#asking to be ripped apart but still cherishing their last breath of air

[jamespottersmixtape]

rosekiller microfic: goldilocks 1,632 words

a bit of soft rosekiller!! this is inspired by @myrows rosekiller art which you can find here! it made me want to weep a little when I first saw it, so naturally I had to write something haha :) ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and it's by no means perfect but enjoy!! <3

Barty has always cherished quiet nights at Hogwarts.

When the chatter in the halls finally dies down enough for his thoughts to come back to him and homework has been carelessly tossed aside to save for tomorrow.

There’s a sense of serenity to it all that Barty rarely finds elsewhere. A break that he craves most at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Sixth year courses have been—to put it lightly, beating his ass—no matter how well he does. Today, it had taken him ten tries to get the nonverbal spell to work in Transfiguration. Ten.

Usually Barty needs no more than six tries for complicated spells, less than that for complex potions. Disregarding that he still did it faster than over half the class, now he’s just fucking tired.

He groans and shoves his schoolbag off the bed, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, then flops backwards dramatically onto his pillows. The dorm room is dim, save for a few small candles on his bedside table. Cloaked in various shadows that dance around the room from the flickering flame.

Barty closes his eyes, taking a spare second to just breathe. There’s the soft white noise of the shower running in the background—Evan is taking forever, as usual—and sometimes Barty imagines he can hear the push and pull of the black lake against their walls. Lack of windows be damned.

It isn’t long before the water shuts off, and Barty feels the smallest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s just the two of them for now, Regulus off doing god knows what at this hour. So naturally, a lot of built up restraint is needed for Barty not to rip open the bathroom door. To go and take in the sight of a freshly showered Evan and gather him in his arms before he can be stopped.

He’s been in there for less than thirty minutes but fuck it, Barty misses him.

Grumbling, he goes to change into the first clothes he can find. Settling for some years old joggers and a loose tank top, the soft fabric already making him drowsy.

The bathroom door creaks open and his head snaps up, immediately catching Evan’s eye. Barty really can’t help it when his heart skips a beat.

Evan raises his eyebrows, chuckling when Barty takes no subtlety in checking him out. His hair is dry, most likely done by magic. A thin blue t-shirt hangs off his shorter frame and each step taken towards Barty casts golden shadows over his skin.

Looking like everything warm and comfortable; the smell of his shampoo in the air so familiar that it hurts.

Barty’s smirk is wicked when he tugs Evan by his shirt into a light kiss. He makes a startled noise but melts into Barty’s touch regardless, fingers cupping his chin. The kiss is short but effective in making Barty’s head go all fuzzy.

“What happened to hello?” Evan asks when they pull apart—though not very far—now standing chest to chest. Evan’s bare feet fit in between his socked ones.

 Barty makes sure to slather his words in extra charm, grinning. “Hello, gorgeous.” 

“Wow, smooth talker,” Evan deadpans.

“You know you love it, Goldilocks.”

Barty takes a blonde strand between two fingers, tugging lightly at the end and earning him a deep scowl.

“I told you that nickname is stupid.” Evan rolls his eyes but Barty catches the blush high on his cheekbones. A light dusting of pinks and reds that work to compliment his freckles. Barty pokes him on one cheek.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“Brat.”

Barty hums noncommittally, threading their fingers together. Warmth settles in his chest from the steady weight of Evan’s hand.

He leads Evan past the emerald green curtains of his bed and down onto the soft mattress. It’s a routine they’ve created over the last few months, and every time Barty wraps the covers around them it becomes harder and harder to let Evan slip back into his own bed. Something about having him in his arms means a night free of restless tossing and turning.

They lie facing each other for a few minutes, minimal space between them and their heads resting on one pillow. Quiet voices and even quieter laughs, a sacred bubble that neither of them dare to pop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty laughs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You told Cresswell what?”

Evan frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told him…that if he feels the need to keep staring at you in class then maybe I should tape his fucking eyes open. You know, that way he wouldn’t miss it when I inevitably snog you right in front of him.”

“Evan!” Barty can’t help it, his laugh is loud when it bursts from his chest.

“Well, maybe I left out that last bit…”

It takes him a minute before his laughter dies down, the quiet settling back in. “You jealous?” Barty teases, raising an eyebrow.

Evan purses his lips. “No.”

Barty stares at him knowingly.

Silence.

Evan averts his eyes.

“Mhm sure, come here.”

He drags Evan in by his waist, the pair of them fumbling around until Evan’s head relaxes in the crook of Barty’s neck and his forearm rests over his chest. Their sides pressed together, Barty smiles—fully content now.

Wordlessly, Barty ghosts his hand over the warm skin, relishing in the way Evan shivers from the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Evan’s hair brushes the side of his face and his warm breath fans across his chest, their hearts only slightly out of sync as they beat so close together.

It’s a lot for Barty to take in sometimes—the whole idea of them. Having someone so delicate, yet so utterly untouchable, be his. If anyone took the time to ask him, though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Barty knows Evan’s eyes are closed, can see the shadow of his eyelashes. He takes the opportunity to trace over his freckles; a messy constellation that follows the high points of his cheeks, crosses sporadically over the bridge of his nose.

Evan scrunches his face up, which should not be so endearing. “That tickles.”

Barty turns his head, placing the quickest of kisses atop of Evan’s forehead, debating whether or not he should just give in and lick the side of his face. Then ultimately deciding against it—Evan did just take a shower—he’ll be nice for once.

“I wasn’t jealous. I don’t get jealous,” Evan mumbles, his voice lulled and tired sounding.

“Of course not, Ev.” Barty resists rolling his eyes, Evan can’t see his face anyway. 

“Besides,” Barty continues, “If you were jealous, I don’t mind you threatening people for me…it’s kinda hot.”

Evan smacks him lightly across the chest, but snuggles deeper against his shoulder. Which definitely does not do a weird flippy thing to Barty’s stomach. Nope, not at all.

“Mm okay,” Evan yawns. Which, Barty can’t blame him. Exhaustion is slowly taking over his body the longer they lie here. At this point all he wants to do is blow out the candles and fall asleep. Keep Evan next to him the whole night.

“Hey Goldilocks.”

“Mhm…” Evan must be too tired to even rebuke the nickname.

“Reg is going to freak out if he finds you here in my bed.”

Evan huffs, not very different from a petulant child. He makes no move to get up or even open his eyes. “I don’t care.”

This time Barty can’t hold back his yawn. He shuts his eyes and allows his body to sink further into the bed. Further into Evan. “Maybe we can tell Potter how madly in love with him Reg is. Then they can finally leave us alone.”

“Payback,” Evan snorts.

They both fall asleep without really meaning to. Tangled limbs beneath the covers and hands that aren’t inclined to let go. As his mind quiets down, something in Barty feels settled. A puzzle piece slotting into place after searching and searching for the edge that matches. Evan tends to have that effect on him, he’s come to notice.

All is quiet for a while, the whole school in a coinciding state of slumber. A time when portraits snore softly and only ghosts roam the halls, the usual lively presence of magic at bay for now.

But not even thirty minutes later they’re awoken with a loud thud and a significantly darker room—Barty had blown the candles out after all—just in case.

“Lumos,” someone whispers.

Regulus stands at the end of Barty’s bed, hands on his hips and a look of annoyance on his face. His wand is now lit and shining far too bright for Barty’s liking.

“What the fuck, Reg?” he asks groggily. Evan groans beside him and tries to hide his face.

“Not my fault I tripped over your fucking books, Barty,” Regulus hisses. “And you guys are gross. You said no PDA in the dorm.”

Barty squints and gestures for him to lower his wand. Regulus does so slowly. “Yeah, well I’m a fucking liar. Let us sleep.”

It’s with a lot of grumbling and a sharp glare that Regulus turns and stalks to his side of the room. When he shuts himself in the bathroom Barty reaches for his own wand and spells his curtains closed.

He has Evan back in his arms in no time, steady and real and here. Absolutely not going anywhere, if Barty has a say in it. His fingers resume their path over his arm, tracing nonsensical shapes that neither can decipher. Before they both drift off again a thought pops into Barty’s head.

“We are definitely getting him back for this.”

#ahhhh another microfic i missed them #this is silly and self indulgent but i love them sm #so soft i'm kinda dying #shoutout to evan's freckles for being the sole inspo #and myro's lovely lovely art ofc #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #barty x evan #evan x barty #rat's silly microfics

[loveforsatoru]

Our Blue Spring- Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader (Chapter 8: Familiarity)

sorry I haven’t updated this fic in a while!

-

The train comes to a stop, everyone else making their way out while Satoru gently wakes you from your slumber. He feels bad. He could tell from the moment he saw your face that you were tired and probably didn't get much sleep. You always have a certain look whenever you’re tired. He remembers.

“Y/n,” He whispers, poking your cheek.

You swat his hand away, “five more minutes,” you mumble, stirring around on his lap.

“But we’re already here. Lets go, you can sleep when we get to my place,”

You pull yourself off him against your will, shivering at the loss of warmth. Your clothes are still wet from the rain.

He helps you off the train and you begin walking side by side in the dark. There’s barely anybody else out at this hour besides the few people who were on the train with you. It’s so cold out that you can see your own breath fog the air.

You flick your gaze up to Satoru who has his attention on the path ahead of him, but he can feel you staring at him. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“What? Is there something on my face?” He chuckles, now looking down at you.

You turn your head away, dragging your hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm yourself up, “No, it’s nothing. You just look different is all.” And you’re right. He’s somehow taller, an undercut, and his arms look like they’re about to rip the fabric of his clothes.

He nods his head in amusement, “Good or bad different?”

You pause for a moment before answering, “Good… really good.”

He didn’t expect you to say it outright, he thought he’d have to tease you a little more to coax the answer out of you, “You too.”

You continue walking the last mile in silence, air a little thick with the need to ask more questions, and find out everything about each other that you’ve missed over the last 7 years, but nevertheless, it’s comforting. You doubt you could feel uncomfortable with Satoru.

As he turns a corner, you follow closely behind him, recognizing the familiar path.

“Wait, I thought we were going to your place?” You ask.

“We are.”

“So why are we walking towards-”

Oh.

You cut yourself off when it clicks in your head and barely a second after, you’re face to face with the apartment you once both lived it. You naturally assumed he would’ve moved out of this place not long after you broke up.

You stop to just take it all in and reminisce over your old home.

Satoru is already unlocking the door, but halts his movement. He’ll let you take your time.

But it isn’t until you feel tears pooling in your eyes that you scurry over to him, “Sorry, we can go inside,” you sniffle through the tightness in your chest. You feel that if you stand there any longer, you’ll cry for a second time tonight.

He pulls the door open and you both walk up the stairs as they creak beneath your feet.

He walks ahead and unlocks the door with the number 21 on it. The same exact one from all those years ago. Part of you was hoping he would’ve at least switched so you wouldn’t have to relive the memories of the life you regret leaving behind, but the other is filled with a sense of love knowing he cherished everything about you and the relationship you once shared.

He leads you inside and it seems you just teleported into the past. Absolutely nothing has changed. The pictures on the wall, the pillows on the couch, even the old coffee maker which more than likely doesn’t work anymore is still in its designated spot in the corner of the kitchen counter just how you used to like it.

Satoru takes your jacket off and hangs it with his on the coat rack, “You can take a shower if you’d like. Towels are in our-“ He stops himself before continuing, but you both know what he was going to, wanted to say, “My bedroom. I’ll make us something to eat in the meantime.”

You nod, afraid of what you’ll see when you walk into the room where you spent hours holding each other, making love, or just talking about your days. You wish you knew how his days have been. At times, you found yourself wanting to send him a text to check up on him, but you figured it was best to stay silent. Not everyone would be excited to hear from their ex who left them heartbroken without explanation. But if only you knew it was the one thing he’d kill for.

Your steps seem to have grown slower until you reach the entrance leading to the bedroom. Again, nothing changed, but when your eyes fall onto the bed, seeing the one side that’s messed up from sleeping in it while the other has remained seemingly untouched for years (because it has), you can’t help but cry.

You turn around to the mirror that’s propped against the wall, never drilled in because it’s Satoru’s way of keeping yet another memory alive.

Flashback:

You guys had just gotten your first apartment together. It was small, but cozy and that’s what mattered. You’re currently at the store debating on which mirror to get for your shared bedroom. Everything else was already set and ready to go, but for some reason, a mirror had to break that streak.

“Satoru, we are not getting that one! It makes me look distorted!” You whine. You’ve been at this for 20 minutes.

He, on the other hand, finds your whining cute, “But it’s like one of those optical illusion mirrors at carnivals! It’s funny!”

He’s acting like a little kid in the middle of the store, making funny faces and watching his messed up reflection in the mirror. Of course, he would ultimately pick the one you want which was a pricey, but nice full body one. He just wanted to tease you a while longer.

But that would have to wait until another day because you’re already pushing the cart one aisle down, fed up with his behavior.

He chases after you, enveloping you in a tight hug, “I’m sorryyy! You know I would always get you whatever you want. But you should also know that I find enjoyment in teasing my pretty girlfriend.”

…

Despite settling your first dilemma on which mirror to get, a new problem arose. Where would it even go? You have a problem with overbuying, and Satoru has a problem with being unable to say no to you. Which is exactly why you’re standing like idiots in the middle of your bedroom that’s filled with furniture and decor, leaving barely any space for your mirror.

You probably spent two hours rearranging stuff, and moving things into the living room before ultimately settling on just leaning it up against the wall. Satoru had suggested drilling it to the ceiling so you guys can watch while you have sex, but all it got him was a smack on the back of the head.

End Flashback:

You rub your nose and tear filled eyes feeling the diamond of your wedding ring against your face, bringing you back to the reality that you can’t have this again. No matter how bad you want it, it’ll always be out of your reach and you have nobody to blame but yourself.

#gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo fanfic #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #jjk angst #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #satoru x you #gojo angst #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x yn

[randynova]

♡𝓜𝔂 𝓦𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷♡

𝓖𝓾𝓷 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: 𝐴𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝐺𝑢𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝐺𝑜𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔(𝑠):𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡(𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝)! 𝐺𝑢𝑛

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

“Why couldn’t this have waited until another day?” Gun muttered, unbuttoning his shirt, letting it slide off his taut frame, and neatly folding it, placing it onto the roof of his car. He was glad he hadn't put his jacket on, having left it in his passenger seat. “I can’t dirty my clothes again, [Name] will be mad if I get blood on it.” He rolled his broad shoulders until they released a satisfying crack, his thick muscles bulging as he stretched his arms across his scarred chest. Gun peered at a nearby store, the digital clock displaying in big white numbers, ‘7:45 PM’. He groaned, his lips curling into a scowl whilst his arms fell to his side. He didn’t have enough time to deal with this.

“Hmm, and it’s almost time for our date. Fuck.” Gun whispered to himself. He clenched his fists, narrowing his eyes at the man across from him. He removed his shades and revealed his dark gaze, placing his favorite accessory to his side as well. “I’ll make this quick, Goo. I have more important places to be.”

Goo laughed, grinning in his spot as he balanced a pole in his hands. He rolled his eyes, arching a brow at his partner. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Gun, maybe if you didn’t spend all your time by [Name]’s side, we could have dealt with this matter much earlier. That girl has you wrapped around her pretty little finger, huh?”

“Shut it,” Gun said, already racing towards the blonde and thrusting his fist, knuckles colliding with metal. Upon the cold sensation meeting his skin, he wanted to absolutely kill Goo and rip him to shreds. This would take longer than he wanted, wasting his already precious, short time. He backed off, having a considerable distance between the two, stretching his fingers a few times before clenching them again. He growled, spitting venomously,  “You just like picking fights.” 

“You did too. Before you met her, y’know,” Goo tutted, waving his finger in the air. He scoffed, voice low, “Who would’ve thought? Gun going soft for a girl. Psh, pathetic. Never thought I’d live to see the day...” The blonde trailed off, his face becoming stoic, his mind wandering. You truly had to be someone exceptional if you managed to have a guy like Gun to fall for you. He always wondered who you were, how you looked like, what you did, but Gun had kept you a secret from the world of crime. He hid almost every known trace abou you and tied every loose end that implicated you existed. No one knew who you were and no one could find you — unless Gun allowed them to. 

Goo found it so irritating how he was unable to know the girl who made such a notorious gangster go soft. 

He only met you once and that was by pure sheer luck; dropping by unexpectedly at one of Gun's apartments, only to be met with the sight of you. Seeing how Gun reacted, he knew you were supposed to be kept hush-hush. But boy, did he have a field day the next time he saw the man.

Goo had to meet you again. Or at least, know you more.

Only when Gun’s fist connected with Goo’s face did the man snap out of his thoughts, the impact of such force throwing him a few feet backwards. He dug his feet into the floor, a high-pitched screech coming from his shoes as the rubber burned against the pavement. With his sleeve, Goo wiped his cheek, seeing a speck of blood staining his clothes. Goo chuckled, standing up straight with a grin, “If I can remember right, you told me you got Eli Jang in trouble for basically the same thing. What was her name again? Heather?”

Goo blocked the upcoming attack, his pole raised and crossed above his face. He pushed Gun back with an effortless swing of the pole. He tilted his head and scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “How is [Name] any different from Heather? What does she have on you?”

Gun twisted his neck gently until he heard a crack, looking back at Goo as he hissed with venom, “Nothing.”

“Let me think, let me think….” Goo hummed, racking his mind for any possibility that someone like Gun would stay with a woman longer than one night. His face lit up and he broke out into a wide grin, pointing a finger at Gun. “Aha! You got the poor girl knocked up, right?! See, I always tell you to wear protection! Just couldn’t keep it in your pants, hm? Shaaame.” 

“Ugh, fuck no. I don’t want kids and neither does she. We made that clear at the beginning," Gun said with a sneer, annoyed beyond comprehension at Goo's antics. 

“Awe, I really thought she held something over you. How about this: I’ll stop fighting you if you tell me why you’re still with such a pretty girl like [Name]? Deal?" Goo offered, slinging the pole onto his shoulder. His eyes darkened as he spat maliciously, knowing each word would wind and rile Gun's emotions. "She deserves better than a perverted gangster, you both know that.”

Gun stayed silent, the corners of his lips tugging down into a frown. Goo’s last words struck a chord in him, sending a pang through his heart upon hearing an insecurity he’ll never admit to. Of course. Everyone told you to stay away from a man like Gun. People kept telling you you will only get hurt in the end, that a better man will come along and sweep you off your feet if you just waited, or you could always do better than him. But you never listened. You stayed by his side, even when the whole world looked down on you two. Even for months, he tried convincing himself he felt nothing for you, but after a while, he finally accepted that someone managed to tear down his walls and enter his hollow, cold heart — you. 

You were just a different kind of girl - no- a different kind of woman. A special woman he had the pleasure of meeting. One he wouldn’t dare let go of now that he has the privilege of calling you ‘mine’. And by any god out there, he won’t be a stupid fool to lose you.

Gun sighed. “I tell you and you’ll put this stupid fight behind us, right?”

Goo placed a hand over his chest, replying shortly, “You have my word.~”

“[Name] is just that special person you meet once in your life. One you know you can’t let go of because there isn’t another like her. Simple as that.”

“What?! Ugh, don’t be boring! Tell me more!”

“You asked why I  stayed with her and I told you.”

“Yeah, but I expected a story, not some sad attempt at an old man’s wise words.”

A low guttural sound rumbled in Gun’s throat, his eye twitching. “Maybe when I’m in a better mood I’ll tell you, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my woman.”

Goo groaned and tossed his pole to the side, rolling his eyes and grumbling, "Fiiine, but you owe me a story. "

"Whatever—damnit," Gun looked at the clock once again and his face contorted into one of pure irate. "I'm late."

'8:12 PM'

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

Your head rested on your hand, balancing a glass of wine between your fingers, twirling the cup as the liquid swished around. Your eyes were looking down on the glory of Gangdong, the shimmering, blinding lights of the city mesmerizing you. The city always looked beautiful at this time of night. You just wished you could enjoy it with the person you cherished. A sigh leaves your lips and you look away, eyes trailing to the other tables over the balcony. 

The lingering eyes of many strange men didn't faze you anymore, the two burly boys surrounding your table always making them avert their gaze as fast as it landed. A courtesy of your boyfriend, who was at least thirteen minutes late, who insisted on you needing to be guarded at all times. You knew if he were here, no one would dare to even breathe in your direction, let alone glance. 

The cool air pricked your skin and a shiver passed through your body, reminding you of where you were. For a man as smart as him, Gun tended to neglect keeping the season in mind when planning your dates. Nonetheless, you were happy he went out of his way to take you out on such a busy schedule. 

You jumped in your seat, snapping out of your thoughts. A jacket was wrapped around your frame, warmth immediately enveloping you as the fabric made contact with your bare skin. You looked up and smiled. 

Gun stood behind you, towering over your sitting form as he made sure you were nice and covered. His coat basically swallowed you whole. A small stuffed animal was tucked under his arm, it’s fluffy fur peeking out. He walked over to take his seat, pulling the chair out, and wasting no time to slip in. He waved to the guards and they nodded, beginning to clear the scene of people.

“Sorry I’m late, [Name],” Gun started, taking the stuffie out from underneath his arm and presenting it to you. Oh, how adorable. "I brought you a gift as an apology."

A small brown otter sat in his palms, barely taking up Gun's hands. It’s beady, plastic eyes looked straight at you, a little smile stitched onto its snout. A snort left you. The sight of such a well-dressed, intimidating man carrying such an adorable toy was  amusing. "Really now? Just a cute toy, Gun?"

Gun sighed and sat up a bit from his chair, leaning over the table, and cupping your face as he planted a gentle kiss on your cheek. As quick as it started, Gun's lips left and he was seated once again. You pout. "Don't give me that look, [Name]. We can do more at home if you want but not here."

"It's not wrong to be disappointed in no kiss on the mouth after not seeing your boyfriend for such a long time. Don't you think I deserve it?"

Gun smirked, placing his shades on the table and taking your hand, intertwining your fingers together. He gave a light squeeze and you didn't miss a beat as you squeezed his coarse hand back. The way you pursed your lips and looked at him with such glossy, innocent eyes made his heart swell. With such a pretty, cute face, it was hard to say no to you. "Hmm, maybe. But Olly told me you crossed paths with Hostel A." Gun spoke, slipping his hands from yours and picking up his dinnerware, quickly cutting the savory meat into pieces. He didn't hesitate to put a piece up to your mouth, a hand underneath so as to not have the juice leak. "I was told you nearly broke the Uncles' bones and Big Daddy himself."

Your face scrunched up and you scoffed, shaking your head. You placed the stuffed animal to the side, petting it. "Figured those assholes wouldn’t tell you everything. The ‘uncles’ wouldn’t leave me alone and I thought Olly was another one of those bastards,” you snap, sitting back in your seat with a scowl. “How was I supposed to know he was trying to help when he dresses like that? I thought he was trying to assault me for God’s sake!”

Gun placed down his fork on his plate and his face twisted into one of fury, eyes turning cold and rigid as all the warmth disappeared whilst his lips curled back into a nasty frown. You almost thought his infamous scowl was directed towards you, but you knew better. You dear boyfriend wouldn't dare lay a single finger on you if it didn't bring you pleasure. "They what?" 

You smiled softly, placing your hand over his as it clenched into a fist. With your small attempt at trying to soothe him by rubbing small circles, you spoke with a bit of hesitation, "Ah, yeah. They kept trying to get my number and wouldn't let me leave the booth I was in. I had no other choice than to use the training you taught me. Since I never met Olly, I really thought he was just another one of them and I reacted before thinking, making me attack him too."

Gun scoffed, shaking his head as he listened to your explanation with disbelief, every word fueling his rage of someone daring to hit on his woman. Every fiber in Gun's body screamed, wanting to feel their skin underneath his fists as he pounded them into oblivion. But the only thing stopping him was his date with you. For now, he'll put his anger aside to be with you and keep you happy. Who knows how long he'll be gone and when he'll see you again. The man has to make every second count. 

Yet, he couldn’t let this go unpunished.

"Fuck." Gun leans closer to you and sits on the edge of his chair. Placing his hand over yours, he slips his fingers to grasp your palm, and lifts your hand to his lips, pressing tender kisses against your knuckles. His thumb grazing softly across your fingers and his eyes flutter shut. You couldn't help but stare in awe, never quite seeing him like this.

So careful with you, so gentle, you were surprised he wasn't seething in his seat and threatening to break their heads open. Gun opens his eyes and looks up at you, shaking in his seat. “I promise I’ll have those fuckers begging on their knees for your forgiveness. They should know better than to treat a woman with such rudeness and disrespect. Shit, I’ll go right now. I’ll beat them till-”

Your sweet laugh reaches his ears, cutting him off from his little speech. You lean in and pull in his hand to your lips, pressing a tender peck to his coarse knuckles. Gun felt his heart race and skip a beat at the sight, shock crossing his features. You look up, looking at your boyfriend with mirthful eyes. “As much fun as that sounds, I'd rather you stay here. Please? I want to spend as much time with you before you go back to work.”

The man stayed silent for a few seconds, taking in your words. He looked away, clicking his tongue before he broke out into a small smile, a blush blooming across his cheeks and the tip of his ears burning a bright red. “Of course, [Name]. Though, you could’ve just said you like spending time with me.”

Giggling, you lower your hands and shake your head. “Gun, of course I like spending time with you. You’re my favorite person and I love you after all.” Your voice said those three words with such fondness, it’s as if the man was in a dream. 

If your words from before didn’t send Gun over the edge, your proclamation of love surely did now. He looked down, grinning like an idiot, showing a soft, bashful side he’s never revealed to anyone before. He swore his heart would jump out of his throat from how fast it was pounding against his ribcage. Gun grasped your hand tightly and sighed blissfully, Gently, he spoke, gazing at you with loving eyes, “I love you too.”

You smiled.

The tension in the air grew to be too much and both of you found it unbearable, wanting to do what both of you have been waiting for for weeks.

Both of you sat up and leaned over the table, closing the gap between you two as your lips interlocked, slipping together like if you were made for eachother. The kiss sparked and fed the fire both of you held in your hearts, burning brighter with every moment you spent at one another’s side. Gun couldn’t help but smile against your mouth.

As much as he hated being apart from you for so long, moments like these made the long hours worth it. If working so much meant he could provide for you, then he wouldn't mind doing it for the rest of his life if you had a roof over your head and a nice, warm meal at night.

Afterall, you were his woman.

And he loved you.

✦✦✦✦✦✦

©𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚊 || 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 || 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚝𝚌. 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 .

✦✦✦✦✦✦

#lookism #lookism gun #lookism x reader #lookism imagine #lookism imagines #gun lookism #jong gun #jong gun x reader #lookism fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction x reader #fanfic #lookism fanfic #x reader #reader insert #reader #reader imagine #gun imagine #jong gun imagine

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, don’t kill me because of the ending, sebastian and reader are the definition of right person wrong time, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, also this part has some funny moments but overall it’s a big SOB

part: 6/6 (there will also be an epilogue)

(other parts)   (masterlist)

This is how it ends: broken hearts from crashed dreams.

Sebastian holds you until his muscles ache and your lungs burn from the feeling of too little oxygen. It is cold and dark, almost midnight, too dark, a starless night.

No more stars for you and I.

“Here,” Voice hoarse, eyes heavy-lid and itching from almost crying. He gives you one of the rings he wore in the movie. “I want you to keep this.”

Keep it close to your heart. Forget me not.

He takes a breath and a step back, tries to regain all the strength he still has, steady feet and shoulders fixed. He digs his nails into his palms, red marks in his skin, air catching in his throat, he’s on the verge of falling but he stays standing.

He remembers tears glistening down his cheeks, maybe they were yours not his, and the cold autumn wind hitting his face and he remembers feeling like he’s dying.

And then he closes the door of Argyris’ car and looks at you.

And his heart stretches and stretches and stretches and then somehow splits in half.

/

It goes like this:

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment from now on. In the living room. Sitting on the couch. And it has steel blue eyes and a familiar heart. And it whispers a love story, half-finished, and you cannot make it stop.

The ghost touches your collarbone and he’s gone but there’s a ring in a golden chain around your neck and a white shirt forgotten in your laundry. And it smells like him. The clinging scent of his aftershave sticking to your pores. Eucalyptus. And no matter how hard you try to wash it off, it still lingers.

How could I ever forget someone like you?

The ghost lives here, but the place is empty, so empty. And it’s hard not to cry.

/

Sebastian calls and texts a lot.

He tells you he’s tired but excited because he started filming a new movie. It’s very indie and experimental, I can’t wait for you to see it. He tells you he’s missing his days in Greece like hell and that one night he dreamt of you. Didn’t want to wake up. What he doesn’t tell you is that he’s coming back in a month, Argyris needs him for some extra scenes. It’s nearly killing him but he doesn’t tell you. He wants to surprise you, see the pure light in your eyes when they’ll meet his.

/

You try sexting. It doesn’t go very well.

23:50, sebastian: if you were here in my bed right now what would you be doing

06:51, you: probably falling asleep hahaha

06:51, you: oh fuck was i supposed to sext back

06:51, you: sorry seb i just woke up and i have a class in an hour, love you <3

23:52, sebastian: fuck timezones

/

(three weeks and 10 seconds later)

“I can’t believe she doesn’t know you’re here,” Argyris shakes his head as he’s driving home from the airport, “If I were her, I’d kill you.”

“Good thing I didn’t fall in love with you.”

Sebastian laughs and looks out of the car window. The stars. There are so many stars tonight. He holds his breath; he’s finally feeling whole again. His heart isn’t split in two anymore.

/

You don’t know how long you stand there at your door, staring at him, but it feels like a century before he grins, almost laughs, takes your hands in his and you start considering that perhaps this isn’t a hallucination. Perhaps it’s real.

“Surprise?”

Something inside of you bursts, your organs twitch. You can’t think, you can’t speak, but you can move. You don’t lose any more time, you take a step forward, attach your bodies, your face buried in his neck, your fingers clutching into the rough fabric of his jacket. You breathe him in like an antidote.

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

You kiss him and it’s like poetry, like art, like honey and you can’t separate yourself from him, not even hours later.

/

(looking back, these were the golden days)

You pretending to be mad at him for not telling you he was coming back and him pressing his lips on your skin, drawing patterns on your naked shoulder. A feathery touch.

Sebastian always touches you like you’re something made of gold and porcelain, something cherished that constantly needs to be treasured. And nobody has done that before. And you love him for it.

You try to decorate your Christmas tree together. He messes with the lights for a while, eventually gives up and goes on to eat too many reindeer shaped cookies.

He massages your muscles when you write a boring essay for college.

You go with him when he has to shoot a “driving a motorcycle naked in the centre of Athens” scene and you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop smiling like an idiot.

He gives you a dress he bought for you in New York.  

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

He calls you sweetheart in the mornings, still half asleep and later joins you in the shower.

“Why are you so hot?”

“Climate change”

“Oh, shut up”

It’s tender and it’s soft and it’s human.

And that’s the saddest part.

/

Soon you realize that him leaving two months ago was merely a rehearsal and you still haven’t said your actual goodbyes. Your chest starts to feel as if it’s full of crushed glass.

And it’s ridiculous because you fell in love with Sebastian sometime between the first ten days you spent together.

Who falls in love in ten days?  

Ridiculous or not, you know you are in love with him just as you know that sooner or later, whatever he is feeling will fade and wither. Maybe it’ll be in a week, maybe it’ll be in a month, maybe in a year if you’re lucky. But there will definitely come a day when he will step out of a gala or a party or a fancy gym in New York with a beautiful model in his arms and two paparazzi’s following him around.

What will you be then?

A past small cameo in his life. A side character. Will he remember your name?

He is your whole world.

(a bottle of cheap prosecco helps you decide that)

He is your whole world.

And yet, there will come a day when he won’t even remember your name.

/

It was difficult. No, it was the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. Telling him how you think it’d be better if you didn’t talk after he leaves.

“I don’t agree with this.”

“Seb, it’s for the best.”

Your body doesn’t feel strong enough to carry your heart. And you’re certain it will only get worse once he’s away. The world around you will melt. You’ll obsess over a phone screen and his messages. You’ll start chasing ghosts again. You can’t handle that.

“Why?” He says urgently and his fingers dance over the flesh of your palms.

“Because this”, you motion your hand between the two of you, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had in my life and I don’t want it to become ugly.”

He nods, he understands.

“I love you, you know,” he says smiling and tugs you closer to him, “And I may not be here to show you but I think I’ll love you for a long time.”

Your hand grips his waist right to the bones and something flares in your eyes, something wild that wrenches you around.

“I know, I’ll love you the same.”

“Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Only if I’m the luckiest girl on the planet.”

He laughs and you look at him, fully aware he’ll be ripped out of your life like a page from a cheap leather notebook. And when you kiss for the last time, there’s a hole forming in your soul.

And just because endings don’t leave visible scars to one’s body and soul, that doesn’t mean the scars don’t exist. You know they do, because you feel the aching pain of every single one of them.

/

(every night when you close your eyes you see him)

(every night you look at the stars and think of him)

/

A month passes and Argyris asks you if you miss him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“He said the exact same thing.”

You tell him not to mention Sebastian again.

Two months pass and you need to stop stalking his instagram profile.

Three months pass and you almost text him.

Four months pass and you go to watch Endgame with some friends and you cry. You cry when Black Widow sacrifices herself and when Iron Man smiles at his wife while dying, and when Bucky Barnes appears on screen.

The others don’t understand and you don’t blame them.

Five months pass and Argyris’ girlfriend wants you to meet someone. A charming boy your age with blonde hair and a lip piercing.

And he's cute but you compare him to Sebastian even before he has the chance to say his name. His eyes are not the right shade of blue and he doesn’t look at you like you’re made of the world’s finest jewel.

And he doesn’t know any constellation names.

And then more than a year passes in a second and you learn to not look for him. Not anymore.

/

It’s early March 2020 and despite the rising fear of the upcoming pandemic, you’re doing well. Scars are starting to fade. And after spending two weeks in Prague, your best friend being there with an exchange program, Sebastian Stan is the farthest thing from your mind.

Until he literally comes crashing into you. At the airport.

No, it can’t be him.

You have your suitcase on one hand and a bottle of antiseptic gel on the other. He has two bodyguards on his sides and a black hoodie on.  And while half of his face is hidden behind a mask, you can see his eyes perfectly. A frozen lake in December. You would know those eyes in your deathbed, at the end of the world.

Your vision gets blurry and suddenly you feel cold.

He won’t recognize me, he can’t.

But then he looks at you and every memory you had buried inside of you resurfaces.

He motions to his guards to wait for him and he starts walking towards you. You breathe slowly, one breath at a time. He takes his mask off and you hesitate to take yours, not sure if you truly want him to see you.

You exchange the typical and very awkward hi, how are you, i’m glad you’re doing okay and then he smiles and it feels comfortable. Familiar.

It’s the whiff of another time that you always kept around. A reminder that you were once loved by a god.

“What are you doing here?”

“Filming Falcon and the Winter Soldier”

If you hadn’t unfollowed him on instagram, you’d known.

“Ah yes I heard about that, congrats.”

He nods a thank you.

“And you? In Prague?”

“I was at a friend.”

He looks conflicted, hurt, turns his gaze to his shoes on the grey cement. You want to say something, but you feel like throwing up.

And then he laughs.

“I was right.”

You’re confused, he notices.

“Back in Greece,” he swallows, “I told you this would happen.”

“It would have been an airport, different gates for each of us, but same waiting hall. Or a Greek island, where we’d both be for the summer.”

“I would have found you.”

You remember and you cannot help but smile. He was right. He found you.

“I didn’t believe you then.”

I barely believe you now.

He touches your hair. And his touch is like a knife. And you want to cry. Magnolias under your tongue. A love long lost is whispering in your ears until it hurts to listen. He’s like a magnetic field and you feel yourself drowning in him.

“I bet they’ll ask me a hundred questions about you later.” He says and looks at the two men waiting for him.

“And what will you tell them?”

“That you’re most probably the love of my life.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“There’s no way we’d meet here if you’re not.”

“Sebastian,” His name sounds like a prayer coming out of your lips and you're ready to tell him you love him and you can swear he looks like he’s ready to faint, “I-”

The guards yell his name. And it's the same feeling people have just before a car crash.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

One last look.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You repeat it over and over again. But you fail.

“No, don't cry” He smiles, one last smile, “Just look at the stars and wait for us to meet again, because we will.”

He caresses the back of your palm for a second and you think your ribcage is shattering but it’s only your heart drumming frantically. Pushing your fragile bones to break. 

You want to stop him, wrap your arms around his torso, never let him go. Not again. But you don’t.

You just watch him leave, one more time, your knees weak, your head heavy and dizzy. For the split of a moment he turns and glances at you but then he’s nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps it was all in your imagination. Perhaps it was nothing but a wonder.

You get into your plane and you silently sob.

/

And then it’s summer.

And you overhear he was seen with a girl, the day before your vacation starts and you find a picture of them together a week later, a pretty blonde girl clinging to his side with a colorful bikini somewhere in Spain. And he’s smiling. And you feel so ashamed. And so stupid.

They say time heals all wounds but they must be wrong because you can’t forget how he used to smile at you or how he used to call you the love of his life.

Was he joking when he said you'll meet again? You bet if you asked him now, he wouldn't even remember saying it.

I’ll love you for a long time.

So long for nothing.

/

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :) also i’m really sorry if you asked me to tag you and i didn’t  but i lost a lot of asks and the urls of the people that sent them :( 

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree @sara-1705 @dorothea-hwldr @freshfreakoaftrash @drinkfantasy @christinamcdonnell ​@partypoison00 ​ @90ssantiago

#sebastianstan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #letyoudown #monday the movie #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader

[taetaespeaches]

“Are you sure you want to take a nap right now, Dear?”

jimin x reader (oc) genre: smut; fluff word count: 3.5K

a/n: hi lovelies!! This is a week late but I hope you all enjoy it. Jimin is just full of surprises and very much in love with Dear/reader. And the feeling is mututal. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :))

Arriving at your empty apartment after a long day and knowing Jimin would not be joining you later that night was, well, shitty. Everything was so quiet. Dragging your feet to your bedroom with a huff, you eyed the plush bear sitting on the bed.

Jimin had given you the stuffed animal early on in your relationship and it served as a decent cuddle buddy during your boyfriend’s long tours. But it wasn’t Jimin.

Tours were never easy, especially for you and Jimin. A history of insecurities following you both had riddled your minds with doubt in the past, even leading to a temporary separation. However, this tour, though difficult and lonely as always, you both felt more secure.

Communication was consistent between you, allowing you both to address any fears or anxieties as they happened. Though he was miles and miles away, he felt close. You could breathe this time around.

But fuck, you missed your boyfriend.

Stepping out of your work clothes, you slipped on one of Jimin’s t-shirts. It was losing his scent, but if you focused enough, you could still smell the man on the clothing. Walking to the bed, you tapped on the phone screen to check the time. 5:34 pm. Pouting, you mentally counted the hours until your scheduled facetime call with the man would commence. What were you meantd to do with the remaining three hours and twenty-sex minutes?

The group’s tour was coming to a close soon- just a couple more weeks. He was in Japan before the last week of shows started, filming a few things in the meantime. At least with him being just on the other side of the Sea of Japan you were existing under the same position of the sun. Time zones get confusing when he’s traveling nonstop.

Lying across the bed, you held your phone out in front of you as you went to shoot your boyfriend a text.

You: You better be taking care of yourself, my love. I’m gonna take a nap, I’ll text when I wake up. I love you. Can’t wait to see your face in a bit!

Locking the phone, you set it aside on the comforter, grabbing the little bear to cuddle up next to as you tried to get comfy. Definitely not Jimin, you thought. You weren’t sure if you would get any sleep, but it would pass the time. As the end of tour neared, the days became longer.

Absentmindedly, your eyes closed as you tried to lose yourself in slumber, you spun the promise ring that was situated on your finger. It was just a simple piece of jewelry, but its presence on your body served as a reminder of the promise you and Jimin made to each other.

A promise to wait for one another when he was away; a promise that feelings would never lessen through the distance; a promise to trust each other and the relationship, to communicate, to not lose a fight with personal insecurities. A promise that he would always return home. Home to you.

As you opened your eyes to look at the ring, spotting the little PJM engraved on it, a light smile graced your features. Your relationship with Jimin had always been complicated, ever since the start. The obvious attraction was pushed aside for two whole years as you tried to find yourself so you could be your best, for you and for him. But he waited. He cherished your friendship instead, giving you the best of him every single day.

It was hard not to allow the few months you had difficulties as a couple to taint the entire union. Both of you, dealing with your own insecurities, had been pulling away because you thought that was what the other person wanted, only to later find out you both wanted to be closer. Always responding to each other but never communicating. Tours were scary. It had brought out the worst in you both before, but you refused to let it happen again. As he was away, you would always be there waiting for him. Just as he had waited for you years earlier.

You found that physical distance was much easier to combat than emotional distance. You could handle the miles, because you knew he was never really very far. And he’d always return home.

Lost in memories of your relationship, appreciating every challenge as they got you to this point of security, you were suddenly ripped from your thoughts by unexpected disruptions coming from your front door. There was no knocking, but it sounded as though the barrier had been breached.

Heart racing, you sat up in the bed, listening as quiet footsteps approached the bedroom. Reaching for your phone, you prepared to dial for help when suddenly your name was called out, just before the door opened to reveal him. Stunning as ever, smiling brightly, tired eyes only adding to his cuddly presentation, slim fitting sweatpants hugging his legs as the top half was shrouded in a baggy sweatshirt.

“Jimin,” you breathed out, tears instantly filling your eyes.

“Are you sure you want to take a nap right now, Dear?” He teased, that mischievous grin greeting your orbs as a smile curved on your lips.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked him in disbelief as you leaped off the bed, Jimin rushing to you with open arms, both of your smiles bright, expressing nothing but pure love and joy. Your bodies crashed into each other less than gracefully, your arms wrapping around the back of his neck as his own secured around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him.

The first thing to hit your senses was the feel of him. The man buried his face in your hair as you nuzzled yours against his neck, the warmth of him filling you with comfort. You could feel his heart beating through his chest, melting into the pulses of your own. It was amazing how much a person could feel like home. The second was his scent. The one that was fading on the very shirt you wore. The fragrance, so distinctly Jimin, could make you cry if you focused on it for too long.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered in relief. Relief to have you back in his arms, to not be oceans or continents away. Tightening your grip around him, you didn’t respond, not trusting your voice as tears dropped onto the clothing covering his shoulder.

You didn’t know how long you stood there like that in your bedroom, holding onto each other for the first time in months, simply feeling one another’s physical existence. You missed existing with him. The weight of the ring was pale in comparison to having him in your arms, his body joined with yours.

Eventually, you pulled away just enough to be able to bring your hands to the sides of his face, holding him there so you could appreciate his features up close.

“Oh, Dear, don’t cry,” he cooed, his mouth forming into that smile you adored so much.

“But I missed you too,” you finally replied, a light breathy laugh leaving your lips at his chuckle that left his pretty lips and greeted your ears. And just like that, those pretty lips were on yours, kissing you needily, passionately, wantingly. The meeting was hot, burning almost. It was controlled but fervent in how his lips caressed your own, the man trying to express every bit of emotion he felt for you through the action.

His hands slid under the bottom of your shirt, his shirt, the man smirking against your mouth.

“Is this mine?” He teased, you smiling as you shook your head at his sudden cockiness.  

“Shut up,” you told him, reattaching your mouth to his, his tongue instantly meeting with yours. You relished in the taste of him. No promise ring or facetime call could ever fully take the place of the reality of this man. When his hands folded over the hem of the top adorning your frame, you instantly raised your arms above your head, allowing him to pull it from your body needily, his lips only leaving yours long enough to tug the clothing over your head. His hands slid up the exposed skin of your sides, reaching the curves of your breasts, the man sucking in a breath of air at their bareness.

Lightly clamping your teeth on the plumpness of his bottom lip as he pulled away, your eyes met his dark ones as his tongue ran over his lip. Breaking eye contact, he glanced down at your chest, a smirk curving on his mouth as you returned the expression with a warm smile.

“Fuck,” he breathed out in a whisper, you chuckling as you ran a hand through his soft hair at the back of his head. “Always fucking braless,” he lightheartedly complained as though your tendency to exist in a free state caused him such anguish. Giggling at him, he smiled lovingly.

Within an instant, he was pressing hot kisses to your collarbones, working his way to your chest. Arching your back, you pressed your chest toward him, the man greedily taking one of your nipples into his mouth. At the moan that left your lips, he began backing you up towards the bed, pushing you onto it as soon as your legs met the edge of the mattress.

Looking up at him, you watched as he pulled the sweatshirt from his body, fluffing his hair, making him look both adorably disheveled and sexily undone. Next came his pants, the man wasting no time in removing his clothing so he could finally be with you.

As he removed his underwear, you eyed his body appreciatively, drinking in every inch of skin upon him. Every muscle, every pore, every blemish, every bit of flesh, you craved for it. You wanted him.

Jimin quickly grabbed a condom from the bedside table drawer, smiling when he saw they were exactly as he left them. It had been too long. Turning to face you, he let out a breath of disbelief as you slid your own panties down your legs. Reaching for him, your hand gripped the bare skin of his upper thigh, tugging for him to meet you on the bed. However, the man resisted, instead dropping to his knees as he began placing sweet, gentle kisses to your knees, trailing them along the insides of your thighs.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watched him near your center with hooded eyes that stared your body down.

“Chim,” you breathed out as he left a chaste kiss to you.

“Shh,” he smirked. “Let me love you the way I’ve been craving.”

The words elicited a moan from you as you dropped your back to the bed, allowing him to show you just how much he missed you.

Jimin was very attentive. So in tune with your body, he read each moan and gesture from you like it was a manual, responding to each reaction perfectly as he programmed it all into his mind to bring you the utmost pleasure. With his skills, along with the fact that you hadn’t been touched by him in months, it didn’t take long for you to come crashing into your first orgasm, the man shooting you a stunning smile as he crawled up your body, an aura of pride enveloping him, making him all the more sexy.

“I would say don’t get cocky but you’ve earned it,” you joked and complimented through your breathlessness, just before Jimin’s lips greeted yours once again, the comment causing him to smile into the kiss.

“I really missed you,” he mumbled against your mouth, you pouting at the confession, your hands squeezing at his hips.

“Don’t leave again,” you teasingly begged, Jimin smiling almost bashfully while he sat up on his knees to situate the condom onto himself. Lowering his frame to yours once again, he kissed your nose sweetly, a soft smile gracing your features as you looked into his eyes.

“I love you so much,” he admitted just before pecking your lips. “So much.”

“I love you,” you told him as he guided himself into you, your arms gripping onto his back as he stilled for a moment, allowing himself to get used to the overwhelming feeling of you before moving. “So so much,” you damn near whimpered, your lips just barely brushing against his.

The man brushed the hair out of your face just before he kissed you hungrily, caging your body between his arms as he began dragging his hips, hitting deep within you and eliciting a moan into his mouth.

“Shit,” he breathed out, breaking the kiss, his exhale shaky as he brought his mouth to the side of your face, kissing your cheek as he continued his movements, allowing you to feel all of him. “I could never forget how you feel but fuck it almost feels like the first time,” he confessed in a hushed voice near your ear, a small chuckle attached to the words. Giggling in response, you dug your fingertips into the muscles on his back.

“I know,” you agreed simply, bringing your mouth to his shoulder as you bit him lightly, the man breathily laughing at the action, turning toward you to meet your gaze.

“I don’t know how you’re home right now, but I’m so glad you are,” you told him softly, the man smiling happily.

“Me too,” he responded just as you clenched around him, nearing your high. “Grip me like that again and I’m not gonna last.”

“Good,” you grinned, the man chuckling as he kissed you again. Resting his forehead against your own, he squeezed his eyes shut as he continued rolling his hips against yours, your skin becoming dewey in the heat of the moment.

Jimin reveled in the feeling of your body underneath his own, your chest rubbing against his, your hips bumping against his own as you lifted them off the mattress in an attempt to have more of him. The man moved his hand down to your hip, holding you down with a smirk on his lips as your leg wrapped around his own, digging your heel into his thigh as you desperately chased your approaching high.

“So close,” you moaned, Jimin whining near your ear, his tone breathy, a bit of strain withheld in his vocal cords as he attempted to hold off on cumming just yet.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He asked, almost pleading for mercy, the words followed by a sexy whimper.

Pressing kisses against the side of his face in response, the man turned so his mouth fell on your own, the meeting messy, full of teeth and moans as he reached his high just before you.

It felt as though you were floating as Jimin kissed down your jaw, leaving wet marks across your neck. The man began trailing his lips across your shoulder and down your bicep just before you wrapped your arms around his head. Nuzzling his face against your chest, he closed his eyes, settling into the feeling of your frame, both of you breathless and content.

At some point, Jimin rolled off of you, both of you lying face to face on your sides. Sharing in the intimacy of being together, sweet kisses were passed back and forth, both of you relishing in the touches granted upon each other’s skin.

Few words were spoken between you, but rather you simply existed within each other’s presence. Eventually, you found yourselves cuddled up with Jimin behind you, spooning your nude body, his hand intertwined with your own in front of your chest.

His fingertips were toying with the metal band of your promise ring as your eyes locked on the identical jewelry positioned on his own finger.

This is home.

You weren’t sure when you and Jimin dozed off, nor how long it had been, but you could feel the rumbling of the man’s stomach when you awoke. He probably hadn’t eaten since very early that day. Jimin’s arm was still draped over your hip, his chest pressed snugly against your back. You were tempted to ignore the man’s hunger, as well as your own, and stay in his embrace for longer. But your desire to nurture him won out as you very carefully lifted his arm from your body, crawling away from him as quietly as you could as to not disturb his sleep.

Grabbing the sweatshirt he arrived home in, you slipped it over your head, fitting it onto your body before grabbing a pair of underwear from your dresser. Tiptoeing out of the room, you made your way to the kitchen to prepare food for the man sleeping in your bed.

You didn’t get very far into the cooking, however, before Jimin’s voice cut through the quiet of the apartment.

“You’re such a little clothing thief,” he playfully complained as he entered the kitchen where you were stood in front of the stove. Turning to face him, you were happy to find that his upper body was bare, his lower half covered with the same sweatpants as earlier, the clothing hugging his hips just right. Giggling, you open your arms for him, the man walking right into them, wrapping his own limbs around the back of your head as yours snaked around his waist.

“It smells like you,” you defended, the man smiling against your cheek just before pressing a kiss to the spot.  

“What are you making?” He asked, peering around your body to see the boiling noodles.

“Just some ramen,” you told him, placing a kiss on his neck. “Thought you might wake up a little hungry.”

“Thank you,” he grinned, turning his head back to be face to face with you. The man nudged your nose with his own causing you to scrunch yours in response. “I’m starving,” he chuckled, a smile stretching across your own face.

“Yeah I know, you woke me up,” you teased, gesturing down to his belly, the man giggling just as you kissed him softly. “Can you grab some bowls?”

The man wordlessly answered by detaching himself from you, retrieving some bowls, along with utensils. He stood close by as you transferred the noodles to the bowls, trying to get away with placing more noodles into the bowl that you handed Jimin, only to be met with a knowing scoff. You both moved to the island where you seated yourselves, facing one another, your knees brushing his own, his hand taking solace on your bare thigh.

“How was tour?” You asked him excitedly just as he scooped some of his noodles from his bowl to your own, making a point to ensure you ate just as much as him. Rolling your eyes at the action, he smiled proudly. “And how the hell are you here right now?”

“Magic,” he teased, you sighing, Jimin giggling as he dropped his head toward his chest. Looking up at you with his stunning smile and warm eyes, he bit his bottom lip just slightly. “I just wanted to surprise you,” he told you. “We still have a couple shows in Japan next week, that was true,” he interjected in a playful, unnecessary defense. “So I’ll have to leave in a few days just for a week but-”

“Wait, you don’t have to film stuff this week?” You questioned, watching as Jimin shook his head.

“No, that was all an elaborate lie to surprise you,” he grinned, almost guiltily as you gasped.

“What the fuck?” You expressed your confusion. “Is everyone in on this then because Tae even said you guys are filming this week, and all the girls-”

“I told you it was elaborate,” he interrupted you.

“You’re insane,” you told him in shock. “Amazingly, wonderfully insane.”

Bringing his face to yours, pressing a series of kisses to your cheek, you couldn’t help but smile and let out a breathy laugh. “I just love you,” he defended his actions. “I am amazingly, wonderfully, insanely in love with you.”

“I’m really happy you’re here,” you told him sincerely.  

“Me too, Dear,” he rested his forehead against yours. As a pout positioned itself on your lips, he pulled away from you to look at your expression. “What’s that face for?” He smiled affectionately.

Giggling at yourself, you shook your head. “Nothing, I just like you.”

The man’s smile widened even more as he looked to his bowl, scooping up a bunch of noodles and shoving them into his mouth. “The feeling is mutual,” he mumbled through his mouthful of food, you laughing wholeheartedly at him.

Sitting with Jimin, eating ramen, you could not be happier that he was home. He told you stories about tour that you had already heard through a screen, and you told him all about the happenings at your work that he had also already heard. And he acted as if your stories were as exciting as his own, or maybe he really found them to be as interesting.

It was easy and comfortable and you were both in bliss just simply being together. It had been months since you got to exist with him. And existing with him, well, that was your favorite thing about existing at all.

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #jimin fic #jimin imagine #jimin drabble #jimin scenario #jimin oneshot #jimin fanfic #bts #bts jimin #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fics #bts scenarios #bts oneshots #bts fanfics #bts reactions

[gotnofucks]

To Sin in Love

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader x Sam Wilson

Summary: You’re forced to choose between the man who owns your heart and the one who owns your soul.

Words: 3.5k

Warning: Smut, language, mentions of hell and demons, 18+ ONLY

A/N: You can imagine Lucifer to look like however you please. I have no specific one in mind.  Special shoutout to my babe @donutloverxo​ for beta reading this hot mess and just being my rock.

Hell seemed to breath fresher when his face appeared before you. Swimming in the dark surface of the water from where you spied on him, a smile tugged at your lips. He was exiting the gym, t-shirt damp with sweat and you wished you could smell his musk. The way he walked with purpose towards his destination had you imagining how he’d walked towards you with a predatory look in his eyes.

For months you’d spied on this gorgeous man from miles under the surface and yet feeling so close to him. His grief had called out to you, drawn you into his aura of pain and regret. As a demon, you didn’t feel pity, but Sam Wilson had you feeling more than that. He had you falling in love.

So engrossed were you in looking at him, you didn’t notice your master enter until his warmth met your back. A large scaly hand came around you, holding you close. You leaned back into him, resting your head on his massive chest. Those who said the Devil didn’t have a heart lied, you could hear it beating under your ear, strong and assuring.

“I’ve seen you torture sinners without a frown, and yet here you’re melting for a mere mortal. I taught you better than that my sweet.” Lucifer whispered in your ear, pressing soft kisses along your neck. You moaned, titling your head to give him better access.

“Master” You breathily whispered, “you aren’t being fair.”

Lucifer chuckled, his hands wandering until they cupped your tits and squeezed, the very best of sin from the lord of sinners. You turned your face to look at him, admiring the beauty that had once been in heaven. Hell was worth every bit of pain if you only got to see him this close and feel his hands over your body.

“I am not being fair? I find you lusting after this mortal man while you very well know you belong to me. Why must you hurt me so, my sweet?”

Raising a hand to his face, you caressed it, savoring the tickle of his stubble against your palm. Your Lord was the most gorgeous being you’d ever seen, and yet your immortal heart cried out for Sam Wilson.

“Have you ever wanted to repent Master?” You asked softly, leaning in to kiss his lips. Lucifer groaned in your mouth, turning you around so you straddled him, his arms around you.

“I am the Devil, my sweet, Hell is my repentance. I watered the ground of my kingdom from the blood that seeped from my torn wings. Ascending to Heaven is no more my fantasy, especially not with you in my arms.”

Tears glittered in your eyes, a heat burning in your core that rivaled the very inferno you were born in. Pulling your master close, you kissed his eyes in reverence before whispering against his lips. “He makes me want to repent My Lord. I look at him and I taste absolution.”

Lucifer kissed you, his tongue slithering in your mouth and tangling with yours in a dance as ancient as him. His hands found your ass, squeezing you closer and grinding against the soft mound that lay between your legs.

“And what about me, my sweet? What do you want to do when you look at me?” He asked, his sharp fangs biting into your lips until you bled in his mouth. You shared the taste of your blood with him, finding peace in this place of sorrows where he ruled with a cruel smirk. Why would someone prefer Heaven over the freedom that Hell offered? Would anyone want to be high above if they knew how beautiful your master was, carrying a piece of that heaven into Hell itself with his presence?

“You make me want to kneel Master. I look at you and I want to worship you.” You said, love for him evident in your eyes. “You own my devotion My Lord, and he owns my heart.”

Fingers that were stained with your blood traced your cheek softly, his deep eyes that had seen eons pass by look at you with adoration. You were your master’s favorite, his most treasured demon. Nobody touched you but him, his possessiveness ripping apart every being that ever laid eyes on you. But he would never hurt Sam, he would never draw the blood of a man who owned so much of you.

“I fear you’ll forget me my sweet. If I let you free to go to him, would you ever come back?” Lucifer asked, holding your gaze steady with his. A tear forged a river down your face, his fingers quickly wiping it away.

“Master, you only need to ask, and I will stay. I was born for you, and if you shall please, I’ll die here at your feet.” You promised him. “But I cannot stop yearning for him. He is mine as I am yours.”

He looked at you for a long time before picking you up with him, carrying you over to your bed that had only ever had him as a companion. Lowering himself over your body, he striped you of your garb, touching your body with almost as much devotion as you did to him. He eased into you, the heat of your union steaming the air that rang with your soft whimpers.

“If he ever hurt you, I’ll torture him myself.” Lucifer vowed, capturing your lips that were stretched into a beaming smile. You allowed yourself to merge into one with your master once more, for you doubted you’d feel him like this again. The world was cruel like that, forcing you to chose between the one who owned your soul and the one who owned your heart.

“You wouldn’t have to master. You trained me well.” You said, arching your back as he hit the special spot inside you. “He will cherish me as you have done, I know it to be true.”

Lucifer nodded, visibly struggling with letting you go. His hips thrust wildly, lips murmuring in an ancient language of how you were his light in darkness before you both shattered together, falling into sinful bliss for the last time together. Covered in his spent and heat, you hid your tears in his neck. Even in hell, love was pure and never a sin.

Sam said that you’d been created specially to lead him into temptation and damn him. You would only smile and kiss him, never telling him how true his words were. Only, he would never be sent to your home. Sam Wilson did not belong in the fiery fires of Hell, no matter how deliciously they had burnt.

“You should be ashamed of yourself Mr. Wilson” You joked, cupping his face and leaning close to steal a kiss. “Leaving your training in the middle to fornicate with your girlfriend. Where is your sense of propriety?”

Sam laughed, pushing you onto your back on the couch, catching your giggles in his eager mouth. “You shouldn’t have sent me those pics darling. You know I am addicted to you.”

Your eyes twinkled in love for him, pulling him over you excitedly. Your relationship with him had been nothing short of a dream, his presence in your life completing you. When Lucifer had let you out on Earth, you’d wondered for one fearful moment if Sam would ever love you like you did to him. But it seemed his ageless soul had searched yours for just as long, for you clicked from the moment you met.

You’d been looking for him, navigating the crowded land of the mortals when Sam literally flew by you. His wings outstretched, Redwing hovering a few above, he chased after a man with vengeance in his eyes. Seeing him like that, you were convinced he had to be some sort of an angel for never had you felt so alive as you did then, breathing the same air as him.

As you saw him disappear, you ran after him, heart beating with excitement at finally meeting the man who’d owned you without even knowing you exist. Turning the corner, you saw him on the ground, grappling with the other man for a small pendrive. You had not planned to step in but seeing your man grunt in pain when he was punched, you launched into the battle with a cry, pouncing on the bastard who dare hurt your love.

“Die you dickface!” You screamed, pulling on his hair and delivering a kick into his side. He cried out, struggling in your hold. His mortal strength was laughably unmatched to yours and with a flick of your fingers, you twisted his wrist until you heard a crack. One conk to the head and he’d be down on his way to Hell where your Master would greet him, knowing how to deal with such asswipes.

“Hey! Hey, come off. I have orders not to kill!” Sam said, and then he touched you. He wrapped a hand around your arm and pulled you away, dragging you into himself and off the target he was chasing. The moment you felt his touch, tingles shot up and down your spine, liquid fire curling in your veins until you burnt only for him. The target lay forgotten on the ground, clutching his broken wrist as you and Sam gazed at each other.

His mouth parted slightly, fingers still digging into your flesh. You could see his eyes widen and then dilate, a similar heat simmering in them. He gulped, reluctantly releasing you from his hold but not moving away, trying not to blink as if afraid you’d disappear the moment he did.

“Have we met before?” He asked softly, tilting his head to the side. The brown in his eyes melted like chocolate, and you wanted to step closer to feel his touch again. You’d never met and yet you seemed to recognize each other. Something older than human memories had etched your face in his heart.

You shook your head, stray hair dancing beside your face as you did so. He blinked, shaking himself from his trance before lowering down to pick up the pendrive and calling in backup to arrest the target. His eyes kept drifting back to yours, confused and curious.

“Who are you?” He asked. You told him your name, shivering when it passed from his lips like a love chant. “You got strength in those arms. CIA?”

His voice was deep, and you wanted to know how it would sound right beside your ear, out of breath.

“I don’t work for the government. They don’t handle power well.” You said. Sam smiled at your words, looking around as three agents approached him, cuffing the target and patting his back.

“My name is Sam Wilson.” He said, offering you a hand that you eagerly shook. “Would you care for a cup of coffee? I may know a team of people who handle power just fine.”

“Hey, where’d you go?” Sam asked, his lips trailing down from your shoulder to your neckline. You come back to the present, catching the back of his neck and allowing him access to your breast, moaning when he sucked them from over your clothes. You’d been brought together by fate, of that you were sure, never parting ways since the day you met.

“Was thinking about you.” You replied, shimming out of your shirt and salivating at his naked torso. He was beautiful, his body glowing in the sunlight that peaked in like a voyeur through the blinds to witness your tryst.

“What about me?” He asked, smoothening his hands over you. Your skin heated under his touch, a desperate craving in your core to be filled by him overpowering your senses. You moaned his name and asked him to take you, quietly sobbing when you felt his tongue against your moist center.

“Sam, please. I feel empty.” You cried, hips raising as a finger eased into your channel and rubbed against your spongy walls. He smirked against you, sucking on your clit and tasting your juices that he said were like his own communion. No wonder he fell for a demon, uttering the filthiest things from those lips that made you quiver.

“Tell me, what were you thinking of.” He prompted, teasing you further. You writhed under him, holding his head with your thighs, and clutching the edge of the couch. He was grinning at your desire, loving as you made a mess for him. You cursed, eyes closing as you gave into his ministrations, coming apart into his mouth and crying out his name.

His slight beard that had taken him months to grow left a delicious burn on your skin, and soon his lips met yours, his breath carrying your scent. You lifted your hips eagerly to his, begging him with your eyes to take you, to own your body and make you his again. Greedily kissing you, he entered you with a practiced thrust, moaning at how snug you were. When Sam fucked you, he lost himself in your body to find his soul.

“Look at me.” You said, forcing his lust blown gaze to yours. He panted hard, grabbing your hips for support as he pushed into you, your bodies merging together like perfect puzzle pieces. You wondered again how this utterly beautiful man could be yours, how a damned soul like yours could belong to one as bright as his.

“What were you thinking of darling?” He asked again, biting your shoulder to leave a mark.

“About how much I love you.” You finally said, surprising him by flipping him over and taking the reins. You rode him out, taking him deeper and deeper until you were sure he was in your womb, feeling right at home. “I have loved you since before we met, believe it or not.”

Sam took your hand that rested on his chest and placed a sweet kiss on it, laying back as you lazily fucked him into a pile of gooey mess.

“I believe you baby” He said, pulling you into a soft kiss. “I feel like I’ve loved you my whole life.”

Tears gathered in your eyes, your hips moving faster as his words registered in your heart. Your love was complete and reciprocated, your life finding its meaning in him. Oh, how you loved him and his gap-toothed smile. His eyes that lit up when you danced together and played pranks on his friends.

“You are my heart Sam Wilson” You whispered in your ancient language, surrendering to him and the pleasure of your body.

Your dream suddenly turned hot, and it was then you realized you were back home. The room you had spent centuries in was still the same, your stuff kept together like a shrine to your memories. You wandered in, touching everything as nostalgia welled in your heart. Reaching your bed, you smoothed out the creases in the velvet sheets, smiling at the smell of your master there.

“Welcome home, my sweet.”

There he was, as regal and beautiful as ever. Looking at him, you knew he was meant to rule hell, for someone like him could never be happy serving at the feet of another.

“Master” You said breathlessly, wanting to crawl on your knees to him. But before you could, he flew to you and took you in his arms, his wings opening wide and curling around your body, enveloping you. A sob lodged in your throat, for you had never thought you’d ever feel him again. You met his eyes that seemed misty like yours and when he kissed your forehead, you let a tear escape.

“Oh, my sweet, how I’ve missed you. Hell seemed to have lost its fire without you. My hearth seems cold in your absence.” Lucifer said, nuzzling his nose in your neck. You held him close, running a hand through his hair that had grown longer.

He pulled away to kiss both your cheeks, his beautiful visage soothing the burn in your heart you didn’t know you have. Fate has been cruel, separating you from one man you love to be with the other. You raised your head up to receive his lips, but that kiss didn’t come.

“No, my sweet,” He sadly said, stroking your face gently, “You and I both you we can never share that intimacy again.”

Your heart broke at the rejection, a frown crumbing your face into one of despair that Lucifer was quick to kiss away.

“Oh no, that is not what I meant.” He assured. “I have loved you since you were born. If I am the soul of Hell, you are its heart. But now your heart belongs to someone else, does it not? Nobody knows better than the Devil that you must not abandon that which you seek. My need for freedom led me here, and you need for love led you to the man who could return it the way you deserve. Do not sully that by presenting yourself to me, not when I would love you just as much without the succor of your body.”

It was then you realized, standing in the palace of the damned with the Devil, that love came in various ways. Here was your master, who loved you deep enough to let you go, defying all nature that had made him a villain. He was greedy and jealous, the sinner whose pride led him to fall. But that fallen angel had raised you here, had loved you as purely as god did to his children. How harshly had the world judged this being, and how strongly have you loved him, that you didn’t want to leave.

“Master” You begged, clutching his collar and holding on tight. “Do not let me go. You still own me, as does he. Can I not belong to the both of you, equally?”

Lucifer smiled, a content look in his gaze. He sat down on the ground, taking you into his lap and rocking you like a babe. “My sweet, you will always belong to me. Love is infinite, and you can divide it between people and yet it wouldn’t lessen. But I summoned you back here to give you a boon, for I see far into your future.”

You stared at him in confusion, hugging him tight. He smelled like the dirt of graveyard after rain, death and rebirth combined into one. He took a section of your hair, running a hand through it until the few strands in there turned gray. Your heart beat faster, a new vulnerability coursing in your blood that had you feeling fear for the first time in your life.

“Master, what have you done?” You asked.

“That man you love lives a limited life my sweet. I promised you to not damn him into this place of tortures, and if I cannot bring him in as a demon, I must make you a mortal like him. Grow old together, find your happiness. When the time shall come for your body to retire, the fates shall merge you as one and see where to deliver you.”

A storm of emotions rushed through your heart, longing and pain and love and sin. You leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, feeling his presence settle in your bones.

“And you master? Would I ever see you again?” You asked, voice cracking. Lucifer smiled, removing the black ring from his finger and pressing it in your palm. He rested his forehead on yours, lips curved in a small smile.

“I will stay down here and try to repent my sweet, so that one day I may join you too. If there ever was someone who could redeem the Devil, it is you.” He whispered.

You laid in his arms, cocooned in his presence until you woke up in your bed next morning cuddled up to Sam, clutching the ring Lucifer had given you.

Sam had always been pretty, but today he was just beautiful. His eyes sparkled like precious gems, a reassuring metal hand on his shoulder telling him to keep it together. He couldn’t believe it but when he held your hand, it felt real. A black ring sat on his hand, a matching one in yours.

“Could you both wait until the reception is over to eye fuck each other?” Bucky joked, but he kissed your cheek and hugged you, pushing you into your now husband.

“I have waited a lifetime to be his, I guess I will be okay with a few more hours.” You said to Bucky, but your eyes were trained on your man. He was yours, wearing your mark. You both were together in spirit and body, and your love seemed to have tripled in size.

“We have forever to go darling, don’t we?” Sam said, kissing you softly.

You nodded, entwining your hands and running a finger over his ring. You had a forever, and you would wait a forever more for the other part of your soul.

#sam wilson x reader #sam x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x reader #sam wilsom #lucifer

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hot Chocolate (Birthday/Christmas Special)

Summary: Levi is bound to spend this birthday on his own, seeing that you're halfway across the globe as an exchange uni student. What he doesn't know though is that you have planned a huge surprise for him. NSFW 18+

Notes: sorry for any mistake you guyss please enjoy this

Pairing: Levi/ Reader 

Tags: f l uff, nsfw

Warnings: nsfw, the sexies

Disclaimer: I do not own the gif, I simply found it on Pinterest.

White heavy cream fell fluidly out of the carton it was stored, squeezed by Levi's calloused hand and into the small metallic pot that he rested his other hand onto. The mixture, an aromatic, dark brown hot chocolate, lightened in color upon a few stirs of his tool. Slowly with his hand he disposed of the empty carton in the recycling bin, making sure to wipe any stray droplet of white on the counter.

He blinked as his mind went blank, forgetting the next step of the recipe but only momentarily. His thoughts once again traveled to what troubled him, but he continued with his stirring in fear of burning the beverage he was set on making. With his teeth sinking dangerously at the tip of his tongue what he needed clicked in his head. Corn flour. A quorter of a cup.

He didn't bother tasting the mixture as he lowered the fire of the stove to the minimum, he simply marched to the corner built in cupboard, hands searching furiously for the porcelain vase that held this oh so precious corn flour that would act as the stabilizing factor to his hot chocolate beverage.

Seconds later he brought the fire to an halt absurdly, never ceasing with his stirring careful as to not have the mixture stick to the pot. He didn't like his chocolate adorned with burnt flakes or the taste they brought to his mouth neither did he like cleaning the burnt pot before having to pop it in the washing machine. As his hands reached for the cups he had set beside the stove beforehand to his alchemy, he helped the thick mixture in with a spoon.

The cups were immediately transfered inside the over; an attempt to keep them from any predatory fly that could have entered the apartment before Levi had a chance to realise and in addition keeping them sheltered as they reached a drinkable temperature. Levi threw the pot into the sink next, sighing to himself as he grabbed his thick latex gloves and out them on his hands. With a twist of his hand at the handle the watered started running on his gloves hands pot making him grab his steel wool.

His hand came to his forehead, wiping some sweat as he sighed again, hanging his head low as he gritted his teeth in frustration. His eyes squinted in anger, his hands dug into the inox of his sink and his heart sink dangerously low as he felt the room run cold due to the sun quickly setting behind the horizon.

Why had he made that chocolate, it beat him. The two of you hadn't spoken in at least two days and he liked -or rather chose- to blame it on your busy studying schedule, rather than the fight the two of you had over that call two nights ago. He had been to angry to admit he was acting like a brat to you, he had been too proud to simply say that he wanted your attention, instead he had resolved his anger into grumpiness, causing your overworked mind to snap.

You were gone as an exchange student in Japan for too long and both your busy schedules and the enormous time difference had dug their ways into Levi's life very negatively. Before you he had never lonely when he was alone, but now, now that he had gotten a taste of what it was to be with you, now that you had been ripped away from him from so long, he definitely felt lonely. And angry. And it killed him that he was almost on time for your arranged video chat, when you didn't even show any sign of being in existence still.

It made his boil though, by now, it must have been the 26th in Japan and you had spent your day ignoring him, not even bothering to open his message. Had he been so cruel to you while admitting he wanted you here with him? Was it that you didn't have enough decency to let him you know you were alright? That was what he simply wanted to know, in the end.

Sighing again he ripped the gloves off his hands and grabbed his phone. His fingertip touching the button provided him immediate access to his homescreen and he quickly entered Instagram dragging the homepage down a couple of times to let it load any new activity. Internally he knew, he would have been glad if he was to see a story or a post by you, any sign that you were alright would do for him.

Of course, as if on cue to shake him of his miserable thoughts his phone rang, buzzing in his palm. His eyes fell on the small window the revealed the caller id to him. It was Erwin, naturally, as he always used to shower him with phone calls on his birthday even up until the moment he was at his front door. Levi didn't missed out on those signs of affection, it's was quite the opposite really. He cherished them deeply. Seeing how much of an impact he had on his friends' lives moved him whether he showed it or not.

And so, while holding back his saddened sigh he picked up the phone, greeting his friend through greeted teeth.

"Hey Levi, uhm, I kind of need you at the moment, am I interrupting anything?"

"No," Levi spoke, biting painfully on the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hold himself back from sprinting out on his frustration. Of course Erwin could try and hide behind his finger, Levi knew that much. The blond was aware he wasn't interrupting anything, but he was still kind enough to ask; he always was sappily kind when it came to such sensitive subjects.

"Great look, I'm on route twenty two, fifth exit, I'm out of gas can you please come to my rescue and bring me some?" Erwin paused for a moment and then proceeded to mumble through an overly amused breath "I'm sorry I'm doing this to you tonight."

"Did you take your father's run down car again?" Levi questioned.

"No... yes. I'm sorry Levi I felt like I wanted to drive his car tonight. I shouldn't have to drag you here too, I'm sorry."

"No it's fine," Levi bit back, hissing at Erwin's unhealthy habit of wanting to drive his father's antique due to its sentimental worth. But then again, he reminded himself he wasn't in a place to judge. "Give me 15 and I'll be there."

Fidgeting his fingers on the counter without throwing a second look he came in contact with his car keys. The familiar jiggling sound gritted through the air proudly as Levi pierced his finger inside the key loop, finally pressing the keys steady to his palm. With another grunt, he hang up the phone, bringing the device to the palm of his hand once again.

His mind begged him to open his texts with you again -his initial goal ever since the moment he opened his phone- just to stare at the screen or at his unopened text, his insides begged to boil with concern at the process but he figured had all night to do so, prolonging his misery could definitely wait now that Erwin was in need. And thus he simply marched to the hanger behind his front door, eager much to quickly get a hold of his warmest jacket before having to step out in the cold apartment corridor and consequentially outside in the cold December weather.

___

You forced Hange to suppress her giggles as you slipped the metallic key inside the lock to your shared apartment with Levi. With an exaggerated jump though Hange let out another scream fill the air, ignoring yet another playful rasped gaze you consequentially threw her. Laughter bubbled from the both of you as you kept on locking eyes, amused by the upcoming execution of your plan.

The plan was simple really. You had Erwin call Levi for any emergency he could come up with and only when he left the house you and Hange would sneak in, light up the aromatic candles you spent weeks picking. You would make some hot buttered rum and light the fireplace to warm up the house. Then, Hange would leave right when Erwin would call you to announce that Levi was on his way back and you'd wait for him with the biggest smile on your face.

"Okay now let's see how much time we have." You said and rubbed your hands together to warm them up. Leaning with one hand over the wall you moved the heel of your left foot on top of your right one, pressing down enough so you could wiggle your foot out of the shoe. Doing the same for your other foot, you removed your jacket and hung it behind the door.

"Erwin said it will take Levi about twenty minutes to get to him, they shall spend about ten to fifteen minutes fueling his car, but he promised he'd try his best to delay Levi if we need to. And then add another ten minutes for him to get back." Hange spoke, fixing her glasses onto her nose.

"You think I have enough time to take a bath?"

Making sure to slip her shoes off after you, Hange nodded in your direction and proceeded to set her heavy backpack on the couch. One by one she took the candles and a lighter out, eventually smirking to herself as she tried to come up with a plan on how to neatly set them around the living room.

"Hange!" Can you put those in the bedroom?" You spoke, ripping your shirt off of you before your finger came to graze the side of your mouth as your mind sunk in your thoughts.

"Ha!" Hange huffed "as if you're even going to make it to the bedroom!"

Your cheeks burned as she spoke, eyes widening slightly at how your mind told you she was completely right. Of course you and Levi wouldn't make it to the bedroom at least until later tonight. It had been months since you had last seen him and it was his birthday, you wouldn't even be able to rip yourself off of his arms. Thus you simply threw a mellow smile at Hange as you sprint to the kitchen checking to see if you had all the ingredients you'd need to make your choice of drink.

Coincidentally, you opened the oven and your eyes immediately fell on what was inside. Your expression softened as two grey toned cups shone in your orbs, the smell they emitted deliciously filling your nostrils. You smiled to your self as you thought about how your lover didn't miss out on making your traditional Christmas drink.

It was unbelievable how kind hearted Levi was, in contrary to what people thought of him, you thought. Most of the times -and simply because he didn't allow otherwise- the only thing people who weren't close to him saw was a cold demeanor, a sharp tongue and a foul mouth. It all would be too ironic if they knew how Levi was behind closed doors. Taking notice of small everyday details, sticking to his beloved routine, cherishing moments with his loved ones, remembering everything most people would ignore about others and showing his love in the sweetest yet most Levi way were only a few of his virtues.

Of course he wouldn't miss on making your favorite strawberry scented thick hot chocolate, even if you had spent the last few days not speaking to him, even if as of now he remained ignorant as to why. You assumed he believe it was about that ridiculous fight and you could admit you purposefully riled him just enough for him not to expect to see you. You were sure, seeing he had shown a previous liking in surprises like this, that his jaw would hit the floor when he'd see you.

Guilt rushed through you at the thought of you making him feel miserable even in the slightest, but Hange couldn't just have you standing there, sulking in your anxiety over how things had led up to this moment. If you wanted to make it in time for when Levi came home you'd have to rush. Hange insisted on shooing you out of the kitchen and into the bathroom, urging you to act fast, before Levi came. Sensing she was right, you settled for running to retrieve a new pair of underwear and a clean towel before jumping in the shower.

Stretching your arms to close the curtain behind you as you stepped on the white marble tiles you twisted the faucet handle to the right, letting a deep sigh escape from the depths of your chest as the hot water started running.

___

The sound of keys jiggling together filled what should have been an empty apartment, making Levi's arrival known only to you who stood inside the kitchen. He stepped inside a few seconds later, ripping his shoes off of his feet before slipping into his fuzzy slippers.

His hands immediately reached for the wipes and rubbing alcohol he kept on a stand right next to the door, silently grabbing a wipe and coating it in the strong smelling disinfectant before bringing it to his phone and keys. He spent a good minute cleaning the items meticulously only stopping when he felt satisfied to set them on the stand. He took a step to turn around with his goal to walk to the kitchen and heat up his got chocolate. Judging by the time he could still try to reach out to you before the day ended.

With a quick glance around the room, though he found himself freezing in his spot.

"Great, now I'm so shit mad I'm seeing fucking things." Levi announced -seemingly only to his own self- the moment he laid his gray orbs upon you.

"No Levi, you're not seeing things baby."

Standing up for your seat on the kitchen table you shot him an adorning look; your eyes squinted and your cheeks puffed up, coated in a sheer scarlett color. You silently watched as his eyes grew impossibly wide, flickering between you and each lit candle that showered the room in plenty of romantic golden light.

His legs were slightly trembling, his knees going weak at the sudden need to intake all of what was unraveling before him, but with his heart hammering in his whole body he only managed to part his lips before even beginning to thing if what to utter.

"Merry Christmas and happy birthday my Vee." You smiled again, mouthing the tooth rotting sweet nickname as you walked to him with open arms and a longing look on your face.

He wasted no time, even if his head was starting to buzz in confusion and uncertainty, he bucked in his stand before sprinting towards you. His hands quickly wrapped under your bum, lifting you up on him while prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. With painfully squinted eyes his nose nuzzled up between your neck and your chest, inhaling your magnetising aura sharply as he span you around. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, embracing his head in a loving manner as you couldn't supress your bubbling giggles.

His strong grip on you wasn't ceasing, not even for a moment as he began mouthing his questions; he didn't even care that his voice was muffled by your own form.

"How- I mean when?" He spoke and only hugged you tigher onto him.

"Well, you thought I'd ever miss this day?" You placed a kiss on the top of his hairline. "I was supposed to be here days ago but my flight got delayed, so Erwin and and Hange came up with this surprise plan."

Levi's hands loosened their grip on you slowly was you tried to slide down his body carefully; this breathtaking moment could only ever last for so long, Levi figured as he set you down. Kissing you was the next task he assigned to himself, but it could only happen after he got a good look at your face.

God, he had missed you so much.

So many months had passed since the last time he had been graced with seeing you this close to him and in the moment what he was witnessing almost felt too unreal. Your tender eyes looked into his with adoration and warmth, your chest dwelled with tainted breaths as your hands slowly came to cup his sharp face.

"I'm sorry I wasn't responding at all, I really had to leave to go to the airport after that silly fight we had, I couldn't just tell you I was coming." You said and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Although I was really temped to."

Levi wrapped his arms around you again and hugged you to his chest- this time he missed on levitating you if the ground, even more fiercely than he had done before. He simply huffed in amusement in the crook of your neck, mouthing a sole 'thank you' against you.

The next kiss you shared was maniac and passionate in nature. His lips didn't just graze over yours, the engulfed them. He sucked onto your tender flesh as if his life depended on it and you couldn't get enough. You found yourself grabbing his shirt, then running your hands through the short spiky hair of his undercut.

His slick hands cupped your own face as he pulled back only to catch his breath for a moment.

"I've missed you much I can't even be patient to talk with you."

"Me too" you announced, a hazed look masking your face.

You took a few leading steps to the couch, careful not to disturb the candles in the corners of the coffee table that before it, much afraid of setting everything on fire in your despairate state to have him. Your mouth launched feverishly onto his as you threw him onto the gray sofa.

Levi didn't fight it, not even for a moment. His tongue shoved inside your mouth, rolling around yours, slurping and cherishing each corner of your mouth as he took small intakes of breath through his nose from time to time. His tender hands loosened their grip on the sides of your face, the action eliciting a small whine from your occupied mouth but to was quickly gulped down by the movement of his lips that came to suck on your tongue.

You felt his fingertips travel down your clothed body, skillfully sinking underneath your shirt before restlessly traveling back up taking the cloth away with them. You only broke away from each other for a singular moment, breaths hitching and tinting the air around you, so much that you could almost ignore the way your heart sped it's throbbing in your ears. His hips bucked longingly int you from underneath, the friction already driving you crazy.

As his hands shoved longingly inside your pants you let another moan slip from the depths of your throat, though it was guickly muffled by your lover's mouth attaching on yours , making you melt into him. You felt his fingers graze ever so slightly over your still clothed crotch, painfully flicking their way through your flesh.

Roughly, he pulled back, detaching his want body away from yours while fixing his gray eyes into you. He didn't bother speaking as he tagged at the sides of his shirt, ripping the article of clothing away from him in such quick movements, as if it was the only thing getting in his way from getting close to you.

With hanger widening his eyes he stared at you again, prompting you to put your hands into him, to feel him all the while he run his hands into your form. He failed in exploring your body as he had wished though, with a shagged breath he only managed to bring you close, in a proximity that didn't even allow a kiss to be exchanged. You simply nuzzled into the crook of his bare neck, rubbing the tip of your nose in calm circles against him as you breathed hot huffs of air onto his skin.

His back was still so muscular and ripped despite his skin being so overly smooth under your tender touch, the more small trails you rubbed over him the more he sighed in greed and over exaggerated longing. Licking his lips with a constipated look on his face, he placed a tender kiss on your collarbone before traveling back up, just to teasingly rub his bottom lip over yours.

Breaking the kiss you grabbed his hand, bringing his palm close you your face. You teasingly picked his pointer finger, making sure to scratch the inside of his hand with your nails as you brought the digit to your mouth. His mouth, running ahead of his own desire to stay quiet, blurted lewd moans at your soft suckling and with all blood boiling in his body he was unable to even think about chocking down on his sounds.

He was on his back before he even knew it. It seemed like squirming was the way to go now, right underneath you as you placed kisses all over his chest and torso. With slow hands you reached for his pants, fidgeting with his zipper and buttons before wiggling your arms inside the dark denim.

Quickly, any remaining article of clothing was discharged thrown anywhere on the floor; you could worry about that later but right now you couldn't seem to be able to pay attention on anything else than each other. You had missed him, he had missed you, there was only so much that the two of you could process momentarily.

It was the high of the moment mixed with your scent that pulled him even even more as you craddled him to your chest while never ceasing the bobbing of your hips. The kisses that he sucked in you, sped up the beating of your heart against his as soft skin mingled with your own. Even that was painful to him, the extend to which he had missed you didn't leave any space for him to pull just an inch away from you, as if he wouldn't ever be able to get enough.

"My Levi, I've missed you so much." You spoke with hitched breaths, lips grazing his earlobe ever so slightly.

Levi allowed him self to eventually grunt in response letting harsh huffs of air through his nostrils while trying to guide your hips to an alt.

"Keep talking like that and I'm not going to last." He spoke, his fingering digging into your thighs to put an halt to your movements.

It didn't work -he should have known it wouldn't work- because you only slid down on him longingly and fast, sending his mind in the familiar pre orgasmic haze he so wished to momentarily be freed from.

"Who said," you paused only for another tainted moan to slip outside your lips "I want you to last?" You placed a kiss on the skin behind his ear, careful not to suck and create any loud noise that close to his eardrum.

Levi only threw his head back, his hips starting to work onto a hard, quick rhythm against you. He trembled under your words and every deep thrust, every feel of your insides on his throbbing length was only contributing to the build up in his abdomen.

He hair, sweaty as it was, stuck on his forehead as it dripped, but you paid no mind in his salty taste as you kissed your way all over his forehead and cheeks, nose and jawline, trailing your tongue on any sharp edge of him.

Your legs were shaking now and much to your best wishes you struggled with your thrusting onto him. You only managed to gyrate your hips, earning another moan of him as you ceased your movements, sweat dripping off of your own forehead as if mimicking his antics.

His hands nearly slipped from your thighs as wet as they were but he managed to get the message you were trying to convey; with jaded breaths he started thrusting maniacally from underneath you, damaging through you as pleasure dueled in both your bodies.

Yearning splashed all over his face and his grunts only got louder. Your foreheads collided as you cupped his face, noses nuzzling up, eyes staring deep into eachother.

Gentle. His ultimate indulge into you was gentle and earth shattering at the same time. His veins popped in white hot pleasure and his chest boiled with numerous erotic moans as his abdomen screamed throughout him, leaving him with barely enough time to mechanically reach just to pull out. His head hung low onto your collarbone while his head throbbed, unable to come down from his high just yet. He couldn't even move his eyes to see you, although he knew by listening to your panted breaths that you were in the same position as him.

Pushing him back to lay down on the couch, you kissed all over his face for the thousandth time tonight.

"I'd never ever miss this important day, you know." You smiled, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose.

"It's not that special, brat" he spoke shyly as he cooed into your face rubbing his upper lip to your cheek. You recognised the action; it was a habit of his to coo in such way, any overly soft thing grazing his top lip indulged him in endless calmness and you hummed to yourself in amusement to the feeling.

"I missed you."

"I know. You said that." He huffed, his lips puckering to hide the playful demeanor behind his next words. "But I don't think I heard it right, mind repeating it?" His fingers trapped your nose between them and swayed your head from side to side before moving to your naked back to press you closer to him him once again.

"You're such a tease. I love you Levi."

"I love you too," He blurred with eyes that burned into yours and proceeded to place a sweet kiss onto your sweat drenched hair "so much, you brat."

Taglist go off: @ackermans-freedom-inc @hawkssnugget @berrijam @levisbrat25 @nobody-knows-anymore @callmepromise

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #LEVI ACKERMAN #levi #levi ackerman imagine #levi snk #levi attack on titan #snk x reader #snk #AoT #aot x reader #snk imagines #levi imagine #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader #Attack on Titan Imagine #attack on titan #aot season 4 #snk season 4

[nightjung]

𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐱

jaehyun x reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol

a/n: happy halloween my spooky hoes!! stay safe, distance, but please refrain from partying in general. luv yall <3

It was a chilly night, kids were out asking for candy, alcohol-drained college students were satisfying their thirst, and then there was you and Jaehyun. His hands on your waist, the tense hold of his palms grasping your body craving for your warmth, and his lips gently pressed to yours with his tongue exploring the walls of your mouth. 

You tug at the strands of his hair, pushing him away to bring his lips to your neck, “We...we should get...g-going,” you choke out. 

“I’d rather stay in with you,” Jaehyun mumbles through the small bites he litters on your pretty neck. 

“We promised Jungwoo we’d be there,” you moan when Jaehyun licks a strip up to your ear.

It was true, Jungwoo really wanted to be Buzz Lightyear and had the glorious idea of you and Jaehyun dressing up as Sheriff Woody and Jessie, plus Jaehyun already had the costume thanks to his MC position. 

Tonight, Jaehyun only came over to get ready and try to fuck you, but he wanted to cherish the little amount of alone time he has with you because of the little time he has. You had your own apartment so he wanted to be alone with you, it gave him time to breathe, but it didn’t help when he was so horny for you all the time. 

Jaehyun stops and rests his head on your shoulder, chuckling into your neck, “okay, okay, let's go.” 

The party started out big, with all 23 members in the small 10th-floor apartment, but as the night got old, younger members left, leaving the night for the ones old enough to drink. Both Jaehyun and you sit on the couch, you in his embrace as his arm drapes around your body. You two laugh at Mark and Haechan drunk argue, something about them dressed up as Patrick and Spongebob and yelling at who stole whose drink was amusing. Everyone else was either knocked out drunk on the floor, in their beds, or on the tables. It was just the four of you up and only half sober. You had to drive back to your apartment and Jaehyun had to get up to film the next day, but nonetheless, it was a fun night. 

“I should go,” you smile up at your boyfriend.

Jaehyun’s forehead creases, “it’s getting late, you sure you don’t want to stay for the night?” 

You looked at the time on your phone, it was getting late, but nothing beats a night like sleeping in your own bed. Jaehyun’s bed was also tiny, but then again he finally put some bedsheets on thanks to your nagging. As you dwelled in your thoughts, Jaehyun played with the large silver buttons on your costume, admiring the features of your face as you debated which option was more attractive. 

Your breath hitched when Jaehyun popped the first button open and placed his hands against your skin, something about his large hands skimming over your warm skin was comforting. You closed your eyes in satisfaction when he gently wrapped his hand over your neck, giving it gentle squeezes. 

“God you’re always horny,” you sigh.

“Guys!” Haechan yelled, you snapped your eyes open and Jaehyun snickered at your flustered state, “take it to the room, Jungwoo’s knocked out on the kitchen table. Just do your business elsewhere,” the younger grumbled at you two. 

Jaehyun raised a brow, silently telling you that his offer still stands. You playfully rolled your eyes and let him drag you to his bedroom. It didn’t take long, the second you walked in Jaehyun pushed you against the door, his body pressed against yours, and his lips rough on yours as he locked the door. 

“Goodness, I’ve been waiting for this the entire night,” Jaehyun murmurs between kisses as his hands stay busy, stripping you from your tight costume, “you couldn’t have picked an easier costume? Should’ve gone for fucking Bo-Peep or something.”

“Stop,” you whine, tossing his hat to the floor, “we were cute,” you say as you begin to undress him. 

“I guess we were,” you felt him smirk as he ripped your top off, revealing your chest. 

You slapped his chest, “Jaehyun! Costumes are expensive for a one-time wear.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you something better next year,” he eyes, his hands tugging the hem of your pants, “something sexier.” 

“...Oh,” you inhale a sharp breath as he pulls your pants and panties down, “okay,” you shudder when you felt his hot breath on your core.

Jaehyun grins at your aroused frustration, he thinks you’re so pretty, always beautiful, yet so patient and understanding of him. He was the boyfriend that was always busy, always called late, and sometimes even forgot to call, or always falling asleep first on FaceTime. He was so happy that you were so understanding and loving of him, here you were, all dressed up with him on Halloween. 

“God you’re so beautiful,” he holds on your hand, guiding you to his bed. 

You thin your lips, preventing you from breaking into a shy smile and you hope he doesn’t notice it but he does. Jaehyun chuckles as he completely strips himself as you sit on his bed, you can feel your essence already staining his sheets as he unclothes himself. He does it slowly like he’s putting on a show for you and he knows you enjoy this type of shit and he finds your reaction entertaining. 

As soon as Jaehyun throws his last article of clothing onto the floor, you pull him to you, “you’re such a fucking tease,” you don’t bother to take it slow, immediately swirling your tongue around his. 

It was rare to have this kind of sex with him, he was always soft and caring, but something about him in that stupid costume made you feel intoxicated. 

“Who’s horny now?” Jaehyun chuckles, gently pushing you down until your back meets his bed. 

“Shut up and just fuck me. You always leave me high and dry whenever you come over and just sleep,” you rasped. 

Jaehyun teasingly pouts at you, but his actions are contradicting as he gently presses his fingertips on your clit, tracing long infinity signs in the slowest way possible. You gasp and grab his arm for leverage as he coats his fingers in your essence, later sucking your juices off his long, pretty, fingers. When he inserts two fingers, your back arches until you can see stars. 

“O-oh shit,” you breathe out when his fingers curl, the tips firmly pressing against your sweet spot. 

Once Jaehyun knows your body is ready for him, he takes out his fingers and sticks them in his mouth, releasing a ‘pop’ when he finishes it off like a lollipop. You gulp when you get a glance of the filthy act and his veiny cock, the member throbbing by the second against his toned abdominal. With precum dripping from his tip, he coats his thick cock with your essence and you release a loud sigh when his cock moves among your slit. It only takes a short amount of time until Jaehyun thrusts into you. You grasp his shoulder as he lets out a groan in your ear when he pushes himself deeper into you. 

“So fucking tight, so fucking mine,” Jaehyun fastens the pace in which he thrusts, making you moan out louder and louder for all his knocked out members to hear, “let them. Let them hear who makes you feel this good.” 

You quiver at his vulgar remark, you can almost taste the relief at the tip of your tongue that’s now dancing with Jaehyun’s. It’s the knot in your stomach that tightens, it’s the lethargy way your toes curl, and it’s the way Jaehyun’s words sound like the sweetest poems to your ears. 

“I’m close,” you whisper, but immediately whine when Jaehyun suddenly pulls out, the empty feeling and cold air pooling at your womanhood, “Jaehyun,” you prop yourself on your elbows when he stands up and offers his hand.

“Ride me,” Jaehyun says, his chest heaves as you glance at the tall male, the moonlight from the window behind him hitting his back.

You place your hand carefully in his as you two switch places, due to the lack of room. You hadn’t actually ridden him that much, but it’s nothing you’re scared of doing, you know he likes what you do. With your hands splayed on his broad chest, you slowly sink yourself on his cock, feeling every inch that pleases your walls. Jaehyun lets out a groan at the sight of his cock disappearing into your pussy, so beautiful, so raw, so intimate. You drive your hips against him, chasing your climax as Jaehyun unclips your bra, letting the lingerie scatter somewhere on the floor. He brings his one hand on your breast and rests the other on your ass, patting it. 

You drop your head back, letting the feeling of his cock rapidly thrusting into you and his hands feeling every exposed inch of your skin. You hum when his tip hits that far spot that shoots pleasure to your spine and he groans when he sees your breasts bouncing as you thrust after your climax. 

“You close?” Jaehyun slaps your ass. 

You whimper, feeling the beads of sweat fall from your temples and gather at the base of your neck and chest. You’re completely sober but everything that you feel is elevated to the highest level.  

“Then cum for me, baby. Let the entire building know who fucks you so, so well. You’re such a slutty baby, so needy for me and my cock,” Jaehyun knows the effect he has with his words, it drives you insane, frenzied, and he knows you’re close when he can feel your walls beginning to pulsate. 

With only a few more thrusts, a choked cry escapes your lips as you reach your climax, the overwhelming feeling of pleasure overtaking your body. Your body jerks from the signs of satisfaction and your sex clenches as you shut your eyes tight as Jaehyun comes in you, the warm liquid of his cum filling you up to the brim. You can almost feel it dripping out of you onto the base of his softening cock. 

“God you’re so good, so fucking good,” Jaehyun chuckles as your body falls limp on top of his, he comfortably strokes your hair, “love you, cowgirl.”

You wince at the name he gives you, “please don’t ever call me that ever again.”

“Why” His laugh vibrates both of your bodies, his chest full of breath and laughter, “it’s cute.” 

“No, it’s not,” you bury your face in his chest, hearing the relaxing beat of his heart. 

Before Jaehyun can speak up again, you’re both caught off guard by the door being harshly pushed open. Your eyes peel open at the sight of Jungwoo walking into the room with half of his costume on and plopping himself right on his bed. He doesn’t even glance at the two of your naked bodies on top of each other across the room because he’s so tired, alcohol taking over his body. 

“What? How did you-?” 

“With a card,” Jungwoo drags out his reply to his roommate who lays below you in surprise. 

Jaehyun chuckles, it’s been a recurring event where he always locks the door whenever you come over and since you two always end up knocking out, it leaves Jungwoo bedless for the night. Therefore, he uses a card from now on to unlock the door and get in himself. 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Jaehyun kisses your temple as he gently pushes you off to lay on your back and runs for a tissue. 

He takes care of your body lovingly kissing each limb, saving your lips for last. Once he finishes cleaning himself up, he climbs in bed with you, who’s out cold, and brings your body close to his, feeling how perfectly your body molds with his. 

#jaehyun smut #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun au #nct smut #my writingg #boo tumblr tags

[mikkomacko]

Domestic Wolf 2: The Return of Bucky Barnes

Hello everyone! I’m back with more Domestic Wolf, this time in a bit of a flashback. If you haven’t read the first part here it is!

Part 3

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Mentions of death, Sad Bucky :(

2023

The address in Queens sits useless in his text messages, ready for him to click on for directions but he doesn't need it. Truth is, he doesn't even need to read it anymore considering it's been burned into his mind since she first sent it to him. Almost a week ago the text had come through with the address, followed by a sweet message of "come home soon or I'll kick your ass".

It wasn't the first time she told him that and he's certain it won't be last.

By the time he's at the iron gate of the building, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, Bucky's feeling like the man that would show up on her doorstep in Romania all those years ago, guided by loneliness and guilt. Back then he had nothing but her. Now he has nothing but her. It's like stepping back in time, back to the apartment he'd hide out in for as long as he could, grounding himself to a new world with the help of a woman that always cared for him. She picked him back up after Hydra, dusted him off and kissed the wounds better. And he knows she'll do it again now, more dusting and kisses for the fact that he just lost another 5 years of his life and his best friend.

Bucky doesn't know this world, doesn't trust it. Even when he was on the run he didn't trust the world. It's why he always kept them hidden, only took her out into the city late at night when he knew he'd could keep her safe, keep her as his little secret. It's also why he refused to let her travel up-state for him, refused to let her meet him outside on the sidewalk. He doesn't know who or what could be out here, and until he does, she's remaining hidden.

A quick glance up and down the street, Bucky let's out a nervous puff of air and opens the faux lock on the gate. She had told him on the phone that it wasn't real, at one time it had been but it broke awhile ago and was never replaced. He hated it then and he hates it now, so he makes a mental note to get her landlord to replace it.

Through the entryway, up the flights of stairs, and to the fifth floor. Maybe he should be looking around, taking more note of the details of this building but he can't bring himself to do it right now because his girl is waiting for him. She's been waiting for him since he left to Wakanda 7 years ago and he's tired of it. He wants- no needs - to see her right now.

5B. A dark blue door with a little rug in front that reads "Hello, is it me you're looking for" with a depiction of who Bucky believes to be Lionel Richie but he's not sure. Y/n liked a lot of different musicians. It's hard to keep track of who sings what.

Bucky's boots have barely touched the mat before the door is ripping open. His eyes meet hers, tears already welling on her waterline and Bucky's sting with tears of his own. Body moving instinctively, he steps into the apartment, kicking the door shut with his foot and reaching for her waist.

"Doll..."

"Bucky..."

She flings herself at him with enough force to knock him over if it weren't for the serum running through him, legs around his hips and arms around his neck. He tucks his face into her neck, fingers trembling as they grip her back, her shoulders, her hips, anywhere he can get his hands on. It's surreal, holding her again. He hasn't felt her skin, heard her voice, kissed her lips since he went under after Zemo scrambled his brain again.

"I missed you, so much Bucky." She whispers, voice cracking under the stress of the sentiment, and he's reminded that while it's been a long time for him, it's been even longer for her. He died. He was gone, wiped from the Earth and she had no idea if he was coming back or not. Had the roles been reversed, had he been the one left standing here while she was reduced to dust, he can't imagine staying as sane as she has. He has a feeling an unwelcomed friend would've returned and he probably would have done things to pile onto his ever present guilt. Another reason why he doesn't deserve her.

"It's ok sweetheart," he promises, voice thick. "I'm back and I'm not going anywhere, ok?" She pulls back from him, just enough to cup his face in her right hand. Her thumb brushes over his cheek bone, wiping away tears he didn't know he shed, and he takes a moment to admire her.

Her hair is longer, face thinner, and dark circles sit under her swollen eyes. She looks exhausted, like she's been holding the weight of the world on her shoulders for far too long but her eyes hold all the joy in the world. She's happy and beautiful and even better than he remembered.

"I can lock you up in here," she offers, bottom lip trembling but still smiling. "they'd never find you again."

He can't stop himself. He kisses her for the first time in years, soaks up her startled gasp and replaces it with a hum of contentment. Her fingers tangle in his hair, nudging his lips even closer to hers, and he grips the back of her neck to remind her that he's here, he'll always be here.

"Just you and me, huh?" He murmurs, mouths still hovering close. She smiles shakily, tilting her head to kiss the corner of his mouth and giggling when his beard tickles her lips.

Just Bucky and his girl.

~

His jacket finds its way to the floor of the entryway, a pool of leather on the light wood panels. His boots are kicked off, toppled haphazardly next to her shoes by the door. Two leather gloves are thrown onto the table leading to the living room. Her shirt sits with his, layered on top of each other in the living room. She's somehow managed to wiggle a hand between the two of them, enough to unbutton and lower the zipper of his black jeans. In a room he doesn't care to admire yet, sat on the edge of the large matress with her on his thighs, Bucky's breaths tremble as y/n ghosts her fingers over his left shoulder. The last time she saw him like this, his arm was still made of the same silver metal that had ruined so many lives, hurt so many people. And yeah he'd gotten this one in order to fight another war, one he lost before actually winning, but at least this time he was fighting for the side he actually believes in.

He reminds himself of that when she kisses over his heart. "They're gone," she murmurs, pointer finger trailing over what used to be scar tissue, mangled flesh, and nail marks.

"They're there if you look hard enough."

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, understanding the double meaning. Shuri couldn't erase them entirely, not on his skin and not in his soul.

"The good thing about scars," she says, "is that they don't hurt you anymore. And eventually you accept the weight of them."

He kisses her again, unable to voice his appreciation and love for her. His fingers slip under the band of her jeans, digging into the soft flesh and her own dominant hand finds it's way into his pants, groping at the chub on the inside of his thighs and ghosting over the bulge in his boxers. Bucky manages to pull her bottoms down, nudging her up to her feet so she can kick them off.

Giggling, she presses a sloppy kiss to his chin before dropping to her knees between his thighs. A kiss to the scar just above his belly button pulls a laugh from him, Bucky burying his fingers in her hair to keep it from falling in her face. Her fingers grip the sides of his jeans and boxers, and he lifts his hips so she can pull them both down in one go.

Maybe they should be talking, reacquainting with one another. After all, he knows nothing about how she got here. Where's she working? Why'd she pick Queens to live? Why did she leave Romania? What's she been doing the past five years? But maybe they need to find each other physically first. Because it's been so long since they've touched each other, loved each other. And this is how it started all those years ago. The first real thing Bucky was able to give to her after Hydra was his body. That was all he had, and luckily for him she accepted it and cherished it. For the first time since the 40s his body had been used for good.

Maybe that's what they both need again.

Bucky finds himself sprawled out on the bed, head on her pillows and hands on her waist as she climbs on top of him. Their mouths meet again, a soft groan leaving his lips as she threads her fingers through his hair. Out of habit he reaches for her bedside table, sitting up just slightly to open the drawer. Y/n moves her kisses to his jaw, breath hot on his skin. By the time he's registered that's he's reaching for condoms that probably aren't there, his fingers catch on a familiar box.

"How long have these been here doll?" He asks, praying to the Gods that they're not expired. Or even worse, that they'd been there for someone else to use. The thought makes him ache so painfully he'd rather have his brain fried again than imagine someone else loving on his girl.

She pulls back, meeting his eyes with a cheeky smile. "A week."

A week. About the time she got that first phone call from him, the call that confirmed Steve's and the Avengers success in bringing everyone back. She went out and bought him condoms as soon as she found out that he was alive. Needy girl.

"Went shopping for me sweetheart?" He teases, pecking her lips and tearing open the box. He digs out a foil, tossing the box off to the side, hearing it clatter to the floor.

Laughing, she kisses him again. "What can I say, I missed you Sarge." Bucky's dick throbs, groaning dramatically at the name. She occasionally called him Sarge back in Romania, after he'd come to terms with the memories that plagued and confused him. Sarge made him comfortable. He knew he used to be a Sergeant, could feel it deep in his bones that that was a title he held with pride. Hearing her say it to him, in a way that had his spine tingling. Like she was proud of him too. Bucky will never be able to explain how good that makes him feel.

She takes the packet from his fingers, kissing the tip of his nose with a coy smile as she opens it. He barely gets the chance to grip the back of her neck and bring her lips back to his before she's gripping him in her hand, stroking him a couple times and giggling through his choked gasp. The condom is rolled down his length, her fingers familiar and comforting on his skin, welcomed.

"Come on doll," he whispers, lashes fluttering as she drags the head of him through her soaked folds. Then she's sinking down on him, slowly easing his cock deeper and deeper. Bucky's toes curls, stomach swirling, and skin burning in pleasure.

"Oh God," y/n breaths, nails digging into Bucky's chest as her nose scrunches and her eyes fall shut. He takes a hold of her waist, sitting up against the headboard so he can pull her chest closer to his. She moves with him easily, melting in his hold when he presses his lips to her shoulder. His right hand drops to cup her ass, pulling her hips up and then guiding them back down until she's carefully riding him.

"Let me hear you baby," he requests, brushing his lips under her ear. "haven't heard your voice in so long."

Y/n's fingers tug at his hair, drawing his mouth back to hers for a brief kiss. "Haven't felt you in so long, Buck," she whispers back, teasingly. His cock pulses as she rolls her hips on him.

"Been waiting for me?" He asks, dragging his lips down her collar bone. She nods, a breathy "Yes" escaping her above him. "Poor doll, waiting for me all these years."

"Worth it," she says with conviction. "you're always worth it."

A kiss over her heart, Bucky digging his nose into her soft skin to feel her heartbeat. He pulls her down on his cock, grinning when the beat stutters in time with her gasp. He loves it, loves hearing her, feeling her. Unable to help himself any longer, Bucky digs his heels into the sheets and starts fucking up into her, hips meeting hips.

The noises she makes, the moans of his name make his belly tighten and his cock twitch, enough to have him nearing his end far sooner than he hoped. It's been so long since he's had her and he can't even get his fucking dick to cooperate. A tug on his hair and a quick bounce of her hips has him biting back a moan, almost frantic as he moves his left hand between them, thumb finding her clit. The sob that leaves her has his head spinning, Bucky occupying his mouth with her pebbled nipple to keep from moaning. He still hasn't gotten used to the fact that he can openly make noise now, something he used to work on around her, but he prefers using it as an excuse to keep his mouth occupied elsewhere.

"Fuck, so close Bucky," she pants, thighs trembling around his and he takes it upon himself to hold her full weight with his free arm, lifting her up and pulling her back down on his cock. He feels like a whole different man when his orgasm hits, burying his face in her chest with a loud groan.

"Oh doll, so good y/n, so fucking good."

She follows shortly after him, nails digging into his bicep and scalp, body trembling and clenching. He coaxes her through it with wet kisses and gentle circles of his thumb on her sensitive bud. His bones and muscles feel like jelly when he relaxes back into the pillows, carding his fingers through her messy hair while the other strokes over her hip.

"If I knew this would be my homecoming," he murmurs, "I would've been back days ago."

She giggles, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. "Isn't this the proper way to welcome a soldier home?"

He smiles and shrugs, bittersweet. "Wouldn't know doll, this is my first time making it home."

~

"You wanna tell me what happened?"

Her thumb strokes over his bottom lip, dropping down to the dimple in his chin, and Bucky sighs contently. Truth is, he doesn't want to tell her what's happened. He doesn't want to talk about Wakanda, or Thanos, or being dead, or Steve leaving. He just wants to be here with her, pretending that he's normal for once in his God damn life.

"How about you tell me first doll?" He whispers, his eyes soaking up the sight of her. "Last time I saw you, you were saving lives in Bucharest."

"Actually, I was sitting in Wakanda with the love of my life," she corrects, smiling. His heart flutters happily, ears heating up with a blush. Pretending to blow her comment off, he rolls his eyes and chuckles.

"Alright, what happened after that?"

Inhaling deeply, she settles further back against the headboard. Bucky tilts his head up, just enough to kiss her stomach through the fabric of his t-shirt before laying his head back in her lap. Her fingers card through his hair as she speaks.

"I stayed in Romania after you went under, kept working at the camp and stuff. Steve would call sometimes, make sure I was ok," she lets out a little laugh, oblivious to Bucky's sudden nausea at the sound of his best friend's name. "We actually broke into your old apartment. It was still technically a crime scene but I knew there was stuff in there that you'd want."

"Doll," he interrupts with a sigh, "you didn't have to do that. It-all that stuff was just stuff."

Her fingers pull on his hair, enough to make him wince. "Not to me," she insists, "That "stuff" was you a-and us. It was our life before we were even allowed to have a life and I couldn't just let them box it up as evidence."

Guilty, Bucky swallows the lump in his throat and nods. Of course those things, the letters and drawings and stories all meant something to him, but not enough for her and Steve to risk punishment for. Never enough for that. He wishes she'd see that.

"After Thanos," she continues, voice falling weak. "I stayed in Romania for as long as I could, trying to help everyone. It-it was pure chaos, all these people trying to figure out what was going on. And the whole time I kept thinking of you. As soon as footage of the attack in New York got out, I knew he'd be going for you. I-I thought that you'd be fine. You're so fucking stubborn I knew there's no way you wouldn't survive.

"Even when people started to disappear, I didn't-I couldn't even convince myself that you would be one of them. It was a few days later when Steve called. I knew before I even answered the phone."

At the first sniffle, Bucky sits up, pushing himself to sit next to her. Before he can even reach for her, she's climbing into his lap, laying her head on his right shoulder and setting her hand over his heart. He holds her tight, trying his best to soak up her tears.

"It was so unfair Bucky," she whimpers, "because I was just about to get you back a-and you were supposed to finally be happy and he took you from me. After everything you've been through, you lost even more of your life and I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

Fighting back his own tears, he shushes her. "I'm here now, and I'm happy," he promises. "I'm always happy when I'm with you. What happened isn't your fault y/n. I'd never blame you for that."

If possible, she snuggles even closer to him. "I thought I could ignore it. I could stay there and pretend you were still just in Wakanda, getting better so that you could come home."

Bucky's heart aches at that. Picturing his girl, his kind and strong girl, saving and repairing lives in a war torn society, pretending that the man who loves her will be coming home soon when it reality he didn't exist anymore...it all hurts him too much. It's all too much, especially knowing that she loves him enough to live in denial just to imagine he's with her.

"But everyone kept asking who I lost, where were we when it happened and I kept insisting that it didn't matter because you were coming back and we were going to live happily ever after. I realized that we don't have a home, you and I, and I remembered you talking about moving to Brooklyn one day. That you wanted to go back to your home city.

"I couldn't bring myself to move there without you. It didn't feel right. So I picked Queens. It's close and the hospital nearby had an opening in the ER, so I figured why not? That way when Steve got off his ass and decided this time he was going to save his best friend, you'd have somewhere to come home to."

Steve, his best friend. The man that couldn't find enough of a reason to stay. Bucky wasn't enough to make him stay, because he has his soulmate here with him, and Steve's was long gone. He chose love over friendship and Bucky wishes he could hate him for that, but he can't, because he chose y/n too. If it weren't for her, he'd have been begging to go back to the 40s too.

Gently, he grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, guiding her to look up at him. Through wet eyelashes and puffy eyes, she looks at him with so much love he can feel it burning in his chest. A kiss to each of her tear stained cheeks.

"Thank you doll," he whispers, "for never giving up on me. For doing all this for me-for us." He swipes his knuckle over her chin, smiling softly when she giggles. He missed that. "I love you."

He kisses her, cupping her jaw and pulling her into him until it feels like they're one being. Her fingers trace over the edge of his left arm, chills running up his spine. He missed that too.

"You're getting soft on me James," she teases breathlessly, smiling against his lips. He hums in agreement. He did get soft for her, but he doesn't fucking care. No one will ever make him feel bad for loving her. "I love you too Buck. Always will."

#domestic wolf #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #fluff #angst #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #nurse!reader

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A/N: Since this chapter is quite long, mobile viewing is probably not the best option because Tumblr can sometimes be finicky! I would recommend viewing in a browser. Happy reading, loves! x

***

The Climax

January 2013 

Marcus and Nora break up during the spring of her second year.

He wanted things to move much faster than they were, and Nora was far too comfortable with their normal—the normal in which Marcus lived a floor above her and they could wrap around each other in his tiny twin bed without worrying about things outside of their protective bubble. Because this normal was easy, it was simple, it was safe—and doing anything different, switching up their normal, would make it the complete opposite.

So when he tells her that he found a small studio apartment in the West Village one April afternoon underneath a budding black tupelo tree in Central Park, and he would love more than anything for Nora to move in, she immediately declines. She wasn’t ready for that step—wasn’t ready to not live with Ebony and switch up her normal and pop their bubble.

Breaking up wasn’t in Nora’s plan, but she knew that it was bound to happen. It was an amicable split, something that didn’t shake her world or leave her feeling lost at sea without an anchor in the unforgiving rough waters. And two months later, when she’s spending her final summer at home with her mother, Nora wonders if there’s something wrong with her heart when it still feels intact and the still-beating flesh isn’t ripping apart at the seams.

But life moves on, and so does Nora.

When she arrives back on campus at the start of her third year, Nora finds that she has room in her schedule for extracurriculars due to her influx of AP credits from Townbridge. On a whim, she decides to fill in the gaps with Film Study classes, and Nora finds that her heart is thumping in a way that it never has before—in a way that makes her feel that she’s finally found purpose, finally found her passion, finally found something close to unadulterated happiness.

Her favorite film professor is an older woman named Suzanne Davies who insists she be called Sue, or more radically, Suzy. She’s built of thin bones and worn skin, mahogany eyes that have seen almost everything that Nora wishes she could, with grey curly hair that twists at the nape of her neck and covers a brain that Nora wishes she could pry apart and indulge in every memory like a film projector reel on a thin hanging sheet.

She teaches Film Theory & Criticism, and when Nora listens to her thick British accent work through Apparatus theory and Structuralist theory, she can’t help but think of London—a city that feels an entire world away, and how badly she wishes she could visit, if only for a short amount of time.

One dreary November afternoon when Nora is the last one to leave the lecture hall, Suzy stops her and asks her what she wants to do with her life. Nora is instantly brought back to a time in December three years ago, in a different state with a boy she thinks about every now and then, who asked her this very same question as the snow was falling outside and they were laying down on concrete steps, eyes facing the cracked ceiling above. She was honest then, not even hesitating when spilling the words freely from her lips, because for some odd reason, she trusted him entirely in that small moment in time.

She feels the same now, and suddenly, she’s telling her professor about the pressure she feels of choosing a stable career, of how she needs her mother to be proud of her, of how she studies Communications but craves Film, of how she’s never been happier than when she’s watching old movies and dreaming up plots of her own. She tells Suzy how she’s never left the country, of how she wishes to see places that aren’t coastal Newport or rural Connecticut or bustling New York City.

When Nora sits in her usual seat in the middle row for her next class a week later, she finds an application for Columbia’s exchange program with University College London on her desk. She skims through the pages, finding that Suzy has filled in most of the basic information, leaving the personal questions for Nora to finish. And when she looks up at her professor just as she’s beginning the lecture, Suzy feels her gaze warm her wrinkled cheek and shoots her wink, going right back to discussing human nature as a fundamental theme in A Clockwork Orange.

Nora sends in her application right after class, and receives her acceptance letter the week before Christmas break. She feels as if she’s floating through thin air, and the only thing keeping her from floating into the stratosphere is the glossy folder from UCL with the words Congratulations! and welcome and 4 January 2013 printed on thick paper. Her mother might possibly be more thrilled than Nora, and when she’s back in Newport folding thick sweaters and knitted scarves and thrifted trench coats into her suitcases on New Year’s Eve, Nora can’t help but think that if moments could be bottled, she would pick this one to cherish forever.

Time seems to pass much faster for Harry. His first year meshes into his second year without hesitation, his afternoon’s at his internship with his father fall into nights spent with his mates almost thoughtlessly—and it’s only once he’s been doing the same thing for almost an entire year when he feels himself growing tired of it all. He’s sick of this routine. Sick of drinking himself into a place where he doesn’t have any feelings, doesn’t think of all of his past mistakes, doesn’t do anything else except simply exist for a few hours. And when he falls into his bed the next morning feeling his brain throb against his skill in agony, he comes to the conclusion that he’s completely and utterly exhausted from this meaningless lifestyle.

When his third and final year comes along, he decides to stop answering his mates when they call. He doesn’t show up to their penthouse parties anymore, he doesn’t frequent the same claustrophobic clubs he knows they’ll be at. Harry keeps to himself, and when he sees a flyer after his Business Ethics lecture about intramural football tryouts, he brings his old kit to the pitch the next afternoon. He’s a bit rusty, but Harry finds that most of the lads are, and that thought alone makes him start to feel something other than emptiness.

He makes the team and meets a boy named Niall. He’s from Ireland and drinks like a fish, but he’s kind and easygoing and doesn’t care that Harry’s surname is Styles—and it’s a refreshing change from the incessant partying and shallow people he wasted away with his first two years. Niall is warm and comfortable, and reminds Harry of slipping on that warm jumper he’s had for years in the back of his closet whenever the weather gets cold, and it’s nice having a real friend for once in his life.

As October changes into November, Harry feels a change within himself, too. It’s subtle, the smallest of shifts that allows his icy heart to thaw ever so slowly, and he finds that he welcomes it with open arms.

He meets Niall’s girlfriend just as the long stretch of autumn begins. Her name is Piper and she’s practically made for Niall, in the way that the top of her head reaches just under Niall’s chin so that he can rest it there whenever they’re talking to other people, in the way that his hand practically swallows her much smaller one whenever they’re walking from pub to pub, in the way that she instinctively makes him a cup of tea whenever she brews her own, knowing exactly how he takes it. It makes Harry a little bit jealous, because for the first time in years, he finds that he yearns to wrap a body part around another warm person just to inform them that he hasn’t forgotten their presence, yearns to swallow palms with his own, yearns to have another person think of him while doing the most mundane of tasks.

Yearns to have somebody want him in a way he hasn’t ever been wanted before.

Piper is in her third year at UCL, and she met Niall at a house party during their first year hosted by a mutual friend. They fell in love quickly and seamlessly, and after three weeks Niall told her that she was the one for him, and it all sort of made sense.

She welcomes Harry into their eclectic group, filled with a few lads from footie and a few girls from Piper’s dorm, and they’re the fastest friends Harry’s ever made. They spend their fall semester at a small pub in Camden on Wednesdays that plays live music and is filled with seemingly normal people like Harry’s new mates, and busy house parties hosted by UCL students on the weekends, with the occasional club sprinkled in between.

As autumn trickles into winter, Harry finds that he’s quite sad to watch Niall leave for Ireland for the holiday break. He’s not sure how time passed so quickly, and as December fades into January, Harry’s counting down the days until his loud brown-haired mate is back in London, showing up on his doorstep to drag him to the pub around the corner for a pint.

When Nora exits Heathrow during one of the coldest days of the year, she finds that not even the weather can dull her perpetual shine. She barely slept the entire flight, her excitement of being on a plane for the first time and receiving her first official passport stamp keeping her wide awake throughout the entire seven hour journey.

During the car ride from Heathrow to her residence hall in Central London, Nora’s face is glued to the window pane, her eyes taking in every sight that flashes by. Her mouth is close enough to the glass that her humid breaths are causing the window to fog over, but she can’t even think about how rude that probably is. All she can think about is the fact that she’s in another country, in a brand new city, experiencing all of this for the very first time.

When the black car finally pulls up to a brick building, Nora clutches her two suitcases in each hand, her leather backpack strapped tightly against the wool material of her trench coat, and makes her way to the sixth floor.

Nora’s room is small but homely, a single twin bed against one wall with a wooden wardrobe on the other. A white desk sits underneath the decently-sized window straight against the back wall, and when she looks around and takes everything in, she feels herself breathe properly for the first time since stepping on English soil.

Her floor is quiet, but before Nora can begin to explore, she decides to be smart and starts unpacking, knowing that the longer she puts it off, the less inclined she’ll be to put her clothes away properly. 

After about an hour, she decides to venture down the hallway into the common room where a small kitchen and lounge area reside. Nora notices a few coats thrown over the back of the couch haphazardly, and before she can build up the courage to turn down the other adjacent hallway and meet her new floormates, she decides to brew a cup of coffee to push past the jet lag attempting to invade her insides.

When she turns the kettle on and rummages through the cupboards to try and find some instant coffee, Nora discovers nothing but various tea flavors. Disgruntled, Nora plucks a package of Earl Grey and places it inside a mug she grabbed from the shelf, moving the plaid tea towel a little bit further down the countertop as she waits for the hot water to boil.

Nora leans her right hip on the counter while she waits, drumming her fingertips against the laminate material as she tries to remember if she even likes the taste of tea to begin with. She drank chamomile tea once after studying for finals so that she could sleep, and whenever she was sick with a cold, her mother would make her a cup with a dollop of honey to soothe her scratchy throat. She wonders if she’s allowed to put milk inside so the color isn’t a deep murky brown, or if sugar would help with the bitter taste.

Suddenly, Nora detects something that smells distinctly of burning. She springs upright, wondering what on earth she could have possibly done. Water can’t burn, right?

But before her fuzzy brain can start functioning properly, she looks down to her right and notices that the edges of the plaid tea towel have charred, and when she blinks, Nora realizes that the red light on the hot plate has been turned on.

“Shit!” Nora squeals, flicking the switch off that she must have accidentally turned on when she lazily rested her hip against the edge of the counter moments ago.

Just as she makes a reach for the burning tea towel, she hears a high-pitched accented voice behind her shriek, and suddenly, freckled arms are appearing in her periphery, snatching up the ruined tea towel as she yells, “Oi! No tea towels on the hot plate!”

With a flick of her wrist, the girl throws the tea towel into the sink, turning the cold water on while Nora’s cheeks burn bright. “I’m sorry! I didn’t even realize—Christ,” she splutters, tearing her eyes away from the wet fabric inside the steel basin and focusing them on the smaller girl in front of her.

“Ah, you’re the new American exchange student.” The girl says it in a way that makes Nora wonder if it’s a good or bad thing, as if her identifier explains why she nearly burned their residence hall down a mere three hours after being allowed in the country.

Before Nora can apologize or worse, make an even bigger fool of herself, the pretty girl in front of her chuckles in a way that makes Nora breathe in a deep sigh of relief. And before she can even realize what she’s doing, Nora starts to laugh along with her—loud enough until her cheeks feel bruised from smiling so brightly and her ribs hurt from the lack of air pumping through her lungs. The kettle starts to whistle, forcing them to break their eye contact.

Just as Nora reaches over to turn it off, the girl’s freckled arm beats her to the punch, knocking her hip against Nora’s with a bright smile, “Let’s keep you away from any more potential fire hazards, yeah?”

The lightness in her tone makes Nora believe that she’s being genuine, and when the girl begins to pour the hot water into the mug and shoots a kind smile over her shoulder, Nora takes a step back and feels a bit more at ease.

“I’m Nora, by the way,” Nora announces, watching the pretty girl with auburn hair dunk the tea bag exactly seven times into the water.

“I’m Piper. How do you take your tea?” she asks, looking over her shoulder again. Nora gets a bit distracted by the smattering of freckles covering the bridge of her nose and falling onto the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes are the brightest shade of green Nora’s ever seen, and when the girl tilts her head to the side in question, Nora shakes her head, realizing that she has no idea how to properly drink tea.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” she admits sheepishly. Piper gives her a soft smile, before reaching into the refrigerator and grabbing a small carton of milk.

“You’ll take it like me, then. Reckon I’ll convert you into a proper tea drinker by the time your exchange is over, Rah,” Piper calls out, pouring a dash of milk and plopping one sugar cube inside the cup, stirring it another seven times. Nora wonders if that changes the taste or if it’s just a little quirk her new floormate does.

Nora’s eyebrows furrow at the unfamiliar name that falls from Piper’s pink lips. “Rah?”

Piper hands over the mug with twinkling eyes. “Gotta give you a nickname if we’re meant to be proper mates, right?”

It’s a question that seems to not need an answer, because Piper is the type of girl that says things with an air of unbridled assurance. Piper could tell you that the glowing star in the sky wasn’t the sun, instead, it was a dripping egg yolk that warmed everything underneath, and you would believe it. So when she calls Nora by her nickname, she doesn’t even bat an eye, because if being called Rah means she has a new friend in this unfamiliar place, then Nora will accept it without hesitation.

“Let’s get you all settled in then, yeah? I’ll have my boyfriend bring us some dinner. I think you’ll like him,” Piper says, grabbing Nora’s hand and dragging her into her bedroom at the other end of the hall.

A few hours later, when a brown-haired boy with matching blue eyes and a thick Irish accent shows up with two bags of Thai takeaway in one hand and a twelve-pack of Fosters beer in the other, Nora finds that Piper was right—she likes him quite a bit. They seem to get on like a house on fire, and when he cracks open a beer for her and tells her that he thinks she has a funny accent, Nora laughs and throws his comment right back in his face. The three of them end up eating too much food and drinking too much beer, but Nora doesn’t mind the bellyache when she falls into bed later that night, thinking all of it was worth it, because she made two new friends on her first night.

The next evening, Piper swings open Nora’s door without knocking, and begins rummaging through her wardrobe and pulling out her nicest pair of blue jeans, a cute sweater she got on the clearance rack at some New York City boutique, and one of her thrifted trench coats. She tells Nora to get ready because they’re going out tonight, and before she can decline, she hears Niall yell over from the common room, “Get yer arse dressed, Rah! It’s pub night!”

Barely thirty minutes later, Nora finds herself sandwiched between Niall and Piper in the cold January air, heels stomping against the pavement as they zigzag their way through the crowded streets of Camden Town.

Niall’s phone begins to ring, and before Nora’s head can snap in his direction, the sleek black device is already pressed against his ear as he begins speaking loudly into the night air. “Curly! How’re ya, mate? What? Yes, of course we’re goin’ to the pub. It’s Wednesday! Late? What d’ya mean, late? Oh. Yeah, sure, take yer time, Pipes and I have our hands full breakin’ in Rah over here. What’s that? Rah? Pipes and I adopted her. Yer gonna love her. Right, see ya later!”

He looks over at Nora as he slides his phone into his back pocket. The question is at the tip of her tongue, but when she takes in the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and finds that Piper’s are matching, she just shakes her head softly before muttering, “Do I even want to know?”

Niall flings his arm around her shoulder and Piper’s much smaller one wraps around Nora’s waist. “Best not to know anything,” Piper whispers into her ear, giggling as they make their way around the corner to the brick-faced pub at the end of the street.

When they finally pull Nora inside, it takes her a few moments to get adjusted to the unfamiliar setting. She’s only been twenty-one for two months now, and even though she knows the legal drinking age here is eighteen, she’s still only been inside a handful of bars in her short existence.

Bars in New York City are nothing like the place Nora currently finds herself in. She’s used to proper lighting, sleek bar tops, upholstered seating, and fancy liquor bottles lining the mirrored walls. Instead, she finds herself surrounded by chipped wood, sticky paneled flooring, and string lights fastened to original crown molding. The bar itself has more beer taps than she’s ever seen another place have before, and instead of ornate tequila bottles on thick glass panes, Nora finds numerous bottles of dark liquor haphazardly placed on oak shelving. It’s all wooden stools and high-top tables and stained rims on old surfaces, and when she notices an elevated platform along the farthest wall with musical instruments placed a bit too close together to make up for the lack of room the space provides, Nora finds that she likes this place a little bit more than the ones back home.

Instead of asking Nora what she’d like to drink, Niall just bends down and speaks into her ear, “You trust me, right?” And when she nods and finds that she surprisingly does trust this friendly stranger after only twenty-four hours, he grins and smacks a kiss to the crown of her head, prancing over to the bar with a giddy smile on his face.

Piper just shakes her head with a chuckle, grabbing Nora by the hand and dragging her over to a high-top closer to the empty stage. “Come meet the gang, Rah,” she says, squeezing her palm a little tighter when she notices the nervous look washing over Nora’s features.

With her palm in Piper’s, Nora is happily introduced to a group of five people clutching pint glasses with two plates of chips in the middle of the table. She recognizes two of the girls from her residence hall, and smiles when they compliment her boots and coat. The rest are names Nora tries her hardest to file into her memory, and when she slips into a stool with Piper sliding into the one on her right, she finds herself feeling much more comfortable.

Niall appears with a black tray covered in spilled beer and shorter glasses filled with a deep brown liquid Nora can only assume to be whiskey inside. She gulps, attempting to alleviate her dry throat, mentally preparing herself because she did tell him moments ago that she trusted him. And when she slides the liquor down her throat and feels it burn her insides, she chases the warmth with cold beer and hears Niall’s loud cheer across from her.

“Way to go, Rah! Yer a natural!” Nora feels Piper squeeze her shoulder affectionately, and before Niall can slide another shot glass in her direction, Nora watches his eyes lift over the top of her head to something behind her. His blue eyes suddenly widen and his teeth rip through his skin, grinning widely as he calls out, “Curly! Just in time, mate!”

Nora hears a deep chuckle behind her, and for some strange reason, it sounds all too familiar. 

She’s instantly brought back to a time three years ago in the dead of winter, the rolling green Connecticut hills covered in thick white blankets of snow, in which a boy and a girl spent ten days together without any interruptions. She heard that chuckle enough times in those ten days to permanently have it imprinted in her memory, and suddenly, Nora feels her stomach clench uncomfortably, because how, after all of this time, can Nora still remember that sound?

But then she hears it. His voice—much deeper now, but still gravelly and throaty, forming words slowly with his accent tilting at the end of specific phrases. It’s much thicker now, no doubt from his time spent in his home country, and all at once, Nora feels her face pucker with discomfort. She wonders if anybody else can notice the inner-turmoil wreaking havoc underneath her skin, but then he speaks again, and it’s close enough to cause her to momentarily forget how to breathe.

“What do we have here, then?” Nora can’t bring herself to move. She feels as if her bum is glued to the wooden seat, the soles of her boots are transfixed to the legs of the stool, and her upper body has lost all proper motor function. Nora is almost certain that she’s panicking, but then she’s brought back into focus when Niall’s cheerful voice echoes off the walls of the crowded pub surrounding her.

“This is our Rah! Came all the way from America on exchange, so don’t go and scare her off,” Niall calls out, his grin faltering a little when he notices the alarmed look covering Nora’s face.

“Came all this way and the first person she meets is you? Well, let me formally apologize for that disappointment—” Nora gulps one last time and swivels around in the old stool, finally revealing herself, causing his words to fall flat.

When their eyes finally meet, Nora’s relieved she isn’t holding the pint glass in her hand, because if she were, she’s certain that it would fall to the floor below her, breaking with a resounding crack when she finally faces Harry Styles for the first time in three years.

It feels like everything is happening in slow motion. Sea green eyes widen in shock, and Nora watches as his neck pushes his face outward, as if his body was forcing him to take in every inch of her face to re-familiarize himself with it. He’s a bit taller now, still wearing an expensive dark-colored trench coat, still choosing an inappropriately thin t-shirt underneath. He seems to have grown up in every sense of the word—with the way his chest is a bit fuller and his arms are a bit thicker and his stomach is a bit tighter. His jawline seems to be more pronounced, the bone practically slicing through his skin with the way the lines effortlessly sculpt his face that is still annoyingly perfect. She notices that his hair is pushed back into a low bun, the curls escaping the thin hair tie just kissing the nape of his neck. She can’t help but wonder what the tendrils would look like if she pulled the knotted elastic from his hair, allowing them to fall freely down his back.

“Nora Priestley?” Harry barely calls out. He feels as if he’s hallucinating.

Because the last time he saw Nora Priestley in the flesh, she was all blonde hair and skinny limbs and knobby knees. There’s no denying that this is still her, considering her blue eyes are practically tattooed underneath his eyelids whenever he tries to fall asleep at night, and nobody else can steal that shade. She’s practically a fully-blossomed woman sitting in front of him—all slender legs and tiny waist, long torso that has rigidified over time, undulating hips that truly show a level of maturity that didn’t exist three years ago back in Connecticut. Her face is still angular, her nose is still buttoned, her lips are still pouty, her cheekbones are still high on her face and tinted pink. But when he looks at her hair, he notices that the blonde is gone. In its place is a deep shade of brown, nearly black, flowing over her shoulders and down her back languidly. Her fringe is still there, all messy strands framing a face that she’s finally grown into, and Harry finds a calming sense of familiarity in that.

She’s beautiful—she’s always been this effortlessly cool type of beautiful, and Harry can’t actually believe that she’s sitting in front of him. Can’t actually believe that her lips are moving on her face, forming his two-syllable name. Can’t actually believe that he’s been staring at her hearing white noise flood through his ear canals, blocking whatever else is falling from her mouth.

“Your hair. It’s different,” are the words Harry chooses to say once he realizes her mouth is closed, mentally berating himself for being so wrapped up in this New Nora that he seemingly forgot how to hold a normal conversation.

She seems to be on the same page, with the way she slowly tears her eyes from his own, staring blankly at the wall over his shoulder when an odd sense of déjà vu clouds her vision, before nodding absently.

“Yeah,” she finally voices, bringing her forlorn gaze back to his. “I could say the same for you.”

He smiles a bit, wondering how to maneuver through these unfamiliar waters with her. But before he can even properly locate his mooring, Niall interrupts, causing Nora to swivel back in his direction so that her back is once again facing Harry.

“I’m confused—have you two met?” Niall asks, observing the two with wide eyes, a crinkle in his forehead as he tries to dissect the interaction unfolding across the table.

“Uh, yeah. We went to boarding school together,” Nora explains, filling in the gaps. She sees the pint glass in her periphery and grabs it tightly, bringing it to her lips and gulping three heavy swallows of the bitter liquid to slow down her erratic heartbeat.

“Wait—here? I thought you said you’ve never been on a plane before, Nora!” Piper calls out from Nora’s right side, her auburn hair flicking back and forth when she notices the tension radiating off of their bodies.

“No, in America,” Harry answers for Nora when he realizes her mouth is preoccupied with downing her entire pint in one go. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are darting in every direction that isn’t the blue of Niall’s eyes or the bright green of Piper’s, and Harry can conclude that Nora is uncomfortable.

“Well, that’s a plot twist I didn’t see comin’,” Niall says through a chuckle, moving his eyes away from Nora’s as he takes a long swig of his drink, shaking his head at the uncanniness of it all.

The whole group seems to be a bit shocked by this revelation, and before Nora can suffocate under the unnatural silence surrounding the table, Piper asks the rest of the group a question about the new band performing tonight, and just like that, all is forgotten.

Nora can feel the body behind her disappear, and when she sees black wool material flutter past her eyesight, she breathes in a sigh of relief when she notices the only chair available is the one diagonal from her, almost conveniently out of her line of vision.

She looks up when she sees a fresh pint glass being pushed in her direction, and when her eyes lock with Niall’s and she realizes that he’s given her the second beer he originally saved for himself, she smiles appreciatively before bringing the cool glass to her lips, swallowing deeply with her eyes shut tight.

If Nora’s meant to endure this entire evening, she’s going to need all of the liquid courage she can muster. Because the universe must be playing some sort of sick-twisted game with her, giving her the opportunity to travel to a new city while simultaneously thrusting the boy who almost broke her heart right in the epicenter of it all. She wonders if this is her karma for ending things with Marcus, for not agreeing to move in with him and take the next steps in their relationship.

Nora sighs, wanting so badly to laugh at her situation, but knows deep down that she can’t. Because London is supposed to be a big city—filled with nine million people and her chances of potentially running into Harry were meant to be astronomically low. The numbers should have been on her side—considering Oxford University is sixty miles away from UCL, and Oxfordshire is an hour and a half away from Central London, and out of the three hundred pubs in all of Camden, the probability of running into him at this very one in this exact moment in time is far too outstanding to even be considered a possibility.

But it is, and it’s happening all around her, and suddenly—Nora needs to leave.

She can’t be sat so close to him after all this time and act like everything’s okay. Because it’s not okay and she’s not okay and this whole fucking scenario will never be okay, and in order to be okay, Nora needs to locate the closest escape route and disappear.

Her head is swivelling and she’s not listening to any of the conversations happening around her, and as if the gods were pitying her, sensing her panic attack all the way from the heavens above, they send her a sign in the form of Niall grabbing Harry and bringing him over to the bar with the guys for another round.  

Once they’ve left, Nora abandons her half-emptied glass and grabs her coat, flinging it on her body without even buttoning it properly. Piper looks over, realizing that Nora’s face is flushed and her eyes are a bit widened, and before she can get too far, she asks, “Rah, you alright?”

Shit, Nora thinks, I forgot about Piper.

“Uh, yeah. Just need a smoke,” Nora lies, teeth forming a barely-there smile to try and prove to her new friend that she’ll be okay and doesn’t need to be followed.

Piper warily falls for it, and when Nora watches her freckled face turn back towards the girls at the table, Nora sighs in relief and hurries over to the front door, flying out into the cold January air as she tries to navigate her shaking feet back towards the Underground.

She doesn’t make it very far, barely rounds the corner of the street before she hears her name being roughly called from raspberry lips she’s too terrified to face. But his legs are longer than hers and his strides are more purposeful, because just as Nora’s identified the Underground entranceway, Harry’s large palm wraps around her tensed bicep and suddenly, she’s spinning on the heels of her boots, officially caught trying to run away in the middle of a busy sidewalk surrounded by throngs of people.

Nora immediately flinches, shaking his hand off her body before she becomes familiar with the warmth that encapsulates the fabric adorning her skin. Harry gets the hint and dejectedly brings his hand back down to his side, shuffling in his brown suede shoes as he tries to form the correct words to say to her.

“You don’t have to leave,” he starts, trying his hardest to identify the wary look in her eyes. Because he’s never seen her look like this—so completely and utterly defeated, and Harry almost wishes she would lash out instead of continue to look at him the way she is doing right now.

“I do,” Nora says, moving her eyes down to the cracked pavement. She can’t bring herself to look at his face anymore.

“Piper said you were having a smoke. I didn’t think you did that.” Harry’s words cause her head to lift abruptly, and she’s not sure if it’s because his voice sounds so broken and dejected, or if it’s because he’s insinuating that he still knows things about her.

“You don’t know me anymore, Harry,” Nora spits out, leveling her blues with his greens in a standoff that she doesn’t feel ready for.

Harry frowns, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck, choosing to back down. “I know.”

It’s sad. The whole situation is terribly sad, because suddenly, Pandora’s box has been ripped open—the lid practically flung across the pavement as feelings that have been buried underneath the surface for so long are unforgivingly being unearthed right in front of their eyes.

Nora turns away, knowing there’s really nothing left to be said between the two of them. Not until she’s properly processed it all. Not until she’s dealt with her emotions the right way instead of screaming in his face and never looking back.

“Nora,” Harry tries, his voice pleading with hers. He waits until she turns around before saying, “My birthday is in a few weeks. The first. Niall’s throwing me a party and all that, and uh—” he takes a massive gulp, his entire body riddled with nerves, “I’d really like for you to come.”

“I’ll think about it,” Nora says after a moment’s pause, offering him a shaky smile in hopes that it’ll be enough for him to allow her to enter the Underground without another interruption.

“And Nora?” her eyes find his one last time before he says, “It’s really great to see you.”

The next Wednesday pub night, Nora decides to stay home. It’s not that she doesn’t want to hang out with everyone, because she does—she just knows that Harry will definitely be in attendance, and she still isn’t really sure how to feel about everything. The last thing Nora wants to do is make things awkward with this new group of friends she just met, so staying in was the easiest option.

On the Wednesday after that, Harry decides to skip out. He doesn’t want Nora to feel like she has to avoid her new friends because their relationship (or lack thereof) is stuck in limbo. Traveling to a new country, especially for the first time, is never fun to do alone—and Harry would hate himself if he made her feel that isolating herself is the best option. So he stays home, and tries not to text Niall and ask him if Nora decided to show up (even though he stalks his mates’ social media and finds that she did, in fact, go).

Niall and Piper try not to ask the invasive questions that are dancing on the tip of their tongues, because it’s so blatantly obvious that Nora and Harry were never “just” mates from school. Nora never explicitly tells her new friends about what happened, but Piper can figure it out, because she’s a girl, and girl’s know what Nora’s eyes mean when they twinkle and break at the mention of Harry’s name. Harry, on the other hand, drunkenly spilled anecdotes to Niall in the past about a girl who deserved so much better than what he could offer her, and with one look at the bruised skin underneath Harry’s vacant eyes in the days that follow their reunion, Niall understands then that the girl in question is none other than his special Rah.

The first of February comes along with a dip in temperature, and before Nora can mull over Harry’s birthday party invitation any longer, she decides to throw caution to the wind and go. She shops for a pretty dress with Piper, and when she finds a discounted Topshop number that pairs excellently with the only pair of heels she stuffed into her suitcase, she purchases it without a second thought.

The girls get ready together and Nora lets Piper curl her hair, and when the rest of their friends make cocktails in their tiny shared kitchenette, Nora feels her worries wash away with each sip of fruity liquor that slides down her throat.

When they arrive at the club Niall organizes all their mates to meet at, Nora barely has time to try and locate the birthday boy. Because suddenly, she’s meeting a handful of new people and being dragged to the dancefloor against her will, and after her second (or third?) Sex on the Beach, she’s in that perfect state of drunkenness in which she feels light and airy and nothing but happiness radiates off her sticky skin.

Harry, oppositely, is in that state of drunkenness in which his words are slurring together and his eyes are glossy. He feels airy, practically lightheaded at this point, and his teeth stretch the skin around his mouth wide as he laughs along to whatever his friends are saying.

He’s barely had time to make the rounds, because people kept approaching him left and right with birthday praises and a shot glass filled with pungent liquor for him to shoot back. Niall finally rejoins him at the U-shaped leather booth in their corner of the club, and when Harry asks him something that sounds like Piper, Niall points in the direction of his girlfriend twirling around the dancefloor with a group of her friends.

When he refocuses his blurry vision on the group, Harry instantly notices brown hair floating through the air. The curls seem to have fallen a bit as the night dragged on, and when the girl turns around to mouth the lyrics of the upbeat song to Piper, Harry grins when he recognizes the pouty lips that are painted a refreshing shade of sherbert. Her cheeks are tinged and Harry wonders if it’s from exertion or alcohol, and when she spins back around to shake her hips to the beat of the overplayed pop song, he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s only once her hands scoop the hair at the back of her neck, pushing it upwards to let the prickling skin underneath breathe for a bit, when Harry notices the new etchings of ink on her body.

Three equally-sized birds are tattooed on the back of her right shoulder, swirling on her ivory skin whenever her arms move above her head as she dances. Harry can’t seem to look away—suddenly wondering if there’s anything else about her that has changed in three years. He finds that he wants to know everything about her within the time period when they weren’t in each other’s lives, and it’s that startling realization that causes him to ignore the advances of the yellow-haired girl sitting across the table from him.

“Y’alright, Curly?” Niall asks after Harry waves the girl away, and he nods distractedly, bringing his whiskey and ginger to his mouth to gulp back heavily. Niall shakes his head and tells him that he’s going to go dance with Piper, and Harry just watches idly as his friend saunters away.

For some reason, Harry doesn’t get up. Instead, he pulls more sips from the liquor at his table, watching in curiosity as Nora mingles with his mates and dances with Niall and Piper. He thinks it’s fascinating, thinks that in a parallel universe he and Nora would be doing this every night, and instead of random girls vying for his attention, Nora would undoubtedly have all of it.

With that thought running through his head, he sloppily gets up from his seat, drunkenly hobbling over to his group of friends on the dancefloor near the bar. When he approaches them, he flings an unsteady arm around Niall’s neck for extra support, grinning widely when everyone calls him the birthday boy and pinches his cheeks in drunken adoration.

“Mm, think ‘ve had enough, mate,” Harry slurs in Niall’s direction, resting a good portion of his weight on his shorter friend who has to tighten his grip around Harry’s waist.

“I’ll call a car, have ‘em bring you home. Need me t’come with?” Niall asks, and when Harry looks at each of his mates in their small circle, he shakes his head cheekily and smiles in Nora’s direction.

“No, I want Nora to.” It’s innocent in the way that he just wants to spend time with her, because he hasn’t even had the chance to speak to her tonight, and all he can think about is how much time has passed between them and that he misses her in a way he didn’t think was possible.

Nora watches Harry whine in Niall’s ear, and even though the music is too loud for her to make out everything he’s saying, she somehow manages to hear the words want and Nora and please. Niall looks over in her direction, and when he asks her if she’ll take him home, she considers accepting for some odd reason. Because he’s drunk and needy, and she’s never seen a needy Harry Styles before, and as if the time frame has blurred right in front of her, Nora finds herself in the backseat of a fancy town car driving off into a quieter part of the city.

They sit on opposite ends of the car with the middle seat unused between them, and after a few minutes of silence, Harry decides to break it by saying, “‘M really happy you came tonight.”

Nora’s not nearly as drunk as he is, and she finds it quite adorable the way his deep voice cracks over the slurred syllables, and his lips are bright red from his teeth gnawing into them, and his cheeks are almost a deeper shade from the alcohol surging through his veins.

“It’s your birthday. It would have been mean of me not to,” Nora says softly, watching as Harry tears his eyes away from the blurred streets and onto her face.

He grins. “I don’t think y’know how t’be mean, Nora. Not sure there’s a mean bone in your body.”

Nora just smiles back gently, unsure of how exactly to respond. Thankfully, the car pulls to a stop on a quiet street just in front of a white stucco townhouse. There’s a small iron-clad gate on the sidewalk that comes about waist-high, and when Harry unlocks it and begins his wobbly trek to the navy blue front door, Nora can’t help but look around his neighborhood in slight awe.

The jostling of keys breaks her out of her reverie, and when she finds Harry struggling to place the correct key into the lock, she calmly pushes him out of the way and flicks her wrist to unlock the door, pushing it open and allowing him to step in first.

She barely gets a chance to take in the interior of his home before he’s grabbing the keys from her hand and dropping them loudly in the bowl on the hallway table, unsteadily stepping out of his shoes and leaving them haphazardly on the floor, reaching for her hand and dragging her up the stairs to the loft bedroom above.

Before Nora can even comprehend what Harry’s doing, he’s suddenly flinging his clothes across different surfaces of his room—starting with his trench coat over his desk chair, his belt on the shoe rack in his closet, his wallet on the bureau nearest to the door. It’s only once he starts fumbling out of his jeans when Nora turns around with a squeak, feeling a bit awkward watching him drunkenly scramble out of his clothes.

“What’re you doin’?” He slurs, the sound of his feet struggling to get out of the tight material ceasing abruptly.

“Giving you privacy,” Nora explains, finding herself counting the knobs on his dresser instead of hyperfocusing on the fact that Harry is undressing behind her.

She can hear him chuckle a bit, and then the sound of a body flopping onto a mattress takes over. Harry grunts in frustration, and it’s only once he’s called Nora’s name when she peeks over her shoulder timidly, finding Harry lying flat on his bed with his shirt still on, his feet firmly planted on the hardwood floor as his jeans seem to be stuck around his knees.

“Can you help me?” He doesn’t seem to be making a pass at her, because his voice is whiny and his neck is strained, and he really seems to be struggling taking off his tight skinny jeans.

Nora laughs a bit before walking over, grabbing his jeans by his knees and forcing him to straighten his legs as she pulls. Harry watches, leaning up on his elbows as he wiggles the material off of his skin, gleaming proudly when they’re off and discarded into his hamper.

With her back to him, Harry reaches for a pair of joggers and shuffles them on, swapping his wrinkled dress shirt for an old band tee that he wore the night before. When she hears him trying to untuck his duvet from underneath the throw pillows on his bed, Nora turns around and places her palm on his back in the place just between his shoulder blades, causing him to freeze.

“Go brush your teeth. I’ll do this before you fall on your face,” Nora says through a giggle, and Harry does as he’s told, watching her through the reflection of his mirror with wide eyes as she delicately places the throw pillows on the bench under his window and pulls back the duvet and sheets pristinely.

After he spits out the mint toothpaste and waddles back into his room, Nora pats the spot on his bed that she’s left untucked for him, smiling softly as she says, “C’mon birthday boy.”

Harry grins sleepily, pushing himself on the mattress and burrowing into his pillows, chuckling when Nora pulls up the sheet and duvet until it’s tucked underneath his chin. She checks his nightstand to make sure that his phone is plugged in, and after confirming that everything seems to be put into place, she tries to wish Harry goodnight before he interrupts and asks, “Will you stay?”

Nora attempts to shake her head, telling him that it isn’t a good idea, causing Harry to try an alternative approach. The whiny, annoying kind, that usually works magnificently on the likes of Niall and Piper.

“Please, Nora! ‘S my birthday. ‘S all I want, and you didn’t get me a gift!”

Nora pauses, reading Harry’s face and finding the ghost of a smile hidden underneath his lips. She admires his tactic and decides to play along, stubbornly adding, “I didn’t know what you’d like! Not quite sure I can compete with all of the nice things your friends already got you.”

Harry scoffs indignantly. “I would’ve loved it anyway. ‘Cos it’s from you.”

“Harry—”

“—Please stay,” Harry interrupts, causing Nora to frown as she’s torn. “We can watch a film! Like we used to! I know y’love films, Nora. I even ‘ave a bunch in a drawer over ‘ere, look—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nora rushes out, placing her hands gently over the duvet covering Harry’s chest, forcing him to lie back down on his bed. “No need to get up. It just took me ages to get you tucked in!”

“You’re right, ‘m sorry. ‘S over there.” Harry aimlessly points in the direction of his television stand at the far end of the wall. Nora nods, turning on her heel and beginning to walk in that direction, bending at her knees as she opens the drawer in question.

As she scans over the movie titles, she’s surprisingly impressed at his collection. They span across multiple genres, although Nora does note that he owns a decent amount of romantic comedies for a twenty-two year old boy. She almost chooses Ferris Bueller’s Day Off to reminisce, but those memories are jaded now, and she hasn’t seen the film since she sat thigh to thigh with Harry in his twin bed all those years ago, so instead, she plucks 10 Things I Hate About You and places it into the DVD player.

When the title screen loads, she checks on Harry over her shoulder and finds that he’s grinning from his position tucked snugly in his bed.

“Did y’know this was based on Taming of the Shrew?” he asks suddenly.

Nora pauses her act of getting up from the floor, shocked at the fact that Harry is willingly giving her film trivia that she used to provide. And when she stands up after a beat, looking down at him from the end of his bed, she smirks and asks teasingly, “Have you been studying film trivia?”

Harry just shrugs, a shy smile covering his face as his cheeks bloom pink.

She turns around then and hits play, and once the opening credits begin to roll on the screen, she rounds his king-sized bed and lays beside him on the other end, making sure to lay on top of the covers in her dress to keep a safe distance between them. Harry tries his hardest not to pout at the absence.

“Does this mean you’re staying?” Harry whispers just as the opening scene flashes onto the screen.

With her eyes trained on the screen, Nora just nods quietly, trying her hardest not to look over in his direction. And around halfway through the film, just after Patrick belts “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You” to Kat on the staircase, Harry looks over to find Nora sound asleep on the other side of the mattress. Without waking her up, he grabs the blanket at the end of his bed and throws it over her body, watching as she welcomes the warmth as she snuggles into it.

It’s far too early when Harry wakes up. The sun has barely started to stretch its sunbeams outside of his window, and when he blinks through the dimness of his room, he finds that the first thing he sees is Nora Priestley. They’re both lying on their sides facing each other, a little bit closer than when they first dozed off. Harry can feel their bent knees brushing against the other’s underneath their respective blanket layers, and when Harry focuses on the hand that isn’t buried under his pillow, he realizes that his fingertips are ever so lightly grazing Nora’s much smaller ones. He smiles to himself, and just before falling back asleep, he hooks his pinky finger around Nora’s.

When he wakes up a few hours later, Nora is gone. He looks around his room to see if she’s in the ensuite or banging about downstairs, and finds himself frowning when all he’s met with is silence. Just as his eyes sweep over his nightstand, he finds a note near a glass of water with two paracetamol tablets on top. He scoops up the medication in one hand, and brings the note up to his eyes with the other.

Happy birthday, Harry. Here’s the best I could do on short notice. -Nora

He glances over to his alarm clock and realizes that it’s not even noon yet, and without really thinking, he reaches for his mobile and rings Niall to ask him for directions to Niall and Piper’s residence hall.

“Curly? What’re you doin’ up before noon?” Niall’s loud voice asks through the receiver.

Before Harry can bring himself to respond, he hears a giggle that sounds almost identical to Nora’s in the background, and suddenly he’s asking, “What’re you up to?”

“Hangover brunch, mate. Sunday tradition,” Niall responds easily, the sound of the late morning air ruffling through the speaker.

“Since when?” Harry asks, straining his ear to see if he can try to hear Nora again.

Niall laughs loudly, breaking his focus. “Since always! Yer dead to the world until the afternoon, so Rah always third-wheels with Piper and I—oof! I’m just messin’ around, Rah! You know we love yer company!”

Suddenly, Harry’s springing out of bed, running into the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash cold water onto his face to wake him up. He asks Niall the name of the restaurant, and just as the words leave his mouth, Harry hangs up and throws on the first clean pair of jeans and jumper he can find, shoving a beanie over his mangled hair and flying out the door.

He arrives just as tea gets brought to the table, and when he finds that the only open chair at their table of four is the one across from Nora, he grins and slides right in, watching the way her cheeks blush as her eyes burn holes through the plastic menu.

“Any particular reason why yer up and at ‘em this mornin’, Curly?” Niall asks, a knowing look on his face as his eyes dart between Harry’s and Nora’s accusingly.

“Just felt like waking up, I suppose,” Harry says in Niall’s direction, ordering a cup of tea from the waitress as she passes by. When he realizes that Piper and Niall are indulged in their own conversation, Harry leans forward over the table and asks Nora lowly, “So, what’s good here?”

Nora’s eyebrows dart up in surprise, asking, “You’ve never been here before?”

Harry shakes his head, smiling when he coaxes a pretty giggle out of Nora’s mouth. He finds that she looks cute in the morning, all sleepy eyed and puffed out cheeks. He almost wishes he caught her before she snuck out of his flat. He would have loved to see what she looked like buried in his pillows.

“I usually get a full English and give Niall my tomatoes,” Nora explains, sipping her tea generously.

“Why’s that?��� Harry asks.

Nora scrunches her nose. “Not a fan of them.”

Before Harry can say anything else to her, the waitress pops over to take their order, and when their plates arrive and the first thing Nora notices Harry does is eat a bite of his grilled tomato, she pierces her fork through the two on her plate and drops them on his own instead of giving them to Niall.

If anybody at the table notices, they choose not to say anything.

After that Sunday morning, Harry finds that he can’t stay away from Nora. He remembers lurking through her Facebook page a year ago and finding that she has a thing for coffee shops, and after asking Piper for her class schedule, he waits for her outside her lecture hall one dreary Tuesday afternoon and brings her to his favorite café a few miles away from her residence hall.

It’s called the Muddy Cup and Nora’s surprised that it’s a place Harry frequents, considering it’s the complete opposite of his personality. It’s all bright colors and mismatched furniture, uniquely shaped mugs with bluesy, light jazz music playing in the background. It smells of coffee grinds and a hint of vanilla, and after their third trip there, Nora finds that this version of Harry is just like the one she remembers enjoying during their ten days together back in Townbridge—except, it’s heightened here in London. He tells her things without hesitating, he seems to have recognized how wrong his actions were, he seems to have a plan for his life. It’s a lot all at once, but Nora takes it all in stride, constantly reminding herself not to hold grudges and to try to remember that people are continuously changing and evolving, and that if Harry is trying his hardest to let her see this side of her, then she should at least give him the opportunity to allow him to do so.

But she’s not naive. She knows that she can’t just hand him her heart without precautions all because he’s trying to show her how much he’s changed. Because underneath all of her strong walls, all of the barriers she’s constructed to ensure that she doesn’t feel pain again, she knows that if anybody has the power to weave through all of her booby traps and decoys and rattle the infrastructure, it’s him.

Harry knows this, too. Knows that even though this New Nora in front of him changed her hair and grew up a little bit, she is still guarded, and he really can’t blame her for being overly cautious of him. He’s trying though—really trying, because if there’s anybody in this world that can bring out the best version of himself, it’s her.

After a few more coffee dates and a walk around his campus, Harry finally comes up with a plan. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of it sooner, because he’s almost positive it’s going to be the best first date Nora Priestley has ever been on. And he wants that for her—so badly, because she deserves it.

Harry schemes with Niall and Piper to make sure that Nora is free on a rare sunny late February afternoon. He shows up outside of her residence hall in his black Range Rover, watching the way she smiles bashfully at him when she notices him leaning against the passenger door of his car, posture nothing but attractive confidence with the way his jean-clad left leg is bent resting on the steel door, the way his emerald green jumper stretches across his chest due to his arms being crossed over the thin material, the way his long hair is free flowing down his shoulders as the wind ruffles the tendrils in the cool air. He weaves his sunglasses atop his head when he sees her exit her building, giving her a one-armed hug as he simultaneously opens the car door with his other hand, allowing Nora to fall into the warm leather interior.

“Where are we going?” Nora asks after they’ve merged onto the motorway. Harry looks over at her then, one hand resting on the steering wheel while the other pushes and pulls at the skin covering his lower lip nervously. He offers her a shy smile, before muttering, “A surprise,” causing Nora to blush immediately.

Once the colorful pastel townhouses flood into view, Nora isn’t sure how she didn’t realize it sooner. The streets are winding and her nose is practically glued to the window as she takes in the flashes of raspberry, lilac, peach, coral, and mint lining Notting Hill. She can’t wipe the aching grin covering her face, and when she whips her head around to look over at Harry and finds that he’s already looking at her, it’s almost instinctual when she slips her hand into his and squeezes it in gratitude.

When Harry has to park the car, he almost whines at the fact that the moment he removes his key from the ignition, Nora’s hand will leave his own.

They spend the afternoon weaving through the crowded streets. Harry leads her through Portobello Road Market and watches as Nora’s eyes flick through racks of clothing and tables filled with various antiques and collectables. She notices Harry eyeing a gold ring from a jewelry stand towards the end of the market, and when he offers to buy them a cup of coffee from a small café across the street, Nora sneakily purchases it for him as a way of saying thank you (and maybe for another reason entirely, too.)

As Nora sips through her warm styrofoam cup of hazelnut coffee, she notices a string of bookshops across the street. She laughs to herself, her memory immediately reverting to three years ago in her tiny twin bed at Townbridge when she and Harry were cuddled up underneath her mom’s handmade blanket watching Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant meet for the very first time. She wonders if Harry is thinking about the same thing, too, but she doesn’t dare ask him. Instead, she links her hand with his and drags him to the first shop she sees, pushing the door open with her hip and letting the smell of old books and worn leather fill her senses.

Harry isn’t sure if Nora is doing it intentionally, but as they scan through the spines of books resting on dusty shelves, her hand never leaves his own. It warms his insides up in a way he’s never experienced, and he feels as if he’s floating through air, and the only thing that’s keeping him grounded is her small hand squeezing his ever so lightly.

Once they’ve rounded the end of the store, Nora looks over and asks him, “Do you have any suggestions?”

Harry’s heart thumps a resounding string of three beats, and he can’t help but wonder if she felt the same whenever he asked her to pick out her favorite films for him three years ago back in her tiny dorm room. From the smile coating the lower half of her face, Harry can assume that she most likely does, and without slipping his hand from her own, he drags her to the classics section and peruses through the titles.

Nora watches as he somehow maneuvers three paperbacks into one hand while keeping her own nestled tightly in his, and when he brings her to the front of the store and easily grabs his wallet from his back pocket, she tries to wriggle her hand from his grasp to stop him from paying for her. Harry doesn’t allow this though, and instead, shushes her by squeezing her hand tighter, looking down at her with his chin resting on his shoulder as he shakes his head with a coy smile covering his face. Nora isn’t sure how to respond—mainly because she’s mesmerized by the turquoise twinkle in his eyes, or the way his large hand wrapped around her own makes her feel overwhelmingly safe, or the way she can’t seem to look anywhere else but at the profile of his structured face. The realization strikes her straight into her heart, an electrical current causing the beating flesh to vibrate almost erratically, making her skin prickle with warmth and her stomach twist and turn with giddiness, and she finds that she never wanted her hand to leave his in the first place.

Before they even realize it, the afternoon is over. Harry intentionally slows his gait so that he can do everything in his power to extend the time he has with Nora’s hand nestled in his own and the left side of her body sidled up to his. But unfortunately, not even Harry has the ability to slow down time, and sadly, they’ve approached the car in despondent silence.

He turns her around just as they’ve reached the passenger side door, Nora’s back resting on the cool steel as she lifts her head up. Harry’s eyes are focused on their tangled hands, toying with her fingertips as he tries to figure out what she’s thinking.

“I got you something,” Nora says after a beat, waiting until Harry’s eyes are on hers before she slips the hand that isn’t knotted with his inside her jacket pocket. He watches as she removes the gold ring from the paper envelope and drops it into his palm gently.

“Nora—” Harry starts, pausing as he stares at the thick gold band with dancing bears engraved in the middle. The sun makes the metal twinkle in the light, and when he shifts his eyes into Nora’s blue pools, he isn’t sure which is brighter.

“Put it on me?” he asks. Harry knows that he’s fully capable of putting it on himself, but that would require removing his other hand from her own. Also, he selfishly wants to feel Nora’s smaller digits tickling his skin, and when she obliges with a gentle smile and grabs the ring from his opened palm, Harry tries to conceal the shudder shaking his body when she obeys his request.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry whispers into the small space between them when Nora’s fingers push the gold ring past his knuckle.

She just shrugs, looking up at him timidly. “I wanted to.”

While Harry’s eyes are focused on the newest addition to his growing jewelry collection, Nora decides to be brave and reaches up onto her tiptoes with the intention of planting a kiss on his cheek as a way of saying thank you without having to properly vocalize it. But, Harry notices everything she does, and when he watches her body shift towards him in his periphery, he lifts his head up at the last moment in question, causing Nora’s plump lips to land on the corner of his mouth.

The contact only lasts a measly two seconds, but it’s enough to cause them both to freeze. Nora’s eyes widen, and before she can let her body fall into his own, she springs back and places a generous two foot gap between them.

Harry’s not even sure what to think. He’s almost positive that he’s frozen to the pavement, his thick boots stuck in sludgy cement as he tries to bring them to move forward so that Nora doesn't feel so far away. But he can’t move—the neurons in his brain aren’t connecting to the muscles in his legs, and he has no fucking idea why.

Nora stares at him, trying her hardest to force her mouth to form the words “sorry.” But when she really stops to think about it, she finds that she isn’t sorry at all. The smallest feeling of his mouth on hers was enough to cause her body to zap with excitement, and when she looks up at him underneath the curtain of her eyelashes and find that his pupils are dilated to the fullest degree, she decides to forego her apology and leans in, pressing her lips to his with reckless abandon.

Instinctively, Harry’s arms wrap around her waist to support her body as their lips re-familiarize themselves with one another. The sigh he breathes into her mouth is nothing but relief—because ever since he left her dorm room three years ago back at Townbridge, all Harry’s been thinking about is feeling her lips on his again. And now that it’s finally happening, he feels as if he can’t breathe.

Nora’s hands clutch the lapels of his woolen jacket over his chest to bring him closer to her, because even though his body is flushed with hers, it still isn’t enough. Harry brings his right hand up to cup her jaw ever so delicately, his thumb pulling her chin down so that her jaw falls slack, allowing him to slip his tongue inside to meet her own. The moan that springs from the back of her throat almost causes Harry’s mouth to still, but when her fingertips wrap around the ends of his hair dusting his shoulder, tangling until she pulls at the roots on top of his head, he can’t help but reciprocate the sound.

When Harry’s neck starts to ache from leaning down to meet her lips, he trickles his palms from her temples to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her thick dark hair until they clasp together just above her neck, allowing him to tilt her head backward and kiss her properly. Nora hums inside his mouth, wrapping her arms around the middle of his back so that she can pull him closer to her in order to feel his heartbeat against her chest through all of their warm layers, his heart thrumming against her skin as if the fleshy organ was screaming at her own “I missed you! I missed you! I missed you!”

Eventually, they break apart, sucking in deep inhales of cool February air to try and quell the lightheadedness caused from their second first kiss. Harry rests his forehead on her own, his eyes shut tight as he tries to permanently ink that memory into the pink pillows of his brain. His warm hands are cupping her jaw in order to keep her as close to him as possible, and Nora can’t help but squeeze the fleshy parts of his arms, keeping their fronts pressed together so that the warmth that emanates from his skin continues to stay wrapped around her.

“Go to dinner with me,” Harry whispers against her skin once his eyes blink open, the fuzziness dissipating when he notices the pinkness of her swollen lips and the tinge of red coating the apples of her cheeks. He missed this. He missed her.

“When?” Nora asks, her voice hoarse from the lack of oxygen ripped from her airway.

“Right now, tonight, tomorrow. Don’t want to let you go just yet.” Nora leans in, her nose resting on his warm cheek as she giggles against the smooth skin. Harry brings his hand to rub soothing circles against her back, wondering if they could stay in this position forever.

Harry can feel her smile against his cheek, and when she moves her head to press two subsequent kisses against his ripe lips, he knows that he’s fucked. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley—it’s probably always been Nora Priestley—and she’s here wrapped up in him nodding against his skin at his outrageous request, and Harry’s never felt this complete in his entire life. It’s like flying and falling, searing warmth and bitter coldness, being too close but still not close enough—a paradoxical rush of adoration shooting to his heart with a loud cacophonous pang that sends his brain into overdrive.

They have dinner together that night, and the night after that, and if not for Harry’s evening lecture, they probably would have gone for a third consecutive date. He takes her to tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurants that serve the best food Nora’s ever tasted, and although a small part of her was expecting him to go all out and take her to outlandish posh eateries, Nora finds that Harry knows her much better than she originally thought, and he’s constantly full of surprises.

On the next Wednesday pub night, Harry and Nora show up together. Nobody says anything, but Nora can practically feel the scorching looks Niall and Piper are shooting at her from across the table warming her cheek. And after her third beer, just as the band starts to play their first song, Niall saunters over to her side and wraps a heavy arm around her shoulder, whispering excitedly into her ear, “Knew you were special, Rah.”

Harry's insides are buzzing, whirring to life with each sip of bitter beer that falls down his esophagus. The liquor seems to make Nora a bit looser, and once she’s developed a thin layer of drunkenness that causes her cheeks to flush and her guard to falter, Harry practically explodes when she brings her body to rest against his, her back leaning on his front as she allows his warmth to envelope her as they listen to the band playing on the far side of the room. He wraps his arm around her shoulder so that his right hand is splayed out against her collarbone, holding her close in a protective stance as she lets her head fall back on his shoulder comfortably.

After three songs, Nora finds that she’s had enough. Harry’s hand feels too hot pressed against her chest, his hair feels too silky tickling her exposed neck, his chin feels too heavy sitting atop the crown of her head. She wants more, finds that she suddenly needs more, and when she twirls around abruptly and finds that his green eyes are practically black, eagerly searching for her own, she doesn’t hesitate before whispering in his ear, “Can we get out of here?”

Harry’s pretty sure his pants have never felt tighter around his waist. He doesn’t even care about the unfinished pint in his hand, doesn’t even care to make the rounds and properly say goodbye to his mates, doesn’t even care when he hands Niall too much money to pay for their drinks that are absently left on the sticky high top table, doesn’t even care about the looks he receives when he slips his hand in Nora’s and drags her through the front door and into the Underground so that they can reach his flat before her confident streak runs out.

When they’re both standing in his loft bedroom, hands tangled in each other’s hair and lips pressed to warm skin and clothes strewn against hardwood flooring, Nora finds it easier to forget about all of her past hurt. Because his hands feel that good, and his mouth tastes that good, and his warm body looks that good. But when she backs away to pull off her sweater so that she’s left standing in front of him in just her bra and underwear, she suddenly hesitates to move forward.

The memory hits her like a bullet to the chest. It’s of her, standing in her Townbridge dorm room wearing a sports bra and sleep shorts, her arms wrapped around herself protectively as she tries to stifle the rib-racking cries shaking through her body as she watched Harry disappear right in front of her face, leaving her alone to try and wrap her head around what he had done to her and what it all meant. Because he was her first real sexual experience, something that Nora didn’t necessarily place on a high pedestal, but still ultimately was a big deal for her. It took a lot of trust to allow Harry to take that from her after ten days of unassuming happiness, and just as quickly as he showed her a different side of herself, he simultaneously ripped it away when he left her alone and confused barely eight hours later in the early morning light.

It’s as if the memory is being broadcasted in Harry’s bedroom, Nora’s blue eyes the screen and her bruised heart the projector, because suddenly, her lips are trembling and her hands are shaking and her eyes are staring blankly at the wall over his left shoulder—and he knows right then and there that her walls are now ten times thicker, constructed with stronger material that will no longer allow him to seep through the cracks. Not without an explanation. Not without an apology.

“Nora—” Harry starts, taking a tentative step forward. The small motion of his feet approaching hers is enough to break Nora out of her daze, her head shaking violently as she takes three more steps back, reaching for her sweater and throwing it over her head without a second thought.

“Please, I—” Harry is panicking. He doesn’t want her to disappear, but he also doesn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He wanted to talk to her without the cloudy sexual energy suffocating them, without her dreamy silhouette obstructing his vision, without her sudden desire to escape more prominent than her desire to stay and listen to him.

“I need a minute, we shouldn’t do this, not when—”

“—Just please listen to me. I can’t let you leave, not like this. Not when you’re finally here after all this time. And I’m not saying this because you’re standing half-naked in my bedroom, it’s just—fuck. I should have said this three years ago. I should have said it when I sent you a friend request on Facebook. I should have said it that first Wednesday pub night. I just got distracted and—”

“—Harry—”

“—I’m sorry, okay? I’m truly so fucking sorry.” Harry seems to have taken the breath trapped in Nora’s throat, because suddenly she’s staring at him wide-eyed and frozen in place, whereas Harry’s chest is erratically shifting up, down as he struggles to contain his uneven breathing pattern.

“I fucked up. I was a dumb, stupid kid who hurt you—and you didn’t deserve it. Not one second of it. I thought about what I did all the time in the aftermath, it fucking ate me alive, Nora. And I’m not saying that for you to pity me, because you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t even be here giving me a second chance, because I don’t deserve it. I never deserved your kindness to begin with. You’re too good for me and I just, fuck. I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life if I have to. I just want to be good enough for you. And I’m so sorry—”

Nora shushes him with a collision of her body into his, her arms wrapping around him tightly as she buries her head into the crook of his neck. Harry’s response is inherent; strong arms encapsulating her smaller body, wide palms spread out evenly along her upper back for support, warm cheek nestled into the velvety waves resting at the top of her head.

“It’s okay, Harry. I forgive you. You’re enough, you deserve kindness too,” Nora mutters into the skin of his neck like a mantra of self-love and acceptance. Because even though Harry nearly broke her heart and made her resent him, she never wanted him to feel hurt, too. Not when it’s self-imposed. Not when it can be dealt with in a different way.

Nora thinks the phrase “an eye for an eye” is ineffectual. Just because you hurt somebody else, does not mean the same fate should be bestowed upon you. Humans are constantly changing and evolving, and pain and acceptance are a part of the long and winding battle in figuring out who you are as a person. If Harry is finally realizing that now, all Nora can do is hug him tighter and forgive him. Because that’s what any decent person would do.

Without unlocking their tangled bodies, Nora slowly steps forward, causing Harry to shuffle backward, until they’re both lying horizontally on his king-sized bed. She turns them over so that his back is flat on the mattress, her leg hooking over his hip as she rests her head against his beating chest, rubbing soothing patterns against the warm skin until he finally calms down.

They spend that night talking for hours. Harry wants to know everything she’s done in their three-year absence, and Nora doesn’t hesitate to give him the details of her new life in New York City. She tells him about Ebony, her roommate-turned-best-friend who supports her without question, who she misses practically every waking moment she’s not with her. She tells him about Marcus, the boy she had more firsts with, who she never found herself loving completely, but still appreciated him for helping her grow up and feel new things. She tells him about the tattoo shop in Brooklyn she went to after her twentieth birthday where a girl with pink hair and purple eyes etched three identical birds on the back of her shoulder.

He doesn’t tell her about the drinking and drugs and blank-faced girls he wasted his time with for the first two years during their time apart, because he’s aware that she already knows—considering his Facebook page holds a track record of every Nadine and Scarlet he toyed around with to fill in the empty hole Nora unknowingly carved into his heart. He doesn’t tell her that hearing about Nora’s ex-boyfriend causes the green monster who has been dormant inside of him for years to suddenly wake up, his blood laced with envy as he thinks of how somebody else got to see her in a vulnerable position he stupidly took for granted.

Harry realizes that this is a bit unfair, considering Nora lived her life without thinking about how it would affect him. And if Nora is jealous of the girls he slept with two years ago, she never shows it. Because she’s much more rational than he is—the calmness to his angst, the mooring to his shipwreck, the comfort to his unease.

They talk until the inky sky turns into an aegean blue, signifying that dawn has begun to break. Nora muffles her yawn into Harry’s neck and he wraps his arm tighter around her body, bringing her against his chest as he closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling of having her close again after so much time apart.

When Harry wakes up well into the afternoon, he can’t stop thinking about Nora’s body, considering she shed her sweater sometime in the middle of the morning when they were sleeping, leaving her in just her black bra and underwear as her warm skin suctioned to his own. He hasn’t felt this close to somebody in so long—probably ever, if he really stops to think about it—and before, when he was mindlessly fucking girls to cure the loneliness aching inside of his chest, he never cared about the act of intimacy surrounding sex. But now, with Nora’s body wrapped around his own and the swells of her breasts moving up and down with each languid sleepy breath she takes, the curve of her ass bending whenever she cuddles deeper into his chest, the stretch of her legs winding whenever she coils them around his sinewy hips—Harry feels like he’s in a fucking trance.

He never pushes it, but it’s practically all he can think about in the weeks that follow. He finds that when they’re together he always chooses a new part of her body to hyper-fixate on—whether it’s the angular cut of her jaw, the long arch of her neck, the thin layer of skin covered in gold necklaces on the top of her chest, the fleshy part of her hips that connect to her thighs—Harry feels completely and utterly famished.

Nora feels it, too. Feels that if she has to stand so close to him on Wednesday pub nights and feel the warmth of his body enveloping her own without him moving any closer, she’ll burst. Feels that if she has to observe the coiled strands of his long hair weave down his neck without her hands tangled at the root, she’ll explode. Feels that if his raspberry lips mouth her two-syllable name followed by his infamous smirk without her own swallowing the last vowel, she’ll shatter.

It finally happens as springtime infiltrates the streets of London, melting any remnants of snow and bringing forth longer stretches of sunlight on the horizon. Nora spent the week studying for a major exam in her Emerging Media Studies course, causing her to miss out on Sunday brunch and Wednesday pub night. Her absence hit Harry the hardest out of everybody, and when she walks out of her lecture hall Thursday night after she handed in her exam, she can’t help but catapult into Harry’s arms when she sees him waiting for her.

They drive to his flat and he cooks her a hearty pasta dish and when he suggests watching a movie tangled in his sheets afterward, Nora finds that she has no interest in absorbing the content on his television screen. She’s made Harry wait long enough, and it feels like the month after his birthday has been a continuous long stretch of unbearable foreplay that Nora can’t wait to act on.

Before Harry has even made it back to bed after setting up the film, Nora’s already pulled his borrowed sleep shirt over her head, leaving her in the matching navy blue lingerie set Piper encouraged her to purchase at Selfridges last week.

Nora’s never seen Harry move faster in his life at the first sight of her. She can barely make out his pupils darting from the exposed skin above the waistline of her underwear to the swells of her breasts uncovered by the lacy underwire bra before he’s jumping on the bed, her entire body shaking with the mattress as he plants searing kiss after searing kiss all over her flushed skin.

He dotes on her body, mumbling praises in between each suction of his lips as he works his way from the top of her forehead to the tips of her toes. “Christ, look at you Nora,” he whispers into the skin underneath her jawline, “All for me? How’d I get so lucky?” he mumbles into the tight skin between the valley of her breasts, pausing to dart his tongue underneath the lacy fabric covering her nipples, pulling a delicious moan from the back of her throat, “You’re fucking perfect,” he purrs into the thicker skin covering her upper thighs as he noses his way teasingly around the edges of her underwear, making her wiggle in want and need.

And when she finally allows him to slowly peel each piece from her body, leaving her bare in front of him as her dark hair fans against his charcoal-colored sheets, Harry’s almost positive he’s forgotten how to breathe. He’s never wanted somebody this badly before—needed somebody this badly before, and when Nora leans up on her elbows and urges him to come closer to her with a slow drag of her fingertip, he almost bursts at the sudden rush of his heart thrashing against the walls of his chest.

All because of her.

“I’m done for,” Harry whispers against her lips before slotting them together with fervor, gripping the skin at the back of her neck tightly to keep her close to him. Nora doesn’t mind, in fact, she absolutely loves his roughness—loves it so much that she can’t help but reciprocate when she wraps her legs around his waist and flips them both over so that their positions are switched and she can be the one to run her lips and teeth down the front of his body in domineering adoration.

Where everything with Marcus was simple and easy, Harry is the complete antithesis. He is everything new and exciting, complex and invigorating, compelling and beautiful. Nora didn’t think it was possible to feel this starved and fulfilled at the same time—but when Harry’s naked body is hovering over her own, his teeth sinking into the fleshy part of her shoulder blade, one hand gripping her ankle and the other holding her hip close to him, she finally feels fireworks burst underneath her eyelids when he enters her for the first time. Her skin feels as if it were bubbling, her heart pumping blood as if it were working in overdrive, and her brain fills with fluttering images of Harry’s chiseled jaw, his matted hair, his supple mouth, his hungry eyes.

It’s everything and more—Harry is everything and more, and when they’re spent and the white noise in Nora’s ears has finally subsided to a gentle hum, she can’t believe that she waited this long to experience this. She wonders if her first time was a dud, a faulty scenario in which her partner didn’t understand how to satisfy her properly. Or maybe, just maybe, it had nothing to do with Marcus at all. That the feeling of her heart exploding and stars bursting through her vision and fireworks cracking in the air above were solely caused by the boy lying beside her, his heart seemingly entangled with hers.

Nora wonders if it's fate or if she’s magnificently cursed for the rest of her life.

As March fades into April, Nora has never felt closer to another person before. It’s incredibly new—this feeling of freefalling off of a cliff into the rocky waters below with nothing but Harry’s strong hand holding hers to remind her that this is all new for him, too, and there’s nobody else he’d rather experience this with than with her.

Harry’s never been the best at giving himself completely over to another person, considering vulnerability is a difficult construct for his mind to wrap around. And when he lies awake at night while Nora sleeps soundly beside him, her arms wrapped around his waist and her head rising and falling with the scattered breaths escaping his lungs, he wonders what’s holding him back. Wonders why it’s so easy for her to talk about family and the future and everything that falls in between—because for the first time ever, Nora is the one that’s completely sure of something in their relationship. Harry, on the other hand, is hesitant. Apprehensive. Scared.

Because it’s so much easier to hide certain aspects of his life from her. Harry has enough skeletons in his closet to fill an entire graveyard, and they all tend to orbit around his shitty relationship with his parents and his innate desire to fall apart whenever he succumbs to the inordinate amount of pressure his father places over his head.

Nora doesn’t deserve to see that. Nobody does. So Harry does what he thinks is right and hides this part of his life from her, lying straight through his teeth whenever she questions where in the world his parents are, and instead of them being in Hong Kong or Indonesia or Dubai, they’re just a forty-five minute drive away. But that’s far too close for Harry to manage, so refocusing her brain on something else is the better option.

Because while Nora was falling hard, giving Harry the directions to make it through the labyrinth to claim her heart, she figured he was doing the same. Letting her in unconditionally and trusting her with this new feeling. But, unbeknownst to Nora, he was shielding her from the life he’s always dreaded being a part of. She was just in too deep to fully realize it.

The first lie starts at the end of April. Harry doesn’t even realize he’s lying in the first place when it falls from his lips that he has to skip out on Wednesday pub night to stay on campus and prepare for a group presentation the following Monday, but once it’s out he can’t force it back into the depths of his being. So while Nora texts him that she misses him and things aren’t the same without him there, Harry’s pushing the lie deeper and deeper inside of him until he’s swallowed the lump whole and it rests heavily at the bottom of his stomach.

Because while his mates are drinking in Camden, Harry’s only eight kilometers away in Knightsbridge wearing a navy blue suit sipping gingerly at a glass of bourbon and initiating small talk with his father’s stuffy work friends. It’s some charity event his father had mentioned in the past, and although Harry’s mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Nora, he suddenly becomes alert when his father introduces him to the only other person that is relatively close to his age.

Harry remembers her from one of the events he was forced to attend during his internship at his father’s office. He doesn’t recall much from meeting her nearly a year ago, considering he was a bit of a dickhead and was more focused on plotting ways to dip out early without being caught to meet up with his mates than trying to mingle with other guests, but now—now that she’s standing in front of him wearing a pretty mauve dress with expensive strappy heels, hair perfectly in place as her almond-shaped eyes gaze into his own, Harry doesn’t hesitate to shake her hand properly.

Her name is Jacqueline Van-Doren, and although she’s the type of beautiful that people can’t help but gawk at, Harry finds that he’s subconsciously comparing her to Nora. Her eyes have more of a greyish tint to them, and while Nora’s sparkle whenever any trace of light reflects off of her irises, Jacqueline’s are more lackluster in comparison. Her cheekbones are higher than Nora’s, but they lack the subtle shade of pink that always appears whenever Nora’s in a close enough radius to Harry. And while she’s much taller, much more confident, much more put together than Nora and all her mumbling and stuttering and clumsiness—Harry finds that he would indubitably pick Nora over a girl like Jacqueline any day.

The second lie happens in the middle of May just as the temperature is rising and the trees are green and blooming. Harry had plans to take Nora on a day trip to Bath so she could tick off another destination on her travel list, but unknowingly, he double-booked himself as his father reminded him he had a familial obligation to attend that same day in the form of an elaborate wedding at The Savoy.

He tells Nora that he has to attend a networking dinner in Oxfordshire, and somehow the lies get easier and easier to tell the more he spews them. Harry’s grateful that Nora doesn’t fact-check his excuse with Niall, but then again, she has no reason to suspect anything, right?

Harry spends the entire reception sitting in the back of the room in his charcoal Louis Vuitton suit with a sick feeling settling inside of him. It grows stronger with each candied sip of whiskey that falls down his throat, and when his father approaches him with a familiar blonde-haired grey-eyed girl practically matching his ensemble, Harry tries his hardest not to laugh. Because his father obviously is not shy in trying to set the two of them up, and although Jacqueline is still undeniably gorgeous after four whiskey neats, it’s not what he wants. She’s not what he wants.

But the pressure of displeasing his father is too much to bear, so he kisses her cheek cordially and allows her to sit with him. They talk the rest of the night but Harry genuinely has no idea what the content was, and when his father tells the pair of them that they’re required to attend an intimate work dinner at the end of the week, Harry just nods and goes along with it.

As May reaches its end, Nora can barely think straight. Her time in London has been nothing but an absolute dream—a whirlwind of newfound friendships, acclimating to her second favorite city in the world, and falling in love with somebody she never thought she would find solid ground with. She’s never felt this way about anybody before—not with Connor, not with Marcus, not with anybody. Nora isn’t even sure if her heart can feel this way about someone ever again. Not after Harry.

She’s hyperaware that her time in London is coming to an end, and reluctantly, she doesn’t want to leave. Not when she’s decided that she’s in love with Harry. Not when he can give her a reason to stay.

Nora has never unexpectedly shown up at Harry’s place before, but after rewriting the conclusion to her final essay for the fourth time and it still not making any sense, she grabs her jacket and oyster card and makes her way to the Underground to head towards Hampstead Heath.

She doesn’t bother calling or texting to alert him that she’s on her way, because in her mad rush to leave her residence hall, Nora forgot to grab her phone that was charging on top of her duvet. Nora’s never been impulsive or brash before—but it’s Harry and she’s in love, and she needs to tell him.

The white townhouse and small iron-clad gate come into view before Nora’s even figured out the words to say to Harry when he opens his navy blue front door. She figures that when she sees his face she’ll finally figure out how to explain what her feelings are, but when his green eyes meet her blues in trepidation, Nora wonders if she made the wrong decision in showing up unannounced.

In the tense silence that follows, Nora pauses for a minute, taking in Harry’s crisp white button down shirt tucked into a sleek pair of slacks. He seems to have been in the process of finishing fastening them, considering Nora can still see the tops of his butterfly tattoo and the swallows underneath his collarbones almost perfectly.

“Nora? What’re you—did we have plans?” Harry’s cheeks are blushed and he’s fidgeting uncomfortably in his fancy brogues and for the first time in months, he looks like he doesn’t want to let her inside.

“No, I uh—” Nora’s confidence is crumbling, and she’s suddenly not sure if this was a good idea at all. Maybe being brash and impulsive is a thing protagonists only do in the movies. “I had to tell you something. But this obviously isn’t a good time, so…”

Before she can turn to leave with her tail tucked between her legs, something inside of Harry clicks into place. He quickly opens his door wider and lets her in, ignoring the warning bells ricocheting inside of his brain as his brain fights with his heart for control over the situation. His heart ultimately wins in the end, and once Nora takes her first few steps inside his home, Harry can feel his insides quiver with nerves.

Nora barely makes it past the foyer, standing just at the cusp of his living room when she notices the expensive blazer thrown over the back of his leather sofa, his crisp black wallet on the fireplace mantle, and the heavy cardstock with cursive script that seems to be an invitation of the utmost importance lying parallel on the surface.

Why didn’t he tell her he was going somewhere? Was he hiding things from her? Was he ashamed to bring her to his gaudy work events? Does she really look that unappealing on his arm? Why has this all of a sudden become too confusing for Nora when just minutes earlier, she was unquestionably sure that she was in love with him?

Harry’s playing with the links on his shiny wrist watch nervously, attaching it with fumbling hands around his inked skin when Nora finally decides to break the silence. “Where are you, uh, going?”

He looks up at her, a bewildered expression on his face, and suddenly, his mouth has gone bone dry. Nora grows more and more skittish with each quiet breath that passes between them, and she’s never felt more unsure about their relationship.

God, when did things get so awkward between them?

“My dad’s back in the country, and it’s just this stupid event he’s making me go to. I tried to get out if it, honest, but it didn’t work. So, uh, I didn’t think it was a big deal to mention it to you,” Harry says quietly, feeling his lungs begin to constrict in the most agonizing way.

This lie feels worse than all the others he’s told her, because for the first time, there’s a crack in his resolve. Harry knows then that he’s done something very wrong, and he immediately regrets it all when he notices the hurt expression clouding Nora’s vision.

Nora knows this, too, because his chest is moving up and down from the thundering beats of his heart inside of his chest, and his hands are shaking against the smooth material of his pants, and his eyes are blown out so wide that Nora can make out all of the different shades of green hidden inside. And when his tremulous pupils finally focus on her own, Nora can see that Harry looks completely panicked in front of her, and she isn’t quite sure what to think.

“Oh,” Nora lets out in a soft exhale. It sounds defeated and she’s not entirely sure why, because nothing has even happened between them yet.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s why she feels so low all of a sudden. Because it’s  been months of almost something’s—of days spent exploring different parts of the city and nights spent exploring different parts of each other. All without a label. All without a conversation. And now, standing in the front room of Harry’s home with shaking hands and trembling lips, Nora doesn’t understand how nothing can be said.

When her blue eyes fall to the floor, Harry springs into action. He’s in full recovery mode, approaching her slowly until the tips of his brogues bump the white of her trainers. His hands find purchase on her shoulders, gently kneading the skin until she finally looks up at him.

“I’ll only be there for an hour. We can do something afterwards, yeah? Just, uh, stay,” he pauses suddenly, eyes wide when he realizes what he’s saying before swallowing deeply, squeezing her soft skin a bit harder. “Stay here while I’m gone. Please.”

“You want me to stay here?” Nora echoes, blinking once, twice, a winsome dumbfounded expression gracing her features.

Harry nods, moving his right hand from her shoulder upwards until his warm palm is cupping the underside of her jaw tenderly, his thumb offering soothing strokes against the pink skin covering her cheekbone.

“Yeah, I do.”

Nora’s doubts are finally subsided, because how can he not feel anything towards her if he’s allowing her into his space for the first time without supervision? He obviously trusts her, and he obviously needs her—and that’s all the confirmation she needs to quiet her racing head and settle her thumping heart.

Her small hands settle on Harry’s waist and he instinctively brings her closer, cupping her jaw with his other hand so that he can angle her head back gently and press his lips against her own. It’s soft and sweet and soothing, and how can he not feel the same way when he kisses her like this?

Before they can get too carried away, his doorbell buzzes and Nora giggles when she feels him groan against her lips, shaking his head softly and backing away, looking down at her with a childlike pout on his lips.

Nora can’t help but trace the protruding flesh with her thumb, causing Harry to shiver. He’s dreading this event even more now, because all he wants to do is drag Nora upstairs and lock her in his room and turn their clock off for just one night.

But the doorbell buzzes again, and he sighs, knowing he can’t do that.

“That’s the car. I’ve got to go,” Harry whispers, giving Nora one last kiss before shrugging his blazer on and grabbing his wallet, keys, and invitation in one fell swoop.

Nora nods, a bit breathless at the sight of him. Harry opens the door, and before he can fully retreat, he peeks his head over his shoulder, long hair tucked behind his ear as he gives her one last small smile.

“One hour. Don’t miss me too much.”

As if she doesn’t miss him instantly when he leaves her.

True to his word, Harry comes back an hour later with a slice of red velvet cake he nicked from the dessert table before sneaking out undetected. He finds Nora burrowed in the thick sheets of his bed wearing the same Rush band tee he wore earlier in the day, her eyes lifting from the movie on the screen to the green of his eyes.

“Hey you,” she says softly, sitting up taller on his bed so that her back is flushed with his headboard and the tops of her thighs are poking out from underneath his duvet.

“Hi,” Harry responds, toeing off his shoes and walking over to her languidly, “Got you a present.” He drops the takeout container on her lap, grinning when she squeals and dredges her pointer finger through the thick frosting.

“Mmm,” Nora sighs, licking her finger dry as she smirks mischievously at Harry, watching as he undresses mindlessly. He isn’t sure if she’s doing it intentionally or if she’s always been a secret seductress, but when she repeats the action and swirls her tongue along her sticky digit, Harry snatches the box from her lap and slides his arms around her waist, switching their positions effortlessly so that she’s on top of him as he falls easily back onto the mattress.

“Someone’s feeling cheeky,” Harry says against her lips, his nose bumping hers repeatedly as she giggles against his skin.

“Can’t help it. I missed you,” Nora explains, adjusting her knees so that her weight is evenly distributed along his lower half, her backside resting against his front as her hands twist in between the curls along the crown of his head.

“Yeah?” Harry coaxes, his fingertips sneaking underneath his shirt as he plays with the lace material covering the bottom of her underwear.

“Always.” Nora seals her response with a fiery kiss, bringing her lips to his and pressing her entire body against his searing torso. She wonders if it’ll always feel like this—white hot electrical current shooting up her veins, warming her entire body up with just one simple press of his lips to hers.

Once Harry starts nipping at the skin of her lower lip, Nora responds by grinding into his lower half, the thin material of their underwear leaving little to the imagination as they garner enough friction to cause Nora’s knickers to dampen and Harry’s briefs to tighten.

They kiss until they’ve reached their very last breath, and when their lips depart, Harry uses this time to throw his shirt off of Nora’s body, leaving her sitting against his lap in just a nude pair of lacy underwear that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

With his head resting back against his neck, Nora decides to attach her lips to the column of Harry’s throat, causing his entire body to shudder as a carnal moan rips through his throat and settles between them. Her fingers draw a tantalizing path down his chest and abdomen until they’ve settled along his waist, red lines marking the path Nora’s fingernails greedily traced.

Her small palm cups his growing length trapped inside the strained cotton material, rubbing and squeezing as her teeth bite into the sharp cut of his jaw. Harry hands grip the skin of her waist in anticipation, and once Nora’s decided that he’s had enough teasing, she rolls the band of his briefs down, freeing his length in the stifling air of his bedroom.

“Christ,” Harry whispers, his eyes shut tight as he breathes through the feeling of Nora’s bare hands on his newly uncovered skin. She shushes him with gentle kisses, lapping her tongue against his own once he’s finally calmed down a bit more and begun reciprocating her tenacity.

Before he can take control, Nora makes the decision for him as she slides her underwear down her legs, flinging the thin material against his floor. Harry’s eyes snap open as he takes in the sight of her naked against his lap, the moonlight flooding into his bedroom outlining the curve of her body, the shape of her breasts, the valley of her stomach, the stretch of her legs.

No matter how many times Harry’s seen her like this, he never fails to stop and appreciate her. Because he’s taken it for granted too many times in the past, and every time he sees her exposing herself to him in the most vulnerable way there is, he can’t help but feel his heart grow in his chest, hammering against his ribs as he marvels in the fact that Nora Priestley chose him.

“What?” Nora asks shakily, shrinking into herself when she realizes Harry’s been staring at her for a beat longer than necessary.

“Nothing,” Harry admits, bringing a hand up to her face and tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re just beautiful.”

Nora responds with a smile, pressing her lips to his tightly. “I want you like this.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, his hands tightening against her waist as he watches her scoot up higher on his lap so that her core is lined up with his aching length.

Nora nods, her teeth sinking into the plushness of her lower lip as she wraps her arms around his neck. Before he can say another word, she begins teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock, watching the way his eyes widen almost cartoonishly and the vein in his neck starts to pulse.

“Nora, fuck, baby, wait. I need—fuck. Need a condom,” Harry stutters, holding her tightly in his grasp as she hovers over his tip.

“It’s only been me, yeah?” Nora asks, the muscles in her thighs straining as she holds herself in the position over his length.

“What? Why would you ask me that? Of course it’s only you,” Harry says quickly, a look of bewilderment gracing his features.

“Then let’s not use one. I want to feel you like this,” Nora whispers, her hands holding his face tightly so that he has no choice but to stare into the blues of her eyes.

Harry feels his stomach bottom out, constantly amazed at the girl in front of him. “Are you sure? Have you ever done this?” he asks, disquietude lacing his every word.

Nora shakes her head. “Have you?”

“No,” he answers, much to Nora’s surprise. “I haven’t.”

“Well, Harry Styles,” she whispers, rubbing her palms over Harry’s hands that are gripping her waist, signalling that she wants him to loosen his hold, “There’s a first time for everything.”

Harry’s teeth widen at her quip, remembering the way she uttered those same exact words to him three years ago when he was experiencing another first with her. Before he can say anything back, Nora gives him one last kiss before sinking down on his length, causing his brain to forget every single thought rushing through his head other than the fact that he’s inside of her with no barrier between them, and it’s probably the closest he’s ever (and will ever) feel with another person.

They both seem to be in the same headspace, with the way Nora freezes on top of him, her throat pinching when she realizes she can feel every ridge and curve of his length from this position, and it’s only once he asks her his standard question of, “Are you okay?” when Nora starts to lift herself on her knees, before sinking back over him once more.

“Oh my god,” Harry exclaims, wrapping one arm around her lower back and the other gripping harshly at the back of her neck, holding her as tightly and as closely as possible so that he can feel every shudder of her body and every thump of her heart against his own.

Nora angles his head back so that she can crash her lips to his, swallowing his moans as she swivels her hips against his own, feeling his tip bump against the spongy spot inside of her walls that causes her toes to curl. When he expertly hits it for a third continuous time, Nora’s neck falls back as she cries out into the stuffy air.

Harry noses at the clammy skin of her neck before pressing his lips to the spot near her jaw, licking and sucking until she’s whimpering above him. “Feel so fuckin’ good,” Harry whispers against her skin, sinking his teeth deeper into her flesh when he feels her clench around him.

“I’m close,” Nora says through an exasperated breath, weaving her fingers through his long hair until she’s wrapped the strands around her wrist in a makeshift ponytail, pulling just enough to cause Harry to groan against her.

“Fuck, baby. Me too. Do that again,” he instructs, feeling himself lose control when Nora obeys his request.

Nora’s never been on top for this long before, and while her thighs are burning and her lungs are losing air the closer and closer she gets to her release, she’s never had sex feel this good before. The knot inside of her stomach is tightening with every thrust Harry meets her with, and when his right hand sneaks down between them and rubs at her swollen mound, it only takes three rotations until the knot is uncoiled and Nora’s careening towards her end.

She stills on top of him, trembling with the aftershocks as she comes down from the most intense orgasm she’s had yet. Her body doesn’t even feel like her own, with the way she’s vibrating all over and her skin is dampened and her hair is knotted. It’s only once Harry’s pushed her backward, hovering over her as she’s horizontal on his sheets, when the fuzziness finally dissipates from her vision. She’s thankful that she can finally see clearly, because when her blue eyes meet his, she watches as he slips out of her, pumping his length until white ribbons coat the skin underneath her belly button.

They’re both staring at each other with heaving chests and dotted irises, coming down slowly as they realize what had just transpired between them. When Harry finally catches his breath, he whispers, “Shit, I’m sorry I probably should have asked—”

“Shh,” Nora coos, always the one to calm his racing heart and wild thoughts. “It’s okay. That was amazing. You’re amazing. C’mere, please.”

He smiles before crashing his lips to hers, kissing her soft and slow, a thousand words spilling through their lips without their voices ever speaking them. They break away softly so that Harry can grab his discarded shirt from the floor to clean Nora’s stomach, his arm reaching for the article of clothing without getting up so that he can keep her underneath him for as long as humanly possible.

As he dotes on her ever so delicately, Nora’s convinced that he feels the same way. She argues over how to tell him in her head as he wipes at her stomach and in between her thighs, before throwing the shirt into his hamper across the room. She debates the wordage as he wraps his arms around her gently, heaving them up the bed until they’re tangled together underneath his sheets. And just when she’s about to say it, he mumbles against the skin of her neck in his throaty voice, “I wish time could stop and we could stay like this forever. Just you and me.”

Nora freezes. Because suddenly, her heart pangs with the startling realization that she’s leaving London in four days. Moments like these with Harry are dwindling away one by one, and she really needs him to give her a reason to stay.

She needs to hear him say it.

And just as she’s built up the courage to whisper her declaration out into the air, Harry’s soft snores whistle against her neck. So she pushes it down, and waits for another day.

Nora wakes up in the middle of the morning with a nervous knot lodged inside her throat. She’s not even sure what spurred this on—considering she fell asleep tucked underneath Harry’s arm feeling safe and warm, her head lulling against his chest as his sleepy breaths ruffled the brown strands of hair falling against her cheek. But now, at six forty-three in the morning, Nora feels completely unsettled.

Her skin feels hot but she’s shivering for some strange reason, and when she’s reminded of the weight of Harry’s arm wrapped around her waist, she suddenly feels weak under the heaviness of it. She doesn’t feel comfortable, and all at once she feels the urge to get out from under the stifling duvet and get some fresh air.

She sneaks away from Harry’s body, tip-toeing towards his bedroom door with nothing but her cardigan on from the night before. Just as she’s closing the door, Nora makes sure to peek at him one last time, smiling to herself when she watches him flop onto his stomach and clutch the pillow she was just using tighter into his grasp. Nora wonders if he sleeps like this when she’s not with him.

She wonders if he’ll sleep like this when she leaves in three days.

Sighing, Nora makes her way to the sliding door connected to his kitchen, plopping herself down on the brick steps of the tiny porch overlooking his back garden. With her thighs pressed to her chest and her chin resting on the oversized knitted material of her buttoned cardigan over her knees, she despondently watches the blues and oranges and yellows of the early morning sun paint a picture of this piece of London she’s grown to love almost as much as the sleeping boy upstairs.

Nora’s not sure how long she sits out in the cool June air contemplating what the uneasy feeling was that forced her out of bed, but it’s long enough for her to notice the sun rising with the rest of Harry’s neighborhood. Her stomach begins to grumble then, and the thought of making coffee and toast urges her legs to carry her back inside the flat and into the small kitchen.

Just as she’s distractedly buttering her toast, Nora feels two strong arms lock around her waist from behind. She jumps at the feeling of it, even though there’s no other person it could possibly be besides Harry. Nora’s not sure if it’s just a residual effect from this morning, but still, she leans into him when her pulse decides to go back to normal, and she can feel Harry’s nose bumping against the side of her neck.

“You’re up early,” Harry mutters in that raspy morning voice of his that never fails to make Nora’s thighs clench together. There’s just something about him in the mornings.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Nora explains, her teeth ripping a small piece from the corner of her toast before bringing it over her left shoulder for Harry to try.

He hums in appreciation. “Don’t like when you’re not with me when I wake up,” he admits, tightening his arms around her as he swallows so that her backside is fully flushed with his.

“I know,” Nora whispers, the knot suddenly reappearing in her throat without warning. The half-eaten toast in her hand is no longer appetizing to her, and when she places it on a paper towel with trembling fingers, Nora comes to the conclusion that it’s now or never. She needs to tell him—because holding it hostage deep down inside of her is causing her to feel physically ill, and she’d rather face the consequences than always wonder what could be.

Harry notices her switch in demeanor almost instantly, and before Nora can even gather her bearings, he’s spinning her around, one opened palm cupping her jaw with his thumb rubbing her cheekbone delicately while the other tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear as he observes her closely.

“Everything alright?” he asks, nervously watching the way her eyes seem to focus on everything but his own, her hands seem to shake erratically against her sides, her lips seem even darker due to the incessant nibbling she’s done to them throughout the morning, and Harry suddenly wonders if she’s finally caught up to all of his lies.

Nora takes one last breath before bringing her eyes to his own, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Now Harry’s the one that’s panicking.

As if his brain is no longer controlling his body, his hands suddenly disappear from Nora’s face. He takes a tentative step back, leaving a cold space where his warm body was just flushed against her own. Nora watches as his skin turns an uncomfortable shade of pale, and as if they had completely swapped roles, Harry’s now the one who can’t seem to hold her gaze.

“Wait—what?” Harry unnecessarily asks. He mainly utters it as a placeholder, considering he’s let an awkward wave of silence wash over them both with his inability to say anything of importance.

Nora breathes through her nose, concerned. “I said, I think I’m in lo—”

“Why?”

Nora wonders if he’s joking.

“What do you mean, why?” Harry can feel her slowly losing her patience, her arms wrapping around herself slowly, creating a layer of armor that she’s used in the past to protect herself from his callous words.

“I mean—are you sure?”

“Are you serious?”

Sure, Harry knows that he cares for Nora with everything in his being. And sure, a part of him understands that when his heart speeds up and his chest tightens and his cheeks bloom pink whenever he’s around her, it’s all due to his feelings for her.

But even though that all stands true—Harry can’t help but be wary. Because how are you supposed to know how to love somebody when you’ve never properly been loved yourself?

His best times with Nora are always a dream-like trance Harry finds himself reliving over and over again. They’re always short glimpses of time, weeks or months with an expiration date looming over their heads because Harry can only allot himself momentary feelings of bliss and vulnerability before he realizes that his heart has the capacity to break in half if he continues on any further.

While Harry’s heart and mind battle with one another, Nora decides that she’s had enough. There’s only so many minutes she can stand in front of him watching as he silently stares at the linoleum flooring of his kitchen instead of explaining his reasoning to her. It’s only once she feels the pressure of tears welling at her waterline when she ends up slinking around him, gathering the rest of her clothes and belongings in record speed so that she can leave his home before the first tear falls.

Harry’s frozen in place. He’s still staring at the spot Nora once filled, hearing the sounds of her slipping her shoes on by the door and twisting his door knob, but none of it is actually registering in his clogged mind. He’s not sure why—he’s completely and utterly recalibrating the entire inner-workings of his head, body, and heart.

It’s only once he’s heard the navy blue door slam shut when he snaps out of his catatonic state, realizing then and there that even though he hasn’t figured out how to explain his warped outlook on love to her, he still owes it to her to acknowledge her declaration.

But he’s too late—he’s always too late when it comes to Nora Priestley. Because while he’s approached the iron-clad gate wearing just his black briefs, Nora’s already rounded the corner of his street, leaving a flurry of dark brown hair and tears staining the pavement in her path.

Harry knows that his immediate reaction should have been to chase after her, but instead, he decides to grab the first bottle of liquor he could grasp from his bar cart, slinking down onto his couch and bringing it to his lips without an ounce of food in his stomach.

This is where Niall finds him hours later, a nearly-emptied bottle of whiskey at his feet while Harry stares at the black screen of his television with blank eyes, still wearing his briefs from this morning. He’s replayed the conversation so many times in his brain that he can recite Nora’s staggered breathing patterns by heart, and Harry knows that Niall is privy to this because instead of yelling at him, he sneaks off into his bedroom and throws a clean set of clothes at his bare body.

“Up you get, Curly. Time to dilute all that whiskey with some greasy food.”

In hindsight, Niall probably shouldn’t have brought Harry to the pub down the road from his flat. But he couldn’t carry his deadweight any further, and he figured the only place that would be okay with serving somebody who was already drunk was the ancient barman that knows the two by name at this point.

“Where’s that pretty girlfriend you’re attached to?” Said barman asks the moment Harry and Niall fall into the creaky barstools. Before Niall can try and alleviate the situation, Harry’s already ordered a pint of Carlsberg and a shot of Jameson, ignoring Niall’s pleas of trying to urge a burger and chips down his liquor-ladened throat.

He’s rang Nora at least six times now, currently going for a seventh after Niall returned his stolen mobile when Harry refused to put something in his whiskey-sloshed stomach. He obliged, only because he really wanted to get a hold of her and apologize for being an absolute twat. But she’s ignoring him, and he knows deep down that she has every right to, because she trusted him with her feelings and all he did was shut her down in the worst way possible.

Harry’s not sure how Niall agreed to it, but after they’ve closed out and Harry’s capable of standing on his own two feet, they’ve somehow ended up outside of Nora and Piper’s residence hall. Harry knows that Piper has to let Niall in, so in his drunken convoluted mind, he comes up with the plan to sneak past them both and head up the stairs to beg for Nora’s forgiveness.

What he didn’t account for was Piper’s protectiveness over her crying friend upstairs.

“Harry, I can’t let you do that,” Piper says, closing the door a bit so that only her face is poking out from the glass paneling.

“Piper, please. I’ve got—’ve gotta talk to her. ‘S important.” He tries entering the building again but somehow Piper’s much smaller body blocks the entrance, her arms holding the door frame in order to keep Harry out. Niall sighs from behind her, conflicted. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

“Harry, you’re pissed. I can’t—”

“No! Piper, please. I need t’go upstairs. I’ve rang ‘er and texted ‘er and I know—I know her, Piper. Fuck, it’s—” he pauses, breathing in deeply and trying his hardest to straighten out the jumbled thoughts causing his entire body to shake. “It’s Nora. Please.”

Before Piper can close the door on her friend one last time, she feels Niall’s hand on the middle of her back, and she calms almost instantly.

“Let ‘im try, Pipes.”

With a final sigh, she opens the door and Harry sprints up the stairs, nearly tripping over himself as he tries to get to Nora’s door in one piece. He knows he’s drunk, knows he’s probably a mess, knows that she has every right to send him away—but he needs to talk to her or he’ll fucking explode.

He knocks about eight times on the wooden door before Nora appears behind it, eyes puffy and skin pale. Her hair is a knotted mess and her fringe is frizzy and Harry feels his chest crack in half when he realizes that he’s made her cry again.

“Harry—”

“You lov—” he hiccups loudly, causing his words to cut off the moment his body shakes abruptly. He pauses, tries to remember what he was going to say, before starting again, only to fail to pronounce the godforsaken word appropriately. “You lo’ me?”

He knows his mouth can barely utter the word, and his voice comes out a bit more squeaky than he would like, but he can’t help it. That word has always felt foreign coming out of his mouth, and he’s never understood the magnitude of its meaning. Not dead sober, and especially not after drinking the entire pub’s collection of whiskey.

Nora doesn’t say anything, but she does look into his glassy eyes and realizes that it’s from alcohol and not sadness. His hair is somehow knottier than hers and his part is amok, and she knows it’s because he ran his fingers through the tendrils one too many times. His cheeks are flushed, and before she can respond, his mouth is already opening.

“‘Cos I panicked. And ‘m sorry, but it’s just—nobody’s said that t’me before and properly meant it. Like my parents. They don’t lo—. Yeah. They don't. And me, I don’t even think I feel that way about m’self, either. ‘S just—it scares me, and I don’t know how to lo—”

“—No,” Nora says softly, interrupting Harry’s drunken monologue with a sad shake of her head.

Harry blinks once, twice, his blurry eyes trying to focus on her frame as the tears begin to bubble along her waterline. “No?” He’s confused, feels as if his life is completely off-kilter with the short utterance of a simple, two-lettered word.

“I don’t love you like this.”

Harry wonders if Nora can hear his heart begin to rip inside of his chest. “Nora—”

“You can barely even say it! Even when you’re piss drunk, you can hardly say the word love, let alone stick around long enough to hear somebody say it to you!” Her voice echoes through the small hallway of the sixth floor, and Harry stares back at her, flinching with each raise of her voice. “I can’t do this, Harry. I’d rather have you not say it sober than try and spit it out when you’re drunk. I just—I deserve better.”

“Nora please, I—you don’t understand—”

“—No I think I do. Quite clearly, actually.” Before Harry can try to force himself through the door one last time, Nora’s already begun to close it on him. “I think it’s best you go.”

“Nora! Please!” Harry calls out against the heavy wood, but it’s no use. She’s already flicked the lock, already sunk down to the floor with her back resting on the other side of the door, already begun muffling her sobs with trembling hands. And every time Harry bangs on the door with clenched fists and Nora can feel the wood shake, she just clenches her teeth on her bottom lip harder, praying with everything in her that Harry can’t hear her cry.

Harry’s not sure how long he’s stood there pounding on Nora’s door, repeating the word please enough times that it’s somehow lost its meaning. It’s only once he feels Niall’s hand on his back, ushering him out of the hallway and down the stairs, sticking him into the back of a cab when Harry feels the weight of his mistake rest heavy on his shoulders.

The only reason Harry gets any semblance of sleep that night is because he forces himself to swallow back five generous sips of whiskey before collapsing onto his mattress.

When Harry wakes up the next morning, his head isn’t the thing that hurts the most. Somehow, it’s his heart—and even though he’s suffering from the worst hangover he’s had in a very long time, it pales in comparison to the ache resonating through the inside of his chest.

But he can’t feel sorry for himself anymore. Because the longer he sits wallowing in his own self-induced misery, the more Nora drifts away from him. Feeling sorry for himself isn’t going to fix this. He needs to own up to his mistakes, find Nora, and beg for her forgiveness—because even though he doesn’t deserve her, he can’t make her feel horrible anymore.

Just as he’s rummaging through his wardrobe trying to find the cleanest shirt he owns, he hears his mobile ring for the third time that morning. When he looks over at the screen he realizes that it’s his father again, and although they aren’t very close, seeing him try to reach him a handful of times is enough to be worrisome. And just as he’s about to slip his shoes on, his father rings again. Harry begrudgingly answers, wondering what the hell is going on.

“Good to see you know how to answer your mobile,” his father says instead of a normal greeting, his voice filled with sarcasm. Harry almost hangs up the phone on him, his head filled with much more important things than dealing with another ribbing before noon.

“What’s going on? Did someone die?” Harry asks, flying down the staircase in order to locate his trainers that he remembered throwing across the floor in his drunken stupor last night.

“Very funny,” his father retorts, the sound of an unamused chuckle floating through the receiver. “Surprised you haven’t seen it yet.”

“Seen what?” Harry asks, tying the final lace as he begins the search to locate his wallet and keys.

“Page Six. Lovely spread of you and Jacqueline leaving the work event from two evenings ago. That’ll definitely make for some good press surrounding our merger with the Van-Doren’s. Well done, son.”

Harry didn’t think it was possible to feel worse, but somehow, after hearing his father congratulate him for being photographed with the girl he’s been trying painfully hard to set him up with, Harry feels as if everything around him is falling apart.

He doesn’t even respond to his father. Instead, he hangs up the call, typing his name in the Google image search bar. Sure enough, a picture of him and Jacqueline standing close enough to each other for it to be a story is covering his screen. Harry’s never felt more enraged, because he suddenly realizes that if his father has seen it, then Nora definitely has as well.

This can’t be happening to him.

She leaves tomorrow. He can’t let her go like this, not when he wants her to stay. Not when the words are practically at the tip of his tongue, ready to be shouted out into the sky. He’s ready to tell her.

He needs to tell her.

But before he can walk down his front steps and through the iron-clad gate, Niall is standing there blocking his path, a sullen look covering his face.

“Mate, she’s gone.”

*** A/N: I’m sorry times infinity. I know it must seem like I’m torturing you, but I promise I’m not! Everything will make sense in time, even though it’s a bit painful to read. My inbox is open for all complaints/theories/ill-wishes.

Sadly, the time has come that I no longer have completed chapters already written. I've tried to keep up, but real life got in the way. I have like barely half of the next part written, so I’m not entirely positive if it will be posted next Friday. I want to give you guys the best I can offer, and if it feels rushed I know it’ll be quite disappointing! I’m aiming to have it up by Friday, but if it isn't, I will surely keep you posted. Thanks again for sticking with me and this story, please be kind to each other and I’ll see you (hopefully) in one week!

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#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x ofc #1dff #1dffupdates #updates #fic: fade

[xtodorcki]

Connie smut??

“Unexpected,” Connie x Reader

Pls I’m so scared of not writing Connie right.

Summary: Connie ends up ghosting you as the Scout regiment gets more busy so you unexpectedly join the Scouts, making him regret his actions.

Warnings: a bit sad that turns into smut pls

Connie x Fem!Reader

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It was unexpected when Connie had stopped sending you letters or coming by your place during the weekends when he wasn’t working.

But as the scouts had gotten busier, you heard less from him and soon enough he disappeared as a whole. There were times when you would go over to the base to see if he was okay just to be told by his friends that he was ‘busy’ and couldn’t come to the door to talk to you.

After that you had a brief moment of feeling broken and sad. The chemistry you two shared was something you cherished deeply and held it close to your heart. You two were always close before he went off to the training corps and after he was done with that, he had admitted his feelings for you and wanted to move forward and you accepted.

He always knew how to make you laugh and make you happy. He knew you better than anyone and he also cared about you more than anything. He didn’t mean to ghost you but he just felt like it was better for you so you didn’t get hurt.

He didn’t want you worrying or wonder if he’ll make it back alive. He felt like you deserved better than him and he wanted to let you live happily even if that meant him ghosting you.

You thought he was a complete idiot. You knew about him always making dumb decisions without thinking them through and always doing something reckless so him ghosting you didn’t break you down heavily but it did hurt.

After some time, you had started to miss him to the point where his habits had passed on to you, making you be reckless and make that last minute decision to join the scouts.

Of course it wasn’t easy, it took time but you managed and you were a lot stronger than what people see you as.

Once you had managed to make it into the scouts, it wasn’t long until you were noticed by the top tier scouts, such as Levi and Hange.

When Connie’s eyes seen you the first day you came, being shown around and talked to by Hange, his heart had gone up to his throat. The way you still looked so beautiful, it had caught him completely by surprise. He was speechless.

Throughout the whole day he watched you train, watched you show your training skills to the scouts and impressed nearly everyone. He was so stunned, he couldn’t stop watching you and he started to regret leaving you behind all alone.

He loved you, of course he loved you way too much. You were a beautiful prize in his eyes, he was always grateful and appreciative to have someone like you.

Fuck, he missed you so much and just looking at you right now- he had to hold himself back from running up to you and hugging you, kissing you and so much more.

It didn’t take him long to finally get you alone, grabbing your arm and shoving you inside his bedroom on the base and closed the door behind him, he wasn’t utterly mad but he was shocked and upset you risked joining the scouts.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice quiet as his large eyes searched yours.

“Uhh, you mean what I’m doing at my own job?” You said in a confused tone and he shook his head.

“You know what I mean, Y/N.”

“Riiight, let me ask a better question. Why did you ghost me?” You abruptly said and it made a sad expesssion come across his face.

“It wasnt on purpose, I just- I felt like you were better off.” Connie simply shrugged and you stared at him like he was an idiot.

“Don’t tell me shit about what you thought was better for me. You were better for me, Connie.” You stared at him, growing irritated but you couldn’t stay mad at him.

You leaned over and gently punched his arm playfully, trying to hit some sense into him. You wanted to punch him in the face, you wanted to hurt him and make him feel the pain you felt when he left you with no answers but seeing his face had made your knees grow weak and you had no control of your sudden actions.

You were quick to cup his cheeks and smash your lips onto his, catching him off guard as his back hit the wall behind him but he didn’t hesitate to move his lips with yours, his hands reaching down to wrap around your waist.

You both had missed each other so much it was lingering off the both of you and into the air as the tension grew thick. Your heart had fluttered from the soft touch of his lips on yours, making you realize just how much you still love him.

Connie felt the exact same, seeing your face had brought so many memories back for him. From when you were kids to now, everything had flashed before his eyes and his love for you had blossomed once again, making him realize just how much of an idiot he was for disappearing on you.

You were the best thing to happen to him, you pushed him forward and encouraged him, wanting him to strive to be the best version of himself. You were one of a kind and he hated how he left you so suddenly and never gave it a second thought. You were worth more than that.

His heart had pounded inside of his chest, it felt like it was going to explode with happiness but also sadness from the lingering guilt he felt for hurting you. He didn’t deserve to have you here kissing him but he didn’t want to push away, he didn’t want you to slip away again.

He took the opportunity to lead you towards his bed, sitting down on the edge and instantly pulling you down on his lap with his hands, not wasting anymore time- afraid it’ll be ripped away. You were breathless against his lips, the soft touches and the way his tongue had slipped into your mouth- you had instantly melted against him.

He was your safe haven, he was your home, he was everything you needed and more.

Your small hands had moved down, wrapping your arms around his neck as your chests press against one another and soft hums left your lips before you ended up pulling back to catch some of your breath, your eyes connecting with his and you could see the hint of sparkle in them, making your heart flutter.

“I missed you so much, you have no idea.” Connie spoke up first, one of his hands cupping your cheek and the other rested on your hip as he stroked his thumb over your skin.

“I’m sorry.” He said again, the guilt weighing on him heavily and he hoped you would forgive him, maybe go back to the way things were before.

You shook your head, shushing him as your fingertips traced along his skin on the back of his neck. The sudden reminder of him ghosting you entered your mind but the way he apologized and looked genuine and looked upset with what he had done- it somewhat made your heart flutter.

Your lips landed on his again, trailing your hands down his chest and reached down to grab the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head and connected eyes with him. He was in awe, watching your movements and letting you take his shirt off before finally taking some control and tugging the uniform off your body.

He didn’t even let you do anything else but wrap your arms back around him as he left you half naked on his lap. His tongue running over his dry lips, his eyes scanning over your body and leaned over to pepper kisses down to your neck, leaving wet sloppy kisses down to your chest.

Reaching around, he was quick to unclip your bra and let it slide off your arms and onto the floor. His rough hands had replaced your bra and cupped your breasts gently, giving them a firm squeeze while sucking bruises on your soft skin, making soft breaths leave your parted lips.

“Connie,” The way his name slipped effortlessly from your lips had made a sudden switch in him flip.

The sudden feeling of what was happening and how your voice had brought him back to reality, making him realize just how badly he had fucked up and how much he missed you. It was all clouding inside of his head, almost making him lightheaded.

His soft eyes looked up at your face, his heart pounding inside of his chest and his hands slowly slipped down to grab a firm grip of your hips, almost tugging you closer to him even though you were already pretty close. He planted one kiss on your jawline, his fingertips brushing along your skin and grabbing the hem of your underwear.

The sudden actions of him moving to where you were laying down on his bed, his body hovering over yours and his fingers tugging the waistband before sliding your underwear down your legs painfully slow. He never usually took his time when in bed with you, not that it was always rushed- he just never fully got a chance to be able to have his way with you for hours because of the Scouts.

But this time was different, he couldn’t care less about his duties or what he was supposed to be doing right now, all he wanted was you and to let you know that his full attention was on you, no matter if this lasted minutes or hours.

His rough hands had grabbed a hold of your legs, spreading them apart in front of him and he couldn’t help but hum to himself, his eyes devouring every inch of your body and it had made your skin grow quite hot in seconds, the nerves kicking in and making you feel shy all over again.

But Connie didn’t care to notice, he was in awe of you and he finally leaned down, planting sloppy wet kisses up your leg and to your inner thigh. He had playfully sunk his teeth in your skin, leaving a nasty bruise and then trailing up to leave a few more. He wanted to make sure you were reminded of who you belong to.

You couldn’t even think straight, your mind clouded and the only thoughts you had were set on him. Your small hands had reached down and landed on the back of his head, there wasn’t much to grab but you insisted on trying to pull his head up to where you needed him the most, feeling him laugh against your thigh.

“Stop being so needy or else I’ll tease you all night.” He suddenly said, his eyes meeting yours and suddenly a lump had formed inside of your throat.

“Got it?” He asked, his fingertips digging into your thighs and you slowly nodded your head but the way he squeezed your thighs tighter, it made a soft noise slip from your lips.

“Got it, sorry.” You managed to mumble out and that satisfied him enough to continue his previous actions, making you almost whine.

“Good girl.”

The change in his behavior and the actions he’s never really done in bed before was all a new experience to you but you couldn’t complain, it was actually making you more wet as time went on and he knew that, that’s why he was going so damn slow but he also wanted to admire you like the gem you are.

Once he was high enough, still kissing the very top of your inner thigh, you could feel his breath hitting your core and it made you squirm beneath him, wanting to shut your legs but the firm grip he had on them, it was nearly impossible to try to pry them shut.

The way your skin felt like it was boiling hot, everything he was doing to you was making you all hot and bothered. He could tell just how bad you were aching just by the look of you but he played it off as if he wasn’t paying much attention to your whines and squirming body, instead he wanted to make this worth every second.

“Connie..” You said his name again, his big eyes meeting yours while he gave a firm squeeze of your upper thighs, smirking at you.

“Hm?” He was teasing you beyond what he has done before, making you all that impatient and needy, you were a complete mess and he knew that.

“C’mon, quit teasing.” You barely managed to stutter out considering how slow his hands were rubbing your thighs just below where you wanted his fingers to touch you most. He was driving you crazy.

“Teasing?” He tried to play it off, his smirk only growing wider and suddenly his fingers were hovering over your clit, gently brushing his fingers over it before firmly pressing them down and rubbed in a painfully slow motion.

You couldn’t even open your mouth to say anything else, you threw your head back against the mattress and kept your tight grip on his head as his fingers teased you, his eyes burning into your face as he watched. The way your face mixed with pleasure and your mouth parted open, a soft moan slipping out- it all made him hungry but he held himself back, this was about you.

“I’m going to make you beg for it all night.” His words were low but enough to make you buck your hips up into his hand and that had made him push them back down with his free hand.

He was going to make sure this lasted and have you a complete mess afterwards, no matter how many rounds it’ll take.

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was going to finish this but it’s pretty long enough, if anyone wants the rest then lmkkkk and I’ll make a part 2 <3

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* also sorry for last nights status of me being sad and unmotivated. It’s been a long few days and I just got too much in my head about whether or not my writings are good enough to be posted. Thank you to the ppl who messaged me or sent me kind stuff in my inbox, it’s highly appreciated and I’m forever grateful for every single one of you <33 all love

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[peterbarnes]

Past Love

Summary: Set somewhat during TFAWTS time, but doesn’t address the plot. Y/N and Bucky talk about his relationship with Steve months after he goes back to the 50s.

Warnings: heartbreak galore, angst but also fluff, sad!bucky

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: my first fic in a few years, let me know what you think in the comments

“Baby, I’m home!” Y/N calls into her apartment as she closes the wooden door behind her. She makes her way over to the kitchen counter a few feet away, dropping the house keys she holds onto the marble.

She looks around the room, furrowing her eyebrows at the absence of her boyfriend. She usually comes home to a “hi, dollface” from Bucky, as he cups her soft cheeks into his rough hands and smothers her with kisses.

Instead, she’s greeted with silence all except for faded labored breaths. She steps deeper into the apartment, towards her bedroom, and the sound gets louder. Curious, but still cautious, Y/N reaches her bedroom door, the floorboards creaking under her. At that sound, the breaths stop and the air stills.

She pushes the door open carefully to find Bucky at the foot of their shared bed, head in his hands as his fingers grip his dark locks with a fierce tightness. Y/N lets out a sigh of relief now knowing that the noise was just Bucky, but quickly rushes over to him.

“Buck? Lovie?” She whispers as she crouches in front of him. She gently removes his fingers from his hair before he can pull it out. With his hands out of the way, she can finally see his face. His default expression is a frown, with his startling cerulean eyes always seeming haunted, but this time was different. There was none of the anger or guilt that his expressions usually wore, just an intense sadness that startled Y/N to her core.

“What happened?” She asked softly.

Bucky shakes his head before lowering his eyes to the floor, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Sweetheart…” She lifts his chin, rubbing her thumb along his rough and stubbly skin. Now she can really see the tears in his eyes as he desperately tries to hold them back. But it doesn’t work and soon they come flowing down his cheeks. He could fill rivers with the amount of tears he’s cried over the past century.

“Sorry, I-I just-“ his voice broke before he could finish the sentence. So instead he pointed to a worn brown leather book that sat on the bedside table. Y/N recognized it as one of Bucky’s many photo albums from the 40s. She walked over the table and carefully picked up before taking a seat next to her boyfriend on the bed.

“Do you miss it, is that what upsets you? Kind of like being homesick?” She says as she flips through the book. There were pages upon pages of photos of Bucky. And in each and everyone one, he was smiling. Really smiling. She wished she could reach into them and tell his past self to be strong, to be brave for everything he’d have to face soon. The thought nearly ripped her heart in two, so she couldn’t imagine how Bucky must’ve felt seeing these again. She tried to interpret his pain, but at the end of the day there was so much of it and it was so specific to his experiences that she felt like a fool for even trying.

“I miss him.”

There it was. The weight Bucky carried on his shoulders every day. The fact that his best friend abandoned him for another life- a life far away from him. Y/N placed the book beside her and wrapped her arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I know. I know how much you cared about him, he was your best friend.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched up the rest of his face, making it more tense than it already was. He did this a lot in social settings, she noticed, when he was uncomfortable with the direction of a conversation. So she pressed her fingers lightly against his forehead, trying to smooth out the stress lines.

“What is it?” She says gently. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I want to help you.”

Bucky’s eyes are trained on his fingers as they fidget on his lap. “I-I’ve been talking with Dr. Raynor. She thinks that I, maybe, had some romantic feelings for him.”

He draws out the last part slowly in a soft, broken voice before dragging his eyes up to meet hers. He’s afraid of what might meet him- rejection, disgust, shame. He’s no stranger to those type of expressions, he gets them all the time. But not from Y/N, instead she wears a soft smile.

“And how do you feel about it?”

“I...I think she’s right.”

Y/N nods before taking his hands in hers and signaling for him to continue.

“I didn’t enlist like everyone thinks I did- I was drafted. I was gonna stay home with Steve, because he couldn’t go. No matter how much I wanted to be like my father and join the army, I couldn’t leave him behind. It was like I couldn’t even imagine being separated from him.”

Bucky spoke fast, as if he’d been holding this all back for so long and was ready to just burst at the seams.

“And when I was...him, I would have flashbacks to my old life. I didn’t know what they meant, I thought they were dreams, but they were always of him. Of his smile or something kind he did for a stranger. I don’t remember the details, just-just the feeling I got from it. It wasn’t that different from how I feel about you now. He was the only one who could bring me back. Make me Bucky again..” He took a brief pause. “And he left. Because he loved another woman the same way I loved him.”

Suddenly all that relief Bucky initially had at getting all of these thoughts off his chest faded as he realized the weight of his words.

“I loved him...and he left me.”

Y/N never knew Steve Rogers, she met Bucky after he had already left. And, sure, she saw him on TV like everybody else in the world. He was Captain America, she was supposed to love him and idolize him, but in that moment she never wanted to throttle someone more.

Y/N hates that Bucky is in such pain all the time, and she would do anything to take away even the smallest amount of it. So to know that someone willingly chose to add to it, even if it wasn’t their intention filled her with a protective rage she didn’t know she possessed.

But she couldn’t act on that. Steve was gone and Bucky didn’t need her anger, he needed her comfort. So she tightened her arms around him, allowing him to bury his head into the crook of her neck and grip onto her for dear life.

“There’s nothing worse than heartbreak- I’ve had my fair share of it before I met you. The thought of someone not choosing you is the worst feeling in the world. But you can’t let that shut you down.” She slowly lifted his head from her neck so she could look him in the eyes. “There are other people that love you, and we will always choose you first. Me, Sam, hell, even Torres loves you even though you scare the shit out of him.”

Bucky chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he rubbed the tears from his eyes.

“I know I could never replace Steve, and I don’t want to. What you and him had can never be replicated. But I swear I will show you every goddamn day how loved and cherished you are. You deserve all the happiness in the world, Bucky, I love you.”

The tears started to flow from his eyes again, but this time it wasn’t out of longing or sadness. It was out of a love that was so all-consuming Bucky didn’t even know how to process it.

“You know, Dr. Raynor said she thought I was still in love with him. And, I’ll always love him, of course I will. But I’m not in love with him. Not the way I am with you, doll”

His rare but infectious smile lit up his face and Y/N couldn’t help but mirror it before pressing tiny kisses to his cheeks, wiping his dried tears away.

“I think I’m gonna be okay,” Bucky states.

His voice doesn’t waver, instead it stands firm and holds a confidence reminiscent of a side of him he thought was long lost. And for the first time in decades, Bucky really believes it. With Y/N by his side, he’s going to be just fine.

#stucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #Sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter solider x reader #FATWS #winter soldier #sam wilson #sambucky #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #falcon #falcon and the winter soldier #anthony mackie #marvel #mcu #disney plus #loki #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #wandavision #loki x reader #loki layfeyson x reader #marvel comics #phase 4

[arvandus]

Prompt 1 for Dabi either fluff or angst your choice

Oh look, my biggest one yet at 1629 words.  But it’s Dabi, and we all know how I feel about that man... and I’ve decided to write *angst*, because... well... I like to hurt myself apparently.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, in an “ouch” sort of way... ___________________________________________________

#1. “It’s you, it always has been.”

The first time you met Touya, at six years old, you’d been drawn to him instantly. He was happy, outgoing, and bold, talking about his big hero dreams and worshipping his father.  You had listened with eager ears, reliving tales of his father’s heroics with him, and joining in with dreams of your own. Youthfulness was simple like that, eager to give adoration in search of guidance. That’s how your friendship started.  Young. Innocent. 

Happy.

As time passed, you both grew older and your friendship grew as well.  Maybe it was all the time you spent together, the walks home, the shared lunches.  Or maybe it was just the inevitable development of youth.  But you began to see him differently, your heart racing each time he looked into your eyes, your body wanting to be closer to him.  It was innocent in its genuineness, a simple desire to hold him close, to cherish all of the little moments. 

But he changed too.  He grew more quiet, more distant… you were sure it was his family life. He’d only talked to you about it once or twice.  But you never pressed him about it, and eventually he fell silent. 

You had held out hope though.  After all, he still walked you home every day. He still spent time with you during lunch, the two of you finding the quiet places to be together.  And he still listened.

It all had to count for something, right?  So, you’d decided.  You’d tell him.  And if it worked out the way you hoped it would… maybe he’d smile again. 

But each time you tried to say the words, they could never leave your mouth. It frustrated you, feeling trapped by your own fear as you watched him pull further and further away from you.

Finally, one day, you’d decided.  Today was the day.  You were going to do it.  You sat behind him in class, his white hair perched on hunched shoulders.  Nervously you took a strip of paper from your notebook and scribbled a quick note over it.  

Dear Touya, 

We’ve been friends for a long time.  I want you to know that I really like you. Like, more than a friend. 

You stared at the words on the paper, before deciding to add more. 

Do you like me?

Yes  or No (circle one) 

You handed it to him when the teacher’s back was turned, and he took it deftly from your hand. Your ears were ringing, your heart pounding.  You felt stupid.  It was so lame, but in a moment of panic, it was the best you could do.

You watched as his fingers opened the paper and read its contents.  You waited, a snake of anxiety coiling itself in your gut.

‘Please…’ you had thought.  ‘please answer me…’ 

But he never did.  Instead, he tucked the note into his pocket. 

That was the first day he didn’t walk you home. 

It was pouring rain outside, the sky dark and heavy with low clouds blanketing the city.  It suffocated you.  You hated this weather.  It always made the memories stronger, more powerful.    A gust of wind rattled your closed windows, and you stood up to close your curtains against it but halted, your movements frozen.

There.  Across the street, stood a hooded figure. His hoodie kept his face in shadow, but you’d recognize his lean form anywhere, familiar dark messy hair peaking out from the cotton that did little to protect him from the downpour.

“Touya…?” you muttered.

It’d been a long time since he’d last shown up in your life.  The last time you’d seen him was unintentional… you’d recognized him, even with his dyed hair and purple burn scars and had chased him down.  He’d brushed you off, harsh words stabbing at your soul, shattering your euphoria at realizing your childhood friend was still alive.  You’d learned quickly in that moment that he wasn’t that nice boy anymore, and he had wanted nothing to do with you.  It had almost broken you.

Almost.

But now here he was, standing outside your home as if you owed him something.  Your clenched your jaw in anger, even as you abandoned your window to grab your raincoat and umbrella.

You came out of your front door just in time to see him disappear down a residential alleyway halfway down the block.  You cursed under your breath and ran to catch up to him, your boots splashing puddles onto your pants.

As soon as you turned the corner, his voice greeted you.

“You really shouldn’t follow strangers into alleyways.” He scolded mockingly.

There he stood, leaning against the wall with his hands buried deep in his pockets.  He looked worse than the last time you saw him, the scars darker than before, his stitches pulling morbidly at his skin.  His eyes still held that electric blue in them, sizzling with life, but there was something off about them... a detachment you couldn’t place.  It terrified you.

“You’re not a stranger.” You replied.

“You sure about that?” he asked.

“What do you want, Touya?” You demanded, your hands clutching your umbrella. The cold was starting to soak in, making your fingers ache.

“Don’t call me that.” he retorted.  “I’m Dabi now, remember?”

“You can call yourself whatever you want, but I know who you really are.” You shot back.  You weren’t in the mood for this.

His stared at you for a moment, measuring your resolve, before he averted his eyes, his cocky bravado momentarily muted. He stared down at his boots in silence, a furrow on his brow. For the first time, he looked like himself, black hair and scars be damned.

“I have a big job coming up. It’s the one I’ve been waiting for… probably the biggest one I’ll ever do.” He started.

You shifted uncomfortably. “Why are you telling me this?  I haven’t seen you for years and now you just show up-”

His words cut you off. “Would you just shut up and listen?”

Anger flared your nostrils, your jaw clenched shut.  The gall…

“I might not be able to come back for a while.” He continued. 

That got your attention.  A deep sense of dread filled you from your soggy boots up to your furrowed brow.

“What do you mean?” you asked warily.  Please…. Don’t… 

“I don’t want you to look for me anymore, you got that?” he ordered.

How did he know? How long had he been watching you?

“There’s something else…” he said. “I got something for you.  But… you have to close your eyes.”

He was bringing you gifts now?  The dread sunk its teeth deeper.

“Why?” you asked hesitantly.

“Just do it.” He said softly.  Something about his tone made you obey.  It wasn’t Dabi asking… it was Touya.

You held your breath and closed your eyes as he took a step forward to close the space between you. You felt his rough, warm hand take yours and slip a something into it.  Before you could open your eyes to see what he’d given you, you felt his hand cradle your face as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.  You leaned into it instinctually, eyes still closed, an odd sense of relief falling over you as your heart focused on this single, precious, surreal moment.

“It’s you.” He whispered against your skin.  “It always has been.”  The words were enigmatic, yet they filled your heart with sunlight, rays of warmth trapped under water.  You held onto them like precious, fragile, glass.

Touya pulled away from you and the cold rushed in to take his place, heartache replacing relief.  The loud sound of rushing air rumbled in your ears, but by the time you opened your eyes, the noise – and Touya – were gone.

“T-Touya…” you whispered, as a tear slipped down your cheek.  Only empty silence answered you back, the alleyway forlorn and abandoned.

You opened your palm to see a thin, folded envelope in your hand.  A gust of wet wind nearly tore it from your fingers, so you clutched it tight and shoved it into your pocket.  The clouds seemed darker, the rain felt colder… and an empty longing settled itself in your bones like poison.  With a final glance over your shoulder, you returned to your house, your heart heavy.

As soon as you left your rainy items by the door and settled yourself into your room, you pulled the envelop from your pocket.  You stared at it with shaky hands.  The outside was blank, a worn crease down the middle as if it’d been opened and folded repeatedly.  It was thin, and you couldn’t help but wonder about its contents. Slowly, you forced yourself to open it.  Your fingers pulled out an old, folded piece of notebook paper.  It was frayed on the edges, the creases of its folds worn so thin that you were afraid it’d fall apart in your hands.  Old, dirty fingerprints littered its weathered texture, the paper yellowed with age.  Your heart began to pound heavy in your chest like the pulsing of a dying star.  Recognition began to dawn on you.  Had he really kept it?  You were so certain that he’d thrown it away…

You opened the paper gently and a sob immediately ripped itself your throat.

There your words sat, old and childish.  But at the bottom, a single black circle surrounded the one answer you had been hoping for. It was the reason you’d never given up on him, never stopped looking for him.

You finally understood, as tears streaked down your face, your lungs aching as you gasped for air around your bawling.  This was his last confession.  This was his goodbye.

Touya was gone.  And he wasn’t coming back.

#Arv's 500 Followers Event #dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x you #dabi x reader #touya x reader #touya x you #dabi angst #touya angst #bnha #mha

[axwalker]

Bad Timing: Only For Tonight

Book: The Royal Romance (AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x Alexis O’Brien (MC)

Synopsis: Alexis O’Brien is escaping a terrible past. After months of running  she settles  in Cordonia where she meets Drake at the bar where she works and they spend a passionate night together.

What happens when a one-night-stand turns into unexpected parenthood?

This chapter: Drake and Alexis spend the night together. What happens after? 

MASTERLIST HERE

WORDS: 1998

POV: Dual

TRIGGER WARNINGS:  Explicit Sex 🍋🍋🍋. Mentions of domestic violence.

ALL MY FICS ARE +18

A/N: I apologize for any grammatical errors.

I’m participating in the Wacky Drables prompts  

This is Prompt #87: No offense, but I'm not interested (Bold)

@wackydrabbles​

Thank you to @burnsoslow​ for beta reading! I love you ❤️❤️

Please if you want to be added or removed from the tag-list, do not hesitate to ask.

@mskaneko​ @burnsoslow​ @texaskitten30​ @glaimtruelovealways​ @kingliam2019​ @kat-tia801​ @no-one-u-know​ @marshmallowsandfire​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​ @princessleac1​ @rubiwalker​ @lovingchoices14​ @randomstuffdorme​ @artisticgirl44 @bebepac​ @tinkie1973​ @gkittylove99​ @moneyfordiamonds​ @forallthatitsworth​ @mom2000aggie​ @twinkle-320​ @nomadics-stuff​ @thegreentwin​ @twinkleallnight​

ALEXIS

"Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you," Drake whispers in my ear.

"I want you, Drake."

"I should probably warn you," he says to me, placing feather kisses down my jaw, his stubble grazing my skin, "that I can be very bossy."

His baritone voice sends a shiver through my body.

"Don't worry about me, Walker. I can take it."

Drake smirks, and I yelp when he scoops me up into his arms and carries me inside his apartment. He sits me on the couch and suddenly drops to his knees, his hands running up my bare legs and parting them. He looks up at me as his thumbs slide over my inner thighs, brushing over the delicate skin, pushing my dress up higher and higher. His expression is wild with desire. I raise my hips slightly as he pushes the dress up, so it's bunched around my waist, and he slowly runs his finger over the top of my underwear, from the waistband all the way over the mound and down between my legs.

"I've wondered all night what you taste like," he murmurs, sliding his finger back up, pressing in at my clit. His hands firmly grip my hips; He lowers his head, pulls me toward his face, and I feel his wet mouth pressing against me, the thin barrier of my panties muffling the sensation just enough to drive me wild. I suck in my breath, my fingers going into his hair, while he runs his tongue over my clit, the pressure causing me to jerk my hips toward him.

"I've had enough teasing," he says, the vibrations spreading through me.

He pulls his face back for just a moment, long enough to slide my underwear down over my thighs until they're off me, then he's pushing my legs wide again, his mouth going in for the kill. Every worry, every horrible memory inside me gets lost with the wet sweep of his tongue. My mouth falls open. My God. He knows what he's doing. My thighs are already trembling. His mouth is so warm, so strong. He kisses me there like he kisses my lips, soft and gentle, then quick and wild, sliding up around my clit, then down inside me with a grunt. I can't contain my cry. It tears out of me, driven by the need for him to be deeper.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now," he whispers into me.

I'm exploding, wet, warm, pure fucking bliss. My hips jerk into his mouth as I spasm, my thighs gripping the side of his face, his stubble so beautifully rough.

He stands up and takes off his shirt; my mouth waters, and he kicks off his shoes, bends down to take off his socks. Takes a step toward me. My eyes follow his hands as they undo his belt and then the zipper of his jeans. And then his jeans and boxer briefs drop to his ankles. Holy fuck, he's hot. Ripped and manly. Huge. I've never been with someone like him.

With trembling fingers, I take off my dress and bra as he inspects every square inch of my body, making me feel incredibly vulnerable.

"Jesus." He steps forward and trails his fingers up and down my bare arms. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he says, kissing my shoulders, my breasts.

He pushes a book off of the couch and then turns me around, placing his hand between my shoulders and shoving me down, so I'm on the couch on my knees.

"Hands up, against the wall," he says from behind me, his voice extra rough, almost feral. I've never been so excited before. I put my hands up so they're pressing against the wall, just as his hand curls around the small of my waist. His touch is electric, especially over my hyper-sensitive skin.

"Spread your legs for me, beautiful," he groans, and I hear his teeth opening the condom wrapper.

"I'll fuck you for hours," he murmurs, mouth now at my ear. His voice is rough with need. "I'll make you come over and over until you can't walk, can't talk, can't see anything but stars. But right now, I need to come inside you. And I'm going to do it fast and hard. Get that, Lexie?"

I nod, trying to swallow.  

"Good girl," he says, straightening up. He caresses my ass and slams himself into me. All the air is pushed from my lungs, and I bend a little more, trying to accommodate his size. His cock is in so deep I'm not sure where I end, and he begins. Then he starts working me, his fingers pressing so hard into my side that I think he's leaving bruises, holding me steady as he fucks me hard. There isn't anything in the world but this. He grinds into me, over and over, his hips jerking against my skin. His frantic thrusting is measured, his hips circling just enough to slide against every part of me—faster, harder, deeper.

"Fuck. Fuck, Lexie. This is ..." He doesn't finish his sentence. His grip tightens around my waist. I feel him everywhere, like he's filling me up in every way.

"So wet … so tight, baby." Just then, his cock hits the right spot until I catch fire and burn inside out. I've never felt this before. This pleasure, this passion.

"Right there. Don't stop!"

"Not even close to stopping," he grunts. He thrusts even deeper, watching my back arch into him with overwhelming pleasure.

It's a curious thing to have a one-night stand with a stranger. You've known each other for only a few hours, and then you decide to share something that leaves you so vulnerable. When I turn my neck and stare into Drake's deliciously wicked deep-brown eyes, there's a sort of freedom I've never enjoyed in bed before. He makes me feel safe and powerful.  

Then as he starts to tense, his breath becoming hoarse, a drop of sweat falling from his face and onto my neck, he slides his hand over the front of my skirt and below, finding my clit. A rub from his thumb is all I need to come, and it's not just the intensity of the orgasm that rips through me, causing my body to spasm and shake. It's the intensity of us. Of Drake, as he groans into my shoulder with one final thrust, his cock twitching.

Several positions and many orgasms later, we fall together into his bed, exhausted. True to his word, Drake took his time with me after the first time. Going slow, kissing every inch of my skin.

He gets up from the bed to throw away our last condom; I contemplate leaving. I don't know how to behave, it's the first time I’ve had a one-night stand, and I don't want to act clingy or emotional.  

"How are you feeling, Lex?" he murmurs when he comes back before he kisses me, long, deep and sweet. And just like that, every worry I have is gone. I melt into his touch, into his arms, and I never want him to let me go.

Which is a fucking problem because I can't stay.

He scoops me against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around me. He peppers kisses all over my shoulders, my neck, my back. I let my eyes drift closed just for a second and fall asleep.  

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Warmth engulfs me, every inch of my body is warm, and I nuzzle into the pillow deeper, wanting to stay like this forever. It's been a long time since I've had a decent night's sleep in a comfortable bed. However, as soon as I notice the room's complete darkness, my eyes pop open, and I start to panic, trying to remember where I am and how I got here.

There's a weight over me, and I feel suffocated. I force myself to take a deep breath, and I realize that I'm safe. I'm in Cordonia, thousands of miles away from him. Slowly, yesterday's events come back to my mind, and I realize my head isn't lying on a pillow but a firm, ripped chest. I glance up at the sleeping man I shared last night with and take in his harsh but beautiful features.

Drake's sleeping peacefully. His arm is still around my waist, holding me almost protectively. For a second, my heart flutters, and I allow myself to dream. What if I had met Drake instead of Matt? Even after only one night, I can tell what kind of man Drake is -- manly, confident, protective. I feel safe, cherished. But it can't be. Not now, or ever.

Gently, I untangle myself from Drake's arms. I gather up my dress and shoes and creep toward the living room. I order an Uber, and three minutes later, my phone pings with a notification that the Uber is here just as I reach the front door. I quietly open it, tiptoe out, and glance back at the house.

A deep sorrow overcomes me because I know that I will never be the same again after tonight.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DRAKE

It's been three days since I last saw Alexis. I figured I'd feel differently in a few days. I'd forget the sweet taste of her lips, her delicate cherry scent, the sound of her laugh on my ears. Never did I think I'd still be replaying our conversations, jerking off every night to the vision of her body moving against mine. Fuck. Me.

Finally, I decide to go to the bar where we met. Despite the way she left --in the middle of the night without saying goodbye-- I don't want to ignore the crazy chemistry between us. I'm not an arrogant jerk; I know when a woman comes undone in my arms. And the way Lexie responded to me? It was fucking explosive.

"Why are we here? Li's dinner is tonight," Leo protests. I picked him up at his loft after work so we could go to Li's place together. In hindsight, he wasn't the best person to bring along with me, but I had to come to the bar tonight. I just need to see her. "Do you know how many women will be there? It's going to be a buffet, man." Leo insists as I park in front of the bar. I get out of the Jeep as fast as I can, so he doesn't follow me, but, of course, the fucker comes after me.

We walk into the bar, and it's as deserted as it was on Monday. The woman behind the counter smiles at us when we approach.

"Hi, guys! I'm Daisy. What can I do for you tonight?"

Leo winks at her. "I have a couple of things in mind, sweetheart."

I stare at him, and he shuts up. "I'm looking for someone who works here. Alexis Ortiz, she's a bartender."

She smiles at me. "Alexis quit this morning."

"Did she leave an address or a phone number?"

My heart sinks when the blond shakes her head. "She was kind of weird. She kept to herself." She looks at me and smiles again. "I'm free in an hour, though."

I don't want to be rude, but there's only one woman I want. "No offense, but I'm not interested."

I'm cut short by Leo, who grins at her. "You're embarrassing me, Walker." He gives her the same smile I've seen him give to a hundred women before her. "I'm Leo, sweetheart, and we're not free tonight, but I'll be happy to come by any other night."

She's grinning at Leo now, a flirty expression on her face. She sure moved on fast. I clear my throat. "Here's my card; if Alexis comes back, can you give it to her?"

She takes it. "Sure, no problem, but I don't think she will. She told Daniel she was leaving Cordonia and she wasn't coming back."

#axwalker writes #n*sfw #wacky drabbles #drake walker fanfic #drake x mc #drake x lexie #trr fanfic #🍋🍋🍋

[everything-person]

Last Voyage

Summary: Emma surprises Killian with an old fashioned voyage with his old crew then Killian has a surprise for Emma

*cough cough*

“You alright?”

“Fine love. Just needed to clear my throat.”

Killian and Emma were walking along the beach in the early morning slowly making their way to the docks.

“We’re almost there.”

“What’s with all the secrecy love?”

Emma smiles up at him there was a shine in her eyes, “You’ll see.”

They made their way down the pier where the Jolly Roger was docked.

“Do you wish to have another one of our private adventures aboard the Jolly Roger? If that’s all you could have just said Swan.”

“Not this time.”

They made their way into the deck where they were greeted by some familiar faces.

“Welcome aboard Captain.”

Before them stood Henry, Hope, Smee and some of his old crew.

Killian smiled while also furrowing his brow. Turning to his wife for answers.

“I thought you might wish to have a day at sea. Re-live your glory days.”

“My glory days started the day I met you Swan.” Picking up her hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. “Will you be joining me, love?”

“No,” she whispered, “not this time. I have somethings to take care of.”

He turned to Henry and Hope. He approached them with open arms.

“Then it’s looks like we’ll be having all the fun. Don’t worry love I’ll have them back before Sundown and we will eagerly enrapture you with our tales of our adventurous day.”

Henry looked down before meeting his eyes, “Actually we promised mom we’d help her with her stuff today. Maybe tonight we can play dice. I might just beat you this time.”

“Oh then perhaps I should give Dave a call. Show him what a pirates life was like.”

Henry shifted clearing his throat before saying, “Uh Grandpa is taking care of the sheriff office while we are helping mom today. Sorry but you stuck with your old crew for today.”

Killian nodded at Henry before turning his attention to his daughter. She had the same shine in her eyes as her mother, biting her lip, looking anywhere but at him.

“What’s wrong lass?”

She inhaled a deep breath before speaking, “Nothing Papa. I’ll just miss you.”

He cupped his daughters face, “Don’t worry, my little cygnet. I’ll be home tonight.”

She nodded embracing him. She burrows her face in his chest breathing him in. “I love you Papa.”

Killian squeezes his daughter not sure what has her so distraught, “I love you to my little cygnet. From your first breath far beyond my last.”

Hope let go heading to the gang plank quickly, without another glance to her father.

Henry approached the man that’s been a mentor, a father figure to him. Wrapping him in his arms, “Good bye Killian.”

Letting go he followed his sister down the gang plank waiting for his mother at the bottom.

Killian turned to see the love of his life standing there. She took slow step towards him her eyes never leaving his. Reaching up held his face, her eyes scanned every inch.

“What’s wrong Emma?”

She’s hooked her head offering him a smile, “Nothing. It just. . . sometimes I can’t believe that blacksmith I tied to a tree that said I need him alive would be so right.”

Killian chuckled, “Aye. Sometimes I can’t believe I forgot about that damned bar wench that kissed the hell out of me.”

She smiled, leaning up catch his lips in a soft kiss. Pulling away she rested her forehead against his, “I love you Killian. Thank you for everything.”

“I love you too Emma. Forever and always.”

Her hands slid down his cheeks to his neck over his shoulders down his arm grasping his hook and hand. Her eyes never leaving his, she started backing away holding onto his hand until she was to far away to hold on any more. Letting her hand fall she turned making her way off the ship. Henry reaches out his hand to help her off the last step intertwining her arm with him.

“When did you become such a gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman mom. I learned from the best.”

They made their way up the pier. They say and watched as the ship set sail. Her Captain on the quarter deck waving to his family before turning to wheel where he belonged.

As they stood watching Hope couldn’t hold in her emotions anymore. A sob escaped her lips, as tears started pouring out her eyes. “He should be home. We should be with him.”

Emma embraces her daughter, “That’s never how he wanted to go.”

“But he was fine. He was walking and knew who we were.”

“He also thought Grandpa was alive. He didn’t see us. He probably saw you as the little girl who would ask him to close the window so Peter Pan couldn’t get her. He probably saw me as the ten year old boy he helped rescue from Neverland.”

Emma pulled away looking at her children who have grown into adults that stood before her now.

“Yes but he is so proud of the people you have become. He was so happy to be a father and be apart of this family. He loves you both so much.”

Hope let out another sob as Henry wrapped an arm around her, letting one lone tear slide down his cheek.

“Besides it’s for the best he didn’t see me as I am now. A wrinkly old crown with gray straw for hair,” Emma let out a breathy laugh.

Henry shook his head, “He saw you as you actually are. He always has. The beautiful Savior.”

Emma smiled at her son, “Come on let’s go home.”

Later Emma was going through some things in their room. Remembering all the good times they’ve shared in this house. The wonderful life he shared with her.

She opened his night stand finding the copy of Treasure Island she gave him.

“This is ridiculous. This person obviously had no idea what they were bloody talking about,” Killian muttered.

Emma rolled over, “Babe Go to bed.”

“This book is an atrocity love.”

“Then stop reading it.”

“Why would I do that when they just started the mutiny?”

She laughed to herself. She would always try showing him how this realm reviews pirates with movies and books. Every time he would get riled up but any time she suggested to turn it off or throw the book out he would refuse having to see how it ends.

The next thing she pulled out was a familiar black scarf.

“So now you’re a gentleman?”

“Giants can smell blood. And I’m always a gentleman.” Hook said before putting liquid on her hand.

“Ah! Ow! What is that?”

“Rum and a bloody waste of it.”

He gently wrapped her hand with the soft material tying it off with his mouth. Her fingers lightly brushing against his cheek.

Emma sighed remembering the spark she felt. Wondering not for the first time how much more time they would’ve had if she trusted him. If they came back together. How different their adventures would’ve been.

Something shiny caught her eye and she reached in and pulled out the last item in the drawer.

It was one of his hooks.

Killian kicked open their bedroom door while his lips fused to her. Her legs wrapped around his hips her latched around his neck.

Coming up for air Emma whispers, “Never do that again.”

“I’ll never leave your side even if the gods try to rip us a apart,” he promised before capturing her lips again.

Falling onto the bed they began divesting each other of their clothing. Killian reaches to take off his hook. Emma reaches her hand up, only in her bra and underwear, looking at him through her eyelashes.

“Leave it on.”

Killian groans, “You little minx.”

Emma sighed. As the memory fades away. So many nights, and some days, filled with passion. Both of them always willing to show the other how much they love them. Always up to meet a challenge.

Moving to put the items back in their respective places the book falls from her lap and clatters to the floor. Emma places the scarf and hook back before reaching down picking up the book. When she lifts it a note falls from its pages. Placing the book on the bed she once again reaches down and grabs the fallen piece of paper.

Unfolding it she is greeted with Killian hand writing.

‘Dearest Swan,

I’m sorry. I never wished to leave and now I have no choice in the matter. It seems to be a cruel joke. To be sent back to you by the gods themselves only to have my mind unravel while I’m still with you. I know I don’t have much time left. And I plan to cherish every moment with you I can.

When I do go, all I wish is to be at your side. For the last thing I hold is our family in my arms. The last thing I touch be your face. The last thing I taste be you lips. The last thing I see is the love in your eyes for me. If I am to drawn my last breath I wish it is your kiss that steals it.

And when I am gone. I will keep my promise I made all those years ago. I will move on but I promise you no heaven the gods can provide will compare to the life I have lived with you.

You are the love on my life. The mother of my children. My wife. My savior. My true love.

However long we are apart that will never change. My love will stay with you and I hope give you comfort in your time of need. And when it is your time I can only hope that the gods will once again reunite us.

Until then I ask that every day you live. Hug our children and give them an extra squeeze for me.

With all my love. Yours from the end of the realms and time.

Killian’

Tears fell freely from her eyes. They were never sure if Killian knew what was happening to him. Now she had proof that he did.

A noise pulled her from her thoughts. Still clutching the note to her chest she made her way downstairs. Sharp knocking was coming from her front door.

She opened it to find a pair of blue eye that she engraved into her memory.

“Killian.”

He bent down wrapping her in his arms, burying his face in her neck.

“Sorry ma’am I know you weren’t expecting us so soon but he insisted on turning around and coming home,” Smee explained his signature hat in his hands.

“That’s alright. Thank you for bringing him home.”

Smee nodded, closing the door as he left.

“Why did you send me away love?”

“I thought you’d like to be at sea when the time came.”

Killian finally lifted his head, his gaze burning into her, “Don’t you know Swan all I have ever wanted was to be with you.”

Emma gave him a sad smile, “I do now.”

They made their way up to their bed laying down curling up together one last time. They not sure how long they laid there just enjoying their time together.

Killian reaches up brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I think it’s time love.”

Emma nodded scooting closer.

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You aren’t,” she said with a shaky breath her lip quivering, “You will always be with me. And I’ll follow you shortly.”

She leaned up capturing his lips once last time. She pulls away resting her forehead against his.

“I love you Emma Swan,” he whispered.

She watched as the deep blue eyes that looked last all her walls that have always saw her closed for the last time.

A tear fell from her eye landing on his cheek sliding down his face.

“I love you Killian Jones.”

#ouat #once upon a time #emma swan #captain hook #killian jones #cs fanfic #cs ff #cs one shot #cs angst

[iworshipkeanureeves]

A Private Show

John Wick x f!character 

Summary: It’s John’s birthday and his wife has a surprise for him.

Words: 2350

Warnings: pole dancing/stripping, smut (bodily fluids, oral)

Exhausted after another grueling, yet successful job, John was getting ready to head back home tonight. Exiting his bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, he felt at peace, leaving his job behind for a while. He was finally getting some personal time.

John was so lost in his thoughts about returning home that he barely noticed a purple envelope lying on the floor; someone must have slipped it under his door while he had the shower on.

Suspicious and holding a gun in his hand, John slowly opened the door, taking a look around the corridor, hoping to see the person who was behind that; however, no one was there anymore. Curious to know what was inside, he had no choice but to open the envelope.

Given the usual, John wasn’t expecting anything good in there. Best case scenario, he thought there could be directions for a new job, meaning he would have to stay here for the weekend. And worst case… he didn’t want to think about that yet.

Holding the envelope in his calloused hands, John carefully opened the letter. He was pleasantly surprised to find a short note written in an immaculate cursive.

From the first glance it looked printed, but no, it was handwritten; the letters so perfectly smooth and so familiar that John was sure about the person responsible for these lines. It was her, it must have been her.

Just as he was to put the letter down and go search for a nice three piece suit, John heard his telephone ringing. He hesitated for a second, thinking he should better concentrate on following the address, but eventually he decided to pick it up, just in case.

“The car is waiting for you, Mister Wick.” It was Charon calling from reception, his tone suggesting that John should not reject the night that was awaiting him.

“Thank you.” His answer was concise, masking the excitement, and, after putting the phone down, John rushed to get dressed.

---

Stepping out of the car, John learned that the address belonged to a strip club. He was not exactly sure what to think of it, but he couldn’t really complain if that was her organizing it. Was there a surprise party awaiting him inside? Had she hired someone to dance for him? John had so many thoughts, but he was rushing indoors to see for himself what the letter was about.

Inside the club he was met by the dim lighting, only neon purple showing the way. John couldn’t see any people hanging around, leading him to believe that there was something really special planned for tonight.

He was burning with anticipation, walking towards the main lounge with shiny poles enlightened on the center stage. Deeper into the club, John noticed that there was a bottle of dark whiskey, his favorite, supposedly waiting for him; he got himself comfortable on a velvet sofa waiting for the show to begin.

As John was putting the bottle down after pouring himself a drink, he heard I Put a Spell on You by Nina Simone starting to play. The lights suddenly shifted, concentrating on a single pole, the one that was closest to him.

Then finally, John saw her. His wife. Slowly walking out of the shadows, wearing just a set of black see-through bralette paired with a diamond lace G-string.

The sight made John forget about the glass he had just poured for himself, forcing him to lean closer to the stage. He even held his breath for a moment or two, admiring his woman sensually stepping on a podium; her scarlet lips forming a sultry smile accompanied by a sinful gleam in her eyes.

Keeping the eye-contact she leaned her back against the metal bar, sliding down in a lengthy, sensual motion, keeping her angles together, but spreading her knees further apart. She kept her one arm up, clenching the pole above her head, while another teasingly stroked her inner thigh, concentrating John’s attention towards her center, driving him crazy with what was only a prelude for the show he was about to receive.

There was already a lump forming in John’s throat and he could hardly swallow marveled by the sight of his wife gracefully standing back up, swaying her hips together with the beat.

She walked around the pole, showcasing her behind, her perfectly round cheeks framed by the shiny jewels forming a string. John’s brain was short circuiting, the heat overpowering his core, as she was arching her back, rolling her body against the shiny metal bar.

Hooking one leg around it, she effortlessly mounted herself up the pole with grace. She was spinning, her free leg flowing in the air. Unbelievably, his wife kept upping her game, flipping over to face the floor, splitting her legs like it came natural to her.

She had the perfect flow, seamless fluidity in her motion. John could only wonder when or where she had learned.

Finally gathering the strength back to his hands, John took a sip of his drink, minding her surprising flexibility, the way she could spread her legs like it was simple for her. He felt his pants tightening thinking about all the things he could do bending her in various shapes, the way his hips could thrust deep into her, keeping her legs far apart giving the maximum access.

It was like she was reading John’s thoughts, sliding downwards with her body upside down, inverting the last second before reaching the ground. She landed into a perfect split, her bottoms subtly bouncing from hitting the floor.

John was admiring her glowing skin, the way she was showcasing her legs, sensually standing up with the help of the pole. He was eager to just go there and rip that meager outfit away from her.

Luckily that wasn’t necessary as John saw his wife stepping down from the podium and nearing his sofa, making his excitement shoot high. She kept teasing him, approaching John slowly with an erotic swing; her hands went to her back, unclasping the bralette and leaving her topless, giving another delicious treat for John’s eyes.

“A lap dance for my birthday boy,” she breathed in vulgar tone, hovering over his legs and making him press to the backrest with a single firm push. John inhaled, feeling her heat beginning to grind against his expanding crotch; her hands went under the lapels of his suit, nails digging into his tough chest.

“Can I touch?” John asked, taking a final sip and setting an empty glass on the table; he needed to free his hands, in case her answer was yes.

“Anything, darling.” The salacious words rolled over her tongue, and she delved into John’s lips, feeling his palms cupping, and then kneading her ass cheeks. The second she pulled away from the kiss, John’s mouth caught her nipple, sucking passionately and sending shivers all the way to her limbs.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled John even closer, making his face drown in the fullness of her breasts. She knew her pussy was already dripping, ruining his pants, but his bulge felt too good against her folds to worry about that.

She removed his jacket tossing it to the ground, and while her swift fingers moved to deal with his buckle, John was unbuttoning his vest at the same time. She kissed him once more, before kneeling down between his legs and sliding down his unzipped pants; just enough to get a hold on his stiff member, warm and meaty, looking colossal in her tiny palm.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll come before you even take it in your mouth.” John stated in a deep, carnal tone; his hands shaking form the need to pull her head closer and wrap her lips around his twitching cock.

“Patience,” she smirked, making a single, painfully slow lick from base to tip, her tongue gathering drops of precum emerging from his flushed summit. She stayed there for a while, her lips sucking only the tip, tasting salty liquor with her unhurried tongue.

Her eyes were fiery, assuring John that he was in for a long night. It was his birthday and she wanted for him to fully relax, forget everything about the world that was outside the club. At least for once in a really long time.

Gazing into John’s eyes she started gradually increasing the amplitude, taking more of him with each bob. She was getting really messy, saliva dripping at the corners of her lips, the music getting overpowered by the dirty sounds.

“Fuckk-“ John choked out, feeling her lips gliding his length, her palm stroking what was too much for her mouth. He couldn’t resist but to clench her hair in his hand, directing her movements; her pace and depth. Some of the jabs were almost too much, but John knew her the best, he wouldn’t have done so if she hadn’t been able to take that. His wife loved a little struggle, John was sure of that.

Each time her lips were reaching closer to the dark hair nesting his length, John felt himself nearing his edge; but he wasn’t going to come yet. John was pretty good at controlling himself, even when his wife was skillfully working between his legs. Having a fistful of her hair, John halted her movements, carefully helping her up. 

“Is something wrong?” She asked, sinking into his lap once again.

“Not at all.” He joined her lips for a quick, yet filthy kiss. “It’s just that I can smell your pussy all soaked, desperate to be filled.” John pulled her petty panties to the side, running two of his fingers between her folds. “Look at that, I wasn’t wrong.” Pushing his digits in, John cherished the sight of his wife slightly gasping, as he was stretching her walls before invading them with his hefty cock.

“Please, John.” She begged in a needy voice, her pussy throbbing with anticipation, waiting for his member to finally enter her.

“Patience,” John smirked, “You said it yourself.” He kept pumping her, his lips gently brushing against her neck, his free hand hugging her waist. She tried sinking lower to meet his fingers, but still, that wasn’t enough; not even close.

Knowing how to beat John at this game, she gave her palm a generous lick, then wrapped her finger’s around his stiff cock, stroking it gently, slightly clenching each time her hand was gliding up.

After a couple of mutual pumps, she felt John’s fingers abandoning her pussy and she watched him sucking his digits clean, then sticking them between her lips, rubbing into her tongue. “You’re a fucking dessert, love.” John hissed delving into wife’s mouth, alcohol mixed with her arousal being shared between them.

Caught up in the kiss, she felt his member slowly plowing her slit. John paused at her stretched entrance taking a good look into her desire-filled eyes, before gradually invading her heat.

She smiled at him sinking to the very base, staying there for a brief moment to adjust to his girth. “All good?” John whispered, wrapping his arms around his wife and running his fingers along her spine.

She nodded and hummed, leaning closer for a kiss. Just as their tongues collided, she started rocking her hips, the friction feeling so pleasurable, that it was impossible to stay still.

John admired her breasts bouncing in accordance with their pace, her nipples hard, perfectly beautiful; just like everything on his precious girl. She was the best birthday present John could ever receive.

He didn’t even have to thrust; it was all her, sitting in his lap, riding him to heaven. She felt amazing, her tight walls milking his cock like they were a perfect fit for each other.

“Faster.” John commanded slapping one of her ass cheeks, making her gasp and encouraging some more profound moves. They were both breathy, their lips joining and separating every few seconds, moans and groans thickening the air between them.

John could barely say another word, feeling her pussy soundly sheathing his ready-to-burst cock; her warm wetness splashing on his crotch with every move, his pubes getting soaked in her sweet juice. They were both almost there, their muscles tense, the build-up soon to be unleashed.

Seeing his wife getting close, John dragged his palm over her hip, his thumb finding her needy clit, pressing not so gently to it.

“Oh fuck, baby I-“ She whimpered, feeling her mind getting clouded form the sensation of his tip hitting her in the perfect spot, and his thumb rubbing determined circles on her painfully swollen bud.

“Come on, love.” John began rocking his hips, intensifying their collisions to the point where it was impossible for either one of them to hold on. “Cum for me,” he grunted, feeling his whole body seized by the commencing orgasm, just in time for when his wife’s toes curled, and they both trembled in each other’s arms.

Their whole bodies were burning, John’s cock twitching with every spurt, his hot seed generously coating her throbbing walls. “I love you,” John growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck. It was the peak of his high; John’s hands were pressing at his wife’s back, pushing her close to his chest.

“I love you too,” she breathed out into his ear, shaking surrounded by his embrace. After tangling her fingers inside John’s hair, she gently pulled his head backwards and sank into his lips. A slight movement of her core made John’s member to fall out of her aching hole, and she felt his slickness dripping down her thigh.

“Let’s go clean you up,” John lifted his beloved wife, bringing her legs to wrap around his waist, his dress shirt already soaking up most of the mess.

“Fine, but then I’ll show you what else I’ve got,” she beamed. “The club is ours for the whole night.”

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Masterlist

#John Wick #John Wick fanfiction #John Wick smut #John Wick x reader #John Wick x f!character #John Wick oneshot #John Wick imagine #John Wick fic #John Wick x OFC #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves smut #smut