#sorry this is SO small it’s way in a corner of a canvas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

valkyriexo · 9 months ago

Text

Work of Art | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Best Friend Hyunjin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Angst (ish?), Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI, Jealousy, dirty talk, swearing, P in V, unprotected sex , fingering, edging, Semi-public sex, Smut. SMUTTT minors do NOT interact

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner @skzdreamer13 (sorry it took so long ! ) Also... this is a bit longer then i intended it to be i got... carried away hehehe

The art studio smells like paint, the familiar scent swirling in the air as you dip your brush into a swirl of color. The canvas in front of you is slowly taking shape, the blend of pastel blues and soft pinks beginning to resemble the hazy skyline of a dreamscape you’ve been envisioning for weeks. You’ve lost track of how many hours you’ve spent on it, layering colors, fine-tuning the details, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve always loved getting lost in your work.

Across the room, Hyunjin sits at his usual spot by the window, sketchbook propped on his knee as he sketches something you can’t quite see from where you stand. It’s comfortable, familiar, the two of you working in companionable silence. Every now and then, you glance up to find him already looking at you, eyes soft and focused, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of the moment.

You’ve been friends for what feels like forever, bonded over late nights in this very studio, sharing music while you worked side by side.

It’s...... easy with him, always has been.

Hyunjin is the kind of person who understands you without you needing to say anything. He knows your moods, can read the subtlest change in your expression, and you’ve always been able to share everything with him — your art, your frustrations, your dreams. This studio was your place. You’d both stay long after everyone else left, the hum of creativity and quiet conversation filling the space between you.

“What do you think?” you ask, turning your canvas toward him. His opinion has always mattered to you. Hyunjin’s eye for detail is sharp, but more than that, you trust him to be honest.

He looks up, his gaze landing on the canvas. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his eyes softening as he takes it in. “It’s beautiful,” he says, voice low, almost reverent. “There’s something... ethereal about it. It feels like a memory.”

Your heart flutters at his words, the compliment striking deeper than it should. “That’s what I was going for,” you say, stepping back to look at your painting again.

Hyunjin nods, his gaze flickering back to the painting. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just studies it with that intense focus he always has when he’s taking something in. Then, quietly, he says, “You always manage to put so much feeling into your work. It’s one of the things I... admire about you.”

There’s a softness in his voice that makes your heart skip, something unspoken in the way he says those last words. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his eyes still fixed on the canvas, but there’s an underlying tenderness that you can’t quite ignore.

You open your mouth to respond, to say something — anything — but the air feels thick with something you can’t name, and before you can find the right words, the door to the studio swings open.

Han walks into the studio, a burst of energy and excitement trailing in his wake. He’s carrying a bag of takeout, the aroma of food filling the air as he enters. His face is lit up with a wide, enthusiastic grin, his eyes sparkling with genuine excitement.

“Hey, everyone!” Han’s cheerful voice fills the studio as he strides in with takeout. “Thought you might be hungry.”

You turn to greet him, your mood lifting at the sight of his familiar, easygoing smile. Han sets the bags of food on the table with a casual grace. “I brought some takeout. Figured you two could use a break.”

“Thanks, Han,” you say, trying to keep the atmosphere light. You catch Hyunjin’s reaction from the corner of your eye. His smile tightens just a fraction, and he shifts his gaze back to his sketchbook, an unreadable expression settling on his face.

“Perfect timing,” Hyunjin says, his voice polite but lacking its usual warmth. “We could use a break.”

Han begins unpacking the food, his eyes bright as he glances at your painting. “Wow, Y/N, that’s incredible,” he says with genuine admiration. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

You smile at the praise, feeling a warm flutter at Han’s enthusiasm. “Thanks, Han. I’ve been working on it for a while.”

As Han continues to unpack the food, you notice Hyunjin’s shoulders are tense, his focus remaining on his sketchbook. There’s a subtle shift in the air, a change you can’t quite place but that feels almost tangible.

“Mind if I join in?” Han asks, setting up a plate of food for you and Hyunjin. His casual tone and easy smile make it clear he’s just as comfortable here as he is anywhere else.

“Of course,” you reply, “It’s good to have you here.”

Hyunjin finally looks up, his gaze fleetingly meeting yours before he returns to his sketchbook. “Yeah, it’s nice to have a break,” he says, his tone once again polite but detached.

As you all sit down to eat, you find yourself drawn into Han’s stories and jokes, your laughter mingling with his. It’s clear that you’re enjoying his company, and you can’t help but notice how his presence brings a different kind of energy to the studio.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, remains subdued. He joins in the conversation, but his responses are brief, and his attention seems.....

....divided.

The studio hums with the soft sounds of conversation and the clinking of utensils as Han continues to engage with you and Hyunjin over lunch. His attention is focused on you, and you can’t miss the playful glint in his eyes.

Lately, Han has been visiting the studio more frequently. At first, it was just a casual drop-in here and there, but recently, he’s been making it a regular thing. The three of you have been spending a lot of time together, discussing art, sharing ideas, and even grabbing lunch like today. His presence has added a new dynamic to your studio time, and you can’t deny that it’s been refreshing.

When Han started coming around more, it felt like a natural extension of your routine. He’d drop by with coffee or lunch, sometimes bringing along his own sketches to work on. You found some joy in his company , and it was easy to get lost in conversation with him. His enthusiasm for art matched yours, and his friendly, easygoing nature made him a great addition to your creative space.

The more Han visited, the more you two grew close. You started to look forward to his presence, finding comfort and inspiration in his company. You’d often stay late into the evening, chatting about everything from art to life.

But with Han’s increased presence, something shifted. You noticed how your interactions with Hyunjin became less frequent. Where you used to work side by side, sharing thoughts and critiques, you now found yourself pulled into conversations with Han.

“So, Y/N,” Han starts, leaning slightly closer with a teasing smile. “How do you manage to make everything look so effortless? I’ve seen your work, and I know it’s anything but.”

You laugh, a bit flustered by his directness. “It’s a lot of practice and maybe a bit of luck,” you reply, trying to keep things light.

Han grins, his gaze lingering on you. He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’d say it’s definitely more than luck. I’ve seen your paintings turn into something incredible. Maybe you’ve got a secret.”

You feel your cheeks warm at his touch and compliment. “Maybe I do,” you say, matching his playful tone. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to share it just yet.”

Han chuckles softly and reaches over to hand you a paintbrush, his fingers brushing against yours in the process. “Well, if you ever decide to let me in on that secret, I’d be more than happy to help you with it.” He gets a little closer, his arm grazing yours as he leans in. “You know,” he says, leaning in a little closer, “I was thinking... maybe we should test that theory. How about we paint something together one day? I’ve got some ideas and I think it could be a lot of fun.”

“That sounds interesting. What kind of ideas do you have in mind?” you reply.

Just as he starts to respond, Hyunjin, who has been quietly watching, stands up abruptly. His voice, though calm, carries an unmistakable edge. “It’s getting late,” he says, his gaze flickering between you and Han. “I think it’s time to wrap things up for today. Y/N, you should probably head home too.”

Han’s expression shifts from playful to slightly confused. “Already? I was just about to ask Y/N to—”

Hyunjin cuts him off with a firm yet polite tone. “I’m sorry, Han, but we’ve all had a long day. We can catch up on the details another time. Y/N, let’s get going.”

You glance at Han, his eyes reflecting a mix of disappointment and surprise, before turning to Hyunjin. “Yeah, I guess it is getting late,” you agree, though you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you stand up.

Han’s disappointment is evident as he offers you a small, wistful smile. “Alright, Y/N. We’ll talk about it soon. Have a good night.” His words are warm, but there’s a hint of frustration in his eyes as he gathers his things.

As Han exits the studio, you turn to find Hyunjin already heading towards the door, his expression a mix of frustration and anger. He’s usually so composed, but there’s something in his demeanor tonight that feels sharp and unsettled.

“Hyunjin, wait up,” you call, catching up to him as he moves toward the entrance. The studio is now quiet, the clinking of utensils and hum of conversation replaced by an uneasy silence.

Hyunjin stops and turns to face you, his gaze intense. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to rush you, but..." He pauses, his voice faltering slightly as he searches for the right words.

“Actually, never mind,” he says abruptly, his tone shifting to a forced calm. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

He begins to walk toward the door, but you reach out, your voice trembling slightly. “But, Hyunjin? What’s wrong?”

Hyunjin stops, his back to you, and for a moment, you can see the conflict warring within him. He turns his head slightly, but the emotion in his eyes is hard to decipher.

"You've...you’ve been spending a lot of time with Han lately.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “He’s been coming by the studio more often. We’ve just been working on some ideas together.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens, his frustration evident. “I’ve noticed. It’s just—” He stops himself, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind. It’s none of my business who you spend your time with.”

Hyunjin’s frustration is palpable as he crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on the floor. The usually calm and collected friend is now visibly shaken, and the intensity in his voice is unmistakable.

“Hyunjin, what's wrong?” you ask, concern evident in your voice.

Hyunjin looks up, his expression hardening. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, his voice clipped. “I’ll stop interrupting your time with Han.”

Before you can react, he turns away from you, heading towards the door. The sudden shift in his demeanor makes your heart ache, and you can’t just let him leave like this.

“No, wait!” you call out, rushing to catch up with him. “Hyunjin, please, don’t go. We need to talk about this.”

Hyunjin pauses but doesn’t turn around. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he replies, his tone flat. “I just... need some time alone. It’s better this way.”

You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm. “Hyunjin, don’t shut me out. We’ve always been able to talk through things. I don’t want to lose our friendship over this.”

Hyunjin stiffens under your touch and then turns to face you, his eyes blazing with an emotion you hadn’t expected. The usually composed and easygoing Hyunjin is now a whirlwind of frustration and jealousy, his features tense and his jaw set tight. The raw intensity in his gaze is something you’ve never seen before — a mix of hurt and anger that makes your heart ache.

You’re taken aback by his intensity. “Han’s just been trying to be friendly and lighten the mood. I didn’t think it was anything more than him wanting to hang out and have a good time.”

“Are you seriously that oblivious?” he snaps, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. “I’ve been sitting here, watching him flirt with you, and all you seem to notice is how charming he is.”

Hyunjin’s voice trembles with frustration. “It’s not just about him being friendly! It’s about watching you with someone else, someone who’s clearly interested in you. And while he’s making moves, I’m just supposed to sit here and pretend it doesn’t bother me?”

You feel a pang of guilt, your own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and concern. “Hyunjin, I—”

“Do you really not get it?” he interrupts, his tone harsh and edged. “I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve been hiding it for so long, thinking maybe it would go away or that it didn’t matter because we’re friends. But seeing you with Han, seeing how easily he gets to be close to you, it’s like... it’s tearing me apart.”

He stands there, struggling to keep his composure, his breath coming in uneven gasps.

“I... I didn’t know,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Hyunjin, I never imagined you could feel this way. I thought... I always thought you’d see me as just a friend, nothing more. Why would you ever think that—”

Hyunjin interrupts, his voice strained. “Because you are special to me. I’ve been falling for you for so long, and I’ve been trying to ignore it, hoping it would go away. I’m sorry if I’ve been selfish, but it’s killing me to see you with him when all I want is to be close to you.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath as if bracing himself. “But I’ll give you space since it’s clear the feelings aren’t the same. I’m sorry for bringing this on you.” His voice is barely above a whisper, filled with regret and resignation.

Before you can find the right words to respond, before you can process the whirlwind of emotions, Hyunjin turns abruptly and walks toward the door. His steps are heavy, each one echoing the weight of his confession.

“Hyunjin, wait!” you call out, but he doesn’t turn back. The door closes softly behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet studio, your heart pounding.

You stand there, stunned and at a loss, the room feeling colder and emptier than before. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered. Your vision blurs with tears, and you try to hold them back, but they come uncontrollably. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the sobs that escape.

You’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember, but you never dared to hope he could feel the same way.Standing there, tears streaming down your face, you clutch the edges of the doorframe, trying to ground yourself.

You take a shaky breath, desperately trying to compose yourself. With trembling hands, you wipe at your tears with the sleeve of your shirt, attempting to pull yourself together.

Summoning all the strength you have left, you push open the door and step out into the dimly lit hallway. The cool air hits your tear-streaked face, but it does little to soothe the turmoil you.

As you open the door, you come face-to-face with Hyunjin, who is standing right outside, as if he was about to come back in. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees you crying, and his expression shifts from pained resignation to a mix of shock and vulnerability.

You both stand there for a moment, the silence thick with unspoken words and raw emotion. Hyunjin's eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks as though he's been caught in a moment of hesitation, his own tears glistening in his eyes.

Hyunjin’s gaze drops, and he looks away, clearly struggling with his emotions. “I was just—” he starts, but his voice falters, and he wipes at his eyes quickly, as if trying to regain his composure.

As you both stand there, Hyunjin's gaze slowly meets yours. There’s a mix of desperation and hope in his eyes, as if he’s grappling with the urge to fix what’s been broken.

His expression softens, and with a trembling breath, he takes a step closer to you. The space between you seems to shrink as he closes the distance, his movements slow and deliberate.

Without a word, Hyunjin gently places his hands on your cheeks, his touch tender and warm. His eyes search yours for a moment longer, as if asking for permission. Then, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both soft and filled with emotion.

The kiss is hesitant at first, but it deepens as he pulls you closer, his lips moving against yours with a sense of longing and desperation. You can feel the trembling in his hands

As Hyunjin’s kiss deepens, it feels as though time stands still, the world outside the studio fading away. The intensity of the moment pushes you both backward, and with each tender touch of his lips, you find yourselves moving slowly but inevitably back into the studio, the door closing shut behind him.

The kiss continues, now more urgent and passionate, as if he’s trying to pour all the words he can’t express into this one moment.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both stand there, breathless and slightly disheveled, still close together. Hyunjin’s gaze is tender, and he looks at you with a mixture of relief and hope.

"Why me? I don’t get it” you say.

Hyunjin’s smile widens, and he gently wipes away a tear from your cheek. “Why you? Because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted—kind, talented, and absolutely incredible.Because you’re like your art—full of beauty and emotion. Every piece you create reveals a part of you, and I’ve been captivated by that. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to show you just how much you mean to me.”

He kisses you again, this time more desparetly, as if he needs to breathe and your his oxygen.

You can feel his hand slide down your body and he takes your hand in his. You feel your own heart skip a beat, and you can't help but smile as you continue to kiss, as he pushes you back allowing you to sit up on one of the tables in the studio. He takes the opportunity to put his body between your legs.

His tongue explores your mouth, and you can’t help but respond, your own tongue dueling with his.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body. Your hands reach up to touch his chest, feeling the firm muscles underneath your fingertips, and Hyunjin lets out a low groan, his eyes darkening with desire.

“Fuck, I want you,” he growls, his hand gripping your hip tightly.

You can feel his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly, your own desire building up inside of you.

You break the kiss, gasping for breath. Hyunjin’s lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. You arch your back, moaning as his hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples through the fabric of your shirt.

“Hyunjin, please,” you beg, your hands tugging at his shirt.He obliges, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You can’t help but stare at his muscular chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his abs.

He smiles, looking at you, as if asking for permission with his eyes. You nod and his hands reach towards you to unbutton your shirt. You undo your bra on your own, and together both items fall to the ground. You blush as he stares at you.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your breasts and squeezing gently.

You moan, your nipples hardening under his touch. You can feel your wetness soaking through your panties, and you grind your hips against Hyunjin’s. He groans, both hands now gripping your hips tighter.

Hyunjin leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking gently. You try to stifle your moan, your hands gripping his hair as he switches to the other nipple, biting down gently. His lips trail back up to your neck as his hands begin to slide down the sides of your body.

His fingers find their way to your panties.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growls, his fingers tracing the lines of your panties.

You moan, your hips bucking as his fingers slip under your panties and into your wetness. He strokes your clit, and you cry out, your orgasm building up inside of you. Hyunjin continues to stroke you, his fingers moving faster and faster. His fingers are long and slender, and you can feel them stroking you from the inside.

"Oh g-god, Hyunjin" you say, as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Yeah? Does that feel good baby?" Hearing him call you "baby" sends a flutter through your chest, a warmth spreading in the pit of your stomach. It’s not just the word — it’s the way he says it, soft and full of affection, like it belongs only to you. You’ve heard the word before, but from his lips, it feels different — intimate, tender, and so undeniably right.

Your legs begin to tremble as your orgasm builds. Hyunjin kisses you again, his tongue exploring your mouth as his fingers continue to move inside you.

You break the kiss, gasping for breath. "d-don't stop" you whine. Hyunjin continues to kiss you, swallowing your cries as his pace speeds up. You grab onto Hyunjin's shoulders as you begin to ride his fingers, your body trembling with pleasure. "Fuck, I'm going to cum," you cry, as your orgasm approaches.

"Not yet," he whispers and you feel as he pulls his fingers out of you. "I want your cum on my cock."

You blush, as his hands reach down to unbutton his pants. He pushes his pants and boxers down in one swift motion. His erection springs free, and you can’t help but stare at it.

“Do you want this?” he asks, his hand wrapping around his cock and stroking it slowly.

You nod, your hand reaching out to touch him. Hyunjin groans, his hips thrusting forward as your hand wraps around his cock. You stroke him slowly, matching his rhythm. You pressed your thumb down onto his dripping red tip, and you could hear him whine.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he says as he slowly spread open your legs. He pushes you back a little to line his tip up to your entrance.

"You ready for me?" he asks, teasingly.

"Please," you reply, desperately.

He pushes in, his cock stretching you open as he enters you. You moan, your hands gripping his arms as he begins to move, thrusting slowly at first.

"Please, Hyunjin, please." You begged, as your eyes closed from the pleasure.

"God, you're so tight," he groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, back out, and back in again.

and he feels SO good.

And then he stops..... while still inside you.

Confused, you open your eyes to see a frozen Hyunjin. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I-I...." he stutters. Hyunjin’s face pales as his eyes dart nervously to the canvas behind you. "I spilled paint,” he says, gesturing to the canvas behind you. He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck, visibly distressed. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know you worked so hard on it, and I just... ruined it.” His voice breaks slightly, and he looks away, unable to meet your gaze.

You look at the canvas, your heart sinking a little. The once vibrant colors you’d carefully layered over days of meticulous work are now smeared and distorted by splashes of dark paint. What was supposed to be a serene landscape, full of soft pastels and warm hues, is now marred by streaks of harsh, misplaced colors running down the surface.

"It was perfect, and I ruined it," he whispers, his voice thick with regret. "I know how much this meant to you."

Hyunjin’s hand is covered in streaks of dark paint from knocking over the paint, and you can see how the paint has seeped into the creases of his hands, clinging to him like guilt.

He stares at his hand, then back at the ruined painting, shaking his head. "I should’ve been more careful," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "Look at this... I can't believe I did this to your work."

He looks up, shocked. "Y/N..."

"Hyunjin," you say. "It's okay. It's just paint."

"But..." he starts.

You cut him off with a kiss. "I'd rather have you than the painting," you whisper. "Besides I think your art is prettier than mine."

"You...you do?"

"Mmhm," You say nodding your head."Besides....I always said I wanted you to paint me one day..."

" You want me to paint you?"

You answer his question by moving his paint coated hands together and placing them both on your chest, leaving his paint handprints right on you.

You've never done anything like this before, but the idea of being so intimate with Hyunjin is incredibly arousing.

You gasp at the sensation, your body trembling with desire. Hyunjin's touch is electric, and you can't help but moan as he continues to explore your body with his fingers. He moves one of his hands and traces a finger over your collarbone, leaving a trail of paint in its wake.

You feel as he begins to thrust into you again.

Your eyes close from the pleasure, and you moan as his cock fills you completely.

"Oh fuck," you say, your voice cracking. You feel Hyunjin's pace quicken as his cock continues to pound into you. His hands roam, allowing more paint to make its way onto your body. You place your hands into an open yellow and purple paint nearby and place your hands on his chest, covering him with paint as well.

"Oh fuck," Hyunjin growls, his voice hoarse with lust. He grabs you by the hips, and lifts you off the table.

"Wrap your legs around me," he says.

You do as he asks, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. His cock is still buried deep inside you, and the new angle sends shivers of pleasure through your body.

"That's it," he says, his voice husky. "Hold on tight."

He begins to move again, his pace quickening as he pounds into you, his cock hitting just the right spot inside you.

You cling to him, your arms wrapped around his neck and your face buried in his shoulder. You can't help but cry out as your orgasm approaches.

"Oh god, Hyunjin," you cry, your body trembling. "I'm gonna come."

"Yeah?" he says. "Me too."

His thrusts become faster, harder, as he pounds into you. Your cries echo in the room, and you feel him throb inside you.

"Come for me, Y/N," he growls.

"Oh god, Hyunjin," you cry, as your orgasm hits, your nails digging into his shoulders. He continues to thrust into you, drawing out your pleasure. You cling to him, your body shaking as the waves of pleasure wash over you.

"Fuck," Hyunjin groans, as he comes, his cock pulsing inside you, completing the masterpiece by painting your walls.

When you finally come down from your orgasm, you look down at Hyunjin and see that he's covered in paint. His face, his hair, and even his clothes are covered in a rainbow of colors.

You can't help but laugh at the sight, and Hyunjin joins in your laughter.

"You look beautiful," he says with a soft smile, his eyes tracing your features. "Like a work of art. Something I'd spend hours admiring, and still, it wouldn't be enough." He places you back down on the table and pulls you into a tight embrace, and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

The two of you stay there for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms, before you finally break away.

"We should.... clean up," you say, gesturing to the paint that's covering both of your bodies.

Hyunjin nods in agreement, but neither of you move.

Instead, he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"We'll get cleaned up soon," he says, his voice soft and tender.

"Right now, I just want to hold you."

You smile, a wave of happiness washing over you. "I'd like that," you say, nuzzling against his chest.

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satellite-evans · 1 year ago

Text

Caught in the Act

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict and his wife, his muse, are interrupted by his mischievous sister Eloise during a private painting session.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff, Eloise being a tease

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The Bridgerton residence was always buzzing with activity. Whether it was the younger siblings running through the halls or the older siblings preparing for yet another social event, there was never a dull moment. Amidst this lively chaos, Benedict Bridgerton found his moments of peace and creativity in his art studio, tucked away in a quiet corner of the estate.

It was in this sanctuary that he often invited you, his beloved wife and muse, to pose for him. Today was no different. The soft afternoon light filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the room. Benedict stood at his easel, his eyes intensely focused on the canvas before him. You reclined on a chaise lounge, draped in a delicate, nearly translucent gown that accentuated your natural grace and beauty.

"Benedict," you murmured, your voice laced with a hint of anxiety, "are you sure it's not too risky to do this here? Anyone could walk in."

He looked up from his work, his gaze tender as he regarded you. "We’ve done this before without any issues. Besides, the light in here is perfect, and you look absolutely stunning. Trust me, my love, everything will be fine."

You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Alright, but if we get caught, I'm blaming you."

He chuckled, a deep, soothing sound that always managed to calm your nerves. "Fair enough."

The room settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft swishing of Benedict's brush and the occasional rustle of your gown. You admired the way his brow furrowed in concentration, his hand moving with practiced ease. It was in these quiet moments that you felt closest to him, sharing a connection that went beyond words.

ust as he was about to add the finishing touches, the door to the studio burst open. Eloise Bridgerton, ever the inquisitive and outspoken sibling, strode in without a second thought.

"Benedict, have you seen—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she took in the scene before her. "Oh."

Benedict froze, his brush hovering in mid-air. You quickly pulled the shawl you had draped over your shoulders tighter, your cheeks flushing with mortification as you realized just how exposed you were.

"Eloise!" Benedict exclaimed, clearly flustered. "Ever heard of knocking?"

Eloise's shock quickly gave way to a mischievous grin. "I didn't realize I needed to knock in my own home. But now I see why I should."

You buried your face in your hands, feeling utterly mortified. Benedict, on the other hand, looked equally embarrassed. He set his brush down and moved to stand protectively in front of you.

"Eloise, what do you want?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I was looking for a book," she said, still grinning. "But I suppose it can wait."

Benedict sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, it can. Now, if you don't mind—"

"Oh, don't worry," Eloise interrupted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to your... art."

With that, she turned on her heel and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click. You and Benedict stared at each other for a moment before you buried your face in your hands again.

"I can't believe that just happened," you groaned, your voice muffled.

Benedict gently pulled your hands away from your face, his eyes filled with concern. "I'm so sorry, my love. I should have been more careful."

"You think?" you replied, half-joking, half-serious. "I am never posing in this house again. That was mortifying."

Benedict hugged you tightly, his arms offering comfort. "I promise, next time we'll find somewhere more private. But you have to admit, it does make for a memorable story."

You couldn't help but laugh despite yourself. "I suppose so."

Later that evening, the Bridgerton family gathered for an informal dinner. The aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the sound of cheerful conversation and laughter. You sat beside Benedict, your hand resting comfortably on his under the table.

Eloise, ever the mischief-maker, caught your eye and winked. You felt a blush creep up your neck as you recalled the earlier incident. Benedict squeezed your hand reassuringly, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin.

"So, Benedict," Eloise began, her voice dripping with innocent curiosity, "how's your latest painting coming along?"

Benedict shot her a warning glance, but she merely raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the moment. "It's coming along quite well, thank you," he replied evenly.

"Oh, I'm sure it's wonderful," Daphne chimed in, not noticing the undercurrent of the conversation. "Your work is always so impressive."

"Indeed," Anthony added, his tone more serious. "You've truly found your calling, brother."

Violet Bridgerton, ever the attentive matriarch, picked up on the tension. "Benedict, dear, you should show us your latest work soon."

Eloise leaned forward, her tone light and playful. "I suppose it's easier to be passionate when you have such a... captivating subject. Isn't that right, sister?"

You nearly choked on your wine, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I—um, well..."

Benedict shot Eloise a warning look. "That's enough, Eloise."

Eloise just smiled sweetly. "I'm only saying, you must find it very inspiring."

Violet's eyes twinkled with understanding. "Eloise, that is quite enough. Perhaps you should leave your brother and his wife in peace."

Colin, always quick to join in the fun, leaned back in his chair. "I'd love to see the painting. It must be quite the masterpiece if it has caused such a stir."

yacinth, always eager to be part of any conversation, piped up. "Can we see it, Benedict? Please?"

Gregory, not to be outdone by his younger sister, added, "Yes, show us! We promise to be quiet and not interrupt next time."

You buried your face in your hands again, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "Oh my goodness," you murmured, mortified.

You truly never felt so embarrassed in your entire life.

The conversation shifted to other topics, and the rest of the family seemed unaware of the underlying tension. You couldn't help but steal glances at Benedict, admiring his composure. Despite the earlier embarrassment, you felt a deep sense of pride in being a part of his world.

After dinner, as the family dispersed, Benedict took your hand and led you outside to the garden. The night air was cool and fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers. He guided you to a secluded bench, where you both sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry about Eloise earlier," he said quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You shook your head, smiling. "It's alright, Benedict. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

He chuckled softly. "True. Still, I wish we could have more moments just for us."

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "We will. And until then, I'll cherish every second we have together, even the interrupted ones."

Benedict turned to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering. "You are my muse, my love. And I am forever grateful for you."

The moonlight cast a silvery glow over the garden, creating a perfect backdrop for the tender moment you shared. Wrapped in each other's arms, you felt an unspoken promise pass between you—a promise of love, support, and a future filled with countless more beautiful moments, whether they were stolen in secret or shared with the world.

#benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton x you #fluff #bridgerton season 3

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cairoblair · 1 month ago

Note

Might i request some love at first sight headcanons for each of the boys with a non MC reader? What would make them fall in love at first sight? Thank you my dear!!!

Because these are a little lengthy, I'm separating this into two parts. I'll link part 2 to this post as soon as I finish it!

Part 1: Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne Part 2: Sylus, Caleb

Rafayel

You were walking through the art exhibition that had just arrived in town. Nothing had really caught your eye yet, but the paintings were beautiful regardless. You stopped in front of one - a huge canvas with shades of pink and blue. It seemed to be a sunset, but more...whimsical. Mysterious, even. You stared at it for what felt like hours. It seemed to be pulling you in, dragging you into its depths like a siren's song. "You like this one?" A man's voice said as a figure appeared beside you. "I do," You replied, not bothering to glance at the owner of the voice. "But...it's missing something." "Missing something?" He almost sounded offended, but more intrigued than anything. You hummed, examining the painting with furrowed brows. The man beside you studied your face, as if he could see the gears turning in your head. "Maybe some darker colors," You finally responded. "It's very...pastel. I think it would be more striking with some dimension." It was his turn to hum. He turned to the painting, observing it for himself. "Maybe you should tell the artist." You scoffed. "Critique a master's work at his own exhibition? I'll pass." "That's unfortunate," He replied, a chuckle underlying his voice. "I should tell you, though, that you just did." You froze, your head finally turning to look at the man beside you. His name tag specified that he was, in fact, the artist who created the paintings in the exhibition. Rafayel. "Ah," You sighed. You could feel the embarrassment rising in your chest, your cheeks warming as you realized what you had done. "I'm sorry, I only-" "No, please," Rafayel interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm always open to some...constructive criticism. Why don't we have a look at the others? Maybe you have some opinions on those." You could hear the slight sarcasm in his tone, an obviously teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. It probably would've been wise to turn him down...but where's the fun in that? "Maybe I do," You replied, cocking your head to the side. "Shall we, then?" He motioned for you to lead the way, following close behind you as you wandered around the exhibition. He couldn't seem to help the small smile that lingered on his lips, the hint of amusement in his expression as you offered your criticism. His art was interesting, sure. But he was convinced you were much more worthy of his attention.

Xavier

It was a beautiful spring day - perfect for a walk in your favorite park just outside the city. Luckily, most people opted to go to the one in the city's center, so crowds never seemed to be an issue. Plus, you had managed to find a lovely little spot hidden away from public view. As far as you knew, no one else had managed to find it. You adjusted your tote bag on your shoulder - full of little snacks, a water bottle, and a couple books you had been meaning to read for ages. The little trail that let to your secret spot was overgrown with vines and bushes, making it a little difficult to navigate. But, once you had managed to make it through, there was a small open area on the bank of the river that ran through the park. Beautiful flowers had started to bloom under the trees, and the recent rain had raised the water level of the river. It was the perfect spot for a little R&R. That is, until you noticed the man slumped up against one of the tree trunks. You almost jumped at the sight - you had never seen anyone else here before. A pang of disappointment hit your chest at the realization that this wasn't your little secret anymore. But, it was only one person. Maybe there was enough room for two. Upon closer investigation, you realized he was asleep. Deciding against waking the stranger up, you simply sighed and sat at the opposite end of the riverbank, putting as much space between the two of you as you could despite the small space. You rummaged through your tote bag, pulling out one of the books and opening to the bookmarked page. This particularly story had been gnawing at you for weeks, so before you knew it, you had already read through several chapters. "When did you get here?" A voice broke the comfortable silence. Your head shot up - the sudden noise had startled you slightly, pulling you out of your reading-induced trance. The man had woken up, but remained sitting against the tree trunk where you had found him. "Um, just a little while ago," You replied, checking the time on your phone. "I didn't want to wake you." He simply nodded in response, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he glanced around. "I didn't know anyone else knew about this place," You added, lowering your book into your lap. "I've been coming here for a few months," The man replied, his voice still a little groggy from his nap. "So have I," You said. "I'm surprised we haven't run into each other sooner." Another beat of silence passed. It wasn't necessarily an awkward silence, despite the urge you felt to fill it. "I'm (y/n), by the way." You extended a hand towards him. His gaze flicked between your hand and the expectant look on your face. "Xavier," He finally replied, reaching to shake your hand. "It's nice to meet you." "Likewise," You smiled. Satisfied with just an introduction, you turned your attention back to your book. You didn't come to this spot to socialize, after all. "What are you reading?" Xavier asked, tilting his head in an attempt to look at the cover. "Oh, just a fantasy novel," You answered. "Nothing too interesting." He hummed, his eyes still stuck on the book. "May I?" He motioned to the open spot next to you. Your eyebrows raised slightly. "Sure, yeah." Xavier moved from his spot to sit beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned over to read the page you had stopped on. While this was far from what you had planned on doing today, it wasn't an unwelcome surprise. Perhaps you could learn to share your little hideout. His only condition? Always bring your book.

Zayne

A new bakery had just opened around the corner from your apartment, and you were all too eager to try it out. Even the air around the little shop smelled of baked treats. Inside, glass display cases held various sweets, each one just as mouthwatering as the last. You had managed to miss most of the crowd, save for a few customers who must've been enjoyed an after-dinner dessert. You, however, were just craving a late night treat. Your long day at work had warranted such a thing. After looking over all of the options, your stomach had decided on a small piece of cake topped with various berries. It looked positively divine. "Excuse me-" "Excuse me-"

You glanced over at the voice that had mixed with yours. A man stood a few feet away, his gaze meeting yours. He was dressed in a surgeon's coat, a name tag hanging from the small chest pocket. A small, amused smile lingered on his face. "Ladies first," He offered, motioning for you to go ahead. "Thank you," You replied, offering a nod before turning to the bakery worker and ordering your cake of choice. The man stepped forward after you had finished, his eyes flicking between you and the display case. "Make it two," He said to the worker before moving to the register. "Allow me." "Oh, you don't have to-" A beep from the card reader cut you off. He had paid for both treats before you even had a chance to protest.

Your mouth snapped shut, your brows raised as he simply slipped the card back into his wallet. You had no idea who this stranger was, or why he had paid for your dessert, but you weren't going to complain about it. Who would? "Thank you," You said as he held the small box of cake out to you. "You didn't have to do that." "You have good taste," He replied. "I was still deciding, so I should thank you for making the choice easier." "We're even then," You chuckled, holding out your hand. "I'm (y/n), by the way." He reached out to meet your handshake. "Zayne. It's a pleasure." His hand seemed to linger on yours a moment longer than necessary before he pulled it away. "If you aren't busy," You began tentatively. "Would you like to join me? There are a few tables outside, and it's nice out tonight." Zayne seemed to contemplate the offer for a few seconds before a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I'd love to," He replied. He walked just ahead of you, holding the door to the bakery open as you both stepped outside. There was a small table away from the entrance that you settled on. You were both out of your comfort zones - sharing a dessert with a complete stranger. Well, stranger might have been an overstatement. Something about you was...familiar to him. Perhaps from another lifetime. Or maybe your taste in sweets simply intrigued him.

#love and deepspace #lads #lads rafayel #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads fanfic #lads x reader

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messenger-of-babel · 7 months ago

Text

Home is Where the Heart is

Summary: You could never tell what Jason was thinking, and this particular night he has a lot on his mind. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.0K

Notes: Mini vent- had a bad day and this week has been really tough so I’m changing up the layout of today as well so I could put out a fic that was a little easier on my mind (I always need to have more pep in my step when I write for my lanterns idk why haha. So sorry Kyle my baby I want to do you justice so you're on backburner). It was indeed written to Ed Sheeran on loop cause I needed to lock in fr. ❤️❤️

Enjoy Lovelies~! xx

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When Jason looked at you, you often wondered what he was thinking.

What was passing through his mind that made his irises gleam that brilliant shade of emerald or let the natural curve of his smile adored his face. However, every time that you asked he just blew his hair from his eyes gruffly, but let the smile stay. "That's a secret," he'd say before his hand would pull you to kiss side and he'd press a soft kiss on your forehead.

It was a little known fact that the Red Hood was in fact Jason Todd, but it was known to even less that Jason Todd was actually a romantic at heart. Sure, he had a mouth on him, and he was on the receiving end of your hand up the back of his head more often than he wasn't. But he was also the quiet kind of clingy, the kind that would never ask to hug you or initiate contact, but would stay up so he could have your back pressed against his chest the second you slipped into bed. He'd laugh when you brushed the hair out of his eyes, the scar on the corner of his mouth unable to stop his boyish grin. It was those moments in your kitchen that made you think that maybe, just maybe, your life was all normal.

You knew it wasn't.

When your fingers brush against his forehead you know that the white tuft in his hair was a painful reminder of his death, the scar on his lips you so lovingly kissed caused by the very man who had killed him. His hands were littered with small scars from blocking knives and protecting his head from glass instead of childhood memories of climbing trees. His back was a canvas of white slashes that intersected in a map-like pattern, a surface already so touched that the symmetrical red lines you left seemed less stunning in comparison. Legs sporting burn marks, bruises permanent along his ribs; that was the Jason that you knew. So even if some days you pretended that he was some ordinary civilian like yourself, you still loved Jason with all your heart.

On this particular night he had come home from patrol, sitting on the kitchen counter while you patched him up. You had been a pretty awful field doctor the first time you offered, but he braved through your prods and pokes with a wince. He didn't say anything about the way you wrapped the bandages too loosely or that you had forgotten some antiseptic and had given the wrong type of topical painkiller. Jason could see the worry on your face, so he leant forward and kissed your forehead tiredly, thanking you with a soft murmur.

You didn't need to know when he slunk off the bathroom to rewrap the bandages, or when he reapplied ointment in the right area. He picked glass out of his own skin when you missed some, letting the shards clatter down the sink. All that consumed him was the thought of how soft you were when you handled him, when you passed the bandage around his middle, or when you tried to clean the wound with as little antiseptic as possible to try and prevent the stinging. He normally hated having to doctor himself up, meaning that even the smallest of injuries tended to scar under his negligence. Yet with you he had been ashamed of the scars, hyper aware of how your eyes lingered on them. More so, how other people stared at them when you were out together. So, for months he spent nights in the bathroom redoing the handiwork you insisted so passionately on learning, just so that there wouldn't be a scar you could blame yourself for later.

You were absolutely perfect, so there was no reason that he couldn't be for you too.

You had become better though, and that was through the help of Alfred. Now you had patched him up efficiently and tightly, patting his hip affectionately when you pull the bandage tight. "Almost done," you smile up at him, fingers pulling the end of the bandage tight and reaching for a bandage clip. "Just got to secure it and you'll be good to go."

He smiles and drops a tired kiss to your skin as usual, pulling your fingers away when you’re done so he can raise them to his lips. "Thanks, darl." he grins, eyes tired but grin still lively as ever. He slides off the counter to wrap his hands around your waist, kissing your nose. You just huff and give him a side glance, arms circling his neck without hesitation.

"What's got you all worked up?" you ask with a light laugh when he’s overly affectionate with you, making Jason groan and drop his head into your hair.

"Just tired." he mumbles. "Bruce pissed me off again today, started lecturing me on the way home."

"Bruce pisses you off most days." you chide. "How did you ever escape the lecture?" you chuckle, moving with him as he begins to sway.

"I turned the commlink off and came up through Southside Gotham so he couldn't follow me." he grins.

There it was.

"There's always something with you, isn't there?" you shake your head, beginning to spin around with him softly in the candlelight. He laughs, and you imagine it’s the sound of a young boy finally getting to live life normally again.

"Always is, babe. you know me." he chuckles, and his eyes flutter over to the candles you have on the counter. It was always dark when he came home normally, and in his tired state he hadn't questioned it. After all, his family worked best in the dark.

"Power outage at the moment?" he asks.

"Power got cut off." you murmur back with a sigh. "We missed last payment. Only a few days, but you know how quick they jump on those these in Gotham. It's all paid up now, but it'll take a day or two to get back. Cold things from the freezer are in the washing machine with the ice blocks."

He hums, stroking a hand up and down your back. "You're well prepared. Sorry for making you deal with them, I'll handle it next time, I promise."

Jason hated using Bruce's money.

Not only was it something that sat bitter in his mouth ever since he had come back, but he didn’t need it. Dick had also rejected it and moved to Bludhaven, and even though he'd never admit it, Jason respected the way he managed to build a home for himself there. He wanted to do that too, and he could do it damn well by himself. He still took some money, but it was no more than a wage from Bruce. He considered protecting Gotham his job, and he wasn't stupid. He wasn’t going to let his pride get in the way of helping you both live. He hated to see you stress about finances, but you never asked him. You never asked him to reach out to Bruce for more or reach out to Bruce yourself.

The first time rent had gone up it had nearly priced the both of you out of the cozy apartment you lived in, and you had been in tears for days trying to find a second job to cover the expenses. Yet you didn’t come begging for Bruce's assistance, no. You looked at him with those teary eyes and asked him to help make a budget with you so you could figure a way out, and you did. You were the most resilient person he knew, the most resilient person he loved.

He held you closer as he spun you softly around the kitchen.

You were going to need to be resilient.

He inhaled the scent of your shampoo and let his arms bask in the warmth of you. Your skin against his made the thrumming in his side ease and the headache blistering behind his eyes subside. As you relaxed against him, his head raced of all the ways that he could tell you. Tell the most perfect being that had ever walked into your life that he was leaving, and not only that, he was going to have to break your heart on the way out.

He cursed Bruce. He cursed Bruce for making enemies that had cunning greater than his own, for dragging him into the mess he had created. He had yelled and spat and screamed at the older man until his voice resonated off the cave walls, storming from the cave after tonight's fight. Bruce had asked the impossible of him, after they both got their asses handed to them in a surprise attack. They had taunted Bruce, not the Batman, and had enough evidence to bring Bruce's world and carefully hidden persona crumbling down around him. It just so happened that they had enough to bring Jason's down as well.

They knew about you.

Pictures of you had fluttered down towards him, filling him with an indescribable sense of fear. As hard as they fought, they had let the new visitor of Gotham's nightlife slip through their fingers and Bruce had asked him to break up with you not a second later. There was no empathy, there was no kindness or waiting for it to sink in for him.

But there never was.

In that moment Bruce was Batman, but Red Hood had been the scared Jason Todd.

How did he tell you that he wanted to break up when that was the furthest thing from the truth? That he would walk through hell barefoot and dunk himself in the Lazarus pit again if that mean that you were still there to warm his bed at night? How could he tell you that he didn't love you when his heart ached to tell you it every time he got the courage? He could play the tears, play the part of a sad breakup. That part was easy, considering how this was shaping to be one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. It was the rage that he couldn't muster, for once. Rage was something that he saved for the streets, a place already so crime ridden and scummy that his bitterness and anger were practically masked under the filth. It wasn't a place for your home, the little shelter the both of you had carved out of Gotham with your own two hands.

So, he spun you around the room, eyes watering with tears yet to shed as he thought about how to let you go. He knew you wanted to stay, and that made his heart ache in return. It was like losing a part of him that hadn't even been lost yet, a void already forming in his chest. He sniffled lightly and thankfully you didn’t hear or notice his arms squeezing tighter, as if to imprint the feeling of you against his body. He tried to tell himself it was only a temporary thing, that he could explain it all to you later when the threat was done. That thought often lost against the conjured image of your heartbroken eyes his mind created to torture him, and the persistent thought that you'd probably never want to see him again when he was about to break your heart so violently.

You don't notice something is wrong until the first tear hits your hair, silently giving way to more. You notice the slight shake in his arms and the tension still wound in his body. Normally the stiffness in his muscles flowed out of him like water when he stepped over the threshold of the house, but not tonight.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask softly, pressing into him to try and comfort him, your heart panging in confusion at his strange behaviour.

Jason would never tell you, but when he looked at you he wondered what the rest of your life together would look like, and if you'd ever considering changing your name to 'Todd'.

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surielstea · 8 months ago

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Camping Affairs

Kinktober day 4: Size + Hair pulling

Pairing: Lorcan Salvaterre x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader and Lorcan have to share a tent and can’t find sleep, they find other ways to exhaust themselves.

A. Note: I’m so sorry this is late, it didn’t post when I scheduled it for some reason 😭😭, anywho, this is made specifically for the lovely @lexluvswriting because I’m simply here to feed her Lorcan obsession 🫶

6.9k words.

"You know, for being Maeve's pride and joys you'd think we'd be given better accommodations," I say as I lay out my bedroll, the tent Her Majesty supplied us with so small it was almost comical.

"We're warriors, not royalty," Lorcan grumbled from the outside of the canvas, giving me some privacy as I stripped from my leathers and into a nightgown.

"Speak for yourself," I scoffed, poking my head out of the flaps to look up at him. "Rowan is a prince," I say matter-of-factly. "Perhaps he could pull some strings and get us all our own tent," I suggest and he looks at me with that sneering expression he always wore.

"We've battled in wars, I think you can manage," He grumbled, motioning with his hand for me to recede back into the tent. I frowned but backed up and sidled onto my bedroll. I tried not to laugh at the sight of the seven-foot demi-fae crouching to stop his head from hitting the ceiling of the tent.

He gave me a glare that I assume was meant to intimidate me but it didn't affect me much when he had to walk on his knees in order to settle on his own bedroll.

All seven of Maeve's blood sworn were called to meet with her in Doranelle, something about the Lost Princess of Terrasan— I wasn't really listening when Rowan was briefing us, all I knew was that I was going to have to pack my life up for the crazed queen I was sworn to, again, and take the week hike away from my comfy home in Varese.

With only three tents, the seven of us were split into pairs. Two per tent, and one on watch outside. Gavriel had posed a system to put the smallest and the largest together, as to avoid uncomfortably in the tents— and I hadn't thought it would be a problem until now. Shoulder to shoulder, with my least favorite of the group.

"Why do you have to be built like a damned giant," I grumble as I shift away from him, the side of me pressing into the wall of the tent. I could've shifted onto my side and separated us a little further— but that would mean I'd have to face him, and at this proximity, I doubt it would be comfortable for either of us.

"Would you rather join Rowan and Fenrys?" Lorcan grumbles, sounding like he was talking in my ear he was so close. I smirk at the idea.

"Can't say I'd be displeased in the middle of that," I purr.

Lorcan sighs, muttering a string of curses, too low to make out. "You're insufferable." He decided on voicing.

"And yet, here we are, stuck with each other," I teased, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "Don't pretend you don't love it."

He snorts. "I could think of better ways to spend my time."

"Oh?" I hum, turning toward him a little more, my cheek propped on my hand. "What would Lorcan Salvaterre rather be doing right now, instead of sharing a tent with yours truly?"

He shoots me a look, dark and brooding, but his lips twitch. "Not listening to you, for starters."

I roll my eyes. "If you weren't so quiet all the time, maybe I wouldn't have to fill the silence."

"There's silence because I'm trying to sleep," he retorts, though his tone is lighter, almost playful—at least, as playful as Lorcan ever gets.

I scoff, grinning. "Please, you never sleep. You just brood all night like some menacing statue."

"You should be grateful," he says, adjusting his position, his shoulder now brushing against mine. "At least I keep the monsters away."

"Monsters?" I snort. "The only thing I'm afraid of in this tent is your enormous leg crushing me in my sleep."

"You talk too much," Lorcan grumbles, though there's the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"I talk just enough to drive you insane," I shoot back, feeling a strange sense of victory at the idea of getting under his skin. "It's one of my many talents," I add, worsening the blow.

He doesn't respond, but his silence feels different this time. Like he's deciding whether to engage or just strangle me.

"If you're so miserable," I start, stifling a yawn, "you ought to throw me outside and have the whole tent to yourself," I utter, lifting my arms up over my head and stretching out to the best of my abilities.

"Don't tempt me," he grunts, though I don't miss the way his eyes follow me as I stretch, my movements exaggerated just to annoy him.

"You wouldn't know what to do with yourself," I murmur, settling back down. "Without me to keep you company."

"Go to sleep," he says, ignoring my words.

I smirk up at the stars. "Sweet dreams, Salvaterre."

His grumble is the only reply I get, but for some reason, the sound makes me smile.

The silence stretches on for a few minutes, and I do my best to settle in, but there's no ignoring the cramped space and the sheer presence of Lorcan taking up most of it. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, I sigh dramatically.

"I can't sleep," I announced, knowing he was still wide awake.

From beside me, Lorcan groans, clearly exasperated. "Of course, you can't," he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, rolling onto my side to face him, our faces just inches apart in the dim light.

"That you're incapable of quieting down for more than a minute," he grumbles, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"I've been quiet for at least five minutes!" I argue, though I can't help the grin tugging at my lips. "And anyway, it's your fault. You're hogging all the space."

He cracks an eye open, giving me a flat look. "You take up about as much room as a pillow. You have plenty of space."

"Then why can't I get comfortable?" I huff, shifting again, this time letting my arm bump against his on purpose.

"You're sleeping with the wolves tonight." He says like it’s a promise.

I gasp dramatically, my hand flying to my chest. "Lorcan Salvaterre, you would abandon me to the creatures of the night? Leave me defenseless and cold?"

"You're hardly defenseless," he says, but I catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I grin, triumphant. "I knew it—you do care."

"Care? I just don't want to explain to Maeve why I let you get eaten by a wyvern," he grumbles, turning onto his side so his back is to me.

I roll my eyes, inching closer just to annoy him. "You'd miss me," I murmur, as if it was an absent thought.

"Like a hole in my head."

I poke him between the shoulder blades. "Liar. You'd be lost without me. Who else would keep you entertained on these long, miserable missions?"

He doesn't respond right away, but I don't miss the way his shoulders tense at my words. "You're assuming I need entertainment."

"You're assuming you don't," I tease, leaning in until my chin is nearly resting on his arm. "Deep down, I know you love it. My sparkling wit, my endless charm—"

He turns so quickly that I almost tumble backward, his face suddenly centimeters from mine. His dark eyes glint with something that makes my heart skip a beat. "You're lucky I don't actually throw you out of this tent."

I blink up at him, trying to ignore the way my pulse races at the proximity. "You'd never."

His eyebrow raises. "You willing to bet?"

I raise mine right back, leaning in just a fraction more.

"I do." There's a brief moment where neither of us moves, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, Lorcan rolls his eyes and collapses back onto his bedroll.

"You're impossible," he mutters, covering his face with his arm. "Go to sleep before I do actually throw you out."

I smirk, victory swelling in my chest. "Admit it—you'd be bored out of your mind without me."

"If I admit it, will you shut up?"

"I'll think about it," I hum, settling back into my bedroll, feeling way more pleased with myself than I should.

"Fine," he growls. "I'd be bored."

I can't help the laugh that bubbles up. "See? Was that so hard?"

Lorcan groans again, louder this time. "It was unbearable."

"Goodnight, Lorcan," I say sweetly, curling up and closing my eyes, but I'm still grinning like an idiot.

From beside me, I hear a quiet mutter, almost too soft to catch. "Goodnight."

We lay there in silence for a few minutes, but as usual, my mind refused to settle. The darkness outside the tent feels suffocating, the air thick with anticipation of the mission ahead. I chew my bottom lip, turning over a dozen questions in my head before finally blurting out the one that's been nagging me all night.

"What do you think Maeve wants from us?"

Lorcan's groan is immediate. "You said you'd shut up," he grumbles, not even opening his eyes.

"I said I'd think about it, Salvaterre," I correct, nudging him with my elbow. "Besides, I can't sleep when you keep kicking me."

He huffs out a breath, lifting his arm from his eyes to glare at me. "I haven't moved an inch."

"Oh, really?" I feign innocence, shifting my foot to gently nudge his leg. "What do you call this?"

"That," he says flatly, "is you kicking me."

"I'm just showing you what it feels like," I shoot back, smirking as I prod his shin again.

"Stop that," he growls.

"I will when you answer my question."

"You should be more worried about surviving the week without me strangling you."

I huff, my face burning, but the silence that follows is heavier now—charged with the tension that neither of us wants to acknowledge. After a beat, I clear my throat, breaking it.

"You still didn't answer my question."

He sighs, long and dramatic. "How should I know? Probably some power play involving the Princess."

"Do you think they’ll ally?" I ask, though I know I'm pushing my luck.

He hesitates, his gaze flicking toward the tent's ceiling. "I don’t know," he admits. "Or she might just want us to deal with something different entirely. Maeve doesn't summon all of us for nothing."

I nod, feeling a shiver run through me. "I just hope we don't end up with another war on our hands."

Lorcan shifts slightly, his massive form somehow taking up even more space. "If we do, I'll be sure to shove you out in front to make use of all that 'charm' you keep going on about."

I roll my eyes, kicking him lightly under the blanket. "You're the worst."

He opens one eye to glance at me, unamused. "If I kill you in your sleep, it's your fault."

"Please," I scoff, sitting up slightly. "You couldn't strangle me even if you tried. I'd have you pinned in a heartbeat."

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, one that's more amused than I expected. "You? Pin me?"

I raise an eyebrow, refusing to back down. "You'd be surprised."

He tilts his head slightly, considering me with a dark glint in his eyes. "Go on, then. Prove it."

I blink, caught off guard by the challenge. "What, right now?"

He shrugs, the movement sending a ripple through his broad shoulders. "Unless you're too scared."

I narrow my eyes, inching closer. "I'm not scared."

His lips twitch, just barely, but enough to make my heart pound in my chest. "Then do it."

Before I can talk myself out of it, I shift, moving to straddle his waist. "Okay," I say, though my voice sounds much shakier than I intended. "See? You're completely at my mercy now."

Lorcan, infuriatingly, doesn't look remotely concerned. He just stares up at me, one eyebrow raised, as if waiting for something more. "That's it?"

"Well, I—" I start, but he interrupts by effortlessly grabbing my wrists in one of his massive hands and flipping me over before I can even process what's happening.

In the blink of an eye, I'm pinned beneath him, my back pressing into the bedroll as his weight holds me in place. His face hovers inches above mine, dark and unreadable, though I swear there's a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

"I think that's what you were trying to do," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but with a playful edge.

I glare up at him, trying to squirm, but he doesn't budge. "You cheated."

He leans in slightly, his breath brushing against my cheek. "You didn't give me much of a challenge."

"You're such a brute," I snap, though I'm more frustrated with myself for falling right into his trap.

"I can't believe I made Whitethorn train you instead, this is delightful."

"Oh please, you just forgot the feel of a woman beneath you."

"Care to remind me what I've been missing?" His smirk widens, daring me to say more.

"Depends, what do I get in return?"

"A lesson, maybe I'll teach you what it's like to be beneath someone who knows how to be in control."

His words hang in the air between us, and my breath catches, the challenge in his voice igniting something deep within me. I try to maintain my composure, but the way his dark eyes lock onto mine makes it difficult. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes my heart race, a spark of something primal that sends shivers down my spine.

"Is that so?" I reply, my voice teasing yet laced with curiosity. "And just how do you plan to do that?"

"A demonstration," he murmurs, leaning in closer until his breath warms my skin, his lips hovering tantalizingly above mine.

The space between us crackles with tension, my heart pounding in my chest as I hold his gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation. Instead, I find determination mixed with that devil-may-care amusement that is so quintessentially Lorcan. It drives me wild.

"Show me, then," I challenge, emboldened by the heat of the moment.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and before I can brace myself, he captures my wrists in his powerful hands and shifts, pinning them above my head against the soft canvas of the tent. My breath hitches at the sudden thrill of being completely at his mercy, the weight of his body pressing me into the bedroll, a heady mix of vulnerability and exhilaration flooding my senses.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, but there's an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a thrill racing through me.

"Do I have a choice?" I reply, trying to sound defiant but feeling the flush of excitement creeping up my neck.

"Good answer," he says, leaning down, his lips barely brushing against mine, teasingly close yet just out of reach. The warmth of his breath sends tingles across my skin, and I can't resist the urge to lean in, desperate for that connection.

"Stop teasing," I whisper my heart racing, the air thick with unspoken tension. "Just kiss me already."

With a low growl of approval, he closes the distance, capturing my lips with his in a fierce, passionate kiss. It's electric, a jolt that sends sparks dancing along my nerves, igniting every inch of my skin. The kiss deepens, and I lose myself in the taste of him—warm and intoxicating.

His lips move against mine with a hungry urgency, coaxing me into the rhythm of it. I respond instinctively, wrapping my arms around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, urging him on. The world outside the tent fades away, leaving only the two of us, entangled in the heat of the moment.

I can feel the weight of his body pressing into mine, the way his strength envelops me, sending a rush of desire coursing through my veins. It's overwhelming and intoxicating, igniting a fire within me that I didn't know was there.

I part my legs and he adjusts, slotting between them— gods it was an effort for my legs to even widen enough. He grabbed my thigh in one of his large hands and guided it up higher, then the other, until I was in a mating press beneath him. He smirked against my lips, his hands moving to trail up my sides. "Now you're really at my mercy," He purred and my core thrummed in anticipation.

"Lorcan," I panted into his open mouth, unable to find the words to tell him how badly I needed this.

"As much as I love the sound of you moaning my name, I need you to stay quiet for me, yeah?" He asked and I sucked in a breath, nodding all too quickly, too desperately.

He smirked at the reaction and captured my lips with his yet again, devouring me as he pried my mouth open with his tongue, exploring me with it, not missing a spot uncovered.

I tugged at the waistband of his pants and he captured my wrist before I could tug them down much further. "Not yet, I need to stretch you out first," He warned, his tone brooking no argument.

I let out a soft whimper of protest and he pressed his mouth onto mine, his voice softening as he said, "I don't want to hurt you, be patient for me and I promise I'll make you feel good alright?" He reassured me, his thumb brushing over the pulse point of my wrist before releasing it.

I nod slowly, slipping my hands into his silky black hair while he pushes up my nightgown.

He practically tore through my panties without a second thought, then froze for a moment before making contact. His eyes flicked to mine and I returned his stare with pleasing eyes and a rapid nod. He leaned down, below my lips and to the line of my jaw, making his way down the column of my throat before his calloused fingertips came to contact with my pulsing cunt.

His lips morphed into a malicious smile as he felt just how badly I needed him, the way I was practically dripping down his hand. "So wet, and here I was thinking you hated me?" He drawled against my skin, kissing down my chest and then back up to the hollow of my throat.

I tug at his hair, silently begging him for more. "Lorcan," I whine, words failing me as I arch into his touch, attempting to get even the smallest taste of pleasure. "Please, touch me," I swallow past the lump in my throat.

"I am touching you, love," He whispered, his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear.

My brows furrowed, features contorting with need. "Inside of me, please," I beg. A smirk pulls at his lips and he leans closer, gently pressing his lips to my cheek— too gentle to be casual. But I didn't have time to weigh the action because suddenly he had two fingers pushing inside of my aching cunt, stretching me out.

A gasp escaped me and he swallowed it greedily before connecting our lips again, silencing me.

His long, calloused fingers pumped skillfully into me, grazing against my contracting walls. "Fuck, you're tight," He breathed as I clenched desperately around his hand, gripping his hair but not pulling. His other hand snaked up my propped-up thigh, pinning it down with a possessive need.

His thumb met my clit and it took everything in me not to scream, to cry out his name. "That's it," He encouraged. "Such a good girl, staying quiet for me," He praised, making the tension in my core tighten until it was nearly unbearable.

My overwhelming need for release was all-consuming, every thrust of his fingers, every roll of his thumb sent me reeling. He knew I was close, knew from the way I was trembling beneath him— I knew that he knew, but still, I cried in protest when his hand stilled.

"Not yet," He warned softly, pulling his hand out of me entirely, leaving me empty and aching. I opened my mouth to protest, to beg him to keep going, but he cut me off with a searing kiss, swallowing my complaints with his lips. "I said, be patient," He whispered against my mouth, his tone dark and commanding. "And when you come, it'll be on my cock. Understood?"

I nodded quickly, my breath coming in desperate pants, the tension in my body screaming for release. But I clamped down on my objections, not wanting him to drag this out longer than he already meant to.

His smirk widened, pleased with my compliance, and he finally rid himself of the last of his clothes, his pants hitting the ground with a soft thud. The sight of him—broad and powerful, his skin glistening in the dim light of the tent—made my pulse quicken, and the need to feel him inside me surged with renewed intensity.

He moved to get rid of my clothes too, still bunched at my hips. Luckily he didn't rip it off of me as he did with my panties, instead guided the material over my head, baring me to the brisk night air and his intense gaze.

"Beautiful," He whispered softly, pressing a claiming kiss to the top of one of my breasts. My lip wobbled with a need to moan but I held it down, instead distracted myself with the sight of him.

His shirtless figure was a sight to behold, carved muscle and a chest as hard as marble, but it was what was below his torso that made me pause.

I had expected Lorcan to be big, but gods. I had been with many men in my immortal life, and still, he made me freeze.

His smirk widened as he noticed where my stare was directed. He settled himself between my thighs, his broad frame dwarfing mine. I could feel the heat of him pressing into me, so much of him. My breath hitched, and his dark eyes flicked down, catching the way I bit my lip as he aligned himself at my entrance. His size alone had me trembling, and he knew it—relishing in the subtle way my body tensed beneath him.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I almost feel bad," he whispered, "about how much I'm going to stretch you out."

A low whimper escaped me, and I felt his grin against my skin. My fingers curled into his hair, tugging lightly as I drew him closer, desperate for more. His eyes darkened as I pulled harder, and I could feel the tension ripple through his body.

"Be good for me, love, and stay still," he purred, voice a velvety rasp. His hips barely moved, teasing me with the blunt head of his cock as he pushed forward just enough to stretch me—just enough to drive me wild. He pulled back before I could feel the full pressure, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he watched my hips arch off the bedding, chasing him.

"You're so desperate," he murmured, his breath hot against my throat, "so needy." His tone was teasing in a way that would usually enrage me, but the way he said it sent a rush of heat to my core instead, making me clench around nothing, aching for him to fill me.

"Lorcan," I whispered, my voice trembling as I shifted beneath him, trying to ease the ache. He groaned at the sound of his name on my lips, and the tension in his body told me he was holding back, keeping himself in check for my sake.

Slowly, torturously, he guided himself to my entrance, the blunt head of his cock teasing me, stretching me open just enough to make me gasp. My nails dug into his shoulders as he began to push forward, the burn of the stretch sending sparks of pain-laced pleasure through my core.

"Fuck," I breathed, my eyes squeezing shut as he inched deeper. He was so big—bigger than I'd expected—and I had to fight to keep my breaths steady as my body adjusted to the size of him.

Lorcan paused for a moment, letting me catch my breath, his large hand caressing my thigh in slow, soothing strokes. "You're doing so well," he murmured, his voice a low rasp, full of restraint. "Just relax for me."

"Stay still," he breathed, voice rough as he pulled back just enough to make me whine, the emptiness unbearable. "Gods, it's hard to control myself when you keep moving like that."

A shiver ran through me at his words, my core clenching around him as he pressed forward again, slow and deliberate, giving me every thick inch of him until I was stretched impossibly full. My legs trembled as they tried to accommodate his size, and his hands came down to hold them steady, lifting my thighs higher, and spreading me wider beneath him.

"That's it, just like that," he murmured, his voice dropping to a growl as he adjusted his angle, sliding deeper still. "Good girl, taking me so well."

I whimpered at the praise, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging harder now, desperate to feel him move. His breath hitched, a low moan escaping him as I pulled, and I could feel the way it affected him—how much it pushed him closer to the edge of his restraint.

But Lorcan wasn't one to be rushed.

He withdrew agonizingly slow, leaving me panting beneath him, aching for him to fill me again. "You can handle a little more, can't you?" he teased, his lips curling into a smirk as he saw the need in my eyes. My hands moved from his hair to the nape of his neck, trying to pull him back down to me, urging him on, but he caught my wrists with ease, pinning them above my head with one large hand. The contrast in size was startling—his fingers easily wrapping around both of my wrists, holding me completely at his mercy.

He leaned down, his lips barely brushing mine as he whispered, "Stay still, or I'll make you wait longer."

A soft whimper escaped me, and he chuckled darkly, pleased with my compliance. Slowly, he started to move again, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one drawing out the delicious stretch, making me gasp as he filled me completely, finally bottoming out as his hips pressed into mine.

My body trembled beneath him, the intensity of it building with every slow, torturous thrust. I could feel the thick slide of him inside me, the way my walls clenched around his cock, desperate to hold him, to keep him deep inside. But Lorcan kept up the slow pace, each thrust deeper than the last, drawing me out, making me feel every inch of him.

"Fuck, so tight," he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with desire. His free hand slid down my side, gripping my waist as he pulled me closer, his hips rolling into me with a new intensity that made me see stars.

"Lorcan," I mewled, writhing beneath him, bucking my hips up to meet his

He let out a low growl as I continued to disobey his order to stay still. "If you keep doing that," he warned, his voice thick with strain, "I'm not going to be able to stop myself."

"Then don't," I breathed, my voice trembling as I arched into him, wanting—needing—more.

His eyes darkened, and before I could say anything else, he was moving again, faster now, his thrusts more intense, each one hitting deeper, making me cry out in pleasure. He swallowed my moans with his mouth, devouring me with a kiss so fierce it left me breathless.

Lorcan's hand, the one not gripping my wrists, slipped between us, his thumb brushing over my clit with just enough pressure to make me gasp, my body jerking beneath him. "Stay quiet," he reminded me, his voice a low growl as his thumb circled slowly, teasingly. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear, would we?"

I shook my head frantically, biting down on my lip to keep from crying out as his pace quickened, the tension inside me building unbearably with every push and pull of his powerful hips, every circle of his thumb on my sensitive clit. I was so close, so on edge, but I knew he wasn't going to let me go just yet. He wanted to drag it out, to make me feel every second of it.

His lips ghosted over my ear as he whispered, "I love how small you feel beneath me—how perfectly you fit around my cock."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, making my walls tighten around him in response. I could feel the heat of his body pressing into mine, the steady rhythm of his thrusts making me dizzy with desire. The way he filled me, stretched me, it was almost too much—almost, but not enough.

I wanted more. I needed more.

He pulled back just enough to smirk down at me, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "Gods, you're so fucking tight," he growled, his voice low and guttural as he picked up the pace, thrusting into me harder, deeper. My body arched beneath him, instinctively chasing the pleasure only he could give me.

His hand, still holding my wrists above my head, tightened its grip, his other sliding down my body to grab hold of my waist, pulling me against him with each thrust. The intensity was overwhelming, but I craved every second of it. His thumb returned to my clit, circling it with maddening precision, making my toes curl and my breath catches in my throat.

I bit down on my lip, desperate to keep quiet as he'd commanded, but it was nearly impossible with the way he was driving me to the brink, over and over again. I could feel the pressure building in my core, a white-hot ball of tension that threatened to unravel me at any moment.

"You close baby?" Lorcan rasped, his voice rough as he ground his hips into mine, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. His thumb pressed harder on my clit, the friction sending shockwaves through my body.

I nodded frantically, unable to form coherent words, my head spinning with the need for release.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his breath hot against my ear as he continued his relentless pace, driving me wild. "Beg me to let you come."

I whimpered, my body trembling beneath him as I struggled to find the words. "Please, Lorcan," I whispered, my voice shaking as I arched up against him, desperate for more. "Please, please I can't hold it— I need it, Lor."

He groaned at my words, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic, his control slipping. "Good girl," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Go ahead, come on my cock."

With those words, the tension inside me snapped. My entire body clenched around him, my back arching off the bed as I came undone, the wave of pleasure crashing over me so violently I saw stars. I bit down on my lip, stifling the scream that threatened to escape as my orgasm tore through me, every nerve in my body alight with sensation.

Lorcan let out a low, guttural groan as he felt me clench around him, his pace faltering as he chased his own release. His hips snapped into mine one last time, burying himself deep inside me as he came with a low growl, his body trembling with the force of it.

For a long, breathless second, neither of us moved, the sounds of our ragged breathing the only thing filling the air. But as the intensity slowly ebbed, Lorcan pulled back, his smirk already returning to his lips. He let out a satisfied hum as he leaned down to press a lazy kiss to my jaw. "See? You can follow orders when you really want to."

I swatted his chest weakly, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Don't get used to it," I said, still panting, though my voice had a playful edge to it.

He chuckled, rolling off me and settling onto his side, his large arm draped possessively over my waist. "I don't need to. You'll break soon enough."

I snorted, feeling the familiar banter falling back into place. "You're dreaming, Salvaterre. If anything, you're the one breaking. You were practically trembling back there."

His dark eyes flashed with amusement, and he leaned down to brush his lips against my ear. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "If I was really trying to break you, you wouldn't even be able to walk right now."

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips. "Bold words for an old man who can barely control himself."

He raised a brow, his grip on my waist tightening just enough to remind me of his strength. "Care to test that theory?"

I shot him a challenging look, though the heat still lingered in my veins. "Maybe next time," I teased, flipping onto my side to face him, our noses brushing and suddenly the tent didn't feel all that small. "You've got to save some energy if you plan on keeping up with me, after all."

His eyes glinted with amusement, and the playful edge in his smile sent a shiver of anticipation through me. "Oh, you have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into,"

With a wink, I scooted a little further from him— well, as far as I could, feigning innocence. "Well, in that case, let's see if you can keep your hands to yourself until morning."

Lorcan's low chuckle reverberated in the tent, his eyes gleaming with challenge as he watched me. "Go to sleep already," He insisted. I look at him, staring at his features softened by the moonlight filtering through the canvas.

And as I settled back into the blankets, his body warm beside mine, I couldn't help but smirk, knowing that the game between us was far from over. "Goodnight, Lor," I mumble quietly.

The faint light of dawn filtered through the tent, pulling me from sleep. The warmth of Lorcan's body was missing, and the space beside me felt cool to the touch. I blinked groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I rolled onto my back, pulling the thin blankets over my bare body, the events of the previous night replaying in my mind.

I swallowed hard, my heart thudding as I thought about everything—what it meant to have crossed that line with Lorcan. We'd been stuck in this tense back-and-forth, pushing each other's buttons ever since I met the male, but last night had changed everything, we stepped past a boundary we couldn't come back from. A part of me wondered if it would be different now, or if he'd go back to being the brooding, impossible male he was before. My chest tightened, but I pushed the thought aside. No use overthinking it, especially when we had a mission to accomplish.

I took a deep breath, sitting up and squaring my shoulders as I reached for my clothes, trying to act as normal as possible. We had orders and obligations, and I couldn't afford to be distracted by what happened between us. But gods, it was hard to ignore the lingering ache in my body, between my legs, the reminder of how thoroughly Lorcan had claimed me.

I ran my hands through my messy head of hair and braided it back to have somewhat of a semblance of neatness. With my nightgown replaced by my gear, I slipped out of the tent, the early morning air crisp against my skin, my boots crunching on the fallen leaves. As I approached the campfire, I spotted Lorcan among the rest of Maeve's blood sworn—all gathered around, the smell of campfire smoke filling my senses.

The moment I stepped to where the rest sat, Fenrys' head snapped up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Well, well," he drawled, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement. "Look who decided to join us."

I forced a casual smile, pretending I hadn't noticed the way the rest of the males exchanged looks. "Good morning," I said, keeping my voice steady, though I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I kept my eyes off Lorcan as I took a seat beside the white wolf, ignoring the tension in my stomach that was somewhere between knots and butterflies.

Lorcan didn't say anything, but I could feel his presence in front of me, his tall frame looming over the fire as he flipped something on the skillet. I couldn't tell what it was amidst the flames, but with the way Vaughan and Rowan were wincing something told me it was a bird one of the others seemed good enough to eat.

Rowan raised a brow at me, his sharp gaze flicking between Lorcan and me before he smirked. "You sleep well?" he asked innocently, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him.

I shot him a sidelong glance. "As well as I could, considering someone was snoring."

Fenrys snorted, nudging Gavriel on the other side of him, who was trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. "Must've been some noise last night," Fenrys said under his breath, not bothering to hide the grin that tugged at his lips.

Heat surged to my face, and I glared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gavriel gave a soft cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, while Fenrys outright cackled. "Don't worry," Fenrys said, flashing me a wink. "No judgments here."

My face felt like it was on fire, and I was sure my expression was betraying me, but I shot back, "How sweet of you, Fenrys."

"You know, if you ever grow bored of the brooding male you could always come join me in my tent instead," Fenrys added, leaning back on his palms with his signature smirk. "I could show you what it's like to really be loud," He suggested and I swore Lorcan's knuckles turned white he was gripping his hunting knife so tightly. But he remained steady, didn't so much as look at us as he awaited my reply.

"Tempting, Fenrys, but I think I'll stick with what I have. Once you go tall, dark, and brooding, it's hard to go back." I say, flicking my gaze past the fire to Lorcan, whose shoulders visibly relaxed.

Fenrys clenched at his chest, pretending to be mortally wounded. "Ah, so it's like that, is it?" he quipped, but the glint in his eye said he was far from offended. "I guess I'll just have to find solace in knowing I could've changed your life forever."

I grinned, leaning back on my hands as I shot him a mock-sympathetic look. "You'll survive, Fenrys. I hear rejection builds character."

He was about to retort when Rowan chimed in, his deep voice filled with dry amusement. "I don't know, Fenrys. After last night, it sounds like she found someone more than capable of showing her a good time."

My cheeks flamed as I glared at Rowan, though I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You too, huh?" I shot back.

Before Fenrys could continue the teasing, Lorcan finally broke his silence, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Don't you have better things to do than gossip about things that don't concern you?" He still didn't look up from the skillet, but the hard set of his jaw and the tension in his broad shoulders were unmistakable.

Vaughan, silent as ever, gave a half-shrug, tossing a stick into the fire as he added his two cents, his voice calm but amused. "Considering the noise last night, it kind of does concern all of us."

A chorus of snickers followed, and even Gavriel cracked a grin. My face went up in flames, and I buried it in my hands. "You all need better hobbies," I muttered into my palms, but it did nothing to stop the laughter ringing through the camp.

I turned my head just enough to catch Lorcan's eyes as he finally glanced over at me, the firelight flickering in his gaze. The corner of my lips lifted in a challenging smirk.

"If you lot are done, breakfast is ready." He moved and passed me a plate, his warm hand brushing against mine for just a second—a flicker of something unspoken passing between us—before he turned back to the skillet.

The knowing looks from the others didn't stop throughout breakfast. Fenrys continued to make sly comments, Rowan smirked every time Lorcan so much as glanced at me, and even Gavriel, the most serious of the group, couldn't completely hide his amusement.

I had managed to block all of their comments and snickering remarks out, but for some reason, I wasn't able to shake the stare Lorcan had pinned on me.

I looked over to him and for a moment his eyes flicked down to my lips, a challenge. I smirked, beckoning him to test the silent boundaries. He didn't move, but he didn't look away either, and something told me we were nowhere near finished with each other.

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mickyschumacher · 4 months ago

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[I MISS YOU, I'M SORRY!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: it's been more than eight months since you and jobe broke up. that should be plenty of time to move on. but out of all the cafes in birmingham, you and jobe meet at your favourite on valentine's day.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, poor humour, slightly angsty but not really, reader is a student, mentions of a break up obviously, not much too do with the titular song sorryyy, incase it's not obvious, the fic goes in and out of the past (italics), honestly just two young kids in love

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jobe bellingham x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.5k

𝐀/𝐍: the fourth fic of my series! i thought this was the cutest one to write bc it's just young puppy love and i love everything about it. hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it!♡︎ // as usual, poorly proofread

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You were young. You had your whole life ahead of you. Or so everybody says.

“Life’s too short to stay caught up in the past. Live in the present.”

“There will always be someone better. Something better. Don’t reminisce about the past. Think about what will come to you.”

But it’s because you were young... how could you ever forget the first boy you ever fell in love with?

Eight months and seven days ago, you broke up with Jobe (not that you were counting or anything.) Eight months was long, but it wasn’t that long. You could still feel his touch, his smell... feel him all around you.

Some days were more difficult than others. The busier it was, the easier it was to forget that you were ever in a relationship. But sometimes, all it took was the notification of your phone to remind you.

You stood outside a familiar scene, contemplating everything as you stared hard at the building. It was your café. Your and Jobe’s. The place where you and Jobe met. The place where you and Jobe hung out together every day because there was no other place like it.

Your eyes fell to their sign board, red and pink chalk hearts capturing your attention as much as the lovely ‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’ sprawled across the black canvas.

You really shouldn’t be here. Not today out of all days. But even though you had purposely gotten home through a different route to avoid this very café for the past eight months, your body seemed to remember.

Trying not to think too much, you walked in, immediately hit with a wave of nostalgia.

You hadn’t met Jobe at this point. You knew nothing about him. But the moment you had walked into the café, your eyes almost naturally diverted to the corner of the building. And there you were met with the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen.

You didn’t know it yet, but it would soon become your favourite shade of brown in the world.

Hesitantly, you looked over at the corner where it all began. You knew Jobe wouldn’t be there. But you couldn’t help being left with disappointment. The corner table was instead taken by a small family.

Quietly, you peered at the cabinets of sweets. Pistachio croissants, red velvet cookies, lemon and lime cheesecakes... some of the staples of the café. You and Jobe had tried every single one of them, reviewing them in depth. Both of your favourites were the raspberry and white chocolate blondie. It was what you both chose when you first met. And to your rotten luck, you watched it get pulled onto a plate. With a small pout, your eyes followed the server, unable to look away from the dessert.

But that was a minor distraction compared to the distraction waiting at the table being served.

You think your eyes are deceiving you.

That same shade of brown eyes stared back at you. Once upon a time, you were able to read them from afar. But you couldn’t remember how to. Was it disbelief? Doubt? Perhaps shock?

You weren’t sure when or how, but your feet had managed to inch their way to his table.

“Jobe,” you breathed out, unsure of how long it had been since you had last said his name.

Jobe blinked, shaking his head slightly to break his trance. He cleared his throat, calling your name as he always called it. You remembered how he repeated it when you first introduced yourself to him... like he was already in love with you.

He gestured to the chair next to you. “You can take a seat,” Jobe mumbled towards the end, hand scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

As you took a seat, you wanted to say something, hell anything, but you couldn’t find the words. You were pretty sure you were dreaming right now.

“Do you want me to order you your coffee? Half strength cappuccino with cinnamon, right?” Jobe asked, standing up from his seat.

“Oh–uh, just a hot chocolate, please,” you tightly smiled, fingers fidgeting underneath the table.

You could see Jobe furrow his brows, wanting to say something but instead he nodded slowly and went towards the front till. As he ordered, you debated a little bit of everything.

What were you doing right now? If you were indeed dreaming, was this a sign of some sort of identity crisis? Because dreaming about your ex on Valentine’s Day was a new low for you. If this is real, maybe you could sneak out of here. He probably wouldn’t notice. All you had to do was stand up and just–

“You don’t drink coffee anymore?” Jobe asked, taking his seat back in front of you.

You pursed your lips. “Not really. I’m trying to lean off of it these days.”

Jobe nodded again slowly, processing what you said. He didn’t know this part of you. All he knew of you was the year you spent together and the past you shared. This... it’s like he wasn’t caught up with you anymore. And he hated it.

You disliked silence. It was a known fact. You always had. It was unbearable. Like a loud clock ticking over your shoulder. So, Jobe wasn’t surprised went you spoke up a few seconds after he had finished.

“Mum asked about you the other day,” you blurted, eyes quickly

The corners of Jobe’s mouth quirked up. “Yeah?” He queried, ears paying extra attention.

You nodded, pulling on your sleeves. “She found your football boots in the garage. The blue ones. She said she misses you.”

“I miss her too,” Jobe smiled softly. His eyes flickered out the window before coming back to you. “Do you?”

You raised a brow, ignoring the thump of your heart in your chest. “Miss my mum?” You asked even though you knew that’s not what he meant.

Jobe laughed to himself, resting in his chair comfortably. “You know what I mean.”

You opened you mouth to speak as your large cup of hot chocolate was placed before you. Jobe watched you smile widely at staff, thanking them and God did it send his heart running.

“If you had to choose, what is one thing you like about me?” Jobe queried, looking down at your face as you rested on his lap.

You pretended to mull over the question even though you knew the answer. You just wanted to feel his hands in your hair for a little longer. “Your eyes,” you decided.

“My eyes?” Jobe repeated, eyes already crinkling as his smile widened. “What’s so special about my eyes?”

“They’re my favourite shade of brown. I love looking into them. They’re so warm and calm, filled with so much love and yet they make me so nervous,” you murmured, cheeks heating up as a comfortable silence fell between the both of you.

Jobe couldn’t help but grin at your shy smile. He pushed the hairs out of your face, taking a good look at you. “Is that why you always look away?”

Bingo. He had caught you red-handed.

“Obviously,” you muttered, unable to look at him any longer. “If I could, I would stare at you for forever. But I can’t. So, I just do it when you can’t see,” you shrugged.

Jobe smiled, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “I love you,” he confessed.

“Well,” you sighed, hands warming around your cup of hot chocolate. “You’ve never left my mind. Not that you ever could,” you admitted quietly.

“I’ll take that,” Jobe sat forward, arms resting on the table. “You miss me,” he teased, smile widening.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink before you put in the marshmallows on the side. Mixing the cup gently, you watched Jobe push forward the raspberry and white chocolate blondie to towards you.

“You’re first bite. Go on,” he nudged, nodding to the plate.

You sighed, knowing very well he wasn’t going to start eating unless you did. You grabbed a spoon, taking the corner side of the blondie. As soon as it entered your mouth, you were positive you had died and gone to heaven. “Oh my God, how they do it?” You asked to no one particularly.

Jobe, who had also grabbed a bite, nodded in agreement. “I know right? How they get the balance so good? Not too sweet and not too sour. We still haven’t figured out what white chocolate they use.”

“My money’s still on Hamilton’s. Ooh, or maybe Montezumas! Their chocolate buttons were so good the last time you brought them,” you pointed out, still mulling over the thought.

Jobe stared at you quietly, watching everything fall back to its normal pace for a brief second. The one where you talked and he listened. The one where he absorbed as much of you as he could.

“What about me?” You asked, turning your head gently to the side. “What’s one thing you like about me?”

Jobe’s fingers slowly caressed your face as he pretended to think because he also knew his answer. “Everything,” he softly responded.

Your brows furrowed. “Everything? That’s not one thing,” you complained, reaching out to hit his shoulder gently.

A laugh fell from Jobe’s lips. “It is,” he maintained, “everything about you makes me nervous. Every time I look at you, your smile, your eyes, your kindness... your essence makes me feel like the whole world is collapsing.”

Reality hit, however, when Jobe recalled your breakup. Eight months and seven days ago (not that he was counting either), you both had reached a breaking point.

You both knew it was coming. The past few days had been tense. You hadn’t seen each other as much. Jobe could barely see you smile and he hated it. And the warmth in Jobe’s eyes were replaced with exhaustion.

You were both sat in your room in silence. Another thing you usually hated but it seemed you were trying resist it, allowing minutes to pass.

“I think we should break up.”

Your voice, although quiet, was resounding. It was like you had announced it in a stadium. It was echoing back to your ears and making your heart beat thud and your hands clammy.

“I...” Jobe didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to agree with you. But he knew it was right.

You let out a tired sigh. “Jobe, how long are we going to go on like this? Hmm? How long are we going to pretend our lives aren’t in the way of our relationship? You’re always at training. And I’m always studying. I can’t reschedule another date... another birthday.”

Jobe closed his eyes at your words. His body burned with anger and annoyance. He had rescheduled your birthday dinner not once, not twice but four times because he had training.

You understood Jobe. He was new to Sunderland and he didn’t want to mess anything up. Not with him carrying the Bellingham name. Not with all the eyes watching him. But even that had a limit.

“I don’t think this is our time, Jobe,” you croaked, throat breaking as hot tears welled up in your eyes.

Jobe could feel his heart shatter. He hated seeing you sad. Fuck, he hated it so much. But the truth was loud in his ears.

He couldn’t make you happier. He couldn’t make the time.

You couldn’t compromise any longer. You couldn’t make the time.

“Wouldn’t it be so funny if the chocolate was from Sainsbury or Aldi’s or something?” You joked, bringing Jobe back to reality once again.

Jobe looked at you quietly before blurting, “I’m sorry.”

You paused, smile dropping off of your face. “Huh? All of a sudden?”

Jobe sighed before taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I never made time for you. I’m sorry for rescheduling your damn birthday out of all things. And most of all, I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us more.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, not expecting your heart to ache so abruptly. You tried looking into his eyes, but all you could do was focus on the floating marshmallows in your hot chocolate, all slowly disappearing.

Your eyes burned on the brink of crying but for some odd reason... you couldn’t.

“Do you know what it means to live, Jobe?”

Your question sent Jobe into a flurry of confusion. “I don’t... I, uh–”

“To live life is to be in the moment. To take joy and sorrow in all we have. Living means to never take anything for granted.” You breathed in, slowly moving your eyes to his. There it was. Your favourite shade of brown. No exhaustion in sight. Just warmth, calm... love.

“I don’t think I started living until I met you.”

Jobe couldn’t help but sit back and truly take you in. Your eyes shook, clearly nervous, but you voice was firm, clear on what you had said. He was sure there’d be times in the future, but right now, you were making him the most nervous he had ever been in his entire life.

You looked like love.

You looked like the love of his life–heck, you were love of his life.

“These past eight months... listen, I know the last few days before our break up sucked but,” your breath hitched while tears officially began welling in your eyes, “these eight months and seven days have been miserable.”

Jobe couldn’t help but laugh softly at your words as he bent forward, wiping away your stray tears. You had also been counting.

“I’m in love with you,” Jobe confessed, hand caressing your cheek, “I always have been. And I always will. Please give us, me, a second chance.”

Your eyes softened at his words, mouth about to open to respond when his voice cut you off. “Unless you’re in a relationship–shit, wait, I forgot to ask you that. You aren’t, are you? Not in like a bad way because like people would be crazy not to ask you out but–”

“Jobe!” You interrupted; eyes wide with amusement. You could hear him go quiet making you laugh softly to yourself. “I’m not in a relationship,” you confirmed.

A big sigh of relief fell from Jobe’s lips, shoulders dropping now that he was tension-free. He sat back in his chair, muttering something about how thankful he was to the universe.

You cleared your throat, gaining his attention once again. “And for the record...” You started, grabbing his hand from across the table. Instantly, he tightened his grip around, afraid you’d let go. “I’d love to give us a second chance. And I promise I’ll make time. We’ll figure this out together, hmm?”

Those lovely brown eyes you had fallen in love with shone and you doubt anyone would believe you, but you think he’s on the brink of crying. Jobe smiled, holding your hands close to him. “Does this count as a second date?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You better be joking,” you teased.

“But this is where we first met!” Jobe retorted, grin playing on his lips.

You furrowed your brows. “What were you doing here anyways? It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Honestly?” Jobe asked, receiving your nod. “I was going to cheer myself up with this raspberry blondie. And then I saw you.”

You smiled widely. “It’s like the first day we met all over again.”

#mickyschumacher #micky's hand in heart series ❦#jobe bellingham x reader #jobe bellingham #jobe bellingham imagine #jobe bellingham x you #jobe bellingham fluff

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chericos · 11 months ago

Text

Hooked -> k. choso

nsfw drabble

cws; no plot, inexperienced!choso, dom!reader, implied fem!reader, reader has vamp teeth, biting, blood, unprotected sex, breeding(oops), overstimulation, multiple rounds, yeehaw!(cowgirl), slight teasing, praising, light aftercare, use of pet names(; baby, sweetheart, pretty, good boy, etc), very cute and sweet ! undercase as needed (sometimes its just ugly ok,)

1.6k; unedited

Freak ‘by Doja Cat

“Just— just go slow ok?”

God. You still don’t know how you did it. How you got your—insanely hot—neighbor withering underneath you.

His body spread across the expanse of your queen-size bed. Head thrown back as he lets out whines while you litter his body in featherlight kisses. Choso’s body jolts as you place your glossy lips on his thigh, a sticky pink stain smeared on his pale porcelain skin.

He twitches.

“are you excited, pretty?” He tilts his head up at the sound of your voice. You glance up at him, staring directly into his rich aubergine colored eyes. His glossed over eyes and pinched brows made you smile.

He’s so cute when he’s needy.

“p-please, I—” he cuts himself off with a gasp as you give a tentative lick to his tip, lips curving up into a smile as you feel him tense beneath you. With a light blow, you move back, your hand taking its place to slowly stroke the length of his shaft as you shift to hover directly above him.

“please what hmm..?” you lean down to press a kiss against his eye, then nose, then cheek, all the way down from his jaw to attacking his collarbone. Flourishing his pale skin in bruises of reds and blues.

He was such a gorgeous canvas.

“I— fuck!” A string of whines leave his lips as your teeth sink into his flesh, his hand flying to his mouth at the sound. you pull back, gaze focused on the bite mark you left. You watched as small drops of blood started to leak. Your tongue carefully glazes across the expanse of his shoulder. His cock twitches in your grasp, beads of pre-cum drip down to sparingly cover your lithe fingers.

Tears welled in the corners of his tightly shut eyes, the salty liquid streamed down his cheeks. You can still hear the sounds of his pathetic whimpering. “Aww… I’m just teasin’ cho,” you coo at him, using your free hand to pull down his hand from covering his pretty moans.

You lean forward to kiss him again—much harder than before. Desperation makes kissing feel so pleasurable, so good. You feel so damn good. His mind is a blank slate, your tongue dissolving his brain to mush. Rebuilding and rewiring his consciousness to crave you and your affection until the end of time.

You pump him twice as you sit up completely to get better access. The absence of your body makes him needy again, his hands reaching out to find purchase in some part of your body. Pre-cum dribbles pathetically from the tip as you guide his cock to your pussy, you lean back and slam your weight down onto him with full force. He slides with little resistance. His hands grip harshly on your hips as he bottoms out. A high-pitched mewl escaping him as he cums at the impact, your walls sucking him in with a vice-like grip as he shoots a load into you. His cock still hard as he fills you

“ah!—m’sorry… sorry, did-didn’t mean to…” Choso babbles. He’s sobbing at the pleasure, fat tears rolling down the sides of his face and leaving a damp spot on your satin covered pillows.

“s’ok baby, you’re doing so good for me”, your smile is hypnotizing as he locks his eyes with you. Your eyes glossed over in a lust filled haze, thumb stroking his cheek to collect the stray tears.

After a few minutes you give a slight roll of your hips to ease him in more. Feeling him twitch so deeply in you causes a moan to be ripped from your throat. You start your pace off slow and rhythmic. barely easing off of him before thrusting your hips back down. It’s leisurely, calm and steady. An appetizer compared to what’s to come.

The pace picks up, erratic bounces with the focus nothing more than to make you both feel good. "fuck, p-please, not too fast- i can't! ngh-” Choso whimpers breathlessly, going dumb from how good you're making him feel. He looks up at you through hooded eyes, head spinning. He mumbles incoherently, begging for you to stop, telling you that he's too tired and that he can't take it anymore even though his cock is still hard and leaking, flooding your insides with his cum almost continuously.

you don't listen to him. instead you ride him faster, rising up until his aching tip is the only thing inside you then slamming your hips back down to fuck yourself on his cock. he lets out a choked sob, keeling forward with every bounce.

"please, please, please—”he doesn't know what he's begging for.

he stretches you out so good. his cock heavy and pulsing inside you, ready to fill you up again despite choso's claims that he can't anymore.

"baby, please i- ah! you're ridin' me too good, m'gonna...gonna cum again.” he whines deliriously, feeling as if he'll pass out at any moment

He’s practically sobbing into your neck, tears streaming over the purple marks he left on your collar bones as he cums deep inside of you.

Your pace doesn’t let up. His back arched into you. Instinctually thrusting up into you, as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

Your hands snake their way back to his face, giving a small squeeze to his cheeks before patting on them. A silent plea for him to open his mouth. As soon as he does, you shove two fingers into the back of his throat, pressing down on his tongue, grazing against the lower teeth, and remaining still there, causing saliva to accumulate in the cavity and a small dribble down the corner of his chin. Effectively choking him.

“You’re making such a mess, cho~” you tease unabashedly, like it was nothing but his fault. Choso focuses his eyes back on you. The cat-like smirk on your face at seeing him turn into a mess at the palm of your hand. It’s maddening.

“feelin’ so good that you’re drooling huh?” You know he’s too fucked up to respond, the constant stream of tears and the soft sounds of his light choking enough of a sign. But it’s so fun to toy with him.

"Hummmm, fuck!" Choso murmurs tearfully, calling your name afterward. His voice sounds so low, so choked up that you need to lean in even closer.

———

He's lost count of how many times you’ve made him cum. he’s overwhelmed, sensitive like you wouldn’t believe. He can barely think, his cock throbs and aches as you ride him relentlessly.

He was a complete and utter mess, his hair matted. His face covered in a mixture of sweat and tears, his cheeks permanently stained pink. His mind is filled with nothing more than your name and how good you’re making him feel. It’s addictive.

His thighs were shaking, legs weak as he gasped. His breath was ragged and labored, lungs burning— throat raw from the constant screaming and crying. He was barely able to string together a coherent thought, his words reduced to incoherent whines and moans, his words were slurred and sluggish, tongue heavy in his mouth. "M-mm..mm-more, plea-please, please, pleaseplease.." he managed to choke out, his body convulsing as his balls constricted, he was so close. "need—need to,ahh!—cum, p-please, pleasepleaseplease—“ he begs.

“Such a good boy… you gon’ cum, pretty?” There’s a sadistic lilt in your voice. Choso knows you’re only asking him questions he can’t properly answer.

“Mhm—!”

But he gives in anyway.

“That’s it— gonna fill me up hmm? Go’head pretty, you can do it.” You slam your hips down, taking him all the way down to the base with complete ease. Your body collapses into a shiver. You both cum at exactly the same time, moans and whines resonated the room as you slow down your pace to a complete stop.

You both rest there. Shaking and panting as you try to collect what little you both have left of yourselves.

You pull off of him, his fat tip still leaking. His body shudders at the cold air, already missing the warm feeling of your wet wall surrounding him. Small drops of cum drop out of you.

“You ok baby?” you ask in a soft voice. His eyes are closed but you see him nod his head. His voice was too hoarse to speak. “Ima’ get up and clean you up ok? I’ll be right back sweetheart,”

Choso feels the weight of the bed shift as you get up and walk to your bathroom. He hears the sink run for a while before it shuts off, listening for your footsteps to walk back towards him. “hey cho, I just have a warm cloth, jus’ gonna wipe you off ok?” He mumbles out a small ok before you begin to carefully wipe around his thighs, taking extra care to lightly massage them as you work your way up to his abs.

It’s a soft and intimate moment, no words being shared yet you still felt connected in a way no words could describe. Once you were down wiping him down you got up once again to place the washcloth and bowl of(now cold) water into their respective places. You barely get your legs off the side of the bed before Choso is grabbing at your wrists. A dark look in his eye that makes even you nervous. There’s a pregnant pause before he speaks up:

“can we go again..?”

He had finally gotten a taste of you.

And boy, was he hooked.

#x reader #choso smut #choso x reader #sub choso #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk choso #jjk choso x reader #jjk choso smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #smut #gojo x reader

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kairoot · 10 months ago

Text

𝑴𝑶𝑶𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐊 — 西村力.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: during the village’s annual moon festival, the moon shines big and bright. legend says that it reveals a person’s true emotions under its light and can rekindle lost feelings. when you move to the little romance village, it’s bustling with talk of the festival and a famous local painter. deciding to see what the gossip was about, you attend said moon festival. but what happens when you run into this unknown artist under the moon’s light?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: niki x 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : fluff , s2l, soulmates (???), folklore kinda thing.. 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 : no 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : riki is kind of a loner .. ( 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 ) : special thank you to nini ^^ @flwrstqr for proofreading for me, I love u ♡︎. pls leave reblogs, they are much appreciated !! ♡︎ WC: 3.3K

THE VILLAGE SQUARE WAS a kaleidoscope of lights, colors, and laughter. Lanterns hung from just about every surface, casting a warm, golden glow over the cobblestone streets. The air was full of sweet scents, coming from every corner of the small town.

You weaved through the large crowd, taking in all of the sights and sounds. It was beyond anything you’d ever experienced. Being a new resident to the town, you couldn’t understand what all of the excitement was about over one festival but now you felt the same way everyone else did.

Melodic strains of the village’s music played, causing people all around to dance together, not caring if they were strangers to one another. You smiled, the sight somehow bringing you joy.

After walking a few miles, an older shop catches your eye. The traditional decorations hanging outside the tiny building, with a crescent moon sketched on the wooden door. You opened it to walk in, the small bell ringing as the door moved.

You were greeted with the sharp tang of an earthy aroma of dried clay and the rich smell of more wood from the easels, frames, and shelves. The subtle hint of fresh pencil shavings, and the crisp scent of new canvases waiting to be transformed.

A few employees smiled and waved at you, their kindness making you feel welcome as you got ready to explore this new environment. The store was quiet; the only noise being a few painters conversing with one another, the low traditional music that played in the background, and pencils or paintbrushes moving against the canvases.

You walked further into the shop, wandering around the shelves to look at different tools and paintings that had been hung up on display.

You ran your hand over the wooden shelf, another crescent moon etched into the dark surface.

This town is serious about the moon, you thought.

You continued your mini journey through the aisles, amazed by some of the artistry inside of them.

But a certain painting seems to pique your interest. You let your feet guide you to the image, captivated by the delicate brushstrokes that brought the scene to life. Just as you let your fingertips graze the painting, another hand brushed against yours. Startled, you pulled your hand away at the same time as the other person’s, causing the art to fall to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologize to the stranger, before you both chuckle at the small incident. The stranger crouches to pick the canvas up from the ground, holding it with a firm grasp.

You look up, only to see a much taller male in front of you, dressed in all black with a paint splattered apron tied around his waist. His eyes sharp but filled with surprise as he stared back at you.

His beauty captivated you in a way. In a way where you couldn’t even find your words or perhaps even start a conversation.

You both stood silently until he sucked in a breath, hesitant on whether he wanted to say something.

“So, uh—, arts’ your thing, too?” He glanced at the painting in his hands and then back at you, a gentle smile making its way to his face.

“I guess I’ve found it kind of interesting lately,” you beamed, feeling a bit more at ease. “What about you?”

“Yeah, uh, this is mine actually..” He trailed off. Your eyes widened in surprise, suddenly feeling guilty for the incident that had occurred a few minutes earlier.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to knock it down, I was just curious, and—“

He looked down, chuckling, “It’s no problem. I was thinking of chunking it anyway.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “But it’s way too good for you to just throw away like that.”

He shrugged, still smiling a bit. “I don’t know.. I’m just not too fond of it.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Why’s that? It seems really beautiful to me.”

He looked at you with a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. “Well, if you’re interested, you can make your own. I give mini-lessons from time to time. If you’re free, I’d be happy to show you some techniques.”

A smile crept onto your face. “I’d love that.”

“I’m Riki, by the way.” He extended his larger hand.

You shook his hand, the warm and firm grip making you feel as if you had butterflies in your stomach.

“Y/n.”

The sunlight filtered gently through the shop's windows, casting a warm, inviting glow over the art supplies and canvases. You arrived at the store a bit early, your excitement barely contained. Riki was setting up a small workspace in the back corner, his movements precise and deliberate. The room was filled with the rich scents of paint and wood, a comforting backdrop for the lesson ahead.

“Hey,” Riki greeted as you walked in, his smile making your heart flutter. “Ready for your mini-lesson?”

You nodded, trying to maintain a calm exterior but feeling a tingle of nerves. “Definitely!”

Riki’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he motioned for you to join him at the small table. “Alright, grab an apron and we’ll start with some basics. I’ll show you how to create depth and texture in your painting.”

You took one of the dark aprons off of the hook by the door and took a seat. Riki’s proximity made you acutely aware of his presence. He stood close enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the earthy aroma of the paint. As he demonstrated the brushstrokes, his hand occasionally brushed against yours, sending a shy smile to your lips.

“Alright, so you want to use a light touch for the highlights,” Riki said, his voice warm and encouraging. He leaned in slightly to show you the technique up close, his face just inches from yours. The closeness made your cheeks warm, and you found it hard to focus on the painting as you became acutely aware of the soft sound of his breath and the gentle way he spoke.

“Like this,” he continued, guiding your hand with his own. His fingers were careful and steady, and you felt a gentle pressure as he helped you maneuver the brush. “The key is to layer the colors gradually, so it builds up the texture without looking too harsh.”

His hand lingered on yours for a moment longer than necessary, and you couldn’t help but glance up at him. Riki’s eyes were soft, and his smile was reassuring. “You’re doing great. Just remember to relax and let the brush do the work.”

You nodded, trying to steady your breath as you followed his instructions. The way he spoke to you, with such patience and attentiveness, made your heart race. Each time he leaned in to offer guidance, you felt a flutter of shyness but also an endearing sense of comfort.

Riki moved to the other side of the table, giving you space but still offering occasional tips and encouragement. “You’re really picking this up fast,” he said with genuine admiration, his voice carrying a note of pride. “You have a natural eye for detail..”

You blushed at his compliment, focusing on your painting with renewed determination. “Thanks. I’ve really enjoyed learning from you.”

He smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting a hint of something more than just professional interest. “I’ve enjoyed having you as my ‘student’.”

As the lesson continued, you found yourself growing more confident. Riki’s careful instruction and the way he interacted with you made the experience both educational and heartwarming. Every time he offered a correction or praised your work, it felt like a gentle nudge toward something greater.

By the end of the session, you were both smiling, the painting before you a testament to the techniques Riki had shared. “I think you’re ready for more advanced techniques next time,” he said, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. “But for now, you’ve done really great.”

You beamed, feeling a mix of accomplishment and affection for the kind-hearted teacher who had made your art journey so special. “Thank you. I can’t wait for our next lesson.”

As you packed up your things, Riki’s gaze lingered on you with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. “I’m looking forward to it too,” he said softly. “See you soon.”

You left the shop with a smile, carrying not just the knowledge of painting but also the warmth of a shared connection.

A few days later, the festival was in full swing again, but this time it was a different night. You decided to take a quiet walk to a nearby beach, not too far from the festival setup. The moon hung low in the sky, casting its silver light over the ocean waves.

You carried with you a small set of painting materials, inspired by the techniques Riki had taught you. Setting up on the sand, you began to paint the scene before you: the moonlit waves and the gentle shimmer of the water. With each brushstroke, you used the tips he had given you, trying to capture the serene beauty of the moment.

The night was quiet, save for the soft sound of the waves and the occasional distant laughter from the festival. As you worked, you felt a sense of peace and contentment, lost in the beauty of the moment.

After a while, you sensed someone approaching. Turning slightly, you saw Riki walking towards you, his eyes bright with curiosity and admiration. He stopped a few feet away, watching you paint with a soft smile on his face.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice gentle. "I didn't expect to find you here."

You smiled back, feeling a flutter of happiness at his presence. "I needed some quiet time to practice. I’ve been kind of inspired."

Riki moved closer, sitting down next to you on the sand. His proximity was comforting, and you felt a warm sense of connection as he admired your work. "You've really captured the essence of the scene," he said, his eyes scanning your painting. "It's like seeing the world through your eyes."

His compliment made your heart swell with pride. "Thanks.. I’ve been trying to use the techniques you taught me.”

“Oh, really?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his face. “My techniques?”

You chuckled lightly, nodding, “Yes, your technique.”

You continued to paint, occasionally glancing at Riki, who watched with genuine interest.

The moonlight cast a soft glow on his features, making the moment feel even more magical. After a while, Riki spoke, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

"You know, the legend of the moon... it's said to reveal the truth about one's emotions," he began, his eyes fixed on the waves. "I've always been afraid to let the moon see mine, not after what happened before."

You looked at him with curiosity. “What happened?”

He sighed softly, looking out at the ocean. “I once let the moonlight reveal my true feelings and it led to heartbreak. It was... painful.. But that’s a story for another day..”

He turned to you, his eyes sincere and vulnerable. “Somehow, being with you, I don’t feel that fear. There’s something about tonight, and about you, that makes me believe in the magic of the moon again.”

You felt a pang of sympathy and reached out, gently placing your hand on his. “Riki, you don’t have to talk about it if you’re not comfortable.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. “Thank you. It’s just... hard to think about sometimes. The pain was so real, and it made me afraid to show my true emotions again.”

You squeezed his hand gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m here. Though we met nights ago, I’m here.”

Riki‘s eyes softened, and he gave you a small, appreciative smile. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

The moon’s light bathed the beach in a gentle glow, illuminating the quiet understanding between you. Riki’s honesty and openness resonated deeply, and you felt a sense of connection that was both comforting and profound.

He shifted slightly, moving closer to you until your shoulders almost touched. The warmth of his body next to yours was a silent reassurance, a wordless promise of support. “You’re really something, you know that?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you turned to look at him, finding his gaze already on you. “I could say the same about you,” you replied, feeling the intimacy of the moment deepen.

Riki’s eyes held a mixture of vulnerability and strength, a silent testament to the pain he carried and the bravery it took to admit it. He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against yours as he spoke. “It’s just... sometimes the memories are too painful. But being here with you, it makes it a little easier to bare.”

You felt a surge of tenderness for him, your heart aching at the thought of the hurt he’d endured. “I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready.”

He nodded, his eyes glistening with unspoken emotion. “Thank you. It’s... it’s a lot, but knowing I have someone who understands means everything.”

The waves whispered their secrets to the shore, and the moon shone down, wrapping you both in its gentle embrace. The moment was filled with quiet revelations and tender support, a reminder that sometimes, the simple act of being present could be the greatest comfort of all.

As the night continued, you returned to your painting, the brush gliding smoothly across the canvas. Riki watched you with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with admiration and something more—a tenderness that was growing stronger with each passing moment.

Unbeknownst to both of you, the moonlight was beginning to take effect, subtly enhancing the emotions between you. Every glance exchanged, every soft touch, carried a deeper meaning, an unspoken promise of what could be.

You finished your painting, setting the brush down and turning to Riki. He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Come on,” he said softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Let’s take a break.”

He led you to the water’s edge, where the waves gently lapped at the shore. The cool water splashed over your feet, sending a delightful shiver up your spine. Riki laughter filled the air, infectious and free, and you couldn’t help but join in.

You ran along the shoreline, the waves chasing after you, and for a moment, all your worries melted away. Riki caught up to you, grabbing your hand and spinning you around, both of you laughing as you stumbled into the shallow waves.

The moonlight danced on the water, casting a magical glow over everything. You splashed each other, the cool water mingling with the warmth of your laughter. Riki’s hand never left yours, his grip firm yet gentle, grounding you in the moment.

At one point, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as the waves rolled in. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you under the moon’s tender gaze. You looked up at him, your heart swelling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name but felt deeply in your soul.

“Riki,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the ocean.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I know,” he replied softly, his breath mingling with yours. “I feel it too.”

The moonlight seemed to intensify, casting a silver halo around you both. The moment stretched, filled with unspoken words and shared feelings. Then, with a gentle tug, Riki led you back to the shore, where you sat together, the waves gently lapping at your feet.

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling his warmth seep into you. The night was filled with love-filled glances and quiet intimacy, a perfect blend of comfort and connection. The magic of the moon had done its work, weaving a spell of closeness that would linger long after the night had ended.

You both sat in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop. Riki’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your hand, his touch sending a pleasant shiver through you. He seemed lost in thought, and you didn’t want to disturb the quiet peace that had settled over you both.

But then, as if needing to break the silence, he spoke again, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever fully heal from what happened. It’s like a part of me is still stuck in that moment.”

You turned to him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. “Healing takes time, Riki. And it’s okay to feel that way. Just remember, you don’t have to face it alone.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I do. Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here. And if you’re not ready, that’s okay too.”

Riki’s gaze softened, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

The intimacy of the moment deepened, the air around you thick with unspoken emotions. Riki’s fingers continued to trace gentle patterns on your hand, each touch sending a warm, tingling sensation through you. You could feel the connection between you growing stronger, the bond solidifying in a way that felt both natural and profound.

As the night wore on, the two of you shared stories, laughter, and moments of comfortable silence. You found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing parts of yourself you usually kept hidden. Riki listened with genuine interest, his responses thoughtful and kind.

Eventually, the lure of the waves became irresistible again, and you found yourselves splashing through the shallows, once again, laughing and playing like children. Riki’s laughter was infectious, his joy a balm to your soul. You chased each other through the surf, the cool water a delightful contrast to the warmth of your growing affection.

At one point, Riki caught you around the waist, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You laughed, the sound pure and free, your heart swelling with happiness. He set you down gently, his arms still wrapped around you as the waves hit your ankles.

The moonlight bathed you both in its gentle glow, casting a magical light over the scene. Riki’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “For everything.”

You smiled, your heart full. “I should be the one thanking you. This has been... amazing.”

Riki’s eyes held a promise, a silent vow of what could be. “Let’s make a pact,” he said softly. “No more hiding. From the moon, from each other, from ourselves.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of hope and determination. “Deal.”

The night continued, filled with love-filled glances, quiet intimacy, and the gentle lapping of the waves. The magic of the moon had woven a spell of connection and understanding, one that would linger long after the festival lights had faded. As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you knew that this night would be a cherished memory, a moment of pure, unadulterated connection.

And as Riki‘s hand found yours once more, you knew that even if you had met only nights before, for some reason you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

✩

TAGLIST: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz @enha-stars @dioll @jakesangel @cupidscourt @violetwitchmcu @haohaoshoe @randomgirl02228 @wonsdoll @powerpuffstuts @flwrstqr @elysianiki — send an ask to join.

#kairoot #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #niki enhypen #enhypen niki #nishimura riki #niki x reader #niki fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction #𝒮𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑑，ℳ𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛 ⊹ ₊˚

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universefcb · 1 month ago

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My favorite screen

Pairing: Pau Cubarsí X fem!reader

Summary: You're trying out some new paints, but Pau decides to get in your way in a cute and beautifully annoying way.

Warning: Mention of Reader, fluff.

Author's note: He is dating, I am so happy that he has found someone who loves him and who he loves.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

Soft afternoon light streamed through the windows of the small makeshift studio she had set up in the corner of the room. The smell of fresh paint mixed with a faint scent of lavender hung in the air, cozy and creative. She was concentrating, brush in hand, her eyes focused on the small patches of color she was testing on a blank canvas—they were samples of the new paints she had bought that morning, all with poetic and unnecessarily romantic names: “Wild Twilight,” “Cloud Dream,” “Silent Blue.”

I was happy. There, in silence, with only an instrumental playlist playing in the background and my thoughts flowing freely.

At least… until the apartment door opened.

“Hi, my life!” Pau’s voice sounded excited, almost sing-song, as it always did when he arrived and saw her from behind, wrapped up in her own creative world. “What are you up to now?”

She didn't turn around, she just smiled as she heard the familiar sound of the key being thrown on the table in the entrance, the clumsy steps of the sneakers he never took off properly and the way he always hit his knee on some corner.

“Trying out the new paints. I bought some beautiful colors today,” she replied, still focused on the canvas. “But if you touch anything this time, Pau, I swear I won’t let you in here again wearing a white shirt.”

“But this is my house too,” he replied in a mock-offended tone, before appearing behind her and resting his chin lightly on her shoulder. “And you love it when I get close to your paints. You get that cute angry look on your face.”

She rolled her eyes, but bit her lip to hide her smile.

“Cute? I look terrified when you decide to put your ink-stained finger on my cheek.”

“You look beautiful covered in paint,” he murmured, his voice low, before kissing her shoulder, right there, over the thin strap of her blouse.

She tried to hold her ground, but laughter escaped.

"No longer…"

“What? I’m just admiring my favorite artist.” He walked around her and sat on the floor, cross-legged, as if he were a spectator in a museum. “Paint it, go on. I want to see how you mix that blue with that green. It looks like the sky of Catalonia in the morning.”

She crouched down a little, picked up a bottle and began to stir the paint in silence… until she felt a cold, blue-stained finger touching her cheek.

“DICK!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “I knew it! You can’t go five minutes without wanting to provoke!”

He burst out laughing, lying down on the carpet as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

“You look just like a Smurf!” he said, pointing to her cheek. “Oh, I needed that after training today.”

“I’m going to kill you,” he threatened, picking up the dirtiest brush and going after him.

“No! Wait, I was joking!” He jumped up, slipping a little, and dodged her across the room. “Honey, my white shirt!”

“Now do you care?'

She reached out and pressed the brush right against his neck. His laughter died away in a surprised gasp.

“Ouch… it’s cold,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on her now. “And now you look… really cute.”

She held back her laughter, her brush still pointed at him. Their breathing was a little quickened by the silly chase, and there was something warm in the silence that formed.

“You irritate me so much,” she whispered, her voice low now.

“But you love me,” he added, approaching slowly, taking her hand that held the paintbrush. “And I love that… when you get angry, when you’re painting, even when you’re all dirty with blue. Especially then.”

She smiled, defeated.

“You are so silly, Cubarsí.”

“Your favorite little fool,” he said, before kissing her lightly, slowly, with that way that only he knew how: as if he had all the time in the world to stay there, with her, in the middle of the paints, the laughter, the peace.

When they walked away, he looked around and muttered:

“Now can we paint something together? I promise to behave. More or less.”

She looked at the dirty brush in his hand, at the stained carpet, at her own blue cheek, and sighed.

“Okay. But you’ll help me clean up afterward.”

“Deal,” he replied, planting a soft kiss on her nose. “But only if you let me paint your entire arm afterwards. I want to get a temporary tattoo of a heart with your initials.”

“Then I’m really going to kick you out of the apartment.”

They laughed together, and in the end, they ended up painting each other more than the canvas.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @merinottt @htpssgavi @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

#barcelonafanfic #fc barcelona #universefcb #football imagine #pau cubarsi imagine #pau cubarsi #pau cubarsi x femeni!reader #pau cubarsí x reader #football x y/n #football x reader #pau cubarsí masterlist #pau cubarsi x you #pau cubarsi x reader #pau cubarsí #pau cubarsí x y/n #pau cubarsí x you #pau cubarsí imagine #football x oc #football

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cardansriddle · 1 year ago

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Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.

Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).

A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little <3

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.

The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him.

Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour.

The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside.

He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.

"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.

It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.

She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.

He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."

"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.

"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet—

It was her perfume, he realised with a start.

He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it.

He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle.

Muggle.

He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind.

The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.

She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.

His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left.

The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer.

The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.

“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”

“Black coffee,” he replied curtly

She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.

“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised."

He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this."

Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"

His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.

But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."

She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine."

"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers.

The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to.

Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book.

He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done."

He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped.

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something.

Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He returned the next day.

She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up.

Tom placed the book on the counter.

"You finished it in one day?"

He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader."

She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"

He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.

"Why do you read it so often?"

"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."

He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat.

"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality."

Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum."

She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."

He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."

Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."

Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse."

He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse."

"But—"

"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.

Yes.

"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."

He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say.

He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Two weeks passed with no sign of him.

And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface.

She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee.

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September.

When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin.

"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"

"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."

"Do you study in a boarding school?"

Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."

"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened.

"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.

"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."

He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze.

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.

She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?

"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind.

But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her.

And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).

He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed.

But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.

Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.

He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.

Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink.

It was maddening.

She was maddening.

He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)

As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.

An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.

She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination.

Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?

It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.

“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there.

“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling.

While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.

He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration.

“It’s five minutes until closing time.”

She would not be swayed so easily then.

Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses.

The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.

“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.”

“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?

“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.”

“I do not think—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”

Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”

“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”

She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.”

Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf.

Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.”

Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster.

As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.

She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk."

Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed.

"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.

She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."

"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."

She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances."

An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.

"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.

She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."

"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.

"Yes!"

"Fuck your apology."

Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.

Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like.

Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer.

She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her.

As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see.

He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.

"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat.

"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them.

"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight.

She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to.

He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."

She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.

No going back.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

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vanteguccir · 11 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤONLY GIRL (IN THE WORLD) * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Chris takes Y/N for his trip to Las Vegas with his brothers, and in the middle of neon lights and late-night walks, Chris’s and Y/N get lost in love and lust.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　SMUT (mdni), p in v, mentions of squirt, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, slight praise kink, petnames.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The neon lights of Las Vegas flickered in a dazzling display, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the crowded streets. The air was electric, buzzing with excitement and anticipation as the city came alive with the night. Y/N stood at the edge of the crowd, her hand securely entwined with Chris’s. She felt a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins. Tonight was their night, a night to explore, to be free in the city where they always dreamed of knowing.

Chris looked over at her, his blue eyes sparkling with the same excitement she felt. His smile was wide and genuine, the kind of smile that made her heart flutter every time. He squeezed her hand gently, pulling her closer as they navigated through the throngs of people, his thumb caressing her soft skin gently.

"Ready for an adventure, babe?" The boy asked loudly, trying to make his voice stand out among the diverse sounds that echoed from all corners, his tone filled with playful mischief.

"Always." Y/N replied warmly, knowing that Chris loved to repeat that same sentence every time they were about to do a new thing, her own smile matching his. She felt a rush of warmth at his touch, the familiar comfort of his presence making her feel invincible.

Freemont Street was a sensory overload in the best possible way. Street performers dazzled with their acrobatics and fire tricks, while musicians filled the air with lively tunes. The aroma of street food wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of excitement and possibility. Above them, the LED canopy displayed an ever-changing array of lights and images, turning the night sky into a living canvas.

Chris guided her towards a small food stall, the enticing smell of fresh funnel cakes drawing them in.

"Are you hungry, babe? We haven't eaten anything since lunch." He asked softly, his eyes running over the displayed menu before turning back to Y/N, his gaze twinkling with delight.

"Oh yes, please. I'm starving." Y/N laughed, nodding eagerly, tilting her head so she could look at him, tugging lightly on his hand, indicating that she wanted him to order.

It was always like that with them, Y/N didn't like to order in restaurants or cafeterias, always feeling too shy to do so, and when she was with Chris, it was as if he automatically assumed that position.

The brunette ordered a large funnel cake, piled high with powdered sugar and strawberries, his large hand cutting it in half and giving her her piece, watching with amusement as she took the first bite, the sugar dusting her painted lips in an adorably way.

A nasal laugh scaped him as he reached out, gently brushing the sugar away with his thumb, his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

"You’ve got a little something…" He teased, his voice soft accompanied by a smirk decorating the corner of his lips.

Y/N blushed, her heart racing at the intimacy of the moment, holding herself back so as not to pull his hand back and plant thousands of little kisses on the milky skin.

"Thank you, baby." She murmured, feeling a warm glow spread through her chest, little tingles running through her body while their eyes stayed connected for long seconds.

As they wandered further down Freemont Street, they came across a street performer dressed as Elvis, belting out classic rock and roll tunes. A loud gasp scaped Chris's lips, his eyes widening with a mischievous glint. The boy stopped his steps abruptly, causing Y/N to stop hers as well, her eyes meeting his with a thread of confusion passing through her pupils.

"Care to dance, pretty girl?" He suggested, holding out his free hand, smiling widely while sending a wink her way.

Y/N giggled, feeling a rush of excitement, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Why not?"

A small cry of happiness escaped Chris's lips in celebration before his hands grabbed Y/N's, pulling her close. They joined the small crowd of people dancing to the music, their movements light and carefree.

Chris spun her around, Y/N's slightly swirled dress following the movement smoothly like a protagonist, their laughter infectious as they moved together in perfect harmony. Y/N felt a surge of happiness, the world around them fading away as they lost themselves in the music and each other.

After their impromptu dance session, they continued their exploration, stopping to watch a group of street artists creating intricate chalk drawings on the pavement. The artists worked with swift, confident strokes, transforming the plain concrete into vibrant masterpieces.

Chris pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist before resting his chin above her head.

"This is amazing." He muttered, his voice filled with awe.

Y/N nodded, resting her back against his chest, her hand finding his that rested on her waist, her fingers decorated with delicate rings snaking between his long ones until they intertwined perfectly.

"It really is. I love how alive everything feels here." Her voice sounded airy, amazed.

They stood there for a while, simply enjoying the atmosphere and each other’s company. The energy of Freemont Street was infectious, filling them with a sense of wonder and joy.

As the night wore on, they found themselves at a small outdoor bar, its neon sign flickering invitingly. They ordered some sodas, finding a cozy corner where they could sit side by side and watch the world go by.

Chris sat relaxed on the comfortable chair, his left arm resting on the surface of the table, next to his Pepsi, while his right one draped casually over Y/N’s shoulders, the tips of his fingers caressing the slightly exposed skin of her arm softly.

"You know..." He began, his voice thoughtful while his eyes remained on the unknown people randomly passing by a few meters away from them. "I’ve always wanted to come here with you, to get to know this city with you. There’s something magical about this place, and I really wanted to share it with you."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes big and shining like little starts and her heart swelling with love.

"Let's thank Justin right now then." She joked, her tone sounding amused before a laugh escaped her lips, joined by her boyfriend. "I've always wanted to visit Las Vegas too, you know? And I'm so grateful for you because you made it happen."

Chris smiled, his eyes softening in a way that, if it was possible, his pupils would take on little heart shapes.

"You make everything perfect, Y/N. I’m so lucky to have you."

Y/N felt tears of happiness prick at the corners of her eyes, moving her body so that she was closer to him comfortably, craving for his warm.

"I’m the lucky one." She whispered, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, her fingers caressing his cheeks softly. "I love you, Chris."

"I love you too, pretty girl." The boy replied, his voice full of the best emotions. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender, heartfelt kiss.

The world around them seemed to fade away as they kissed, the noise and lights of Freemont Street becoming a distant backdrop to their own little world. It was just them, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing a moment of pure, unadulterated love.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Chris rested his forehead against hers.

"I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here with you." Chris whispered, the warm breath that followed his words lightly hitting Y/N's face. "You make me so soft for you, I don't even recognize myself sometimes." He joked, smiling after hearing the laugh scaping Y/N's lips.

"It's a love potion that I pour into your Pepsi every day."

They sat there for a while longer, talking and laughing, basking in the glow of their love and the magic of the night.

As the crowd began to thin and the lights of Freemont Street started to dim, they knew it was almost time to head back. But they didn’t mind.

It was past 1 AM when Chris and Y/N finally decided to leave the street. The energy of the night still buzzed in the air around them as they began their walk back to the hotel. The neon lights coming from the buildings of the city glowed brightly, casting a surreal luminescence over everything. The streets were quieter now, the crowds having thinned but still alive with the hum of Vegas nightlife.

Hand in hand, they strolled leisurely, not wanting the night to end. They passed late-night diners, open-air bars, and the occasional street performer still plying their trade. The warm desert breeze carried the faint sounds of laughter and music, a fitting backdrop to their moment.

"Do you think it’s always like this?" Y/N asked, her voice filled with wonder while her eyes traveled to every corner. "So vibrant and alive?"

"I think it is. They don't call here the city that never sleeps for nothing, right?" Chris chuckled, squeezing her hand before bringing her closer.

"I love it!" Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with happiness.

They continued their walk, commenting about something they saw, Chris constantly bringing some little facts about those same things. Every now and then, they’d pause to take in a particularly stunning view or to watch a street performer.

When they finally reached their hotel, they entered the lobby, still laughing and talking, Chris excitedly reminiscing about certain moments as he guided Y/N carefully by her hand, their fingers never separating. The staff greeted them with warm smiles, and they exchanged friendly hellos. The lobby was quiet, a stark contrast to the lively streets outside, but it felt like a serene haven.

Chris and Y/N stepped into the elevator, the doors closing them into a private world.

As it ascended, they stood close, Chris’s arm around her waist firmly, his fingers playing with the little strings from her dress. Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, a soft sigh of contentment escaping her lips.

Their room welcomed them with its cozy ambiance. Y/N immediately making her way to the large mirror near the entrance, starting to remove her jewelry.

"Tonight was incredible, Chris. The lights, the music, the people… everything was just so magical. I’ve never experienced anything like it." She spoke excitedly, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet room

Chris watched her a few steps away while taking off his shoes, his eyes filled with adoration. He approached her from behind after feeling comfortable enough, his hands working on gently moving her loose hair to one side. The boy lowered his head slightly, pressing a tender kiss to her now exposed shoulder, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

"I’m glad you loved it." He whispered, his voice a soft caress against her ears. "I wanted tonight to be special for you, petal."

Y/N smiled, observing him through the reflection while continuing to talk dreamily, lost in her thoughts as she took off her earrings and rings.

Chris’s hands began to roam over her still-clothed body, his touch both tender and possessive, the tips of his fingers like a ghost touch. He kept his eyes on the mirror, watching her reactions intently, his spine curved foward and his chin resting above her shoulder, his lips a few centimeters away from her neck, breathing in her perfume.

His hands slid from her waist to her hips, then back up to her shoulders, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, but she continued to speak, her voice softer now, her eyes slightly unfocused.

"And the way the lights danced across the sky… it was like we were in our own little world." She murmured, her words slowing as Chris’s hands caressed her.

Chris pressed another kiss to her neck, stroking the tip of his nose against the sensitive skin, smiling as he felt the small hairs near his lips stand up with goosebumps, his breath warm against her skin.

"We were." He said softly, his voice sounding seductive and slightly husky. "Just you and me, in our own perfect world, yeah?"

He continued his gentle exploration, his hands moving with deliberate slowness. His eyes never left the mirror, captivated by the sight of her. He loved seeing her like this, so surrendered and relaxed, her guard completely down.

Y/N leaned back into his touch, her voice fading as she closed her eyes, savoring the sensation, little sighs escaping her lips mixing with soft gasps. Chris’s hands traced the outline of her body, his touch growing more intimate, his intentions clear. He wanted to prolong this moment, to make it last as long as possible.

As his hands moved too close to her core, Y/N opened her eyes, meeting his gaze in the mirror. There was a spark of desire in her eyes, mingled with the love and trust she felt for him.

"Chris…" She whispered, her voice a soft plea.

He smiled, his eyes darkening with intensity, seeming to pierce her figure in the mirror reflection.

"I know, sweetheart. Let’s make tonight unforgettable, hm? Let me make you never forget about it."

The room was bathed in a soft, ambient light, the glow of the city outside filtering through the curtains, illuminating their bodies.

"Yes. Please, Chris." She pleaded softly, exhaling.

His hands moved with reverence, tracing the curves of her body through the thin fabric of her dress. Y/N’s heart raced, a mix of anticipation and desire building within her.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her neck.

"You’re so beautiful, you know that?" He whispered, his voice a husky murmur. "I’m the luckiest man in the world to have you."

Y/N felt a surge of emotions, her eyes meeting his in the mirror again. There was a deep, unspoken connection between them, a bond that transcended words. She reached up, placing her hand over his, squeezing gently in silent plead.

Chris’s hands moved to the back of her dress, fingers deftly undoing the zipper too slowly for Y/N's taste. The fabric slipped from her shoulders by itself, the soft texture being pulled down in gravity, pooling at her feet.

He let out a soft sigh of appreciation, his eyes roaming over her bare skin as if it was the first time he was seeing her like that. His mind thanked repeatedly and silently that she wasn't wearing a bra, only her panties in the way of his full vision.

"You’re so fucking perfect." He complimented again, his voice filled with awe. "Every inch of you."

Y/N felt a warm blush rise from her chest to her cheeks, a mix of shyness and excitement. Chris’s words made her feel cherished, like she was the most precious thing in the world. He always did that.

He had that power over her.

Chris braced his hands on either side of her hips, his fingers squeezing the exposed skin possessively before moving, guiding her to the bed, his touch insistent.

They lay down together, Chris’s body covering hers, his weight a comforting presence. He took his time to observe her some more, his flaming blue eyes running over her flushed cheeks and desperate look before finally lowering his head, their mouths meeting in a deep kiss, his lips soft and warm against hers. Y/N responded eagerly, her hands flying to his head, tangling in his messy brown hair, pulling him closer, a soft whimper scaping her throat.

Chris chuckled deeply with her desperation, ignoring it completely, his kisses slow and deliberate, a thread of saliva connecting their lips. He explored every inch of her mouth, savoring the taste of her.

A breathy whine scaped her when Chris caught her bottom lip with his teeth, pulling it gently, nibbling just the right amount, her body arching into his touch. She felt a deep desperation for him, every nerve ending alight with anticipation, begging for his hands, eyes, cock, everything.

His hands roamed her body, each touch a caress that sent sparks of pleasure through her. He moved from her lips to her neck, trailing a line of wet kisses down to her collarbone.

"You’re amazing." He murmured between kisses. "So beautiful, so perfect. So mine, yeah?"

"Y-yes, yours. On-Only yours." The girl stumbled over her words, her throat trying to draw in air that never seemed to be enough for her lungs, her skin burning with desire.

Chris’s hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her hips, squeezing all the skin where it passed, his touch gentle but firm.

His hands found their way to her breasts, cupping them gently, his thumbs brushing over her sensitive nipples, his mouth watering instantly with the feeling of it.

Y/N gasped, her back arching at the sensation of his cold touch against her warm skin, feeling like needles above it. Chris’s touch was electric, sending waves of shivers through her.

He moved lower, his lips following the path his hands had taken, surrounding her nipple of her right tit, his warm tongue caressing the slightly wrinkled skin, sucking with the correct force enough to elicit a loud moan from Y/N along with a squeeze of her thighs around his hip bones, bringing him closer.

"Oh, Chris. 'S so good." She moaned, pushing her chest forward, her tit pressing deliciously against Chris's face, his nose nuzzling the soft skin.

"You’re everything t'me." He whispered after lifting his face, the surrounding of his lips and chin luscious with drool, his eyes half-closed as if he was hypnotized, looking deep inside hers.

He was quick to move to her other breast, his tongue escaping between his lips before even finding her abandoned nipple.

"I need to feel all of you. S'obsessed."

Y/N felt tears of pleasure prick at the corners of her eyes. She felt overstimulating by everything. Chris’s words, his touch, everything about this moment made her feel amazing, like she was the only girl in the world.

Chris continued his slow, deliberate exploration, his hands and lips worshipping her body. He moved lower, kissing his way down her stomach, his touch a constant source of pleasure, his hot tongue in contrast to the cold drool left behind generating incessant goosebumps on her skin. Y/N’s breath came in soft gasps, her body trembling with desire.

When he finally reached her thighs, Chris paused, looking up at her with a question in his eyes. Y/N nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. He always had permission.

Chris smirked, pressing a gentle kiss to her inner thigh before moving higher, his lips repeatedly sealing over the cotton fabric of her panties while his index fingers hooked into the sides of it, starting his movements downwards, dragging the piece of clothing - now wet - across her skin gently and slowly until finally taking it off completely.

The first touch of his tongue against her core sent a jolt of pleasure through her, a soft moan escaping her lips instantly.

Chris took his time as if he was pleasuring himself too - and in a way, he was -, the tip of his tongue caressing her bud of nerve with force, constantly drawing little 8's, interspersing with his lips closing around the skin of her clit and sucking it hard, eliciting loud and pretty sounds from Y/N.

He was attentive, listening to her reactions, adjusting his touch to bring her the most he could. His nose remained pressed to the top of her intimacy, pressing the right spots as he drank her like a thirsty man.

After some minutes of only tasting her, Chris brought his right and free hand to the middle of her tights, his fingers traveling through the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, snaking upwards, lightly pinching the flesh of her ass that was exposed by her position before finding home right below his own chin, touching her core delicately, spreading her folds with his index and middle finger, exposing her most intimate parts to him, his tongue darting out to lap up the wetness that fell from her needy hole.

Y/N’s hands clenched the sheets, her body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over her constantly. Chris’s touch was like magic, and she felt like she was floating above it, lost in a sea of sensation.

"Y' taste so fucking amazing, bunny." Chris's voice came out as a groan as he lifted his face, the collar of his white t-shirt wet with sweat and drool, a trail of saliva running down his chin and neck, and his pants hanging low on his hips, almost begging to be taken off, a large bulge catching the girl's eyes.

"P-Please, babe, take it off. 'Want to see you." Y/N begged, lifting her right leg and pressing her foot onto the waistband of his jeans, pushing it down, the belt preventing the fabric from sliding off.

"Yeah? Y' want to see me, petal? Want to see my dick so fucking hard for you? Hm?" Chris' bottom lip jutted forward, a sarcastic pout decorating his face, his tone of voice seeming to mimic his girl's, earning a whine in return followed by a timid nod of her head, her teared eyes finding his, pleading silently.

He chuckled, shaking his head at her eagerness, his hands leaving her body momentarily and going to his own t-shirt, his knees propped firmly against the mattress and between Y/N's legs, preventing her from closing them completely, her pussy lips still in the same position he left them, wide open and showing her small hole, her walls pathetically clenching around nothing.

His tongue escaped between his lips, wetting them as his eyes fixed on her core, removing the pieces of his clothes from his own body quicker and nimbly this time, eager to taste her again.

The sight of his painfully hard cock slamming against his pelvis was the most beautiful sight for Y/N's eyes, and the slight glow of pre-cum dripping from his swollen head, desperate for relief, made her mouth salivate.

His hands were quick to toss the material of his clothes away before reaching down again, resting his left arm above her inner thigh, caging it open, and pressing the palm of his hand over her belly hard, his digits sinking on her skin.

Chris brought his face closer to her pussy, observing it for a few seconds as if it were a work of art, blowing a light breath of cold air before gathering as much drool as he could into his mouth, spitting it over her clenching hole, watching intently and in awe as his saliva mixed with her wetness, lowering his face and pending his tongue out like a dog, pushing it in with ease, tasting him and her, curling it inside her spongy walls.

He didn't waste time to exchange his tongue for the fingers of his free hand; his tongue moving up from her center to her clit, surrounding it and sucking the nerve just right while his fingertips caress her entrance for a few seconds, teasing her, before finally entering, fingers thrusting inside her warm and welcoming walls, curling upwards to hit that perfect spot.

Y/N cried out almost instantly, her back arching off the bed as the knot in her stomach felt like snapping.

"Ri-Right there, Chris. Oh my G-" Her sentence turned into an almost pornographic moan as Chris's fingers increased its movements, his mouth never leaving her bud, his tongue continuing to flick against the sensitive nerve, pushing her to her first orgasm.

"'Could jus' stay here all day, y'know? 'Was made for my tongue, hm?" His voice sounded muffled and wet against her pussy, echoing through her ears and sending vibrations to her core.

When she finally reached her peak, it was like a dam breaking, waves of pleasure crashing over her. She cried out, her body arching like a cat as she was overwhelmed by the intensity of it, her thighs shaking hard and on their own as her hands twist the sheets between her fingers, pulling them closer to her body.

Chris never stopped his movements, only slowing down, his touch now gentle and soothing, helping her ride out the waves of her orgasm.

When she finally came down from her high, her eyes half-closed and her mouth opened from where little breaths came in and out, Chris moved back up, his lips completely smeared with her wetness tracing small kisses from her chin to her open mouth, kissing her clumsily and messy.

"You’re incredible." He whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I love you so much."

Y/N smiled timidly, her heart filled with satisfaction, love, and gratitude.

"I love you too." She whispered tiredly, her voice a soft murmur.

Chris kissed her again, his touch filled with tenderness before moving away, positioned himself above her, his eyes locking onto hers firmly and steadily.

"Can you give me one more, bunny?" He asked gently, his voice soft.

Y/N nodded without a second thought, her heart racing and her pussy clenching with anticipation.

"Yes... Please. I can take it." She whispered eagerly, her voice filled with longing.

A cocky smile spreads in Chris’s lips, his right hand detaching itself from the mattress, the tips of his fingers snaking across her breasts, belly, and intimacy, stopping on her thighs for a second, caressing her skin momentarily before detaching itself from her.

His fingers were quick to find his dick, rounding his hand around it, his thumb gathering the small drops of precum, running it down his length and spreading the wetness through his bulging veins, pumping it a few times, a hiss scaping through his clenched teeth with the sensation, his eyes rolling with his own sensitivity.

He exhaled, finally guiding his cock close to her pussy, his blue eyes traveling to her face momentarily, a convinced gaze taking over his expression as he noticed her head slightly popped up, her eyes watching all of his movements in awe, her bottom lip caught firmly between her teeth.

"Y my freaky girl, huh? Watching me burry my cock inside y'delicious pussy, yeah?" He lightly tapped his swollen, pink head against her clit three times, eliciting eager whines from his girl before finally aligning himself to her needy hole, pressing skin to skin, entering her slowly, his movements gentle and controlled.

Y/N gasped instantly, her chest arching to meet his, the sensation of him filling her a perfect blend of pleasure and intimacy. Chris exhaled as he felt his pelvis touch the upper part of Y/N's cunt, momentarily savoring the sensation of having his dick trapped between tight and warm walls, his favorite place.

Meanwhile, the girl below him was sucking in air through her half open mouth, her jaw slack and her eyes rolling to the back of her head, her eyelashes fluttering against her pink cheeks, feeling the way his thick cock seemed to stretch her open so easily.

Chris took a deep breath, pulling his hips back so that his cock came out all the way, only his head remaining inside her, before pushing forward again, using every muscle in his thighs and abdomen to fuck his dick up into his girl, leaving her a wilting, blubbering mess.

Tremblers run through Y/N's body with the way he moved, making her feel empty every time he pulled out, her pussy sucking him in again eagerly.

"Goddamn, angel." Chris grits, sucking his teeth in an attempt to keep his concentration on her. "Shit, you feel so fucking good. 'S it good? Y'know you ca-can stop me if you need to."

"Ye-yeah." Y/N managed to let it out amid moans and gasps, her hands leaving the sheets and flying to Chris's back, her digits sinking between the rolls that his shoulders and back created with each movement, squeezing and pushing so that their bodies became closer and closer.

"Attagirl."

They moved together in perfect harmony, their bodies entwined in a rhythmic dance. Chris’s touch was gentle but rough, his movements deliberate, each one designed to bring her the most of each feeling.

Y/N felt like she was floating. She clung to Chris desperately, as if she could fall at any instant, her whimpers sounding shuddered, in tune with his fast thrusts and the wet, lewd cacophony of their bodies connecting.

She felt stimulated in so many places. Her nipples pressed up to his chest, clit being rubbed by his pubic bone, and his fucking cock fucking her so good.

Chris lowered his head to the valley between her breasts, laying on his side so that his lips hugged the skin of her right tit, sucking and nibbling as she clutched onto his scalp. Nails scratching at his neck, shoulders, and chest until she feels her orgasm coming up on her once more.

And he feels it, too. Mouth opening and eyebrows twisting at the way her pretty and hungry cunt clench around him. The way her body draws him in, treats him right.

Chris is an obsessed son of a bitch for that feeling, he can never seem to last all that long when it comes to his girl.

"Fucking fantastic, bunny, God-" He pants against Y/N's hot, sweaty skin, his free hand reaching down and finding the back of her thigh, pulling it up and pressing it against her own stomach, making more way for himself. "Gonna make me cum so fast, yeah? All f'you."

Y/N can only nod her head, unable to utter any words other than loud moans, a scream escaping her throat as she feels Chris' cock press into her G-spot, stroking that spongy flesh repeatedly, feeling him in places she couldn’t before until she see stars and have to physically fight the urge to cum.

"No, princess, don't hold back. Cum for me, yeah? Let me- ugh- 'lemme feel you."

And she does. The low, graveled instruction goes straight to her cunt and, even if she wants to hold a little more, she cum hard, denching his cock, his thighs, her own thighs and the whole sheets. She trembles like never before, her nails pressing into his neck, his shoulders, his back, everywhere, leaving nail trails behind, until the euphoria subsides and she goes limp, letting him use her however he wants.

"There, angel." Chris praises, large hand rubbing up and down her thighs, squeezing the warm skin. "Love the way you cum for me, y'so good at that. S’fucking heaven."

His movements increased drastically in seconds, his cock moving in and out of her swollen and red pussy repeatedly, the wet sound intensifying and echoing through the four walls, and as it increased, it also began to run out of rhythm, his instinct just chasing him own orgasm.

"Cum for me, baby. Please." Her small voice, post orgasm tone, and sounding so tired and hoarse was the snap for him.

"Fuck fuck fuck- make me cum, princ-" It was the last thing Chris could say before his words became incoherent and accompanied by moans and gasps, his hand squeezing Y/N's thigh with such force that he was sure his palm would remain drawn there.

Hot, wet jets of cum flooded Y/N's insides, painting her walls like abstract art. The girl was quick to hook her free leg around Chris's hip, pushing his ass forward and against her own body so that he stopped his movements and sank in as deep as before, a small moan escaping her lips followed by one last groan from Chris.

His left arm lost its strength and his body fell onto Y/N's, squeezing her breasts against his own chest and laying his head in the crook of her neck, exhaling the scent of post-sex and sweaty perfume that emanated from her skin.

They lay there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, sweaty bodies still connected, their chopped breaths mingling in the now quiet of the room. Y/N felt a deep sense of contentment, her heart filled with love. Chris was everything to her, and in this moment, she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

"I love you, baby. So much." Chris pressed a gentle kiss to her jaw, his voice a soft murmur in the darkness.

"I love you much more." Y/N smiled tiredly, her chest heaving against his. "We should buy a house here." She echoed after a few minutes of silence.

Chris chuckled against her ear, shaking his head slightly, the strands of his messy brown hair spilling over the side of her face and neck with his movement.

"Anything for you, pretty girl."

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akanemnon · 2 months ago

Note

Hey you probably won't have an answer to this that I *couldnt* just look up, but since I have the option to ask you, it couldn't hurt:

Do you have any tips on actually making a comic if you've never done it before? Specifically more technical things like panel layout and canvas size (too big and nothing gets done, too small and nothing looks good).

Sorry if you aren't the best person to ask for this (from what i know twin runes is actually your first comic) but it's just something that I've been thinking about recently.

Twin Runes IS my first comic, so everything I do is very much trial and error. I'm not even sure if what I'm doing is correct. Maybe ACTUAL comic artists want me dead for my methods. Who knows?

Canvas size does depend on the numer of panels I'm working with. I typically go for a DPI of 300, but in some cases 600 is recommended. Or at least so I've heard. The more DPI, the bigger the canvas and the more details you can put in there. Your file will automatically turn out heavier though. Once I'm done I DO shrink down the whole canvas by one size. That's my method and I work decently well with it. I personally like to work on large canvases, because it does give me more control over what I want to do. I hate cramming things into tight spaces that don't make them easily readable to the reader. Keep in mind though that large images make art theft a lot more tempting for people. In a lot of cases your comic will end up on reddit, pinterest, or whatever corner of the internet without you knowing about it. Remember to put your signature in there somehow.

I can't talk much about panel sizes, since the mainline comic features the same size of panels. While in normal comics they're typically structured in a way to aid your reading flow, or to invoke certain emotions (especially during action scenes).

I DO recomend asking an ACTUAL comic artist though. Or at least someone who knows what they're doing, or has at least studied it more than I have. I'm not a professional in the sense that I went to art college, nor do I work in the industry. Everything you see me do is self-taught.

#ask akane #twin runes #art talk

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writteninerised · 1 year ago

Text

Made of stone — Joel Miller

Summary | You were held captive and Joel kills his way to you. But seeing how ruthless he is, you run. Do you think he’s going to let you go so easily? He can’t handle losing you again.

Pairing | Joel Miller x reader

Warning & Info | Sorry, no smut this time. I’m in my softie mindset. This is very much a hurt/comfort fic. But, if you like tension, soft (yet ruthless) Joel, desperate for you Joel then you’ll enjoy it. There is talk about being held captive and handcuffs while being restrained, but that’s about it. (no use of yn)

Word count | 2.5K

With each blow of knuckles hitting skull, you flinch. Blood spews on the ground like paint on a canvas. Time seems to slow and you have to force yourself to focus on the small sounds coming from him. The grunts and sharp breath against teeth. Reminding yourself that it’s him, it’s only Joel.

Joel Miller is a killer. A murder. And to some, a monster. But he touches you like he’s picking a flower even though he just killed with those same hands.

The sound of a limp body thuds on the ground, dirt shooting up from the ground and then slowly falling like snow. From the distance where you’re chained up, you think the guy is dead but a low groan escapes his lips. Joel slowly tilts his head, looking down at him and uses the back of his hand to wipe his lips where he was hit when the fight broke out. There is so much blood on his knuckles that it only smears red on his face.

Joel’s dark eyes meet yours and you can’t help the sharp inhale of breath that you suck in. He steps over the body on the ground making his way to you.

“Are you hurt?” He says breathlessly as he kneels down on one knee, resting his bloody hand overtop. He flexes it, clear that it hurts.

You can’t seem to form words after seeing how ruthless he is. How easy it was for him to take on not one, but multiple men at the same time.

He reaches out and you flinch. You can’t help it. He arches a brow as he freezes his hand.

“Did he hurt you?” He lifts your chin to scan his eyes over you, as if your words wouldn’t be enough anyway.

The limp mangled body in the corner of your eye, begging you to take another look. Come on, just look at what he does. This is who Joel is. This is what he can do.

“He’s dead.” It comes out as a statement, but you meant it as a question.

Joel doesn’t answer as he helps you to your feet. Your legs wobble due to the lack of strength in your body. His strong arm wraps around your waist as he looks down at you.

“Do I need to inspect you myself or are you going to answer me?” Joel says with a tick of his jaw, clearly growing impatient.

You step back, adrenaline coursing through your veins, making your bones buzz. The rough bark of the tree scrapes against your skin as you press yourself against it.

Joel drops his head back, takes a deep breath, and flexes his hand again. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says with a groan, then turns around.

His boots crack twigs before his fists crack bone. He’s immediately kneeling over the last semi-conscious man in the group. You should be happy, seeing your captors get what they deserve for hurting you and their vile plans. But you only feel fear. Joel has never hurt you before, but witnessing his true capabilities now, your mind sends urgent warning signals to stay cautious.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion of the last few days or the sight of Joel knocking the life out of the man before you, but you turn and run like a coward.

You don’t look back as you dart into the dark woods. Your hands are still cuffed, and if there’s one thing you’re thankful for tonight, it’s that they didn’t restrain your feet.

The adrenaline pushes you deeper into the woods, far enough where you can no longer hear Joel’s fists and his heavy breathing.

The moon guides your way, a path you have no idea where it leads but you don’t care.

Your heart jumps at the sound of movement within the woods. Or was it behind you? You keep moving, not once turning back. There are animals out here, that’s all it is. There isn’t a doubt in your mind that it’s the infected since you haven’t seen any in days.

Then you hear it. Your name in the distance, from behind you. Your heart starts racing and you keep running.

A loud crack of branches have you turning your head behind you, and there he is. Joel is gaining on you. Even in the dark you can see his angry face.

He's not even running, it’s a brisk walk and a reminder that you’re obviously weak which is slowing you down.

Fuck.

Your chest is burning, but you push yourself harder. You can still hear him behind you. His breathing is getting closer.

You duck under a low hanging branch, causing you to slow even more. The leaves on the ground crunch with his every step. He’s coming. He’s so close behind you. Tears prick your eyes at the way you’re gasping for air.

He won’t hurt you. He won’t hurt you. He won’t hur—

A sharp pain erupts from your ankle as you trip over a fallen tree and stumble down.

No. No. No.

Before you can even gather yourself to get up, a heavy hand flips you onto your back. Joel hovers over you, staring down at you with the darkest eyes. The only sound within these woods were both of your heavy breathing.

You would move, if you could. But his body pins you to the cold hard ground.

“Let me go.” You say through your gritted teeth.

Both of your heavy breathing sync up, and you can feel his chest moving with yours.

“No.” He lowers his head closer to your face and says slowly, “Don’t ever run from me again.” Panicked flashing in his eyes for a split second, but it’s gone too quick for you to register it.

You thrash under his weight and he stays unmoving. It’s only making you more tired, trying to fight him off. It makes you even more angry at the way he’s so calm and unfazed by your efforts to break from his grasp.

He just killed a group of men and holding you down is a way for him to catch his breath from all the walking to catch you.

“Or what?” you ask breathlessly, eyes narrowed with defiance as you stare at him.

Something softens the hard edges of his face as he looks down at you, as if your words have triggered something inside him. His voice comes out low and soft, nearly a whisper. “Do you think I’d hurt you?”

Your bottom lip begins to tremble, words failing to form. You hold each other’s gaze, the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, causing some to fall and spiral down, showering over you both.

He finds his answer in your silence and gently lowers his forehead to yours. You shift your head away, confusion and pain swirling inside you. His nose brushes against your hair near your ear. You faintly hear him inhale deeply, and his exhale is shaky. He whispers your name softly before shaking off his emotion and gently bringing you to your feet.

Whatever he was going to say remains hidden behind his glassy eyes, which avert from yours as soon as you are steady on your feet.

He grabs your hands and inserts a key into your handcuffs, unlocking them. They fall to the ground, allowing you to finally take a full breath. You nearly wobble without his support as he steps back.

“Go ahead,” he says, standing before you with one hand stretched out towards the empty woods, his jaw tight.

He’s letting you go. But is this what you want? Everything feels fuzzy and unclear. These last few days have messed you up, leaving your stomach in knots and your eyes brimming with tears.

You don’t move as you hold his gaze. “Where were you?” you ask, your voice slipping out. His brows knit together in confusion. You continue, “I waited for you to come.”

His hand drops. “I came, what do—”

Your voice grows louder but remains shaky. “How long was I gone?”

His jaw tenses. “Two days.”

You nod, swallowing the hard knot in your throat. “You promised.” Your voice breaks, and Joel flinches at the sound.

“Do you think I would have let them take you if I was there?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Fucking Garrett. I would have killed him myself if they hadn’t already done it.” Joel’s voice is filled with anger as he rubs the back of his neck, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as if in pain.

Your eyes flick up to Joel at the name on his lips. Garrett was part of the crew that you and Joel traveled with. He wasn’t the nicest guy, but he was trustworthy. He followed Joel from Texas to Boston with a few other group members. Whenever Joel had to make a run or confront others over goods, he would leave Garrett in charge, ensuring the group members were protected—one of them being you. But he didn’t protect you enough, as your campsite was raided and you were taken with such ease while Joel was gone.

Maybe it’s delusional to believe the promises Joel whispered under the stars, but you feel so scared and violated that your only hope was Joel. You held onto his words, and regardless of him coming to save you, it wasn’t soon enough. You trusted him so deeply, believing he would somehow feel your danger in his bones and teleport back to you. It was foolish, and deep down you know that, but confusion and fear clouds your mind.

“I thought you were…” Joel pauses, then clears his throat. “Dead.”

His words nearly snap you back to reality, finally allowing you to see the effects of this ordeal on him. You know you mean something to him, but the way his breath trembles and his eyes soften when they meet yours almost convinces you there might be more. But he’s Joel Miller; his heart is made of stone.

Right?

"It wasn't just two days, it was fucking eternity. It was hell not knowing where you were or if you were okay. ”

You drop your gaze. His firm hands grasp your shoulders, forcing you to meet his eyes again. He looks like he's about to say something, but takes a few breaths before continuing.

"I would never hurt you. Do you understand?" You nod at his words. "But I will not only hurt those that touch you, I will kill them. Slowly, and I will fucking enjoy it.

So, I'm sorry it took me two days to get to you, but I selfishly took my time with them. Made sure they suffered." His hand brushes your cheek softly, and this time, you don't flinch.

Your eyes close at his touch, a tear falling. His lips press against your cheek, catching the tear with his kiss. You fling your arms around him, and his hands, still stained with blood, wrap around your waist.

"You should have come to me sooner, instead of letting your anger get the best of you," You cry softly into his chest.

"I know," he says as one of his hands strokes your hair. "I am here now."

As if all the adrenaline drains from your body at the sound of his words, you feel so weak that your legs give out. Joel catches you before you hit the ground, his tight grasp steadying you. You mutter some apologies, but he doesn’t acknowledge them as he scoops you up into his arms. Your arms stay wrapped around his neck, and you bury your face in his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he says as he walks through the woods. His thumb lightly brushes against your shoulder as he holds you tightly. He is so soft with you, gentle and caring.

Caring. He cares, and you see that now. Maybe his heart wasn’t made of stone, or maybe you broke the cast.

You are so relieved to see his truck parked between a group of trees, but almost empty the moment he places you into the seat and lets go to close the car door. You stop him by reaching out and grabbing his hand. He looks down at your hand and wraps his fingers around it. Lowering himself, he holds onto the roof of the truck to steady himself as he comes face to face with you.

“You’re safe now.”

His words soothe you, and you breathe a little lighter. The hand he has on the roof of the truck lowers to cup your cheek. His eyes roam over your face, and he parts his lips to say something, but doesn’t. He only brushes your hair behind your ear before dropping his hand. But you grab it, bringing it back to your cheek.

“It’s okay,” you say, almost too softly to hear.

You can almost see his body relax, as if he was too nervous to continue touching you. With your consent, he nearly knocks you back against the truck’s bench seat as he pulls you into his arms. His breathing speeds up as his hands wrap around you, desperately searching for the perfect hold to keep you close. It stuns you for a moment, the desperation in his embrace.

At first, you were only focused on how all this made you feel, and it’s only now that you realize he felt like he lost you. This is the first moment he’s able to relax, knowing you’re safe with him.

Your arms wrap around him, one hand threading through his hair as his head drops into the crook of your neck. Joel doesn’t cry—at least, you’ve never seen him emotional—but the way his breathing feels uneven against your neck has you hugging him tighter.

Your name spills out from his lips and over your skin like a feather. “Tell me you’re okay.” His arms tighten a little around you.

“I’m okay.” You say back, heart aching.

He pulls his head back to meet your gaze, his eyes red even in the dim light of the moon peering through the truck's windshield.

"I thought..." His eyes flicker over your face. You both hold each other, his rapid breathing filling the silence. "I can't do that again," he says, letting out a sigh and rubbing his chest.

Your hand rises to rest on his chest, and he slides his hand out from under yours to place it on top. His heart beats against your palm.

"You feel that?" he asks, looking at you. You nod, and he presses your palm more firmly against his chest. "You're fucking killing me."

Before you can even determine what he means by that, he leans in and kisses you. His lips are soft, and you can tell he's holding back. But once you lean into it, he kisses you like he's starved. His hands hold you tightly, moving around as if desperately trying to memorize you with his eyes closed. You melt into his kiss, your hand popping open the button of his shirt.

Fingers dip beneath the fabric, and you place your hand on his bare chest as he continues to kiss you deeply. His hands in your hair and your name on his lips.

There it is. The rapid beat of his heart thumps against your palm.

So, he has one after all. And it’s beating just for you.

— Masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller comfort #joel miller fic

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mejaemin · 5 months ago

Text

unhappy ending - 7dream

wc: 2.2k

summary: 7dream as angst tropes/plotlines (a.k.a. the dreamies as things that make me sad)

warnings: not proofread, extreme angst, hurt/no comfort (mark: cheating, manipulation, toxicity) (renjun: hospitals, depictions of illness and having an unwell appearance) (jeno: depression, depression related habits) (donghyuck: enlistment, death, murder?) (jaemin: this one kinda has comfort? dystopia, implied death, suggestive/after sex) (chenle: a lot of toxicity, being used) (jisung: getting played, heartbreak, ghosting)

an: who let me do this. i am hurting so bad and im the one that wrote it ?!?! this is why i hate angst guys im never doing this again. gonna write the fluffiest of fluff now

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cheating!mark texts you every morning and night, sending sweet messages with the occasional song lyric or spider man quote, be it motivational or romantic. it’s arguably your favorite part of the day, looking forward to the message of the day and the next. it’s quite confusing however, when he texts you one day saying “goodnight angel, sleep well! gonna be in the studio tomorrow, i’ll pick u up on the way <3 love you gorgeous, see you tomorrow minjeong”… when you ask him about it, questioning who this minjeong is, he immediately shuts down any idea of cheating immediately. when you sit in the studio with him the following day, he’s in the booth recording some chords on his guitar when you look at his phone. unsurprisingly, there’s messages from a “minjeong <3”. upon opening them, you see texts and texts that go on for months. of course, you immediately start screaming at mark, sobbing and punching him with frustration at his unfaithfulness. with a big pout and gifts ready, he kisses your tears away, rocking you back and forth in his arms so sweetly, cooing as he convinces you it’s no one, bringing you to stay with him and ignore the many “i knew it” texts from your friends.

memory loss!renjun sits in the hospital bed, skin pale and sickly as he draws in a sketchbook with shaky hands. there’s countless cords and tubes attached to his body, the abundance of technology being the only thing keeping him alive. the nurse standing next to you places a hand on your shoulder, startling you and forcing you to turn away from the hospital door’s window.

“if you’d like, you can try again today. he’s been pretty stable recently.” her smile doesn’t even attempt to reach her eyes, and you know she’s only doing it to try (terribly) to comfort you.

you nod gently, reaching for the door handle. “mm. thank you, i’ll do that.”

when you open the door, he looks up, eyebrows furrowing as he looks at you. “who are you? what are you doing here?”

you sit next to him, reaching for his hand, but he flinches and pulls it to his chest. “renjun… i- i’m sorry. i should have asked. i’m your girlfriend, we’ve been dating for three years, can you remember?”

he looks you up and down judgmentally, though it isn’t too intimidating when he’s as skinny as a twig. “no, i’m sorry, you must be mistaken. i’m very much single.”

just like that, your skin heats up with frustration and you have to fight back tears. turning on your phone, you turn it to him, showing your lock screen of the two of you. he only looks more confused, so you unlock it and begin scrolling through your gallery, swiping through photos upon photos of the memories between you two.

“do you really not remember any of this..? we’ve been dating for the past three years, we met in high school, donghyuck introduced us.. please tell me you remember, any of it.” your voice quivers, the tears falling freely now.

he shakes his head, albeit weakly. “no, i’m sorry i don’t remember any of this. are you sure you know what you’re talking about?”

from your bag, you pull out a small framed piece of canvas paper. on it is a bouquet of your favorite flowers, renjun’s signature in the bottom corner. “junnie, do you remember painting this?” he nods gently. “you made this for me. it’s my favorite flowers, and you gave it to me on my birthday.”

“that.. doesn’t sound right. i create art for myself, not to gift to other people. i wouldn’t do that. how did you get that.”

you can’t even see what’s in front of you, heaps and heaps of tears falling from your eyes. this is the third week in a row, trying to help renjun regain his memories, and the third week it failed. no matter what you say, what you show him, it’s like you never existed. the nurse opens the door, suggesting you leave, and as she helps you out you leave the painting with him, hoping and praying he’ll be able to remember you and all the love you had for each other.

overwhelmed!jeno was the sweetest to you, always being there for you when you needed it. no matter what he was always a call away, if you needed him he was there. he paid attention to your every need, and kept tabs on just about everything relating to you. favorite color, movie, flower, clothing style, everything. he was genuinely the best boyfriend you think you’d ever encounter. he treated you so, so good, rubbing your feet when you were tired, taking care of you when sick, and buying you the cutest of gifts ‘just because’. you were the same way with him too, y’know. whenever he felt overwhelmed, whether it be from the attention of his peers or even his own thoughts, you always knew how to calm him down. he found a home in your arms, as did you with him. everyone around you could see how perfect you two were, saying that love was real because of you. it was like everything was perfect as long as jeno was by your side. however, every couple has a rocky patch, and it just seems that you guys couldn’t make it through. sometimes, jeno got too burnt out taking care of you, despite it being something he enjoyed, and fell into habits of not taking care of himself. he grew eye bags, sleeping all day and didn’t look or act anything like himself. the outside world along with all his responsibilities at home, and his own, nagging, overwhelming, intrusive thoughts became too much, and he found it a struggle to love himself, let alone another person. with all the love in your heart, you had no choice but to part ways with him in hopes of him getting better and finding himself again. you hoped that his future had you in it, but you doubt you can be in the picture when he enters the right state of mind.

bf!donghyuck who spent the past year living his best life with you, taking you out on extravagant dates and vacations to make as many memories as possible before his enlistment. he bought so many gifts, took so many photos, and left so many marks in your shared home to make sure you’d never miss him. despite joking about it all the time, he was scared and upset about it as well. whole writing a letter for every month he was gone, more than half ended up having tear stains on them. tucking the final one into the box and leaving it somewhere for you to find, he grabbed his bags and ran to the car, sitting in the passenger seat while you drove him to the site. the whole ride was filled with tears and pointless arguments, the dread consuming you both. a whole year and a half without your soulmate, the love of your life was something you truly couldn’t bare. once you arrived, you helped him grab his stuff and make his way to the place where you would depart. right before he made his way to the hundreds of other men he would be going with, he dropped his stuff and held you tightly in his arms, kissing all your tears away and blending them with his own, promising that it would go by quickly, like he was never gone. for the first couple months you believed it, uncovering pranks and hidden gifts from him throughout the time he was gone. however, the third month came, and his gift this time wasn’t funny, or cute at all. when you opened your tv that morning, the news channel popped up, the reporter giving a solemn expression as he relayed the news that your lover’s base, the place donghyuck was stationed at, had been attacked, majority of the soldiers there being killed. a list of names was revealed, and with your heart beating out of your chest and nausea waving through you, your eyes trailed down the list until it stopped. lee donghyuck, age 24, was in the list of soldiers who had died. your entire lifeline, the one who owned your entire heart, the man who reminded you of the warm sun, had lied to you. he was gone, and wasn’t coming back.

dystopian bf!jaemin is someone who you admittedly don’t know too well. the world is overheating, on the verge of ending, and the sky is bright orange, air smoky in the mid-day when you meet him. with 30 minutes left on earth, the announcement ringing through all devices and televisions in the world. laying on the hood of his car, watching smoke billow through the sky in the distance, he turns to you with a smile.

“y’know, i’m really happy i met you, girlfriend.” his skin is bare, a dirty blanket covering both of your exposed bodies. at this point, you couldn’t care less about your skin being dirty.. there’s thirty minutes until you die, and with your boyfriend of about five hours, the only thing you’re concerned about is getting all your firsts checked off before everything ends.

you smile back, resting your head on your arm. “me too, boyfriend. this couldn’t have gone any better.” he pulls you in ever so gently, kissing you once again. it’s quite embarrassing, being in your twenties and having never experienced anything romantic, but you and jaemin are in the same boat and you both can agree that it’s really nice.

“touché. say, why don’t we get to know each other with what time we have left, hm?” his hand caresses your hair, putting a strand behind your ear. you can feel his hands shaking against your skin, and you try not to let it but it makes you all the more nervous about what’s to come.

“of course, shoot.” pulling your shirt on, you sit up and he follows suit.

with your last thirty minutes on earth, you share the stories of your parents who succumbed to the wrath of the decaying planet and all the other funny stories of your lives. the end felt so lonely this past month, and as your phone alerts you of there being a minute left, you feel whole again despite your sadness and fear. finding someone so similar to you, relating to him and connecting with him in such terrifying moments makes you feel a lot less empty. as you count down, saying goodbye to your short life, you watch the world around you, including yourself, burn while in the arms of someone you never thought you’d have.

toxic!chenle who always kept you on his arm, yet that’s all he ever did for you. he never addressed you or looked your way, but he never let you create any distance between you and him. if anyone asked, you were “his lovely, beautiful girlfriend”, but as soon as heads turned you were nothing but an annoying pest who kept clinging to him. you asked to be loved, to feel appreciated, and he’d look at you, an unconvincing pout on his face as he held yours lovingly and convinced you he’d change and give you the love you deserve. he’d take you out on a date, spoiling you with every penny just to make a post about it and then kick you to the curb. he didn’t love you, you knew that, but his attention was everything to you. he treated you so well when eyes were on you two that it was all you needed to stick around, giving him all your love when to him you were nothing but a shiny new toy to parade around to his friends.

heartbreaker!jisung who reached out to you one day, saying he was a friend of a friend who wanted to get to know you. you’ve never had that happen to you before, being wanted, so you began talking to him. he was so sweet, a cute, shy boy who’s fails at flirting and romantic gestures were extremely charming. he swept you off your feet quickly, taking you on many dates and buying many gifts for you. this dragged on for a long time, and you were so happy to have someone by your side that you didn’t even think of the fact that he never asked to make it official until your friend brought it up. thinking things were going well, you called him and suggested giving your relationship a title. immediately his line went silent, giving you no response, only being able to hear his hyperventilating, before he hung up. you texted him and called many times, begging him to tell you what was up, but it all fell on deaf ears as he eventually blocked you on everything. you were left heartbroken without closure, only hearing what happened when a friend of his reached out, apologizing on his behalf. allegedly, he said he was too scared to have a real relationship and couldn’t be a boyfriend to you. you couldn’t believe your ears, or, eyes. he made you feel so loved, so seen, all for him to back out because he was too scared to love, too unready.

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perm taglist: @chenlezip

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