twistedreads

[twistedreads]

Cowboy heat— nic love island

Summary— When the villa lights blaze for the infamous Heart Rate Challenge, you and Nic turn up the heat higher than anyone expects. But it’s behind closed doors where the real fireworks happen—and Nic proves just how insatiable he can be for the girl who’s stolen his heart…and his head.

Warning—Contains explicit sexual content, oral sex (fem receiving), overstimulation, mild hair-pulling, public sexual teasing, explicit language, and a partner touching himself during sex.

The villa’s lit up with neon lights, music thumping as the Islanders gather around the firepit. Tonight’s the Heart Rate Challenge, and the vibes are downright feral.

You’re sitting with your girls around the fire pit, nerves buzzing like static under your skin. None of you have your costumes on yet—you’re still in your usual villa fits, waiting your turn while the boys go first.

Nic’s somewhere inside with the other guys, getting ready. You haven’t seen him in costume, and he hasn’t seen yours either. That’s the whole point—and the suspense is killing you.

You’re clutching the edge of your seat as boy after boy makes his entrance, each strutting out in ridiculous outfits and grinding to music while the girls squeal and laugh. But your mind keeps drifting to Nic, wondering what the hell he’ll be wearing…and how you’re supposed to breathe when it’s your turn.

Finally, it’s Nic’s name they call. He comes swaggering out in full cowboy mode: a tilted hat over those sharp grey-blue eyes, brown curls peeking out, tan skin glowing under the lights. His denim jeans cling low on lean hips, and the big cowboy belt buckle gleams above a teasing flash of abs.

Your jaw drops. So does everyone else’s.

The music shifts to some dirty beat, and Nic struts into the center of the circle, flashing a wicked grin and running a hand down his body. The girls shriek. The boys hoot and whistle.

He starts swaying his hips, rolling them to the beat, thumbs hooking into his belt loops. His bare chest gleams under the lights as he grins at the screaming crowd, muscles flexing with every twist and thrust.

Your eyes lock across the circle.

He beckons you with two fingers. “C’mere, baby.”

The villa ERUPTS.

Your jaw drops. “Wait—ME?”

“Yeah, YOU.”

You laugh, but your feet move on instinct, heels clicking as you cross the patio toward him. As you step up, Nic’s hands come around your waist, yanking you in. The scent of him—clean, sharp cologne mixed with his warm skin—makes your head spin.

Nic twirls you dramatically and lays you down on the center cushioned bench like you weigh nothing. You’re half-giggling, half-mortified as the crowd shrieks.

Then he leans in, gaze dark, and licks a slow stripe from your ankle, all the way up your calf… your thigh… tracing over the bare skin between the top of your stockings and the delicate lace edges of your one-piece.

You whimper. The crowd goes feral.

He keeps going, tongue tracing over the front of your dress, over your cleavage, and finally up to your neck, where he nips you gently. Your breath hitches, chest heaving.

And then his lips crash onto yours.

He kisses you deep, hot and messy, his tongue parting your lips. And right in the middle of that heated kiss, Nic reaches up and wraps a fist around your braids, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

“Oh my God!” one of the girls screams.

You moan into his mouth, gripping his biceps as the kiss grows filthier. His hat falls off somewhere in the shuffle. His hand fists tighter in your braids, pulling your head back a little, letting him kiss down your neck again.

Your brain’s a melted puddle.

Nic finally pulls back, leaving you breathless on the bench. He’s grinning like the cat who got the cream, curls sweaty and eyes gleaming.

“Heart’s racin’, huh?” he teases.

You shove at his chest, laughing, even though your legs are trembling.

Your pulse is still pounding as you stumble back to your seat, breathless, your lips tingling from Nic’s taste.

The villa is pure chaos.

“BRO, THAT WAS PORN!”

“Nic’s a menace!”

“SEND HIM TO CASA!”

You collapse onto the bench beside the girls, pressing trembling fingers to your lips. You’re still wearing your usual villa fit — a yellow lace jumper — and suddenly you feel so exposed.

Your friends are all over you.

“Bitch. BITCH. The tongue. The BRAIDS.”

“You’re not surviving tonight.”

“Your heart rate’s gonna break the machine!”

You bury your face in your hands, laughing, cheeks on fire. But deep down, there’s a buzzing in your chest. Nic’s scent is still clinging to your skin, your body still thrumming from the feel of his tongue on your thighs.

You barely hear the host over the roaring crowd.

“Alright, Islanders…it’s time for the girls. Y/N, you’re up!”

Your head snaps up. “Wait—ME?!”

“Yes, YOU!”

The girls shriek, shoving you up from the bench.

“Go get changed, hoe!”

“END HIM.”

Your heart’s trying to beat out of your chest as you sprint inside the villa.

Inside, your costume is waiting in a white paper bag on the dressing table. You rip it open with trembling hands.

It’s a nurse outfit.

A tiny white dress that barely covers your ass. Lacy white thigh-high stockings. A red cross emblem over your chest. A tiny nurse’s hat.

You peel off your villa clothes and slide into the dress, gasping as the tight fabric molds to your curves. You adjust your knotless braids over your shoulders and look in the mirror.

Your brown skin glows under the bathroom lights, and your lips are still swollen from Nic’s kisses. You bite down a smile.

Cowboy’s not ready for this.

When you step back outside, the villa explodes.

Nic’s eyes find you instantly. He’s sitting with the boys, hat in hand, looking freshly wrecked from his own performance. But when he sees you, his jaw drops.

“Holy…fucking…shit,” he breathes.

The host calls out, “Let’s see what the Nurse has in store!”

The music slams on — dirty, thumping bass.

You strut forward, hips swaying under the tight dress. The girls scream. The boys go feral.

Nic’s practically vibrating where he sits, eyes glued to the way your braids swing over your shoulders.

When you reach him, you push him gently onto the bench and swing a leg over his lap, straddling him. His hands immediately fly to your waist, fingers digging in like he’s trying to steady himself.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes sweeping over you like he’s starving.

You lean in close, lips brushing his ear. “Time for your checkup, cowboy.”

The villa SCREAMS.

You start moving your hips slowly, not grinding hard, just shifting and rolling against him in a teasing rhythm. Nic lets out a shaky breath, chest rising and falling faster as he watches you, his fingers tightening on your sides.

“Fuck…baby…” he pants, voice rough and low.

Your hands trail over his bare chest, feeling the heat of his skin under your palms. You tilt your head and flash him a wicked smile.

Then you snatch his cowboy hat off his head and slap it onto yours.

Nic’s eyes go wide. “Don’t— don’t do that to me.”

You laugh softly, still rolling your hips in slow, controlled motions, your braids swaying around your shoulders. Nic looks completely wrecked, pupils blown, mouth parted.

Finally, you lean down and kiss him, deep and hot.

The villa goes wild, cheers echoing around you.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless, faces flushed.

You hop off his lap, smoothing your white dress as the crowd continues screaming.

Nic just sits there for a second, looking utterly undone, curls sticking to his forehead.

“I’m…fucking…done,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You blow him a kiss, grinning wickedly.

The results come in.

“The Islander who raised the most heart rates tonight… is Y/N!”

The villa LOSES it. The girls tackle you in a screaming group hug. Nic just strides over, pulls you into his chest, and crushes his mouth onto yours.

Nic grins into the kiss. “No shit.”

The villa LOSES it. The girls tackle you in a screaming group hug, shrieking and laughing.

When they finally let you go, you look over and find Nic sitting there, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. He’s cheering like the rest, his eyes locked on you like you’re the only person in the villa.

Then he calls out, voice warm and playful. “That’s my girl.”

You can’t help laughing, heat flooding your cheeks as he keeps applauding, grinning like you’ve just made his entire year.

LATER THAT NIGHT…

The villa’s calmed down, music still drifting downstairs.

Nic can’t stop staring at you in that tiny nurse outfit.

You’re heading toward the stairs when Nic grabs your wrist and drags you into the bathroom.

He slams the door shut behind you.

Nic’s eyes are wild as he locks the bathroom door. You’re barely in the room before he’s on you, big hands grabbing your waist and slamming your back gently against the tile wall.

“You’re evil,” he growls, crowding in close. His breath’s hot against your mouth. “You fucking ended me out there.”

You’re breathless, giggling as you shove lightly at his chest. “It’s the Heart Rate Challenge, babe.”

Nic doesn’t laugh. His eyes drop to your lips, dark and dangerous. “Nah. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Before you can retort, his mouth is on yours — hard.

The kiss is messy, wet, all teeth and tongue. He’s kissing you like he needs oxygen from your lungs. His hands roam your sides, fingertips skating up your ribs until they’re brushing the underside of your breasts through the tight nurse dress.

You gasp into his mouth. Nic takes advantage, tongue plunging deeper. He grabs your braids in one fist and tugs your head back just enough to expose your neck.

“Nic…” you whimper.

He licks a stripe up your throat, then sucks at the delicate skin beneath your ear until you’re shaking.

“Been thinking about this all night,” he mutters. “You struttin’ out in this little fuckin’ outfit…” His voice breaks off as he looks you over, eyes hooded. “I’m down so fucking bad for you, baby.”

Your thighs press together. “Nic, we should go back out there…”

He huffs out a dark laugh. “Fuck that.”

Before you can protest, he lifts you effortlessly, spinning and setting you down on the bathroom counter. The cool stone makes you gasp. Your legs fall open automatically, and he steps right between them.

Nic kisses you again, deeper, his tongue sliding into your mouth while one hand cups the back of your head. His other hand is already dragging your dress higher, fingertips grazing your thighs.

“Nic…” you pant, breaking the kiss. “Someone might come in…”

“Let ‘em,” he rasps, eyes blazing. “Let ‘em hear how good I make you feel.”

His eyes drop to your center, and he lets out a low groan.

“You’re killing me in these, baby.”

You glance down. Your lace panties are still on, the white fabric soaked through where your arousal’s bleeding through.

Nic drags his fingertips over the wet patch, pressing down gently. The contact makes you jump, your hips bucking off the counter.

“Shit,” you gasp.

Nic smirks. “Sensitive, huh?”

You let out a strangled sound as he sinks to his knees in front of you.

“Shut up—”

He leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss right over your panties, lips hot through the thin lace. You let out a strangled moan, your braids spilling around your shoulders as your head falls back.

He does it again, kissing you through the fabric, then flicking his tongue over your clit, still separated by lace.

Your whole body jolts. “Oh—oh my God…”

He growls low, his breath hot against you. “I can taste you even through these.”

Your moans echo off the bathroom tile. You try to slap your hand over your mouth, but Nic rips it away.

“Don’t you fuckin’ hide those sounds from me.” His voice is a rough snarl, eyes blazing.

He looks up at you, holding your gaze as he presses another lingering lick over your clit. Your thighs tremble violently.

“I wanna hear you.”

The eye contact alone nearly finishes you.

Your hips jerk up from the overwhelming sensation, but Nic just grabs your thighs, holding you still.

He continues licking and sucking through the soaked fabric, his tongue tracing circles over your clit, relentless and focused. You claw at the counter behind you, breath hitching on every gasp.

Finally, Nic curls his fingers into the waistband of your panties.

“Off. Now.”

He tugs them down your legs and flings them somewhere over his shoulder. He tugs your panties down your legs and flings them somewhere over his shoulder.

Before he leans in again, he pauses, one hand resting on your thigh as his eyes flick up to yours. His voice is low, rough but gentle.

“If it gets too much, babe…tap my shoulder, yeah?”

Your chest squeezes at how soft his expression goes, even with his lips still glistening. You nod, breathless. “Okay.”

Nic’s grin turns wicked again. “Good. Now…where was I?”

Before you can even catch your breath, he dives back in.

“Fuck—Nic!”

He licks a slow, devastating stripe right up your bare pussy, groaning like he’s tasting heaven. His tongue moves faster, flicking over your clit, sucking it into his mouth as he moans deep in his chest.

“Shit…shit…” you gasp, legs trembling around his shoulders.

The pleasure’s too sharp, building and crackling through every nerve until you’re trembling all over. Your thighs start to shake uncontrollably, your hips trying to pull away from his mouth as the pressure coils impossibly tight in your belly.

“Nic…I’m—” you whimper, voice breaking.

But it’s too late. Nic growls low, dragging you closer instead, his hands gripping your hips like a vise.

“Oh no, baby,” he murmurs against you, breath hot and wet. “Don’t run now. Let go for me.”

Then he sucks your clit deep into his mouth, tongue flicking in rapid, devastating strokes.

White heat explodes behind your eyes as your orgasm slams into you, ripping a strangled cry from your throat. Your thighs clamp tight around his head, your braids whipping around your shoulders as your back arches off the mirror, body shaking uncontrollably.

Your whole body goes slack as the waves finally start to ease. You’re gasping, chest heaving, vision blurry with tears of pleasure. A shudder runs through you as you try to catch your breath, hips twitching under the soft brush of his tongue.

But Nic doesn’t stop.

Instead, he keeps licking, slower now but just as thorough, dragging his tongue over your oversensitive clit and tasting every drop. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and relentless, as if daring you to try and pull away again.

“Fuck, Nic… I can’t…” you whimper, voice trembling. But he just groans low in his throat and dives back in, tongue working you toward the edge all over again.

“Yes you can baby.”

The pleasure’s so painfully good, you can barely keep your eyes open…but when you finally look down, something catches your eye.

Between his spread knees, Nic’s free hand is buried low, palming himself through his jeans. You realize his hips are subtly rocking, pressing into his own touch as he moans into you.

Your eyes go wide, a hot flush blooming over your chest. The shock and raw desire punch the air right out of your lungs.

“Nic…oh my God…are you—” You can’t even finish, voice breaking as your thighs tremble.

Nic pulls back just enough to answer, lips slick and swollen. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide.

“Fuckin’ can’t help it, babe,” he pants. “Look at you…shakin’ for me like that. I’m so fuckin’ hard, it hurts.”

Your stomach flips violently, heat flooding every nerve. The sight of him getting off just from tasting you sends another pulse of liquid want rolling through your body.

Your hips try to squirm away again, overwhelmed, but Nic just flashes a wicked grin and locks his hands around your thighs, dragging you back toward his mouth.

“Uh-uh. Stay right there. Let me finish my meal.”

Then he dives back in, tongue moving in devastating flicks over your swollen clit. The filthy, wet sounds fill the bathroom, punctuated by Nic’s ragged groans as he keeps stroking himself.

“Nic—oh my God—”

He glances up at you while sucking harder, eyes blazing. “Look at me when you cum again.”

That command shatters you. Your second orgasm slams into you like a freight train, ripping a strangled scream from your throat.

Nic keeps going, ignoring your gasping pleas, licking you through every wave of your release. Soon another orgasm quickly rises.

“Give me one more babygirl.”

A pornographic moan releases from your mouth as your third orgasm tears through you, even harder than the first two, your thighs clamping tight around his head as your entire body shakes.

Nic groans like it’s his own release, his hips jerking subtly against his hand as he swallows every drop.

When you finally collapse against the mirror, boneless and shaking, you’re gulping in ragged breaths, your body trembling as the last waves of your orgasm fade.

But even as you’re coming down, you feel Nic’s tongue still moving, only slower and much gentle this time, carefully licking over your sensitive flesh as he tries to clean the mess you’ve made.

A surprised squeal bursts out of you, half laugh, half gasp, as your hips jerk away from his mouth. Your hand flies into his curls, gripping tight as you tug at his head.

“Nic, I swear—” you gasp out, voice trembling, equal parts overwhelmed and wrecked with heat.

He pauses, glancing up at you with those dark, dazed eyes, lips and chin glistening, breathing hard.

“What?” he murmurs, voice husky and playful. “Just tryin’ to clean you up, baby, too much?”

You stare down at him, cheeks flushed, still trembling, a weak laugh bubbling out of you. “Just sensitive, You’re killing me.”

But even as you say it, your voice is low and throaty, thick with a desperate, turned-on edge that makes Nic’s grin go wicked.

He rises slowly, hands sliding up your thighs and around your waist, pressing soft, reverent kisses across your stomach, chest, and neck.

“Good,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “Because I’m never getting enough of you.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, his eyes blazing with mischief.

“And you love it.”

Despite yourself, you let out another breathless laugh, tugging him closer as he captures your lips in a softer, lingering kiss that leaves you dizzy all over again.

[twistedreads]

Like I want you— Nic Love island

Summary — Nic and you finally get chosen for the Hideaway after weeks of tension in the villa, and things quickly go from sweet confessions to steamy under the covers.

Warning: Spicy, including intercourse, dirty talk, fingering, nipple play, lots of flirting, sweet moments, pure Love Island chaos.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It’s purely for entertainment and not intended to reflect reality or the real people involved. No disrespect is meant to anyone depicted. If the people involved ever wish this removed, I will take it down.

A/N: Nic & Olandria!! Chillleee🤭, this is a surprise for the Nic girlies

The sun’s gone down, fairy lights twinkling across the villa as the Islanders lounge around the fire pit. You’re curled on the outdoor sofa next to Nic, half-listening to the latest gossip, when your phone suddenly buzzes.

Everyone freezes.

“I’VE GOT A TEXT!” you yell, waving the phone in the air.

The Islanders holler. “Read it, babe!”

You clear your throat, cheeks already hot.

“‘[Y/N] and Nic… The Hideaway is open tonight. Please pack your bags and enjoy some alone time. #HighwayToHeaven #PrivateParty’”

The villa explodes.

“OIIIII!” shouts one of the boys.

“Get in there, girl!” squeals one of the girls, grabbing your hand.

“Behave yourselves!” someone calls, though they’re laughing too hard to sound serious.

Nic’s grinning like he’s just scored the winning goal.

“Guess we’re goin’ on a little field trip,” he murmurs, leaning in so only you can hear.

Inside the bedrooms, chaos reigns.

“Babe, wear the red lingerie!” one of the girls hisses, practically throwing a lacy set into your suitcase.

“Or the black one! Boys go MAD for black.”

Meanwhile across the room, the boys are howling at Nic, who’s tossing T-shirts into his duffel.

“Bro, you bringin’ protection?” someone yells.

“Man’s about to be SWIMMING.”

“Take it easy, big man, you don’t wanna scare her off!”

Nic rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning like a fool. When you both re-emerge with your bags, the Islanders are lined up clapping and whistling like it’s a damn red carpet.

“DON’T DO ANYTHING WE WOULDN’T DO!” they yell as you head toward the Hideaway door.

Nic throws a wink over his shoulder. “No promises!”

A staff member opens the heavy Hideaway door, and suddenly it’s just you and Nic in a room dripping with neon lights and plush velvet. Candles flicker on every surface, casting soft shadows.

The bed is huge, covered in crisp white sheets scattered with rose petals.

Nic drops his bag, surveying the room.

“Jesus… they’ve gone all out for us.”

“Seriously. You’d think we’re getting married.”

He smirks and pulls you closer.

“Could be arranged.”

You shove his shoulder, laughing. “Shut up.”

But then his expression softens. He looks around the room again, then back at you.

“Wild, innit?” he says. “How we came in here all single… and somehow I’m standin’ in the Hideaway with you.”

You swallow, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. It’s been a lot.”

“You regret coming on here?”

“No. Even when it’s messy… I’m glad I came. Met people I’ll never forget.”

He nods, quiet for a second. Then his dark eyes meet yours, serious and intense.

“I’m glad you came. ‘Cause… truth is, you’ve been the only one I’ve wanted since the start.”

Your breath catches. His gaze is so steady it makes your chest tight.

“Since the first day. Even when I was trying to chat up someone else… it was you I kept looking for. Your laugh. The way you roll your eyes when the boys act stupid.”

You tilt your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “So… you’ve felt like this all along?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, licking his bottom lip. “Yeah. I’ve been wanting you this whole time.”

Your brow furrows gently. “Then why didn’t you ever tell me until now?”

His gaze grows earnest, a hint of vulnerability flashing in his dark eyes.

“Because… I didn’t think I had a chance.”

He steps closer, towering over you, heat radiating off his body. His hands slide around your waist, fingers splaying possessively across your lower back.

“But now that I know I do…”

In one swift motion, he gives your waist a gentle shove, guiding you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fall back onto the plush sheets with a soft gasp, propping yourself up on your elbows as you stare up at him.

Nic follows, leaning over you, his face inches from yours.

“So here’s the thing, beautiful…” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, glinting with heat. “You gonna let me kiss you… or am I gonna have to keep talking about how good you’d look stretched out on the bed?”

Your pulse hammers in your chest.

“Nic…” you whisper.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your lips. “Say yes.”

You don’t even get the word out before his lips crash onto yours, kissing you like he’s been starving for it. It’s slow but deep, his tongue sliding against yours, teasing, coaxing little whimpers from your throat.

He tastes faintly of mint and villa cocktails. One of his hands cups your jaw, fingers splayed over your cheek, the other sliding around your waist to pull you closer.

“God… you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he breathes against your mouth.

He kisses you again, harder, groaning low in his chest. You gasp, nails digging into his arms, and he shudders like your touch electrifies him.

“Fuck, that sound…” he murmurs. “Keep makin’ that for me.”

He trails kisses down your neck, tongue flicking over your pulse point. His hand slips beneath your top, fingertips brushing up your ribs until they find the curve of your breast.

“Can I touch you?” he murmurs, voice tight.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Good girl,” he says, and his eyes flash dark and hooded.

Nic palms your breast, thumb brushing your nipple until it pebbles under his touch. Your back arches, a gasp tearing from your throat.

“Shit… look at you,” he groans. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He kisses lower, lips skimming the swell of your chest as he slowly pushes you back onto the pillows.

Nic’s fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, tugging gently. His eyes search yours, dark and hungry.

“Let me see you, baby.”

Your pulse thunders as you lift your hips, letting him slide your shorts—and your panties—with them. Cool air hits your skin, sending a shiver through you.

Nic sucks in a sharp breath.

“Fuck…” His voice is almost reverent as he stares between your thighs. “Look how wet you are already.”

He settles between your legs, his big hands caressing your thighs as he spreads you open. His eyes are glued to your center, pupils blown wide, lids heavy.

“So pretty… shit.”

He runs two fingers through your folds, gathering the slick there, then rubs slow circles over your clit. You gasp, hips twitching.

“Nic…”

“Yeah, beautiful?” His grin turns wicked. “Tell me what you want.”

“More…”

“Good girl.”

He slides one finger inside you, the stretch delicious and maddening. His jaw clenches as he watches your face, soaking up every flicker of pleasure.

“Fuck… so tight,” he groans. “You’re squeezin’ me like crazy.”

He adds a second finger, pumping them slowly in and out. Your back arches off the bed as heat coils low in your belly. Nic leans closer, brushing kisses across your chest.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice husky. “Wanna watch you come undone for me.”

You force your eyes open. The look on his face almost tips you over the edge right then—dark, intense, pupils blown, lips parted like he’s in awe.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers. “All these other people in the villa… I don’t give a shit. It’s only you I’ve wanted.”

His thumb finds your clit again, circling in firm, precise strokes that send lightning shooting through your veins.

“Nic… oh my god…”

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “Let me feel you.”

He curls his fingers just right, pressing into that spot that makes you keen, your thighs trembling. Nic’s eyes stay locked on yours, dark and reverent.

“C’mon, beautiful… give it to me. Let me see your pretty face when you come.”

Your orgasm slams into you hard, hips jerking, a broken cry tearing from your throat. Nic’s fingers keep thrusting gently as he coaxes every wave out of you.

“Fuck… look at you,” he pants, voice thick with awe. “So fuckin’ beautiful. All mine.”

He finally withdraws his fingers, gliding them slowly up your inner thigh. He brings them to his lips, tasting you with a groan.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he says, eyes blazing as he leans back down to kiss you.

He pulls back slightly, breath ragged.

“Fuck… I need to feel you properly.”

You watch him sit up on his knees, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt. He pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, revealing a tan, sculpted chest dusted lightly with dark hair. His abs flex as he shifts to undo his shorts.

Your eyes follow every movement, heat pulsing between your legs again as he shoves his shorts and boxers down in one go, kicking them aside.

Your jaw drops a little.

“Jesus, Nic…”

He raises an eyebrow, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“That a compliment or you scared?”

“Definitely not scared,” you say, voice breathy. “Come here.”

“Say less.”

Nic settles back over you, bare skin warm against yours as he claims your lips again. His hard cock presses against your thigh, and he groans low in his throat as he grinds slightly into you.

“Feel that?” he rasps. “That’s what you fuckin’ do to me.”

Your hands slide down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle until you wrap your fingers around his length, stroking him lightly. Nic shudders, dropping his forehead to yours.

“Fuck… keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna last.”

“Then hurry up,” you whisper. “I want you inside me.”

Nic huffs out a shaky laugh.

“Bossy. I fuckin’ love it.”

He shifts, lining himself up at your entrance. He pauses, looking you dead in the eye, voice softer now.

“Last chance, beautiful. You sure?”

“Yes, Nic. Please.”

“Fuck…”

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you deliciously. Nic’s jaw clenches as he watches your face, eyes nearly black with lust.

“God… you feel unreal,” he groans. “So warm… so fuckin’ tight.”

He pulls out halfway, then thrusts back in deeper, a guttural growl escaping him. The rhythm starts slow, deliberate, each stroke designed to make you feel every inch.

Your fingers dig into his biceps as pleasure spikes higher and higher.

“Faster, Nic… please…”

“Anything you fuckin’ want.”

He speeds up, hips snapping into yours, the sound of skin slapping echoing off the velvet walls of The Highway.

“Eyes on me,” Nic pants. “Wanna watch you come on my dick.”

Your gaze locks on his. He’s sweating, muscles flexing, eyes hooded and dark as he fucks you harder.

“Fuck… you’re perfect,” he groans. “Been dreamin’ about this since day one.”

The heat coils tight in your belly, ready to explode. Nic groans, voice thick.

“Shit—gonna come. Come with me, baby. Please…”

A few more thrusts and you’re crashing over the edge, walls clenching around him as you cry out. Nic thrusts deep and stills, moaning your name as he follows, hips jerking as he spills inside you.

For a long moment, you’re both trembling and breathless, the neon glow washing over your tangled bodies.

Nic lowers himself gently beside you, both of you still breathless. He props himself on one elbow, eyes sweeping over your face like he’s memorizing every detail.

Then he lets out a low whistle.

“Damn. I knew the Hideaway was gonna be good, but… I didn’t know it was gonna be that good.”

You snort, lightly smacking his chest. “Please. Acting like you didn’t plan this the whole time.”

Nic’s grin turns wicked.

“Listen… I might’ve manifested it a little bit. Law of attraction, innit?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot who just rocked your world.”

Your jaw drops. “Nic!”

“What? I’m just sayin’ facts!” He raises both brows, looking utterly shameless. “If the producers ask, I’m givin’ five stars on TripAdvisor. ‘Hideaway experience: unforgettable. Staff service: excellent. Company: ten outta ten, would smash again.’”

You burst out laughing so hard your sides ache.

“You’re so embarrassing.”

Nic waggles his brows.

“Yeah, but you like it.”

“Maybe a little.”

Nic softens, tracing your jaw with his fingertip.

“Seriously though… I’m glad it was you. Can’t imagine being in here with anyone else.”

You smile, cheeks warm. “Same.”

He smirks again.

“You know…” Nic murmurs, tracing lazy circles on your skin, “I’m not even tired yet.”

“NIC!”

He just laughs, eyes glinting with mischief, then rolls you under him and peppers your face with playful kisses.

“Oi, don’t act shy now. I know all your secrets.”

“Shut up!”

“Make me.”

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug him into a kiss, giggling into his mouth. He kisses you back, deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours as his hand slips to your waist.

When he finally pulls back, he’s breathing hard, pupils blown wide.

“So… you wanna go again?” he murmurs, voice husky, brushing his lips over yours. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

A shiver races through you. You bite your lip, pretending to think.

“Mmm… maybe.”

Nic’s grin is pure trouble.

“Don’t tease me, beautiful. Come here.”

You laugh and shove at his chest, pushing him gently onto his back. He goes willingly, arms folded behind his head, watching you with dark, hungry eyes.

“That’s it,” he says, voice rough. “Show me what you got.”

You swing a leg over his hips, straddling him as his hands slide up your thighs, his touch possessive and warm. His gaze rakes over your body like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Fuck… look at you,” he whispers. “Never get tired of this view.”

You lean down to kiss him again, heat sparking as his hands grip your hips, guiding you over him.

Outside The Highway, the villa music still hums—but in here, the world shrinks down to tangled limbs, gasping breaths, and Nic murmuring your name like a prayer as the night stretches on

[twistedreads]

New years sweets- Nick leister

Summary—Nick comes to visit you for new years after being long distance and you guys end up doing a food review with your sibling.

Warning: Cute, some explicit comments, funny, that’s really it.

A/N: this idea was inspire by a tiktok video I seen of Leah & Miguel trying Crumbl for the first time with Leah’s sister😭,

Masterlist

The airport reunion was every kind of dramatic. You ran. He dropped his bag. You leapt into his arms with your legs wrapped around his waist like you hadn’t seen him in a year, even though it had only been a few weeks. Still—Nick hugged you like he’d been holding his breath the whole time you were apart.

You could hear people behind you whispering, but you didn’t care. He was here.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, arms around his neck.

Nick pulled back slightly to look at you, brushing your hair from your face. “I know, baby. I missed you more.”

Now, two hours later, you were perched in his lap on a kitchen stool while he clung to you like a human backpack. Your sister had set up the camera for your latest dessert review, but the second Nick sat down, he’d tugged you onto him without hesitation.

“Absolutely not,” your sister said flatly, pointing. “No inappropriate jokes, no ‘babe this, babe that,’ and no being weird. This is for TikTok.”

Nick grinned, tightening his arms around your waist. “I make no promises.”

The video was rolling.

You flashed a bright smile to the camera. “Welcome back to Sweet Tooth Sisters—except today we’ve got a very sweet surprise guest.”

Nick popped his head over your shoulder, resting his chin there. “Hi. I’m Nick. Her emotional support boyfriend and taste test virgin.”

Your sister handed over the first box. “Strawberry cheesecake doughnut. Fan favorite. Don’t mess this up.”

You sliced off a piece and gave it to Nick, watching as he took a dramatic, slow-motion bite like he was in a Food Network finale.

His eyes widened. “Holy—okay. Okay. That’s insane.”

“Right?” you laughed, grabbing your own piece.

Nick nodded, still chewing. “That’s like… life-changing. Like… ‘rethink your priorities’ good.”

You giggled. “Scale of 1 to 10?”

“Ten. Easy. I’d break up with someone for this.”

You smirked. “Lucky for me, I brought you dessert and look like this.”

Nick kissed your cheek. “Double win.”

Your sister blinked slowly from behind the camera. “We’re only one item in. Please stay focused.”

Item two: salted caramel cupcake.

Nick tried it and immediately frowned, licking his lips in confusion. “Why does this taste like… burnt sugar and regret?”

You snorted. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, babe. That tastes like something I’d eat at a retirement home potluck and pretend to like for someone’s meemaw.”

Your sister was already muttering, “You guys are not invited to the Valentine’s Day review.”

Item three was a double chocolate chip cookie.

Your sister handed it over, gave you both a warning glare, then walked out of frame to grab more napkins.

You broke off a piece and fed it to Nick. “Open up, Cookie Monster.”

He took it, chewed, and tilted his head. “Hmm. It’s good…”

You took a bite and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, rich. Moist. Not too sweet.”

Then Nick leaned close to your ear, his voice a low murmur.

“Almost tastes as good as you.”

You choked on the cookie. “Nicholas!”

He grinned, unfazed. “What? You fed it to me! I didn’t plan to say it!”

“We’re recording!” You turned toward the phone in panic. “OH MY GOD.”

You launched yourself toward the screen, smacking at the screen to stop recording as Nick laughed behind you.

When your sister walked back in, you were frantically pressing buttons and whispering, “Please delete, please delete…”

“What did I miss?” she asked suspiciously.

Without looking up, you said, “We were trying to do a taste test while you walked away but then Nick said something very inappropriate and I had to delete it.”

Nick was behind you now, smirking and waving at the camera. “Hi, sorry. Just a guy with no filter.”

You reached up and put your hand over his face. “He’s in time-out.”

Your sister shook her head. “You guys are seriously so annoying.”

Nick grinned, still holding onto your waist. “You love us.”

She didn’t reply. But she did crack a smile when you leaned back onto his chest again and whispered, “No more comments like that.”

Everyone’s winding down at your house, New Year’s is just minutes away, and you and Nick are cuddled up for a soft, romantic midnight moment—no jokes this time, just full heart eyes and love.

It was a few hours after the cookie incident, and somehow Nick was still smug about it.

Your sister was still annoyed, muttering about how “editing that video is gonna take a miracle,” but the energy in the house had shifted into that soft, sleepy holiday vibe. Music played low through the Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen, the lights were dim, and everyone was either full, warm, or tipsy—maybe all three.

You were curled up on the couch with Nick, your legs tangled under a blanket, your head resting on his chest while his hand lazily traced circles on your arm.

Your sister was on the other end of the couch, scrolling on her phone, half-listening to the TV where some New Year’s countdown special was playing.

Nick glanced at the screen. “Ten minutes.”

You looked up at him, sleepy but smiling. “Until 2025.”

“Wild,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “Feels like 2024 just started.”

“It did. Then I blinked and fell in love with a guy who insults cookies and embarrasses me on camera.”

Nick laughed. “And you jumped into my arms at the airport like we were in a Nicholas Sparks movie. So, who’s really the dramatic one?”

You rolled your eyes. “You love it.”

“Damn right I do.”

With two minutes to midnight, your sister left the room, mumbling something about wanting a better view of the countdown on the movie room TV.

Nick took the remote and muted everything for a second. “Hey.”

You looked up. His hand was resting on your cheek now, and his expression had softened completely. No teasing, no smirking—just that look. That quiet, heart-hitting one that made everything in your chest go warm.

“I know I joke around a lot,” he said, voice low and a little nervous, “but I just… I need to say it before the new year starts.”

You stayed quiet, fingers slipping into his hoodie sleeve.

“I love you,” he said softly. “Like, really love you. Not just the cute kind. The deep, scary kind. The kind where everything makes more sense when you’re around.”

Your eyes welled up before you even realized it, your hand sliding up to cup his jaw.

“I love you too, Nick,” you whispered. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment you pretended to like that cupcake just to make me happy.”

He smiled, brushing his nose against yours. “That cupcake was disgusting. But yeah, I’d do it again.”

You both laughed softly, eyes locked as the TV ticked down the final seconds—10… 9… 8…

Nick leaned in closer.

7… 6… 5…

You rested your forehead against his.

4… 3… 2…

He whispered, “Happy New Year, baby.”

1!

And then he kissed you—slow and gentle, like a promise. No rush. Just the feeling of his lips on yours and the sound of distant cheers and fireworks echoes somewhere in the background while the world flipped into something new.

When he pulled back, he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Because you were.

[twistedreads]

Beneath the Moonlight — Peter Parker

Summary: It’s just past midnight when Peter shows up outside your house. What starts as a late-night drive turns into a skinny-dipping moonlit escape, and ends in the backseat of his car

Warnings— romantic, emotional, NSFW, skinny dipping, car sex, soft dom!peter, lots of dialogue, praise, teasing, sweet dirty talk, slow build smut

Black F reader

Masterlist

The headlights cut a soft glow across the empty street as you stepped out of your house, hoodie tugged tight around your waist and your hair still a little messy from sleep. It was well past midnight, but there he was—leaning against the driver’s side of his beat-up car like he hadn’t just called you ten minutes ago.

Peter straightened up when he saw you, a lazy grin curling on his lips.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, voice low, eyes full of something that always made your stomach flutter.

You smirked as you opened the passenger door. “You woke me up for this?”

He leaned over and kissed your cheek once you were inside. “You’ll thank me later.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled the seatbelt across your lap. “You said that last time and we almost got chased by a raccoon.”

“Okay, but this time,” he said, shifting the car into drive with a mischievous look, “I’m raccoon-free. Promise.”

The car rumbled softly as he pulled onto the road. For a while, there was just the hum of the tires and the windows slightly cracked, letting the warm, salty breeze drift in. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye—one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on your thigh, thumb tracing light circles on your skin.

“You couldn’t sleep again?” you asked.

He shook his head, eyes still on the road. “Nah. Got restless. Brain wouldn’t shut up. But I kept thinking about you, so…”

You turned toward him. “So you drove here at midnight?”

He glanced at you, smiling. “Would’ve driven through a hurricane if it meant seeing you.”

“You’re corny as hell,” you said, cheeks warm.

“And you like it.”

The silence that followed was soft—safe. His thumb kept moving slowly over your leg as the roads narrowed and the air changed. You could smell the sea before you saw it, and your pulse ticked up.

“You brought me to the beach?” you asked.

Peter nodded, pulling into a little hidden side road. “Full moon. Water’s warm. Nobody’s here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You just thought, ‘Hey, let me go pick up my girl and take her to the ocean like it’s a Nicholas Sparks movie’?”

He shrugged, grin tugging at his mouth. “Something like that.”

The sand was cool beneath your feet, waves quiet and endless in the distance. The moon hung high, casting silver over the sea. Peter kicked off his shoes and pulled his hoodie over his head, revealing lean muscle and messy curls that blew in the breeze.

“Come on,” he said from the water, now waist-deep, hand outstretched. “Just us out here.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering, then pulled your clothes off piece by piece, letting the wind kiss your bare skin as you walked toward him. The water wrapped around your ankles, cold at first, then welcoming.

Peter swam to you and caught your hand, pulling you into the deeper part, waves sloshing softly against your chest. You were both bare in the moonlight, limbs hidden under the glassy surface.

“What now?” you asked.

He splashed water at you.

You gasped, eyes wide. “Peter!”

And just like that, you were laughing—ducking, chasing, tossing handfuls of water at each other like kids in summer. Until, breathless, he came up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, body flush against your back.

You turned in his arms, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He held you there easily, hands resting on your thighs as you floated together, swaying gently.

His face, half-lit by moonlight, was breathtaking. Wet curls stuck to his forehead. His lashes looked too long for someone who made your whole body feel this electric. You reached up and cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb beneath his eye.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

You smiled, soft and overwhelmed. “Just… looking. You’re so pretty.”

His brows raised. “Pretty?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked almost scandalized. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to be pretty. That’s like—a you word.”

You chuckled. “No. It’s the right word. It’s not just how you look—it’s how you hold me. The way you look at me like I matter. That’s pretty.”

His eyes softened. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And then he kissed you.

By the time you reached the car again, your bodies were slick with saltwater and glowing under the moonlight. Peter unlocked the door, yanked open the backseat, and threw the blanket across the seat with one hand before grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his lap.

Your lips were on his before the door even shut.

It was hungry now—the kind of kiss that made your knees weak, even if you were already straddling him. His fingers tangled in your hair, yours tugged at the damp curls at the nape of his neck. Every inch of your skin still buzzed from the ocean, from the way your legs had clung around his waist just minutes earlier.

He groaned softly when you rolled your hips down against him, his hands gripping your thighs tighter.

“Still cold?” he rasped, breath hitching.

“Not even a little.”

You kissed down his neck, slow and warm, until you felt him throb under you. You ground down again, slower this time. Teasing.

Peter’s head fell back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re evil.”

You smiled against his throat. “And you love it.”

“God, I really do.”

You sat up slightly, lifting the hem of your hoodie over your head, dragging it off with deliberate slowness. The wet fabric clung, revealing smooth skin inch by inch. Peter watched every movement—his eyes glassy, lips parted.

He reached up, cupping your breasts gently before dragging his hands down your waist. “You’re killing me.”

“Then do something about it.”

With a growl, he leaned forward, kissing down your chest before his hands moved to his own waistband. You helped him, fingers tugging his soaked sweatpants and boxers down his hips until he kicked them off completely. He was already hard, flushed and twitching, brushing against your inner thigh.

Your breath caught. “Jesus, Pete…”

He blushed, biting his lip, still breathless. “C’mere.”

You leaned in and kissed him again, this time slower. Sensual. His hands slid down to your hips as you shifted above him, your bare heat dragging across him with a slick slide that made both of you moan.

“Wanna take my time,” he whispered against your lips.

“Wanna feel all of you.”

“You have me,” you whispered. “All of me.”

Peter slid his hand down, fingers dipping between your thighs to test how ready you were. His thumb brushed your clit, gentle but firm, and you gasped, hips jerking.

“Fuck… already soaked for me,” he murmured, eyes dark.

You buried your face in his shoulder, voice trembling. “Peter, please…”

He lined himself up slowly, carefully, and you sank down on him with a soft gasp. The stretch made your legs tremble, but it was perfect. Every inch of him slid into you until you were full—so full—and you stayed there for a moment, just breathing together.

“Look at me,” he whispered, brushing your cheek with his knuckles.

You did.

And the way he looked back at you—so full of love and hunger and awe—it made your chest ache.

Then you started to move.

It wasn’t rushed. You rolled your hips slowly, grinding down in lazy, drawn-out circles, letting him feel every second of you. His hands moved to your waist, helping guide your rhythm, while his mouth found your collarbone, your jaw, your lips.

Each moan from you only made him grow harder inside you.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned. “You feel like heaven.”

You clenched around him in response, your head falling back, and he took that opportunity to lean in and suck a hot, slow kiss into the side of your neck, nipping gently.

“You like being on top?” he whispered, voice like silk.

“You look so damn good like this.”

You whimpered, nodding. “Feels so good, Pete. I feel so full.”

“You are,” he said, thrusting up into you gently. “You’re mine.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, as you bounced on him now—slow but steady, each slap of skin echoing softly in the cramped space. The windows fogged. The world disappeared.

It was just the two of you—grinding together under moonlight, bodies locked in rhythm, your hands gripping his hair while he held your hips like he never wanted to let go.

Your orgasm crept up slow, coiling in your spine. He knew—he could feel it in the way your thighs tightened around his, in the desperate way you moaned his name.

“Come for me,” he whispered. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And when you did—when your body shook and your walls fluttered around him—it was overwhelming. You clung to him, gasping his name in his ear, barely able to breathe.

Peter followed with a deep groan, holding you flush against him as he pulsed inside you, hips grinding up to bury himself deeper as he spilled into you.

You didn’t move.

You stayed like that—panting, hearts racing—wrapped in each other’s arms.

Peter kissed your cheek, then your shoulder, then the curve of your jaw.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing damp curls from your face.

You nodded, still dazed. “That was… wow.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re kinda everything.”

You smiled, lips brushing his. “You’re not so bad yourself, Parker.”

Outside, the waves kept rolling, and the night air curled around the car. But inside, wrapped in Peter’s arms, wrapped in his hoodie and his warmth and his love—you felt completely at peace.

[twistedreads]

Hi absolutely love your work! I’m wondering if u take requests? Xo

Yes I do!

[twistedreads]

Drive me crazy- Armando Aretas

Summary: After a night out, the tension between you and Armando simmers over as your teasing turns into something hotter—first in the car, then back at his place.

Warning—Explicit content, semi-public scene, rough sex, soft aftercare

Masterlist

The Miami night buzzed with leftover heat as you slid into the passenger seat of Armando’s matte black car. The event had ended, but the way he’d looked all night hadn’t left you for a second. Dark dress shirt open at the collar, a thin gold chain glinting against his tan skin, tattoos peeking from under his rolled sleeves, and that slow, lethal confidence—he was impossible to ignore.

And now, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting lazily on the gearshift, he looked downright sinful.

You crossed your legs slowly, letting the hem of your dress slide higher. You saw the way his eyes flickered down, just for a second. He noticed everything, even when he pretended not to.

“You always look this good driving, or is this just for me?” you teased, voice thick with intent.

A small smirk played on his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Your hand slid over to his thigh, slow, deliberate, feeling the muscle tense beneath your touch. He didn’t stop you—but he didn’t say anything either.

“You’re not gonna tell me to behave?”

“I should,” he said, voice low, rough. “But I want to see what you’ll do.”

That was all the invitation you needed.

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then lower—your lips trailing along his neck, feeling the hum in his throat. Your hand moved up, brushing over the bulge in his pants that had been steadily growing since your fingers first grazed him.

His breathing grew heavier, but his eyes stayed on the road—barely.

You palmed him through his pants, slow and firm, feeling him throb under your hand. He groaned quietly, his other hand flexing tighter around the wheel.

“You’re testing me,” he muttered, voice strained. “You keep going, I won’t be able to focus.”

You kissed just beneath his ear. “Then don’t.”

Your fingers made quick work of his belt, sliding it open with practiced ease. You freed him from his pants and wrapped your hand around his length, thick and warm in your palm. He hissed out a breath.

“Shit… baby,” he growled.

You stroked him slow at first—just enough to make him twitch, teasing the head with your thumb, watching his chest rise and fall faster. His hips lifted just slightly, almost like he couldn’t help himself.

“Fuck—keep going and I’m gonna pull this car over.”

You didn’t stop. You leaned down, licking a slow stripe along the tip before kissing it, lips just barely touching. He groaned low in his throat, like it hurt to hold back.

And finally, he swerved the car into a dark, empty lot, killing the engine in one breathless move.

The second the car was still, his hand shot out, gripping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss—deep, messy, desperate. Your dress was shoved up as you climbed into his lap, straddling him. You could feel how hard he was under you, the heat between your legs pulsing in sync with your heart.

“Look what you did to me,” he muttered against your lips, voice wrecked.

“Then do something about it.”

He didn’t hesitate. One hand yanked your panties to the side while the other guided himself to your entrance. You were soaked, aching, and when he pushed into you—slow and deep—it knocked the air from your lungs.

You gasped, clinging to his shoulders as he filled you inch by inch. He cursed, biting down on your collarbone as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, baby. You feel like heaven.”

You rolled your hips, slow at first, grinding down against him as he braced his hands on your ass, guiding your rhythm. The car rocked gently with each movement. His head fell back, lips parted, throat working.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered.

Your hands slid into his shirt, nails raking down his chest as you rode him harder. Every thrust made your breath hitch. His hands never left you—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, tugging your dress down so he could take your nipple in his mouth and suck until you whimpered.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled.

“You,” you breathed, forehead pressed to his. “I want you to ruin me.”

His thrusts met yours, harder, deeper, faster, until all that filled the car was the sound of slick skin, broken moans, and the wet smack of your bodies meeting. Your orgasm hit hard and fast, your body trembling against his, and moments later, he spilled into you with a guttural groan, biting your shoulder to keep from screaming your name.

You collapsed against him, hearts thudding in sync.

The ride home was a blur—your thighs still trembling, his hand resting high on your leg the whole way, fingers possessive, grounding. Neither of you said much, but the tension hadn’t eased. If anything, it had thickened—charged, electric. You could feel it in the way he looked at you at red lights, jaw clenched like he was barely holding himself together.

The moment the front door of his condo shut behind you, he turned, eyes dark.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

You smirked, stepping out of your heels. “You started it. I just finished it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think that was finished?”

You didn’t get the chance to answer.

He kissed you again, rougher this time—hands sliding down your body, grabbing at your hips, your ass, lifting your dress over your head and tossing it aside like he couldn’t stand it being in the way. You tugged at his shirt, impatient, and he let you rip it open, buttons scattering to the floor.

You walked backward toward the bedroom, your bare skin brushing his as he pressed against you, lips never leaving yours. The backs of your knees hit the bed.

“I need you, again.” you whispered against his mouth.

He pulled back just slightly, eyes sweeping over you—bare, glistening, flushed. “Turn around.”

You obeyed, crawling onto the bed on all fours. You heard the low sound he made behind you—like he was trying not to lose his mind.

You looked back at him over your shoulder. “You just gonna stare, or—”

The mattress dipped as he knelt behind you. His hands slid up your thighs, thumbs brushing dangerously close to where you needed him most. He took his time, dragging it out, teasing you with slow, open-mouthed kisses up the back of your legs, your lower back, then sinking his teeth gently into the curve of your ass.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he said, voice wrecked.

You pushed your hips back slightly, begging without words.

He groaned, then leaned forward and let his tongue slide between your folds—slow, deliberate. You gasped, hips jerking, but he held you steady, tongue flicking and circling until your thighs shook and your moans filled the room. Just when you were about to come, he pulled away, gripping your hips as he guided himself inside you from behind.

You cried out—he was even deeper like this.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, holding your hips tight as he sank all the way in. “This pussy was made for me.”

He pulled out slow, then slammed back in, setting a rhythm that made your hands clutch the sheets. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the room. His pace was brutal, delicious—each thrust hitting the perfect spot. You felt his fingers slide into your hair, tugging your head back as he leaned over your back, his lips by your ear.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you gasped. “You, Armando. All yours.”

“Say it again.”

“All yours.”

He growled, then started thrusting faster, rougher, his hips slapping against your ass with every stroke. You could barely breathe—your whole body on fire, nerve endings lit up and begging for release.

When you came, it was with a cry you couldn’t hold back—your body collapsing into the mattress as you clenched around him. He followed seconds later, cursing as he spilled into you, still buried deep, his body trembling from the force of it.

He didn’t move right away. Just leaned over you, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your back, while you both caught your breath.

Finally, he pulled out gently and collapsed beside you, dragging your body to his, letting you rest your head on his chest.

“I’m not done with you,” he muttered, already brushing his fingers down your side again.

You smirked against his skin. “Good. I wasn’t planning to sleep.”

[twistedreads]

Cold shower, Hot hands- Geon-Woo

Summary— The AC is busted, the summer heat unbearable, and your boyfriend Kim Geon-woo offers a cold shower to cool off. But once your bodies are soaked and pressed together under the water, things turn anything but cold.

Warning: explicit, steamy, shower sex, soft dom!Geon-woo, praise, fingering, oral mention, penetrative sex, mutual consent

Masterlist

The night is unbearable.

The kind of heat that sticks to your skin like honey. The AC is busted, the fan is blowing lukewarm air, and you’re lying on top of Geon-woo’s sheets in nothing but a tank top and a pair of lace panties. The cotton sticks to your skin in all the wrong places, and you’ve flipped your pillow over four times already trying to find a cool spot.

Geon-woo is lying next to you shirtless, scrolling on his phone, the muscles in his chest rising and falling slow. Sweat glistens on his collarbones, and every time he shifts, the fabric of his shorts rides just low enough to make your mouth dry.

You glance at him, eyes lingering. He looks too good like this—messy hair, flushed skin, the soft glow of the nightstand lamp hitting his jaw just right.

“This is torture,” you mutter.

“Thought I was the only one suffering,” he says without looking over.

You nudge him. “You’re not even under the covers.”

“Exactly.”

He tosses his phone onto the nightstand and turns toward you, propping himself on one elbow. “Want a cold shower?”

You blink, raising a brow. “Like… right now?”

He smirks, eyes dropping to your thighs. “Unless you’d rather keep marinating in your own sweat.”

You laugh, throwing a pillow at him, but you’re already sitting up. “Fine. But I’m going in first.”

“Together,” he says simply. “Unless you’re scared.”

You give him a look. “Of you?”

He shrugs, smug. “You should be.”

The water’s blasting cold, and it hits you like a slap—but the second you start to yelp, his body is pressed against yours.

He steps in behind you, shirtless, still in his boxers, and now soaked. His hands settle on your hips, and you feel the heat radiating off his chest as he lowers his head beside yours.

“Still wanna go first?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear.

Your breath catches. The room is suddenly hotter than ever.

You turn slowly, facing him under the stream. Your tank top is soaked through, practically see-through, and his gaze drops to your breasts, eyes darkening. “You’re staring.”

“You’re letting me.”

You press your hands to his chest, feeling the hard ridges of muscle, slick under your fingertips. “You’re not stopping me either.”

He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “Not planning to.”

His lips meet yours—slow at first, warm and teasing, tasting, exploring. But it deepens fast, all tongue and wet heat. His hands slide up your back, pressing your body into his until there’s no space left between you.

You moan into his mouth as his hand skims beneath your tank, tugging it up. “Can I?”

You nod, voice barely there. “Please.”

He peels it off slowly, dragging the fabric up over your arms and head before tossing it aside. His eyes linger on your chest, nipples hard from the water and the way he’s looking at you. He drops his head, lips wrapping around one of them, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“Shit,” you whisper, grabbing at his shoulders.

He moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention while one hand slips down your stomach, trailing light circles along your waistband.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters.

“We’re in the shower,” you tease.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Not what I meant.”

Then his hand slips into your panties, fingers sliding through your folds with ease. You arch into him, clutching his biceps as he circles your clit slowly, deliberately, not breaking eye contact. He knows what he’s doing. He’s watching you fall apart.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “Already so wet for me.”

You bite your lip, whimpering as his fingers dip inside you—just two, slow and deep, curling as your knees nearly give out.

“Geon-woo…”

He pulls his fingers out and brings them to your lips. “Taste yourself.”

You do—licking them slowly, moaning around them while his eyes darken with need.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he groans.

Then he lifts you—effortless, like you weigh nothing—and your legs wrap around his waist, your back hitting the cold tile with a gasp. You reach down, sliding his soaked boxers down just enough to free him.

When he presses the head of his cock against your entrance, you both freeze—just for a second. Breathless. Wanting. Needing.

“You sure?” he asks again, voice hoarse.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need you.”

And then he’s inside you.

Slow at first—deep, stretching, delicious. You cling to him, nails dragging down his back as he begins to move. His thrusts start lazy, slow enough to feel every inch of him, but they build—deeper, rougher, as your moans echo off the tile and the water pours down your bodies.

You wrap your arms around his neck, panting against his jaw. “You feel so good…”

“Yeah?” His hand grips your thigh tighter, angling deeper. “You gonna come for me, baby?”

You nod frantically, eyes rolling back as he hits that perfect spot over and over. “Don’t stop.”

“Not planning to,” he growls.

He fucks you through it—your orgasm crashing down hard, your whole body shaking as you cry out his name. He doesn’t let up. His pace turns frantic, his thrusts rough, desperate, until finally, with a strained groan, he buries himself deep one last time and comes with a full-body tremble, forehead pressed to yours.

He lowers you gently, both of you gasping, pressed together as the water cools around you. His hand strokes your back lazily, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Guess cold showers don’t work like people say.”

You giggle, still catching your breath. “Not when you’re in them.”

[twistedreads]

Let me love you- Armando Arteas

Summary— You love a man who was raised to survive, not to feel — and when his silence pushes you away, it forces him to confront the one thing he’s most afraid of: being truly loved.

Warning— Emotional angst, vulnerability, discussions of past trauma

a/n: for the Armando lovers

Masterlist

It’s late.

The Miami heat sticks to your skin like regret as you pace the living room, arms crossed tight over your chest. The argument still rings in your ears. The silence that followed even louder.

You had told yourself you could handle the walls he built around himself — hell, you’d even tried to love him through them. But tonight, you hit one too many.

“You don’t talk to me, Armando. You don’t let me in.”

He stood there, jaw clenched, eyes dark and unreadable. That same look he gives everyone else. Not you. Not usually.

“You want me to open up?” he finally said, voice hard. “You want me to spill every ugly thing I’ve done? Every body I’ve put in the ground for my father? Is that what you want?”

“No,” you snapped. “I want to know you. Not the cartel soldier. You. The man I come home to.”

He shook his head, already backing away emotionally. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Yes, I do,” you said, tears burning in your eyes. “I’m asking for the bare minimum. I’m asking not to be shut out every time shit gets real.”

“I didn’t ask for this life,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I didn’t ask for someone to love me like that. And I sure as hell don’t know what to do with it.”

You froze, wounded.

“Wow,” you breathed. “That’s what I am to you? An inconvenience?”

“I didn’t say that,” he growled, voice rising now, heat pouring off him like danger.

“But you don’t have to say it,” you whispered. “I feel it every time you look right through me.”

He didn’t chase you when you grabbed your keys. He didn’t stop you when the door slammed behind you.

When you return hours later, the lights are dim. The air inside the house is still thick with tension and something sadder — silence, maybe. Or shame.

You find him sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

He doesn’t look up when he speaks.

“I was never taught to talk about feelings. I was taught to shoot before thinking. I was raised to be a weapon.”

You lean against the doorframe, heart aching.

“But then you…” He lifts his head, finally meeting your eyes. “You’re everything I’m not. Warm. Kind. Soft. And when you touch me, when you look at me… I feel like I could be human again. That scares the shit out of me.”

You walk toward him slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. And in a way, you are.

“Armando,” you whisper, kneeling in front of him. “I didn’t fall in love with your past. I fell in love with you. The version who makes me cafecito in the morning. The version who studies my face like it’s a language. The one who kisses my shoulder when he thinks I’m asleep.”

He closes his eyes like he’s in pain.

“You love me in your own way,” you continue. “But baby, love doesn’t have to hurt. It doesn’t have to be cold or quiet. You can let it be soft. You can let me be soft with you.”

He grabs your hand, pressing his forehead against it like he’s praying.

“I don’t know how to be that,” he murmurs.

“Then let me show you,” you say, cupping his jaw. “Day by day. No pressure. Just… let me love you.”

He lifts his gaze to yours, and for the first time, there’s no mask. Just raw, terrified vulnerability.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much it feels like a weakness. Like a target on my back.”

You shake your head gently. “It’s not a weakness. It’s your power. You’re learning how to be free.”

You kiss him — soft, slow, reverent.

One on the cheek. One on the corner of his mouth. One over his temple.

He’s so still. Like no one’s ever touched him this tenderly before.

“You’re not just a weapon, Armando,” you whisper into his skin. “You’re a man. A man worthy of love. Of peace. Of softness.”

He pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re the first home I’ve ever had,” he says hoarsely.

You press your forehead to his, voice quiet. “Then let’s build something with it.”

And in the stillness of your bedroom, for once, he lets himself believe it.

He doesn’t run.

He stays.

[twistedreads]

Long way home part 2 - Nick leister

Summary: it’s your last day visiting Nick and you try to soak in every second with him.

Warning: cute, sweet, angst, sad

a/n: in honour of my fault London getting a second and third movie!!

Part 1

Masterlist

The morning sun filtered in through the sheer curtains, casting warm light across the tangled sheets and your limbs twisted with Nick’s. You were awake before him, and you didn’t dare move—afraid that any shift would speed up time. That it would remind the universe that in just a few hours, you’d have to leave.

You stayed still, listening to his breathing, watching the rise and fall of his chest. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, his arms still wrapped around you with that lazy possessiveness he always had in the mornings.

Then, without opening his eyes, he spoke.

“Don’t leave.”

His voice was low, rough from sleep, and it made your throat tighten.

“I don’t want to,” you whispered, already blinking back the sting in your eyes.

Nick finally opened his eyes and looked at you, really looked at you. And you knew. He was holding on just as tightly, just as desperately, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of quiet moments—he made you coffee, you stole his hoodie, he teased you about how dramatic you were acting even though he couldn’t stop touching you. A hand on your back. Fingers brushing your hair behind your ear. Lips pressed to your temple when you weren’t expecting it.

Every kiss lingered longer than it should’ve. Every look lasted a little too long.

You went for a walk around the neighborhood, hand in hand, not really talking. Just trying to slow time down. You stopped at that little corner store he liked and bought snacks you didn’t even want, just to stretch the moment. You sat on the front porch eating sour candy, leaning into his shoulder.

And when you went back inside, it hit you.

Your suitcase was by the door. Packed. Ready. Waiting.

Nick noticed the change in your face instantly. He didn’t say anything—he just walked over and pulled you into him. His arms wrapped around you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head like he was trying to keep you together.

“I hate this part,” you mumbled into his chest.

“I know.” His voice was soft, steady. But his hand at your back gave him away—it wouldn’t stop moving, like he couldn’t bear to be still.

The ride to the airport was mostly silent. Your hand stayed in his the whole time, and every few seconds, he brought it to his lips. Brushed kisses over your knuckles. He didn’t say much, but his eyes would flick to you at red lights, full of everything he couldn’t put into words.

When he pulled up at the drop-off lane, your heart felt like it was splitting in two.

You got out slowly, dragging your suitcase behind you, but your eyes stayed on him the whole time. He came around the car to meet you, and just like that—you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Your chest caved. Your face crumpled.

“I don’t want to go,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I really, really don’t want to go.”

Nick didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into the kind of hug that made the rest of the world disappear. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, the other locked tight around your waist. You were crying now, full-on crying, and it broke something in him.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered into your hair, voice shaking now too. “Don’t cry, baby. Please don’t cry. You’re gonna kill me.”

You clutched at the back of his shirt, trying to breathe through it, but the harder you tried, the more it hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled. “I’m just—this sucks. I hate this. I don’t wanna say goodbye to you.”

Nick pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing the tears from your cheeks with both hands. His thumbs moved slowly, gently. His brows were drawn, lips pressed together like he was fighting his own breakdown.

“You don’t have to say goodbye. Just…” He cupped your face. “Just say, ‘I’ll see you soon.’ Okay? That’s all this is. Not the end. Not even close.”

You nodded, tears still spilling but slower now. He kissed you then—slow and tender and so full of love you felt it everywhere. He kissed your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, like he was trying to fix every crack in your heart with his lips.

“I love you,” you whispered into the space between you.

“I love you more,” he whispered back, forehead resting against yours. “Text me when you land. Call me before. I don’t care if it’s two in the morning—just call, okay?”

You gave him one last kiss, shaky and lingering, and then stepped back.

And when you walked toward the terminal, suitcase rolling behind you, you didn’t look back.

You couldn’t.

But you didn’t have to. You knew he was still standing there—watching you, loving you, waiting for the day you’d come home again.

[twistedreads]

Y’all I get to see my man again!! 😆🤭

[twistedreads]

Teach me how to hit em — Kim Geon-Woo

Summary: You learn boxing from your boyfriend Kim Geon-woo, and it turns into a cute and flirty gym date.

Warning—cute, sweet

Black F reader

A/n: I remember watching bloodhounds and falling in love

Masterlist

You weren’t entirely sure what possessed you to agree to boxing lessons from your boyfriend. Maybe it was the way he always looked so good in a tank top. Maybe it was how serious he got when talking about protecting the people he loved. Or maybe—just maybe—it was how he looked at you every time you mentioned wanting to get stronger. Like he was proud before you’d even thrown a punch.

“Okay,” you say, stretching your arms as you stand in the middle of the empty boxing gym, “don’t laugh at me. I’ve literally never punched anything in my life. Except maybe my pillow when I missed a concert ticket drop.”

Geon-woo is standing a few feet away, already gloved up, warm in a fitted black shirt that clings to every muscle. You swear the man was carved by the fitness gods and gifted to you like some romantic side quest reward. He smiles softly, that dimple making a guest appearance.

“I’m not gonna laugh at you,” he promises, stepping closer and handing you a pair of gloves. “I’m gonna coach you. Lovingly. Like a supportive but extremely hot personal trainer.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow, so humble.”

He chuckles, slipping the gloves over your hands and fastening them snugly. “It’s part of the charm.”

You stare down at your hands, clumsily trying to flex your fingers in the gloves. “I feel like a crab. A cute crab. But still.”

“Well,” he says, lifting your hands gently, “a cute crab who’s about to learn how to throw hands. Let’s start with your stance.”

You do your best to mimic what you’ve seen in movies—knees bent, hands up, chin down—but it doesn’t feel natural yet. He walks around you like a coach, then steps in, touching your waist to turn it just a bit, adjusting your elbow and tapping the inside of your thigh with his shoe.

“There,” he says, voice low. “Now you’ve got balance. If someone tries to grab you, you’re grounded.”

You glance up at him, smirking. “Is it weird that this feels kind of hot?”

He smiles, not even pretending to act innocent. “Not weird at all. Wait till we get to sparring.”

You playfully shove his shoulder with your glove. “Down, boy.”

“Focus,” he laughs. “Okay. First: jab. Light, straight punch from your lead hand. Try it.”

You jab. Weakly. And miss the pad he’s holding entirely, nearly stumbling forward.

He blinks. “What was that?”

“A surprise attack. I wanted to throw you off.”

“Mission accomplished.”

You laugh and reset, trying again, this time connecting with the pad. He nods, encouraging.

“There we go. Again. Twist from your hips.”

You punch again, then again. He calls out small corrections in between—“Tuck your chin! Use your shoulder! Don’t flail like you’re fighting a ghost!”—but he’s smiling the whole time, eyes twinkling with pride.

You pause to catch your breath, sweating lightly, hair sticking to your forehead. “Damn. Boxing is not for the weak.”

“Nope,” he says, tossing you a towel. “But you’re doing great.”

You wipe your forehead, then glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re learning fast. And looking fine doing it.”

You grin. “So if I ever get jumped, you think I’ll be okay?”

He pretends to think, tapping his chin. “If they’re toddlers? You’re solid.”

You gasp. “You’re evil.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He leans in like he’s about to kiss you, but right before your lips touch, he taps your gloves again. “Back to work.”

You groan. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He laughs, and the lesson continues. He teaches you combinations—jab, cross, hook—and slowly, your movements start to make sense. You mess up. You trip over your own feet once. But every time, he’s there—catching you, guiding you, praising you when you get it right.

And every so often, he steals a little kiss between rounds. A peck on your forehead. One on your nose. A soft, lingering one when he thinks you’re especially adorable.

You don’t even realize how into it you’ve gotten until you land a perfect one-two and let out a little squeal. “YES! Did you see that?! I bodied that pad!”

Geon-woo pauses, arms down, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “You really did.”

You bounce on your toes like a kid on a sugar rush, gloves still up, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. “I’m getting GOOD!”

He steps forward slowly, watching you like you’ve just hung the stars. “You’re cute when you’re hyped up. Like…dangerously cute.”

You blink. “Dangerous?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pulling you gently into him, arms slipping around your waist. “Like I might forget I’m supposed to be teaching and just kiss you stupid instead.”

“Not the worst threat,” you tease, tilting your face up to meet his.

This time, the kiss is warm and slow. The kind of kiss that says you’re mine without needing to say it. You sink into it, gloves pressed to his chest, heart beating in sync with his.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. “Next lesson,” he says softly, “we spar. And if you win, I’ll make dinner.”

You smile. “And if you win?”

“I still make dinner. I just get to kiss you after.”

You let out a little laugh. “Then either way, I win.”

He smirks. “Damn right you do.”

[twistedreads]

Here we go again— Nick Leister

Summary— you keep trying to walk away from Nick Leister, but every look, touch, and kiss pulls you right back into the cycle you swore you’d escape.

Warning: Toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, unresolved tension, suggestive/steamy content, themes of emotional dependency and repeated heartbreak.

A/n: I love this song by Demi Lovato so

Masterlist

You swore you were done.

You threw out the hoodie he left at your place — the worn black one that smelled like him, the one you used to bury your face in when the silence got too loud. You deleted every voice note, every text thread, every saved picture. You cleared out his contact, even though you know the number by heart. You told your friends it was over. That it was good. That you were better off.

But every word tasted like a lie.

Because no matter how hard you try to tear him from your mind, Nick always finds his way back in. A crack in your resolve. A breath between heartbeats. A look — God, it’s always the look — and suddenly you’re back to square one.

You weren’t supposed to be at the same party.

You didn’t even want to go, but your friends convinced you — “You need a distraction,” they said. “Get out. Forget about him.”

But when you walk in and spot him across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to someone you don’t recognize, the breath leaves your lungs. He’s wearing that damn leather jacket, the one you once pulled off in the backseat of his car like you couldn’t wait another second to feel him. His hair’s messier than usual, like he’s been running his hands through it all night. He hasn’t seen you yet.

You should leave.

Instead, you find a drink and settle into the couch like you’re fine. You’re not.

Your eyes keep drifting toward him like muscle memory. You keep telling yourself you’re over it, over him. But when he finally notices you — when his gaze locks on yours — it’s like every promise you made yourself collapses under the weight of that one look.

He crosses the room slowly, like he knows what he’s doing. Like he’s testing your strength just by existing.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he says. His voice is quiet, familiar, soft like a bruise.

You shrug, trying to sound indifferent. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

He flinches, just barely, but you see it. You always see it — even the parts of him he tries to hide.

He sinks down next to you, his leg brushing yours, and your skin lights up like it’s never forgotten his touch. And maybe it hasn’t.

“You look good,” he says after a pause. And it’s not flirtatious, it’s not cocky — it’s something else. Something that hurts a little.

You swallow hard. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start something we won’t finish.”

He looks down, then back at you, and he’s not smiling. His voice is quieter now. “It was never about not wanting to finish. It’s about not knowing how.”

The car is quiet except for your breath and the sound of the rain starting to tap against the windshield.

It wasn’t supposed to go this far. You were supposed to say hi and walk away. But now you’re in the passenger seat of his car again, the air between you thick with every unsaid word and every memory that never really faded.

“I’m tired of this,” you say, staring out the window. “You never know what you want. You never say what you mean.”

Nick runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you showing up in my life every time I start to forget how much it hurts to love you.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment you think he’ll argue — but he doesn’t. He just looks at you, and something in his eyes breaks you all over again.

“I still love you,” he says softly.

And that’s the problem. You both do.

You both love each other in a way that’s never been enough to make it work, but always too much to let go.

You don’t remember who leaned in first — maybe it was him, maybe it was you — but soon enough his mouth is on yours and you’re kissing like you’re starving. Like every word you couldn’t say is pouring out of you in gasps and broken sounds.

His hands are on your hips, pulling you closer, and yours are tangled in the collar of his jacket, desperate to get him closer, closer, closer. Every breath is a battle between “I shouldn’t be here” and “don’t stop.”

When he kisses down your neck and mutters your name against your skin, something in you crumbles completely.

It’s not just lust. It’s grief. Grief for the love you could never get right.

And yet here you are, once again tangled up in each other like your bodies might somehow fix what your hearts never could.

You wake up in his bed, the sheets twisted around your legs, his arm slung lazily across your waist like he still has some right to hold you like that.

You stare at the ceiling, heart aching.

You want to move. You want to get dressed, slip out quietly, pretend this never happened. But his skin is warm against yours, and his breath is steady, and for a moment you let yourself feel it.

The peace you never get when you’re actually together. The comfort that never lasts past the morning.

You slip out of his bed anyway, gathering your clothes silently. He stirs when you reach the door, but you don’t look back.

You tell yourself this was the last time. That you’re going to finally let him go.

But deep down, you know you’re lying.

Because the moment he looks at you again, with that stupid broken softness in his eyes — or texts you late at night saying he can’t stop thinking about you — or shows up somewhere uninvited but exactly where you need him…

You’ll fall again. Fast and stupid. Addicted and aching.

You’d think that by now, you’d know how this ends.

But here you go, go, go again.

You didn’t expect him to show up at your door.

Not after the last time. Not after you slipped out of his bed without a word, not after you promised yourself — again — that it was over. You hadn’t spoken since. You were doing everything right. You weren’t looking at his socials. You deleted his number — even though you still knew it. You were moving on.

But when you open your front door and see him standing there, hoodie pulled over his head, hands deep in his pockets like he’s bracing for a storm… your chest caves in on itself.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly, his voice rough from the cold or maybe from everything he’s been holding in.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

“I—I’ve been thinking,” he continues. “About us. And how we keep fucking this up. And how maybe it’s because we keep running instead of… trying.”

You blink. “We have tried, Nick.”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “We’ve restarted. We’ve kissed and collapsed and broken each other open again, but we’ve never actually tried. Not with both feet in.”

The words hit something soft and buried in you.

Because he’s right.

You’ve fallen into each other again and again, like gravity. Like instinct. But you’ve never had the hard conversations. Never figured out how to love each other without the chaos. You’ve always chosen passion over peace. Fire over foundation.

And now he’s here — for the first time, not with excuses or half-efforts — but with his heart in his hands.

“I love you,” he says, voice raw. “And I know that’s not always enough. But I want to figure out how to love you. The right way. If you’ll let me.”

You stare at him. You remember the late nights. The yelling. The crying. The silence. The way it felt when you left his apartment and couldn’t breathe.

But you also remember the way he held you when everything else felt like too much. The way he looked at you when you were laughing and didn’t know he was watching. The way he loved you — messy and imperfect, but real.

You let the door fall open wider.

“Come in,” you say.

It doesn’t fix everything overnight.

There are still fights. Still moments where it’s easier to shut down than speak up. But you’re both trying now. You talk. You listen. You learn how to pause before hurting each other just to be right. You learn each other’s triggers, and you start choosing softness.

You still fall into bed like you always have — breathless, needy, addicted to the way he touches you like he still can’t believe he gets to. But this time, it’s not followed by goodbye.

It’s followed by breakfast. By long drives. By arguments that end in understanding, not distance.

You’re still figuring it out. Some days are harder than others. You both carry scars from the version of your love that didn’t work. But this one — this new version — feels quieter. Stronger. Real.

Maybe it won’t last forever. Maybe it will. But for the first time, you’re not just falling into each other.

You’re choosing each other.

And for now, that’s enough.

[twistedreads]

your nick fics are so good hello!!

Thank you!! I appreciate that so much ❤️❤️

[twistedreads]

Midnight in Paris — Peter Parker

Summary: You’re in Paris with your boyfriend Peter Parker for a school trip, and it also happens to be your one year anniversary.

Warning—Fluff, sweet romance

Black F reader

A/n : rewatching far from home and got inspired

Masterlist

You’re sitting on the hotel bed, one leg tucked under you, scrolling through your phone while your roommate snores softly on the other side of the room. The Eiffel Tower glows through the crack in the curtains—your first time in Paris, and somehow, it still doesn’t feel real. Neither does the fact that you’ve been dating Peter Parker for a whole year.

Well. Almost a year.

Tomorrow marks exactly 365 days since that ridiculously chaotic first kiss behind the Midtown science building, when he had just come back from stopping a runaway drone and you’d just failed your chem quiz. You’d both been a mess—and somehow, it worked.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

Peter: meet me in the lobby in 20. wear something nice pls.

You stare at the message. Blink. Then read it again. He adds another a second later.

Peter: like…really nice. like pretty-dress-nice. idk just trust me ok?

You grin. Typical Peter.

Twenty minutes later, you’re gliding through the quiet hotel hallway, your dress swaying with every step. It’s orange, soft and flowing, the kind that hugs in the right places and moves like it was made to be in Paris. You pulled your butterfly locs up into a clean, messy bun—intentional and effortless, with your baby hairs laid perfectly at the edges. You felt pretty when you looked in the mirror, but the way Peter looks at you in the lobby?

Whole different level.

He’s standing near a potted plant, hair tousled, nervously fixing the collar of his button-up. He’s in slacks, which is rare. A blazer that looks slightly too big, probably borrowed. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, checking his phone, until he looks up and sees you.

His whole face changes.

He stares, then forgets he’s staring, then catches himself staring and looks away, cheeks going red.

“Whoa,” he breathes when you reach him. “I mean—hi. Uh. You look…you look incredible. Like—like really beautiful.”

You smile, biting your lip. “You clean up nice too, Parker.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, probably something awkward, then just offers his hand instead. You take it without a second thought.

Outside, Paris hums with life. The air is warm, buzzing with the low chatter of late-night cafés and the occasional hum of a passing Vespa. Peter doesn’t say where you’re going. He just leads you, fingers laced with yours, heart probably beating as fast as yours is.

“You’ve been acting weird all week,” you say as you walk. “Like…more Peter-weird than usual.”

“Rude,” he mutters, then smiles. “Okay, yeah. I’ve just been trying to plan this for a while. I mean, it’s our anniversary. And we’re in Europe. I wanted it to be perfect but like…everything kept going wrong. I was gonna book this rooftop thing, but it rained, then I tried to get us tickets to this exhibit and it sold out, and—” he stops himself and looks at you.

“This is what I could do.”

You squeeze his hand. “This is already perfect.”

He takes you to a little restaurant tucked between two buildings, one you wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t led you to it. Candlelight flickers through the windows. Inside, the place is small, intimate. A little rustic. French jazz plays low in the background.

The host greets Peter by name, which is suspicious.

“Did you bribe someone?” you whisper as you’re led to a small table by the window.

“I may or may not have helped someone catch their runaway dog this morning,” he whispers back. “And maybe mentioned I was trying to impress my girlfriend.”

You try to act cool, but you’re smiling so hard it hurts.

Dinner is slow, the good kind of slow. The two of you order food you can barely pronounce, share bites off each other’s plates, laugh way too loud when Peter tries to flirt in broken French and accidentally calls you his grandma. He holds your hand on the table and under it. His foot taps yours sometimes, and you can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not.

After dinner, Peter insists on walking. “I have one more thing.”

You let him lead you through narrow streets lit by old lamps and the occasional neon sign. He pulls you close whenever someone zips by on a bike. At one point, he buys you both gelato from a corner cart and grins like a kid when yours starts melting faster than you can eat it.

Eventually, you end up by the Seine, where the water glows with reflections of the city.

“I wanted to tell you something,” he says suddenly.

You glance at him, your shoulder brushing his. “Okay.”

He’s nervous again. That adorable, awkward nervous that only Peter Parker can pull off.

“I know we already said it,” he says. “The ‘I love you’ thing. But…I just—I still mean it. More than ever.”

You blink. Your chest tightens in that good, warm way.

“I love you too,” you say, and your voice is softer than you expected it to be.

He leans in then, careful, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back again like he’s asking permission. You meet him halfway.

The kiss is slow. Sure. His hand finds your waist. Yours curls around the back of his neck. When you finally break apart, your forehead stays pressed to his.

“Should we head back?” he asks, reluctantly.

You sigh. “Yeah.”

You walk back in comfortable silence. But when you reach the elevator, something pulls at you. You turn, wrap your arms around him again, and kiss him once more.

Then again, before the elevator dings open.

And again, after it closes behind him.

You don’t want to say goodnight. Not yet.

You call after him in a whisper-yell. “Peter—”

He turns.

“One more,” you say, running to him.

He catches you with a smile, and this time, the kiss is a little deeper. A little longer.

He laughs when you finally pull away. “You keep doing that, and I’m never gonna let you go.”

“Good,” you whisper.

You wake up the next morning smiling.

The Paris light slips through the curtains soft and golden, warming your face and nudging you out of sleep. For a second, you just lie there, replaying last night in your head—the way Peter looked at you in that orange dress, how he couldn’t stop staring. The dinner, the walk, the way he kissed you like he didn’t want the night to end. The way you kept running back for more.

Your roommate’s still out cold, knocked out with an eye mask and one earbud hanging halfway out. You slip out of bed, still wearing the oversized Midtown t-shirt Peter gave you months ago. You don’t even realize you’re smiling again until you’re brushing your teeth and catch your reflection.

Your phone buzzes on the counter.

Peter: good morning beautiful :)

You bite your lip, thumbs already flying.

You: morning, boyfriend :)

He replies almost immediately.

Peter: still thinking about last night. my face hurts from smiling. also I wanna see you.

You pause, heart doing a little flip.

You: wanna grab coffee before the museum tour?

Peter: yes. immediately. downstairs in 15?

You throw on some shorts and a tank, pull your locs down from the bun into a loose half-up, and head down. He’s already in the lobby, looking like he’s been there for a while—hair damp, probably fresh from a shower, and he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s trying not to sprint toward you the second he sees you.

You walk straight into his arms.

“Hi,” he says, breath soft in your ear.

“Hi,” you mumble into his hoodie, smiling into the fabric.

He pulls back just enough to kiss you. It’s quick, but full of that warm, giddy energy leftover from last night. His hand finds yours naturally as you head out, like it’s muscle memory at this point.

You find a little café on a side street with flaky croissants and strong coffee. Peter insists on paying, even though you roll your eyes. You sit at a tiny table by the window and just…talk. About everything. About nothing. He steals bites from your plate. You kick his foot when he does. He grins like it’s all the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

By the time you meet up with the rest of the group for the museum tour, it’s like nothing else matters. He keeps sneaking glances at you. He touches your hand every chance he gets. At one point, you both lag behind and he whispers, “Are we annoying? Like…are we that couple?”

You shrug. “Probably.”

“Cool. I like it.”

You lean into him. “Me too.”

After the tour, you walk with him back toward the hotel, lagging behind on purpose so the rest of the group doesn’t notice you both slipping off. He keeps brushing his fingers against yours like he’s waiting for you to take the lead. You do.

And once again, you’re out in the city—just the two of you. You’re not dressed up this time, not trying to impress anyone, but Peter looks at you like you hung the stars anyway. Like nothing in Paris could possibly compare.

Later that night, on the balcony of the hotel, the Eiffel Tower starts to sparkle. You’re sitting side by side, legs stretched out, his hoodie wrapped around your shoulders because you were cold and he’s too warm-blooded to notice the chill.

He turns his head toward you slowly.

“You ever think about what it’s gonna be like…after this?” he asks. “Like, when we’re back in New York. When we’re in college. Real life.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “All the time.”

“I don’t want this to be one of those summer romance things,” he says. “I want it to be…everything. Always.”

You sit up a little to look at him. “It already is.”

He leans in. This kiss is quieter. Slower. The kind you feel down to your toes.

And when it breaks, you whisper, “I’m not saying goodnight first.”

He smiles, all teeth and nerves and love.

“I wasn’t planning on saying it at all.”

[twistedreads]

Mine to protect —Armando Arteas

summary—After being kidnapped by cartel members, you find yourself in a perilous situation. Bound and bruised, hope seems lost until Armando Aretas, your formidable protector, arrives.

warnings—Angst, blood, violence, kidnapping, intense emotional tension

a/n— long time no see you guys. Enjoy

Masterlist

It happened fast.

One second, you were walking to your car, texting Armando to let him know you were on your way home. The next, rough hands grabbed you from behind, yanking you into a dark alley. You barely had time to scream before a gloved hand clamped over your mouth.

“Shh, shh,” a voice sneered in your ear. “Don’t fight, baby. It’ll only make this worse.”

Your heart pounded, but fear never kept your mouth shut. You bit down hard on the guy’s hand, making him curse and yank away.

“Motherf—”

You stomped on his foot, elbowing another in the ribs before sprinting toward the street.

You almost made it.

A hard shove sent you crashing against a brick wall. A sharp pain shot through your ribs, and before you could recover, a fist tangled in your hair, yanking you back.

“You little bitch,” one of them snarled. “You like playing rough?”

Dizzy but fueled by adrenaline, you forced out a smirk. “Rough? You call that rough?”

The leader—tall, tattooed, and smug—chuckled. “Damn, she got a mouth on her. Aretas must love that.”

“Go to hell.”

He grinned. “Ladies first, sweetheart.”

The van door slid open, and before they could toss you in, you faked a stumble. The guy holding you shifted just enough for you to swing your head back—hard. Your skull cracked against his nose.

“Ah, fuck!” He staggered back, blood streaming down his face.

You barely had a second to enjoy it before another man grabbed you, throwing you into the van like a ragdoll. You hit the floor hard, gasping.

“She’s feisty,” one of them snickered, slamming the doors shut.

“Yeah,” the leader muttered, pinching the bridge of his broken nose. “She won’t be for long.”

Your phone had been vibrating nonstop inside your pocket. Armando.

Even tied to a chair, hands bound, bruises forming along your ribs, you almost laughed. He knew something was wrong. Of course he did.

The leader—pacing the warehouse with a smug grin—finally plucked the phone from your pocket, glancing at the screen.

“Awww,” he mocked. “Looks like lover boy’s worried.”

He answered, putting the call on speaker.

“Mi amor,” Armando’s voice came through immediately, low but laced with concern. “Why haven’t you been answering me?”

The leader smirked at you before replying. “Hey, Aretas. Nice to finally talk.”

Silence.

Then, calm but cold: “Quién es?”

The leader leaned against a crate. “Relax, man. No need to get all tense. I just wanted to let you know we got your girl here. Safe and sound… for now.”

You swallowed hard. “Armando—”

A hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back. You bit your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.

“She’s got a mouth on her, huh?” the leader taunted. “I like her. Maybe I keep her.”

The line was dead silent.

Then Armando spoke. Low. Dangerous.

“If you touch her, I will kill you.”

The man chuckled. “Yeah? And what, you’re gonna come through here and take on all my guys like some action hero?” He shook his head. “Nah, I think we do this the easy way. You bring me money and product—real weight, not scraps—and I let her go.”

Another pause. Then:

“Fine.”

Armando arrived exactly on time, dressed in all black, his expression unreadable. You could tell the moment he saw you—sitting on the floor, bruised, wrists red from the restraints—that he was furious. But he kept his face neutral, his posture calm. Only his eyes gave him away. Dark. Cold. Unforgiving.

He placed the duffel bag of money and product down on the table between him and the leader. “It’s all there. Now, let her go.”

The leader opened the bag, flipping through the stacks of cash. “Mmm,” he hummed, nodding. “Not bad.” He glanced at you, then back at Armando. “But you know what? I think I changed my mind. I want more.”

Armando’s expression didn’t shift, but you saw his jaw tighten.

“What?” His voice was steady, but you knew better. He was over it.

The leader smirked. “The deal’s off.”

Guns cocked. Every man in the room pointed their weapons at Armando.

You felt your heart race. This wasn’t fair. They didn’t know who they were messing with.

Armando sighed, rolling his shoulders before locking eyes with you. That look. You knew it.

Then, he moved.

In a flash, he grabbed the nearest guy’s gun, flipping it in his hands and shooting him point-blank. Chaos erupted. He ducked as a man swung at him, catching the guy’s wrist and snapping it before slamming a knife into his throat.

One by one, they dropped. Fast. Efficient. Deadly.

The leader, now trembling, tried to grab you again, but Armando was on him. He pressed a gun to his forehead.

“You should’ve never touched what’s mine,” he said, voice ice-cold. “I don’t negotiate.”

One final shot.

Then it was over.

Armando rushed to you, kneeling as he quickly cut the ropes from your wrists. The second you were free, you collapsed against him, shaking.

“Shh,” he murmured, rubbing his hands up and down your back. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.”

Tears burned your eyes. “I—I thought—”

“I know.” His voice was tight, like he was holding back more than he wanted to. He kissed your forehead, pulling you even closer. “It’s over. Let’s go home.”

…

Armando carried you straight to the bathroom, setting you down gently on the counter. He turned on the tub, checking the temperature before carefully undressing you.

His hands ghosted over your bruises, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t saying anything, but you knew.

Guilt.

Sliding into the warm water, you sighed. A moment later, he climbed in behind you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, his lips pressing softly against your temple.

“This is my fault,” he murmured.

You turned in his arms, frowning. “No, it’s not.”

His jaw tightened. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected you.”

“You did,” you whispered, cupping his face. “You came for me. You always come for me.”

His eyes softened as he leaned in, kissing you deeply. When he pulled back, his thumb traced your bottom lip. “I don’t let people in,” he admitted. “Not really. But you—you’re everything to me.”

Later, wrapped in his arms in bed, he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your lips. Whispering again and again how much he loved you.

How he would never let anything happen to you again.

And you believed him.

Because Armando Aretas would burn the world down before he let anyone take you from him again.

[twistedreads]

Long way home— Nick Leister

summary- You and Nick are long distance and you decide to surprise him, now he can't seem to keep his hands to himself

warnings- smut, oral sex, P in V (😭) dirty talk, angst, funny, cute

a/n— I don't know why I haven't seen stories about Nick from my fault London, he's literally so fine.

Masterlist. part 2

The moment your plane touched down, your heart raced.

It had been months since you last saw Nick in person. Long-distance had been harder than either of you expected—late-night calls, time zones making everything more complicated, missing each other in ways that words could never quite capture. And now, finally, you were here.

Nick had been going through a lot lately. You could hear it in his voice, even when he tried to pretend everything was fine. You hated being so far away when he needed you most, and that was why you were here now—to surprise him.

His dad, William, had been in on it from the start. The moment you told him your plan, he had been more than happy to help.

“He won’t stop talking about how much he misses you,” William had told you over the phone. “Trust me, this is gonna be the best surprise of his life.”

Now, as you stood at the arrivals gate, your suitcase in hand, you spotted William almost immediately. He was standing near the railing, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

“There she is,” he greeted, pulling you into a hug. “Long flight?”

“Long enough,” you chuckled, pulling back.

“Well, let’s get you to the house before Nick starts suspecting anything.”

When you arrived at Nick’s house, William let you in and told you to make yourself comfortable.

“Nick’s out for a bit,” he said, grabbing his keys. “I have to run an errand, so just hang tight. Shouldn’t be long.”

You nodded, setting your bag down, already picturing Nick’s reaction when he saw you. But before you could get too deep in thought, a voice called from upstairs.

“Mom, did you steal my charger again? I swear to—”

A girl appeared at the top of the staircase, stopping mid-sentence when she saw you.

She had long, dark curly hair, an oversized hoodie that looked three sizes too big, and an expression that went from confused to amused in about three seconds flat.

“Well, unless Nick’s Dad had a secret love child in Spain, I’m guessing you’re Nick’s girl.”

You blinked before laughing, immediately liking her. “Yeah. That would be me.”

She leaned against the railing, eyeing you with a smirk. “Huh. Thought you were a catfish.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, come on. Nick landing a girl like you? Suspicious.”

That made you laugh harder, and suddenly, you knew—you and Noah were going to get along just fine.

She came down the stairs, plopping onto the couch across from you. “So, what’s the plan? You surprising him?”

“Yeah, his dad’s helping me set it up.”

“Oh, he’s gonna lose his mind,” she mused, shaking her head. “I swear, he mopes around this house like a sad Victorian widow when he talks about missing you.”

You snorted. “That bad?”

“Worse,” she said. “I was starting to think I’d have to print a picture of you and tape it to his pillow just to stop the sighing.”

You were wheezing at this point.

Then, out of nowhere, she sighed dramatically, leaning back. “Anyway, what about you? Spain treating you well, or did some asshole break your heart?”

“No heartbreak for me,” you replied. “What about you?”

Noah let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, you mean did my boyfriend of three years cheat on me with my best friend after I moved here?”

Your mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

“Oh, I wish,” she said, shaking her head. “I was over here unpacking boxes, and meanwhile, he was back home unpacking my best friend’s pants.”

You gasped, your jaw practically on the floor. “That fucking asshole.”

Noah grinned, pointing at you. “See? I like you.”

A little while later, Nick finally got home.

William played his part perfectly, calling him downstairs under the excuse of You’ve got a package.

Nick, completely unbothered, walked into the living room, rubbing his neck. “What kind of package?”

That was your cue.

You stepped out from the kitchen, your heart pounding.

“Me.”

Nick froze.

For a solid three seconds, he didn’t move—just stared at you, his brown eyes wide like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

Then, before you could even breathe, he crossed the room in seconds, his arms wrapping tight around you, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“No fucking way,” he muttered into your hair, his voice shaky, disbelieving, as he held onto you like his life depended on it. “You’re really here?”

“I’m really here,” you whispered back.

Nick pulled back slightly, his hands cradling your face, his eyes scanning every inch of you, like he needed to memorize you all over again. Then, without hesitation, he kissed you.

It was soft at first, like he was still in shock, but then it deepened, his arms tightening around you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

Noah, from the couch, made a dramatic gagging sound.

“God, you two are disgusting.”

Nick, without looking away from you, smirked. “Jealous?”

“Not even remotely,” she deadpanned, shaking her head. “I’m happy for you, but if I hear any gross couple shit in the next hour, I’m moving out.”

Nick chuckled before kissing you again, softer this time.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I missed you,” you admitted, your fingers tangling in his hoodie.

“Missed you doesn’t even cover it,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.

You smiled, and he smiled back.

Yeah, this was home.

Nick had never smiled this much in his life.

From the moment he saw you standing in his house, everything inside him felt lighter, like he could finally breathe again. You were here, and that was all that mattered.

And now, he wasn’t letting you go.

After a slow morning filled with teasing from Noah and warm smiles from William, you finally got to meet Ella.

You hadn’t expected it—you thought she was at work, but she had come home early, only to find you sitting in the kitchen with Noah, laughing over some ridiculous story about Nick from when he was younger.

“Oh,” she said, stopping in the doorway. “You must be her.”

Nick, who had just walked in to grab a drink, groaned. “Not you too, Ella.”

Ella smiled, stepping forward to shake your hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said warmly, before side-eyeing Nick. “Mostly from this one.”

You grinned, shooting Nick a look. “Is that so?”

Nick rubbed his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Dunno what you lot are talking about.”

Ella chuckled, patting his cheek. “Sweetheart, you can’t go from moping around the house like a lovesick fool to grinning like an idiot the second she walks through the door and expect us not to notice.”

Nick groaned, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door. “Alright, we’re leaving now—bye, everyone.”

Noah cackled behind you.

“Where are we going?” you asked as Nick led you outside, his fingers still wrapped around yours.

“Taking you out.”

You stopped when you saw which car he was leading you to.

A sleek black racing car sat in the driveway, looking like something straight out of an action movie.

“You’re letting me in one of these?” you asked, eyes widening.

Nick smirked, opening the passenger door for you. “Love, I don’t just let anyone in my cars.”

You rolled your eyes but climbed in, your pulse spiking when he got in beside you, his hands moving effortlessly over the controls.

The moment he pulled onto the road, the engine purred, the world around you turning into a blur as he sped through the streets.

“Nick—!” you gasped, gripping the seat, but the laughter bubbling in your chest betrayed you.

Nick glanced at you, his grin wild, free. “You scared?”

“No—just mentally preparing for death.”

He chuckled, his fingers briefly reaching over to squeeze your thigh. “I got you, love.”

And the thing was—you believed him.

Nick drove like he did everything else—reckless, passionate, and completely in control. The wind whipped through your hair as he shifted gears, the car hugging every turn like it was an extension of him.

It was thrilling.

It was him.

And when he finally slowed down, pulling up to a scenic overlook, you were breathless.

“That,” you exhaled, “was actually kind of amazing.”

Nick smirked. “Told you.”

He turned off the engine but didn’t move, just watching you. The city stretched out beneath you both, but all you could feel was the heat of his gaze.

“You look good in my car,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly.

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach fluttered. “You look good everywhere.”

Nick chuckled, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered.

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Me neither.”

And then he kissed you—soft, slow, like he wanted to make up for every second you had been apart.

The two of you spent hours out together—grabbing food, catching up on everything you had missed.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Noah.

“So, how are you feeling about the whole step-sibling thing?” you asked as you twirled your straw in your drink.

Nick shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not bad, actually. She’s kind of cool. Annoying, but cool.”

“She said the same thing about you.”

Nick snorted. “Figures.”

You traced over his wrist, where you knew his rope knot tattoo was.

“Still wild that you and Noah have the same tattoo.”

“Right? I thought she was messing with me at first,” Nick said, rubbing the ink absentmindedly. “But nah, we both got it for different reasons. It’s kinda weirdly fitting, though. Feels like she was always meant to be around.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad you have her.”

Nick tilted his head, studying you.

“You’re my person,” he murmured. “But yeah… she’s kinda like the sister I never had.”

..

By the time you got back to Nick’s house, it was late. Noah was in her room, and William and Ella had already gone to bed, leaving just you and Nick as he led you upstairs to his room.

The moment the door shut, Nick was on you. His hands roamed your body, fingers tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips. A shiver ran down your spine as his lips pressed against your neck, sending sparks of electricity through your veins.

“Nick—” you started, but he hummed against your skin, not having it.

“Mm?”

“I need to shower.”

He grinned, his hands slipping lower. “You smell fine to me.”

“Nick—” you giggled, pushing at his chest, but he was stubborn.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to have you here?” he murmured, his lips now brushing against your cheek.

Your breath hitched.

“I’m savoring it.”

You swallowed hard, a flush rising to your cheeks as his words sent a thrill through you. You’d missed him—missed the way he made you feel—and now that you were finally together again, you couldn’t deny the hunger that had been building inside you.

“You’re needy.”

Nick smirked, tilting your chin up so you had to look at him. “You love it.”

You let out a laugh, fingers threading through his curls as you looked at him, taking in every detail—the warmth in his brown eyes, the slight flush on his skin, the way he was completely and utterly yours.

“I do love it,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Nick’s smirk faded, replaced by something deeper, something softer as his eyes searched yours.

And then, as if the words alone had unraveled something inside him, you saw the shift—the way his entire expression melted, the way his hands tightened around your waist like he needed to memorize the feel of you.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, fingers trailing gently along his jaw.

Nick let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling heavier as his eyes flickered over every inch of your face. Then, without hesitation, he crashed his lips against yours.

This time, there was no teasing, no playful smirk—just pure, unfiltered emotion. The kiss was deep, slow, desperate, like he was pouring every unspoken word into it, like he needed you closer, needed you more than air itself.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, and you let him, sinking into him, knowing that this—this—was exactly where you belonged.

Nick’s hands slipped under your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your breasts, and you felt your nipples harden in response. He groaned, his lips trailing down your skin, and you swore your knees nearly buckled beneath you.

He pushed you back onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kissed you—deep, hard. You felt his cock press against your thigh, knowing he was just as turned on as you were.

As he broke away, gasping for air, his eyes locked onto yours. “I want to taste you,” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

Your heart raced as you nodded, anticipation thrumming through you. Nick’s hands moved to undress you, slowly peeling away each layer. When the last of your clothing fell away, his gaze roamed over your body, drinking in the sight of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice laced with awe. The soft glow of the night’s light cascaded over your bare skin, highlighting every curve and detail as he looked at you, completely captivated.

His fingers traced your body, sending shivers down your spine before he pressed another soft kiss to your lips. Then his mouth wandered lower, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. His hands explored you, deliberate and slow, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

A soft breath escaped you as your back arched slightly off the bed, drawn into the heat of his touch.

Nick’s face dipped between your legs, his tongue tracing over your pussy, and a moan built in your throat.

“Hello, beautiful,” he breathed against your core once he got a full view of it. “Long time no see.”

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes—until his tongue pressed against your folds, and laughter was quickly replaced by a sharp, pleasure-filled gasp.

Nick pulled away slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, watching you with a knowing expression.

“You have to be quiet, love,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper. “Wouldn’t want to wake my parents or Noah, now would we?”

His hands glided over your inner thighs, his touch teasing, deliberate.

A shudder ran through you as he continued, the intensity building until you instinctively bit down on your fist to stifle the moans threatening to escape.

Nick chuckled at the sight, his grip tightening slightly. “That’s better,” he mused before returning to his slow, unrelenting pace.

He licked you, his tongue stroking your clit, and you let out a sigh of pleasure.

“Oh, Nick, that feels so good,” you whispered, your hands tangling in his hair.

His voice was a low rumble. “You taste amazing, baby. I’ve missed this so much.”

His tongue delved deeper, making your body tremble.

Your back arched, hips lifting off the bed, but his hands grasped your hips, holding you in place.

“More, Nick, please,” you begged, your voice breathless.

His tongue was relentless, his strokes precise, and you felt yourself building toward a climax.

“You’re so close, baby, I can feel it,” he murmured against your skin.

You bit your lip hard, his words a steady stream of encouragement.

“Come on, baby, let go. I’ve got you.”

The pleasure built, and you felt yourself unraveling. Your body shook as your orgasm crashed over you, your hips moving against his mouth as he helped you ride out the pleasure.

When sensitivity took over, you pushed his head away.

Nick lifted himself up, hovering over you, amusement flickering in his gaze.

“You still with me?” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You blinked open your eyes, a dazed smile tugging at your lips as you slowly nodded, satisfaction evident in the way your body melted beneath him.

But before he could say anything, you pressed your hands to his shoulders, pushing him back.

Nick let out a surprised chuckle, his smirk returning as you climbed over him, straddling his hips with newfound confidence.

“Oh, taking charge now, are we?” he mused, hands finding your waist.

You tugged at his shirt. “You’re overdressed,” you murmured.

Nick’s smirk widened.

“Let’s change that, shall we?”

Without hesitation, he pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, revealing the lean, toned definition of his body.

Your gaze raked over him, drinking in every detail.

“God, you’re so sexy,” you murmured, tracing your fingers over the firm planes of his chest.

Nick hummed in pleasure. “Say it again.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear.

“You’re so sexy,” you whispered, your voice softer this time, laced with something deeper than just attraction.

Nick exhaled slowly, like the words physically affected him.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he murmured.

His fingers tightened on your waist.

“I love it when you look at me like that,” he whispered.

Your breath caught.

“Then don’t look away.”

Nick smirked.

“Oh, trust me, love—I wouldn’t dare.”

Then he kissed you, and everything else faded away.

Nick’s lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was raw, urgent, and completely unrestrained. His hands roamed your body with a desperation that sent shivers down your spine, fingers digging into your hips as if grounding himself in the reality of having you here.

Your hands moved instinctively, sliding down his chest, feeling the defined ridges of his muscles beneath your fingertips. When you reached the waistband of his pants, you didn’t hesitate, fingers working to undo his belt.

Nick let out a low, satisfied hum against your lips, his smirk returning.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, voice thick with amusement.

You pulled back just slightly, lips still brushing against his, your fingers continuing their slow work.

“Just helping you out,” you murmured playfully. Then, with a smirk of your own, you whispered, “Can I put you in my mouth?”

The moment those words left your lips, you felt his cock twitch beneath you.

“Fuck yes, please,” he groaned, voice strained with need.

You giggled as he quickly helped you remove his pants and boxers, leaving you both bare. Your eyes trailed down his body, drinking him in—the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, the way his cock stood thick and hard, precum glistening at the tip.

You licked your lips before leaning down, your hand wrapping around his length.

Nick’s head fell back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as you began to stroke him, slow and deliberate. His breath hitched when you finally pressed your lips against the tip, teasing him with soft kisses before taking him into your mouth.

His hands immediately tangled in your hair, his grip tightening as he let out a deep, guttural moan.

“Oh, baby… that feels so fucking good,” he groaned, voice husky with pleasure.

You hummed around him, the vibration making his hips jerk slightly. Encouraged by his reaction, you took him deeper, your tongue swirling around his shaft as you worked him with your lips and hands.

Nick’s breathing grew heavier, his grip on your hair tightening as he watched you. His eyes were dark, full of lust and admiration as he whispered, “You look so pretty sucking me off.”

That praise alone sent heat pooling between your legs. Your clit throbbed with need, but right now, your focus was on him. You wanted to watch him unravel beneath you, wanted to make him fall apart.

As you continued to take him deeper, his breathing turned ragged. His fingers flexed in your hair, his hips twitching beneath you.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come,” he warned, voice strained.

You didn’t stop. Instead, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, determined to take every drop of him.

With a sharp moan, his body tensed, and you felt him pulse against your tongue. A moment later, he came with a groan, spilling into your mouth. You swallowed every drop, your tongue teasing him one last time before pulling away.

Nick’s chest rose and fell heavily as he came down from his high. When he finally opened his eyes, they were filled with something deep, something beyond lust.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, reaching up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You grinned, playfully straddling his thighs. “I know.”

Nick let out a breathless laugh, his hands instinctively settling on your waist. But before he could say anything else, he reached toward the nightstand, fingers fumbling for the drawer.

Your hand gently wrapped around his wrist, stopping him.

He looked at you, brows furrowed in question.

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, voice soft but certain. “I’m on the pill.”

For a moment, Nick just stared at you, lips parting slightly. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, something deeply satisfied flashing across his face.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice lower now, thick with something that made your stomach tighten.

You hummed in confirmation, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock again, stroking him back to full hardness.

“God, you’re killing me here, babe,” he groaned, his grip on your waist tightening.

Smiling, you lifted yourself up and lined him up with your entrance. His eyes locked onto yours, the heat in them undeniable. Then, slowly, you sank down onto him, gasping at the fullness.

Nick’s fingers dug into your waist, his breath hitching as he felt you completely wrapped around him.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice raw.

Once you were fully seated on him, he gave you a moment to adjust, his hands caressing your hips, grounding you. A few seconds passed before you started to move, rolling your hips in a slow, steady rhythm.

Nick’s hands roamed up your torso, reaching your breasts. His fingers played with your nipples, tweaking and pinching them just enough to make you whimper.

“You have the most beautiful tits,” he groaned, voice husky. “I love the way they bounce when you ride me.”

You clenched around him at his words, a moan slipping past your lips.

Leaning forward, your breasts brushed against his chest as you picked up the pace, chasing the pleasure pooling in your stomach.

Nick’s hands slid down to your ass, gripping it tightly before delivering a sharp slap that made you gasp. A smirk tugged at his lips.

“You like that?” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement.

“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly, moving faster now, grinding your hips against his. Every time you moved, your clit brushed against him, sending pleasure coursing through you.

Nick’s words became filthier, his whispers hot against your ear. “You’re so wet, baby. I can feel your juices dripping down my cock.”

“Nick,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “You’re so fucking big.”

After a while, your movements slowed, your legs burning with exhaustion.

Nick noticed immediately, his grip on your waist tightening. Without a word, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him.

“My turn,” he murmured, his smirk wicked as he thrust into you.

You let out a sharp cry, wrapping your legs around his waist as he started to fuck you in deep, hard strokes.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing and pinching, sending you hurtling toward your climax.

“You’re so close, baby,” he groaned. “I can feel you tightening around me.”

You nodded frantically, pleasure consuming every part of you.

Nick’s thrusts grew faster, more desperate.

“Shit, I’m coming,” he cursed, his voice strained.

The moment you felt him pulse inside you, your own orgasm tore through you, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your body shook as you moaned his name, nails raking down his back as he held you close.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled together, chests rising and falling in sync.

Nick pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice full of emotion.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Love you more.”

Nick let out a soft chuckle, his arms tightening around you.

“Not possible.”

[twistedreads]

So American —Nick leister

summary— You’ve fallen for the British boy from the uk. Inspired by the song So American by Olivia Rodrigo

warnings- none really, cute, lovey

a/n— I love this song so much, why not make a short imagine.

Masterlist

Nick had always been different from anyone you’d ever known. There was something about him—something effortless, something magnetic—that had pulled you in from the start.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself, that quiet confidence mixed with just the right amount of mischief in his eyes. Maybe it was his British accent, smooth and teasing, that made everything he said sound just a little more intriguing. Or maybe it was the way he made you feel like you were someone special, like every glance, every touch, every inside joke between you two meant more than just words.

Either way, you had fallen. Hard.

And now, here you were, wrapped in the arms of the boy who had become your entire world, stretched out on the grass under the hazy glow of streetlights.

“You’re staring again,” Nick teased, his voice laced with amusement.

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow as you looked down at him. His brown curls were slightly tousled, the frosted blonde tips catching the glow of the city lights, making him look almost ethereal. His golden-tan skin was warm beneath your fingertips as you traced absent patterns along his arm.

“Maybe I like staring,” you murmured, lips curving into a lazy smile.

Nick smirked, eyes glinting as he reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Can’t say I blame you, love,” he said, his voice dripping with that familiar cocky charm.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the way your heart fluttered when he looked at you like that—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

There was something storybook-like about this moment, about the entire summer with Nick. The two of you had spent what felt like every second together—driving through empty streets at midnight, blasting music with the windows down, sneaking into places you probably shouldn’t have, chasing after something neither of you could name.

He was wild in a way you weren’t. Free in a way you never thought you could be. And yet, he made you feel like you belonged right there with him, like you weren’t just some ordinary girl—like you were something more.

“You’re so American,” he mused suddenly, his fingers trailing down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nick shrugged, a small, teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Dunno. Just… you’re different. The way you say things, the way you do things. You get excited over the littlest things—like when we passed that old diner last week, or when you tried a full English breakfast for the first time and acted like it was some grand discovery.”

You laughed at the memory. “Okay, but you have to admit, those beans were weird with toast.”

Nick chuckled, shaking his head. “See? So American.”

You scoffed, lightly swatting his arm. “And you’re so British. Should I start making fun of you for the way you say ‘aluminium’?”

Nick smirked, flipping onto his side so he was inches away from you. His voice dropped, turning soft, intimate. “I like that we’re different, though.”

The way he was looking at you—like you were something worth holding onto—made your breath hitch.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

And then, before you could say anything else, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

You melted into him, sighing softly as his hand slipped behind your neck, tilting your head just enough to deepen it. His lips were warm, firm yet gentle, like he was savoring every second of it.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his thumb lightly stroking your jaw.

“I think I love you,” he murmured, so quiet you almost thought you imagined it.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, your fingers tightening slightly against his shirt.

“You think?” you teased, a small, breathless laugh escaping.

Nick chuckled, shaking his head. “No. I know.”

The world around you faded away, the city noise in the distance nothing but a soft hum as you let his words sink in.

“Good,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his again. “Because I think I love you too.”

And maybe that was crazy—maybe it was too soon, too fast, too much—but with Nick, nothing ever felt like too much.

With Nick, it just felt right.

The words still hung in the air between you, weightless yet heavy, filling the space in a way nothing else ever had.

“I think I love you too.”

Nick hadn’t let you go since you said it. His arms had tightened around you, his fingers grazing slow, lazy circles against your back as if he was memorizing the shape of you, the feel of you.

“You’re not gonna take it back in the morning, are you?” he teased after a few minutes of comfortable silence, his lips brushing against your temple.

You smiled, shaking your head. “No. Are you?”

“No chance,” he murmured, tilting his head down to press another kiss to your lips—this one softer, slower, as if to say I meant it.

You felt so full—of him, of warmth, of something so new yet so right.

The city lights twinkled in the distance, the summer air still thick with warmth, but nothing felt as electric as the way Nick was looking at you.

“We should probably head back soon,” you murmured against his lips, though you made no effort to actually move.

Nick hummed, his hands slipping lower to rest on your hips. “We could. Or… we could stay out a little longer.”

You pulled back slightly, raising a playful brow. “You just want an excuse to keep kissing me.”

He smirked. “And what if I do?”

“Then I guess we have to stay.”

He grinned, leaning in to capture your lips again, his body pressing into yours, making your heart race all over again.

You eventually did go back, but not before Nick convinced you to take a detour—a long, winding drive with the windows down, music playing just low enough that you could still talk over it.

Nick was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily over your thigh, his thumb tracing mindless patterns against your skin. The simple gesture sent shivers up your spine, even though you were still wearing his hoodie over your dress.

“What?” he asked, catching the way you were watching him.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “Nothing. Just… you.”

Nick raised an amused brow. “Me?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, glancing at the dark road ahead. “I don’t know. I just—sometimes I wonder what I’d be doing if I never met you.”

Nick hummed, considering. “Well, you’d definitely be less entertained.”

You laughed, nudging his arm. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he said, throwing you a grin before shifting his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’d be somewhere out there, not realizing you were missing me. Which, frankly, sounds tragic.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped at the way his fingers curled against yours.

“I just feel like… I don’t know, like meeting you changed everything,” you admitted softly.

Nick’s smirk faded slightly, replaced with something warmer, more thoughtful.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter. “I know what you mean.”

You let the silence settle between you, comfortable, full, before squeezing his hand slightly.

“Where are we going, by the way?”

Nick smirked, squeezing back. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see, love.”

Nick’s grand plan? Climbing onto the rooftop of an old bookstore downtown.

“This is illegal, isn’t it?” you asked as you carefully followed him up, his hand firmly gripping yours to steady you.

“Only if we get caught,” he said over his shoulder, flashing you a grin.

You rolled your eyes but kept climbing. When you finally made it, the sight took your breath away.

The whole city stretched out before you, twinkling lights scattered like stars, the quiet hum of nightlife buzzing below. It felt like you were on top of the world, like nothing could touch you up here.

“Worth it?” Nick asked, nudging you.

You nodded, staring out at the skyline. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Nick sat down, pulling you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. You curled into him, resting your head against his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you.

“Told you I’d take care of you,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your temple.

You smiled, your fingers tracing slow patterns against his arm. “I know.”

A beat of silence passed before you whispered, “I love you, you know.”

Nick exhaled slowly, like the words settled deep into his bones. He turned, tilting your chin up so he could look at you.

“Say it again.”

You did.

And when he kissed you this time, it was slow, deep, like he was trying to memorize the way those words tasted on your lips.

That night felt like a dream, but in the days that followed, nothing faded.

Nick still looked at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world. He still teased you, still drove you crazy in the best way, still made you laugh until your stomach hurt. But now, there was something more—a quiet certainty, an unspoken promise in every kiss, every touch, every glance.

You weren’t just falling anymore.

You had already fallen.

And somehow, you knew he had too.