#sparkling stream of ache

[shisasan]

June 3, 1897 Rilke and Andreas-Salomé: a love story in letters (1897-1926)

[gf2bellamy]

devoted — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer sees you talking to a guy and he's jealous. what he doesn't know is that you're talking about him. content warnings: established relationship , drunk reader, guy hitting on reader, a/n: i actually meant to post something else today but then i ended up finishing this one instead so here we are

Spencer lost sight of you for five minutes. He could swear it was just five minutes. Derek had asked him a question, something about an old case, something Spencer immediately regretted answering because it sent him spiraling into one of his infamous rambles.

By the time he finished explaining the details of geographic profiling and its applications in modern criminal investigations, Derek looked equal parts impressed and exhausted. But when Spencer turned back to where you had been sitting, you were gone. 

His heart skipped a beat. The bar was packed. Even with his tall frame, Spencer couldn’t see over the crowd. He craned his neck, his eyes scanning the room, but there was no sign of you.

Panic bubbled up in his chest. You had been drinking, a lot. And while you were usually responsible, the way you’d been rushing through your drinks tonight had him worried. The last time he’d seen you, your glass had been half full, but knowing you, you’d probably finished it and gone for another.

Which meant you were likely at the bar. 

There was one bartender you particularly liked, a woman named Jess, who you’d once told Spencer was always sweet to you and even gave you a discount on your drinks. Spencer made a beeline for the bar. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more alarming than the last.

And then he saw you. Relief flooded through him, but it was short-lived. Because there you were, perched on a barstool, your cheeks flushed and your eyes bright with the kind of uninhibited joy that only came with being very, very drunk.

But you weren’t alone. You were talking to a guy. 

The guy was muscly, his broad frame towering over you as he leaned casually against the bar. His eyes were fixed on you, his gaze intense and unwavering, but Spencer barely noticed him.

All he could focus on was you. 

Your eyes were dazed, glazed over slightly from the alcohol, but there was something else in them, a soft, lovey-dovey look that made Spencer’s chest ache. It was the same look he loved seeing when you smiled at him, the one that made his heart skip a beat.

But now, that look wasn’t directed at him. It was directed at him. The stranger. The guy who was standing too close, smiling too confidently, and staring at you like you were the only person in the room. 

For a second, Spencer’s heart stopped. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way your eyes sparkled as you laughed at something you’d said, or the way your hands moved as you talked, your gestures exaggerated by the alcohol.

And he most definitely didn’t like the way the guy was staring at you.

Spencer bit his lip, his hands clenching at his sides as he stood frozen in the middle of the crowded bar. People bumped into him, muttering apologies as they pushed past, but he barely registered them.

You were the one doing all the talking, your words tumbling out in a cheerful, slightly slurred stream, while the guy just stood there.

Spencer suddenly snapped out of his daze, his feet moving almost on their own as he walked slowly toward you.

“Hey,” he said as he stepped forward, his voice calm. He pushed down the jealousy bubbling inside him, forcing himself to focus on what mattered, which was you. His hands settled gently on your shoulders, and you looked up at him, your face lighting up immediately. 

“Hi, Spencer,” you said, your words slightly slurred but your smile wide and genuine. It was the kind of smile that made his stomach flip, even now, even in this situation. 

Spencer didn’t even glance at the guy you’d been talking to. His attention was entirely on you. He reached for the drink in your hand, carefully prying it from your fingers and setting it down on the bar counter.

“Let’s get you home,” he said softly. His fingers brushed a strand of hair out of your face, the gesture tender.

You stared up at him, your eyes slightly unfocused but filled with affection. Then, as if remembering the other guy was still there, you turned your head toward him. “See? I told you how caring he is,” you said, your voice warm and slightly dreamy. 

The guy glanced at Spencer, his expression unreadable but clearly unimpressed. He seemed to realize the conversation was over. Without a word, he grabbed his drink and stood up before disappearing into the crowd. 

“Well, that was rude,” you mumbled, your words slightly slurred as you leaned your head against Spencer’s chest. Your voice was muffled against his shirt, but he heard you clearly enough.

He glanced in the direction the guy had gone, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What were you talking about?” Spencer asked. He gently cupped your cheeks with his hands, tilting your head up so he could get a good look at you. Your eyes were half-closed, your face relaxed and content, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his heart doing that strange little flip. 

“You,” you mumbled, your lips curving into a small, sleepy smile. You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing completely as you savored the warmth of his hands on your face. 

“Me?” Spencer repeated, his voice tinged with surprise. The puzzle pieces slowly started clicking together in his mind, but he wasn’t entirely sure what picture they were forming.

His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, his touch gentle but insistent, as he tried to keep you awake. 

“Yeah,” you said simply, not offering any more details. Your voice was soft, almost dreamy.

Your skin was warm under his fingertips, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest. But before he could gather his thoughts, you continued. 

“I love you a lot,” you said, your voice soft but clear, despite the alcohol slurring your words. “I had to tell him.” Your eyes slowly fluttered open, meeting his as his fingers continued to trace gentle circles on your cheek.

A smile formed on his face as the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. That look in your eyes earlier, the lovey-dovey, dreamy expression he’d mistaken for something else, it hadn’t been for the stranger at all.

It had been for him.

“I love you too,” he said finally, his voice soft. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

When he pulled back, his smile had widened. “How about we get you home?” he asked, his tone gentle. 

“Your home?” you asked, your voice hopeful as you reached for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. 

“Sure, my home,” he said, his voice warm. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, holding it tighter as he led you out of the bar. The cool night air hit you both as you stepped outside.

You pressed yourself closer to him as he guided you toward the car. “You’re so tall,” you said, your voice tinged with awe as you tilted your head back to look up at him. 

Spencer just chuckled under his breath as he opened the passenger door for you.

“I told him that,” you mumbled, your words slightly slurred as you reluctantly let go of his hand. You swayed slightly on your feet, but Spencer steadied you with a gentle hand on your arm. 

“Good,” Spencer murmured, his voice soft as he helped you into the car. He leaned in, buckling your seatbelt, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment. He closed the door carefully, making sure you were secure, before walking around the car and settling into the driver’s seat. 

As he turned the key in the ignition, the engine hummed to life, and Spencer couldn’t help himself.

“What else did you tell him?” he asked, his tone casual.

He knew he was being petty, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of you talking about him to some stranger in a bar made his chest swell with pride.

“Well,” you said, drawing out the word as you thought for a second. The alcohol was definitely slowing you down, your thoughts coming out in a slow, dreamy stream. “I told him how smart you are. That you’re my genius boyfriend.” You mumbled the last word, your head leaning back against the seat as you stared out at the road ahead. 

Spencer’s lips curved into a small smile, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel. He didn’t say anything, but the warmth in his chest grew. 

“I also told him that you’re kind,” you continued, your voice soft but earnest. “Remember that one time—” You stopped abruptly, letting out a yawn that seemed to take over your entire body. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and Spencer glanced at you, his expression softening. 

“Oh, I forgot to say goodbye to Penelope,” you mumbled, your words trailing off as you seemed to forget the sentence you’d started.

“I’ll text her later that you’re with me,” Spencer said, his voice soft as he stopped at a red light. He glanced over at you, his expression softening as he took in the way you were leaning against the window, your eyes half-closed but still gazing out at the passing lights. 

The car was quiet for a moment. But Spencer couldn’t help himself. Again. “So, what else did you say?” he asked.

You thought for a moment, your brow furrowing slightly as you tried to piece together the conversation. “I told him how handsome you are,” you said finally, your voice soft but clear. “I don’t think he liked that.” You paused, your nose scrunching as you tried to remember. “I don’t even know why I was talking to him in the first place,” you mumbled, your words slightly slurred. 

Spencer felt a pang of guilt, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He should’ve been paying closer attention. He knew how drunk you were, and he’d let you wander off anyway.

But before he could say anything, you suddenly perked up, your eyes widening slightly. “Wait,” you said, your voice a little louder now. “I do remember.” The light turned green, and Spencer focused back on the road, though his attention was still mostly on you. “He was hitting on me,” you started, your tone matter-of-fact. “I think.” 

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up, his guilt worsening. “Really?” he asked, his voice tight with concern. He dared to glance at you, his eyes flickering away from the road for just a second. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded, your expression calm. “Yeah, he kind of backed off when I started talking about you,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t know why. I think everyone should hear about you.” Your voice was warm.

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Oh, we’re here,” you said suddenly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. You were looking out the window now, your eyes wide as you took in the familiar sight of Spencer’s apartment building. 

“Yes, we are,” Spencer said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he pulled into the parking spot and turned off the engine.

He had heard enough, and he was happy, happier than he’d been in a while. The way you’d talked about him, the way you’d defended him without even realizing it, had filled him with a warmth and love.He stepped out of the car, the cool night air hitting him as he rounded the vehicle to your side. Opening the door, he leaned in, his curls falling into his face as he carefully unbuckled your seatbelt. 

“I can do that myself, you know,” you mumbled, your words slightly slurred but your tone playful. You swatted at his hands half-heartedly, though you didn’t actually stop him. 

Spencer took a step back, holding out his hand to help you out of the car. “I know you can,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure you could in your current state, but he let you believe it anyway.

You took his hand, your fingers curling around his as you carefully slid out of the car. Your steps were unsteady, and you leaned heavily against him, your free hand gripping his arm for balance. Spencer didn’t mind. In fact, he liked the way you clung to him, the way you trusted him to keep you upright. 

Twenty minutes later, you were tucked into Spencer’s bed.

Spencer had been patient and gentle, helping you remove your makeup with careful hands before handing you one of his oversized shirts to sleep in. You’d protested weakly, insisting you could do it yourself, but he’d just smiled and helped you anyway.

Now, lying in his bed, you felt drowsy but content, the alcohol still humming in your veins.

But something was missing. 

“Spencer,” you called out, your voice soft but tinged with a hint of whininess. “I can’t sleep without you.” Your eyes were already closed, your body heavy with exhaustion, but the bed still felt too big, too empty without him beside you. 

“I’m brushing my teeth,” Spencer called back from the bathroom, his voice muffled. He’d already helped you with yours.

“Well, hurry,” you mumbled, your words barely audible. You weren’t even sure if he’d heard you, but a moment later, you heard the bathroom light click off, followed by the soft padding of his footsteps as he made his way to the bed. 

The mattress dipped slightly as Spencer climbed in beside you. You didn’t even open your eyes, you just instinctively shifted closer, your head finding its place on his chest. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you in, and you let out a contented sigh, your body finally relaxing completely. 

For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the rhythm of Spencer’s heartbeat beneath your ear.

Then, his voice broke the quiet, “I love you,” he said quietly, “ A lot. More than you know.” 

You smiled faintly, your eyes still closed. “I love you too, Spencer,” you mumbled, your voice sleepy but sincere. Your hand found its way to his chest, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt. 

Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for just a moment. “Good,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now get some sleep.” 

You didn’t need to be told twice.

As you drifted off to sleep, Spencer stayed awake for a little while longer, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your back. He couldn’t help but smile, his chest warm with a quiet contentment.

He knew you were his, just as much as he was yours.

[sixeyesonathiel]

you should've known satoru gojo, your teasing little shit or a husband, would turn "helping" you take the pregnancy test into another of his freaky games.

cw: domestic filth, light humiliation, urination, oral sex (f receiving), bodily fluids, teasing, overstimulation. 2.4k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

a/n : this is the demon of a drabble i mentioned last night omfg, i really REALLY tried to tone it down i swear—the first version of this was much more NASTY because it’s with yandere satoru so i really watered down the nasty in this version 😔🥀

the lace chafes. it’s new, obviously—he likes dressing you up for different occasions, and apparently today’s theme is humiliation.

the pink lingerie clings like a sly wink, crotchless, with frilled cutouts that bare your nipples, flushed and peaked, your slit exposed, slick and warm under the bathroom’s vanity light. rhinestones catch the glow, glinting like they’re in on his joke. a tiny silver charm dangles from the straps, brushing your collarbone, etched with your wedding date—a honeymoon keepsake he picked with a smug grin.

you’re squatting over the toilet, thighs spread wide, knees trembling, heels teetering on the glossy tiles, your wedding ring glinting on your left hand—a slim, polished white gold band, cool and sleek, cradling a small, pale blue diamond that shimmers softly. the inner band hides an engraving, “mine, gently,” in his handwriting, a secret he loves tracing. the ribbon straps tug your shoulders, tied with a flirty bow by his nimble fingers, his teasing hums—bright, mischievous—still echoing as he dressed you up, smirking like he’s won a bet.

he kneels close, all cheeky adoration, white shirt unbuttoned halfway, flashing the lean curve of his chest, a faint mole dotting his pec. his sleeves are rolled up, forearms flexing, damp white hair clinging to his forehead, one stray lock curling over a sparkling blue eye full of mischief.

his wedding ring gleams—a brushed white gold band, matte and minimal, with a hidden etching of the day he met you, a detail he fidgets with when he’s bored. it catches the light as he holds the pregnancy test under you, angled to catch your stream, his grip steady but his fingers twitching with eager impatience. those eyes, too blue, too smitten, trace your slick folds, your hardened nipples, drinking in the way your lips purse, the way tears of embarrassment pool in your eyes.

“do you really have to be here?” you mutter, voice laced with reluctance and a sassy edge you’ve picked up from him, your annoyance sharp like a flicked rubber band. your hands hover near your face, fingers twitching, nails neat and glossy, your ring catching the light as you fidget, trying to mask the blush searing your cheeks.

satoru’s unfazed—his lips curl into a grin, eyes glinting like he’s just heard a challenge, and he shifts, knees scuffing the tiles, to grab your wrists, easing them away with a gentle, teasing tug.

“no hiding, angel,” he teases, voice dripping with mock innocence, eyes wide, lashes batting like he’s pulling a prank. “i gotta see my pretty wife. you’re too cute when you’re all annoyed.”

he leans closer, his breath tickling your cheek, and kisses it away, lips quick and warm, a quiet chuckle bubbling up. he holds your wrists loosely with one hand, keeping your face bare, while the other steadies the test under your slick slit, the plastic brushing your inner thigh, cool and startling.

he insisted on this—helping you take the test, to hold the test himself, ever since you both decided to check if your honeymoon efforts paid off. you’ve been trying since the wedding night, tangled in each other’s arms, laughing through kisses, and now, weeks later, you’re both antsy for the result.

“i’m your husband, i’m all in,” he’d said, pulling the test from the pharmacy bag with a smirk, eyes twinkling like he’s up to no good. now you’re squatting, thighs aching, his eyes fixed on your wet, pulsing slit, watching slick glisten on your folds, dripping to the tiles. your bladder’s barely cooperating, but your annoyance is a simmering spark, and he’s loving it, the way your breath hitches, the way your hips twitch, the way your cheeks blaze.

“come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, poutier now, lips jutting out, his white hair shifting as he leans closer, nose brushing your knee. “you can do it. don’t keep your man waiting, yeah?” his thumb strokes your thigh, grazing a faint mark from last night’s antics, and you flinch, thighs trembling, trying to close but bumping his hand, warm, eager, his ring glinting.

“you’re so cute when you’re grumpy,” he says, voice low, eyes glinting, soaking up your tears, your pursed lips, the way your ring sparkles as your fingers twitch. “just let go for me, okay?”

you roll your eyes, a sharp, sassy flick you’ve stolen from him, your annoyance bubbling like a kettle about to whistle. “you’re ridiculous, toru,” you mutter, voice shaky but pointed, “hovering like some weirdo. it’s embarrassing.”

of course, your annoyance only earns his amusement. he laughs, a bright, delighted sound, his grin widening like you’ve just made his day, his eyes crinkling with glee.

“weirdo? ouch, baby,” he teases, leaning closer, his tone all mock offense, his free hand squeezing your thigh like he’s sealing a deal. “i’m just helping my wife make our baby dreams come true. don’t roast me now.” his eyes sparkle, eating up your sass, and you huff, cheeks burning, embarrassment swallowing you whole.

you just want this over with. your bladder’s not even full, but you force it, a reluctant, warm stream hitting the test strip he’s holding, splashing softly against the bowl, a few drops trickling down your thighs. your face burns, blush flooding your neck, and you squirm, hands jerking to cover your face, your ring glinting like a tiny star.

“toru, please, get out,” you whisper, voice cracking, tears spilling, dripping onto your chest, catching on your bare nipples, the charm at your collarbone. “it’s so embarrassing, i can’t stand you watching.”

“embarrassing?” he chuckles, warm, teasing, eyes locked on your slit, watching slick glisten, a faint dampness lingering like a shadow. “angel, it’s perfect. you’re perfect, all shy and open for your husband.” he holds the test steady, letting the stream soak it, his lips curving into a grin, his throat bobbing as he swallows, eyes flickering with that eager, hungry edge.

“there you go,” he breathes, voice thick with adoration, “my good girl, doing so good.”

he lifts the test, inspecting the wet strip under the light, his eyes squinting, a soft hum in his throat as he sets it carefully on the counter. then he’s pulling you up from the toilet, hands under your armpits, gentle but quick, your heels wobbling as your legs shake, the tiles cool under your feet.

you stumble, a tiny whimper slipping out, but he’s got you, turning you around, pressing you against the cool bathroom wall. your bare nipples graze the tiles, your slit still dripping, and he’s right behind you, breath warm on your neck, hands sliding to your hips, his ring cool against your skin.

“can’t leave you sitting there,” he murmurs, voice a teasing worship, lips brushing your ear, his hair tickling your shoulder. “too messy for my pretty wife, even if i’m so inlove with you like this.”

he drops to his knees, tiles creaking, hands spreading your thighs, his nails grazing your skin softly. you feel his breath on your slit, hot and ravenous, and you squirm, pressing against the wall, tears streaming as you try to pull away, your ring scraping the tile as your fingers curl.

“no—toru, don’t,” you gasp, voice breaking, hands fumbling for the tiles, nails slipping, your blush a wildfire. “i just went, it’s gross, please stop.” your protests are soft, desperate, but he moans, a low, hungry sound, like your embarrassment is his favorite flavor.

his tongue hits first, a slow, obscene lick through your folds, tasting the thick, musky slick of your arousal, a faint, barely-there trace of dampness from before, like a whisper of your earlier flush. you gasp, a shaky, mortified sound, hips twitching to escape, but he’s ravenous, lapping long, dripping stripes, his lips smacking loud, wet, filthy, like he’s devouring a rare treat.

“god, you taste like my fucking heaven,” he groans, voice muffled, tongue dragging from your leaking hole to your clit, sloppy and greedy, spit and slick pouring down his chin, splattering the tiles.

his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, ring digging into your skin, and he’s a wreck—chin drenched, lips glossy, white hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, moaning like he’s unraveling. he buries his face deeper, tongue plunging into your slit, licking deep, messy, slurping every drop like he’s trying to merge with you.

satoru’s eyes lift, locking onto yours, those blue irises blazing with a teasing, unrelenting hunger, watching you lose your mind above him. your breath snags, eyes widening, tears streaming as you squirm, but he doesn’t look away, his gaze pinning you like a vow as his tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, around your clit, sucking it hard until your hips buck, a choked moan spilling out.

“toru—no, stop,” you whimper, voice cracking, but your protests are fading, your mind splintering under his stare, his tongue, the way he’s consuming you. he moans into your slit, loud and shameless, spit dripping down his jaw, his neck, soaking his collar, his nose mashing against your clit as he licks, lips smacking, tongue fucking into you with a wet, squelching frenzy, spit bubbles bursting at the corners of his mouth.

“don’t want to,” he mumbles petulantly, lips smacking, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and sloppy, teasing every sensitive inch, his eyes still fixed on you, watching your lips part, your eyes glaze, your breath turn ragged.

he sucks your clit again, rough, then gentle, alternating until you’re gasping, your thighs shaking, your mind a fog, your ring glinting as your fingers claw the wall. his fingers join, three, stretching you wide, pumping fast, curling against that spot that makes you bite your lip, the wet sounds echoing over your whimpers.

“look at you, losing it so prettily,” he groans, voice slurred, lips smacking, his chin a glistening mess, spit and slick dripping onto his chest, his shirt ruined, his hair a sweaty tangle.

he drags it out, licking slower, messier, long, dragging stripes, sucking your clit with a lazy rhythm, then diving back in, tongue swirling deep, teasing every pulse, every twitch. his eyes stay locked on you, watching your tears fall, your lips tremble, your breath hitch as you claw at the wall, nails scraping, trying to hold on, your face a map of desperation and pleasure.

he’s relentless, lapping at your hole, sucking your folds, dragging spit and slick into his mouth, moaning like it’s his lifeline and he’s the one getting his soul eaten out of him, his lips red and swollen, his chin dripping like he’s been dunked in you. “can’t stop, sweet girl,” he pants, words slurred, lips smacking, spit dripping onto the tiles, his shirt soaked at the chest. “you’re too damn perfect, my perfect wife.”

he lingers, dragging his tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every shiver, every pulse, his eyes never leaving yours, watching your face crumple, your breath turn to pants, your body melt against the wall. he sucks your clit again, long and deep, then flicks his tongue, quick and merciless, until you’re trembling, your thighs clamping around his head, your ring catching the light as your fingers dig into the tiles.

“toru,” you gasp, half a moan, half a plea, and he hums, a teasing vibration against your slit, his eyes glinting with mischief as he pushes you further, his nose rubbing your clit, his tongue plunging deep, sloppy and unhinged, spit pooling under him like a testament to his greed.

satoru pulls back for a breath, just to grin, lips glossy, spit dripping down his chin, and dives back in, tongue flicking fast, then slow, teasing until you’re gasping, shaking, your mind a haze of heat and want, his gaze burning into you like he’s etching your ruin into his soul.

he keeps going, licking deeper, slower, his tongue tracing every curve, every sensitive spot, sucking your clit until you’re a trembling wreck, your mind blank, your protests gone, your body a live wire under his touch. his fingers pump steady, wet and loud, curling just right, and he’s moaning, groaning, face buried like he’s drowning in you, his eyes still fixed on yours, watching every twitch, every gasp, every shudder, like he’s collecting every moment of your unraveling.

“fall apart for me,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, lips brushing your slit, his gaze searing into you as he sucks hard, pushing you closer, his nose nuzzling your clit, his tongue a relentless storm, spit and slick dripping down his throat, his chest, his shirt a ruined mess.

when you come, your vision whites out, body convulsing against the wall, pleasure slamming through you like a tidal wave, fierce and unstoppable. your thighs clamp around his head, slick gushing from you in a messy, uncontrollable squirt, soaking his face, his chin, dripping down his neck in glistening rivulets.

satoru doesn’t falter, licking you through it, drinking every pulse, every drop, his tongue sloppy, ravenous, moaning louder than your cries, his eyes still locked on yours, watching every jerk, every gasp, every shudder, like he’s carving your ecstasy into his very being. his hands tighten on your hips, steadying you as your legs buckle, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor you, his ring cool against your fevered skin.

his face is a wreck—lips swollen, chin drenched, spit and slick dripping down his throat, his chest, his shirt a soaked ruin, hair a sweaty tangle plastered to his forehead. he doesn’t stop, tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, a teasing, relentless swirl that pulls a whimper from you, your body twitching under the too-much, too-good sting of overstimulation.

he hums, a low, greedy sound, lips grazing your pulsing folds, drawing out every last shiver until you’re a trembling, breathless mess. he pulls back, panting, face flushed, and kisses your thigh, soft, lingering, his breath hot against your skin, his lips leaving a faint, wet mark like a whispered promise.

satoru reaches for the test, picking it up with shaky, slick fingers, holding it to the light. a pout forms, dramatic and teasing, his lips jutting out, but his eyes glint, playful, promising more. “negative,” he sighs, voice soft, mock-sulky, but that spark in his eyes says he’s already itching for another round of “trying.” “guess we’ll keep trying, huh, sweet girl?”

[bellfilmz]

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After surviving a plane crash with a mysterious stranger she met mid-flight, she now has to find a way to survive, completely unaware she’s stuck with Rafe Cameron.

⸻

The flight wasn’t full, which was rare. You were tucked into the window seat with a book in hand, earbuds in, and no real expectation of conversation.

Until he sat down beside you.

Tall, tan, expensive cologne—definitely someone used to being looked at. His jaw was sharp, his hair pushed back in a messy, intentional way. And his legs? Long. Obnoxiously so. They stretched too far into your space.

You waited a minute.

Then tugged one earbud out. “Hey, sorry, can you um, move your leg a little? I need to get out.”

He blinked, then looked down like he’d only just realized his knee was blocking your way. “Oh. Yeah—sorry.”

He shifted, and you slid past him into the aisle, heading for the bathroom. When you came back, he was half-asleep, head leaning against the window this time. You had to squeeze by.

The moment you ducked into your row, the plane shook.

Violently.

You lost your balance and fell directly into his lap with a startled gasp.

His arms immediately came around you to steady you. “Whoa—hey, I got you.”

The plane jolted again.

You stayed frozen in his lap, heart hammering.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, strained, “please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts immediately. We are experiencing some turbulence. Follow all safety protocols.”

You scrambled into your seat, fumbling for your belt. Your hands were shaking too much to clip it in. Panic rose like bile in your throat.

The guy beside you noticed. “Hey—hey, breathe.”

You looked at him, wide eyed.

He leaned closer. “It’s alright. Just copy me, okay? Deep breath in.” He inhaled slowly, holding his hand in front of you like a guide. “And out.”

You tried to match him. It helped. Barely.

“Good,” he said gently. “You’re okay. I promise.”

Then the lights flickered. A scream echoed from the back.

Your stomach dropped. The engine whined.

The last thing you felt was his hand gripping yours.

And then— Black.

⸻

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏.

The sun was blistering when you woke up.

Your lips were cracked. Your hair was full of sand. And you were somehow alive.

You sat up slowly, wincing. Your entire body ached.

And then you saw him kneeling a few feet away, digging through what looked like luggage debris.

You blinked. “You…?”

His head snapped toward you. Relief flooded his face. “Shit—you’re awake.”

You coughed. “What… what happened?”

He stood, walking over. “Plane went down. We’re on an island. No clue where.”

You looked around, finally registering the dense trees and sparkling ocean. Panic rose again.

“I checked the shoreline,” he continued. “Didn’t find anyone else. Just us.”

You stared at him. “How long have we been here?”

“Couple hours, maybe. You hit your head.”

Your fingers went to your temple, brushing a tender bump.

He crouched beside you. “We should move you out of the sun.”

You nodded numbly. “What’s your name?”

“Rafe,” he said simply. “And you?”

You told him.

He stood and offered you a hand. You hesitated, then took it. His grip was strong but careful.

“I think I found a freshwater stream inland,” he said. “And some luggage washed up. We’ve got basics. Not much.”

You followed him slowly, still dazed.

“You’re handling this pretty well,” he added as you reached the edge of the trees.

You gave a humorless laugh. “I’m still in shock.”

Rafe glanced over his shoulder. “Stay in it. It’s better than full panic.”

⸻

The waterfall was like something out of a movie tropical, tucked between palms, flowing into a shallow pool.

You stared, overwhelmed. “This doesn’t feel real.”

“Yeah,” Rafe muttered. “It’s too pretty to be a nightmare.”

He knelt, splashing his face. You followed, letting the cold water hit your skin. It woke you up in a different way.

You sat by the edge, legs pulled to your chest. “I can’t believe we survived.”

Rafe sat beside you. “Me neither.”

The silence settled again.

He looked over at you. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

You blinked. “Should I?”

He smiled faintly. “Guess not. Most people do.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you famous or something?”

He shrugged. “Kind of. Back home. OBX.”

“That where you’re from?”

He nodded.

You watched him for a second. “You helped me on the plane.”

“You fell on me,” he teased, that smirk returning. “Figured I had to make sure you lived. After that level of intimacy.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was falling to my death.”

“Into my lap,” he clarified, grinning now.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. And it was the first time you felt like yourself since the crash.

⸻

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

He got a fire going somehow. You didn’t ask how you were too busy realizing night on the island was darker than anything you’d known. The stars were brilliant, but the shadows felt alive.

Rafe sat beside you, watching the flames. His arms were scraped. He looked tired, worn, human.

“Why were you flying?” you asked quietly.

“Business,” he replied. “My dad sent me. Something about responsibility.”

You nodded slowly. “I was just trying to get away for a while.”

“Well… mission accomplished.”

You cracked a smile. “Guess so.”

There was a beat of silence.

Rafe leaned back on his hands. “We’ll be alright. Someone will find us.”

You weren’t sure if he believed that or if he just needed you to.

Either way, you let the lie settle between you like a safety net.

The fire crackled.

And for the first time since the crash—you stopped shaking.

⸻

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐?

Tag list info

[yelenasbraid]

JOE BURROW — maintaining professionalism [ pt. 7 ]

series summary — She’s a witty, stubborn athletic trainer for the Cincinnati Bengals. He’s the star quarterback who can’t take his eyes off of her. The more she works with him, the stronger the magnetic pull. She’ll do anything to maintain professionalism, and he’ll do anything to get the girl.

chapter summary — He finally gets the chance to show her how often he thinks about her.

warnings — fem!reader, SMUT (MDNI ‼️), fluff, joe is so horny my god

note — sorry for the late update! i’ve been grinding for the past few hours and wanted to get it out before i overthought too much. pls enjoy!!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | epilogue

tags — @starsinthesky5 @definitelynotdomanique @majestic87 @joeyfranchise @joeyburrrow @joeyb1989 @belleann23 @wickedfun9 @hannahjessica113 @kravitzwhore @musicforsnoopy @burreauxsss @grandpeachpersona @inlovewithcarsthatrunreallyfast @noeesd19 @burrowswomen @xbriexx @grittysbiggestfan @dboanalagoaaoo @harryweeniee @kazsbrckkers @wellwellhereiam @hotburreaux

“JOE,” SHE MOANED, his lips peppering down her jawline, down to her neck, “not here,”

“Then where?” he hummed against her neck. His hands gripped her hips, massaging her through the fabric of her clothes. Her mind was blurred, her neck tilted, revealing more of her beautiful skin.

Joe was supposed to go home after she confessed her feelings for him. He was supposed to get rest, to heal the parts of his body that were sore from the game. After she’d confessed, he didn’t think about anything else. All he wanted was her.

Which led him to keeping her in his arms, his lips peppering down her body, outlets for the pent up desire that raged through him.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, one of her hands digging into his curls, her fingers pressing into his scalp. A low, soft moan vibrated against her skin.

“My place,” Joe decided, his teeth nipping at a sensitive spot on her neck. Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening around his curls.

“Yeah, sounds good,” she breathed, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as his lips sucked at her skin. Her body ached, tendrils of warmth latching onto her nerves and pulling her closer to Joe. Her pussy throbbed, swelling at the mere thought of having Joe in the most intimate of ways.

timeskip — at Joe’s house

His house was beautiful. Warm, bright lights illuminated the door as Joe stepped up to unlock it. He led her inside, keeping his hand intertwined with hers.

His heart thudded against his chest. He shouldn’t be nervous, but it was her. The woman he’d fallen for, the one who’d managed to wiggle her way into his heart. He didn’t want to let her go, and he wanted her in ways that were unprofessional.

Yet he didn’t care.

He led her into the bedroom, the moonlight streaming through the curtains. He shut the door behind them with a soft click, their breaths only filling the room. He stepped up to her, watching as she looked up at him.

Her eyes are sparkling. They’re beautiful as they look up at him, twinkling with the shared desire they both felt. He backed her onto the bed and she laid against the plush mattress. Her heart is racing, her skin warm as he hovers over her.

It’s the moment they’ve both been waiting for. The months of tension that led to this very moment, the warm intimacy that coursed through their veins. Joe settled down on his elbows and captures her lips in a slow, sensual kiss. She inhaled deeply through her nose, her arms looping around his neck. His lips were warm, slotting perfectly against hers. It ignited her body, her nerves wired with the need that wound in her gut.

Joe pulled away, but only to pepper kisses down her jawline and down her neck. She tasted so sweet, and the soft breaths she gave him fueled the fire in his gut. One of his hands threaded through her hair, gently tugging her head to the side. Her eyes were closed, lips parted with the breaths that left her lungs.

With every kiss, he grew more desperate. His fingers moved to the hem of her shirt, his skin brushing with hers. Tingles prickled her skin as his hands dove under her shirt, pushing the fabric over her bra-clad breasts. He parted from her neck, leaving her breathless. He tugged the shirt from her body, his lips kissing her cleavage.

“Beautiful,” Joe hummed against her skin, his tongue darting between her breasts. His hands slid around her back, popping the strap of her bra free. Ever so carefully, his touch light and tender, he slid her bra off of her shoulders, freeing her breasts from the cloth. His hands slid to settle on her hips, tugging at the fabric of her shorts. The anticipation was killing him, the ache that pulsed in his cock drove the desperation that ignited his veins.

She watched as his lips pressed to the soft skin of her stomach, his tongue tracing her skin. The velvet of his tongue against her skin grew goosebumps on her body. The ache in her pussy intensified, throbbing in sweet intimacy. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, his body glowing in the dim light of the room. His fingers pried down her shorts, sliding them down her legs. His lips met hers inner thighs, inhaling the sweet musk of her arousal.

There was no waiting. Not when she looked this good, not when her muscles were outlined by the shadows of the room. Joe pried her panties from her body, her slick sticking to the crotch of her panties. He tossed them aside, kissing her inner thighs again.

“Joe,” her voice was a desperate, silky plea. His touches were incendiary, shocking her nerves. His fingers slid up her folds, collecting her arousal onto his fingers. He felt his cock twitch at how sticky and wet she was, at the sounds she made. She shuddered, her eyes fighting to stay open as she propped herself on her elbows. His eyes were dark, twinkling with his lust.

“So wet for me,” he murmured before his lips met the sweetness of her folds. His tongue flicked over her, collecting the arousal she produced. His hands stayed on her thighs, keeping them open. Her moans, simple yet so beautiful, shot down to his cock, making it twitch in his shorts.

His tongue slid up to her clit, flicking the sensitive bud. He closed his lips around her, his tongue massaging the sensitive bundle of nerves. The burn that he produced, the way her stomach shuddered with the pressure of a building release made her moan. Her hands clenched the sheets, her back arched beautifully against the bed. Her legs shivered with his touch, threatening to close around his head.

“Fuck,” she breathed, every flick of his tongue, every time he dove between her folds to taste her, it pushed her closer to the edge of the knife. One of her hands threaded through his curls, tugging at his hair as his ministrations continued. She tasted amazing, a sweet musk that he needed injected into his veins. His eyes slowly slid up to hers, hooded with the high she was giving him.

He pulled away, strings of her arousal leaving his lips. He used a thumb to wipe his lips, kissing back up her body. He captured her lips with his, this time it filled with hunger. She moaned against his lips, the ache that ignited her body. She tasted herself, the sweet and salty sensation burning her tongue. She tugged him closer, her body shivering as her taste slid down her throat.

He pulled away, shedding off his shirt. His body glowed in the moonlight. His skin was beautiful, and her fingers brushed over his skin. His fingers worked the hem of his shorts, stripping him of his boxers and shorts. Her eyes flicked to his cock, how angry and red and big he was. Before she could have any sort of reaction, he lowered himself onto her, kissing her again. Her body shivered, feeling the hardness of his cock brush against her swollen pussy. She moaned, grinding her hips against his.

“Shit,” he moaned against her lips. His body was electrified, wired with the aches that coursed through him. He rested his forehead against hers, one of his hands stroking his hard and sensitive cock. He lined himself up with her, flicking the head of his cock against her clit. She gasped, the burn so good she felt her muscles tense.

“You ready?” he asked her, and she only nodded. He guided his tip in, and his hands settled on her hips as he pushed himself in. His lips parted, soft grunts leaving his lungs. She arched her back, his cock stretching the plushness of her walls. His hands gripped her hips, his lips still ghosting over hers.

She was so tight, pulsing around his cock with her need. Her pussy was wet, slick with the arousal he’d conjured up with his touch and his tongue.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his chest heaving with his breaths. She felt so right, so good, and he could feel every throb of her pussy around his cock.

She let her eyes slide closed, strangled moans leaving her parted lips. Her mind went hazy, her hands gripping the sheets as he pushed into her, his curls brushing against her forehead.

It took her a moment. He stretched her, the burn created by his cock had her heart racing, her teeth gritted together with both pain and pleasure. She always figured Joe was packing, but feeling it inside of her was a different world itself.

“God,” she breathed, “yes, yes I’m ok,”

Her words were sweet to his ears. His body was pressed against hers, his nose brushing her cheek. He flexed his hips, starting with slow, deliberate thrusts. Their breaths mingled, whines strung together as he thrusted into her.

“Fuck,” he moaned, her walls clenching around his cock, squeezing him, begging him for more.

“Joe,” she whispered, her arms lazily wrapped around his neck. His name sounded heavenly falling from her lips, a prayer to him. He responded, his hips snapping a little faster against hers. Her mind went hazy, her jaw slack with the moans that spilled from her throat.

“God, you sound so beautiful,” Joe murmured as he kissed her jawline, his eyelashes tickling her skin. She couldn’t form words, his thrusts taking them from her. The sweetness of his movements rippled through her body, ignited her blood as it flowed through her veins. Her lips were parted, her back arched into his chest. His hands held her sides, his lips brushing against her jawline.

“Joe,” she breathed, a desperate and silky sound that wrapped him in a blanket. His hips moved against hers, his cock hitting her g-spot at a perfect angle. Her walls clenched around him, the sweetness of her building orgasm making her whine. Her arms wrapped around his back, her nails digging into the taut and thick muscle of his back.

“Gonna come for me, pretty girl?” He growled in her ear, his lips brushing against her ear. She shuddered, the pressure pressing down on her lower abdomen, adding to the pleasure his cock was thrusting into her. Her legs squirmed, bending and shaking, the moonlight catching the muscle of her thighs.

“Yes,” she breathed, her head pressing against the pillow. Joe’s eyes flicked from her ear to watch her face. Her eyes were closed, her hair displayed around her head like a halo, but in this moment she was no angel. Her forehead creased with her concentration, the moonlight catching the beauty of her skin. His eyes darkened, his own pleasure building as he thrusted into her, his cock buried so deep he could feel every part of her pussy around him. Every second he fucked her, the closer she brought him to his own orgasm.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he hummed, his lips brushing against her temple, “wanna watch you,”

Her nails dug into his back, her body coiled so tight she thought she was gonna explode. His thrusts were so deep, pushing against the plush of her walls. She whined, shuddering as she finally tensed. She twitched, a moan ripping from her throat as her orgasm snapped over her. It was hot, all consuming.

Joe shuddered as he felt her come around him. It took everything in him to hold back his own orgasm. He gritted his teeth together, but his eyes watched her. Her lips, parted with her moans, her sides heaving against his hands, his fingers leaving indents in her skin. He slid his hand up her body, gently grabbing her chin. He angled her face down, slotting his lips against hers.

“So fucking good,” he murmured against her lips. She moaned into his mouth, her skin hot and slick with sweat. She kept her arms around him, her hands sliding up to cup his face. His lips were hot, nipping at her bottom lip, his tongue brushing her teeth. She tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging at the curls.

“I’m not done,” he growled against her lips, “gonna make you scream for me,”

The promise in his tone made her shiver. It caused her nerves to prickle and her pussy to throb. Joe pulled out of her, his lips leaving hers. He looked down at her, raising himself up on his hands. She watched him, his muscles popped with his weight. The shadows danced across his body, illuminating the muscles she knew he worked so hard for. He was delectable.

His hands guided her body, turning her onto her side. She went to roll onto her stomach, but his hand stopped her.

“I’ve got you where I want you,” he promised her, leaning over her and kissing her shoulder. Her stomach fluttered, her eyes cast to the wall in front of her. He had her on her side, his hand rotating her hip. He placed her leg over his shoulder, stretching her quad. His eyes roved over her skin, watching as the moonlight highlighted her muscles and the wetness that dripped out of her pussy.

His hands ran along her legs, his touch prickling her skin. Her breath hitched, the stretch in her legs adding to the thrill in her gut. Her thighs shuddered under his hands, his callouses scratching against her smooth, toned muscles.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Joe mused as he pressed his lips to her calf, his eyes cast down to her body, contorted to his liking. His other hand reached down, the touch against his cock made him hiss. He had to control himself; he was going to make her fall apart and scream before he got his own pleasure.

Consider it a selfless act.

Joe lined his tip with her entrance, circling the rim before he pushed himself in again. Joe threw his head back, his right hand gripping her thigh over his shoulder, his left attached to her hip. He didn’t give her much wait time, his hips rocking against hers. She gasped, her body jerking with the increasing pace of Joe’s hips. She reached out with her hands, gripping the sheets as his hand gripped her thigh.

“Shit,” she moaned. His cock hit her in a whole new spot, her sensitivity from her previous orgasm shattering her nerves. She looked up, Joe’s face loose with bliss. His lips were parted, the moonlight perfectly catching his muscles. He was a greek god in his element, and she was his muse.

His thrusts were relentless, the bed rocking with his movements. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, his cock hitting her g-spot in the most perfect of ways. He was hot, his thrusts wet with her arousal and his pre-cum. His hand moved to the under side of her thigh, pushing it towards her body. She whined, the stretch burning her body. His pace increased, skin slapping against skin, balls deep into her pussy.

“My pretty girl,” Joe leaned over her, his hand moving up her stomach, his fingers wrapping around one of her breasts. He kissed her shoulder, his voice gruff with his pleasure. His body was hot, the pressure building in his body threatening to spill over. He held it back, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. She moaned, her body shuddering again. He knew what that meant, and he smirked against her skin.

“Joe,” she whimpered, her body hot and coiled so tight she couldn’t think. Her heart slammed in her chest, making her squirm. Her leg tightened over his shoulder, her heel digging into his back.

“Wanna hear you,” he murmured as he pulled from her skin, “come for me,”

The rubber band snapped, her second orgasm washing over her in waves. Her body folded, her lips parted with the whimpers that left her lips. Her body burned, her pussy throbbing with the slick that slipped out of her. She felt her stomach cramp, her thighs shaking. Joe pulled out, making her hiss. Her nerves were frayed, her body overstimulated. She flipped onto her stomach, her hands stretching above her head. Her back muscles glowed in the moonlight, and Joe needed a minute. He tilted his head back, taking controlling breaths.

If he looked down at her right then, he’d paint her with his cum. He didn’t want to come yet, he wanted to have his way with her one more time. His eyes slowly looked back down at her, her back arched and her hands stretched above her head.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled, his hands grabbing her hips. His hands ran up her sides, his body leaning over hers, his lips finding her neck. His hands caressed her sides, sliding up her arms, finding her hands. He interlocked their fingers, kissing her neck.

“Joe,” she moaned into the pillow. Her thighs shuddered, her body burning with a mixture of arousal and exhaustion. It made for the perfect cocktail, and Joe planned on taking everything she had to give him.

“One more time, sweet girl,” he whispered into her ear, his teeth grazing her skin, “you can take it,”

“Joe-”

“You can take it,” he assured her, “I know you can,”

She trembled, his hands running back down her body. Prickles were left in his wake, her skin shivering. His hands grabbed her hips, his lips kissing between her shoulder blades. She flexed, and Joe licked his lips. Her back muscles were beautiful, and he loved how strong she was. Her personality matched her body; strong and beautiful.

He sat up, grabbing her hips. His fingers pressed into her body, firm and tight. His heart thudded in his chest, his breaths heavy and thick. His cock twitched, his need for his release almost painful. He bit his lip, one hand moving to her hair. His fingers dug into her strands, pulling her back. She whined, but not because she was in pain. It didn’t hurt, but she felt the ache in her body. Her back arched, coiled tighter than she’s ever been bent before.

His other hand guided his tip in, her wet and gummy walls sucking him in. He groaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He immediately picked a relentless pace. His hand moved to hold her hip, his other hand hoisting her head further back. His thrusts were brutal, creating a burning sensation in the depth of her pussy. She moaned, her fingers digging into the plush of the mattress.

“Feels so good,” he moaned, his eyes closed. He fought off his own pleasure, even as her walls clenched and pulsed around his cock. He whimpered, his hand tightening in her hair. Her back was coiled so tight it stung, but she didn’t argue with it. She was his muse, his all-consuming thought.

No words materialized. Her brain was grey, foggy with the static of his movements. She whimpered, her back arched, her body jerking with the force of his thrusts. He fucked her deep, hitting every corner of her vagina. The room was thick, hot with their intimacy. Her skin was hot against his, his hand gripping her hip with a bruising force.

Without warning, she snapped. She cried, her moans loud and filled with both her shock and the burn of her orgasm. The wetness of her release coated the grooves he’d fucked into her walls. She whimpered, her body sore. Joe immediately pulled out, flipping her over. He needed release, he needed to make her his masterpiece.

She looked up at him, her body squirming on the bed. Her body ached, her muscles sore and twitchy. Her eyes were blurry with her pleasure, but she caught his movements. His hand wrapped around his cock, pumping himself. She watched as his cum, hot and milky, released onto her stomach. Her breath hitched, her eyes flicking up to his face. His head was thrown back, his whimpers filling the room. His hand continued, his cum squirting onto her body. He squeezed the last little bit out of his tip, and he lulled his head back forwards.

She reached out, dipping her finger into the milky substance on her stomach. She slid her finger into her mouth just as he laid over her body. He tasted salty, tinges of sweetness in his cum that made her shiver. She removed her finger, her eyes locking onto his. Her muscles shuddered, his forehead pressed against hers. His breaths were heavy, hot with his exhaustion. His body ached, his heart slamming in his chest. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his eyes closed.

Her muscles twitched, sore with his intimacy. His hands slowly slid up her body, his fingers intertwining with hers. She whimpered, her body pulsing with the overstimulation that ripped through her muscles.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse with the force of his orgasm. His muscles still trembled, but he knew she felt the brunt of it all.

“Yeah,” she breathed, her nose brushing his, “perfect,”

Her words made him smile. He kissed her, a gentle and tender expression of his affection for her. He pulled away, keeping his forehead against hers. He let the moment sit, the quiet of the room wrapping around them. His mind finally screwed back in, his thoughts filing back.

He finally had her.

The one he’s wanted for months.

“Y/N,” he hummed, his eyes opening and peering down her. Her eyes peeled open, the beauty of her expression smoothing over his frayed nerves. He reached up with his free hand and caressed her cheek.

“Good thing it’s the offseason, right?” she whispered with a small smile, and Joe let out a huff of air. As intense as their intimacy was, he didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want this to be an offseason hookup. He wanted her. Every day.

“I don’t want this to be an offseason thing,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around her.

“I don’t either,” she admitted, her eyes filled with nothing but affection for him. He was beautiful, his cheeks flushed with the efforts of their intimacy. She wanted to have him every day, in every domestic moment. She wanted to come home to him, to enjoy the warmth of his presence.

But she couldn’t. Not with her current position.

“We’ll figure it out,” Joe promised. He knew what she was thinking. He was thinking the same thing. She broke her contract that night, she broke her promise to the Bengals franchise. As of right now, no one knew. But Joe knew it would only be a matter of time.

“I know,” she whispered, “but I don’t want to think about it right now,” she admitted. Joe gave her a soft expression, leaning up and kissing her forehead. He moved his lips down and kissed her sweetly on her lips. He sighed, her lips soft and warm, slotted perfectly against his.

He pulled away, sinking down beside her. He tugged her into his embrace, his hands roaming her back. Her skin was soft, flinching with her sensitivity. Joe kissed the top of her head, giving her a comforting squeeze.

“You sure I didn’t go too hard?” he asked, and her gruff chuckle lit his heart up.

“I’m sure,” she assured him, peeking up at him. Her eyes were so beautiful, sparkling with the affection she felt. Her heart swelled, her mind fuzzy with her feelings. Her butterflies flew about, making her stomach churn. The sensations she felt were reflected in his eyes, the emotions that swam behind her eyes also swam behind his.

He was in love with her. His muse. His goddess.

“Okay,” he hummed, kissing the top of her head again. Silence spread across them, settling overtop of them like a blanket. The AC ran over their bodies, cooling the heat of their skin and solidifying the sweat that stuck to their bodies.

He’d always choose her. She’d always choose him. No contract or professional expectation could keep them apart. As she laid her head against his chest, and as his chin rested on her head, they both silently agreed to never leave each other’s side. They didn’t know what that looked like, there was a lot they didn’t know. But that wasn’t for them to think about.

All they knew is that they needed each other like the air they breathed, and that was enough.

[gisellecnz]

Sometimes your eyes just start welling up with tears by just looking at Satoru—You watched him as he took a bite of a dessert, his eyes sparkling with pure joy at the taste. It was a sight so enchanting that you couldn't help but feel your heart swell with adoration. Why does the world treat him so cruelly? He acts as if he doesn't get treated as a weapon to the jujutsu society—this was all because he was given a power he had never asked for. And not only that, he always had the burden of the world on his shoulders ever since he was born. Your heart absolutely aches at the sight when you know he still puts an effort to put a smile on his face, when deep down he's been through so much pain. .... Oh, you've never felt so bad in your entire life. You'd give this man all the desserts he wants and spoil him with kisses and hugs.

Yet you didn't notice your tears were already streaming down your face as you looked at Satoru, having the time of his life chomping down on some dessert.

"This tastes sooo good!! Hey, sweets, you need to-.....H-huh!? W-whats wrong!? D-did you actually wanted this piece!?!? I'm so sorry!!! Don't cry!!" He panicked with the biggest pout on his face.

[gpcwsl]

Alessia Russo x Reader

- Extra Clingy -

MasterList

Warnings: kissing?

WC: 1.5k

Last one for the day. More tomorrow.

You wake up to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the curtains, but it isn’t the warmth of the sun that stirs you from your sleep—it’s her. Alessia.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around you, legs tangled with yours as if she’s trying to keep you from escaping. Her breath is warm against your neck, and you feel the featherlight press of her lips against your shoulder.

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice husky and thick with sleep.

“Morning,” you reply softly, turning your head to meet her gaze. Her blue eyes are drowsy yet sparkling, a lazy grin spreading across her face.

Without warning, Alessia shifts closer, burying her face in the crook of your neck. Her lips press a series of kisses to your skin—your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, the soft spot just below your ear.

“You’re so warm,” she mumbles, her voice muffled against your skin.

“You’re extra clingy today,” you tease, though you’re far from complaining.

“I don’t want to move,” she admits, her arms tightening around you. “I just want to stay here with you forever.”

Her lips find their way to your jaw, placing slow, deliberate kisses as if memorizing every inch of you. Then she pulls back slightly, her hand cupping your cheek. “Kiss me,” she whispers, her eyes locked on yours.

You don’t hesitate. You lean in, pressing your lips to hers in a tender, lingering kiss. Alessia sighs against your mouth, her fingers slipping into your hair as she deepens the kiss.

When you pull away, she pouts, her lips soft and slightly swollen. “More,” she pleads, her voice barely above a whisper.

You can’t help but smile. “How many kisses do you need this morning?”

“As many as you’ll give me,” she replies, her grin turning playful.

You spend the next several minutes indulging her, her lips brushing against yours again and again. She’s insatiable, her kisses growing more fervent, her hands wandering to hold your face, your waist, anywhere she can touch.

Eventually, she pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against yours. “You know I love you, right?” she murmurs, her breath warm against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, your heart swelling. “I love you too.”

She smiles at that, her eyes shining as she presses one last kiss to your forehead. “Good. Now let’s stay here all day.”You chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Alessia’s face. “Stay here all day? What about breakfast? Or, you know, getting dressed?”

She grins mischievously, her arms still locked firmly around you. “Breakfast can wait. Clothes are overrated. All I want right now is you.”

Her words send a pleasant warmth spreading through your chest, and her gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes it hard to argue. She tucks her head back against your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

“I like mornings like this,” she says quietly, her voice almost dreamy. “When it’s just us, no training, no schedules, no rushing around. Just you and me.”

You tilt her chin up gently so you can look at her properly. “You’re such a softie, you know that?”

“Only for you,” she replies with a wink, leaning up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels safe and full rather than awkward. Alessia shifts slightly, resting her chin on your chest, her fingers drumming lightly against your arm. You can tell she’s thinking about something, and you give her the space to sort through it.

Eventually, she speaks. “You make me feel… grounded,” she admits softly. “Like, no matter what’s happening out there—good or bad—I always have this. You. Us.”

Her vulnerability takes you by surprise, and you feel your heart ache in the best possible way. You reach down, intertwining your fingers with hers. “You’ll always have me, Lessi. No matter what.”

She smiles, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her expression—relief, gratitude, love. She squeezes your hand gently and sits up just enough to kiss your temple.

“Alright, you win,” she says suddenly, her tone lightening as a cheeky smile spreads across her face. “Breakfast sounds good. But only if you promise not to leave my side for too long.”

You laugh, nudging her playfully. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love,” she counters, flashing you a grin as she finally untangles herself from you, albeit reluctantly. She stretches, her golden hair catching the morning light, before turning to you with an outstretched hand.

“C’mon,” she says, her voice full of warmth. “Let’s make pancakes. Together.”

You take her hand, letting her pull you up. As you head to the kitchen, Alessia doesn’t let go of your hand, and every so often, she steals another kiss—on your cheek, your temple, even your shoulder as you work side by side.

The morning stretches on, and it’s everything she said it would be: no rushing, no distractions, just the two of you. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like the rest of the world can wait.

The kitchen is filled with the comforting sounds of morning: the sizzle of batter hitting the pan, Alessia’s soft hums as she flips a pancake with surprising grace, and your shared laughter over her attempt to make a perfectly round one—which somehow ends up looking like a heart.

“Look at that,” she says, holding up the heart-shaped pancake proudly. “It’s a sign. Meant to be.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “It’s a coincidence, Lessi.”

“Uh-uh,” she protests, placing the pancake on a plate and turning to you with a teasing smile. “Don’t ruin the romance, babe. It’s love, right here. Breakfast love.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you start cutting up some fruit to add to the stack. Alessia leans against the counter next to you, watching you with a soft expression. When you glance at her, she doesn’t look away.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she says, but her voice carries that gentle, adoring tone she always gets when she’s completely lost in her feelings for you. “I just like watching you. You’re… you’re perfect.”

You pause, your cheeks warming. Alessia is never shy about voicing how she feels, but every time she says something like that, it catches you off guard.

“Perfect?” you echo, smirking slightly. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Not even close,” she replies, stepping closer to wrap her arms around your waist. “It’s the truth. And I think you’re just going to have to accept that I’m obsessed with you.”

Her lips brush against your temple, lingering there as she whispers, “Obsessed.”

You lean back into her embrace, tilting your head slightly to meet her gaze. “Fine. But only if I get to be obsessed with you, too.”

Her grin is immediate, wide and boyish, the kind that makes her look completely and utterly in love. “Deal.”

The pancakes and fruit are quickly forgotten as she turns you around in her arms, pulling you into a kiss that’s far too passionate for the middle of breakfast preparations. Her hands settle at your waist, her lips moving against yours with a tenderness that melts you from the inside out.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giggling, Alessia presses her forehead to yours, her hands still holding you close. “You’re my favorite person, you know that?”

“Better be,” you tease, poking her side gently. “Otherwise, all this clinginess would be suspicious.”

She laughs, her nose scrunching adorably, before stealing another quick kiss. “Alright, let’s eat before I forget food exists and just keep kissing you all day.”

The two of you settle at the small dining table, plates piled high with pancakes and fruit, syrup drizzled generously over everything. It’s simple, but it feels perfect. You spend the meal laughing, teasing, and stealing bites from each other’s plates, completely wrapped up in your little bubble of love and comfort.

After breakfast, Alessia insists on cleaning up, though her version of tidying involves dancing around the kitchen with a dish towel in hand, dramatically lip-syncing to the music playing softly in the background. You can’t help but laugh as you watch her spin and twirl, her energy infectious.

“Come on,” she urges, holding out her hand to you. “Dance with me.”

“I think I’ll pass,” you say, though you’re already smiling.

“Nope,” she says, grabbing your hand and pulling you into her orbit. “No passing. Mandatory fun.”

You let her guide you into an impromptu slow dance, her hands finding your waist as yours settle on her shoulders. She sways with you, her eyes never leaving yours, her smile soft and sweet.

“You make everything better,” she murmurs after a moment, her voice quiet but filled with sincerity. “Even doing the dishes.”

You lean in, brushing your lips against hers in a kiss that feels like a promise. “I’m not going anywhere, Lessi.”

She smiles against your lips, her hold on you tightening slightly. “Good,” she whispers. “Because I’m not done being obsessed with you yet.”

And for the rest of the day, that’s exactly how it feels—like the world outside doesn’t exist, like the only thing that matters is the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s love and laughter.

[gracie-eilish]

runaway bride(s)

summary: you and billie can’t stay apart regardless of what tradition says

warnings: none! just flirting and fluff :)

The rehearsal dinner had been nothing short of magical—filled with laughter, toasts, and happy tears as your closest friends and family gathered to celebrate your love. The excitement was palpable, but as the evening wound down, tradition dictated that you and Billie be whisked away to separate hotel suites to spend the night apart before the wedding.

Your friends—your bridesmaids—had done their best to distract you with champagne, face masks, and a cozy movie night in matching colored pajamas. But as the night stretched on and their voices faded into sleepy murmurs, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, unable to keep your thoughts from drifting to Billie.

She’d been just as glowing as you were at the dinner, her smile lighting up the room and her laughter echoing in your heart. You couldn’t help but crave one more moment together before tomorrow—before you stood at the altar and vowed forever.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and your heart skipped a beat.

Billie: Still awake, angel?

Grinning, you quickly typed back.

Y/N: Barely. Can’t sleep without you.

It took only seconds for her reply.

Billie: Good. Let’s use the room.

The extra room was your little secret. Days ago, the two of you had schemed to reserve an extra suite, knowing full well that sticking to tradition wouldn’t be your strong suit. You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, grabbing your small pre-packed bag of essentials, and tiptoed past your sleeping bridesmaids. Closing the door softly behind you, you practically skipped down the hallway, adrenaline and giddy excitement coursing through you.

When the elevator doors slid open to Billie’s floor, there she was, leaning against the doorframe like a scene straight out of an ‘80s rom-com. She had that teasing smirk on her face, her arms crossed casually, her blue eyes lighting up as soon as they landed on you.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice low and playful. “If it isn’t my runaway bride.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up as you rushed into her arms, your lips meeting hers in a soft, lingering kiss. Her touch grounded you, even as your heart raced.

“Missed you,” you whispered against her lips.

“Missed you more,” she murmured back, her hand trailing softly down your arm.

Giggling like teenagers sneaking out of their houses, you held hands as you made your way to your secret room. Billie kept throwing teasing glances your way, squeezing your hand whenever she caught you blushing.

Once inside, the two of you haphazardly tossed your bags to the side, not caring about anything else as you slipped into the plush bed together. The moonlight streaming through the curtains cast a soft glow across Billie’s face, highlighting her freckles and the gentle curve of her lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” you said softly, reaching up to trace your finger along her freckles like a constellation map.

Billie smiled, her gaze tender as she took your hand in hers, bringing it to her lips for a soft kiss. “Not as beautiful as you. I can’t believe I get to marry you tomorrow.”

Her voice was filled with awe, and it made your heart swell. “I can’t believe it either. Feels like just yesterday we were flirting for the first time.”

She chuckled, her thumb brushing your cheek. “Now look at us. Breaking traditions left and right because we can’t stand to be apart.”

You laughed softly, leaning in to kiss her again. The kisses were slow and sweet, the kind that made your chest ache with love. Between kisses, you whispered little promises and memories, recalling your first dates, your shared adventures, and all the little moments that had led to this.

At some point, Billie pulled back, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “I think this calls for a celebration. How do you feel about a midnight snack?”

“Always,” you said with a grin.

Minutes later, a knock at the door revealed room service bearing a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and a chilled bottle of champagne. The card on top read, Congratulations to the happy couple!

You both laughed and Billie tipped the server generously before shutting the door. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, you fed each other strawberries between sips of champagne, giggling as you teased and flirted like it was your first date all over again. The sweetness of the berries mingled with the bubbly champagne, the perfect indulgence for your last night before becoming wives.

As the room quieted again, the two of you snuggled back under the covers. Billie tucked you close, her arms wrapped securely around you, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over this,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of emotion.

“This?” you asked, your head resting on her chest.

“You,” she said simply, pressing a kiss to your hair. “How lucky I am to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but they were happy tears—the kind that reminded you how deeply you were loved.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, tilting your head up to meet her gaze.

“I love you more,” she replied, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the night, exchanging quiet words of love and kisses that felt like forever. Sleep eventually came, but not before you both marveled at the fact that, in just a few hours, you’d be saying “I do” to the love of your life.

[enwoso]

little words | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

cute lil one in honour of it being lessi’s birthday🤍

grumpy masterlist

it was a crisp february morning and sunlight streamed softly through the blinds, warming the cozy bedroom alessia shared with leah.

as alessia stirred awake as she stretched lazily under the duvet. but before she could fully take in the unusual quietness of the morning, she heard the unmistakable sound of giggles and hushed whispers from the other side of the door.

a second late, the door was slowly creaking open as you bounced in, your messy blonde hair bouncing with excitement. as you carried a tray in your small hands, through it was clearly too big for you as leah followed close behind, steadying it with a smile.

"happy brithday, mummy!" you squealed as leah took the try from your hands as you jumped onto the bed, landing on your mummy as a loud grunt came from her as leah set the tray carefully on alessia's lap once you'd moved off to the side.

the tray was perfect: fluffy pancakes drizzled with syrup, a bowl of fresh strawberries which you taken a few from before they made it into the bowl and a mug of her favourite coffee in the mug leah always teased her about never washing properly.

a single daisy sat in a little vase which you had taken from your mummy's flower bed on the front lawn but she wouldn't miss one.. the cheerful yellow face of the flower brightening the whole scene as alessia's chest swelled with emotion.

"oh, you two.." alessia said softly, her voice thick with affection. "this is perfect, thank you"

“mummy i helped cut the strawberries!” you exclaimed proudly, your little hands clapping together a big grin on your lips.

“she was very serious about it,” leah added, her grin warm as she perched on the edge of the bed, “i was merely just the assistant!”

alessia chuckled as she glanced between you and leah, “i can tell, it looks delicious!”

the three of them ate together, you launching into an animated story about your breakfast mission while leah chimed in with reading commentary as every so open your slip a chopped strawberry into your mouth from the tray that sat so perfectly on your mummy’s lap.

alessia couldn’t stop smiling, she felt surrounded by so much love that it made her heart ache in the best way. but she couldn’t help but notice the way you and leah kept exchanging little glances— something was up.

after breakfast, you suddenly jumped off the bed and darted to the corner of the room, returning with a small box wrapped in glittery paper which was topped with a slightly lopsided bow.

“here mummy!” you said, thrusting it towards alessia, “your present!”

alessia took it carefully, her fingers brushing over the sparkling wrapping paper. “this looks so special,” she muttered.

“open it! open it!” you urged bouncing on the bed beside your mummy.

alessia smiled as she gently unwrapped the gift, peeling back the paper and seeing a dainty little box as she carefully lifted the lid of the the box.

inside was a delicate silver necklace, a small pendent shaped like a heart. alessia’s breath caught when she noticed the engraving: ‘i love you mummy, lovie xxx’

for a moment she was silent her fingers trembling as she traced over the tiny letters. tears welling in her eyes and her voice broke as she whispered, “oh lovie.. this is beautiful.”

your face lit up, “do you like it mummy?”

“like it?” alessia choked out a laugh, holding the necklace so preciously in her hands, “baby, it’s perfect. i love it. the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.”

her tears spilled freely now and she reached out to cradle your small and cute little face in her hands, “did you write this all by yourself?”

you nodded furiously, your hand bouncing, “yes! lele helped me but i did write it all by myself!”

alessia heart swelled with so much love she for a moment thought it may burst. “your so clever my lovie.” she kissed your forehead as she hugged you tightly.

leah leaned back against the headboard, her job had been done as she held a knowing smile on her lips as she watched alessia’s reaction.

“you’re going to make me cry all day,” alessia said with a laugh, wiping the tears as she looked over at leah. “you knew this would completely wreck me didn’t you?”

leah smirked, leaning over to brush a thumb under alessia’s eyes. “maybe a little,” she teased. “but it was worth it.”

alessia laughed, her cheeks still wet with tears as she unclasped the necklace and fastened it around her neck. she held the pendant between her fingers letting the light catch on the silver.

“i’m never taking this off,” she promised, her voice trembling again. “i mean it, it’s perfect.”

“mummy you look so pretty.” you smiled you voice full of awe.

alessia pulled you into the gap between her and leah as she hugged you tightly holding you close. “you make me the happiest mummy in the world. thank you lovie.”

you giggled leaning back withal a grin, “your welcome mummy. leah said you’d cry a lot.”

“did she now?” alessia asked, raising a playful eyebrow at leah who shrugged innocently a playful smile on her face.

leah laughed. “i mean i wasn’t wrong was i?”

before alessia could respond, you suddenly jumped off the bed. “wait! i have something else!” you yelled, dashing out the room before either leah or alessia could stop you.

as the sound of your little footsteps faded down the hallway leaving behind a soft echo that seemed to carry the warmth of your small personality.

leah turning attention back to alessia, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned closer, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the moment. “you have so no idea how long it took to get her to write that herself.”

alessia only laughed, she could only imagined. the sound bubbling up like sunlight breaking through clouds and reached out to take leah’s hand.

her touch soft yet steady, her fingers curling around leah’s as though grounding herself in the reality of the moment. “it’s perfect. your perfect - both of you.”

leah’s smile softened, her eyes tracing alessia’s features like a map she had memorised but never tired of exploring. slowly she tilted forward, her breath a gentle caress against alessia’s skin as she pressed her lips to alessia’s.

the kiss lingered, warm, tender and unhurried and imbued with a quiet reverence that spoke volumes more than words ever could. it wasn’t just a kiss; it was a promise and unspoken vow to love, protect and cherish.

“you deserve it all less,” leah turned only inches away from the blondes lips. leah’s voice low and rich with emotion as she pulled back just enough to meet alessia’s gaze.

her thumb brushed lightly over the back of alessia’s hand, grounding them both in the intimacy of the moment. “happy birthday, my love.”

alessia sighed, the sound escaping her lips like a release of all the tension she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. her fingers found there way back to the delicate necklace around her neck, brushing over the engraved words with a little reverence which made her heart ache with gratitude.

in that moment, with leah’s warmth still lingering in her skin and the weight of the love they had built between them she had never felt more cherished or more complete in her entire life.

[papayainsectorone]

living for the first time

summary: on a rooftop overlooking a flickering cityscape, two almost strangers, each carrying their own quiet struggles, share a fragile moment of honesty.

content: angst, drug use (drugs? no, it's a—, no?, it's a natural plant), themes of mental health struggles, emotional vulnerability, existential reflection

word count: 3k

pairing: lando norris x reader

a´s masterlist

The city doesn’t sparkle. That’s a lie people tell to make loneliness sound romantic. A shimmering fiction passed around like a comfort blanket, stitched with neon and nostalgia. But from up here, the lights don’t dazzle. They flicker hesitant, uneven, uncertain of their own purpose. Like they’re caught mid-thought. Like they’re not sure they want to be seen at all.

You’re folded into yourself on the rooftop’s edge, a loose silhouette drawn in charcoal against the night. Knees hugged close, the frayed sleeves of your hoodie dragged over your knuckles, pulled so tight the fabric cuts faint ridges into your skin. The hood’s up, a soft shell against the wind, against thought, against the world. A barrier. A veil. It doesn’t keep the cold out, but it’s something. And lately, something feels like more than enough.

Between your fingers, a joint, still lit, its ember pulsing faint orange each time you inhale. The smoke curls slow and forgiving into your lungs. You hold it in for a moment longer than you need to letting the heat settle deep, blooming in your chest before releasing it in a soft exhale. The air leaves your mouth in a stream of ghost-white vapor, curling upward, vanishing into the night like a secret no one asked you to keep.

It helps. A little. Not in the loud way people expect when they talk about escape, but in a quieter, more private way. The kind that takes the edge off your shoulders and smooths the grit behind your eyes. That momentary unraveling of tightness you didn’t even realize you were carrying until it starts to let go.

You loosen, not all the way, just enough. Enough to lean back slightly, to shift your weight, to let your fingers uncurl from the death grip they'd settled into around your knees. The joint hovers between two fingers now, elegant in its decay, a faint wisp of smoke trailing behind it like a thought left unfinished.

You draw again. Slower this time. Not for the high. For the rhythm. For the ritual. The inhale, the hold, the release. It gives your hands something to do, your lungs something to hold, your mind somewhere quieter to be.

And when the heavy metal door behind you opens, you don’t flinch. Just take another drag, because something about the fire between your fingers feels steadier than the thoughts behind your eyes.

The concrete beneath you presses up through your skin, rough and unapologetic. Its cold has settled deep, curling into your bones with the slow persistence of something that doesn’t need permission. But you let it in. You let it hurt a little. There’s honesty in discomfort. A clean, unvarnished kind. No performance. No pretending. Just the blunt fact of sensation: You’re still here. The ache becomes anchor. A signal to some quiet, fractured part of you that hasn’t fully disappeared.

Below, the city shifts in its sleep. A siren stretches across the blocks, drawn out and half-hearted, dissolving before it ever feels urgent. Somewhere farther off, a dog punctuates the dark with a single bark—more statement than question. It’s not peace exactly, but it’s something close.

The footsteps came closer. Softer this time. Measured. The tread of someone not quite sure if they’re intruding.

They stop a few feet away. Not close enough to threaten. Not far enough to be invisible.

“Didn’t think anyone else came up here,” a voice offers, wrapped in a low accent. British, unmistakably. The kind of tone you’ve heard in echoey corridors, muttered between elevator dings. Familiar in the vague, unreliable way hallway faces are. Known but not known.

You turn your head just enough to glance.

Lando.

Recognition hits like déjà vu—slow and muffled. You’ve passed him before, exchanged nods in that fragile, neighborly choreography. Shared nothing but air and walls. Never words. Not until now.

“There’s a whole building down there,” you say, voice rasped raw from smoke and too much silence. “Figures someone else would be trying to escape it.”

His laugh is barely more than breath. Quiet. Hollow at the edges, like it’s been stored too long without use. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t ask to sit. Just folds down onto the concrete beside you, leaving that unspoken buffer of space, a careful, respectful gap. His legs stretch out in front of him, long and easy. One arm braces behind him, palm flat against the rooftop. The other rests on his knee, loose fingers twitching now and then with restless energy. But his eyes don’t seek yours. They fix somewhere distant. Past the buildings. Past the blinking lights. Past knowing.

The silence stretches—not taut, not aching. Just long. Gentle. The kind that settles between people who understand there’s nothing urgent to say. It doesn’t press. It doesn’t prod. It simply is—like the rooftop, like the air, like the dark above you that hums faintly with the breath of satellites and forgotten stars. It’s not absence. It’s presence, stretched thin.

You bring the joint to your lips again, drag slow, let the smoke settle low and warm. Then, without breaking the rhythm of the moment, you reach out and offer it—arm extended just far enough, a quiet question wrapped in the curl of your fingers.

He hesitates, eyes flicking from the joint to your face. A silent flicker of uncertainty—like maybe he shouldn’t, like maybe it means more than it does. You meet his gaze for the first real time, and you nod. Small. Barely a movement. But it says: It’s okay. You’re safe here.

He takes it.

Draws in deep.

The ember flares at the tip, painting his cheekbones in a brief, rust-red glow. Then he coughs—not dramatic, just a small, involuntary spasm. The kind that sneaks up on you. His face scrunches, just for a second, in surprise.

You let out a quiet laugh. Not mocking, something softer, gentler. Like exhaling pressure.

He offers a sheepish smile, then breathes out a plume of smoke that hangs a moment in the still air before unraveling.

More silence.

Then, almost as if the night wrings it out of him, he speaks.

His voice is lower this time, worn at the edges. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud but didn’t know how not to.

“Do you ever feel like… you’re just pretending to be a person?”

It lands too easily. Too accurately. The kind of question you don’t answer lightly, even if you always know the answer.

You don’t speak right away. Let it settle first. Let it hurt a little.

Your head tilts toward him, just slightly. The motion is small, careful, like shifting weight on a bruise. He’s still looking away, like your answer might be too much to meet.

You look out at the city instead, all those scattered lights blinking uncertainly below. As if waiting.

“Yeah,” you say, voice low, steady. “All the time.”

And in the space after that, something unspoken passes between you. Not connection, exactly—something lonelier. But shared.

He nods, slow and deliberate, as if the motion alone costs something. His jaw tightens—not with anger, but with restraint. Like there’s something behind his teeth he hasn’t decided to release. Words, maybe. Or feelings. Or both, tangled.

The wind stirs again, soft but insistent. It tugs at the edge of his hoodie, lifts a strand of hair from his forehead. He doesn’t adjust it. Doesn’t seem to feel it. He just sits there, looking somewhere else entirely, caught in some inner film reel only he can see.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, barely turning your head. And for a breath-long beat, you wonder what drove him up here tonight. What weight he couldn’t carry behind closed doors. What crack in the armor let this moment slip out. He doesn’t seem like someone who does this often—opens, even a little. But here he is. Sitting on cold concrete, sharing silence like it’s sacred.

You pull your sleeves down over your hands, fingers disappearing into worn fabric. It’s automatic, a motion born of years. A makeshift comfort. A second skin. You stare out at the skyline, and the words fall out of you before you’ve fully shaped them.

“I thought it’d be easier, you know?” your voice is quieter now, not fragile, but careful. “Growing up. Like one day things would click. Like there’d be a moment where you just… knew.”

He lets out a soft huff—half sigh, half laugh. It fogs in the cool air, vanishing almost as soon as it leaves him. “Same,” he says, his voice low, almost like he’s speaking to the sky instead of you. “Thought I’d feel different by now. Like I’d know what I’m doing.”

He says it without bitterness. Just fact. Worn and familiar, like something he’s told himself in the mirror more times than he can count.

He lifts the joint to his lips again, inhales deep—deeper this time, like he’s drawing more from it than just smoke. It glows warm again at the tip, before fading back into shadow.

His voice slips out between the spaces in that breath. Rougher now. Cracked open just enough to leak something raw.

“I still call my mum when I feel like shit,” he says, the words slow and slightly warped from holding the smoke in. “Like—middle of the night, don’t know why I’m crying kind of thing.”

The way he says it—quiet, almost apologetic—it feels like he’s not used to admitting it aloud. Not even to himself. There’s a small hitch at the end, a nearly imperceptible break, like something delicate caught in his throat. But he swallows it. Keeps his eyes forward. Keeps it from unraveling too far.

Only then does he exhale, long and slow, like the confession needed to clear first. The smoke trails out in a soft plume, curling upward, disappearing.

He extends the joint back to you without looking, fingers loose, casual, like this is normal. Like this is what people do when they tell the truth in the dark.

You take it, your hand brushing his for a heartbeat, skin warm from the cold and the fire.

You nod once, slow. Eyes stinging before you can pretend they’re not. It’s not the smoke.

“I sometimes google how to stop hating myself,” you say. The words taste bitter, but you say them anyway. Not for pity. Not for drama. Just to place them into the open air where they can’t fester.

You lift the joint to your lips and inhale. Let the burn fill the space where your chest feels hollow.

“And I hate mirrors.”

The words leave you like a stone dropped in water—small, but with ripples that don’t stop.

You don’t look at him when you say it. You just keep your eyes on the ledge, on the city lights flickering far below like dying stars. But you feel it—the shift. The way his head turns slightly, just enough for his gaze to brush against your skin.

“Yeah?” he asks. Simple. Not loaded. Just an opening.

You nod, picking at a loose thread at the end of your sleeve. Your fingers worry it in slow, repetitive motions, like pulling on it might somehow unravel the rest of what you’re carrying.

“I’ll stare at my face for so long I forget what I even look like,” you say, words flat but exposed. “Then I start googling again, just stuff—filler, collagen, skincare routines. Spiraling down some algorithm of self-hate. And I always end up worse than when I started.”

A pause. Then you risk a glance.

He’s watching. Not with discomfort. Not with that thin-lipped sympathy people wear when they don’t know what to do with your honesty. Just… watching. Fully present. As if he’s letting the words land before deciding how to hold them.

He exhales slowly, gaze still tilted toward the night sky like he’s hoping it’ll answer for him.

“It’s kind of been worse since I brought it up,” he says, quieter now. “Like, my mental health. I do want to talk about it. I need to. I want people to be aware, to maybe feel less alone because I said something.”

He pauses, jaw tightening.

“But now it’s like… it’s the only thing I get associated with.”

There’s a bitterness to his laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I win — and suddenly it’s, ‘Oh, let’s see if he can keep up the mental strength.’ Like it’s all fragile and about to crack.”

He shakes his head. “I lose — and then it’s, ‘Well, he never had the mental strength to start with.’”

His fingers curl a little, as if he’s trying to hold onto something invisible.

“I say something — mental health. I do something — mental health. It’s everywhere. It’s me, apparently. And it’s… tiring. Somehow. Like I became a symbol instead of a person.”

“Everyone thinks I’ve got it figured out,” he murmurs. “Living the dream. Right? But most nights I just feel like I’m wasting something I’m not even sure I ever had in the first place.”

The confession lands in your chest with a quiet thud. No drama, no crescendo. Just weight.

You swallow, the words fragile in your throat. “I keep thinking I’m missing something. Like there’s this secret handbook everyone else got, and I just... didn’t.”

His laugh is soft and real. Not dismissive—resigned. The kind of laugh people make when something hurts in a way they’ve already accepted.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like we skipped a tutorial.”

“Exactly.”

You pull your hood tighter, fingers brushing your cheeks as you gather it in. The fabric smells faintly like smoke and old shampoo. The night’s colder now. Or maybe you’re just thinner-skinned after everything that’s been said—like the air gets in easier once you’ve let something out.

“I think too much sometimes,” you murmur, your voice barely lifting above the breeze. “About things that aren’t real. Problems that don’t exist. Whole conversations that never happened.”

There’s a tiny pause, like he’s checking to see if you mean it. He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t dismiss it.

“Me too,” he says. Simple. Honest.

You breathe out through your nose, and the warmth of it ghosts in front of your face. A half-sigh. Half-surrender.

You take another drag—slow, deliberate. It hits different now, not because the weed’s changed, but because you have. Because everything’s quiet up here. The joint’s almost gone, just one breath left in it. You hold it out toward him wordlessly.

He takes it without looking, eyes fixed upward, face tilted back like he’s trying to read something written in the stars. But there’s nothing up there. Just the weightless sprawl of dark and the whisper of maybe.

“It’s, like…” he starts, stops. Swallows. “I’m in my twenties. I should be out, living. You know? Making memories or whatever. But half the time I just scroll. Or sleep too much. Or not at all. And then it’s 3AM and I’m lying there wondering if this is it. If this is all life is ever going to feel like.”

He takes the final drag. It burns quick and sharp at the tip, then goes out. He rubs the end against the concrete gently, like putting out a cigarette in slow motion. Careful. Thoughtful. A little ceremony for something that helped, even if just for a minute.

You don’t answer right away. The silence doesn’t press, doesn’t ask for anything. It just sits beside you like a third presence, steady and calm.

Eventually, you say, “Sometimes I think I’m scared to feel okay.”

He turns slightly, not enough to break the quiet, just enough to let you know he’s still there.

“Like,” you go on, voice raw around the edges now, “if I stop struggling, I’ll lose the only thing I know how to do.”

The wind grazes your face like fingers. Cold. Kind. You don’t look at him, but you feel him closer now—not physically, but in the way he breathes with you. Like you’ve synced.

“I don’t know how to be a person who isn’t falling apart,” you whisper.

The words don’t echo. They just stay. Weightless, but undeniable.

He doesn’t offer anything back right away. No platitudes. No reassurances.

Then, quiet as a thought, he says, “Me neither.”

And that lands with more grace than any solution could.

You sit like that for a while. Not talking. Not pretending to be okay. Just existing beside each other. The rooftop feels different now—still holding everything said, but it doesn’t crush. It cradles. The cold is still here, but it doesn’t bite as hard. The silence, still vast, but softer now. A blanket instead of a wall.

Two outlines in the dark. Not broken. Not whole. Just breathing.

Overhead, the sky begins its slow shift, no sunrise yet, just the faintest hint that one might come. Not light, exactly. But the promise of it. That subtle loosening in the air. That almost.

He moves first, the scrape of his shoes on concrete gentle, like he doesn’t want to wake the night. He stretches, arms high over his head, spine cracking softly. Then he looks down at you.

There’s a flicker in his eyes, something like a question he chooses not to ask. Instead, he just extends a hand.

You take it.

His grip is warm. Firm, but not possessive. When you let go, it’s easy. But not empty.

As you both start toward the door, you find the words spilling out, quieter than you expected, but clear.

“It’s like we’re stumbling through this world, you know? Still so unsure of everything. Of course we’re not that good at it yet—at living… we’re only just doing it for the very first time now.”

He turns his head toward you, just enough to meet your eyes. He nods, slow and steady. No words needed.

You walk on in silence. No goodnights. No promises.

tag list

@mara1999 @random-movie

[temilyrights]

golden hour

emily prentiss x gn!reader

summary: emily comes to find you on the jet after you're hurt on a case.

word count: 776 words.

disclamers: injured!reader (bullet wound, blackeye - just description and discussing pain. not graphic). soft!emily. they're doing anything but talking about the thing between them™

“Here, take this.” Emily murmurs, pulling your gaze from the jet window. Your lips tilt up into a gentle smile as you carefully accept the blanket from her hands. 

“Thank you.” You reply sincerely, draping the polyester fabric over your body. The pain meds you’d taken before boarding were doing their job to dull your pain to a manageable level, but with the addition of a soft blanket you feel some of the lingering tension melt away. 

She leans against the small table in front of you, dark eyes examining the bruise that was already purpling around your eye. Her brows furrow as the sunset streams in through the small window and captures her face in a pretty orange and yellow glow, highlighting the line of her nose and angle of her jaw.

The tightness in your chest is obviously just residual pressure from the sling currently on your arm. Or maybe from the bullet you’d taken in the same bicep earlier today. 

“How’s the pain?” She asks. 

She’s barely left your side since she found out you were shot. The others had done their initial fret and have since been watching you from afar. You understand it’s out of love and concern but it makes your skin crawl, it’s the reason you’d found a seat at the back of the jet away from prying eyes. But Emily was always there like a steady column, wherever you turned. No fretting, no wincing, just sure and comforting. 

It felt dangerously safe. 

“It’s okay.”

She arches a skeptical brow, “Come on, I’ve been shot and had a black eye before. I know they both hurt like hell.” 

You huff, unable to resist rolling your eyes, even as a laugh falls from your lips. “Then why are you asking?” 

“I was giving you the opportunity to be truthful.”

Truthful.

Like that was something the two of you did.

Her eyes sparkle like maybe she sees the irony in her statement, as her tongue darts out to lick her lips, before the wet skin is quickly pulled back by her teeth. 

You clear your throat, wrenching your gaze away.  “Fine,” You choke and force yourself to meet her eyes. Be normal. “My eye is tender and my arm aches like hell.” 

Her brows furrow, the smile falling from her lips. Like maybe the truth wasn’t actually the victory she was expecting. 

“Can I get you anything?” She inquires. The blanket slips down your body, exposing your shoulder to the cool air. Emily reaches out and corrects it before you can move, her grasp featherlight, and leaving you with a hot flush. Her hand lingers as if she wants to touch you, maybe caress the fragile skin on your face and there’s a part of you that desperately wishes she would. Her mouth stands open, lips frozen apart, words she can’t find or doesn’t dare to speak never falling from her lips. 

You watch her closely, feel the nerves swarming in your stomach. You can’t resist the urge to free your hand from the blanket and clasp hers, gently tangling your fingers together. And, you don’t do this. Sure, there are careless arm touches and rare hugs that are over before they even have the chance to begin – careless in the sense Emily touches everyone, but you have every moment memorised and feel the lasting imprint that every contact with her leaves, burning your skin like it was the searing sun touching you for the first time – but there were never moments this brazen, never fingers intertwined and eyes holding each other. The line you couldn’t blur felt awfully blurry. 

Her hands are so soft they almost tickle, a stark contrast to her red-raw nail folds. They weren’t like that this morning, you were certain. You noticed when she handed you a cup of coffee, how unripped the skin had been.

Your chest constricts, eyes moving up to meet her wide ones. Dark brown eyes wide and darting between yours and where your hands are gently intertwined. 

“Emily—”

She pushes herself up, pulling her hand away from yours and hiding her eyes behind a shield of raven hair. “I’m going to get you some water. You need to stay hydrated.” 

You release a frustrated sigh, but nod. Forcing a flimsy smile to your lips. “Thank you.” 

“Be right back.” She murmurs, already disappearing behind the curtain. You don’t watch her leave.

You sink back into your seat, eyes drifting out the window and into the blinding sunset. A sad laugh escapes your throat. The prominent ache in your chest doesn’t budge, but the sunset is good enough company for the meantime.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Bound by Desire

I've Got a Feeling (1)

Dom!Natasha x switch!Wanda x subby!brat!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: Natasha and Wanda have been in a happy and healthy BDSM relationship for years, but have been looking for a third for Wanda's sake. When they meet you, they might have gotten more than they bargained for.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, BDSM relationship, dom!nat, switch!Wanda, sub!reader, Daddy!nat, Mommy!Wanda, strap use(r receiving), bondage (more will be added as things occur)

A/N: I worked on this all yesterday and some the day before when the idea came to me. Please Enjoy~

The sun filtered through the curtains of the bedroom windows and the skylights. You had never appreciated the morning before, but as you wake up under silk sheets; your sleep shorts and tank top it feels right.

As you stretched out you felt a set of arms wrap around you, pulling you close and breathing you in. A smile spreads across your face.

“Good morning Pchelka.” The husky voice you'd come to know as Natasha whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good morning Daddy.” You have a purr to your voice as she kisses over your shoulder and up your neck.

Small noises making their way out of you as her hand glides down between your legs. She rubs you over your shorts only increasing the need and ache between your legs.

“Tasha! Honey bee! Breakfast! Come help with setting the table!” Wanda called up the stairs.

You didn't want to, but a whine came out of your mouth and a chuckle from Natasha.

“Mommy is calling Pchelka. Guess you'll have to wait a little longer.” She whispered in your ear making another whine come out.

“Please Daddy…so achy…” you turned slightly to look into her dark green eyes. Pleading with your own for her to give in, but you knew better by now.

Her hands slipped away from you as she got up. “No Pchelka. Mommy's calling and you know not to keep her waiting. Head down, I'll be there in a few minutes.”

A pout on your face as you got out of the sheets, another shiver overcoming you as your feet hit the cold hardwood flooring. You headed down to find Wanda still cooking, by the smell of it she had turkey bacon. You learned early on that Wanda liked anything that was a healthier option.

You moved over to her, leaning up and kissing her cheek, “Good morning Mommy.” You felt her smile as you kissed her cheek.

“Good morning my precious girl. Did you sleep well?” Her arm wraps around your waist and gives a kiss back to your cheek.

“I did Mommy, but then Daddy started to tease me when I woke up…” you complain, giving the same pleading eyes to Wanda.

“Oh my poor little girl. I bet you're all achy right?”

Your lip is shaking in a pout, all you want is their touch right now. Wanda gives you a sympathetic look. Leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Please Mommy…so achy…” you bury your face between her arm and chest. She pulls you back out, gently by your chin.

“Dorogoya, be a good girl for Mommy, get the table set, get me out the juice and after breakfast we can discuss your neediness.” You wanted to protest, but knew that would result in a punishment instead of a reward. So you got to doing as asked.

Their dining room is elegant and bathed in soft morning light streaming through tall, arched windows draped with sheer, ivory curtains. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a gentle glow over the room. The polished mahogany dining table is set by you with lovely plating and sparkling glassware, ready for a refined breakfast. Elegant high-back chairs, upholstered in rich, deep blue velvet, are neatly arranged around the table. A vase of fresh flowers that Wanda changes weekly, a mix of white lilies and pale pink roses, sits as the centerpiece, adding a touch of natural beauty to the sophisticated setting. The atmosphere is serene and inviting, perfect for a leisurely morning meal.

You smile at your handy work before bounding back through the curved archway to the kitchen. You stop in your tracks when you see Natasha's arms wrapped around Wanda's waist, as they share an intimate moment it makes something bubble inside of you. Your hands curl into fists and then out a few times.

“Hey!” It's bubbling over before you can stop it. “I set the table and I come back to this!?” Your voice is a shrieking tone. Wanda and Natasha looking at you. Though Natasha wants to stop this before it starts Wanda stares you down.

“Y/N. We were having a moment just like you and I were before you went to set the table, remember?” Wanda's voice is gentle and motherly, it always was. You know logically she's right and besides, they're married you're just some college girl they felt sorry for.

You look down at your fingers that are now absentmindedly dancing together. “M’Sorry Mommy…” You manage out. They deserve each other, you're just here to help. Eventually they'll get bored of you and then you'll be back to your old life living in an apartment that's two sizes too small and way too expensive.

“It's okay dorogoya, come get the juice and we'll have breakfast. Come here and give Mommy a hug first.” She calls, ushering you over as Natasha takes the plates of bacon, pancakes, and eggs to the dining room.

You trudge your way over to Wanda, burying your face into her chest as her arms encircle you. Her hands rubbing your back lightly in an attempt to quell the feelings rising inside of you, but she couldn't help the feelings she didn't know about. You weren't about to tell her either as she soothed you with kind words of reassurance without ever actually mentioning the words ‘I love you.’

°○°○°○°○°

She filled you perfectly. Her strap was made for you and though earlier this was all you wanted, now it was somehow feeling suffocating. Your thoughts from earlier never stopped. They'd been going through your head all day. You'd just wish it would stop as you tried to concentrate on the pleasure your Mommy was giving, but it wasn't helping.

Thoughts racing and suddenly it's all feeling like too much and you're pulling at your restraints. “Red!” Everything stops and in a whirl you're set free. Wanda tries to scoop you up, but you stop her. “Space.” It wasn't often you asked for that as you got off the bed in a hurry, running to your room.

You curled up under the sheets, tears falling as your body shook. You heard the soft knock at the door, thanking yourself you had locked it.

“Dorogoya please let me in, I just want to talk.” Wanda's voice called for you lovingly, making you clam up more. You didn't want to talk, you wanted to be silent, words felt too hard right now. “Y/N…please let me in…” you heard her voice crack ever so slightly.

You had never gone non-verbal around them, you had never brought it up either. You internally cursed yourself for this as you sat up, wrapping a blanket around yourself and plod over to the door, twisting the lock and moving back to your spot in the middle of the bed.

You heard Wanda slip in behind you, her soft steps on the hardwood. The bed sinking beneath her weight. Judging by the feeling she sat away from you towards the pillows.

You couldn't look at her, but you heard her take in a sharp breath before speaking. “I'm not sure why you called red darling, but whatever the reason is I'm glad you did call it when you needed to. I know we're still getting used to this. It's only been a month so I'm sure we're going to have bumps along the way. I'd like to fix this if possible.” Wanda's trying to make things better and still you can't answer her.

You finally sit up facing her. She's in a scarlet robe, she must have thrown it on quickly once she took off her strap. There was only one time you had called red and it was from lack of reassurance.

Wanda had been using a lot of degrading on you in a session and not enough praise. You ended up calling red and crying in her arms for a bit.

You point to your throat and making a silent scream, trying to let her know you can't talk as she looks at you a little confused. Then you added a zipped lip to it and it clicked.

“You can't talk right now, okay, that's fine. I can work with that until you can. So yes or no questions?” She asks with a little head tilt and you give a nod.

“Was it something I did?” You shake your head. “Was it something you did?” You tilt your head from one side to the other, contemplating before pointing to your brain. “Okay your head, was it bad thoughts?” You give her a nod.

You're scrunching up the blanket in your hands, worried about what's to come next for you. Tightening back up a bit before she shifts forward just enough to reach out for your chin. Such a gentle clasp she has as you tilt up to meet those sea glass eyes.

“Darling whatever those bad thoughts are saying I can promise you they are untrue. I know that's hard to believe because you haven't told me about them, but I know they're untrue.” Her honeyed voice always wrapped around you. It made you feel so safe. Like nothing could hurt you.

The tears fall freely as you crawl into her lap, koalaing your way around her. She soothes you the whole time, rubbing your back and humming a light tune, every so often a bit of Sokovian comes out in the song.

You could have stayed like that for hours. It almost felt like you did, yet at the same time it felt like mere minutes.

“M'Sorry Mommy…I just…bad thoughts…felt suffocated…” She kept rubbing your back, not forcing anything out of you. “I just…feel like you and Tasha are gonna get bored of me…you have each other and…and…” your voice started cracking as more tears fell.

Wanda wanted to intervene; she knew exactly where those thoughts were going, yet she let you talk. Knowing it would be best to let you get it out. It was already eating you alive.

“Just want to be important…want to be special…” Your throat stung as you choked back sobs to keep it together long enough to speak.

“Oh my precious little honey bee. Mommy was right, those thoughts aren't true. You mean so much to Daddy and I. You are our perfect little girl. The missing piece to our puzzle. We wouldn't dream of letting you go.” She always knew what to say, making your tears fall more.

She pulled you back just enough to wipe the tears. A small apologetic smile gracing her lips. “I know my words only go so far, but I will always make sure to let you know you are loved by us. You aren't something we're tossing away.”

You smiled before pressing your forehead to hers. She took the opportunity to give you a little peck.

“Thank you for the reassurance Mommy. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.”

“That's okay honey bee. I'm glad you were able to tell me. I do worry about you not telling me things. I know you like to carry everything, but I'm here and so is Nat. You can tell us anything.”

You simply nod against her, re-resting yourself onto her shoulder. A soft content sigh falling from your lips. You knew the bad thoughts would come back, but now you know you can always talk about it.

Taglist: @itsalwaysskorpioszn @boredandneedfanfics @godhatesgoodgirls

[d-targaryenshoe]

In The End - Colin Bridgerton

Word Count: 2172

Summary: To be married to a stranger is not what every single lady of the Ton wants, is it not?

You and Eloise Bridgerton, childhood friends, sat under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree, the leaves above you rustling in a gentle breeze.

The sunlight streaming through the leaves cast dappled shadows upon your faces, dancing like living things.

"You can't be serious, y/n," Eloise said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "An arranged marriage? You're far too young to be thinking of such things!"

You shrugged, your expression wistful. "I know it's not what I would have chosen for myself," you admitted, "but it is the path my mama has chosen for me."

Eloise reached out to take your hand, your eyes filled with concern. "But what if you don't like this Lord Somerset?" she asked. "What if you don't want to marry him, must that not change things?"

You sighed, looking away from your friend. "My mother says I must marry well, to secure the future of our family," you replied, your voice tinged with resignation. "I fear my opinion does not matter in this matter."

Eloise frowned, her brow furrowing. "But y/n, you're not just a possession to be traded or bargained with! You have feelings, thoughts, desires! You should have a say in who you marry!"

You bit your lip, looking away again. "I know, El. I wish things were different," you sighed. "But my mama has made it clear that this is how it must be."

Eloise's heart ached for you, but she could tell that there was no changing your mind right now. "There must be something we can do?"

You looked up at her, hope flickering in Eloise's eyes before being extinguished. "I don't know, El. I don't want to disobey my mother. She's only trying to secure my future."

"The future you did not choose, must I remind you."

Eloise's tone was gentle, but firm. You looked up at her, surprise flitting across the Bridgerton her features before settling into a pensive frown.

"I know, El. I just... I feel as though I have no say in anything that happens to me."

"But you do, you always have a say."

Eloise's gaze remained fixed on you, her eyes searching for any sign of doubt or hope.

"You could speak with your mother, and explain how you feel. You could try to convince her that you deserve a choice, that you deserve happiness."

You shook your head, your hair swaying gently. "She'd never understand, El. She's always put her desires first. I don't think she'd ever see things from my perspective."

Eloise bit her lip, thinking. "Then maybe it's time you showed her," she said, determination shining in her eyes. "Maybe it's time you stood up for yourself, for your future. You don't have to do this alone."

You looked up at your friend, hope flickering in your eyes. "You'd help me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eloise nodded, her determination growing. "Of course, I would. You know I'd do anything for you. Together, we can find a way to make sure you get the future you deserve."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, each lost in your thoughts. Your hands were clasped tightly in your lap, your nails digging into your palms.

You looked away from Eloise, out towards the garden where the flowers swayed gently in the breeze.

Eloise watched you with a mixture of sympathy and determination. She could see the turmoil in your eyes, the conflict between your duty and your desires.

It was clear that this decision weighed heavily on you. As if sensing the tension in the air, a figure appeared at the edge of your vision.

Colin Bridgerton, Eloise's brother and your friend, approached you from behind, his stride purposeful.

His dark hair was tousled from the wind, and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Ah, there you are, you two. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Eloise turned to face him, her lips curling into a smile. "Hello, Colin. We were just having a... ladies' moment, if you will."

You looked up at Colin, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Hello, Colin. It's nice to see you."

Eloise watched as Colin's eyes flickered between the two of you, clearly sensing the weight of the conversation.

She wondered what he made of your sudden seriousness, but decided not to dwell on it. "Colin, why don't you join us?" Eloise invited, patting the bench beside her.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing at you, before sitting down beside Eloise. "What were you saying about standing up for yourself, y/n?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I know you've always been good at doing what's expected of you, but sometimes I think it's important to follow your heart, too."

You looked at him gratefully. "It's just... my mother has always been so strict. I feel like I can never live up to her." you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I want so much more for myself, but I don't know how to make her understand."

Colin nodded in understanding. "I can see that. It must be tough, feeling like you're always walking a tightrope." He glanced over at Eloise, who was watching the two of you intently.

"But you know, sometimes all it takes is someone on the sidelines to give you the courage to step out of line, to take a chance on yourself."

You looked at him, hope flickering in your eyes once more. "Do you think... do you think she'd ever understand?" you asked softly.

Eloise took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I believe she can if you give her the chance. You just have to find the right way to explain how you feel, and why this means so much to you." She glanced over at Colin, who nodded in agreement. "But I- I have to join mama to the modiste."

You looked up at your friend, a mixture of gratitude and determination in your eyes. "Thank you, Eloise. I'll think about what you've said."

Eloise hesitated for a moment before standing up, her dress rustling softly against her legs before she turned around and walked away.

Colin studied your profile as you watched your friend disappear into the crowd, a quiet strength emanating from you. "You know," he began, "it's not always easy to stand up to our parents, but I believe you're brave enough to do it."

You turned to face him, a spark of determination lighting your eyes. "Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do," he replied with conviction. "You have so much to offer the world, and I think your mother just needs some time to see that."

You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly. "It's not that easy, though. She's always been so focused on me marrying well, and living a comfortable life. She doesn't understand that I want more than that."

Colin nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I know it's difficult, but you have to believe that she can change her perspective. You just have to find a way to help her see things from your point of view." He reached out, taking your hand in his. "And I promise you, I'll be here for you every step of the way."

You looked into his eyes, the sincerity in his words giving you strength. You could feel the warmth of his hand on yours, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else.

"Thank you, Colin," you whispered. "You don't know what that means to me."

He smiled, and you noticed how his dimple dented his cheek. "I think I do, actually," he said softly.

At your surprised expression, he continued, "I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you in the garden that day. You're beautiful, intelligent, and brave. You're everything I could ever hope for in a woman."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you listened to his words. You had never expected to hear anything like this from him.

"But... we're just friends," you stammered, your voice barely audible above the laughter and chatter of the people around you.

Colin smiled gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "We are friends, yes. But I think there's something more between us. Something deeper, more intense. And I want to explore that." He reached up, cupping your cheek in his hand, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch.

"I want to get to know you better, y/n. Not just as a friend, but as a woman. As my woman."

Your heart raced as his words washed over you, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned forward, his lips mere inches from yours. "I know this is sudden, and perhaps I shouldn't have said anything tonight, but I couldn't help myself. I've felt this way for so long, and I needed you to know."

Your heart raced as his words sank in. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and you could hardly breathe. You knew you should say something, but the words seemed to stick in your throat.

You could only stare into his eyes, lost in the moment.

Slowly, almost tenderly, Colin leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours.

At first, it was gentle, a mere flutter of sensation, but then he deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours. You gasped, your hands finding their way up to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin.

You felt as if you were floating, your body alive with the heat of the moment.

The world around you seemed to fade away, and it was as if there was nothing but the two of you, your hearts racing, your breath mingling together.

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the hardness of his chest, the strength in his arms as he held you close.

When at last you broke apart, you found it difficult to focus on anything but the look in his eyes.

They were filled with desire and tenderness, and you knew that he meant every word he had said.

You could feel the blush creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile shyly.

"I-I don't know what to say," you managed to stammer.

Colin smiled back, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. "You don't have to say anything right now. Just know that I meant every word I said and that I want to explore this with you." He paused for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, before continuing.

"I want us to be together. I want to protect you and cherish you, and show you the love that you deserve."

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. You had never imagined feeling this way about anyone, and the thought of being with Colin filled you with a warmth you hadn't known was possible.

You looked up into his eyes, your shining with tears of happiness, and nodded slowly. "I want that too," you whispered. "So much."

He smiled down at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "I know it's fast, and I don't want you to feel pressured, but...I want to start making plans with you. I want to take you away from here, show you the world. I want to build a life with you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his lips mere inches from yours once more. "I love you, y/n," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared into his eyes. You could feel the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life by his side, explore the world with him, and build a future together.

You knew that you could trust him and that he would always protect you.

With trembling hands, you reached up and cupped his face, tenderly brushing your thumbs across his cheeks.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Yes, I'll marry you."

The weight of your words settled between you, and you both paused for a moment, taking in the gravity of your decision.

It was as if the world around you faded away, leaving you alone in your little bubble, suspended in time and space.

Colin leaned in closer, his lips finding yours once more, his tongue tracing the outline of your mouth.

His kiss deepened, his hands exploring the contours of your body, and you melted into him, returning his affections with equal fervor.

[seokminfilm]

l'amore dice ciao | lee seokmin

pairing: lee seokmin x reader

warnings: non-idol au, husband seokmin, kissing, implied honeymoon, seokmin calls reader baby, sweetheart, reader uses seokmin's nicknames, mentions of pregnancy, soft intimacy, reader is pregnant, seokmin soft hours, giggles in lyr's favorite things to write

now playing: l'amore dice ciao, armando trovajoli

"Good morning, sweetheart." Seokmin's voice is groggy as his arms are draped over your swollen stomach, and you answer tiredly, yawning as you stretch your aching body. "Good morning, Seok."

The two of you arrived in Italy yesterday after a long plane flight and an even longer drive to get to the rented condo. Both of you spent last night shopping and seeing the town, finishing the night in the bedroom as you both watched a classic Italian romance movie before spending the rest of the night talking to each other like two high schoolers spending the night.

Now that you were five months pregnant, sleep was becoming harder and harder to come by─you were overjoyed at the fact that you got a decent sleep last night, and you couldn't help but sigh as Seokmin's plump lips pressed against your warm neck.

"How's my sweetheart?" Seokmin asked quietly, big hands ghosting over your sheer nightgown as you hummed. "I'm doing good."

"Do you know what you want to do today?" Seokmin asks softly, stepping out of bed as he stretches cutely.

His taut muscles are slightly tanned from your time at the pool yesterday, and the Italian sun highlights every dip and curve of his abs perfectly. His dark eyes catch the color of the summer sun, causing them to sparkle as his soft hair is swooped over one side of his face, highlighting the slope of his sharp nose and plump lips.

"Whatever you want to do," You look up at your husband with doe-eyes, and he's melting for you quickly, sighing as he comes back to meet you on the bed.

He watched how you stretched as well, giving it your all as you carefully adjusted your seating position. Your hands were cupped around your bulging belly, and the white nightgown brushed over your tender body in such a beautiful way, one that made Seokmin want to marry you all over again.

"I don't think you want to do whatever I want to do, baby." Seokmin laughs nervously, leaning in as he presses a kiss to your lips softly. His hands are on either side of your body, leaning over you as he stares into your eyes. Your hands go up to wrap around his bare waist, and you smile, kissing his firm chest as he smiles. "Maybe I do."

"You're going to make me go insane, sweetheart, I swear it," Seokmin shudders at your touch, and you laugh, sighing as you pat his chest. "Not if you do it first."

Seokmin backs away, laughing at your cute expression as he makes his way over to the dresser. His clothes for the two-week vacation are all tucked away, and he chooses his outfit for the day, sculpted back flexing as he closes the drawer. You're enamored with everything about your husband, and you'd die if you didn't let him know, making your way up from the bed as you follow him into the bathroom.

The massive mirror reflects your body as you follow him quietly, and he looks at the reflection, confused as he turns around to see you. "Baby? Is something wrong?" Seokmin looks so innocent as he asks you the question, and it makes you laugh, shaking your head as you sigh.

"Nothing's wrong, Min. I'm just so happy with....everything, really. I'm happy with it all." You say, and Seokmin laughs, turning on the water as he splashes his face with it.

"Are you now?" Seokmin takes his fingers under the stream of water and flicks it at you, showering you with water as you squeal happily before pausing to look at your husband.

"I am, Seokmin. Thank you." Your voice takes on a more soft, thankful tone, and Seokmin smiles, embracing you as he kisses your forehead. "Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything for you at all."

[its-avalon-08]

why did you leave me (cl16)

part2!

multipart story! prev || next

summary : charles and y/n have always been best friends. but y/n has been in love with him forever. when charles starts dating a new girl, out of respect y/n distances herself. but how much is too much?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Y/N sat alone in her room, the soft glow of her laptop screen casting shadows across her face. She had made the decision to distance herself from Charles, but the weight of that choice pressed heavily on her heart. She opened her photo gallery, scrolling through the countless pictures she and Charles had taken over the years.

The first photo she stopped on was one of them as children, covered in mud after a day of playing in the rain. Charles' bright green eyes sparkled with joy, and Y/N's face was lit up with a wide grin. She remembered that day vividly.

"Come on, Y/N! Let's see who can make the biggest splash!" Charles had shouted, his laughter infectious.

They had spent hours running through puddles, completely carefree. Y/N wiped a tear from her cheek, her heart aching with the memory of simpler times.

The next photo was from their high school graduation. Charles had his arm around her, both of them wearing their caps and gowns, faces beaming with pride.

"We did it, Y/N!" he had said, his excitement palpable. "We’re finally free!" He hugged her and spun her around as Y/N giggled.

"Yeah, we are!" she had replied, feeling a mix of happiness and sadness at the thought of their lives changing.

She continued scrolling, each photo bringing back a flood of memories. There was the picture of them at his first major race win, where she had jumped into his arms in celebration. Another showed them sitting by the campfire during their family camping trip, the warmth of the flames reflected in their eyes as they shared stories late into the night.

Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as she relived each moment. Her silent sobs wrecked her delicate frame. She came across a photo from the night they had celebrated her birthday. Charles had surprised her with a cake, a beautiful pendant and they had spent the night dancing and laughing.

"Make a wish, Y/N/N!" he had said, holding the cake in front of her.

She had closed her eyes, silently wishing that they would always stay as close as they were then. The irony of that wish now felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, Y/N began to sob openly. The realization of how much she loved Charles and how much she would miss him was overwhelming. She was losing her best friend and it was all her fault. Her tears glistened and she tried to silence herself but all the memories came rushing back. Every hug, every time Charles made Y/N feel loved, every fight, every milestone. Her large golden retriever, Elvis, sensing her distress, jumped onto the bed and nuzzled his head into her lap.

"Oh, Eli," she cried, wrapping her arms around the dog's neck. "I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know how to let him go."

Elvis licked her face, his warm presence offering a small comfort in her despair. Y/N buried her face in his fur, her shoulders shaking with the intensity of her sobs.

"I love him so much, Eli," she whispered. "But I can’t stand the thought of being so close and not being able to tell him. I don't want to hurt their relationship. She is so lovely and he is so happy. They deserve this and here I am, making this about me. But I can't do it. I can't stay close because it just hurts too much."

She looked back at the screen, her vision blurred by tears. The next photo was one Charles had taken of her when she wasn’t looking. She was sitting by the water, lost in thought, with a serene smile on her face.

"He always captured the best moments, Elvis," she said to the empty room, her voice breaking. "He always know how to make me feel special."

Max whined softly, pressing closer to her, and she stroked his fur, finding some solace in his loyalty.

"I wish things could be different," she continued, her voice barely a whisper. "I wish I had the courage to tell him how I feel. But he’s happy with Camille, and I can't ruin that for him."

As she scrolled further, she found the last photo they had taken together, just a few days before he told her about Camille. They were sitting on his couch, watching a movie, their heads leaning against each other. It was the last time things had felt normal, the last time she hadn’t felt the crushing weight of her unspoken love.

"I’ll always cherish these memories Charles," she said, her voice trembling. "But I have to let you go. It’s the only way I can protect my heart."

With a final sob, she closed her laptop and buried her face in Elvis's fur, letting the weight of her decision wash over her. She knew it would take time to heal, but for now, all she could do was grieve the loss of the closeness they once shared.

taglist : @hiireadstuff @starz4me1 @f1fantasys @aundercover @ohthemisssery @ggaslyp1 @hadids-world @matcha---matcha @f1luvUr @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @timmychalametsstuff

[peachesandscreem]

Retribution

Despite his best efforts, you've been a brat all day and Nanami is sick of it.

NSFW below the cut.

Modern AU.

Dom!nanami x sub!afab reader

CW: anal play, impact play, brief mentions of choking, afab reader, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, daddy kink, p in v intercourse.

Kento Nanami loves you.

Truly, he does.

He loves everything about you. Your sweet and caring personality. Your quick-witted humor. He loves the way you dress, the way you walk, the way you breathe.

But one thing he can't stand is your ability to get under his skin.

Kento Nanami loves almost everything about you.

It had been a nearly perfect day. An overcast Saturday. A lazy morning at the farmers market picking up fresh baked treats for the week and new soaps to try. Breakfast pastries and lattés from your favorite café. A late picnic lunch by the river downtown that Nanami had taken the time to pack for the both of you, complete with your favorite sandwich and beverage. Ice cream for dessert. It had been a day filled with all of the things you loved.

So why did you insist on being such a brat all day?

It started when you were getting ready for the day. A reminder of the time and an inquiry on your status of getting dressed had earned him your scorn.

'I'm coming, Ken' you had snipped, cutting your eyes at him briefly while pulling off the third sweater you had tried on and tossing it to the floor, searching your closet for another one. He chalked it up to you being tired. It wasn't unusual for you to be a little grumpy in the morning. He let that one slide.

Your next transgression came in the form of you refusing to stay by his side while you traversed the streets. The city you lived in was safe enough, but you knew he didn't like letting you out of his sight when you were out. Everytime he looked up from a produce stand or turned to ask you what you thought about an item he picked up, you were gone. He had to track you down no less than 10 times by the time you left the market.

Apparently holding his hand was out of the question as well, with the way you wrigled out of his grasp any time he tried, pulling your hand back with a huff and an indignant stare.

The final crack to his thinning patience was when you began blatantly ignoring him. Any questions he asked you were met with silence or a response unrelated to the topic at hand.

'Did you have a nice day?'

'Sure,' you shrugged in response, staring out the window of his sedan at nothing in particular on your way back home.

'Are you okay? You seem off today.'

'Your car is kind of dirty, Kento. When's the last time you cleaned it out?'

Nanami had had it.

And so you found yourself here, laid completely bare on your shared bed. A silver jeweled plug nestled prettily in your ass, chains connecting it to a cuff on each ankle and your hands bound to your thighs with soft pink rope. All while Nanami dealt sharp slaps to your throbbing pussy.

You'd last track of the time, unable to tell how long you'd been like this. Minutes? Hours? Your knees ached from being bent to your chest, your wrists raw from pulling at the ropes that bound them, and your sex swollen and tender from your relentless punishment. Sobs hiccuped from your throat and sparkling tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked into your lover's eyes, his expression severe.

Another wet slap seared into your sensitive flesh had you crying out in pain until Nanami slipped two long digits into your slick heat, curling them right into that sensitive spot inside you, causing you to choke out a watery moan.

"You're soaked," he scoffed. "This is supposed to be punishment." As if he was faring any better. The wet patch on the front of his briefs was growing larger by the second as pre-cum leaked from his tip like he was a fucking virgin. He'd be ashamed if he wasn't so enthralled.

A strong fist wound its way into your hair, bringing you closer to him. Warm breath fanned across your flushed and tear-streaked face as he took in your debauched expression. Eyes nearly crossing from the intense pleasure of his assault on your spongy g-spot, drool threatening to drip from the corner of your mouth. You were a vision, even when you were being ruined.

"You really pissed me off today" he seethed, finger-fucking you while you struggled to maintain eye contact.

He released his tight grip on your hair in favor of cupping your cheek and slipped his other hand up to draw slow circles on your swollen clit.

"Maybe I've been too lenient with you lately" he mused. You nuzzled your face into his large, warm palm and looked up at him, trying to convey how apologetic you were with your teary eyes. Sometimes that worked to make him go easier on you.

This wasn't one of those times.

A sudden sensation had you gasping he stopped his ministrations on your clit and began toying with your plug. Gently pulling, pushing and tapping on the metal, your chains clinking with the movement.

"We're going to put this behind us with the expectation that there won't be a repeat of your actions today. Are we clear?"

You nodded quickly, "y-yeah!"

His hand drew back without warning and dealt a firm slap to your ass, "manners."

"Yes, Sir," you whimpered.

"Better. However, " he rubbed his hand soothingly across the sore, reddened skin, "I have yet to hear those two important words I've been waiting for," he chided.

"M'sorry," you slurred

Another harsh slap to the opposite side of your ass had your back arching sharply off the bed as a cry ripped from your chest.

"You can do better than that" he scolded.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Sir! I'll be good! Promise!" You pleaded, feeling fresh tears well up in your eyes.

"That's what I like to hear," he growled as he dipped his middle finger between your folds and circled your clit in quick circles, drawing moans and whimpers from you, your legs shaking with the strain of being held in an uncomfortable position for so long.

More tears escaped your glistening eyes, your make up that you had painstakingly applied this morning now smeared around your lids. Nanami thought you had never looked prettier.

His cock throbbed, hard and heavy, pounding against the zipper of his slacks. He knew you were almost at your breaking point. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

Your chest heaved with each shuddering breath you drew into your lungs. Your eyes slipped closed momentarily as he angled your face to slot his mouth against yours in a breathless kiss. Tongues melded together in your mouth, the faint memory of coffee and ice cream at the back of your throat.

He swallowed your soft moans and whimpers whole. Kissed away the remaining tears on your face. His resolve finally snapping when he drew back and you looked up at him with those pretty eyes, batted your lashes at him slowly, and went in for the kill.

"Daddy. Please." You whispered, your cloying voice sending a shudder down his spine and straight to his cock. Goddammit. You knew what that did to him.

He groaned, deep and loud and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. Bound and submissive but still in control in the end. You swallowed your smirk and feigned innocence.

Shucking off his pants, Nanami came to kneel in front of you, his member lying on your mound, tip resting above your pubic bone as he dripped sticky pre-spend onto your skin. He grasped himself and gave his cock a few quick pumps while lining himself up with your entrance.

Looking down at you, your eyes wide with anticipation and breath caught in your throat. You were beautiful. He was so lucky.

"Love you so much, angel" he breathed as he finally pushed into your snug, drenched core. You moaned in unison, pleasure mixing with pain at the stretch as he worked his way into you inch by inch, eventually bottoming out with his heavy balls pressed against your ass.

"Love y'too, daddy" you slurred, already drunk on his cock. You rolled your hips to the best of your ability, your signal to him to move.

In tune with your body, he knew what you needed. Drawing back until only his tip remained in you and thrusting back in quickly, all the way down.

"You drive me crazy, you know that? Being such a damn brat all day." He began a steady pace, hips humping into you harshly and his tip brushing your cervix with every deep stroke.

"It's okay though. Can't stay mad at you for long." He grabbed your calf with one hand and slipped his other between your bodies and began working your clit again, moving with skilled precision. "You're daddy's good girl after all, right? Tell me." He pleaded while his hips worked faster, fucking into you relentlessly.

"M'your good girl daddy! Always-hah- always yours!"

"Yeah-fuck. Fucking mine" he growled. The hand on your calf moved to grasp your throat, thumb and pointer finger pressing against your blood vessels, making you feel lightheaded and euphoric.

You felt the warm, creeping sensation of your orgasm building in your stomach. Your body tingled, goosebumps erupting across your skin.

"Can I cum daddy, please? D-don't think I can hold it" you whined, voice shaking with his harsh thrusts into your sopping heat.

Nanami struggled to keep his rhythm, hips stuttering and his hand on your clit erratic.

"Yeah, baby" he gasped "cum for me all over this cock. Need to feel you. Now." He hoped he sounded commanding and authoritative and that you couldn't tell he was actually begging.

A few more deep thrusts and tight circles on your sensitive bud and you were gushing onto his pulsating member, clenching and throbbing as he brought you to ecstasy. You cried out some broken version of his name, titles and formalities forgotten as you fell apart for him.

He watched you, enraptured with your release. No one made pleasure look as good as you. Face flushed, eyes rolled back, back arched, jaw dropped open and letting free the prettiest sounds he'd ever heard.

It drove him over the edge after you, thick ropes of cum painting your insides and filling you to overflow. His own moans raising in octave as he buried his face into your neck, biting down on the flesh of your shoulder to subdue his gasps and whimpers as he tiptoed into overstimulation. Hips jerking uncontrollably in the aftershocks of his release.

He stilled and breathed deeply into your chest, planting soft kisses against your breasts, before he reluctantly pulled himself out of you.

Pulling out your plug, he undid the cuffs on your ankles, kissing and rubbing the skin under the restraints as he went. He untied your wrists, giving your thighs and wrists similar treatment, praising you as he worked in a hushed voice. You closed your eyes, regulating your breathing back to a normal level as you relaxed into the plush duvet, aching joints relaxing for the first time in what felt like days.

You felt his weight disappear from the bed and return a moment later, jumping when he pushed a cold bottle of water into your hand as he gathered you into his arms and held your back against his chest. He moved your sweaty hair behind your ear and kissed his way down your neck and shoulder.

"Let's get you cleaned up" he hummed as he picked you up and carried you into your shared bathroom.

Nanami loves everything about you. Even when you get under his skin.