𞋎 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

‧ ₊ ˚ my presence sweet and my aura bright 🫧

[haydensweetangel]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ i’ve got so much love, i’ve got so much patience, i learnt from my pain, and it turned out amazing ₊ ݁.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ࿔ 🪽 : lua ◞ she/her. black. taurus. hayden christensen’s controversial young gf. hopeless romantic. curly haired angel. sensitive girl. pink aura. marvel & star wars nerd. written by ariana grande. multifandom. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀i write sometimes ౨ৎ

masterlist ✧ about me ✧ socials ✧ rules + blog info ✧ carrd

© haydensweetangel - 2026

[mandolare]

Hayden Christensen as Anakin Skywalker Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith (2005)

[haydensweetangel]

THE WALKING DEAD MASTERLIST !

smut : ✩ | fluff : 𝜗𝜚 | angst : ✿

ᯓ carl grimes:

insecurities ✿

carl grimes as your boyfriend | headcanons 𝜗𝜚

[fyeahvillains]

DARTH VADER in revenge of the sith (2005)

[haydensweetangel]

do you still write for carl? 😩😩 i fear your fics of him made me obsessed

hiiii omg thats literally the best compliment ever tysm 🥹 im not writing for anyone rn bc i genuinely dont have any ideas or motivation LMAO but if you have something specific in mind you could tell me and id write it for you ^^

[pennylanefics]

Off Limits | D. D. L.

A/N: this is by far one of my favorite things i’ve written in recent months (this was finished in like september/october but still) it’s SUPER self indulgent because again, i never intended on posting, but here we are! i don’t feel like editing any changes so we’re sticking with it :) enjoy <3

summary: dean is captivated by the girl he's been told to stay away from

word count: ~5.1k

“(Y/N), you’ll be walking down the aisle with Dean,” Hannah tells you, handing you the small bouquet of flowers you were going to be carrying down the aisle.

Today is a very special day, Hannah and Garrett are finally getting married. They’ve only been engaged for about eight months, but they wanted a rather small wedding, so it was quite easy to find a venue and location for everything, and they are both super simple, so planning was a breeze.

Considering you two have been friends since you were in elementary school, she asked you right away if you would be a bridesmaid, and you agreed excitedly. You haven’t been able to see one another since you went to college on the entire other side of the country, but you were able to find time after graduation and before starting your new job to fly out to the east coast for the special event.

“Who’s Dean again?” You question as she hands her other bridesmaids flowers as well.

“He’s one of Garrett’s friends and teammates. He’s nice, but he can be a real pig sometimes,” she says, although her tone is light and loving, letting you know she was only slightly kidding. 

“In a sense of he eats a ton or he’s misogynistic?” You wonder with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, he does eat a lot, they’re hockey players, and I wouldn’t say misogynistic, but quite the opposite. He’s a big ladies man, so I’m sure he’s going to be hitting on every available woman here. But don’t worry, I warned him to stay away from you.”

“Thanks,” you chuckle softly along with the other girls. Hannah stops to look in the mirror, taking in the sight of herself in the stunning white dress. It’s simple yet so elegant, the satin material hugging her body perfectly, the A-line chest and bodice complimenting her in all the right places, the flow of the skirt not too dramatic as a ballgown, but enough to get the attention of everyone. Of course, it had to be complete with a bow on the back of the dress where the bodice meets the skirt.

You and the rest of the girls were all in dark maroon dresses, all different styles but the color staying the same. You had picked out a one-shoulder dress with rouching on the bodice and a nice flowy skirt. On the back, though, there are two straps of the fabric that lay flat against your back with a small space in it. It was breathable and comfortable, and you couldn’t be happier that she allowed different styles.

“Okay, are we ready to get married?” Hannah’s maid of honor, Allie, cheers while jumping up and down, more than ecstatic to send her best friend down the aisle.

After another emotional moment as the reality sets in for Hannah, everyone files out of the room and is lead down the long hallway by the wedding planner, who eventually leads the group down the elegant velvet green staircase, adorned with the flowers Garrett and Hannah chose to have, perfectly complimenting the gold trim of the entryway.

The place they chose is absolutely breathtaking. It’s practically a Parisian castle just outside of Philadelphia, and the entire wedding happens on site.

So much for a small wedding.

The bridal party has special suites, the cocktails happen in the entry hall, and the happy couple are getting married under a massive tree on one side of the estate.

Hannah stays inside with her father, who delicately holds her hand, wiping his tears with a tissue, which sends the photographer into a frenzy to capture the perfect photo. The bridal party is led outside to meet up with the groomsmen, and you awkwardly stand around as everyone else chats away since they all know each other.

“(Y/N), this is Dean, your buddy for today,” Garrett steps over, introducing you to a tall blond man with a perfectly sculpted face, a dimple appearing in his cheek as he smiles at you. Though the groom quickly disappears as he prepares the rest of the group.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you stick your hand out for him to shake, and when he does, it feels like an electric shock goes up your arm.

“Nice to meet you as well. So you’re a friend of Wellsy?”

“Wellsy?” Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion. He just chuckles and points in the direction of where Hannah is preparing to walk out in front of the guests.

“Hannah. G used to call her Wellsy before they were dating, and it stuck with the rest of us,” he explains.

“Oh,” you nod along. “Yeah, we were friends in elementary school and stayed in touch when we both left for college.”

“Nice, where did you venture to?”

“Seattle, the University of Washington,” you smile proudly.  He offers you an impressed look, but his ability to respond is cut short when the entire party is rounded up to prepare for the ceremony to start.

Dean sticks his arm out for you to take, a cheeky smile on his face as he does.

“I’ll lead the way, m’lady,” he chuckles to himself. 

You delicately place your hand on his strong, flexed bicep, another thing that makes your heart swoon, and follow the group outside and down yet another set of steps. Your feet were already hurting from the heels everyone is made to wear, and you can’t wait until the reception to take them off and switch them for a pair of sandals or flats.

The ceremony is beautiful and exceeds the expectations of even yourself. Hannah’s family were able to make it, though only one person on Garrett’s side was able to come, and that is Cindy. Thankfully, the seating was mixed, so it wasn’t obvious that it was mainly his friends that were there. 

Since it’s supposed to be a short, to the point ceremony, the entire bridal party and groomsmen remain standing, and from across the way where Dean stands, you can’t help but notice the way he keeps giving you looks, winking at you, and biting his lip. 

You are sure that you’re the one he’s kept his focus on, seeing as everyone else in the bridesmaids have significant others, but also, Hannah mentioned that her, and even Garrett, had warned him to stay away from you, so why was he breaking that?

After Hannah and Garrett seal the ceremony with a kiss, the entire crowd erupting in cheers, throwing streamers in the air as they walk down the aisle, both of their smiles so wide that it looks painful, though it’s clear that neither of them care.

They deserve this moment after all the hurt and heartache both of them have been through their entire lives. 

Dean sticks out his arm once more for you when it’s your turn to walk back up the aisle, his head turning to look down at you; even with heels on, you’re still shorter than him.

“I saw you crying over there,” he lightly teases. “Tug at your heartstrings too much, huh?”

“It was beautiful,” you nudge him with your elbow. “I didn’t see you crying, was it not emotional enough?” Dean shrugs and his eyes kind of glaze over with a realization.

“I’m not one to cry,” he shrugs.

“That doesn’t sound healthy.” He chuckles and shrugs again in response.

“Everyone expresses their emotions differently. Like tonight, I plan on getting hammered with my boys to celebrate the fact that my man is a husband now.”

You shake your head and part from his grasp to meet up with Hannah and give her a huge hug to congratulate her, gushing about how perfect it was and how tonight is going to be even better.

While the guests venture into the hall where the cocktails and small appetizers are being served, the bridal party stays outdoors to take some photos. And thankfully, since it’s a nice spring day, it’s not too hot and not too chilly, so being outside is bearable.

Finally, when photos are finished, you are able to head back inside and take some time to relax before the reception starts. 

Which, like Dean said, was definitely a celebration.

About an hour into everyone gathering in the ballroom-like space, dinner having finished, speeches given, and the drinks flowing, it was getting rather crazy in there. Not to mention, Dean has not stopped hitting on you any chance he gets.

From comments about how he likes your tattoos and asking what they mean, to asking you to dance since you were his aisle partner and it’s only fair, and making little gestures at you from across the room when your eyes meet for a fleeting moment. 

And every advance, you brush off. Because you’re rather…socially inept at times, unable to read certain cues or intentions that someone has, you mistake his flirting for friendly banter, and find nothing more to his light teasing and small comments, compared to what he’s meaning it as.

“You know, you look like a Greek goddess wearing that,” he says to you as you stand at the bar, refilling your bottle of water. Turning to him with a confused expression, you raise an eyebrow.

“Why’s that? Because it looks like a toga?” He seems taken aback by your blunt response, not understanding why you didn’t seem to accept the compliment.

“Well, yeah, I guess you could say that,” he stumbles over his words, shrugging a little.

“Greeks didn’t wear togas, those were more Roman,” you state, taking a long drink of your water to hydrate. Dean offers an interested gaze, though he doesn’t stop trying. 

“Hm, so you know a bit about Greek and Roman times, do you?”

“I studied it in college, so knowing “a bit” is slightly an understatement,” you chuckle, walking away from him to head back to your table.

He throws his hands up in defeat just as Logan walks by him.

“What’s wrong, man?” Dean points in your direction, a longing look in his eyes.

“She’s a tough cookie to crack.”

“I think the word your looking for is nut. She’s a tough nut to crack.” Dean glares at him. “That’s the correct saying. Anyways, what about her is so tough?”

“I’ve been flirting with her all night and she doesn’t seem to get it.”

“Maybe she doesn’t care and she’s not interested,” Logan shrugs, patting his friend on the back. “I thought you were warned to stay away from her? Maybe Hannah told her the same, for her to stay away from you.”

Dean thinks it over for a moment as he watches you laugh and have a good time on the dance floor with Allie, Hannah, and Grace. Sabrina isn’t here, as she and the baby are both sick, however she urged Tucker to go and have a good time, and that he is.

“Have you even had a drink tonight?” Logan questions. Dean nods and looks down at the beer bottle in his hands

“Just the one.”

“Well have a couple more, forget about Wellsy’s stuck-up friend, and mingle around! Who knows, there might be someone you can screw around with in the coat closet by the end of the night.”

Dean can’t help but laugh at Logan’s words, that’s usually what he would do at events like this, find a pretty girl to talk up before bringing her to a private area to fuck.

But tonight was different, and you were the only thing on his mind. Maybe it was because his friends had told him to stay away from you, and the fact that you’re now “off-limits” to him was enticing. Or was it the way you smile? The soft, light voice that filled his ears as you conversed during the photo session, getting to know one another better.

He didn’t know what the hell it was, but he knew one thing, he wanted to get to know you even more. And not to just get in your pants.

This is a new feeling for him, and if he admits to Hannah or Garrett what he’s feeling, they’ll say he’s lying and give him all kinds of shit for breaking his promise.

Instead, he lays off of you for a while, though he doesn’t lighten up one bit. He sits at the table that is for the bridesmaids and groomsmen, messing around on his phone. The guys are way past tipsy at this point, so none of them really notice his absence. 

The three guys are busy lifting Garrett up in the air, with the help of a few football players and the rest of the guys on the hockey team, but all Dean can focus on is you. He shakes his head, trying to rid the thoughts that were plaguing his mind, but he’s unable to.

You seem so intriguing and all he wants to do is hear more things in that silky voice of yours. Although when he does yet another scan of the place, you are nowhere to be seen. He grows slightly concerned, seeing as this place is massive and you could be anywhere on the 42 acres of land, so he stands and makes a bee-line for the large double doors, practically going unnoticed.

The music starts to grow quieter the farther he gets from the ballroom, and soon he finds himself stumbling out another set of doors just down the hall, onto a large stone balcony that overlooks the land. The sun was in the process of setting, so the sky was absolutely breathtaking.

And sure enough, there you stand, your gold heels no longer adorning your feet, replaced by a pair of black flats.

He doesn’t miss the shiver that overcomes you when a breeze whistles in the air, and before he can even think about his next move, he is shrugging his suit jacket off and placing it around your shoulders. Startled, you jump about ten feet in the air, not realizing there was someone else out here with you, but relax when you see that it’s Dean, a soft and friendly grin on his face, that little dimple making an appearance as well.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but I noticed you were a little cold,” he states. “Had to escape the noise, huh?”

“Yeah,” you simply state. “It was getting a little too wild for me.” You glance over at Dean and can’t help but bite back a smile. “You’re not in there getting hammered with your buddies?”

He meets your gaze, which sends a shiver up your spine. His striking green eyes are heavenly, only enhanced with the striking colors of the sky in front of you two. He swallows thickly, knowing you’re seemingly onto something.

“I have a lot on my mind,” he shrugs.

“Isn’t that when people drink the most?” Your comment appears to trigger something in him as he shifts awkwardly and suddenly avoids eye contact with you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…upset you if I did. But you said earlier that you were excited to-”

“I know, I know. It’s not that, I…well, to put it lightly, something happened and now I can no longer drink heavily when there’s a lot going on up here,” he taps his temple. “So, I’ve had one beer. But the guys don’t seem to notice, so it’s a win-win.”

“Hm, I get it,” you murmur. “So what’s on your mind to the point where you can’t let loose and have fun?” Dean debates on just blurting out the truth, but he dances around it.

“I dunno. Maybe it’s the fact that I want to know more about why Greeks didn’t wear togas like we were taught when we were younger,” he laughs softly. You playfully roll your eyes and turn towards him a little, keeping his jacket around your shoulders.

The sweet yet musky scent of his cologne impales your senses, and sometimes you’d find this amount of cologne to be unbearable, but right now, it’s incredibly intoxicating and you want to drown in it.

“Still on that, huh?” You bounce back. “Well, you’re not wrong about the Greeks wearing something similar, but they’re very different and were worn for different occasions. The Greeks wore three different types of clothing, a chiton, a peplos, and a himation. All very similar to a toga, but the first two are rectangle, and the third is basically what goes over a chiton. A toga is more of a circular piece of cloth.”

As you go on a small lesson about history, Dean is entirely taken aback. He wasn’t expecting such a detailed and well-rounded answer.

“So stereotypically, it does look similar if you have no idea what makes all of them different. Togas were also considered formal wear and were also mainly worn by men once women moved over to what was called a stola.”

“How the fuck do you know all of this?” He questions, not even caring about his language. For a moment he regrets it, not knowing if you would be offended by such talk, seeing as how shy you have been all day, but when you let out a hearty laugh, he knows he’s safe.

“I minored in history so a couple of my classes had to do with Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome,” you state. “Plus, it’s fun having that info in my back pocket, for moments like this.”

“So what did you major in?”

“Museology. Curating and managing museums.” His eyes go wide in surprise, as if he’s never heard of such a thing. “What was your major, Mr. Green Eyes.” He can’t ignore the small flutter in his heart. Is this her flirting back?

“Political Science, and I was headed to Harvard for pre-law, but I ended up getting a cushy job coaching and being a P.E. teacher instead.”

“You gave up pre-law to be a P.E. teacher?” You question, though there’s no judgement or ridicule in your tone. Just plain curiosity.

“My dad is an attorney, my brother is a lawyer, they both went to Harvard so I was supposed to follow in their footsteps. But over the course of my last semester, I was assigned a coaching position for a middle school and I fell in love with it. I loved getting to see the kids excited to learn and better themselves, it was a lot more of a rewarding experience than I ever expected law school to be. Sure, it would have been nice to follow the family legacy, but that’s not who I am.”

“That takes a lot of strength to do something like that,” you reply. “But I can tell that you have a passion for teaching, and that’s what the world needs.”

Dean instantly swoons even more than he has been all night, in complete disbelief that this is all happening.

“Any big museum jobs lined up for you?” He questions. You nod sheepishly, staring down at your hands, slightly embarrassed to brag about your accomplishments.

“You could say that,” you murmur.

“And what does that mean, baby doll?” Dean internally curses himself for letting the pet name slip.

“Baby doll?” You wonder, holding back a laugh. His hand flies up to his neck, awkwardly rubbing at it. 

“Sorry, I uh, I call everyone that. I actually called Hannah that the first few times I saw her, when she was tutoring Garrett. She didn’t care for it at all. I’ve been trying to not use it on you because of what she told me, but it-”

“Did she really tell you to stay away from me?” You grumble.

“Oh yeah. Garrett did as well."

“She told me you were a big ladies man, but I haven’t exactly seen that tonight.” His expression softens and he takes a single step closer to you.

“That’s because I’ve had my eyes set on one girl all evening,” he whispers. Completely clueless to the situation, you blink up at him before turning to look towards the doors that were still open.

“Well, she’s probably in there looking for you.” Dean can’t keep his eyes from rolling in slight frustration, but also pure amusement.

“It’s you, ya big goof! I’ve been flirting with you all day, or at least trying to, but you don’t seem to get it, do you?” It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and then, everything hits you.

The stolen glances during the ceremony, the gentle touches to your arm or bare shoulder, passing it off as trying to carefully step by you, the compliments and slightly flirty comments…oh god.

“I’m a little dense when it comes to people flirting with me,” you admit shyly, staring down at your hands as you twiddle your fingers together nervously. Seconds later, Dean’s hands are covering yours, easing the shakiness in your limbs and the chaos of your mind.

Raising your head, you meet his gaze once more, a tight-lipped grin spreading across your lips.

“Hey, this is new to me too. I’m not used to girls being so dismissive to my advances, I’m not entirely sure how to act.” You can practically hear the sarcasm dripping from his lips, eliciting a real giggle from you, which of course leads him to follow in suit.

“Gee, it must be so hard for you. I feel for you, I do. What ever will we do?”

“I’m Dean Di Laurentis, I usually get what I want.”

“Oh yeah? What is it that you want, hm?” Based on what Hannah and the others in her friend group have told you about Dean, you’re expecting the worst and most disgusting response from him, like how he wants to take you to his room and fuck your brains out, or push you to your knees and shove his co-

“I want to take you out on a date,” he interrupts your thoughts, startling you and throwing you off entirely. So much so, that you aren’t even sure how to respond to such a thing. It’s been a while since you’ve been on a date, you’ve focused mainly on your studies in hopes of landing a good job after graduation. 

Now that that’s complete, maybe it is time to start looking again. But is Dean really the one to start with?

“You…do?”

“Yeah. You’re incredibly smart and very beautiful, any guy would be absolutely lucky to take you out. But I wanna be the lucky one.”

So many thoughts are racing through your mind, you are unable to process them all at once. It ends up leaving the two of you in silence for a lot longer than you would prefer, leading Dean to think that he’s overstepped a boundary.

“Unless you were the one to let Hannah know to stay away from you. Like…you told her that you wanted nothing to do with me. If that’s the case, then I completely understand. I know I used to have a reputation, but-”

“Do you just want to go out with me because I’m “off-limits”?” You question, insecurity rising in you. His eyes soften as he realizes that’s what’s holding you back from this.

“I mean, I won’t lie, it’s been a very enticing thought, but I do think you’re beautiful, and like I said, you’re very smart, and I would love to pick your brain on more things. And, also find out where that new job of yours is at. You never answered me on that.”

“The Museum of Natural History. In New York,” you admit. Once again, his eyes go wide in shock. One of the most well-known and visited museums in the country, and you’re working there?

“Are you serious?” He gasps in awe.

“Uh huh. I start in June, so it’s going to be crazy getting everything packed from Seattle and moving it across the country.”

“That’s fucking exciting, holy shit!” He exclaims. “What exhibits are you working with?”

“Well, I don’t exactly know yet, but I know it won’t be strictly one. I have the qualifications to work with any sort of thing, from statues, to bones, to clothing. So it’s wherever they put me.”

“I will absolutely have to come visit you at work, hell I’ll organize a field trip with my students and come visit you.”

“You’re teaching in New York?” Now it’s your turn to be gasping in surprise. What is the universe doing???

“Yep. A private school just outside of Manhattan. I start in August. Hey, look at that, we’re gonna be neighbors.”

You share a laugh, which quickly dies down, leading to silence. As you share an intense gaze, you feel your heart flutter as you prepare the words you want to say.

“How does a coffee date sound?” You offer, your cheeks turning pink as you revert back to the main topic. Dean’s entire face practically lights up at your suggestion, but he makes a slight amendment to it.

“How about we get up early, grab some coffee from the kitchen here, if we can find it, and take a stroll through the halls and gardens before everyone wakes up?” Your smile grows wider at his thought and you find yourself nodding almost immediately.

“I love the sound of that.” Just then another breeze blows over the two of you, the temperature dropping sifinicantly now that the sun is down, Dean’s jacket not providing much warmth anymore.

Dean, taking matters into his own hands, places a gentle hand on your shoulder and guides you back through the doors, shutting them behind you. Instantly, warmth surrounds you, shielded from the chilly night air that had settled outside.

Realizing that you’re alone in this empty hallway, another idea pops into your head.

“What do you say we get a little head start on our date right now?” You bite your lip, hoping he takes your offer this time. He glances around at the ornate decorations and designs of this castle-like structure. He can hear the crowd of guests still going wild. And while he’s well aware that he should get back in there and celebrate with his friends, as should you, he can’t resist your charm and kind-hearted nature.

“Shall we, m’lady?” He jokes, recalling back to earlier.

With a giggle from you, you copy your actions from earlier and place your hand on his bicep, this time squeezing it gently for good measure, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean, but he doesn’t draw attention to it.

So, for about an hour, you two walk around what feels like the entire building, chatting away about what your college life and classes were like, how he met Garrett and Hannah, how you met Hannah and when she started telling you about Garrett, everything you could possibly think of. Eventually, you come back around to the ballroom, though a majority of the guests have left.

Your main friend group is what remains, Garrett and Hannah slow dancing together alone on the dance floor, Logan and Tucker passed out in a couple chairs, Grace cradling Logan’s head in her lap, trying to get him to drink some water, and Allie taking care of Tuck since Sabrina isn’t here to do so.

Turning to Dean, you find him reluctant to go in, so he nods his head in the direction of where the rooms for the bridal party are. You guide him to the room you’re staying in, which you thankfully have to yourself, stopping right in front of the door.

“Are we still on for tomorrow morning?” You wonder, gazing up at him, still in awe of just how handsome he is.

“Of course. I didn’t get to pick your brain on the types of transit the Greeks and Romans commonly used. Were we being lied to about the Greeks using chariots too?” A short laugh escapes you, your hair falling in front of your eyes.

“The Greeks and Romans both used chariots, but for very different reasons,” you answer, even though you know he’s more than likely being sarcastic.

“Good to know,” he nods. “But I expect a full run down of particular ways they used them,” he playfully points a finger at you.

As your shared laughter subsides, the tension between you grows thick. And it gets even thicker when Dean’s hand raises to brush the tendril of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His hand lingers for longer than he knows it should, but you don’t seem upset or uncomfortable with it.

“Goodnight Dean,” you whisper. You really want to kiss him right now, but your mind is screaming at you not to. Instead, you settle for a quick kiss on the cheek, which you can barely reach due to the height difference between you.

Dean chuckles and slightly leans in so you can press your lips to his warm, pink cheek. Even though it should end there, Dean can’t help himself but to return the gesture, his lips making contact with your own blushing and on fire skin.

“Goodnight, baby doll.”

With that, Dean heads down the hall to his own room, giving you one last glance before disappearing inside, the door clicking shut and sounding through the hallway. You are finally able to relax and take some deep breaths, entirely overwhelmed with how the way this night turned out.

You have a date with Dean Di Laurentis. The famous Ladies Man of the Briar University guys, as Hannah has told you. You couldn’t believe it. Part of your mind was screaming at you that this is a bad idea, that everything your friend has told you will eventually come to light with him.

But the other part didn’t care, the other part saw this…intelligent man who hides behind a stereotype, because no one can get into Harvard on account of their good looks. Plus, he has such a kind heart, you can’t possibly believe he would lead you on after all of this talk, especially when Hannah has said he’s always been clear about his intentions with women.

As you saunter into your room and crawl into bed, you figure out if you should tell Hannah or not, seeing as you practically escaped the last two hours of her wedding to spend it with Dean. Though it’s just a simple little date, just walking around the premises while drinking coffee. It’s nothing.

But as you drift off to sleep, you can’t stop thinking about the blond man and his pretty green eyes, the way his hands feel against yours, the way his voice flows so smoothly from his lips, his genuine interest in what you have to say about your passions. All of it only excited you for the morning even more.

And, possibly for the future and seeing him much more after this. You were’t sure of many things, but you knew confidently of one thing.

Dean is a special guy, and you are sure that he’s going to become a very important person in your life in the coming months.

[sacr1ficialang3l]

[anakinssweetestgirl]

i get wet at the thought of you. 💋

[wendichester]

Smuttttttt <3333

Virgin!Reader wants to lose her v-card, but doesn’t want it to be to a complete stranger. Not being in a place long enough to actually get to know someone she "man up" and asks her best friend (one of the Winchester brothers) to take her virginity — while hoping he doesn't find it weird or ruins their friendship.

(I don't mind it, but I would really like it if he wasn't secretly in love with her already... idk, sometimes it just makes it feel like then it's for him and not her)

⋆｡ ˚ just once

summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ when you finally work up the courage to ask your best friend to take your virginity, he agrees—not because he wants you, but because he cares enough to make your first time safe and good pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( f ) wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 922 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ soft smut !! warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, soft and gentle sex, use of condom, emotional vulnerability, best friends having sex with no romantic feelings involved, mild anxiety

notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ

you’re both sitting on the edge of the motel bed, the neon sign outside flickering through the thin curtains. your hands are shaking in your lap. you’ve rehearsed this conversation at least twenty times in your head, but now that dean is actually looking at you, patient and a little confused, the words feel too heavy.

“dean… i need to ask you something weird.”

he raises an eyebrow, beer bottle halfway to his lips. “weirder than the usual crap we deal with?”

you let out a nervous laugh that dies quickly. “yeah. probably.”

you stare at the ugly carpet for a second, then force yourself to meet his eyes. “i’m still a virgin.”

the words hang in the air. dean doesn’t laugh. he doesn’t look disgusted. he just nods slowly, waiting for you to keep going. he probably already knew.

“we never stay anywhere long enough for me to… you know, actually trust someone. and i don’t want my first time to be with some random guy in a bar who doesn’t give a shit.” you swallow hard. “so i was thinking… maybe we could do it. just once. help me get it over with.”

dean is quiet for a long moment. his green eyes search your face carefully. “you sure about this?” he asks, voice low and serious. “you want me to be the one?”

“i trust you,” you say simply. “and i know you don’t… feel that way about me. i’m not asking for anything more. i just want it to be safe. and kind. i don’t want it to suck.”

dean rubs a hand over his jaw, thinking. then he nods once. “alright,” he says. “if you’re sure. we do this your way though. slow. you tell me to stop at any point and we stop. no questions.”

relief floods through you so fast your eyes sting. “thank you,” you whisper.

he stands up and pulls you gently to your feet. his hands are warm when they cup your face. “no need to thank me, sweetheart. just breathe.”

he kisses you first—soft, unhurried, nothing rushed or hungry. it’s strange at first, kissing your best friend, but his mouth is gentle and patient. he waits until you relax into it before deepening the kiss, tongue brushing yours carefully.

clothes come off slowly. dean talks you through every step, murmuring quiet reassurances when your hands start shaking again. when you’re both naked he lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own. his weight feels grounding instead of scary.

he spends a long time touching you, fingers sliding between your legs, stroking until you’re wet and breathing heavier. every time you tense up he pauses, checks your face, waits for your nod before continuing.

when he reaches for the condom you almost cry from how careful he’s being. “you still good?” he asks, rolling it on.

“yeah,” you breathe. “just… nervous.”

“that’s okay. we can stop anytime.”

he settles between your thighs, one hand holding himself up, the other brushing hair from your forehead. the head of his cock nudges against your entrance and you tense. “easy,” dean murmurs. “relax for me. breathe out.”

you do. he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stopping every time your breath hitches. the stretch burns, but it’s not unbearable. dean’s jaw is tight, clearly holding himself back, but his voice stays soft. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers when he’s halfway in. “taking me so well. almost there.”

when he bottoms out you both stay still for a moment. you feel so full it’s overwhelming. a tiny whimper slips out of you.

dean presses his forehead to yours. “you okay?”

you nod, arms wrapping around his back. “move… please.”

he starts slow, gentle rolls of his hips instead of thrusting. every stroke is careful, measured. the pain gradually fades into something warmer, deeper. your legs wrap around his waist without thinking. “that’s it,” he murmurs against your neck. “just feel it.”

the longer it goes on, the better it feels. soft moans start falling from your lips. dean keeps his pace steady, never rough, never rushing. his hand slips between you to rub gentle circles over your clit and your back arches.

“dean—”

“i’ve got you,” he says quietly. “let go if you can.”

you come with a surprised cry, thighs trembling around him. dean follows a few thrusts later, groaning low into your shoulder as he spills into the condom.

afterward he stays inside you for a minute, breathing hard, before carefully pulling out. he disposes of the condom and comes back with a warm washcloth, cleaning you up without a word. then he pulls the covers over both of you and tugs you against his chest.

“you alright?” he asks, voice rough but gentle.

you nod against his skin, tears suddenly pricking at your eyes. not from sadness—just from how safe you felt the whole time. “thank you,” you whisper. “really.”

dean presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “anytime you need me, i’m here,” he says simply. “friendship doesn’t change. not over this.”

you close your eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat under your ear.

for the first time, losing your virginity didn’t feel like something you had to survive. it just felt like being taken care of by someone who truly mattered. and even though there was no romance, no spark, no “i’m in love with you”, it was still perfect in its own quiet, honest way.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.

[wvffles]

to know you is to love you

pairing; soldier boy x supe!reader word count; 1.1k 🌿 summary; the suits want to pair you and bombsight together in front of the media as some sort of power couple, but soldier boy's not having it.

tags/warnings; language, slight angst, jealousy/possessive ben, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, love confession(s), supe!reader, the boys season five spoilers ✮.ᐟ

notes; I neeeeed to know the rest of his lore asap i'm so intrigued. daydreaming in the meantime I guess <3 ♪ now playing; title from cheri cheri lady by modern talking

part two ᝰ. ben masterlist ᝰ. main masterlist

You hear him before you see him.

Footsteps thundering down the hall, getting closer and closer until they're right outside your door. Three single knocks thud against the wood, and you make your way over with a sigh.

You open it to see an irritated Soldier Boy standing in front of you, his eyes quickly scanning your form before he walks inside.

"Sure come on in." You mutter sarcastically as you close and re lock your apartment. When you turn around you find him staring at you, jaw clenched like he's holding something back.

You walk closer and cross your arms. "Well, what's up?"

"What's up?"

"Why are you here, Ben?"

"You're gonna prance around with Bombsight. Really?"

You should've known this was coming.

It's been a few months since Vought grouped the only couple of people to survive the V1 trials together into a supe team, boosting the company's image tenfold.

But the numbers have been dwindling the past few weeks, so they decided to pair you and Bombsight together as a couple for the publicity. Figured you two would be the easiest to work with. They were announcing it soon, scheduling you both for a magazine cover shoot tomorrow.

"It's not my idea."

"You're still going along with it." He scoffs.

You groan in frustration. "It doesn't matter, doesn't mean anything to either of us. It's just to get them off our backs. Besides what choice do we really have?"

His jaw clenches and he turns his head to look at the wall for a moment. He's debating something in his mind, a visible frustration forming as the seconds ticked by. He couldn't stand the thought of someone else's hands on you, posing together for pictures, kissing for the cameras.

The minute that passes feels like an eternity, but he finally turns to look at you again. "Fuck that."

"What?"

"No."

"No?"

"After everything we went through together in that shithole it should be me and you out there.” He spits, "Bomb boy was in a different sector with Angel, he doesn't get you too."

You roll your eyes. “You don’t own me Benjamin.”

“It’s not that.”

Your head tilts slightly, growing tired of his definitive tone.“Oh? Cause if I recall correctly you said I was just blinded by our shared trauma, that my feelings weren’t real and it’s all just a response. So it couldn't possibly be anything other than some possessiveness crap, right?”

He looks down for a beat, something akin to shame washing over his expression at the thought of your last argument. He knew he'd hurt your feelings, could see it all over your face then, same as now. It wasn't what he wanted but he didn't see another way to protect you. He came with too much, nothing you deserve to deal with.

After a moment he comes closer, stopping in front of you and setting his warm hands on your waist. Your arms stay crossed against your chest as you look up at him, still defiant.

A sad smile slowly appears on his face at the sight. "Always so stubborn." He murmurs, softly running his thumbs back and forth against you. "I'm no fucking prince charming, sweetheart."

There it was.

As much as he likes to carry himself with a sense of pride and entitlement, deep down his father left scars that would never fade. Always an inkling of doubt, of shame within himself. He couldn't help but wonder if the old man was right, and he cared too much about you to drag you down with him whether he'd admit it or not.

At that you finally soften, bringing your hands up and around to rest softly at the nape of his neck. This beautiful stubborn asshole.

"I don't want prince charming, I want you." You bring a hand up further to caress his hair softly giving him a moment to think, process. It's all you've been doing, really.

Since a few weeks ago when you got drunk and told him that you love him. Then again when you were sober the following day. And he proceeded to try and gaslight you, telling you it's just a trauma bond.

He didn't reject you though.

Didn't say much actually, after that he went through the effort of avoiding you as much as he could. While it did hurt your feelings a little, you mostly thought he was just being immature.

So maybe you figured you could be a little petty back when you accepted Vought's "couple" proposal. Make him see what he's missing.

Because you can feel it in your heart of hearts, that he feels the same for you.

You continue quietly after a minute. "Of course I feel connected by all the shit we went though at Harmony, how could I not? But it's..different. I love you for who you are as a person, not for the experience we shared in that place."

"I really don't see how."

"You put yourself on the line for me, time and time again. Protected me when you could. Comforted me when you couldn't. You didn't have to do any of that. You chose to, cared enough about me to."

He doesn't seem to have a response to that, closing his eyes in defeat. It's not really a battle lost for him though.

Not when he opens them back up to see your sweet smile, the hand in his hair moving to cup his jaw softly. "It's okay if you don't feel the same way. Can't force your feelings, or lack of. I'd just prefer to know for sure."

Something tightens in his chest, and his movements are sudden but careful as he brings you into a passionate kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck once more as you melt into it instantly.

He's pouring everything into it—all the emotions he's been keeping in regarding you, his apology, the desire he tries so hard to keep in check. You feel it all, reciprocating with just as much enthusiasm.

When you pull away for air, he continues his descent of kisses to your cheek and down your neck, all while you pant into his ear. "Ben." You whine softly, and he finally pulls back enough to look at you, still close enough to feel his breath on your face.

He looks down at your swollen lips, then back at your eyes. "Course I feel the same, doll. How could I not." He murmurs, a soft echo of your own words.

"Then give this a try. All the horrors we went through in that concrete hell and feelings are what's gonna scare you?" You tease just as soft, his lips curling into a real smile.

"You're a smartass, y'know that?"

"And...?"

He holds you closer, pecking your cheek with a gentle kiss before finally saying it. "And, I love you too."

You beam in response, and he can't help but roll his eyes playfully before you bring him in for another sweet kiss.

part two ᝰ. ben masterlist ᝰ. main masterlist

end notes; I came to the realization that I often write Ben soft to where he's a bit ooc, and it will in fact happen again. I like it here in lalaland where he's down bad for his sweetheart lol what can I say 😭

[haydensweetangel]

omg hi im so sorry for disappearing, sometimes i forget this app exists 💔

[thebriarbunny]

That’s My Girl ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

𝒢𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒽𝒶𝓂⁴⁴ 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

1K words

c/w ᝰ.ᐟ slight exhibitionism (during online class), teasing, oral (fem. receiving), fingering, praise, pet names (baby, good girl, princess, pretty, that’s my girl + no y/n), possessive!garrett, unprotected p in v, cockwarming, established relationship + swearing

"Fuck, baby..." His eyes work up your skin slowly, hands holding and kneading the globes of your ass. Garrett's big hands trace your soft skin before cupping your breasts, squeezing, and watching the way you melt into him.

Grabbing for his t-shirt, you tug it over his head. Your lips claim his as your fingers trace over the deep indentations of his abs, his cut v-lines disappearing below the band of his sweats. You curl your fingers under the elastic as your tongue slips in his mouth, swirling with his as you pull his pants off.

Garrett lifts you clean off the floor, mouths still tangled as he walks you backward toward the bed. Heat curls low in your stomach when your thighs brush his bare skin, his grip tightening instinctively around you.

He throws you down on the bed and crawls on with you—the devilish grin on his handsome face spreading wider. "I needed this," he hums against your lips.

Your gaze drifts down his perfect body, Garrett's hard dick pressed between the band of his boxer briefs and his hot skin. His tip’s slick with precum, making your mouth water. You reach out your finger, teasing his fat tip, tracing his slit as his mouth falls open. Lifting your finger, you bring it to your lips, running it along your tongue.

"Yeah, baby?" You whisper. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You look over at your phone, trembling on the nightstand.

Alarm: British and World Literature

"No... No, baby. C'mon," Garrett groans breathily as he hovers over you, reading it as well.

"I'm sorry," you sigh, running your fingers through your hair, trying to look half-presentable as you reach for your laptop, resting on your lap, before pulling it open for class.

"You're jokin' me," he rasps as he looks at you over your laptop as the faces of your classmates fill the digital classroom. You shush him, and he scoffs, his face twisting in disgust.

"M'sorry," you whisper, keeping your voice soft.

"Nah, baby... Don't be," he hums as he rests his hand on your thigh, making your brows draw together in confusion with his sudden change of heart.

Your professor's face pops up on the screen, delivering her usual greeting.

Your breath snags when his hand tightens on your thigh. The brief surrender in his expression disappears almost immediately, replaced by something sharper.

Your heart starts to race a little faster, pussy throbbing as Garrett's large hand traces up your leg, squeezing your upper thigh. "Present," you speak, pushing out the word for attendance as his rough fingers draw along your soft skin.

You feel your cheeks warm up, your thighs press in slightly, but he stops you, spreading you wider, making you bite your lips to keep your whimper inside. Garrett chuckles just under his breath at the sound that slips past your lips, angling himself slightly to get a better look at your pretty face.

"Pretend I'm not even here," he taunts through a whisper as his fingers cup your pussy, pushing against your sex.

You try your best to focus, your pulse stutters as class drags on. Garrett slides two long fingers inside you, pressing his lips against your clit, making you have to lift your laptop ever so slightly so he won't knock it. You clear your throat, pretending to ignore him, but it's useless.

Garrett kisses your thigh as he starts to fuck his fingers into you.

He curls his long digits, making you fight back moan after moan from his hand alone.

You try to close your legs, but he catches you immediately, pinning them to the mattress again, holding you open to look down at your drooling hole, giving you a few teasing licks.

"Holy shit," you breathe as Garrett flicks his tongue against your clit before sucking down. He drops one arm, pushing his fingers inside your pussy as his mouth works on you as well.

Your head gets fuzzy, your body quaking hard enough to make the screen shake visibly. Fuck, Garrett. You grab the top of your laptop, slamming it shut, letting a deep moan pour from your lips as you cum hard off his tongue and his fingers, throwing your head into the pillows.

Garrett crawls up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss on your mouth as you come down from your high, tasting yourself on his lips. "Mmm... I love you, baby," he hums, and you want to be mad, but you just can't.

Your brows pinch together in confusion as Garrett rolls flat on the mattress. He grabs the elastic band of his boxers, looking up at you with a smirk as he pulls them down his thighs, his heavy cock slapping against his skin.

"You got thirty minutes left, baby," he smiles smugly as he wraps his fist around his thick dick, waiting for you to climb on top.

"Garrett..." You chuckle breathlessly, still breathing heavily from your first release. "I don't know."

"Looks like you don’t know," he mumbles teasingly as he reaches for you, but you're already moving toward him, your actions telling a different story entirely. "Just be a good girl and sit on it," he hums.

You climb onto him backwards, Garrett's big hands slapping and kneading your ass, pulling you open slightly as he watches you trace his tip through your wetness.

"Goddamn, princess. C'mon... Shittt," he moans as you slide down on his dick, inch by inch, your pussy swallowing him whole 'til you're fully sat, nails clawing into his muscular thighs. "Atta girl. Fuck, you're wet, pretty," he praises as you let the oversized t-shirt Garrett gave you loose.

His hands slip beneath the fabric, settling on your ass while you grab your laptop again, trying desperately to keep a straight face with your boyfriend buried deep inside you.

He looks up from the pillow, seeing your face captured in the virtual classroom—watching as you bite your cheek and brows soften, to keep from cracking and letting the class know.

His big palm settles against your tailbone, chuckling under his breath as his thumb presses in your ass, making you gasp. Your composure slips and your eyes go wider, your pussy squeezes around his cock a little tighter, and he grits out a soft moan.

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, head dropping back into the pillow. “That’s my girl.”

💻🍎taglist on my pinned post 🏒 @rafesthroatbaby @liss2709-blog @sushi-girl04 @judesgfirl @cdiaz18 @fiercetigerpoison @obsessedwrafe @vanillaiceyhot @maialopez23 @rexit-mo @georgiastars13 @princessaaa13 @dragonvalyria @livlovesfastcars @thebitchylibra @corvusmorte @st8rkey @imperfectlyperfect78 @winchestersbgirl @glitterandviolence13

[finelinevogue]

I feel like garret would be the biggest groveller 🙏🏾I was thinking something where the reader gets mad/ annoyed at him and ignores him to the point where’s he’s begging for her attention/forgiveness

better kiss me next time, bitch

summary - garrett forgets to kiss you one morning, so obviously you have to break up with him

pairing - garrett graham x girlfriend!reader

word count - 1.5k

“Baby, wake up.”

Garrett’s voice was the first thing that you became aware of as you woke up. You pulled the duvet up higher to your neck with a grumble in response.

Your boyfriend chuckled and you felt the bed dip next to where you were laying down.

“C’mon. I’ve got to go in five minutes.”

“No.” You mumbled, eyes closed and trying your hardest to go back to sleep. It was too early.

It was in fact a very reasonable time for you to wake up, but Garrett knew not to disturb you on those days where you wanted an extra lay in.

“Okay. I’m gonna go now.” He caressed your cheek delicately.

“Mhm.”

You thought about how Garrett’s imminent kiss was going to help you drift back off to sleep very nicely. There was something about his morning kisses - so tender and soft - that you wanted to wake up every morning forever with them.

So you were absolutely devastated when his lips never met your cheek and his door clicked shut behind him.

Your eyes shot open at the sound.

You threw back the duvet with a petty scoff.

Okay, sure, you’d refused to wake up to say goodbye to your boyfriend but the absolute cheek to leave without giving you your morning kiss. It was hard not to take it to heart.

Was he actually upset with you?

Was he messing with you?

Or did he genuinely just forget?

——

Garrett had been sweating by the time he finished practice.

His hair was wet and dripping, and his clothes were sticking to him like a second skin. Thank God the locker rooms had showers, because there was no way he was going home to you smelling like a sewer drain.

After Garrett had finished his shower, he wrapped his white towel around his hips and walked back into the main changing area.

He wasn’t expecting his teammates to be surrounding each other, watching something on Dean’s phone.

They all looked up at him… guiltly? No… empathetically?

Why were they all looking at him?

“Yes?” Garrett prompted.

Tucker nudged Dean, who then nudged someone else, who then nudged another person, until everyone was nudging each other and whispering about who would be the one to tell Garrett whatever.

“Can someone just please tell me what the hell is going on?”

It was Logan that came over to him, handing Garrett his phone.

Garrett looked down at the screen and saw your face. He frowned and nervously swallowed, looking up at his onlooking teammates one more time before hitting play.

It was a video uploaded onto the Fifth Line.

Jules was clearly filming and you were the only person in shot.

“I hear you have some big news for us, Y/N?”

“Yes.” You smiled sadly.

Garrett felt a punch to the heart at your sad face. He was going to knock out the idiot who took the smile from your face away.

Your eyes welled up then, and Garrett’s heart started to race. He was mentally counting how long it would take for him to get changed and get home to you.

“I’m now single.”

What?

Garrett’s jaw physically dropped, and his mind couldn’t process anything long enough to tell himself to close it.

Garrett couldn’t look away from the video, but he felt his best friend, Logan, wrap an arm around his shoulder in solidarity.

“So you and Garrett?” Jules asked.

“We’ve parted ways.” You nodded.

“Any particular reason?”

“He knows what he did.”

Garrett was so confused. Confused by the entire video and situation, but also confused on how to feel. One moment he felt sad for you, the next he was plain confused and now he was anxiously trying to recount what the hell you could be talking about?

Was this breakup even mutual?

What the actual fuck was going on?

“Y/N asks for privacy during this time.” Jules said before the screen turned black.

Garrett’s gaze kept focused on the phone.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even process a single thought. He was completely broken.

“It’s okay, man.”

It was Logan’s voice matched with someone squeezing his arm that made him flip out of his daze.

“No. No. What the fuck.” Garrett mumbled, walking over to his changing space.

He discarded his towel without any regard for all his teammates watching him - their captain. He pulled on a hoodie and threw on his sweatpants without so much considering pulling on underwear too.

It took Garrett less than five minutes to get ready to leave, whilst his teammates hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Have none of you got anything better to do?” He shouted out rhetorically as he left the locker room to go and find you.

You. His girlfriend.

Did he miss the memo of when you broke up?

You had slept over just last night. He’d left you in his bed this morning, wearing his clothes. Your underwear was in his washing basket because you were over at his house more than you were at your own dorm.

There was no way you had broken up.

And if you had, by some miraculous event, broken up, then he was about to become the world’s most needy and relentless ex-boyfriend.

——

The knock on your door sounded angry.

You bookmarked your current read, slipped out of your bed and walked across the wooden floor of your dorm to the door.

You had barely flicked the lock open before it was dramatically swung open to reveal Garrett, his hand splayed wide open to keep your door open.

You barely got to look at him before he moved towards you, cupped your cheeks firmly and kissed you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do.

It took a moment for you to realise what was happening before you started kissing him back.

Garrett walked you backwards and somehow managed to also close your door behind him, without ever breaking the kiss. You moaned as he tilted your face to kiss you deeper, the desire in the pits of your stomach only growing.

Your hand touched his chest, your fist curling the material of his hoodie as he kissed you harder.

Your touch must have triggered something, though, because he stopped kissing you a moment later.

Both of your cheeks were flushed and lips fucked.

Your breathing was heavy. Your chest heaved as you locked eyes with his.

He kept his distance close to you as he spoke.

“You’re not breaking up with me.”

“W-what?” You asked. Your brain felt completely messed up from the kiss.

“We’re not breaking up. End of story.”

“Garrett—.”

“I saw your video on Fifth Line.” He cut you off.

“All of it?” You questioned, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to understand what was happening.

“Yes.”

“Okay, then you know I was making a joke.” Your hand let go of his hoodie and you pulled a little further away from him.

Clearly there was a misunderstanding or miscommunication happening right now, because you and Garrett were very clearly not on the same page.

“Hang on a minute.”

You pulled out of his hold completely in search for your phone. Garrett reluctantly let you go, but followed close behind you like a lost puppy.

After pulling up the Fifth Line on your Instagram, you opened the video that had already amassed three times the views of anything else, and pressed play.

Garrett came to stand close behind you, the side of his cheek pressing against the side of your head.

You watched the video with him, jaw dropped when the video stopped.

“I don’t understand.” You said quietly.

“Well that makes two of us.” Garrett agreed.

You put your phone back down and turned around to face him. “Jules recorded me saying that bit, and then also another bit saying how it was all a joke and that we’re very much together. I didn’t want any dick-picks sliding into my DMs.”

“Might be too late for that, baby.”

“Fuck.” You sighed, covering your face with your hands, “It was meant to be a joke.”

“Hey, hey. C’mon.” Garrett wrapped his arms around you to hold you close. The feeling of his arms encompassing you made you feel very safe. “Bit of a shit joke though, baby.”

Your head nestled out from his hold so you could look at him.

“Bit of a shit morning though.” You retaliated.

“Hmm?”

“You know what you did.”

“Well, clearly I don’t.” Garrett laughed.

“You didn’t kiss me.” You pouted.

“I didn’t kiss you?” Garrett’s eyebrows raised and you hoped that it was because he was shocked at his bad behaviour.

“No.”

“My poor baby.”

“Mhm.”

“In all fairness, you were half dead… I mean, asleep.” Garrett joked, because he teased you all the time about how you’re practically dead when you sleep.

“Well still…”

“Still what?”

“Better kiss me next time, bitch.”

“As long as we don’t break up. Can’t kiss you if we break up.” Garrett proposed.

“Let’s never break up.”

“Deal.

“Deal.”

[cece-says-stuff]

Imagine waking up and looking up and it's just this above you

Like fuck me, but also fuck me. Now.

[haydensweetangel]

INSECURITIES | carl grimes ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

౨ৎ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — after finally finding safety in alexandria, old insecurities you thought were gone start to come back, and carl is the first to notice something’s wrong.

౨ৎ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — body image issues, insecurity, slight disordered eating, negative self-perception, light angst, comfort.

౨ৎ 𝐀/𝐍 — wrote this at 3am so i basically just wrote what came into mind </3 ngl this feels very personal to me and i know theres many girls out there who feel the exact same way so i thought of writing this in an attempt to make you all feel seen i guess. i still struggle a lot with body image, obviously its not something it’ll change over night but i wanted to remind you that its completely ok to have insecurities. though, all bodies and all faces are different and beautiful and you shouldnt feel ashamed of yourself in any kind of way. its not easy and some days it hurts more than others, its an process that takes time, and thats ok. 🫶

before the world fell apart, your body had always been a very sensitive topic to you. it had been one of your biggest insecurities, basically since forever.

looking at all those girls at school, with their perfect bodies and always looking so beautiful… it always made something in you hurt. you envied them, envied how happy and how comfortable they seemed to be with their appearances. you craved the same feeling, but, whenever you looked at yourself in the mirror, all you felt was instant disgust. no matter what you did, changing your clothes, wearing light makeup, none of it actually helped. if anything, it only made you feel worse, reminding you that you’d never be as perfect as them. perfect bodies, skinny waists, pretty faces… it’d never be you.

it was something you kept to yourself though. the mere thought of sharing that part of yourself with someone else always made you cringe hard.

when the outbreak started, you started paying much less attention to how you looked. after all, you couldn’t fight for your life and worry about your body image at the same time. you managed to forget all about it for a while, being so busy with everything else, with things that actually mattered.

you joined rick’s group back when they were still at the prison. you grew close to carl pretty fast, like you guys had immediately clicked. all that closeness quickly turned into genuine love, and you guys started dating, shortly after terminus.

eventually, you found alexandria.

adjusting wasn’t easy, especially when you’re in a place as normal and peaceful as alexandria. and after so long out there, normal felt weird.

but, as time passed, that little voice in your head came back. being in alexandria reminded you of all those insecurities you thought you had left behind. you started hating yourself all over again.

you spent most of your free time standing in front of the mirror, suddenly too aware of how you looked, and you hated what you saw. you’d wear bigger clothes that would hid more your body, and you’d eat less, less than before. you were acting different, more quiet and distant.

carl had noticed this whole change in your behaviour, of course he had. and he was worried, to say the least. when he asked if you were okay, you’d say you were fine. when he asked what was wrong, you’d say everything was alright. but carl knew you better than that, in fact, he probably knew you better than you knew yourself. he wasn’t buying any of those excuses.

today was one of those days. only difference is that carl’s around. you guys had this small ‘tradition’ where you’d spend every sunday together, either in your place or his, doing things normal teenagers would — watching movies, playing games, eating junk food — just being together and enjoying each other’s company, basically. though today, you were… off. you were more quiet, not as excited and as chatty as you’d usually be on a normal sunday.

you were sitting on your bed, your knees up against your chest, your arms wrapped around them. you were looking at the small TV, but you weren’t actually watching the movie. carl was sitting close to you. you didn’t say more than five words ever since he arrived at your place, and it confused him.

“what’s goin’ on, baby?” he asked in that soft tone of his, the tone that was especially reserved for you.

you snapped out of your trance, looking at him for a moment, “nothing.” you said quietly.

that made carl frown a little. he could see right through your lie. “y’know you can talk to me, right? about anything.”

you nodded, you were well aware of that. carl was always so supportive, so caring… and you were thankful for it, for him. so, treating him like this made your heart hurt a little, feeling guilty for not being completely honest with him.

“i know. it’s just… it’s stupid.” you mumbled out, sighing a little.

“it’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.” carl said, his full attention on you now. he was determined to find out what was this all about and try to help. he loved you so much, and seeing you sad made him sad. “just… talk to me. ‘m here for you, always. you know that.”

you swallowed. “you ever… look at yourself in the mirror and just… hate what you see?” your voice was small, as if you were afraid of talking about your insecurities out loud.

carl’s frown deepened. he was starting to get what you meant. after all, he’d been there, when he lost his eyes. still, he had to ask, “what do you mean?”

“like… hating how you look, i guess.” you said, keeping your quiet tone.

“you… feel that way?” the boy asked carefully.

you shrugged your shoulders slightly, not knowing what to say. though, the look on your face told carl everything he needed to know.

his expression softened ever so slightly, “oh, baby…” he took your hands gently in his. carl was in doubt about what to say, how to make you feel better. how could he tell his girlfriend that in his eyes, she’s the prettiest girl in the world? how could he tell her that it pained his heart seeing how much she was struggling with this?

so, he decided to show you instead.

carl got up from your bed, pulling you with him. it confused you, “carl, what are you doing-”

he walked towards the big mirror on your wall. he was now standing behind you, his arms around you, never letting go of your hands. you look at him through the mirror, giving him a little confused look.

he smiled a little, “… i wish could use my eye, so you’d see how beautiful you really are”

his words made your heart skip a beat, but you didn’t say anything, not knowing exactly what to say.

“i love you because of what you are, not because of how you look. i love your braveness, i love your strength, i love your kindness, your good heart…” he trailed off.

then he continued, “… but i also see you, y’know? and i love what i see.” he paused for a moment. “i love your thighs, i like squeezing your soft skin with my hands. i love your belly and pampering it with lots of kisses. i also love your stretch marks, they make you more beautiful than you realise.” he smiled. you listened to him attentively, your eyes already wet with tears.

“and, god- i love your pretty face. the way your cheeks flush when you’re embarrassed or flattered, and your smile… baby- i love everything about you. you’re so beautiful, and it breaks my heart seeing you hating yourself so much, when all i see is the prettiest girl in the world right in front of me.”

your breath hitched slightly, “carl…” you mumbled, your voice trembling softly.

his grip on your hands tightened gently, “you’re beautiful. you’ve always been. and you shouldn’t think the otherwise, because that will only make you feel worse.”

he then turned you around, so you could face him. “i want you to promise me that you’ll stop hurting yourself like this. because- it’s okay to feel insecure sometimes, i get it. just… don’t go through it alone. i’m here.”

all you could do was nod, your eyes never leaving his. “… ‘kay.” you spoke softly. suddenly, your heart didn’t feel so heavy anymore. carl saw you, for what you really were. and he loved you more than you could ever hate yourself.

carl nodded in return, giving you the sweetest smile, “… good.”

“i love you, pretty girl.” he said at last, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

[moonnightbabe]

Mmm, those biceps and hands…

[cherrylacuna]

The Handyman Next Door

Summary: After moving into your dream house in the Canadian countryside, your first night takes an unexpected turn when the shower breaks. Embarrassed and desperate, you knock on your neighbor Hayden’s door for help.

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x f!Reader

Word Count: 5,4k

Warnings: age gap, neighbor romance, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex (m/f), cumplay, shower sex, rough sex, dirty talk, overstimulation, mild breeding kink, mild praise kink, alcohol consumption, brief mention of loneliness, domestic undertones

The drive had been long—too long—and the last stretch seemed endless. The roads narrowed into ribbons of cracked asphalt winding through dense evergreens and open stretches of farmland, the kind of scenery that made you feel both very small and very free. By the time you pulled into the gravel driveway, your headlights cut across the old wooden porch of your new house, scattering shadows against the faded siding. Your chest tightened, a little thrill mixed with nerves. After years of saving, working double shifts, and living in cramped apartments that never felt like home, you were finally here.

Your dream house.

It wasn’t big, it wasn’t fancy, but it was yours. A small, weathered Canadian house tucked in a quiet spot where only the occasional cow lowed in the distance and the trees whispered in the wind. The air smelled cleaner already, sharper, fresher than anything you’d breathed in the city. You sat there in the driver’s seat for a moment, hands loose on the steering wheel, letting the reality sink in. This was the start of something new.

The trunk creaked as you opened it, and the cool night air bit against your skin. One by one, you carried boxes inside, piling them in the living room. The wood floor groaned under your steps, the kind of tired groan that said I’ve stood here for decades. The house didn’t smell of dust the way you’d expected—more like cedar and something faintly sweet, as if the walls themselves had absorbed summers long past.

You unpacked slowly, methodically. A stack of plates, a row of books, the framed photo of you and your friends at graduation that always seemed to follow you from one place to the next. Your clothes spilled from cardboard, still wrinkled from being packed in haste. The bathroom was small, tiled in outdated beige, but you lined the cabinet shelves with your bottles and soaps anyway, grounding yourself in routine. Each item in its place, each gesture carving your presence into the house.

By the time you finished, your body ached with exhaustion. Muscles pulled tight from lifting, skin damp with the sheen of travel and work. The only thing on your mind was the hot shower waiting for you. Just five minutes to let the water beat against your skin, wash the dust and weariness away, and claim this house as your own.

You peeled your clothes off, dropping them in a careless heap on the floor. The air was cool against your bare skin, goosebumps chasing over your arms as you stepped into the shower. The tiles were old but clean, and you twisted the knob eagerly.

Nothing.

You frowned, twisting harder. Still nothing. Not even a hiss. A dry silence filled the small bathroom, heavy in its finality. You pushed at the handle again, frustration bubbling in your chest, and suddenly—

A spurt.

Water burst out of a small hole near the pipe instead of the showerhead, spraying in a wild arc that splattered against the wall. You yelped and jerked back, slipping on the wet tile as your heart raced. For a second, panic clawed at your throat. Had you just broken it? Was the whole system wrecked?

You twisted the handle shut with a trembling hand, breath heavy in your chest. Silence fell again, leaving only the drip of wasted water trailing down the wall.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. “First night and I already broke something.”

You snatched the hoodie you’d left draped on the counter, tugging it over your head in a rush. Your shorts followed, still warm from when you’d been wearing them earlier. Underwear didn’t matter. It was just you, alone in the house. The hoodie swallowed your frame, soft against your skin, but it didn’t do much for the nervous flutter in your stomach.

You padded back into the living room, barefoot on creaking wood, staring at the pile of boxes that suddenly seemed heavier than before. How are you supposed to fix plumbing? You knew nothing about pipes or water lines. You’d barely figured out how to work your own radiator in your last apartment. Sitting down on the couch with a sigh, you rubbed at your temples. The excitement of earlier had dulled, replaced by the sharp edge of worry.

And then—an idea.

The houses here weren’t stacked on top of each other the way they were in the city. They were spaced out, with long stretches of field or trees between, but you remembered seeing one not too far down the road as you drove in. Lights had glowed faintly in the window, proof of life, proof that you weren’t completely alone out here.

Maybe… maybe whoever lived there would know something. A neighbor. Farmers always knew how to fix things, right? Or at least they’d know who to call. And what was the point of moving to a quiet place like this if you didn’t introduce yourself to the people around you?

Your pulse quickened with nerves at the thought of knocking on a stranger’s door, especially this late, but the alternative was spending your first night in your dream house sweaty and miserable, sticky with road dust, sitting on a couch that smelled faintly of cardboard.

Decision made, you stood and grabbed your keys from the counter, shoving them into the hoodie pocket. The night air greeted you as soon as you stepped outside—cooler now, brushing over your bare legs, carrying with it the distant sound of crickets. The gravel crunched beneath your steps as you made your way down the short path to the road, the faint glow of the neighboring house like a beacon in the distance.

You pulled your hoodie tighter, heart thudding with a mixture of nerves and determination. Tonight, the house had already tested you, but maybe—just maybe—the neighbor next door would have the answers.

And with that thought, you headed toward the house not far from yours.

The walk to the neighboring house felt longer than it looked from your window. The gravel shifted beneath your bare feet in the dark, cool against your skin, and with each step your nerves fluttered higher. What if they weren’t awake? What if they thought you were some crazy city girl showing up in the middle of the night in nothing but a hoodie and shorts?

Still, the glow of a porch light guided you, soft and yellow against the shadowed shape of the house. You climbed the wooden steps, hesitated for half a second, then curled your hand into a fist and knocked.

Silence.

You waited, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, listening to the hum of crickets in the fields. Maybe no one was home after all. Your knuckles hovered for a second knock when the sound of movement stirred inside—slow footsteps across creaking wood. The door opened, and there he was.

A man stood in the frame, the kind of presence that immediately settled the air. He was older, not in a frail way but in a seasoned one, a quiet wisdom in his posture. The porch light caught the angles of his face, the faint lines etched by time, the delicate, maybe week long beard that shadowed his chin. His red shirt was slightly wrinkled, casual but well-worn, as though he’d thrown it on after a long day.

Your throat went dry for a moment. He didn’t look at you with suspicion, just calm curiosity.

“Uh—hi,” you managed, laughing nervously at yourself. “Sorry to bother you so late, but… my shower just broke. And I really wanted to wash so bad after today.” You gestured vaguely in the direction of your house, shrugging as embarrassment colored your cheeks. “Do you, um, maybe know how to fix things like that? You look like a man who does.”

Your awkward little laugh slipped out before you could stop it, but instead of frowning, he smiled. A slow, easy smile that crinkled at the edges of his eyes.

“I’m Hayden,” he said, offering his hand without hesitation. His voice was steady, low, warm in a way that seemed to carry into the night.

You slid your palm against his, surprised at the firmness of his grip. “Nice to meet you. I’m—” you introduced yourself, the sound of your name hanging between you like a new thread tying the two of you together.

“Let me just grab my toolbox,” he said, releasing your hand gently. He disappeared inside, the screen door creaking behind him, only to return a minute later with a heavy red box in hand. Metal clinked faintly inside as he carried it with the ease of habit.

Relief loosened the tension in your chest as you led him back toward your house. The walk felt different this time—not quite as lonely, not quite as dark, the crunch of his boots beside you.

Inside, the living room still looked like a hurricane of cardboard. Boxes stacked high, half-open, clothes draped over edges, your entire life sitting in messy piles. You flushed a little, suddenly self-conscious.

“You just moved in?” Hayden asked, his tone casual but observant as his gaze took in the scene.

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small smile. “Today, actually. Well… tonight, I guess. Everything’s still kind of chaos.”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “That’s how it always starts. Give it time.”

You led him toward the bathroom, pointing at the sad shower that had already betrayed you. “This is the culprit,” you said with a dramatic sigh.

Hayden crouched down without hesitation, setting the toolbox beside him. His hands moved quickly, practiced, as though he’d done this sort of thing more times than he could count. You stood awkwardly nearby, watching him twist pipes and check fittings, the faint furrow of concentration between his brows. The quiet competence of it all made your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t expected.

It didn’t even take him long. After a few adjustments, a quick turn of his wrist, and the sound of water sputtered through the pipe—this time, from the right place. The showerhead gushed to life, steam beginning to curl against the tiles.

You gasped in delight, clapping your hands together. “Oh my god, you actually fixed it! That was so fast.” Relief rushed through you, tangled with giddy gratitude. “Thank you so much. Seriously, what would I have done without you? Probably just stayed here all stinky and sweaty.”

The words tumbled out in a laugh, light and teasing, but the truth clung beneath them—you’d been desperate for help, and he’d stepped in without question.

Hayden gave a small chuckle of his own, already packing his tools back into their neat compartments. “It was a simple fix. Nothing to worry about.” He closed the box with a click and stood, brushing his palms lightly against his jeans. “Glad I could help.”

He was already halfway to the living room, his boots quiet against the floor, when you felt the tug of something inside you. Maybe it was the warmth of gratitude, or maybe it was the thought of going back to being alone in the half-unpacked house the moment he walked out the door. Either way, the words slipped out before you could second-guess them.

“Wait.”

He turned, brows raised, the faintest curiosity in his eyes.

“Maybe… maybe you’d like to stay? Just for a glass of wine?” you offered, trying to sound casual even as your heart thumped wildly. “I’d love to get to know my new neighbor. Especially the one who just saved my life.”

The invitation hung in the air, soft but charged, the night around you holding its breath to see what he would say.

Hayden studied you for a moment, his toolbox still in hand, then set it down by the door. “A glass of wine doesn’t sound bad,” he said with a small smile.

Relief flooded you instantly, though you tried not to show it too obviously. “Great! Just—uh—make yourself comfortable,” you said, motioning vaguely toward the living room while you disappeared into the kitchen corner.

The cork popped awkwardly beneath your grip—you weren’t exactly elegant about it—but eventually the deep red liquid swirled into two mismatched glasses you’d unpacked earlier. When you returned, Hayden was sitting on the couch, relaxed but somehow filling the small space with his presence. You handed him a glass and sat beside him, tucking one leg under you.

“Cheers,” you said, holding your glass up.

He clinked his gently against yours. “To new neighbors.”

The wine burned pleasantly down your throat, loosening the tight knot in your chest. Still, the mess around you was impossible to ignore. Boxes towered like walls, half-empty and spilling clothes, books, plates. You’d already apologized twice, and now the words tumbled out a third time before you could stop them.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry about all this. The boxes, the chaos. I promise it won’t always look like I live in a storage unit.”

Hayden chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. “It’s part of moving in. If you weren’t surrounded by boxes, I’d think something was wrong.”

You laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his easy tone settle you. Conversation flowed more naturally than you expected. You told him a little about the move, the long drive, how surreal it felt to finally own your own place. He listened, attentive in a way that made you feel… seen. Like your words mattered.

At one point, you glanced at his hands resting on the glass, the faint callouses at his fingertips. The image of him crouched in your bathroom, confident and capable with his tools, popped into your mind, and before you knew it, the words slipped out with a teasing laugh.

“Your wife must be so lucky to have such a handyman around the house.”

It was meant as a lighthearted jab, but something shifted in the silence that followed. Hayden looked at you, steady and unhurried, and said simply:

“I’m single.”

The words hung there, heavier than you’d expected. He didn’t elaborate, just watched you carefully, waiting for your reaction.

You blinked, then tried to smooth the sudden rush of curiosity with another sip of wine. “Really? Huh. Guess I just assumed.”

“Most people do,” he said quietly.

Your gaze lingered on him a little longer than it should have. The lines at the corners of his eyes, the faint scruff along his jaw, the way he carried himself—everything about him radiated maturity, a life lived already. It made you painfully aware of the gap between you.

“I mean… you must think I’m ridiculously young,” you admitted, setting your glass down on the coffee table. “Like every time I talk about something, you’re probably sitting there thinking, oh, she’s barely lived, barely done anything yet.”

He tilted his head, not denying it, but not confirming it either. His silence was deliberate, and it only made you more restless.

You bit your lip, the movement unconscious at first, but his gaze flickered there. You noticed, and something bold sparked in your chest. Maybe it was the wine, maybe the quiet intimacy of the late hour, maybe the way his calm presence felt magnetic. Whatever it was, your tone slipped into something softer, flirtier.

“What a loss,” you murmured, leaning back slightly into the couch. “Such a handsome man being alone.”

His brow ticked, amusement flashing in his eyes, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze drifted—slow, deliberate—down the line of your hoodie, to where your shorts had ridden up your thighs. The air in the room grew heavier, charged, your body tightening under his attention.

The hoodie suddenly felt too thin, even though you knew it was oversized and bulky. Your nipples pressed against the fabric, hard with awareness, and you swore if the material had been just a little lighter, it would’ve been obvious. The thought made your breath catch, heat pooling low in your stomach.

You wanted him to see.

The wine loosened your tongue further, courage spilling out of you in a daring whisper. You leaned closer, eyes fixed on his, letting the corner of your mouth tug upward.

“Do you…” Your voice trailed off, playful but trembling with something deeper. “Do you want to test if the shower works?”

The words weren’t casual, not really. They dripped with challenge, with invitation. Your gaze locked onto his, wide and unblinking, like an animal daring another to make the first move.

The room went silent again. The tick of the old clock in the kitchen seemed unbearably loud as you waited, heart pounding, pulse fluttering in your throat. His eyes searched yours, and you couldn’t tell if he was weighing the risks, the morality, or the temptation itself.

The silence stretched between you, thick and dangerous. Hayden’s gaze lingered on your lips, then slid back up to meet your eyes. Something in him shifted—like a switch flipping—and before you could take another breath, he reached forward, took your glass from your hand, and set it firmly on the table beside his own.

His hand cupped your jaw, firm and certain, and then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t testing. It was raw, desperate, a kiss that tasted of wine and hunger. His lips pressed hard against yours, his tongue pushing past the barrier of your mouth like he had been starving for this. You let out a sharp sound, half gasp, half moan, the shock of it quickly giving way to want.

Your fingers found the hem of his red shirt, slipping beneath it without hesitation. Heat met your palm—firm muscle, taut beneath your touch. You almost moaned at the feel of him, the reality of strength pressed under your hand, proof that this wasn’t some late-night fantasy but real, solid flesh.

Hayden groaned low in his throat, as though your touch undid something in him. His lips dragged away from yours, trailing wet heat down your jaw and to your neck. His mouth was relentless, biting softly, sucking at tender skin while you tilted your head back to give him more. Your noises spilled out—soft, needy, unrestrained—filling the room with the soundtrack of your unraveling.

Before you could process, his hands gripped your thighs. You squeaked in surprise as he stood, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, his lips never leaving yours as he carried you through the mess of boxes and into the bathroom.

The door hit the wall with a dull thud as he pushed it open. He set you down on the cool tile, his hands immediately tugging at your hoodie, stripping it up and over your head with a kind of rough eagerness. He wasn’t careful—he wasn’t trying to be. He was unwrapping you like something he’d been waiting far too long to touch.

When your breasts spilled free, bare and already peaked from the chill, he froze for a split second. His jaw tightened, his pupils dark and wide, and then a curse tore from his throat.

“Fuck…”

His hand seized one breast, large and hot against your skin, squeezing firmly. The sound of his voice, the weight of his palm—it made your knees buckle. His mouth claimed yours again, stealing the breath from your lungs as he kneaded your flesh. Your fingers scrambled at his shirt, tugging it upward, until finally you shoved it off his shoulders. The sight of him stripped bare from the waist up made your pulse stutter—broad chest, hard muscle, years of strength written into his body.

Your hands slid down, fumbling at his belt until it loosened, until the denim slid low enough to reveal him. The sight made your stomach clench with heat. He was hard already, thick and veiny, straining for release. You almost moaned just from looking.

He pressed forward, grinding against you, his length rubbing against your stomach through the thin barrier of your shorts. You felt every ridge, every inch, the sheer size of him making your breath hitch.

Then, without another word, he nudged you into the shower stall. You reached past him, twisting the knob. Cold water blasted down instantly, shocking against your overheated skin. Both of you gasped, groaning at the icy shock.

“Sorry—shit—sorry,” you laughed breathlessly, fumbling with the handle until warmth spilled down instead, steam rising around you. The air grew heavy with heat, your bodies slick with water, your nerves sparking all over again.

You reached for him without thinking. Your hand wrapped around his cock, the weight of him solid and hot against your palm. He hissed sharply, his head tipping forward, forehead pressing into your shoulder.

“God…” he groaned, his voice vibrating against your wet skin.

You stroked him slowly at first, up and down, savoring the way he twitched in your grasp. The other hand pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat pounding beneath the muscle. Water ran between your bodies, sliding over every curve and plane, but your focus was only on the thick, pulsing length in your hand.

He buried his face into your neck, his lips dragging wetly over your skin, his teeth grazing when you brushed your thumb over the tip. His moan was ragged, guttural, so raw it shot straight through you.

You kept moving your hand, tighter, faster, the sound of water mixing with the slick rhythm of your touch. His hips jerked slightly, chasing your strokes, and you reveled in the way this calm, steady man unraveled under your hands.

“Fuck—don’t stop,” he groaned, his voice breaking into the steam. His breath came fast against your shoulder, his body trembling under your touch. You could feel it building, the way his cock throbbed harder, the way his muscles tensed, every sound he made pushing you further into hunger.

And then, with a strangled groan, he came. Hot release spilled across your stomach, mixing with the water as it washed over your skin. His whole body shuddered against you, groans muffled into your neck as you stroked him through the last pulses.

You gasped out a laugh, breathless and exhilarated, looking down at the mess streaking your skin. The absurdity of it made you giggle, even as heat still burned low in your body. “Guess the shower works after all,” you teased, your grin wide, wicked.

Hayden lifted his head, eyes dark and stormy, still catching his breath. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, and for the first time, he let out a short, rough laugh of his own.

The air between you still crackled, full of promises and unfinished hunger.

And the night was only just beginning.

Steam curled thick around you, wrapping your bodies in a haze as the rush of water spilled endlessly from above. Your skin still tingled where his release had painted you, but the heat inside you hadn’t dulled—it had only sharpened, clawing at your insides, begging for more.

Hayden’s eyes darkened as he looked at you, water dripping from his hair, running down the planes of his chest. Without a word, he dropped to his knees in front of you, the sound of him kneeling against wet tile sending a pulse straight through you.

Your breath hitched. “Hayden…”

He caught one of your thighs, lifting it with an ease that made your heart race, resting your leg over his broad shoulder. The angle left you open, exposed, every inch of you on display for him. His gaze flicked up briefly, catching yours, and then his mouth was on you.

The first stroke of his tongue against your swollen folds ripped a gasp from your throat. Your back slammed against the cool tiles as your fingers tangled into his wet hair. He groaned low at the tug, the sound vibrating against you as he buried his face deeper. His tongue licked a hard, steady rhythm, dragging through every slick curve before plunging inside, hot and insistent.

“Fuck—” you cried, your head tipping back, every muscle in your body pulling taut.

His free hand gripped your hip, anchoring you against his mouth, while the other slid between your thighs, circling your clit with maddening precision. The double assault had you writhing, your cries bouncing off the shower walls. You were loud, shameless, your moans mixing with the sound of rushing water as his tongue fucked you relentlessly.

Your grip on his hair tightened, pulling hard enough to make him groan into you, the vibration sending sparks of ecstasy straight through your core. Your thighs shook against him, your stomach tightening, the pressure building so fast it felt like drowning.

“Don’t stop—don’t—” you begged, but he didn’t need the words. He knew. He held you down harder, tongue and fingers working in perfect sync until the knot inside you snapped.

Your orgasm ripped through you violently, your scream echoing as your body convulsed, grinding against his mouth. He licked you through every wave, drinking you in, his moans muffled into your flesh. You collapsed against the wall, panting, your nails biting into his scalp as the last shudders left your body weak.

When you finally blinked down at him, his mouth glistened with you, his lips swollen and wet. He licked them slowly, his chest rising and falling, and then he stood.

Water trailed down his torso as his hand wrapped around his cock again, stroking hard, already thick and ready. His eyes locked onto yours, then flicked down to your pussy, still dripping from his tongue.

“Would you mind?” he asked hoarsely, his voice like gravel, desperate but restrained.

Heat flooded your cheeks at his bluntness. You blushed hard, chest heaving, but your answer came quick, breathless. You shook your head. “No.”

His hand slowed on himself, teasing, waiting.

“Take me from behind,” you said suddenly, your voice sharper, trembling with greed. You turned without hesitation, bracing your palms on the slick tiles, arching your back, offering yourself to him. “Please.”

A growl rumbled low in his throat as he grabbed your hips, pulling you into position. His hands squeezed your ass, spreading you wide, his breath catching as he groaned, “Fuck… look at you. So perfect, so fucking—” He cut himself off with another groan, burying his face briefly against your spine like he couldn’t stand the sight without touching.

You whimpered when you felt the hot press of his cock sliding against your entrance. He teased you cruelly, pushing the tip in just enough to make you gasp, then pulling back again, smearing himself against your soaked folds. Your body ached, your walls clenching around nothing, desperate.

“Hayden,” you begged, almost sobbing. “Push it inside already!”

The plea left your lips broken, greedy, and that was all it took.

With one brutal thrust, he slammed into you to the hilt.

Your mouth opened in a silent cry, the air punched from your lungs as he filled you completely. The stretch was overwhelming, splitting you wide, stealing your breath. For a moment, you couldn’t even make a sound—only feel the burn, the fullness, the raw ecstasy of being taken.

“Christ,” he groaned behind you, his voice breaking as he clutched your waist, knuckles white. He pulled out halfway, slammed back in, the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoing in the small stall.

You clawed at the tiles for purchase as his pace built—rough, relentless, every thrust hitting deep. His hips smacked against your ass, water cascading over your bodies as the bathroom filled with the chorus of your cries and his groans.

“You feel so good,” he grunted, his head tipping back, voice ragged. “Jesus—so fucking tight—”

You whimpered, walls fluttering around him, and his grip on you tightened. “You’re milking me so good, girl.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. His hips drove harder, faster, while one of his hands slid forward, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed you in sharp circles, the pressure blinding, sparks exploding through you.

Your body clenched around him violently, your orgasm already threatening, clawing up your spine. He knew. He felt it, the way you squeezed him, the way your moans cracked into broken sobs.

“That’s it,” he growled in your ear, slamming into you with devastating rhythm. “Come for me. I want to feel you break.”

And with his words, your body obeyed.

The pressure built fast, unbearable, and then you broke.

“Hayden!” you screamed, your voice hoarse, echoing off the wet tiles as your body convulsed around him. Your orgasm tore through you, shaking every nerve in your body. Your walls clamped down hard, squeezing him in desperate, pulsing waves, milking him with every spasm.

The sound of your voice—his name ripped from your throat—pushed him over the edge.

He groaned low, feral, almost inhuman as he drove himself deep one last time. His hips jerked against you, his breath ragged as hot spurts of cum flooded inside you. His body shook with the force of it, his groan rolling into a broken growl as he emptied himself fully, his cock twitching inside your clenching heat.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Just the sound of water pounding, your gasps, his heavy grunts. Your bodies were locked, trembling, the air thick with steam and sex.

Finally, with one last shudder, he pulled out, his hands steadying you as your legs nearly gave out. You turned slowly, back pressed to the cold tile, your chest still heaving as you faced him.

His gaze dropped instantly.

You followed it, glancing down at yourself—your pussy slick and swollen, his cum already leaking out in milky streams down your thighs. It painted your skin shamelessly, a messy trail that glistened under the shower spray.

The look on his face—pure satisfaction, dark hunger softened by a victorious smile—made you groan and roll your eyes. “You’re enjoying yourself way too much.”

“Can you blame me?” he rasped, eyes dragging over you possessively, like he wanted to commit the sight to memory. His lips quirked. “That’s mine.”

You shoved lightly at his shoulder, cheeks burning, but the playful spark in your chest lingered.

The water poured over both of you, washing away the sweat and heat, though the taste of him still lingered everywhere on your skin. For the first time since he’d pulled you inside, there was quiet—a calm, easy silence as you both finally showered properly. His hands slid over your body, gentler now, soaping your arms, rubbing your shoulders, brushing down your back. It was almost domestic, intimate, and it made something inside your chest ache in the sweetest way.

When you stepped out, wrapped in towels, the cool air of the apartment felt shocking against your overheated skin. Your hair dripped little rivers down your collarbone as you padded barefoot into the living room.

He followed close behind, his towel slung low on his hips, water still clinging to his chest. You collapsed onto the couch, sinking into the soft cushions, still catching your breath. He joined you, sitting close enough that your thigh brushed his.

You turned your head toward him, smiling sheepishly. “I’m not fully unpacked,” you admitted, laughing under your breath. “But… maybe you want to stay for the night, dear neighbour?” You leaned into him, pressing your damp cheek against his shoulder, your voice teasing, warm.

He laughed, deep and genuine, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. His chest rumbled under your cheek as he tilted his head down to look at you.

“It’s a pleasure, neighbour,” he murmured, his voice low and soft now, full of a different kind of hunger.

You tilted your face up, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you. Not the rushed, desperate kind of kiss that had started this whole night, but slow, deep, passionate. His lips claimed yours with a lingering heat, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

You melted against him, sighing into the kiss, the taste of him still familiar on your tongue.