving Y/N breathless and overwhelmed. Lost in her thoughts, she absently refreshed her Twitter feed, her eyes widening in shock as she saw her own name trending alongside Harry's.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she scrolled through countless tweets, each one dissecting the lyrics of his new song and speculating about its inspiration. The consensus was clear: it was about her.

"Harry's new song is a love letter to Y/N," one tweet proclaimed.

"He's clearly still in love with her," another user declared.

"This is the apology we've all been waiting for!" a fan account chimed in.

The sheer volume of tweets, the overwhelming outpouring of support and speculation, left Y/N reeling. It was as if the world had become a chorus, echoing the unspoken truth that had lingered between them for two long years.

As the tweet became more popular, her phone buzzed with incoming messages from friends and colleagues, all asking the same question: "Is it about you?"

Y/N didn't know how to answer. A part of her wanted to deny it, to protect herself from the potential heartbreak that lay ahead. But another part of her, the part that had never stopped loving Harry, yearned for it to be true.

As she re-listened to the lyrics of his song, the raw emotion in his voice echoing in her ears, she couldn't deny the truth any longer. It was about her. It was always about her.

The emotions swirling within her were too powerful to ignore. With trembling fingers, Y/N typed a simple message:

“Hey.”

She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the send button. But before she could second-guess herself, she pressed send, the message disappearing into the digital abyss.

To her surprise, the three dots indicating he was typing appeared almost immediately. Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited for his response.

“Hey.”

His reply was a single word, but it held a universe of unspoken emotions.

“I listened to your new song,” she typed back, her fingers flying across the screen.

“It's for you.”

The words appeared on her screen, stark and unadorned, yet carrying the weight of two years of regret and longing.

Y/N's breath hitched. She didn't know what to say, how to respond to this unexpected confession. A million questions swirled in her mind, but the only words she could manage were:

"Can we talk?"

The reply came almost instantly:

"Please."

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Y/N's veins. She didn't know where this conversation would lead, but she knew she had to take this chance.

After two years of silence, the door to their past had been cracked open, and she had to find out if there was any hope of rekindling the flame that had once burned so brightly between them.

[balletfilmss]

A HARD TIME ADJUSTING

✸ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

✸ synopsis: you’ve had a terrible day. life is terrible, the world is shit, but at least your boyfriend’s cute

✸ warnings: established relationship, reader is overwhelmed & stressed

✸ a/n: this is totally not self indulgent whaaaaat… i’ve been thinking abt this for days actually, like u don’t understand-

Words could not describe how totally and utterly terrible your day had gone. You were still adjusting to college life at NRU, and it was easy to say that it had hit you like a bullet train.

Assignments due and unfinished, a headache, a list a mile long of responsibilities to tend to, and about twenty unanswered messages and calls from your friends. You felt bad for ignoring everyone important to you, but the stress was all too much that you couldn’t even bother typing out a couple of texts.

You sat with a book open on your lap in your bed, but you hadn’t looked at it in about ten minutes, having decided that staring a hole into your wall was much more appealing of an activity.

Just when you thought you might either go nuts or fall asleep, a knock came to your door.

When you didn’t answer out of fear it was somebody coming to remind you of yet another thing you’d forgotten, a voice called through the door, “Yn?”

Not just any voice though, your favorite voice.

You neglected your book and crossed your small dorm to the door in practically two big steps, throwing the door open to be met with your boyfriend’s beautiful face. Beautiful and thoroughly confused, but you were pretty used to that.

“Hey, did you— are you okay?”

That was it, that was your breaking point.

He looked at you with those big, concerned eyes and a little frown drawn on by his worry for your wellbeing ,and the tightrope full of things you’d been balancing came tumbling down into the chasm that was you.

You made some noise that might’ve been interpreted as a no and threw yourself at Percy.

He rocked back from the impact of the hug but returned it readily, encircling your waist with his arms as yours latched themselves around his neck.

You stood there in silence for a while, hugging him so tightly but never tight enough, wishing that you could just crawl underneath his shirt and stay attached to him forever.

“Babydoll,” he whispered into your hair after a while. “are we just gonna stand in the doorway all night?”

You shook your head and without missing a beat, he hoisted you up into his arms.

Your legs wrapped around his waist and face burrowed further into the crook of his neck as Percy hooked his hands under your legs.

He kicked the door closed with one foot and then walked over to your bed, sitting down on the plush mattress, avoidant of your discarded textbook.

With you now in his lap, clinging onto him like some kind of koala bear, Percy murmured in a soft voice,

“You wanna talk now or later?”

“Later,” you answered, accompanied by a quiet sniffle.

Percy understood, he always understood.

There was no more talking after that, because he knew that when life was like this, sometimes it was just better to be comforted in silence and without the pressure of putting it all into words.

He tightened his arms around you, if it was even possible and rubbed a soothing hand in circles on your back.

You pressed a couple kisses of thanks to the bare skin of his neck, and Percy returned the favor by peppering kisses of his own across your shoulder.

The next day when your friends would ask about it, you’d just tell them it was a bad day.

Because that’s what it was: a bad day, not a bad life, and sweet Percy was proof of that.

[theprongspotter]

Lie - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - Day 16 - 1,443 words - TW: Self-harm

As James peeks into the astronomy tower, he sees Regulus sitting with his back against the cold stone wall, his figure almost swallowed by the shadows of the room. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are dim with sadness as he digs his nails into his left forearm. The tension in his posture is palpable, a coiled spring waiting to snap. When James squints, he’s able to make out the faded outline of the Dark Mark, its sinister presence marred by the fresh cuts and raw skin around it.

“Reg?” James calls out softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, afraid of shattering the fragile moment. He steps fully into the room, his hand trembling slightly as he locks the door behind him, sealing them both in this heavy, suffocating space.

Regulus’ head shoots up, his expression immediately twisting into a sneer, as if the sight of James is both a surprise and an irritation. He stands up quickly, the sudden movement revealing the vulnerability he’s trying so desperately to hide. “You shouldn’t be here, Potter,” he snaps, his voice colder than the stone beneath him.

“Why not?” James questions, his tone gentle as he steps closer, trying to bridge the chasm between them.

“Because I don’t want you here,” Regulus retorts, his voice laced with venom, though his eyes betray the lie in his words.

James winces, the rejection hitting him harder than he’d expected, but he doesn’t stop. He closes the distance between them, his concern outweighing the sting of Regulus’ words. Up close, he can see the tear tracks glistening on Regulus’ cheeks, the red rims of his eyes a stark contrast against his pale skin. James’ gaze drops to Regulus’ forearm, and he gasps quietly when he sees the bloodied skin, the self-inflicted wounds surrounding the Dark Mark like a macabre halo.

Regulus notices James’ attention and scowls, quickly tugging his sleeve down to cover the evidence of his torment. “Does Sirius know?” James presses, his voice soft but insistent, hoping to reach the part of Regulus that still cares, that still longs for connection.

“Why would that matter?” Regulus shoots back, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Because he’s your brother, Regulus—” James begins, his tone pleading, desperate to break through the wall Regulus has erected around himself.

“He stopped being my brother when he walked out on me!” Regulus shouts, the words bursting from him like a dam breaking, fresh tears spilling down his face. The raw pain in his voice cuts through James, and he feels his heart clench in sympathy.

James’ heart aches at the sight of Regulus breaking down in front of him, and his voice softens further, almost a whisper. “You know why he did it. You know that he needed to leave or he would be dead.”

“He didn’t need to leave me,” Regulus chokes out, his voice thick with grief and anger, the betrayal still fresh and festering.

James frowns, his expression full of empathy. “You know that he didn’t want to—”

“If you’re just here to apologize on Sirius’ behalf then you can leave,” Regulus snaps, cutting him off, his tone brittle, as if holding onto the anger is the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

For a moment, the only sound is James’ heartbeat, pounding in his ears as he struggles to find the right words. “I wanted to ask why you’ve been ignoring me ever since then. It’s been a year, Regulus.”

“And you expect me to get over it?” Regulus’ voice is laced with bitterness, his pain still fresh, still raw.

“No, I just want you to talk to me,” James begs, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I miss you. I— you don’t understand how worried I was when you stopped owling.” He reaches out a hand, desperate to comfort, but Regulus recoils, pressing himself further against the wall as if trying to disappear into it. His wand flicks up, the tip digging into James’ chest with a trembling hand.

“Leave, James,” Regulus orders, his voice faltering as his resolve begins to crack.

“Regulus—” James tries again, but he’s cut off by the despair in Regulus’ eyes.

“Leave. I want you out of my life,” Regulus insists, though his voice wavers, betraying the truth that he’s not sure he can live with the consequences of his own words.

James lets out a small, pained sound, feeling his heart splinter as he watches the boy he cares about unravel before him. Tears well up in his eyes, but he blinks them back, refusing to let them fall. “Don’t lie to me, Regulus.”

“Go. Now,” Regulus whispers, his body shaking, his entire frame tense as if on the verge of shattering. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.” His voice is barely audible now, a broken whisper lost in the vast emptiness of the tower.

James stares at Regulus, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation, any crack in the mask of anger and despair. But all he sees is a storm of emotions, swirling just beneath the surface, threatening to consume them both. The tip of Regulus’ wand presses harder against his chest, a silent plea for him to go, to stop pushing, to leave before something irreversible happens.

A heavy silence hangs between them, broken only by the sound of their uneven breathing. James swallows hard, feeling the sharp sting of rejection cut deeper than he ever imagined it could. His hand, which had been hovering in the air, slowly falls back to his side, fingers curling into a tight fist as if trying to grasp onto something solid, something real, but finding nothing but the cold emptiness of the moment.

“Okay,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, each word a struggle. He takes a step back, the distance between them growing like a chasm, impossible to bridge. His heart feels heavy, weighed down by the unbearable sadness of leaving Regulus like this, of walking away when every instinct screams at him to stay, to fight for the boy who clearly needs someone, even if he can’t admit it.

James turns slowly, his back now to Regulus, each step feeling like he’s walking through thick mud, his feet dragging as if they’re reluctant to carry him away. After he unlocks the door, his hand lingers on the doorknob for just a moment, his chest tightening as he hears the faint sound of Regulus’ breath hitch, a tiny, almost imperceptible crack in his resolve.

With a deep breath, James forces himself to twist the doorknob and pull the door open. The cool air of the corridor rushes in, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the tower. He steps out, the door closing behind him with a soft click that echoes in the silence, a finality that sends a sharp pang through his chest.

As he walks away, each step echoing in the empty hallway, James feels like he’s leaving a part of himself behind. The pain in his chest grows with each passing second, a dull ache that refuses to subside. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, all of them centered on Regulus—his tear-streaked face, the blood on his forearm, the fear and anger in his eyes. The image is seared into his memory, impossible to shake.

By the time he reaches the end of the corridor, James’ eyes are stinging with unshed tears. He stops, leaning against the wall for support, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to push back the tears, but it’s a losing battle. A choked sob escapes his throat, the sound reverberating through the empty space around him.

James’ mind races, filled with questions that have no answers. Could he have done more? Should he have stayed, fought harder, refused to leave no matter what Regulus said? The uncertainty gnaws at him, the guilt weighing heavy on his heart.

He wanted to help, to be there for Regulus in a way no one else could, but now he’s left wondering if he’s only made things worse, if walking away was the final nail in the coffin of whatever fragile bond they had left.

Feeling utterly defeated, James wipes at his eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But the emptiness inside him is overwhelming, a hollow ache that refuses to be filled. As he forces himself to continue down the hallway, he knows that this moment will haunt him, that the pain of leaving Regulus behind will linger long after the tears have dried.

Their fates have been set in stone.

[verstappensrealwife]

Reclaiming Lost Love - Fernando Alonso x Reader

Angst to fluff

Approx. 1100 words

warnings: idk xoxoxo

based on this request

fernando alonso masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

The rift between you and Fernando had deepened, a chasm of conflicting desires. He yearned for the sun-drenched shores of a Mediterranean paradise, while you clung to the damp embrace of your homeland, England. Endless debates turned into heated arguments, each word another brick in the wall dividing your once inseparable bond.

One frosty morning, the silence between you became too heavy to bear. You made the agonizing decision to leave, to escape the suffocating grip of disagreement. With a heavy heart, you departed his Spanish abode, leaving behind shattered dreams and a hollow ache.

In the solitude of his home, Fernando's world crumbled around him. The vibrant hues of Spain paled in comparison to the vibrant memories of your laughter echoing through its corridors. The warmth of the Mediterranean sun felt cold against the emptiness in his soul.

As the bleak days of January dragged on, Fernando tried to piece together fragments of his shattered heart. But with February's arrival came a cruel reminder of what he had lost. Valentine's month, a time meant for love, mocked him with its saccharine sweetness.

Determined to mend what was broken, Fernando rehearsed his plea in the mirror, his reflection a ghost of the man he once was. "Go to dinner with me?" Each word dripped with desperation, a plea to bridge the chasm that separated you. 

Despite the bitter cold outside, Fernando's heart burned with a fervent hope as he stood outside your door, ready to lay bare his soul in a final, desperate bid for reconciliation. Flowers wilted in his trembling hands and a box of chocolates in the other, symbols of his futile attempts to win back your affections.

Just as he had steeled himself to knock on the unforgiving wood, the door swung open with a suddenness that startled even him. There you stood, framed in the doorway, your expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. He flinched at the expletive that escaped your lips, the harshness of it contrasting with the softness of your features.

"Jesus fucking Christ!-- Fernando? What are you doing here...?" Your words cut through the air like shards of ice, each syllable a painful reminder of the abyss between you.

For a moment, Fernando faltered, his rehearsed speech evaporating into thin air. He stood there, a lost soul, grappling for words that could bridge the chasm between you. Finally, he managed to croak out, "I... I came to... to beg for another chance."

His voice cracked with emotion, the weight of his longing heavy in the air. As he met your gaze, he saw the walls you had put up, the barriers that kept him at arm's length. But beneath the layers of hurt and anger, he saw something else—a flicker of something he dared to hope was still love.

Fernando's breath caught in his throat as he beheld you, a vision of ethereal beauty standing before him. Despite the passage of time and the weight of your separation, you remained as captivating as ever, a testament to the resilience of your spirit.

"God, how did you manage to get even more beautiful?" he whispered, his voice barely above a reverent breath. His gaze lingered on your parted lips, the brightness in your eyes, and the perfection of every strand of your hair. To him, you were flawless, an embodiment of all he had ever desired. "I miss you," he confessed, his voice a fragile thread woven with longing. "And- and I'd do anything for you, even if that means living here in your sad country."

You couldn't help but snort at his words, a mixture of amusement and disbelief dancing in your eyes. "Always a charmer, are you?" you teased, a hint of affection softening your tone. His shy smile in response only served to deepen the ache in your heart, reminding you of the love that still lingered between you. "I missed you too, but--" you began, your voice trailing off as uncertainty clouded your thoughts.

"Why does there have to be a but?" Fernando's voice was gentle, pleading, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

"Because you might change your mind, Nando," you replied, the tenderness of his nickname slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Nando. The affectionate name held a world of forgiveness, a beacon of hope in the darkness of your doubts.

"Not about this, not about you..." His words hung in the air, a promise wrapped in the warmth of his gaze. Despite the uncertainty that lingered between you, in that moment, you dared to believe him.

-

As the door clicked shut behind you, the warmth of the building enveloped you both like a comforting embrace. But while you basked in the cosy atmosphere, Fernando wasted no time in voicing his next complaint of the heat.

"God, do you ever stop?" you chuckled, watching as he aggressively shook his coat off his arms, as if trying to rid himself of the oppressive heat.

He flashed you a sheepish grin, his cheeks flushed from the sudden change in temperature. "I swear, it's like jumping from one extreme to another," he replied.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a smile at his antics. "Well, you wanted to experience the joys of living in England," you retorted playfully, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. "Consider this a crash course in British weather."

You laughed, the sound filling the air with a warmth that had nothing to do with the building's heating system. 

The playful banter between you and Fernando continued as you shed your coats, the warmth of the building wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. With each shared laugh and teasing remark, the tension that had once hung between you melted away, leaving only a sense of intimacy and affection in its wake.

As Fernando flashed you a sheepish grin, his cheeks flushed from the sudden change in temperature, you couldn't help but feel a surge of fondness for the man standing before you. Despite the trials you had faced and the distance that had threatened to tear you apart, there was something undeniably magnetic about him, something that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

Leaning in closer, you caught the scent of his cologne, a heady mixture of sandalwood and spice that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His eyes met yours, dark and smoldering with desire, and you knew in that moment that you wanted nothing more than to lose yourself in him.

[greenteabelle]

thinking about how philza's character in every universe (or server lol) never really gets their happy ending .

hc!philza is destined to roam his world forever alone , with only remnants of history left to accompany him . so what if he continues to find structures and hints of what once was ? he's missed the opportunity to experience all the mythical stories he can only glean from pieces of rubble . he's alone , and he always will be .

dsmp!philza was forced to kill his son as soon as he finally found him after radio silence . and even when he returns as a phantom , he never really manages to bridge that deep chasm in their relationship . the one true friend that he could always rely on , whether as they ruled the entire world together or simply spent their days secluded in the snowy mountains , couldn't make it to the end . two immortal gods , finding solace in each other's loneliness only for one to be left alone again at the very end .

osmp!philza was left with nothing but empty promises as his friends left the safe haven he built with them one by one . he reunites with them a few times in the future , sure , but he can never really reminisce about their times together without leaving a bad taste in his mouth . even at the very end , he can't find the one friend who spared him those lonely times , always just a universe behind his little fella .

30days!philza died with his back turned to the one he trusted the most . despite all his years of experience teaching him to never let his guard down , he does . because he trusts wilbur . and so the last thing he sees as he's pushed off the ledge is the wide-eyed mortification in wilbur's eyes . and it's bittersweet , to know that he would exchange his own life if it meant that his could be returned . but the damage is done , and the ending is bittersweet .

and now , q!philza .

burdened with the task of caring for an egg with a partner he barely knew , he did the one thing he never thought he would do : play it safe . with the threat of the federation , the monstrous creatures that roam the island and the code that seemed hellbent on killing them , he played as an innocent bystander in every major event . because when you've lived a life as long as philza's , you know the worst that the world has to offer , and he so desperately wants to shield his child's innocence . despite the knowledge that chayanne may never remember their time together when he hatches , that the fabled dragon may simply devour him once it finds chayanne in his possession , he protects chayanne .

how could he not , when chayanne is the one he can finally protect for once ?

then he's ripped right out of his clutches once again , along with tallulah whom he's grown unavoidably fond of ( because it's wilbur's daughter , what other outcome could he truly expect ? ) , powerless to do anything . in his desperation to be reunited with his children once more , he ignores every single alarm bell that rings as he makes his way to the birdhouse .

even as he's freed , he's haunted by birds that seem to follow him wherever he goes , as though someone is always watching and reminding him of the consequences of rebelling .

purgatory ?

the name explains itself quite aptly , i believe .

so i guess the whole point of this post is just to appreciate that no matter the tragedy that constantly surrounds philza's characters in every universe he's in , he still keeps going forward .

[chgridlock]

Fine. LN- pt 3.

Part. 2 here: https://www.tumblr.com/chgridlock/749389774256848896/fine-ln-pt-2

Y/n and Lando were childhood best friends, an inseparable duo who knew each other’s secrets like the back of their hand. But then came F1. Lando transformed into a playboy prince, his name synonymous with champagne showers and a different model on every arm. Models just like y/n, except for her. Disgusted, she distanced herself, the warmth of their friendship replaced by a biting cold. Y/n, chasing her own dreams, blossomed into a sough-after model, gracing the covers of magazines right under Lando’s nose, well, at least that’s what she assumed. In taught, Lando followed her religiously on social media, a secret admirer hidden behind a facade of arrogante.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, ex best friends, Lando being a dick sometimes.

As Lando drove away, a whirlwind of emotions churned writhing him. Irritation, concern, guilt, anger - they all battled for dominance, leaving him feeling utterly conflicted. He stole a final glance at your retreating figure, a frown etched on his face. Then, with a sigh, he turned his attention back to the road and pulled away before you reached your home.

He drove off, a forced nonchalance masking the turmoil within. He pretended not to care, the image of your angry face a constant presence in his mind. Just like when you two were kids and he did something to annoy you, he smiled at that image. Then a nagging worry gnawed at him. Did you make it home safely? Did you catch a cold from the relentless rain? He couldn’t shake the concern, a stark contrast to the anger he desperately clung to.

Arriving at his apartment, he parked the car and the silence was deafening. The absence of your bickering, the lack of your sharp retorts, it created a void he hadn’t anticipated. Did he miss you? That can’t be, no. But he couldn’t help but wonder if you were safe and sound, tucked away in your own apartment.

Curiosity, a persistent itch he coulnd’t ignore, finally won over his stubbornness. He picked up his phone, your name pulling him in like a magnet. He hesitated for a moment, the screen glowing accusingly before him. Finally, with a deep breath, he typed out a message:

“Did you get home safely…?”

The message sent, a nervous anticipation settled in his stomach. He knew his words, laced with a grudging concern, wouldn’t erase the sting of his earlier actions, but they were a start, a hesitant bridge built over the chasm he himself had created. Now, all he could do was wait, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic tap of his thumb against the phone screen, a silent drumbeat of his anxieties.

Your reply, when it finally arrived, was a sharp jab: “I thought you didn’t care?”

Annoyance flared, a predictable reaction to your accusatory tone. Yet, beneath it all, a flicker of something akin to satisfaction flickered. He knew you were safe, and that, for some reason, mattered more than he cared to admit.

He typed out a quickly reply, his fingers moving with uncharacteristic urgency.

“I don’t… but I just wanted to make sure that you got home safe. That’s all.”

He hit send, the simple message carrying the weight of unspoken emotions.

“That’s all,” he muttered to himself, the words barely audible in his head. All he wanted was to know you were okay, right? Nothing more than that, just a guy worrying about a girl he’d known for a long time, a friend. A friend who, in his head, he vehemently denied having any feelings for beyond platonic concern.

But the image of you, soaked to the bone and shivering in the rain, persisted in his mind. It was an image he couldn’t shake, a stark contrast to the annoyance he desperately clung to. A part of him, a traitorous part, yearned to pull you into his arms, to strip off your wet clothes and replace them with the warmth of his own body. To press his lips against your chilled skin, showering her entire body, that precious face, with kisses.

“What? No,” he shot back at the unwelcome thought, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. “Just worry, that’s it, I don’t even like her anymore.”

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He didn’t like you? The very thought was laughable. You enfuriated him, challenged him, drove him to the brink of madness with your stubbornness. But you also captivated him, your fiery spirit and sharp with a constant source of fascination.

He hated to admit it, but he cared. He cared deeply, and the thought of you being hurt, physically or emotionally, sent a tremor though him. He was a tangled mess of contradictions, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling within him.

And as he waited for your reply, the silence stretched on, thick with unspoken desires and the dawning realization that this tempestuous dance between you was far from over.

Meanwhile, you lay on your couch, your body achy and your head throbbing. The rain-soaked walk home had taken its toll, and you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were coming down with something. A shiver ran down you spine as you sneezed into a tissue, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment.

The weight of your earlier stubbornness settled in like a lead weight. Maybe Lando was right. Maybe I should have swallowed my pride and accepted his help from the beginning. Now, the cold was seeping into your bones, each cough a testament to your foolishness.

A wave of self-loathing washed over you. Why couldn’t admit I was wrong? I mean, he deserves it for being a jerk and change into a man you didn’t even recognize. The image of Lando flashed in your mind, his perfectly tousled curls plastered to his forehead, his strong arms that could have held you safe from the rain, his grey eyes that seemed to see right through you, when he took your hand…

The picture of him behind the wheel of the McLaren, sent a strange pang through you. What is wrong with me? Here I am, miserable and sick, and all i could think about is how good he looked, even when soaked to the bone.

Frustrating bubbled within you. This wasn’t the time to be getting flustered over Lando. You needed to focus on getting better, on kicking this cold that your stubbornness had undoubtedly brought on. But a part of you, a tiny, traitorous part, couldn’t help but linger on the thought of him, his concern, his vulnerability.

Maybe, just maybe, you would send him another message. Not to be difficult, but to see if he was still worried. With a sigh, you decided to answer Lando.

“I feel sick so congratulations your wish came true,” you typed, a hint of sarcasm clinging to your words.

You hit send, the message hanging in the air like a challenge. You waited for his responde, your heart pounding in your chest. Why? A mix of amusement and apprehension bubbled within you.

“Seriously…? Are you really sick or are you just messing with me?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his worry. Despite their earlier argument,you knew that maybe deep down he cared about your well-being. Just like when both of you were kids.

“Do you think I would mess around with that? God,” you replied, exasperation coloring your voice.

Lando’s next message was filled with questions, his worry morphing into panic.

“Can you at least tell me how sick you are? Is it just a cold? Are you coughing?”

Your heart warmed at his concern. You knew you were being difficult, but you couldn’t help but enjoy the attention.

“Are you concerned now? You wished me this,” you pointed out, a flicker of amusement battling with the discomfort in your chest.

Lando groaned, reading your message. He tried to suppress the frustrated noises bubbling up within him.

“Don’t keep reminding me of something that I regret saying…” His fingers flew across the screen, his concern battling with his stubborn pride.

“But for real, how sick are you? Im worried…” He sent the message, the vulnerability in his words a stark contrast to the earlier bravado. He waited for your reply, the silence stretching into an eternity.

As Lando’s phone buzzed with your reply, he eagerly read your message, his heart pounding with a mix of worry and anticipation. “I have a fever I think,” your message finally arrived.

He imagined you curled up on your couch, your body achy and your head throbbing. A pang of guilt shot through him. A sure of protectiveness washed over him, a desire to be there for you, to hold and comfort you.

“How high is your fever?” He typed, his fingers flying across the screen, his concern evident in his hurried words. He felt helpless. His frustration grew with each passing second, the silence stretching into an eternity for your reply.

Finally, your message arrived, a simple “I don’t know…” hanging into the air like a confession of helplessness. Lando’s frustration intensified, his patience wearing thin. “Did you even try to take your temperature?” He asked, his tone laced with a hint of irritation.

“No,” you replied, your single word a testament to her stubbornness or perhaps your lack of self-care. Lando’s frustration bubbled over, threatening to spill into anger. Why you were being so irresponsible?

Lando remembered the countless times throughout their teenage years when she’d stubbornly deny being sick, even when her face was flushed and her body radiating heat. He’d be the one nagging her at school, begging her to go home with him, only to be met with her usual stubborn resistance. “She really is still the same”

He recalled the times he’d ditch his own plans to rush over to their parents house when she was too sick to get out of bed. He was the one who bring you the soup that your mom and him made together for you, he would bring movies and make bad jokes, anything to make you feel better. He’d sit by your bedside, patiently listening to your complaints and watching you drift off to sleep, a small smile playing on his lips.

A pang of longing shot through him as he reminisced about those days. He missed the easy friendship, the unspoken understanding you both shared. He missed being the one you turned to when you were feeling under the weather, the one who knew how to take care of you. He wanted to be there for you, to be the one tucking you into bed, making you laugh, and chasing away the discomfort of your illness. Right now he wished you would just let him take care of you, he wanted to be the hero in your time of need, to show you how much he cared, even if she never admitted it.

He took a deep breath trying to calm himself. He didn’t want to make you feel worse, but he couldn’t help but express his concern. “Do you have any meds?” He asked.

“I don’t think so, I’ll just take a bath,” you responded, your words a wave of exasperation through him.

“You’re just gonna take a bath right now…?“ he typed. He imagined himself there. Carefully helping her into the warm water, his hands brushing against your skin, sending shivers down his own spine. He could almost feel the steam rising, blurring the lines between concern and a simmering desire.

The though of caring for you in such an intimate way, sent a jolt through him. He forced himself to focus on the practicalities. “Fine. Don’t you need to take medicine for that fever…or eat something…?”

“I’ll sleep it’ll pass,” your message read.

“Oh yeah, just go ahead and sleep it off… without taking meds or anything…” he texted sarcastically.

He wanted to yell at you, to shake you until you understood the seriousness of the situation. Why couldn’t you just listen to him like before? “Please, y/n…” he muttered to himself.

He knew pushing you further wouldn’t help. Instead, he typed a more measured responde, “…just take a bath and then go to bed. Just…keep in touch, okay…?”

“Fine,” your reply arrived, a single word that did little to alleviate his worry.

He wanted to bombard you with more questions, to check your temperature, to make sure you were taking care of yourself, to tuck you into bed, to bring you the soup you loved from your mom and make you laugh, just life when you were kids… but the reality was he was trapped in his own apartment, that didn’t exist anymore…

So, he settled for a simple, “Okay… just stay safe. Call me if you need anything…”

With a heavy heart, he typed his final message for the night: “Talk to you later.”

Author’s note: MY LANDO NATION HOW ARE WE FEELING??? Lando’s first win was a dream, my heart wants to explode. I love him so so much and he deserved this so bad. Im so proud of him. Anyways this is part 3, I’m soooooo excited of how this is going. I hope you all like it, also I’m sorry if there’s something bad written, its just English is not my first language and i try not to have any mistakes but sometimes i do, so I’m sorry for that :( ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Tag list: @persiar9 @mia-rrrs @ssararuffoni @kapsylia @formulaal @sparklysharknerd-blog1 @f1fantasys @landosgirlxoxo @moonclaine @charlesgirl16 Tysm everyone!

[tw1l1te]

𝓼𝓪𝔂 𝓶𝔂 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮

Yandere! Linked Universe x Reader

Warnings: Dark themes, and I mean dark, suggestive, angst, more angst, kidnapping, mentions of death, dark religious themes

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You'd lost track of how many days, weeks, months years have passed since you'd been contained in this hell. You'd lost track of who you last talked to. You'd lost all sense of what happened, and where everything went wrong.

One of the clearest memories you have is how it happened.

How it started it already began long before.

Just hours after defeating the shadow, you were making plans to leave. To go back home after almost three years. You knew the subject was touchy and created a tense air to the group, but it was unavoidable now. It was time to go.

You look back at the portal, blue and gold wisps illuminating the surrounding area. Why wasn't anybody reacting to it, if at all?

If they pretended it didn't exist, you wouldn't leave them.

Enough was enough. You've waited too long for this, worked too hard. You didn't belong here.

Picking up your pack, you look at the rift once more. The pulsating sensation beckoning you closer.

Leave. Go home. Leave them. Go now, before it's too late. Now now nownownow gonowgonowGONOwLEAVEBEFOREITISTOOLATE-

A hand wraps around your wrist, hot fire against your ice cold bones.

"Stay. Please."

Twilight looks defeated. On the brink of utter collapse, eyes on the brink of tears.

"If only there was another way, Twilight. If only. I'm sorry, it's time."

"I love you, darlin'. I love you so much. Please don't leave m-us. Not again. I can't- won't. Not again."

You weren't her. No, you weren't Midna. You wouldn't leavEhiMheRE

He was on his knees, eyes never wavering off of yours. He was praying. Praying a mantra to your entity. His goddess. His divinity.

You feel another set of hands on your hips, melding perfectly against your form. Prophetical puzzle pieces locking together.

Legend was already crying, salty tears wettening your tunic. His hands were coated with blood. Not his.

"Y/n I- please, Mousey. Please please. Not again. I can't do this without you. Let us come with you. We'll do anything."

His hands. His hands were on your face, sticky blood tarnishing your perfect face. A face that held eras. His and his brothers', embedded in your very soul.

"I'm sorry- I can't. You know I'd bring you with me if I could, but it's time. I don't belong here. You know I don't, you said it yourself oh so long ago."

"That was- I was different. So so much has happened, so much."

The earth started to shake, ramping up in mere seconds.

The rock started to crack, larger and larger chasms forming, decreasing your chances of getting out of here.

It was now or never.

You look back at them, mouthing 'I'm sorry', and run.

Run and don't look back.

Run before you change your mind again.

Run before you miss your chance. Forever.

Your fingers graze the golden light, a sensation unlike you've ever felt before.

A force knocks you out cold, the last thing you see is that damned golden light.

~

You woke up almost a week later, eyes barely being able to open from how long they've been shut.

You remember the blood-curling scream you let out, vocal cords tearing at your anguish.

You remember Wild and Hyrule running in, holding you in place to not harm yourself even more.

You remember sobbing for hours that night, all of them staring at you.

You remember how nauseous and mortified you were when Time bathed you, combing through your locks and looming over you, cooing at you like you were some lost lamb.

You remember how disappointed Wars looked when he found you with your locks strewn around you on the floor, hoping that you wouldn't be pretty anymore in their eyes if you messed yourself up. It made you more stunning.

You remember sitting in the corner of the room, curling in on yourself while you hummed a lullaby, trying to ignore the looming eyes of the chosen hero in the other corner of the room.

They don't let you out past the fence, past it leads into the forest.

You stopped talking to any of them months ago, vocal cords mostly damaged from your screams.

You feel slightly safer with Wind around, knowing they would stay away if he was with you, trusting him to be their eyes for when they weren't home. This wasn't his fault, he was only a kid. Not knowing any better because his brothers told him this was right.

You promised him and yourself that'd you would both get out someday. You both knew he could come and go as he pleased, but he morally couldn't. You reminded him of Aryll, though that personality had long been lost.

You were in your bed, drawing in a notebook that Wind had brought you. It was blue, engraved with small violet flowers. You picked up drawing a few months ago, the distraction keeping you slightly sane. You didn't know what you were drawing, but it felt nostalgic. Safe. Home.

The door opens, Time walking into the room and pulling a chair from the far corner to sit in front of you.

You choose to ignore him, focusing very hard on the drawing at hand.

"You haven't talked much lately, Flower."

You wince at the petname, the syllables off his tongue making you disgusted. He has no right calling you that.

He keeps looking at you, elbows on his knees as he examines you, like some art on a wall. You can look, but you can't touch.

"I miss your voice, baby. I miss you saying my name."

You stop drawing on the paper, but still not looking at him. You refuse.

He crawls up to you, on his hands and knees, praying to his goddess for forgiveness of his sins

"My moonlight... please. Please say my name. That's all I will ever ask of you."

You look at him, noticing how tired and destroyed he looks.

Serves him right.

You close your notebook, lacing it back up with the leather cord. Setting it aside, you look back at him.

You vocal cords scream as you open your mouth, so in pain from the strain.

With gravely words and no emotion to give, you rasp

"Rot in hell."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[bullet-prooflove]

Everything: Luke Alvez x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @anime-weeb-4-life @rosaliedepp @crimeshowjunkie @storiesofsvu @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @desert-fern @99-reasons-to-live @legit9thlunaticwarrior @missscarlettangel @teti-menchon0604 @est1887 @mortal--soul @spookyboogyuniverse @adaydreamaway08 @kylieramey @@oureternalbond @ @bexstime1 @hey-dw @irishavengersassemble @daydreamgoddess @st4rgirliesstuff @xoxabs88xox @multiflixshelves @brownskinbaby22

Companion piece to:

White Picket Fence - You and Luke discuss the reality of a white picket fence.

Red Dress - Luke has some regrets when he sees you in that red dress.

Run - Luke is the worst profiler.

Luke watched from the doorway as you moved around his bedroom, pulling the hair tie from your hair and letting it cascade down your shoulders. You’d been here before, curled up in his bed with his face buried in your shoulder. You’d fallen asleep together, but it had gone no further, you felt perfect and right against him as you nestled in his arms. It was the first time he’d slept the night through in a long time.

He reached for you, his fingers running gently through your hair and across your scalp. He had discovered that you liked that not too long ago, it made the stress seep from your body. He could feel you beginning to unwind under his hands. You tilted your head back as he continued to rake his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp and tugging lightly at the ends. You sighed blissfully, leaning against his solid form.

"It's so relaxing when you do that." You told him, watching the expression on his face through the mirror in front of you.

Luke met your gaze. You felt like he was the missing piece in your life, that person who fit so perfectly into your life, it was as if he’d always been there.

He turned you around to face him so he could look upon you with his own eyes. His hand cupped the side of your face with a softness he reserved only for you, his thumb trailed along your lips smoothing across the outline. He couldn't take his eyes off you, and he never wanted to, you were perfect and there wasn't a thing he wouldn’t do for you.

"I'm ready." he whispered as he tipped your chin up to meet his gaze.

"I know." You said, leaning in close.

Your lips brushed over his as you rose up on tip toes and kissed him. It was like drowning, in an instant everything about you was sweeping over Luke. He had never known what it was like to immerse yourself so deeply in someone before he’d met you. His tongue dipped into the warm chasm of your mouth, his passion ignited at your taste. His hands threaded through your hair once more, pulling you taut against his body.

Your hands were already ridding Luke of his clothes as he walked you back towards the bed, gently laying you down upon the sheets. His shirt was gone, he was blazing to the touch, his hot flesh was warming yours as Luke stripped off your top leaving you clad in a simple white bra.

Once upon a time back, you would have worried that you wasn't sexy enough for this man but when you looked into his eyes you saw the reality of his feelings. You felt his erection pressing against you.

"My beautiful girl." Luke said forcefully as his mouth fastened on the side of your throat, his hot tongue swiping at that sensitive spot driving you into a frenzy.

Your nails raked across his bare back as his firm hands gripped your ass, squeezing it tightly before he yanked your clothed lower body against his. Luke ground against you, making sure you could feel every inch of him.

"This is for you." he told you as his teeth grazed your earlobe. "All of me was made just for you."

You cried out as he thrust against your wanton body once more, sending a pulse of pleasure straight through you. You had been working towards this moment for such a long time and it was better than you imagined. Your hands skated along his ribs, you could feel the strong muscles under your fingers as you delved between them, your dexterous fingers unfastening his jeans. Luke helped to remove them, before his attention to your clothing.

"Take it off." he murmured. “I want to see all of you.”

You complied with that devastatingly smile of yours, before Luke smothered your mouth with his own once more. His kisses were becoming more possessive, his tongue seeking out the confines of your mouth as his palms enclosed over your naked breasts. His thumbs circled the delicate shape of your nipples before he focused on the hard rosebud nubs. You arched into his grasp, your legs locking around his waist as he began to move against you once more.

Luke lowered his head, capturing your right nipple in his fiery mouth. He sucked it lightly, his tongue lavishing attention upon your breast. His hand was already snaking down between you, his deft fingers unzipping your jeans before he pushed them further down your legs along with your panties. You kicked them off as Luke’s tongue swiped a deviant path towards your left breast. His hand was already slipping further down your form before he sought out the damp cleft between your legs.

You were soaking, all of that playing and teasing had worked you up so badly you were practically begging for him. His thumb caressed your clit making you moan. He loved watching your face, loved how expressive you were.

"Now Luke." You cried out, your fingertips digging into his shoulders. "I need you now."

Luke gripped his leaking cock at the base and guided it towards your most intimate place. His tip brushed your slick opening causing Luke to grunt in exaltation as he entered you slowly. It was bliss, unadulterated bliss and it stole through Luke’s veins like a drug. You hugged every inch of him taking him all the way to the hilt. He buried his face in your throat moving in slow, erotic thrusts. He’d never felt as connected to a human being as he did in this moment. He wanted a future with you, a life, he wanted all of it.

You keened for him as he hit that sweet spot deep inside of you and he rocked into you harder, faster, the climax building at the base of his cock. That ecstasy, it was coming, it felt like a tsunami building momentum with every single movement. You were on the cusp, your whimpers getting louder, the love making becoming more urgent as you raced to the finish line. You crested together, your cunt gripping his dick until he came so hard, his ears rang and he thought he saw stars. It was intense, the euphoria, the intimacy. He stared into your eyes, and he saw his entire world, a universe made just for him.

“You mean everything to me.” He whispered against your skin. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb chasing over your cheek bone as his lips brushed over yours. “Everything.”

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[pin-k-ink]

heat // kozume kenma

tw ⇢ mutual pining, strong sexual tension, making out, fingering, nipple play, orgasm denial, cunnilingus, teasing, squirting, unprotected sex

wc ⇢ 6.7k

a/n: not proofread

The arrivals terminal buzzed with a cacophony of greetings and farewells as travelers rushed about - wheeled suitcases clacking against the polished floors. You scanned the teeming crowds, pulse flickering with both excitement and trepidation.

After all these years, you were finally back in Tokyo. The city where you had grown up living across the street from Kenma - the two of you inseparable friends until high school graduation scattered you along diverging paths.

Though you tried keeping in touch through the occasional text and social media, the miles between you seemed to widen into an ever-growing chasm. Which made it all the more surprising when Kenma himself had reached out weeks ago extending an open invitation to stay over at his place during your upcoming visit.

"I have a pretty spacious setup now with my gaming and streaming work," he had typed nonchalantly. "You can crash at mine instead of some soulless hotel room."

Coming from anyone else, the offer could've been easily misconstrued as flirtatious or inappropriate. But this was Kenma - your childhood friend who hardly spoke more than was absolutely necessary, much less indulged in coy overtures. With him, you knew the pragmatic suggestion was precisely as straightforward as he had phrased it.

Still...spending who knew how many nights in close quarters threatened to stir up residual longings you thought had been neatly extricated years ago. You had seen the photographs and gaming celebrity articles documenting how Kenma seemed to fully bloom after high school, shedding his reticence in favor of a quiet magnetism entirely befitting his feline moniker.

Would being confronted with the all-too-appealing reality of Kenma's newly confident presence make you regress into a dumbstruck, overly flustered mess like you were as kids?

Lost in your whirling contemplations, you nearly missed the ping of an incoming text from Kenma:

"Made it through arrivals. Meet you outside?"

You startled slightly, clutching your carry-on bag as you pivoted towards the exit. Sure enough, there stood Kenma - posture slouched in that trademark listless slouch of his with hands stuffed into the pockets of a mustard yellow hoodie emblazoned with his gaming company's logo.

But beyond that superficially laidback veneer, his penetrating cat-like gaze missed nothing. Those keen amber eyes flickered over every detail of you in one sweeping glance - from your wind-tousled hair down to your ankle boots. A slight furrow creased Kenma's brow, mouth tugging into a barely perceptible frown as if dissatisfied by his visual assessment.

Before you could finish approaching him, he seemed to shake himself minutely from whatever critique had taken place. The corners of his lips quirking up into a lopsided shadow of his former boyish grin.

"Yo," Kenma greeted you with that same trademark laconic inflection even after all these years. "Long flight?"

You simply nodded, still struggling to find your footing and access the right combination of words to respond properly. Up close now, you found yourself momentarily stupefied by just how much Kenma had changed over the separation, yet somehow still manifestly embodied his innately intriguing core essence.

There was an indescribable charged electricity snapping between you two - bristling with poignant nostalgia and thrilling new tension. The corners of Kenma's slanted eyes crinkled fractionally, reflexively interpreting each one of your minute micro expressions with that eerie perceptiveness he always possessed.

"Well let's get you home and settled in, yeah?" he prompted at last when you failed to break the silence.

Nimble fingers feathered across your knuckles, sliding into your grasp before tugging you towards the exit with that same featherlight yet insistent guidance you had grown so accustomed to as kids. Knitting your brows in bemused consternation, you could only nod and allow his silent lead - the first of many unspoken exchanges that threatened to strip away all remaining defenses.

The ride back to Kenma's place was mostly quiet, each of you slipping into familiar contemplative lulls between stretches of idle chitchat and getting reacquainted. You stole sideways glances while stopped at traffic lights - drinking in all the intricate details of his profile in crystalline crisp focus.

The angular, almost severe slash of his jawline and slightly fuller pout to his lower lip. The high sweep of aristocratic cheekbones seamlessly blending into sculpted yet soft edges of his face. Even the prickling roost of silken blond roots already peeking through his two-toned tresses drew your lingering eye.

By the time Kenma smoothly navigated into the underground parking complex of his residential high-rise, you felt dazed and off-kilter as if emerging from the thick miasma of a dream. When had your oldest friend transformed into someone so inexplicably alluring yet unyielding to casual appreciation?

Kenma retrieved your solitary suitcase from the rear hatch, sweeping his hooded gaze over you consideringly through those longish fringe strands. There was a fleeting spark of mischievousness that reminded you so acutely of the Kenma from your childhood days - making your pulse kick up double-time.

"You ready to head in?" He cocked one eyebrow inscrutably. "I've got a feeling you could use a nap from all your...spacing out on the drive."

You flushed slightly at Kenma's acknowledgment of you essentially devouring him with your eyes during the entire commute. Clearing your throat, you mustered a nonchalant shrug.

"A power nap does sound amazingly good right about now," you admitted, falling into step beside him as you navigated the corridors towards the building's elevator bank.

Kenma hummed noncommittally, deft fingers already tapping out a lightning cadence against the side of your suitcase in a gesture unmistakably gaming-adjacent. The old compulsive tic brought a nostalgic smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You stole a sidelong glance at your oldest friend, wondering what sorts of virtual adventures currently captivated the nimble-minded focus you recalled so vividly from long-winded gaming sessions in his bedroom as kids. So much had changed, yet that inherent core of what made Kenma so uniquely himself clearly persisted.

Once inside his impressively spacious flat, you immediately understood why he had offered to host you instead of booking a generic hotel. The entire open-concept living area seemed expressly appointed to revolve around an imposing, multi-monitor gaming rig complete with a professional-grade broadcasting setup.

Various cat-themed peripherals and an impressive library of neatly displayed physical and digital game collections cluttered nearly every flat surface. You caught your reflection in the smoked glass case enshrining a particularly eye-catching piece of merchandise - anaberrant juxtaposition of the cosmopolitan living space tailored around Kenma's unapologetic video game devotion.

A wry chuckle from behind you made you twist back to face him. The diminutive smile playing across his lips suggested he accurately interpreted your bemused expression.

"I see that look on most people whenever they visit for the first time," Kenma murmured in that rich, honeyed voice of his that you weren't remotely prepared for. "They expect my 'career' to be some sort of immature pipe dream rather than global brand."

You shook your head quickly at the veiled hint of reproach beneath that mild observation. "No, I just...it's exactly the kind of space I always envisioned you creating for yourself, to be honest," you replied sincerely. "I think it's incredible how you've genuinely established this whole lifestyle and identity for yourself completely on your own passions and terms."

Kenma regarded you with a glimmer of pleasant surprise flickering across his striking features before smoothing them back into that familiar half-lidded aloofness. Still, you caught the way his gaze sharpened infinitesimally.

"Well, since you're the only other person who truly grasps my 'lifestyle,' I'm sure I can count on you to make yourself at home." His tongue darted out to wet his lips - a minute gesture you found your focus utterly arrested by for some reason. "The guest suite is just through here."

Amber-gold eyes met yours unflinchingly, sparking with an unspoken invitation to comment. You swallowed thickly but forced yourself to nod, shuffling after Kenma as he turned and began leading you down a dimly lit hallway.

After stowing your luggage, he ushered you into a decadently appointed en suite - complete with a massive walk-in rainfall shower that sent your exhaustion-hazed thoughts careening into rather unbecoming territory. You swiftly refocused as Kenma leaned against the marble vanity, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

"Go ahead and get settled however you need," he prompted with a vague gesture around the posh accommodations. "I'll probably be streaming for the next few hours, but you're welcome to hang out once you've recharged."

Inclining his head towards the threshold, Kenma paused just briefly - long enough for you to catch the indescribably weighted undercurrent flickering across his expression before he schooled his features. Then he pivoted, padding out in that signature laidback shuffle while you were left to stare dumbly at the patterns in the granite tile.

As the hot cascade of a shower finally began unwinding the knots of tension from travel, you couldn't ignore the steadily gathering storm of uncertainty swirling within. Part of you instinctively raised guards, preparing for the intense nostalgia and rekindled intimacy of reminiscing with Kenma to open up old wounds you thought had been neatly sutured years ago.

The other part, however - the shamelessly indulgent facet you struggled to repress - eagerly anticipated whatever unspoken electricity seemed to be steadily exerting its gravitational pull.

After luxuriating under the pulsing streams of the walk-in shower until the water ran tepid, you reluctantly toweled off and padded back into the guest suite. You were enveloped in one of the plushest terry cloth robes imaginable as you cinched it securely and paused to survey your temporary accommodations.

Sunlight slanted across the polished hardwood in warm bands, filtering through the gauzy curtains to cast everything in a gilded afternoon glow. Your gaze snagged on the embossed geometric patterns woven through the textured area rug - such an unexpected departure from the stark minimalist aesthetic you'd have imagined Kenma cultivating in his home.

Sinking down on the edge of the bed, you ran fingertips over the intricately carved patterns detailed in the wooden bedframe's footboard. So many thoughtful design touches married throughout the space that exuded a bespoke richness and warmth wholly juxtaposed against the more austere tech-centric common areas.

You couldn't resist trailing further across the plush duvet, indulging in the heavenly glide of high thread-count cotton against your calf. Seriously, how had Kenma assembled such an indulgent oasis within his gaming lair? The simple boyhood recollections you harbored cast everything in a new intriguing light.

Just as you had begun contemplating what else in Kenma's carefully curated world might challenge your established perception of him, a series of rhythmic knocks rapped against the guest suite's door.

"You decent?" His instantly recognizable dulcet tone preceded him by a beat before the door eased open a sliver.

"Of course, come in," you replied automatically, reflexively tugging the plush lapels together.

Kenma slipped through the narrow opening, clad in a long-sleeved shirt emblazoned with stylized cat motifs and a pair of formfitting joggers that embraced lean muscle definition you actively avoided ogling. Shoving his hands into the front pockets, he bobbed his head in an idle suite.

"Figured I'd come check and see if you managed to get some rest."

"More or less," you hedged with a lopsided smile. "Your shower was heavenly for working out some lingering flight stiffness at least."

A faint tinge of color brushed across Kenma's arched cheekbones at the innocuous mention of the shower. Had your imagination gone so utterly to seed that something as simple as—

"Cool, good. I'm all wrapped up with my gaming sessions for the day, if you want to..." he trailed off, adam's apple bobbing minutely before venturing a sidelong look through those burnished lashes. "Or we could just order something for dinner and...I don't know, hang?"

The weight of unspoken implication behind that seemingly casual invitation hit you like a visceral punch, momentarily robbing you of your voice. Instinct shouted to claim the offering, while deeply ingrained reservations around compromising a cherished lifelong friendship threatened to override any forward impulses.

After a protracted pause, you cleared your throat quietly. "Yeah, sounds great." Steadying yourself with a measured inhale, you lifted your chin as a slow smile unfurled across your lips. "I'm famished, so...what are you feeling?"

A muscle in Kenma's jaw ticked fleetingly, eyes glittering for just a moment before blinking back to their trademark heavy-lidded warmth. "I could go for some hot pot...lots of protein. Think you can handle the spice?"

The edges of his mouth curled into an undeniably flirtatious grin that sent your pulse skittering immediately into double-time. You felt the heat flooding your cheeks, but leaned into the pull of his focused magnetism rather than shrinking away.

"Oh, I can handle anything you wanna dish out," You tossed back, surprising yourself with the faint purr underlying your words.

Without looking away, you slowly rose to your feet - allowing the plush robe to slough off one shoulder with deliberately choreographed casualness. Kenma's breath audibly hitched, eyes darkening momentarily in appreciation before his lips parted on a low exhale.

"Is that right? I'll have to remember you said that." His voice dropped into a sin-tinged register that went straight to your core. "We have...all sorts of games to play later."

The unmistakable undercurrent behind his double entendre sent another rush of molten heat cascading through you. This time you responded with nothing but a subtle arch of one brow, staring him down in electrified silence as the air itself seemed to thicken and throb with heated tension.

Until finally Kenma ceded the moment with an almost pained hiss through his teeth before pivoting on his heel. "I'll get that order placed. You might want to slip into something...sturdier."

You suppressed the urge to openly gape at his rapidly retreating form, frozen in the wake of whatever had just viscerally transpired. Of one thing you were abruptly certain - these coming days would be more of a test of endurance than either of you seemed prepared for.

The spice Kenma alluded to was poised to burn you down to ash before you even had a chance to compute the inferno.

The pungent aroma of simmering broth and assorted proteins wafted through the apartment as you settled across from Kenma at the kitchen island. A dizzying array of small plates and dipping sauces had been meticulously arranged, as if this were some elaborate streaming event rather than a casual dinner.

"I may have gone a bit overboard," Kenma admitted, sweeping a hand over the impressive spread with an uncharacteristically sheepish tilt to his mouth. "Old habits and all that."

You couldn't resist letting out a low appreciative whistle. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're flexing for your captive audience here."

Grabbing your chopsticks, you deftly plucked a perfectly seared slice of marbled wagyu from the central hot pot, purposefully locking eyes with Kenma as you brought the morsel to your lips. His gaze followed, rapt and laser-focused, as you slipped the tender beef past your parted lips with an involuntary moan of satisfaction.

"You have no idea..." he murmured, low and rough like gravel.

You paused mid-chew, certain your ears had to be playing tricks. But the heated intensity burning behind Kenma's stare left no ambiguity about the undercurrent thrumming between you. Recovering with a coquettish arch of one brow, you reached for one of the small dipping dishes - fingers brushing against the back of his wrist accidentally-on-purpose.

"No, I really don't," you murmured before deliberately dragging your tongue along the plump swell of your bottom lip to collect a stray smear of savory-sweet sauce. "Why don't you elaborate for me?"

A muscle ticked faintly along Kenma's chiseled jawline as his gaze followed the unconscious path of your tongue with rapt fixation. You watched his pupils slowly dilate, then narrow into frozen precision as his lips parted on a harsh exhalation.

For an endless stretch, the thickening silence seemed to yawn between you, weighted with the echo of your suggestive challenge. Unsure whether to double down or backpedal, you felt suspended in a crystalline stasis awaiting Kenma's response like it held the power to upend your world.

"Well, well...look who's developed a bold side in their old age," he finally rumbled in that sinfully textured timbre you weren't remotely prepared to withstand. His smirk sharpened fractionally as one elegant fingertip traced the rim of a small ceramic dish filled with delicately pink pickled ginger. "Trust me, I have plenty to...elaborate on, if you think you can keep up."

Your breath hitched faintly as he raised the dish to his mouth, sweeping his tongue with excruciating indolence across the glistening ginger to collect the tangy juices. He held your widening stare hostage as he hollowed his cheeks around the soft flesh suggestively before withdrawing with a quietly filthy sound.

"How's the heat treating you so far?" Kenma practically purred after a considering pause. "Because it's about to get much...much more intense."

You could only swallow thickly, wishing you could play the consummate picture of unruffled nonchalance like he did. Instead, you shifted unconsciously in your seat - tormented by an uncomfortable tightness in your jeans from the undeniable pull of Kenma's molten confidence.

For his part, the setter-turned-streamer simply watched you steadily over the rim of his beer glass as he sipped. Seemingly amused by your flustered state and secure in the knowledge he'd already seized the upper hand in whatever game stood to unfurl between you over the coming days.

Before either of you could press the heated boundaries further, a strident chirp echoed from the hallway - effectively shattering the thick tension with its jarring intrusion.

Kenma quirked one brow in irritation before rising smoothly to his feet, shooting you one last unreadable look from beneath his lashes as he stalked off to retrieve whatever device was clamoring for his attention.

Left alone, you huffed out a sharp exhale, remnants of desire still prickling across your heated skin like a brand. Muttering a soft curse under your breath, you steadied your racing pulse and turned your focus back towards the array of food with something adjacent to grim determination.

One way or another, you were going to wrestle back control of this game before it devolved into utter capitulation to the hypnotically smoldering aura Kenma had somehow mastered in your absence.

Little did you realize you had already resigned yourself to becoming the moth irresistibly fixated upon his flame...

The following week passed in a heated haze of building frustration and rapidly fraying restraint.

No matter how innocuous the interaction - lounging together on the sofa while Kenma orchestrated one of his streaming sessions, accompanying him on idyllic forays across Tokyo to revisit childhood haunts, even the mundane domesticity of sharing meals - an inescapable undercurrent of restless tension thrummed like a livewire between you.

Countless moments where your gazes would lock in a protracted stare; fingertips "accidentally" brushing along exposed skin and triggering full-body shockwaves resonating bone-deep. The perpetual push-and-pull of flirtation somehow elevating errant touches and otherwise innocuous exchanges into something hungering and profane.

Kenma no longer bothered to disguise the appreciative trail of his penetrating stare roving across your form whenever you bent or stretched. You quickly acclimated to the hot skim of his focus mapping every curve and dip overtly, pupils dilating with shamelessly burning desire he didn't seem inclined to sate.

For your part, you began unconsciously rising to match that unhurried confidence - boldly regarding Kenma's lithe, powerful physique with the same sensuous appreciation. Emboldened by how his throat would noticeably tighten every time your eyes dropped to linger across the vee of his collarbones, hips subtly canting forward whenever he sprawled in those fitted joggers that clung like a second skin.

Beyond the escalating physicality, you found yourself captivated by Kenma's rare loquaciousness about himself more than anything. Unburdened from your weighty history, he began opening up in quiet retrospective anecdotes about his passage into adulthood, steadily dismantling your preconceptions about his insular nature.

Like how he had secretly sponsored a children's e-sports program to guide underprivileged kids into careers in the burgeoning gaming industry. Or the surprising revelation that he regularly worked pro-bono with speech pathologists to design specialized voice controls for disability accessibility.

This was a side of Kenma's generosity and altruism towards the community fostering his career that you never could have envisioned. And with each newy facet, you found yourself plunging deeper under his unrelenting pull - utterly infatuated with who this remarkable man had become.

He simply chuckled, low and throaty, each time you gushed over some fresh depth unveiled. Absorbing your unrestrained awe and esteem with the same private relish as whenever you "inadvertently" provoked him into undisguised want. The heady combination only fanned the flames of simmering tension blazing between you.

It was on the eighth night sequestered together when Kenma decided to press the boundaries once more.

You were sprawled on the plush area rug before the oversized sectional, cycling through television menus in a vain attempt to pick something suitable to watch. A frustrated huff punched from your chest as you reached the end of yet another recommendations category that failed to inspire.

"Everything looks so mindless and forgettable nowadays," you mused, half to yourself. "What happened to real stories being told?"

A low chuckle resonated from behind you, vaguely Kenma-scented air puffing across the nape of your neck. You hadn't even registered his approach until his muscular form settled on the rug beside you with only a whisper of displaced fabric. The gold-green kaleidoscope of his eyes practically glowed with wicked mischief at your obvious failure.

"Well if you crave imaginative narratives so badly, maybe you'd fare better diving into a real fantasy scenario instead."

The rich velvet of Kenma's timbre immediately snapped every iota of your focus towards him. Your eyebrows lifted quizzically as he leaned in incrementally closer, fringe of silky hair feathering along your temple.

"What did you have in mind?"

Another low rumble ghosted your hairline as Kenma hummed almost inaudibly. "Let's just say...I have a distinctly illicit form of entertainment that may require your unbiased opinion."

Intrigue sparked low in your abdomen at the deliciously unspoken implications behind his words. Before you could fully decide whether or not to indulge his transparent flirtation, Kenma was already rising to his feet once more - extending one elegant hand down towards you in silent invitation.

Scarcely daring to breathe, you allowed him to pull you upright before following his lead towards the hallway. You pretended not to notice how his palm scorched the naked small of your back through the thin cotton tanktop as he ushered you across the darkened threshold into his inner sanctum.

A hushed, ambient glow bathed Kenma's bedroom in shades of moody twilight as you stepped over the threshold. Various pieces of gaming memorabilia and framed promotional artwork adorned the walls, creating an insulated atmosphere that existed in a world entirely unto itself.

Without preamble, Kenma crossed to the sleek desktop monitor setup, fingers already flying in a flurry of keystrokes and clicks as he booted up whatever "illicit entertainment" he had teased. You hovered uncertainly in the center of the space, casting furtive glances around the dimly lit sanctuary that emanated pure Kenma energy.

"Have a seat," he prompted without turning around - as if acutely aware of your momentary hesitation. "Get comfortable."

You cleared your throat but obeyed, carefully perching on the edge of Kenma's massivebed. The plush duvet conformed luxuriously to your weight, upholstered in some sort of sleek microfiber that reminded you of a cat's velveteen coat. Inexplicably, you found yourself burrowing your fingers through the decadent bedding's nap while studying Kenma's form in sidelong profile.

The muted blue-white glow from his monitors caressed the elegant contours of his face, shadowing the regal sweep of cheekbones and strong jawline in stark chiaroscuro. You marveled at just how much he had evolved from the reserved, rail-thin youth of your memories into the tantalizingly statuesque man before you now. One defined by an aura of languid intensity and assured command over whatever scenario unfolded around him.

As if he could sense the weight of your rapt scrutiny, Kenma angled towards you incrementally - chin dipping just enough to pin you momentarily with the full smolder of that heavy-lidded golden stare. His lush mouth curved into the barest ghost of a smirk, clearly relishing whatever discovery had your undivided attention so thoroughly enraptured.

"Second thoughts about seeing how the other half indulges their fantasies?" he murmured, pitching his already simmering timbre at a register that seemed scientifically engineered to inflame your senses.

An involuntary shiver rippled through you despite the heated flush creeping up your neck. Swallowing hard, you mirrored the slow, molten sweep of Kenma's eyes with one of your own - unabashed in drinking in each lean, corded muscle shifting beneath his fitted tee.

"Not a chance," you rasped, proud of how steady you managed to keep your voice despite the electrifying lash of his focus. "I'm the one who thrives on having my boundaries thoroughly...obliterated."

Kenma held your weighted stare for one suspended heartbeat longer before his tongue slipped out to wet his lower lip with unconscious sensuality. You mirrored the visceral action, entirely mesmerized by the naked want flickering across his strikingly beautiful features in that crystalline moment.

Then he seemed to resettle his composure like an unshakeable monolith, turning back towards the computer monitors as he clicked open some file directory. You subtly repositioned yourself more comfortably on the bed, back canting against the sturdy headboard while determinedly ignoring each tantalizing glimpse of scarlet duvet bunched around you in disheveled invitation.

A few more staccato keystrokes and suddenly one of the monitors flared to luminescent life - the unmistakable refrains of an overly saccharine J-pop opening sequence blaring through Kenma's speakers.

The game loaded on Kenma's monitor, intro music at odds with the charged atmosphere. You watched raptly as a buxom anime avatar appeared - her features and proportions eerily…familiar.

"Kenma..." You began, then trailed off, unsure if you wanted confirmation of what seemed obvious.

He didn't respond right away, deftly navigating the opening scenarios with deft keystrokes and clicks. Only when the digital woman began making coy, suggestive comments did you see him tense imperceptibly.

You studied the sharp lines of his profile, the slight parting of his lips as he deliberately avoided your questioning gaze. Finally, he exhaled - the sound low and fraught.

"I've had this commissioned mod for a while now," Kenma murmured, finally glancing your way with molten eyes. "From certain...unflattering angles, she captures some essence of you that's proven...distracting."

Your mouth went dry as you processed his oblique admission. Kenma had essentially crafted a digital embodiment of you to indulge his fantasies privately. The thought was overwhelmingly, incendiary.

"Show me," you heard yourself reply, proud of how steady your tone remained.

Kenma exhaled slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard as the digital avatar paused mid-scenario. His eyes cut towards you, burning intensity simmering behind those heavy lids.

"This next interaction gets...decidedly more intimate," he murmured, a muscle ticking along his chiseled jaw. "Are you sure you want me to continue?"

You held his searing gaze, giving a small nod. Kenma's lips parted on a ragged exhale before he continued guiding the game. The simulated woman began uttering breathless endearments, describing in graphic detail the acts she longed for her partner to indulge. You felt heat prickling across your skin as Kenma's jaw went taut, his own arousal visibly kindling.

"Look at her, begging for it so shamelessly," he rasped, not looking at the screen. His smoldering eyes bored into you. "But she doesn't even begin to fully capture the reality of how intoxicating you are."

Your breath hitched at the undisguised yearning that threaded his deep velvet tone. Kenma's chest rose and fell rapidly, desire and restraint wrestling across his striking features.

"To have you panting my name..." He continued roughly. "Writhing against me as I finally make good on every heated fantasy..."

A low, guttural sound tumbled from his parted lips as he abruptly shoved back from the desk. In two strides, he towered over you - an inscrutable, blazing force looming above where you sat rooted to the bed. You could only gaze up, up at him, dizzy with spiraling need.

Then Kenma simply...moved.

One moment, you were shakily inhaling his earthy, spice-tinged scent. The next, the universe distilled to the scalding slide of his mouth possessively claiming yours. A guttural rumble reverberated from deep within his chest as you eagerly opened for the fervent sweep of his tongue.

Any last vestiges of restraint shattered irreparably.

You clung to the sinewy lines of Kenma's back as he walked you further up the bed without relinquishing his devouring kiss. Finally breaking just long enough to gaze upon you with eyes guttering like banked embers, before swooping down to map every exposed inch of feverish skin with a desperate, open-mouthed reverence.

Every scorching path of his tongue and teeth left you arching helplessly against him, hands clutching greedily at the powerful lines of his frame. The sensation of him, warm and solid and overwhelming, left your pulse careening into double-time.

Then one leanly muscled thigh slid between yours, applying the barest hint of pressure that threatened to shatter you. You moaned his name, hips instinctively canting against him in search of sweet relief.

Kenma merely growled - a predatory, primal sound - before seizing your wrists and pinning them above your head. His smoldering stare met yours, pupils dilated until his eyes resembled two obsidian pools ringed in liquid fire.

"I can feel just how badly you need this," he rasped, a note of disbelief threading through his tone. "How you're fucking dripping for me."

You gasped, shuddering as the blunt force of his thigh pressed harder against your aching core. Then his free hand dipped below the waistband of your jeans, sliding sinuously through the slick arousal pooling there.

Kenma hissed out a curse as his fingertips stroked feather-light patterns across your throbbing clit. Each touch sent white-hot sparks spiraling through you, a deliciously building pressure that left you whimpering incoherently.

"Fuck, I could play with your gorgeous cunt all night."

Kenma punctuated his darkly erotic admission with the sinuous slide of one long finger inside you. Your walls immediately clenched around him, back bowing with the delicious intrusion.

He released a low groan, adding a second finger to the first as your hips rocked against his hand. He held your gaze, molten and hungry as he pumped his fingers mercilessly in and out of your soaking heat.

"You're taking me so fucking beautifully," he purred, his free hand skimming the hem of your shirt up just enough toexpose the supple curve of your breasts. "So eager for every bit of pleasure I can give you."

Your nipples pebbled immediately, aching for his touch. Kenma leaned down, tongue flicking the straining peak of one sensitive nub before drawing it between his lips. You keened as the sensation arrowed directly to the molten pool of need building within.

Kenma hummed low in approval, the vibration rippling across your nipple and sending fresh shudders coursing through you. Then he was curling his fingers, stroking a spot so deliciously deep you saw stars.

Your entire world collapsed into the single point of Kenma's relentless thrusts, the maddening flick of his tongue and the torturous suction of his mouth against your breasts. Every nerve ending crackled and burned with the electric friction he stoked higher, higher, until—

A sob tore from your throat as you felt Kenma slide his fingers out of you. You were left trembling, utterly wrecked and bereft - a string of pleas and curses tumbling incoherently from your lips.

"Please, I-I was so close."

Kenma gazed down, lips swollen and reddened from his relentless kisses. "Don't worry, I'm nowhere near finished with you."

With that, he began unbuttoning your jeans, slowly easing the denim and dampened fabric of your panties down your trembling legs. Your entire body sang at the feeling of being utterly bare before him.

Then his eyes widened, a low sound like a snarl vibrating from his chest as he took in the sight of your slick, glistening cunt. You flushed at the unbridled hunger reflected there, the knowledge that it was because of him - his touch, his words, his body - that had you absolutely soaked.

Without preamble, Kenma was on his knees between your legs, his hands gripping the back of your thighs as his mouth descended. You cried out at the first hot swipe of his tongue, hands instinctively burying themselves in the silky softness of his hair.

Kenma groaned at the sensation, the sound resonating directly against your clit. His lips sealed around the swollen bundle of nerves, the faintest graze of his teeth sending fresh spasms of pleasure wracking through you.

You couldn't breathe, couldn't think - every fiber of your being a raw, exposed livewire crackling under Kenma's unhurried attention. The languid drag of his tongue as it plunged into your aching depths, the obscene sounds as he sucked your clit. Every sensation was a blissful torment that had you bucking against his face, desperate for more.

Kenma seemed to relish in your uninhibited abandon. He tightened his hold, pulling you even closer against his ravenous mouth. A keening cry tore from your lips as his tongue fucked you mercilessly, lapping up every bit of your honeyed arousal.

You felt your walls begin to flutter, the molten pressure building with every swipe of Kenma's wicked tongue. Just as you were about to come undone, his mouth pulled away.

A broken whimper tumbled from your lips as he began kissing a slow, scorching path up the quivering plane of your stomach, across the dip between your breasts. All the while, his hands caressed the heated flesh of your inner thighs, teasing so close to the slick heat throbbing for him.

"Not yet," he rumbled, lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. "I need to feel your pretty cunt squeezing around my cock before you come."

He leaned back just enough to pull his shirt off, revealing a chiseled torso rippling with lean, powerful muscles. The sight sent a fresh surge of need pulsing through you.

Kenma reached for the waistband of his joggers, shoving the fabric down with agonizing indolence. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy and dripping. Your breath caught at the sight.

With a low groan, he palmed the rigid length, his thumb spreading the bead of precum at his swollen tip. He held your gaze as he stroked himself, lips parting on a ragged exhale.

"See what you do to me," he gritted, the corded muscles of his forearm flexing. "My beautiful, perfect girl."

The unadulterated reverence in his voice sent a surge of heat racing through you. Kenma's nostrils flared, a growl resonating deep in his chest.

"You're practically begging to have my cock stretching that tight cunt," he continued roughly, leaning down until the molten tip of his length grazed the seam of your soaking entrance. "I could take you right now."

A shudder coursed through you as his head nudged against your throbbing clit. Your hips arched instinctively, seeking the delicious friction. Kenma let out a low, pained sound.

"That's it, fuck yourself on me," he growled, eyes blazing with a possessive, predatory lust.

Your eyes rolled back, a moan spilling from your lips as his shaft dragged through your soaked folds. Every inch of your skin felt scorched, hypersensitive - the air itself charged with electricity.

Then Kenma was reaching down, lining the swollen tip of his length against your aching entrance. His hand gripped the back of your thighs, holding you open as he pressed forward.

You bit back a cry, back arching as his cock stretched you inch by delicious inch. Your walls fluttered and clenched, struggling to accommodate his girth. But Kenma kept going, a low stream of praise falling from his lips as his hands skimmed soothing patterns across your trembling thighs.

"That's it, I've got you. Such a good girl, taking every fucking inch."

A moan slipped from your lips as he bottomed out, the sensation of his thick cock filling you utterly overwhelming. His hips rocked slowly, allowing you to adjust.

You gripped the sheets, struggling to stay tethered to reality. The feeling of Kenma's length buried to the hilt, his hands gripping your thighs, his smoldering gaze pinning you. It was all too much, but still not enough.

"Please," you begged, your voice a hoarse whisper.

Kenma's nostrils flared, the tendons of his throat flexing as he swallowed hard. Then he began thrusting, each stroke a searing slide of friction. The heels of his palms dug into your waist as he pinned you with his weight, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest.

Your moans filled the air, interspersed with the slick, filthy sounds of his cock pumping in and out of your aching cunt. You writhed, helpless beneath the delicious onslaught, his length stroking places that left you breathless.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Kenma rasped, his grip on your hips tightening. "And look how beautifully you take my cock."

A flush bloomed across your heated skin, a delicious ache building with every thrust. You whimpered as Kenma's thumb began circling your swollen clit, the added sensation driving you to the brink.

"I can feel how close you are," he rumbled, the molten intensity in his gaze unwavering. "Give me everything, sweet girl."

A shudder wracked through you, your walls fluttering as you teetered on the edge. Kenma's thumb moved faster, his thrusts picking up a punishing rhythm.

"Come for me."

Your vision blurred, ecstasy crashing over you in wave after wave of rapture. A cry tore from your lips, back arching as your pussy clenched and squirted around his thick length. Kenma let out a guttural groan, his strokes growing erratic as his own release approached.

You moaned, overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock throbbing and swelling inside you. Kenma's head fell back, eyes closed as his thrusts became frenzied. His jaw clenched, a ragged groan escaping his parted lips as he finally came.

His length pulsed inside you, painting your walls with hot spurts of his cum. You shuddered, the sensation pushing you into a second, unexpected climax. Kenma growled, thrusting through both of your releases until you were utterly spent.

You lay there panting, struggling to catch your breath as Kenma's weight settled beside you. He reached out, trailing a fingertip down the slope of your cheek, the hollow of your throat. You shivered, still hypersensitive.

"Beautiful," he murmured, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips.

A soft hum slipped from your mouth as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. You sighed, content to melt into the deliciously sated haze that permeated the aftermath.

Then, Kenma's voice sounded again, low and rumbling from deep within his chest:

"You should move in."

Your eyes flew open, breath hitching as the full import of his words hit you. Kenma's arms tightened, a subtle tension radiating across his powerful frame.

"I know it’s selfish, but I wasn’t planning on letting you leave if I’d worked up the courage to confess to you," he continued quietly, his breath warm against your neck. "You don't have to, but—"

"Yes."

The word slipped from your lips before you even had time to fully process the decision. But the moment it hung suspended in the charged silence, you knew the answer was inevitable.

"Yes?" Kenma echoed, something like wonder threading through his voice.

You twisted to meet his gaze, the faintest flicker of hope reflected there. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, a giddy warmth blossoming across your chest.

"Yes," you repeated, punctuating the word with a gentle kiss to his parted lips. "There's no way in hell I'm leaving you now."

Kenma hummed, a slow smile of his own curving his mouth as he pulled you even closer. You felt his lips brush the shell of your ear, his words a warm murmur of contentment:

"Good. Because you're not going anywhere."

[brunchable]

LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x Enhanced!FReader

FINAL

Part One | Part Two | Part Three Words: 10.4K Themes: Drama, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Warning: Nothing really? Sneak Peak: “I can’t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. A/N: This is probably the most romantic thing I've ever written, to me at least. Up to you if you want to hear the Song played in this story. Anyways Last Part, definitely enjoyed giving some life into this, I will miss this story now that it's over. Brb I'm going to cry.

Tags: @haruvalentine4321@strepsils123@realifelamb@needsleep3000@vicmc624@i-can-do-this-all-dayy@mrs-jjmaybank @nesnejwritings @feelinthefic@niffala@fantasyfootballchampion@thefandomplace @bellajean9-blog

Steve could hardly bring himself to watch as they treated your body with a clinical detachment that made his chest tighten. He knew this was protocol—you were government property now, subject to the rigorous examination and eventual autopsy that all enhanced individuals faced in death. Despite the protocol, the medical team was ordered to delay the autopsy until all Hydra officials are cleared out.

Steve sat by your side, holding your hand. It was cold now, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. The room was filled with the faint beeping of machines monitoring nothing at all. They were just there, another part of the procedure, keeping track of a body that showed no signs of life.

He barely left the room, and when he did, it was only because someone—Natasha, Tony, or Sam—forced him to. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, just sat there, his mind replaying the events that had led them to this point. The sound of Pierce pressing that button echoed in his head, a constant reminder of what had been lost.

Days passed, each one blurring into the next. The doctors kept their vigil, waiting for the required period to pass before they could begin the autopsy. For Steve, those days felt like an eternity. He refused to leave your side, clutching your cold hand as if it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. He whispered to you words that even he wasn’t sure he believed—words of love, of regret, of apologies for not being able to save you.

Natasha checked on Steve regularly, bringing him food that often went untouched. Tony lingered at the door more often than not, wanting to offer comfort but unsure of how to bridge the growing chasm of grief that separated Steve from the rest of the world. Sam tried to talk to him, tried to get him to rest, but Steve was a statue.

On the fourth day, the medical team began to prepare for the inevitable. The necessary observations had been made, and there was no sign of any changes. The protocol was clear—they would move forward with the autopsy. 

Steve felt the weight of the world pressing down on him as he overheard the quiet conversation between two of the doctors at the door, discussing the next steps. It was like the final nail in a coffin that had been closing around him for days.

He had known this was coming, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. The thought of them cutting into you, of them treating your body like just another subject in their endless quest for knowledge, made something inside him twist painfully. But he didn’t stop them. He couldn’t. This was beyond him now, beyond anything he could control.

Finally, the lead doctor approached Steve, her expression one of professional sympathy. “Captain Rogers,” she began, her voice gentle, “we need to start the procedure. We’ll take care of her… with the utmost respect.”

Steve nodded numbly, his throat too tight to form words. He stood up slowly, his legs heavy as if they were made of lead, and leaned down to press a final kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against her cold skin for a moment longer than necessary.

“I love you,” he whispered.

No answer.

With a heavy heart, Steve turned and walked out of the isolation room, the door closing softly behind him. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Every step felt like an insurmountable task, his body weighed down by a grief so profound that it was all he could do to keep moving.

As the door sealed shut, the doctors began their work, the room’s sterile lights flickering as the gravity of the situation settled over them like a shroud. 

Outside, Steve leaned against the wall, the sterile corridor around him a blur. He felt Natasha’s presence beside him, her hand gently resting on his arm, offering silent support. But there were no words that could heal this wound, no comfort that could ease the pain of losing you. . .for real.

Inside the room, the lead doctor took a deep breath and steadied her hand as she reached for the scalpel. The cold metal glinted under the sterile lights as she positioned it above your chest. The other doctors stood ready, watching closely, their expressions grim behind their surgical masks.

With a calm, steady motion, the doctor pressed the scalpel down, expecting the blade to cut through the skin with ease. But instead of the familiar sensation of metal slicing flesh, the blade stopped short, bending as if it had struck something impossibly hard.

“What the—?” the doctor gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she lifted the scalpel. She examined it closely, her heart pounding in her chest. The blade, which should have cut cleanly, was bent at an unnatural angle, as if it had been pressed against solid steel instead of skin.

The room went still, a heavy silence descending as the other doctors leaned in, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

“What happened?” one of the nurses asked.

“I don’t know,” the lead doctor replied, her voice unsteady. She cautiously reached out, placing her hand on your chest, feeling for any sign of movement, of life. The skin beneath her fingers was cold and unmoving. Before she could pull her hand away, you grabbed her wrist, your eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, and you drew in a sharp, ragged breath.

“AHHHH!” The lead doctor jumped back with a scream, dropping the bent scalpel as she stumbled into a tray of instruments, sending them clattering to the floor. 

The other doctors recoiled in shock, their faces pale with disbelief as they watched your chest rise and fall, your breaths shallow and erratic.

Your eyes were wild and unfocused, your mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive with a burning sensation that tore through you. You tried to move, to sit up, but your limbs feel heavy, uncooperative.

Outside, Steve heard the commotion and felt his heart leap into his throat. He pushed the door open, his breath catching in his chest as he saw you—alive, gasping for air.

“Y/N!” Steve shouted, rushing to your side. He reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to steady you, to offer some comfort. But you flinched at his touch, recoiling as if his hand had burned you.

When you looked at him, there was no relief—only confusion and fear. You yanked your hand out of his grasp, your body tensing as you scrambled to push yourself up. Your movements were jerky, uncoordinated, survival instinct kicking in.

“Where… where am I?” you gasped, your voice a mixture of confusion and alarm. “What’s happening? Steve—what did you do?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew the signs; the serum had done more than just bring you back to life—it had reset your mind, made you relive old traumas. To you, it was as if the breakup had just happened, and the trust you had rebuilt was shattered once again.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” Steve said gently, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

But his words only seemed to fuel your confusion. 

“Stay back, asshole!” you shouted, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, the machines, the sterile environment. You felt trapped, cornered.

Before Steve could react, you launched yourself at him, your movements quick but disoriented. You swung at him, your fists connecting with surprising force as you fought to defend yourself from what you perceived as a threat. Steve caught your wrists, trying to restrain you without hurting you, but your strength was fueled by the fear coursing through you.

“Y/N, stop!” Steve pleaded, his voice strained as he struggled to hold you back. “I’m not going to hurt you! Please, just listen to me!”

But you were beyond reason. The serum had done its work too well, resetting you to a time when trust had been shattered and your emotions were raw. To you, Steve was the enemy, the one who had broken your heart. You fought with everything you had, your punches wild but powerful, driven by your fresh emotions.

Steve didn’t fight back, only defended himself, his heart jumping with every strike you landed. 

“Y/N, please,” he said, his voice cracking as he managed to pin your arms down, his face inches from yours. “I’m not your enemy. You’re confused… the serum… it did something to you. But I’m here to help. I’m here for you.”

You continued to struggle. Desperate to make you stop, to get through to you, Steve did the only thing he could think of. He leaned in and possessed your lips with his soft ones, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss—his love, his regret, his longing. Steve kissed you like he was drowning and needed the air. 

Your eyes widened in shock, your naked body stiffening as Steve took you by surprise. For a moment, you fought against it, your mind screaming at you to pull away. But the intensity of the kiss, the raw emotion behind it, started to break through the fog of confusion. Your struggles began to weaken, your fists unclenching as you slowly stopped fighting.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel the kiss, the familiar warmth of his lips on yours, and the emotions it stirred within you. The walls you had built up began to crack, and you leaned into him, letting your guard down.

But just as quickly, the reality of the fractured relationship hit you like a freight train. The trust he had broken, the pain he had caused—it all came rushing back. Your eyes snapped open, and a surge of anger flared within you.

With a burst of strength, you shoved Steve back, your eyes blazing with fury. 

“This is for breaking my heart!” you hissed, driving your knee into his crotch with brutal force.

Steve gasped, doubling over in pain, but before he could react, you struck again, your voice laced with venom. 

“And this is for making promises you can't keep.” you delivered a second, equally vicious kick, sending him to the ground.

Steve collapsed, clutching his midsection, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to recover from the blows. He looked up at you, face red in terrible pain. 

“Y/N… I’m sorry…” 

You stood over him, your chest heaving with exertion and emotion, but your resolve wavered. You had wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the pain he had caused you, but seeing him like this, the man you still loved despite everything, made you falter.

You took a shaky step back, your anger beginning to ebb, replaced by confusion and exhaustion. Your head was spinning, the effects of the serum still clouding your mind, making it hard to think straight.

Steve slowly pushed himself up, wincing with every movement, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the struggle between your anger and the love you had once shared. He knew he deserved every bit of your wrath, but it didn’t change the fact that he needed to reach you, to help you through this.

“Y/N…” he started, his voice soft, filled with regret. “I know I hurt you. And I’m so sorry. But I’m not going to give up on you. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving.”

× × × × 

Tony Stark wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when he made his way to the medical wing of the Compound. Ever since your death, the atmosphere had been oppressively heavy, with Steve barely leaving your side. The team was on edge, everyone handling their grief in their own way. But Tony knew something had changed—he had caught wind of the commotion in the medical bay, and his curiosity, mixed with concern, got the better of him.

As he approached the door to the room where you were being kept, Tony could hear the faint sounds of a struggle—a thud, followed by muffled voices. His brows furrowed in concern. Steve had been in there for days, practically refusing to move, and now…what the hell was going on?

He quickened his pace, just in time to hear your voice, filled with unresolved anger, though it was shaky and weak. Tony couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—this was bad.

Tony reached the doorway just as your knee drove into Steve’s crotch with brutal force. The sight made him stop in his tracks, eyes wide as Steve crumpled to the floor, clutching himself in obvious pain.

“HOLY SHIT,” Tony blurted out, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. He had seen a lot in his time as Iron Man, but this…this was something else. He instinctively stepped back, half-expecting to need to intervene, but also too stunned to fully process what was happening.

Before Tony could react further, other medical staff rushed into the room, alerted by the commotion. They immediately moved toward you, trying to cover your naked body. You were visibly disoriented, your chest heaving with exertion. “Ma’am, please, you need to stay calm,” one of the nurses said gently, trying to approach you with caution. “We’re here to help you.”

But you, still caught in the confusion of your reset mind, saw the medics as another threat. 

“Stay away from me!” you shouted. As one of the nurses reached out to check your vitals, you ripped off the telemetry wires attached to you, the monitors emitting frantic beeps before falling silent.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” another medic tried to soothe, but you were having none of it. 

Your movements were erratic as you swatted their hands away, “I don’t need your help!”

Tony watched, half in awe, half in concern, as you continued to resist the medics’ attempts to care for you. He knew better than to get in the middle of it, but he couldn’t help but step in with a bit of his usual Stark charm.

“Whoa, whoa, guys,” Tony said, raising his hands in a calming gesture as he moved forward. “Let’s give her some space, alright? She just came back from the dead—probably needs a minute.”

The medics hesitated, looking between Tony and you, unsure whether to back off or insist on providing care. 

Tony gave them a wink that said, ‘Trust me on this,’ and after a moment, they reluctantly stepped back, keeping a watchful eye on you from a safer distance.

Now free of the wires and the medics’ touch, you stood shakily, your eyes darting around the room as you tried to make sense of everything. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the sterile environment. 

Tony passed you a hospital gown, his eyes looking everywhere except your body.

Steve, still recovering from the brutal knee to his groin, slowly pushed himself up from the floor. He was in pain, both physical and emotional, but his concern for you overrode everything else. 

“Y/N,” he said softly, trying to reach you without spooking you further. “Please, just listen to me.”

Tony, sensing the delicate balance of the situation, decided to break the tension with a bit of levity. 

“Okay, let’s take a breath here,” he said, stepping between you slightly, though careful not to put himself in your direct line of fire. 

“Steve, buddy, we really need to work on your situational awareness. You’ve got the super-soldier strength, the reflexes… but somehow, you’re still a magnet for knees to the jewels. Twice in one day? Seriously?”

Steve, still wincing in pain, shot Tony a pained look. “Not the time, Tony.”

Tony, completely undeterred, shrugged. “I’m just saying, next time maybe lead with the shield. Protecting America’s ass is important, but protecting America’s future generations… Now that’s crucial. I can even add some extra padding to your suit. Think about it—‘Ballistic Protection’ could be the next big thing.” 

Steve gave Tony a look that was part exasperation, part grudging amusement. “Thanks, Tony. I’ll… consider it.”

Tony smirked, clearly pleased with himself, but his tone softened as he turned to Y/N. “And you, welcome back, Y/N. Hell of a return. But, uh, maybe take it easy on the guy, huh? He’s not as indestructible as he looks.”

You blinked, your anger dimming slightly as Tony’s words cut through the haze. You looked at him, then back at Steve, the fight slowly draining out of you. 

“I… I don’t know what’s happening.”

Steve, still wincing in pain but determined to help, took a tentative step closer. “You’re safe now, Y/N.”

Your eyes filled with tears. You wanted to believe him, but the fear and confusion made it hard to know what was real.

Seeing you distress, one of the medics stepped forward again, this time more cautiously. “Ma’am, please, let us help you. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You looked at the medic, then back at Steve. The fight had left you, replaced by a deep exhaustion. Slowly, you nodded, allowing the medics to approach you more carefully this time.

Tony watched as the medics gently guided you to a chair, their movements slow and deliberate, ensuring you felt safe. He caught Steve’s eye, giving him a small nod of encouragement. “She’s tough, Rogers. She’ll be fine.”

As the medics began to reattach the telemetry wires to you, Tony took a step back, giving them space to work. He turned to leave, but not before giving Steve a pat on the shoulder. 

× × × ×

6 months later.

The late morning air is crisp and cool as you step out of your father’s old home—well now yours. The grand house sits tucked into a forested valley, surrounded by towering pine trees that stretch toward the sky, their branches swaying gently in the cool mountain breeze. It’s a place untouched by the outside world, a small haven carved out in nature’s embrace. The air is filled with the scent of earth and pine, a sharp contrast to the steel and smoke of the life you left behind.

This has become your sanctuary over the past six months—a place where you can try to make sense of the world. A place where the world slows down, where you can finally allow yourself to exhale. Here, in this secluded corner of the world, you’re not defined by the battles you’ve fought or the name you carry. You’re simply… you.

You’ve been brought up to speed on everything you need to know, who you've become, the details of modern life, but no amount of information can change the fact that you feel like a relic of the past. The government knew where you were though, Steve fought in preventing you from going into The Raft and the outcome was putting a tracker in your arm, indefinitely.

You know your name will always be painted red, no matter what you do, and you’ve accepted that. So, you’ve chosen to lay low, to live quietly, far from the chaos that once defined your life.

As you prepare to run your errands—simple tasks that help you maintain a sense of normalcy—you step out onto the porch, pausing as you catch sight of a familiar figure leaning casually against a motorcycle in your driveway. 

Steve Rogers.

Steve stands there in his usual effortless style, somehow managing to make even the simplest outfit look undeniably charming. He’s wearing a navy blue Henley shirt that clings just enough to show off his broad shoulders and strong chest, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the toned muscles of his forearms. His worn, dark-wash jeans fit perfectly, comfortably broken in from years of wear, sitting low on his hips. 

A brown leather jacket is slung over the seat of his motorcycle, its aged texture adding a rugged element to his otherwise clean look. His boots—scuffed, but sturdy—are planted firmly on the gravel of your driveway, completing the look of someone who is always ready to hit the road at a moment’s notice. 

His hair, slightly tousled by the breeze, catches the light, and his blue eyes are the kind that seem to cut straight through any walls you’ve tried to build.

You feel a familiar tug in your chest, a mix of emotions you’ve tried to push aside for months. Despite everything, despite how often you’ve pushed him away, Steve never misses a chance to show up. He’s determined, and no amount of rejection seems to deter him. It’s something that both infuriates and touches you deeply.

Steve looks up as you approach, a warm smile spreading across his face. His blue eyes, as clear and sincere as ever, meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade into the background.

“Morning, just stopping by to check on you.” he greets, his voice soft, but with that unmistakable tone of affection that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“Stopping by?” you reply, raising an eyebrow with a touch of sarcasm. “You seem too far away from home.”

“Guess I couldn’t stay away,” he admits, his smile not fading. 

“You’ve been stopping by a lot lately, Rogers.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to maintain your guarded demeanor, though the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betrays you. 

“Yeah,” he says, his tone more serious as he takes a step closer. “I guess I have. I can’t help myself.”

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” You sigh, shaking your head.

Steve’s smile softens, his eyes filled with a sincerity that makes your chest tighten. “I just… wanted to see you. Make sure you’re doing okay.”

You look at him, really look at him, and see the sincerity in his eyes—the same sincerity that has always been there, even back in 1940. He’s changed, of course, as you all have, but in some ways, he’s still the same Steve you knew all those years ago. The one who would go to the ends of the earth for the people he loves.

You shake your head, more at yourself than at him, and let out a soft sigh. “Your persistence is maddening, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Steve’s smile widens, that boyish, heartwarming grin that always seems to disarm you. 

You glance down at the checklist for your errands. “I was just about to head out. Got some things to take care of in town.”

Steve nods, not missing a beat. “Mind if I tag along? I promise not to be too much of a nuisance.”

You hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. You could send him away, as you’ve done so many times before, or you could let him in, even if just a little. The latter option is the more dangerous one—dangerous to the walls you’ve built around yourself—but it’s also the one that tugs at your heartstrings the most.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Alright, fine. But if you’re coming with me, you’re carrying the heavy stuff.”

Steve grins, that familiar spark in his eyes. “Deal.”

As you walk toward your car, Steve falls into step beside you, his presence a comforting, albeit persistent, reminder that you’re not as alone as you sometimes feel. You reach your car, and you hand him the keys without a word.

“You drive,” you say, giving him a sidelong glance. “I’ve been told I’m too reckless.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You both climb into the car, and as Steve starts the engine, you lean back in your seat, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. It’s just a drive into town, just a few errands, but with Steve, everything seems to carry a little more weight, a little more meaning.

× × × ×

The road winds through the mountains, the late morning sun casting a warm, golden light over and trees that line the way.

Steve drives one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. You steal a glance at him, taking in the way the sunlight filters through his golden hair, the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, and how his lips curl up in a faint smile whenever he notices something beautiful in the scenery around you.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until Steve catches your eye, his smile widening just a bit as he notices the slight blush creeping up your cheeks. You quickly look away, pretending to focus on the road ahead, but your heart betrays you, picking up a beat or two.

“You like what you see?” Steve begins, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

“You mean the scenery? Of course I do.”

Steve’s smile widens, the corners of his lips tugging upward in that knowing, playful way that makes your stomach flutter. He doesn’t press the point, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he caught your deflection. At this point, he finds your avoidance adorable, the way you pretend to be unfazed by his presence even though the subtle pink in your cheeks betrays you. It’s a game you’ve both been playing for months now—his persistence, your careful distance—but he never seems to tire of it.

His amusement lingers, as if he’s letting you have this small victory, even though you both know he’s winning the larger war. You can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turns back to the road ahead, content to let you believe you’ve dodged the question, at least for now. He smiles to himself. He’s enjoying this quiet dance, the slow pull that keeps bringing you back to him closer each time, even if you don’t quite realize it yet.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your chest tighten—you know exactly what it is, but you’re not sure you’re ready to confront it yet. But before you can dwell on it too long, Steve reaches over and gently places his hand on yours, his fingers warm against your skin.

You freeze for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you feel the heat of his touch seep through you, spreading warmth through your entire body. You glance down at your hands, intertwined so easily, so naturally. 

Steve’s thumb brushes over your knuckles in a slow, soothing motion, and you realize he’s not letting go. He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to. His touch says everything. It’s a silent promise, a reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the feeling overwhelming and yet somehow comforting. It’s a feeling you haven’t allowed yourself to experience in a long time—too afraid of the consequences, of the pain that might come with it.

× × × ×

The small grocery store in town is cozy, with wooden shelves lined with fresh produce, locally made jams, and all the essentials you’d expect in a quaint countryside market. The bell above the door jingles as you and Steve step inside, the familiar sound bringing a sense of warmth and nostalgia that makes you feel more at home than you’d care to admit.

You grab a basket and start weaving through the aisles, Steve trailing just a step behind you. The store is quiet, with only a few other customers browsing, giving the place an intimate, almost serene atmosphere.

“So, what’s on the list?” Steve asks, his voice light as he catches up to you.

You glance at him, pretending to mull it over. “Well, just the usual vegetables, dairy. Nothing too fancy.”

Clearly on board, he nods. “Anything in particular you want me to grab?”

“How about you handle the vegetables? Think you can manage that?” You give him a sidelong glance, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

“I think I can handle a few vegetables, yeah.”

Steve rolls his eyes playfully but nods, heading toward the produce section.

As he walks away, you can’t help but watch him for a moment, noting the way he moves with that effortless confidence that always manages to draw your attention. You shake your head, pushing the thought aside as you focus on gathering the other stuff on your list.

You pick out a loaf of fresh bread, some deli meats, and cheeses, carefully placing them in the basket. As you do, you can’t help but notice an older couple nearby, both of them smiling at you and Steve with a knowing look. You quickly avert your gaze, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. They probably think you’re a couple, and for a split second, the idea doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

You’re rummaging through a bin of ripe tomatoes when Steve returns, holding up a bunch of bright green spinach and some carrots with a triumphant grin. 

“Got the veggies. Anything else?”

You raise an eyebrow, giving the produce in his hands a critical look. “Spinach and carrots, huh? What about some cucumbers? Maybe a bell pepper or two?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll go get the cucumbers. Anything else while I’m at it, Your Majesty?”

You suppress a laugh, trying to maintain a straight face. “That should do… for now.”

Steve gives you a mock salute and heads off to fetch the cucumbers. You can’t help but smile as you watch him go, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. This is nice—this easy banter, the lightheartedness of it all. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this comfortable, this… happy.

You move on, grabbing a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice when Steve reappears beside you, holding the cucumbers and adding them to your basket. 

“Anything else, boss?” he asks, his tone teasing.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the grin that tugs at your lips. “I think we’re good. Let's pay before you start shopping for the entire store.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” he says, following you to the register. “But if you want to take charge, I’ll gladly step back.”

You glance at him, playfully bumping your shoulder against his. “You’re just saying that because you know I’d out-shop you any day.”

Steve laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes you feel giddy. “I have no doubt.”

At the register, the cashier, a friendly older woman, gives you both a warm smile as she starts ringing up your items. “You two make a lovely couple,” she says, her tone sweet and sincere.

You open your mouth to correct her, but Steve beats you to it, flashing her a charming smile. “Thank you,” he says smoothly, casting a quick wink in your direction. “We’re working on it.”

The cashier chuckles, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, from where I’m standing, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Steve laughs softly, his boyish charm on full display. “I’ll take that as a good sign, then. Can never have too many votes of confidence, right?”

The older woman laughs heartily, clearly enjoying Steve’s playful banter. “With a smile like that, young man, I think you’re well on your way.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Steve’s ability to charm his way through just about anything never ceases to amaze you.

You shoot him a look after though, fighting the blush that threatens to creep up your cheeks. “We’re… just friends,” you clarify, though your voice doesn’t sound as convincing as you’d like.

The cashier’s smile widens, and she nods knowingly. “Well, take your time, dear. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

You hand over the money, trying to keep your composure as the cashier finishes bagging your groceries. Steve is still grinning as he picks up the bags, and you can’t help but playfully swat at his arm.

“Careful, Rogers,” you warn, though there’s no real heat in your words. “Don’t get too cocky.”

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Who, me? Never.”

After finishing up at the grocery store, Steve wanted to look around town since he's never gotten the chance before. The town is small and quaint, with narrow streets lined with charming shops and cafés. There’s a buzz of activity as locals go about their day, giving the place a lively, yet relaxed atmosphere.

You glance over at Steve, who’s holding the grocery bags with one hand, the other casually resting at his side. 

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “You want to be dragged out here, and now you’re not in a rush to leave. . . what’s the plan, Rogers?”

Steve grins,“I thought maybe we could explore a bit. It’s been a while since we’ve just… wandered.”

“Wandered? That doesn’t sound like you.” You raise an eyebrow, amused by the idea.

“Hey,” he says with mock offense, “I’m perfectly capable of wandering. Besides, it’s a nice day. Thought it might be good to stick around for a while. Unless you’ve got something better to do?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, fine. But you’re buying if we stop for coffee.”

Steve chuckles, nodding as he shifts the grocery bags to one hand. “Deal. Let’s drop these off in the car first.”

After placing the groceries in the trunk, you and Steve start down the street, falling into an easy rhythm as you stroll past the various shops and boutiques. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers from a nearby florist, mingling with the aroma of baked goods from a bakery a few doors down.

“This place reminds me of the old neighborhoods back in Brooklyn. Quiet, but with character.” Steve glances around, taking in the sights with a relaxed smile.

You nod, feeling a similar sense of nostalgia. “Yeah, it’s got that small-town charm. Easy to see why people like it here.”

As you walk, you come across a small bookshop with an inviting display in the window. Steve stops, his gaze lingering on the rows of books stacked inside. 

“Mind if we take a look?”

You follow his gaze, surprised by the request. “Didn’t peg you for a bookworm, Rogers.”

“I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Besides, you never know what you might find.” Steve shrugs, a sheepish grin on his face.

Curiosity piqued, you agreed, and the two of you stepped inside. The shop is cozy, with shelves that reach the ceiling and the comforting scent of old paper and ink. It’s quiet, with just a few other patrons browsing the aisles.

You wander through the store together, occasionally pointing out titles that catch your eye or laughing at the odd, outdated book covers. Steve seems particularly drawn to the history section, naturally, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“History books?” you ask, leaning against a nearby shelf as he flips through a volume on World War II. “Seems a bit redundant, don’t you think?”

Steve glances up, chuckling. “Maybe. But it’s interesting to see how things have been written down. What they got right, what they didn’t. Helps me understand where we’re at now.”

You nod, understanding the sentiment. “I guess that makes sense. I’ve always thought you were a bit of a history nerd.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, slipping the book back onto the shelf. “But I’ve got other interests, too, you know.”

“Oh, really?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He gives you a playful look, and wiggles his brows, “I’ll have to show you sometime.”

Before you can respond, the shopkeeper approaches, a friendly smile on her face. “Can I help you find anything?”

Steve shakes his head politely. “Just browsing, thank you.”

The shopkeeper nods and leaves you to continue your exploration. As you move further into the store, you come across a small section dedicated to old records and vinyls. Steve’s face lights up at the sight, and you watch with amusement as he starts flipping through the collection.

“You’re really into this whole retro thing, aren’t you?” you comment, crossing your arms as you lean against a nearby shelf.

Steve looks up, a grin on his face. “It’s not retro for me. This was the stuff we grew up with.” He pulls out a record and holds it up for you to see. “Ever heard this one?”

You glance at the album cover, recognizing the classic design. “Once or twice. My parents were into it.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve got to introduce you to some real music, then.”

You roll your eyes, though you’re secretly enjoying the easy banter. “Please. Like you’ve got anything on my playlist.”

“Careful,” Steve warns playfully, tucking the record under his arm. “I might just take that as a challenge.”

You spend the next couple of hours exploring the town, visiting a few more shops, including a small bakery where Steve insists on buying you a pastry to share. 

At one point, you find yourselves at a small park on the edge of town, where children play on swings and an older couple feeds the ducks at a nearby pond. You sit on a bench, the comfortable silence between you filled with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant chatter.

Steve stares at you as you get lost deep in your thoughts. He takes note of the way your eyes seem to shimmer from the soft sunlight, the way you absently run your fingers through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. The soft breeze ruffles your hair, and Steve watches as you close your eyes, breathing in the peaceful air of the park.

He can’t help but admire how much you’ve changed—stronger, quieter, more reflective—but still undeniably you. The way you sit there, unguarded, seems almost surreal to him, a glimpse into a version of you he hadn’t seen in so long. 

You shift slightly, pulling your knees up onto the bench and resting your chin on them, your eyes still far away, watching the ducks but not really seeing them. 

“You always think this hard?” Steve finally says, his voice low and playful, though there’s an undeniable softness to it.

You glance over at him, a small, almost shy smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “Sometimes. It’s hard not to when things actually slow down.”

He nods, understanding. “Yeah, I get that.”

There’s something unspoken between you, something that lingers in the air, but Steve doesn’t push it. Instead, he leans back on the bench, content to sit in the quiet with you, enjoying the simplicity of just being there. 

× × × ×

The sun has dipped low in the sky by the time you and Steve return home, the bags of groceries now resting on the kitchen counter. The day’s warmth lingers in the air, a gentle reminder of the easy, carefree hours you spent together wandering through town. 

You begin to unpack your ingredients for dinner, while Steve’s eyes catch your father’s old turntable.

“I can’t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. Its deep, rich notes float through the air, warm and lingering, wrapping themselves around you like a gentle embrace.

The saxophone’s melody is soft and slow, each note a whispered caress that draws you in closer. It feels like the sound itself is breathing, pulling you into its rhythm, evoking a feeling of quiet intimacy. The low, honeyed tones swell and dip, painting the room with a romantic warmth, setting the perfect mood for what’s to come. As the saxophone fades into the background, Jo Stafford’s voice soon follows, adding to the song’s haunting beauty. 

See the pyramids along the Nile...   Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle...   Just remember, darling, all the while...   You belong to me...

You freeze mid-motion, the knife hovering over a bell pepper as the first notes of the song play. The melody tugs at something deep inside you, pulling you back to another time, another place. A time when the world wasn’t as complicated, and when you and Steve were just two people who found solace in each other’s arms.

The music wraps around you like a warm blanket, and before you can fully process it, you feel Steve’s presence behind you. His hands gently slide around your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt as if seeking permission before pulling you closer. You can feel the steady, comforting beat of his heart against your back, its rhythm syncing with the music.

He leans in, his breath warm against your neck, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Do you remember?” he asks, the words soft, filled with memories of late nights and whispered promises.

You nod, your throat tightening with emotion. “How could I forget?” you whisper, setting the knife down on the cutting board, your hands trembling slightly as the music washes over you, bringing with it the bittersweet memories of the life you once had together.

See the marketplace in old Algiers...   Send me photographs and souvenirs...   Just remember when a dream appears...   You belong to me...

Steve’s arms tighten around you, and slowly, gently, he begins to sway to the rhythm of the song, guiding you in a dance that’s as familiar as breathing. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear as he hums along to the lyrics. The sound of his voice, so close and so familiar, sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself leaning into him, allowing yourself to be enveloped by his warmth, his presence.

“I’ve missed this,” Steve murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you surrender to the moment, the memories of your past flooding back with every note of the song. The nights you spent dancing in dimly lit rooms, the way he’d hold you close as if he was afraid to let you go, the way you’d fit so perfectly in his arms—it all comes rushing back, as vivid as if it were yesterday.

Without thinking, you turn in his arms, your hands coming up to rest against his chest. His blue eyes meet yours, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way. The song continues to play, the lyrics speaking of distant lands and the longing of two lovers separated by time and space, and it’s as if the song was written just for the two of you.

I’ll be so alone without you...   Maybe you’ll be lonesome too... and blue...

Steve’s hands move to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, his hand holding yours firmly above his heart, and he begins to guide you in a slow dance, his movements fluid and unhurried. There’s something so achingly familiar about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you, and you realize that despite everything that’s changed, this—this—feels the same.

You let out a soft, shaky breath as you settle into the dance, your bodies moving together as if no time had passed at all. You’re no longer in the present, no longer in this kitchen, but back in those simpler times, when it was just you and him against the world.

“You’re still a terrible dancer,” you tease, though your voice is filled with affection rather than criticism, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Steve chuckles, the sound vibrating through your chest where it’s pressed against his. “At least I had a pretty good partner,” he counters, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of amusement and adoration.

You roll your eyes, though your smile widens as you lean into him, resting your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is a comforting lullaby, grounding you in the here and now, while the music transports you both back to the past.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane...  See the jungle when it’s wet with rain...   Just remember till you’re home again...   You belong to me...

As the lyrics weave their way into your heart, you feel a lump form in your throat, emotions swirling within you that you’ve tried so hard to bury. But here, in Steve’s arms, it’s impossible to keep them at bay. The song’s gentle melody tugs at your heartstrings, each note a reminder of what you once had, what you lost, and what you might be able to find again.

Steve’s hand gently tilts your chin up, and you find yourself staring into those familiar blue eyes—eyes that have seen too much, but still hold a depth of love and understanding that makes your breath catch. He’s so close, his face inches from yours, and you can see the unspoken love in his gaze, the promises he’s made and the ones he’s ready to make again.

“My love for you has never wavered,” Steve whispers, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Not for a single heartbeat, not even when I believed you were lost to me forever.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You’ve been so afraid of letting yourself feel again, of letting him back in, but here in this moment, it’s impossible to deny the truth. 

“Steve, I…” you start but you’re afraid, terrified even, of opening up again, of risking the pain that comes with loving someone so deeply. But as his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane...   See the jungle when it’s wet with rain...   Just remember till you’re home again...   You belong to me...

Steve leans in, his forehead resting against yours. It’s just you and him, swaying to the music, breathing in sync, hearts beating as one. The song fades into the background, but the melody lingers in your mind, echoing the sentiment that has always been there, even when you tried to ignore it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says quietly, his voice a promise, a vow. “I lost you once, and I’m not going to let that happen again. We can take it slow, one day at a time. I’m here, and I’m not giving up.”

You search his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but all you find is love—the same love that’s always been there, even when you tried to push it away. 

You nod slowly, allowing yourself to lean into his touch, to let him hold you a little closer. “One day at a time,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. 

Steve smiles, a soft, relieved smile that makes your heart flutter. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Oh, you belong to me...

The final notes of the song fade into silence, but neither of you moves. You remain in each other’s arms, swaying to a rhythm only the two of you can hear. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated connection—one that feels like it could last forever.

Steve presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing the vow he’s just made. “I love you,” he whispers against your skin, the words soft but full of conviction. 

Your breath hitches at the confession, and you feel the last of your defenses crumble. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, your heart pounding against his as you finally allow yourself to speak the words you’ve been holding back for so long.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but full of truth. 

Steve’s eyes light up at your words, the relief and happiness that wash over his face making your heart swell with emotion. He cups your face in his hands, his touch tender as if you’re something fragile and precious. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, his eyes tracing every feature of your face as if committing this moment to memory.

Steve’s smile is soft and full of love, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have gathered at the corners of your eyes. 

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of your emotions start to lift. The years of distance, the pain of separation, it all seems to melt away in his arms. You don’t know what the future holds, but at this moment, you know that you’re ready to try.

When you open your eyes, Steve is still looking at you with that same unwavering love, and you can’t help but smile—a real, genuine smile that feels like the first in a long time.

He bows his head, giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t . His fingers tightened on your  waist. You rose onto your toes to kiss him. He met you halfway, unable to contain his groan as he hauled you against him, lips finding yours in a kiss that is soft and slow. It’s like coming home, a feeling of rightness that you didn’t know you were missing until this very moment. 

The kiss deepens, his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you against him as if he’s afraid to let you go. You kiss him back with the same fervor, pouring all your emotions into the connection—your love, your longing, your hope for what’s to come.

When you finally pull back, breathless and slightly dizzy, Steve rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a look of pure contentment on his face.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, his voice a mix of awe and gratitude.

“I know,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the reality of this moment.

Steve opens his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours, and you can see the promise of a future there—a future that’s bright and filled with the kind of love that can withstand anything.

He doesn’t say anything more, just holds you close, swaying gently to the memory of the music that played. The world outside could be crumbling, but in his arms, you feel safe, cherished, and loved.

As you continue to sway together, you let yourself sink into the feeling, knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

Because for the first time in a long time, you’re not just Y/N, and he’s not just Steve. You’re you and him, together, just as it was always meant to be. And this time, you’re determined to hold on tight and never let go.

The day fades into night, the record continues to spin on the turntable, the needle caught in the loop of silence, but it doesn’t matter. The only sound you need is the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the whispered words that pass between you, promises of a love that’s been rekindled and is ready to burn brighter than ever.

× × × ×

2 years later

The sky above is a pale blue, streaked with soft wisps of clouds, as the rhythmic sound of waves gently crashing on the shore fills the air. The late afternoon sun hangs low, casting a golden hue over the entire beach, warming the sand beneath your feet and making the water sparkle like diamonds. The beach is quiet, save for the occasional call of seagulls and the laughter that bubbles up between the three of you.

Steve stands a little distance away, his feet sinking into the soft sand, his arms stretched out with an encouraging smile on his face. The wind tousled his hair, and there’s a light in his eyes that speaks of pure joy—something you’ve both learned to treasure over the past few years. 

You’re on the other side of the beach, standing behind your 12-month-old son, who wobbles slightly on his unsteady legs, holding onto your fingers for balance. His tiny toes curl in the warm sand, and you can feel the soft tremble of excitement coursing through him. He’s learning, taking his first independent steps, and the world ahead seems so vast and new.

Steve crouches down, his voice warm and filled with love as he gently calls out, “Come on, Zac. You can do it. Walk to Daddy.”

The baby giggles, his joyful laughter filling the air like music. His wide eyes are bright with curiosity and delight as he looks from you to Steve. With your gentle guidance, he lets go of your fingers, standing shakily on his own for a moment before his legs take their first wobbly steps forward. The tiny footprints he leaves behind in the sand are scattered, small, and sweet—each one next to the larger, steady prints that mark your path.

Steve’s encouraging words fill the space between you, his hands outstretched, waiting with uncontainable pride as your son inches closer, his baby steps unsteady but determined. “That’s it, buddy. You’ve got this!”

Another burst of laughter escapes the little one as he toddles forward, his arms swinging with each step, and the beach feels alive with the shared joy. The warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze, and the soft sand beneath your feet make this moment feel endless, a perfect snapshot of happiness.

When your son stumbles, landing softly on his bottom, he lets out a surprised squeal before bursting into laughter, as if falling is the funniest thing in the world. You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of his unbridled happiness.

Steve chuckles, walking over to scoop him up into his arms, his own footprints mingling with yours and the tiny ones left behind by your son. 

“You did great, buddy,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Look at how far you went!”

The baby babbles happily, reaching up to tug at Steve’s hair with a bright, toothy grin, his cheeks flushed pink from the excitement and the warm breeze. You step closer, watching the two of them with a fond smile, your heart overflowing with love.

Steve’s gaze shifts from the tiny, joyful bundle in his arms to you as you walk toward him, the soft sand shifting beneath your feet. His smile grows, gentle and full of love, as he watches you approach, the golden light of the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow around you. There’s a quiet admiration in his eyes, a look that speaks of everything he feels but doesn’t need to say.

As you reach them, Steve cradles your son in one arm, his other hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch is soft, tender, and his eyes linger on yours for a moment before they drop back to the baby, who is still babbling in Steve’s arms.

“You two are my whole world,” Steve says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls you both closer, and for a moment, everything feels perfectly aligned—the sound of the waves, the warmth of the sun, and the three of you standing together in the sand, surrounded by nothing but love.

× × × ×

BUCKY'S THEREABOUTS : UNTITLED SEQUEL TO LAZARUS SERUM 

(3 months after disappearing)

As he neared the farm, he heard raised voices cutting through the calm. Bucky slowed his steps, his instincts kicking in. Y/N was standing near the barn, facing off with a man—a tall, well-dressed figure, clearly angry. Bucky hung back, observing the heated exchange.

The man’s voice was loud, sharp with frustration. “I’m done with this place, Y/N. I’m not sticking around for another second.”

Y/N’s posture was stiff, her arms crossed defensively, but Bucky could see the hurt behind her steady gaze. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

The man threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t owe you anything. I’ve wasted enough time here, pretending this farm and you meant something to me.”

The words hit hard, Bucky could tell, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, even as the man turned and stormed toward the road, where Bucky stood in silence.

“Move,” the man barked, shoving Bucky’s shoulder in a fit of anger as he passed.

Bucky didn’t move an inch.

The man paused, his face twisting with irritation as he sized Bucky up. He shoved again, this time harder, as if expecting a reaction—something he could work with. Still, Bucky didn’t flinch, his body rigid, his eyes locked onto the man with a cold, steely glare. 

Don’t, Bucky told himself, his fists tightening at his sides. The Winter Soldier instincts flared instantly, sharp and reflexive, urging him to retaliate. To end this man’s feeble attempt at intimidation with one swift move. He could do it. He could make him crumble, and the urge to let that side of himself out—to let the man feel just how much danger he was in—was strong.

But something stopped him.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Y/N, standing a few feet away, watching. Her expression was unreadable, but she was watching him. Waiting to see what he would do. He could feel her presence like a weight on his chest, grounding him. Reminding him that this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t a fight he needed to win.

Slowly, Bucky released the tension in his fists, his knuckles relaxing as he forced the cold, calculating side of himself to retreat. He blinked, his eyes softening just enough to pull back from that edge. This wasn’t worth it. The man wasn’t worth it.

“What the hell is your problem?” the man spat, taking a step back. His face reddened as he realized Bucky wasn’t intimidated—wasn’t even acknowledging his threats.

Bucky said nothing. He didn’t need to. 

Embarrassed, the man shot a glance back at Y/N. “So that’s it, huh? You already found yourself a new man? Was this the plan all along? You throw me away, and you’ve got this—this guy waiting in the wings?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No, it’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the strain of his embarrassment. “I should’ve known! You were just waiting for me to leave so you could run to someone else.”

Y/N stepped forward, anger now coloring her words. “You’re the one walking away. Don’t blame me for your insecurities.”

The man sneered, glancing back at Bucky with a bitter laugh. “Good luck with him. Hope he’s everything you wanted.”

Without waiting for a response, the man sped down the road in his car, disappearing around the bend. Bucky watched him go, his expression unreadable, before finally turning his attention to Y/N.

She stood frozen for a moment, her arms still crossed, her face flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation. When she met Bucky’s eyes, she sighed, her tough exterior softening just a little.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly, though there was no real anger in her voice.

Bucky shrugged, keeping his gaze steady. “Didn’t do anything.”

Y/N gave a small, tired laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, well… thanks for not doing anything, I guess.”

There was a beat of silence between them before Bucky spoke again, his voice low but certain. “You alright?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “I will be.”

Bucky didn’t push her for more, but something in her eyes told him this wasn’t the first time she’d been left to deal with someone else’s mess. He glanced down the road where her ex had disappeared, then back at her.

× × × ×

Later that evening, the farmhouse was warm with the smell of roasted chicken and vegetables. Bucky sat at the kitchen table, his eyes observing the space while Y/N finished setting out plates. It was a simple, cozy setup, but it had been a long time since Bucky had felt comfortable enough to sit down and share a meal with someone.

Y/N placed the last dish on the table and took her seat across from him. She glanced at him for a moment, studying his calm demeanor before digging into her food.

“Figured you earned this after all your help today,” she said with a small smile. “Didn’t think you’d stick around.”

Bucky shrugged slightly, his voice low as he spoke. “Didn’t see a reason to leave.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes, the clatter of forks on plates the only sound between them. Y/N glanced up at him again, noticing how quiet he was, his face always unreadable, as though there was a world behind his eyes that he kept hidden. 

She took a sip of her drink and finally broke the silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Bucky paused, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking back down at his plate. “Not much to say.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re an odd one, James. Most people who come through here have plenty to say, but not you.”

Bucky looked at her, his expression neutral but with a hint of curiosity. “That a bad thing?”

She shrugged, smiling as she stabbed at a piece of chicken. “Nah. I don’t mind. Just not used to the silence, I guess. But… it’s kind of nice.”

He gave her a small nod, appreciating the fact that she didn’t push for more. The conversation lulled again, comfortable and easy. It was rare for Bucky to find himself in a situation like this—quiet, but not tense. Peaceful, almost.

“So, how’s Seamus treating you?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence once again.

Bucky’s lips tugged into a faint smile. “Seamus is fine. Grumpy, but fine.”

Y/N laughed lightly, the sound filling the kitchen. “That’s his charm. He’s stubborn, but once he likes you, you’re stuck with him.”

Bucky nodded, the ghost of a smile lingering on his face. “Sounds familiar.” referring to himself.

They continued eating, talking about the day’s work and the rhythm of life on the farm. As the last bit of food disappeared from their plates, Bucky stood up and gathered the dishes without saying a word, walking over to the sink. 

Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyebrow raised. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Bucky just shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Y/N stood up, grabbing a towel as she moved to his side. “Alright, but if you’re washing, I’m drying.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Bucky washing the dishes with a quiet efficiency while Y/N wiped them dry and placed them back in the cabinets. Every so often, she glanced at him, still curious about the quiet man who seemed to carry so much on his shoulders.

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “there’s something calming about all this quiet. Feels... different.”

Bucky didn’t look up, but there was a softness in his voice when he finally responded. “Different’s not always bad.”

Y/N smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of connection in the simplicity of their shared silence. As they finished the last dish, Y/N leaned against the counter, towel slung over her shoulder. “You’re a good guy, James. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

Bucky looked at her then, his eyes shadowed with something deeper, something unspoken. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I’m. . . trying.”

She nodded, not pushing for more, and turned to head back to the table. “Same time tomorrow?”

Bucky gave her a small nod. “Yeah. Same time.”

As he made his way toward the door, Y/N called after him, her voice softer. “Goodnight, James.”

Bucky paused, turning back to meet her eyes one last time. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

With that, he slipped outside into the cool evening air, the door closing softly behind him.

[aylen-san]

A Dance Under the Moon

When Maedhros came to Elwing for the Silmaril, he expected a battle, arguments, and threats. But the offer he received surprised him. With a mischievous smile, Elwing said: "I will give you the Silmaril if you win it the way Luthien did - through song and dance."

Maedhros was stunned. "You want me to... dance?" - His voice trembled with a mixture of confusion and slight panic.

Elwing nodded, her eyes shining. "That's exactly right. If you can enchant me as Luthien enchanted Morgoth, the stone is yours."

Maedhros was about to refuse, but Maglor, seeing a chance to avoid bloodshed, immediately agreed. The twins, always ready to support a merry venture, agreed as well.

"Well then, brother, you have been offered the bargain of the century! If Luthien could defeat Morgoth in a dance, so can you."

Maedhros sighed heavily. "Lúthien was a great dancer. And me? The last time I danced was at Turucano's wedding," he muttered frustratedly.

But Maglor was determined. "Don't worry, I'll help you remember the lessons of our childhood. We practiced for days and nights, and I'm sure you'll still remember how to move."

The next days passed in a training that sometimes resembled a play rather than a serious lesson. Maglor picked up the most difficult melodies with enthusiasm, and as he strummed the strings he never missed an opportunity to tease his brother, "More grace, brother, you're not in a tournament with orcs in Angband!"

Maedhros, hurt but trying not to show it, would turn sharply and remind him, "I am trying to dance, not play peacock. But as soon as he started moving again, Maglor didn't give up: "And don't forget to smile! No magic works without charm!" - he said with such seriousness that Maedhros could barely contain his laughter.

When his attempts to smile and not get tangled up in complicated steps failed, Maedhros snorted in annoyance, "This is a dance, not a carnival act!" But even he couldn't resist his brother's infectious laughter as he exaggerated "grace" and whirled around like a whirlwind, eyes wide open and a fake smile on his face. "This is it, Maedhros! All of Middle-earth will give you a standing ovation!"

The night of the test had come. The moon rose high in the sky, its light silvery on the shore and the calm waters. Elwing stood on a high rock, holding the Silmaril, which shone like a star. Maedhros took a deep breath and took the first step, hoping not to step on his cloak.

Elwing watched with interest, barely containing her laughter as Maedhros, performing another complicated pas, nearly tripped over an invisible rock. His attempt to regain his balance looked more like trying to jump an entire chasm. "Impressive," Elwing remarked with a mischievous smile, tilting her head slightly, "almost like Luthien... if she were a very tired and irritable elf."

Maedhros blinked at the comparison and whispered, covering his mouth with his hand, "Try that again!" The attempt to remain serious failed, and he almost laughed, feeling the tension of the dance turn into ridiculous fun.

Toward the end of the dance, Maedhros moved more carefully, as if afraid he might stumble again and lose the last vestiges of his dignity. Eventually, the music faded, and he straightened and made a deep bow, both weary and relieved.

Elwing, shaking her head slightly at his stubbornness and persistence, slowly descended from the podium. Respect glowed in her eyes, despite the hidden irony. Holding out the Silmaril with a slight smile, she acknowledged, "You have earned it, though not as gracefully as Luthien, but with no less tenacity.

Maedhros accepted the gem and nodded briefly, but could not resist adding: "If my dancing were as good as my fighting, the Silmaril would have been mine long ago."

Turning back to his brother, Maedhros leaned closer and lowered his voice to a threatening whisper, "If any of our people find out that I won the Silmaril by dancing, I will be your greatest nightmare. His gaze was serious, but the shadow of a smile lurked at the corners of his lips.

Maglor, his eyes bright with glee, could barely contain his laughter as he watched his brother struggle to keep his pride intact. He leaned closer as if to share the action, "Oh, don't worry," he replied with a smile, emphasizing the light and good-natured tone, "I promise to tell this story to anyone who will listen, especially those who worship legends of heroism and bravery. Maglor waved his hand theatrically, as if already imagining stories around the campfire where Maedhros' dance would become a new epic.

Maedhros frowned, but there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "Don't you dare turn this into a ballad," he added grimly, but there was no real threat in his voice.

Maglor bowed his head innocently, as if pondering his words. "A ballad? No, of course not. Perhaps an epic saga in five parts... Or at least a musical play. I think the chorus about 'the hero who entered battle through dance' would be a real hit."

Maedhros just shook his head, amazed at how quickly his brother had turned his threat into a joke.

The story had been passed down among the elves ever since, each retelling adding more jokes and exaggerations. It was said that the stars shone brighter that night, and that the sky itself smiled upon the stern Maedhros, who, for the sake of his goal, swallowed his pride and danced before Elwing.

With each retelling, the details became more incredible: some claimed that his steps were like dancing on a bonfire, others assured that Elving had deliberately offered the most difficult moves to watch, hoping that Maedhros would retreat and leave them alone. But most of all, they liked to add that the stars winked at each other at that moment, marveling that the fearsome son of Theanor, who had terrified armies with his strategies, was now fighting not enemies but complicated pas.

In time, humorous poems appeared in which Maedhros danced "like a wild boar who has forgotten the way of the forest," but with respect for his willingness to undertake this ridiculous feat for the sake of peace. There were even jokes in the elven halls that if Maedhros were offered another dance in exchange for all the Silmarilli, he would demand that the story not be told.

But behind all the ridicule there was a note of admiration: for even the most stubborn and proud of Feanor's sons had shown flexibility - not only in movement, but in spirit - to achieve his goal.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58668676