#I can’t wait for their first meeting!!!

[awrkive]

Wer is grumpy jk! We badly need it 😫😭

summary: you and jungkook are getting closer, moving forward – but to where, exactly? what does that entail for your relationship? 

w/c: 3.3k

note: this is for all the girlies who asked for part 2 for this drabble. nothing but fluff in here ): ive been thinking abt college jk lately and i lowkey like this grumpy!jk guy… basically this takes place two months after the first drabble u may read this amm for grumpy!jk for a brief bg on what their relationship has become before u go read this parr. anyway the ending is a bit diabolical and im saying sorry in advance

also pls listen to come here by kath bloom, its literally so them 😮‍💨😖

It’s almost natural the way Jungkook immediately slings his backpack on one shoulder, heads straight out of the lecture hall, and starts the almost ten-minute walk from his department building to yours the moment his last class for the day was dismissed. 

He waits outside by the hallway along the lecture room, scrolling through his phone mindlessly, knowing that any minute now you’ll be coming out of the door. 

And just as a slew of students��� chattering becomes louder, their heavy footsteps coming out from the hall, Jungkook instantly spots you; talking to a friend animatedly – Joy, maybe? – before you look to the other side and finally see him. 

“Jungkook!” You exclaim with excitement, smiling up at him and even doing a little wave. Jungkook watches as you turn to your friend. “Sorry, I gotta go. Zoom meeting at five, right?” He hears you say before she nods, bidding your goodbyes to each other before she goes in the opposite direction while you saunter towards him with that usual dashing grin on your face. 

Jungkook meets you halfway, lips curling up slightly at your enthusiastic greeting. Even more so when you don’t fight off the way he goes for your tote bag, taking it off your shoulder and wearing it on his own, the weight not adding that much to his own bag perched on his back. 

He remembers the first time he tried to do it (awkwardly, might he add), and you vehemently refused. But Jungkook can be persistent sometimes when he wants to, and eventually you gave up trying to resist.

Currently, as you walk along the hallway out of your building, standing close together, Jungkook tries not to think too much about how easy this feels. Like it’s normal the way you immediately interlock your arm around his own, skipping a little bit upon your walk as you begin speaking.

“You really did cut your hair.” You marvel at him when he looks down at you. And he can’t help it; the blood rushing to his cheeks and certainly on his ears. 

“I sent you a picture.” He simply says. It was yesterday. He originally went to his barber for just a trim but he remembers you saying something about a particular actor’s haircut… and look, it’s not like he was trying to look like that man but it may have influenced the decision a little bit… 

Anyway, he thinks it looks okay on him. He trusts his barber and Hoseok said it suits him. From your response, you also said it looks nice. 

And you tell him so. “I like it! You look so good. Especially with this frame!” You point to his eyeglasses, smiling up at him. “I was thinking you were just sending me a random picture last night.” 

Jungkook chuckles. “I wasn't, and uh, thank you.”

“You're welcome. Anyway,” you say, “Did you wait for long earlier? Sorry ‘bout that. Prof. Shin had to extend a little bit ‘cause there were a lot of questions about our new project.” 

“You have a new project?”

“Yeah, but nothing really heavy. Just a hotel lobby interior design. We got a week and it’s a paired task thing, that’s why you saw me with Joy earlier—”

He sees a flock of students ahead huddling by your side of the pathwalk, and because you have a tendency to not really pay that much attention to your surroundings, he takes you by the waist slightly to avoid bumping with them, causing you to stumble closer to him. 

You crane your neck to look behind you for a moment, gaze falling back up to Jungkook with widened eyes. “Sorry.” you say with a jutted lip and a little frown. 

“It’s okay.” Jungkook says with a reassuring smile. He means it. He likes being close like this and if you don’t watch your surroundings, he’ll just do it for you. He doesn’t mind. 

You grin. “Anyway… I was saying, it’s a hotel interior. But! The thing is, it’s a themed hotel, which I’m really excited about ‘cause I’m tired of designing contemporary, luxury ones. They always tend to be so redundant.” 

Jungkook nods. “I think so too. What’s the themed hotel about?” 

“Have you heard of a film called Metropolis?” He shakes his head. You nod at that. “Well, yeah, me neither. At least a week ago. Prof gave it to us as an assignment and it’s a silent film from the ‘20s. A sci-fi tale, so very futuristic – at least for that time. So that’s the theme of the hotel, right, and Joy and I immediately thought of art deco.” 

Jungkook intently listens as you go on about your initial ideas, and he doesn’t even have to worry about the terms he doesn’t understand because you always take time to explain it to him in layman’s. It’s funny, really, because ever since he’s learned that you study interior design and started to talk to him about it, he found himself taking interest in it as well. Two months ago, he couldn't have given a single care about a couple named Charles and Ray Eames and their weird chair called La Chaise, but here he is, anyway.

Maybe it’s because of the way you so passionately talk about it. Your zeal oozes out so much when it comes up as the topic of conversation, and there’s always been something about you that pulls people right in. And Jungkook’s at peace with himself now that he’s just one of those people. 

He’s willing to be pulled right in, anyway. You don’t exactly make it hard to. 

And Jungkook finds that the newfound dynamic between you two isn’t… so bad. He finds excitement at the prospect of seeing you after his classes are concluded, going to Fro-yo for a quick snack because you’re obsessed with it, and studying together at his place later in the day.

A lot of people would say he’s making up for all the times he’s ignored you. The times when he pretended to not care about you. The times when he was just unprovokedly mean and treated you the way he regrets now. And sure, it may have started that way. Ever since your Environmental Science project was finished and the term was over, Jungkook started to feel like he couldn’t go back to the life where you weren’t within his perimeter. Couldn’t imagine you both being back to – practically – regular strangers, so he just… opened up to you more.

He shares his own stories now. Tells you about his day after you do so, and invites you to Fro-yo and other cafes and restaurants around campus whenever your schedules align. 

And maybe at first it was, indeed, because he was trying to make up for his past behavior – but that may have only been what he convinced himself of for the first few weeks. When the week stretched into months and the months suddenly involved you doing sleepovers at his place whenever his roommate, Hoseok, is not around, Jungkook is starting to question himself if this is all still about simply making it up to you. 

Because frankly, he’s starting to feel like it's a little more than that.

He’s not just buying you frozen yogurt and helping you with any assignment (that requires his silly and minuscule math and science expertise) and letting you borrow and keep his hoodies and shirts whenever you sleep over because he’s trying to make up for the past – he’s doing all of these because he genuinely enjoys your company and would like to do more for you… with you… to you… and just… just more. 

He wants more with you. 

And every single day is a daunting battle for his internal mullings. 

Because he knows he’s been stupid all this time not to realize right away that he’s got romantic feelings for you. That his confusion when it comes to you didn't come from the reason that you were extremely extroverted and had way too much energy – it was that those things made him like you and his little heart and brain couldn’t comprehend any of it the way he can easily wrap his head around math equations and concepts.

But he keeps himself on the sidelines. Thinks about keeping himself there until he’s sure of what you truly think about. 

You’re always nice to him. But you’re kind of nice to everybody… so that gets him a little twisted.

On Monday, when you were supposed to hang out – when you usually sleep over at his place, you bailed on him to study with Jae, as per Taehyung's words, your mutual friend.

He just can’t tell if the way you treat him is different to the way you treat everyone else, and that’s what’s been on his mind lately. 

“Oh, Kookie,” you say as soon as Jungkook takes out his keys, going for his keyfob when you arrive at the parking area. He looks at you in question, completely ignoring the way his heart flutters a little at the nickname. He kind of hates it, thinks it's too childish when other people call him that – but with you it sounds so much like an endearment, so he doesn't protest. You press your lips into a thin line before you say, “I can’t go to Fro-yo today. Joy and I agreed to have a zoom meeting later to start conceptualizing.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks. “Rain check?” 

You pout. “Yeah.” 

“You can do it at my place? Hoseok’s doing an all-nighter with his study group, so he won’t be there ‘til the morning.”

“But I didn’t bring my laptop today.”

With furrowed brows, Jungkook steps closer to you. “It’s alright. We can drive to your place, get your laptop then go to mine,” he smiles. “Sleepover?” 

Jungkook doesn’t want to toot his own horn but he may have seen your face light up at that. But it comes off easily and he begins to worry.

“I want to, but I don’t want to impose.” You say. 

Instantly, Jungkook’s forehead creases. “You won’t be imposing.” When he sees that you’re about to decline again, he lets out a, “Please?” 

At that, you stop. You stare at him for a moment. 

“Uh…” you trail off. “You sure? Are you not busy tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll probably start on an assignment so we can be both busy–” you nudge his arm at that, laughing. “– but other than that, no. I’ll cook us something. Or do you want to get take-out instead?” 

“I’d really, really appreciate your black bean noodles tonight.” You muse, looking at him like he holds the stars in the sky. With you gazing up at him like that, how can he say no?

“I think we have the ingredients in the fridge. Black bean noodles it is, then.” Jungkook says before you’re muffling your own squeal in your excitement, saying your little delighted “thank you” when Jungkook ushers you in the passenger seat after opening it for you. 

He rounds the car before he settles on his side, and when he starts the engine, he can’t help but smile slightly at the way you lean comfortably on your seat, as if you’re so used to being in his car – which you are.

And Jungkook finds he likes that. He likes you that way; being used to being around him. 

“You’re done?” Jungkook looks up from his computer, seeing you doing some arm stretches and leaning into his gaming chair to do it on your neck as well. 

“Yep.” 

“Then come here already.” He shuts his laptop close, places it on the bedside table, and pats the space on the mattress next to him. 

It’s nearly 10pm and your zoom meeting with Joy went for nearly 4 hours. You got on it immediately after you two ate your dinner, and like clockwork, asked to borrow one of Jungkook’s shirts because your top was getting a little too uncomfortable on your body. You’ve both already showered – separately, of course – and that’s one of the many things that Jungkook smiles about when he enters his bathroom sometimes. Because the fact that you shower in his bathroom means your essentials are slowly making a space for themselves in his own place; the yellow cup holder of your toothbrush sits next to his blue one, and a bottle of your moisturizer is also in his lavatory cabinet. 

“‘M so tired” You let yourself fall on the mattress, bouncing a little on it face down, sprawling across the bed like some starfish, your other hand landing on Jungkook’s abdomen. 

“Meeting went well?” Jungkook asks, and he’s a little disappointed when you remove an arm on him, but that’s okay, because soon you’re leaning sidewards to properly look at him and it makes him smile to see you so cozy like this. Barefaced and in his shirt. 

“Yeah, we got some work done,” You say. Jungkook watches as you try to get comfortable on your side of the bed. “I think I’m sleepy now.” 

“Yeah?” He follows after you, and he doesn’t hide his huge smile when you go and turn your back to him immediately after he slides his arm under your neck, spooning you from behind. Snuggling closer to him, Jungkook wraps his other arm around your waist and lets out a contented sigh against the back of your head. “My first class is at one thirty pm tomorrow.” 

“I have one at eight am. Then the next one is at ten.” 

“Tough.” 

“I know… I wish I didn’t enlist in morning classes.” 

He chuckles, closing his eyes as he starts to feel that familiar lull of sleep dancing behind his eyes. But truth be told, he doesn’t want to give into that just yet.

“You were with Jae on Monday?” He asks, carefully treading through the subject. It’s Thursday now. It's not like Jungkook’s a jealous guy… it just kind of threw him off a little, because you didn’t tell him you were with Jae. 

“Uh… yeah?” Jungkook feels you freezing in his arms. “How’d you know?” 

“Taehyung told me.” 

“Oh.” He can practically hear the wince. “He has such a big mouth.” You say drily. 

That earns you a laugh from Jungkook. But he decides to take down the jokes for a more honest and open conversation with you tonight. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s not accusatory. It’s soft and gentle, the way he asks it, with his thumb rubbing the exposed skin of your hip due to the hem of your – his – shirt riding up. 

Your answer takes awhile. 

“I was… getting help with estimates.” 

“... Okay,” Jungkook tightens his hold around you, growing confused. “But I’m really good with estimates. I could’ve helped you.” It was easy math for him. And you never shied away from asking him for help before… why now?

“Well, he offered.” 

Jungkook’s brows crease deeper. “That’s not…" he trails off, then continues, "You know you can ask me for anything, right? Jae’s not even on the dean's list. How’d you know he’s teaching you the right stuff?”  

Silence hangs in the air before Jungkook hears your laughter. Shuffling in his arms, Jungkook loosens his hold around you to let you turn to him. When he sees your face, there's a huge grin on it.

“He’s not even on the dean’s list?” You sound intrigued.

Jungkook assumed you were curiously speaking, and so he nods, looking into your eyes seriously. “He isn’t. Look, I’m not saying–” when he notices your smile only getting wider by the second, he realizes you’re just trying to fuck with him, so Jungkook cuts himself off, letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I sound like an asshole.”

You scoot closer until both the front of your bodies are stuck. Jungkook tries not to think too much whether you’re wearing a bra underneath his shirt or not. 

You shake your head. “Not really. I believe you’re way smarter than him.” 

“Then why come to him and not me?” 

You stare at him for a moment, then you let out a heavy breath. “I just feel like you’re doing so many things for me nowadays. You were also really busy on Monday– don’t deny it–” you say before he opens his mouth to oppose that. He shuts his lips close, listening to you go on instead. “– and I was just being considerate. Jae offered because we saw and sat next to each other at the library, and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

Jungkook blinks, processing your words. After a pregnant pause, he slowly nods, still dumbstruck. 

“Ah… okay. I understand.” he says, embarrassment slowly filling his system. 

You smile at him. Playfully. “Sorry for asking help from someone who’s not on the dean’s list.” Jungkook drops his expression into a poker face at that, which makes you laugh even more. You nibble on your bottom lip before you stretch your hand to his cheek and pinch it. He doesn’t bother dodging your hand. With a giggle, you say, “Sorry, sorry. That was just so funny. You’re so funny without even trying sometimes, you know?” 

“Not really.” Jungkook says and you can tell the tell-tale signs of his grumpiness starting to kick in.

What he doesn’t expect is the way you suddenly squeal and launch yourself on top of him, causing him to lie fully on his back with you sprawled all over his body, hugging him tight and burying your face in his chest. 

“You’re so cuddly and warm. Can we stay like this for awhile?” You break away from his chest and look at him from a low angle. 

Jungkook meets your gaze. 

Sure, you’ve been cuddling (platonically) all these past few months – but they never went to this length. And he’s not sure what the difference is, anyway – just that you’re much closer like this and Jungkook can feel everything. Still, that doesn’t deter him from wrapping his arms around your waist, slightly locking you in the position. Quite frankly, he doesn’t even want you to move. 

“Alright.” Is his simple answer. Not like he needed to think about it.

“I’ll sleep now, okay?” But you don’t wait for his response before you lay on his chest again with your cheek pressed on his hoodie.

Because the moment just feels right somehow, Jungkook lets his hand wander on your head. Then slowly, he lets his fingers comb through the strands of your hair, tentatively at first, lest you didn’t want him touching you or something like that – but once he hears a sound akin to a purr coming from you, he continues and finds himself getting comforted by the action as well. 

“The Jae thing really bothered you?” You ask suddenly, not breaking away from the position you’ve assumed on top of his body. But your words are slightly slurred in the haze of sleep.

Jungkook hums. “Yes.” 

“Sorry for not telling you myself.” 

“It’s okay,” Jungkook reassures you. His gaze falls to the ceiling, hand still caressing your hair. The surface is empty, and there’s not really much going on. Meanwhile, in your own bedroom, you have those glow in the dark star stickers pasted on your white ceiling. He’s never slept over there, but he thinks it would be nice to lay under your makeshift galaxy with your homely scent surrounding the two of you. “Are you not gonna ask why I was bothered?” He says after a beat. 

“I was gonna. But I think I know.” You answer, and Jungkook doesn’t expect that one bit.

He stops his ministrations on your hair, and it’s obvious that you’re about to question it when you suddenly peel your face away from his chest again. 

When you do, Jungkook meets your gaze and with a leveled tone, he asks the question he’s been mulling about for the past two months.

“__, what are we?” 

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

stay for a fortnight

a/n: as promised, here is part three of the bodyguard!bucky story ৎ୭

summary: “yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, smut, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), tattooed!bucky (both a metal arm and tattoos as picked in a poll by you), beefy!bucky, forbidden romance, staying for two weeks at a chateau in the south of france, forced proximity, bucky is a shameless hoe and we love him for it, kissing, love confession, shower sex, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, belly bulge, gaping, handjob, fingering, impact play, squirting, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 3870

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“I’m sorry, darling. I tried to get out of it, I really did, even for just one day, but I can’t join you at the chateau this time.” 

“It’s alright, mom,” you exhaled, “I understand.”

Soothingly rubbing her palm down the length of your arm, she suggested, “well, since it won’t be as crowded down there, why don’t you stay a little longer? Maybe a proper break might cheer you up. Maybe one extra week?”

“Actually, two weeks of alone time is just what I need right now,” a faint smile managed to emerge on your lips, “thank you.”

“Great! You go and pack your things, I’ll let Barnes know to do the same,” she announced, and squashed the brief relief you felt just as soon as it had washed over you. 

It felt like ages that Bucky made you sit and wait in the car while he went around the estate to do his initial sweep, making sure it was safe and secure before you got to enter. 

The tenseness that still floated ethereally in the air between you didn’t fade away when he finally came back to crack open the door for you to exit the vehicle. 

“So,” you exhaled once the two of you had crossed the threshold of the chateau, “my room is the one upstairs and at the end of the hallway, yours is wherever the fuck you want, there are like a million bedrooms in this place.”

Your footsteps echoed against the elegantly tiled floors as you twisted to check that he even heard you. He had, seeing as his gaze was still ever glued upon you, though he didn’t offer you a reply. 

Shifting the large bag that hung from your shoulder, the luggage that you stubbornly hadn’t let him carry, you paused just before your stride began to ascend the grand staircase in the middle of the foyer.

“Also, I think we should come up with some ground rules.” 

Your bodyguard’s dark eyebrows then crinkled as he half scoffed, “ground rules?”

“Yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

Exhaling slowly, he simply stated, “whatever you say.”

Before you then began to drift up the wide steps, you cast a glance over your shoulder and said, “meet me in the kitchen in ten.”

“Alright,” you breathed, leaning against the cold marble of the kitchen island as you stared down at the small list you’d scribbled down on a stray post-it you had found in the bottom of your bag, slightly crumbled and with a doodle on the other side, “first rule I’d like to instate is an obvious one, but still needs to be set and stone in order for us to be here together. We can’t sleep together.”

When you heard a low sigh seep from Bucky’s lips, your eyes snapped up to glare at him. 

“Hey! Take this fucking seriously, okay?”

“I am,” he assured you, though his tone indicated the complete opposite of his words. 

“So, rule number two is in prolonging of the first one, which is that we can’t do anything that’ll make us want to sleep with each other,” you cast your glance back down to your messy handwriting, “two A, no swimming in the pool, two B, no nudity, two C, definitely no drinking, and two D, no staring at me,” your eyes flickered back up to catch his blue ones, “especially not like that,” you swiftly gestured to the way he gazed at you.

“Like what?” he didn’t change the manner he looked at you. 

“Like you’ve seen me naked!” 

Your shriek unfortunately only won you the glimpse of a smug smirk upon Bucky’s lips, one you swiftly tried to ignore. 

“Okay,” you blinked in an effort to redirect your attention back to the task at hand and not the butterflies that now soared in your stomach and made you slightly dizzy, “rule number three is technically also under the subsection of number two, but we can’t eat our meals together. No candle-lit dinners, not even a snack.”

Budding in, the man on the other side of the kitchen counter then said, “can I say something?”

With a soft sigh, you mustered the courage to look up at him, “shoot.”

“Do you wanna decide what I wear as well while you're at it? Maybe also when I’m allowed to breathe?”

His jest didn’t as much as conjure a twitch at the corners of your lips as your gaze simply narrowed in his direction, “are you mocking me?”

Boldly leaning his forearms down against the tabletop, he stared back at you, “so what if I am?” though when you assumed he was kidding and you let out a groan, you heard him go on, “all I’m saying is that maybe we don’t set a list of hard rules just to avoid each other. We seem to do just fine when we toss them all out the window.”

“I'm sorry, wait, what?” you blinked. 

“We’ve got two weeks here, so why don’t we make them count?” he shrugged. 

Mouth agape, you dumbfoundedly stared back at him, “you’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” calmly, his head tilted slightly as he held your stunned gaze, “just think about it.”

The sun only barely managed to set before you felt yourself crack and give in to your bodyguard’s offer. 

Storming into his room, his dark brows only got the chance to rise slightly in astonishment before you nearly tackled him to the ground, throwing your arms around his bulky frame and crashing your lips against his before any of you could say even a single word. 

You didn’t try to hide the raw emotions that came pouring out, causing your efforts to be rough and desperate, though it didn’t take long before Bucky’s touch mirrored the feral nature of your own, leaving you dizzy as you eventually withdrew from the starved kiss, clutching onto his shirt for support as you breathlessly ordered. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Keeping your eyes closed, you tilted your head back to let the drizzle of water rinse out the shampoo from your locks. 

The door to the bathroom was wide open, so when you twisted your form to face the showerhead, you didn’t notice as your faithful protector stopped in his slow tracks right on the other side of the threshold. His eyes trailed down your glistening spine till the sight of you caused him to crumble completely and take advantage of the gift that had just fallen into his lap.  

A low purr vibrated within your chest as the warm water rained down upon you, though suddenly, it wasn’t just the hot shower embracing your form, as a pair of burly arms snaked their way around you. Leaning back into his bulky frame, you caught sight of a crumbled bundle of his clothes tossed on the other side of the fogged-up shower door. A blissful hum crackled within you like a roiling fire as you felt his lips begin to plant soft pecks along the line of your shoulders. 

Though as his touch began to bloom and wander boldly down your frame, a gentle hiss tore through your lazy smile as his fingers came into contact and brushed over your core. 

Nipping at your neck, he murmured, “oh, do you want me to stop?” not removing his metal hand, though halted the pattern he had begun to draw over your petals. 

He already knew full well just how sore and swollen you still were. It would have been impossible not to be after the vigorous activities you’d kept the past week busy with.  

Digging your digits into his forearms to keep you in his embrace, you shot back hazily over your shoulder, “don’t you dare,” before a whimper rippled out of you as Bucky once again rolled your puffy pearl beneath his steely touch. 

“How is it that we’ve already done this for a whole week, yet it only feels like a day?” his voice tickled the shell of your ear as you leaned more of your weight back into him. 

“Really? Because I don’t believe you’d be able to fuck me in a day as many times as you have this past week,” you jested through a whimper, “even for a guy with your stamina.” 

“It’s a good thing it’s just the two of us here… imagine if we hadn’t been alone, if it hadn’t been me walking by and seeing you seduce me like the wicked temptress that you are?”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything of the sort,” you chuckled airily. 

“Really?” he teased just as his touch did, “leaving the door open, that wasn’t on purpose?” 

“No, I swear,” you then tilted your head and admitted, “at least not this time…”

“You mean the time back a month ago when didn’t close the door while taking a bath,” he murmured casually, “then called out to me, asking if I could fetch you a towel, and I had to pretend not to hear you?”

Spinning around at once, your eyebrows were nearly at your hairline as you blinked, “you knew?” 

“Baby, you never had to play that hard just to torture me,” he smiled down at you, “that move was downright cruel,” before he reached for the knob and switched off the water.

A squeal bubbled out of you as Bucky then suddenly plucked you up into his arms, wasting no time before he stepped out of the shower, only pausing for a beat in the comparatively more spacious area, though only in order to manhandle you further and toss you over his shoulder before his feet began to shift once more, leaving wet prints in their wake on the cool tile as he strode towards the exit. 

Strung over his shoulder as if you were a wet piece of laundry and he was the line, you giggled, “wait!” and just managed to catch one of the fluffy towels hanging on the hook he passed. Blinking down at the floor as he crossed the threshold, you watched as droplets of water dribbled down from you both and left a trail on the herringbone flooring, “you’re dripping, you’re gonna get the whole house wet!”

Landing his wide palm in a wet smack across your ass, he chuckled, “I thought that was my line, sweetheart,” teasing about the manner your pussy drooled for him, already leaking down your thighs at this point. 

Soon, the long hallway disappeared from your periphery as Bucky entered the nearest of the many bedrooms, though you barely had time to register your new surroundings before the world fell out from under you and he plopped you down on the bed in the middle of the room. 

Standing his ground and looming above the giggle that was your horizontal form, he stole the towel from your grasp before dragging the terrycloth across your skin. As he dried off the droplets of water that clung to your body, a handful of pecks adorned your flesh as well, often shadowing the cloth. 

Gazing up at him with smile-crinkled eyes, you stretched your feet up in the air, against his torso, and rested them against his wide shoulders as he briefly paused to dry himself off as well. But as he returned to sweep the towel across the last remaining spot upon your body that still glistened from the shower, the peck he pressed to the valley between your boobs was swiftly halted as your grasp found his jaw and you guided his face up towards your own. 

As you brought his lips to your own, you swiftly felt the mattress dent and ripple as he crawled up to hover above you. 

“Ahh, fuck…” he then groaned against your lips as your hand snaked down between your bodies and began to stroke his throbbing girth. 

Tossing the towel to the side, a gasp soon tumbled out past your lips as Bucky’s palms found your tits in a gentle squeeze. Your pebbly nipples stood up to the challenge as he swept a knuckle teasingly across one of them before capturing it in a pinch and tugging slightly to summon a sinful sound deep within your body. 

As your fist slowly twisted up and down his hard length, his close proximity caused your own knuckles to brush across your clit at every heated pass. Almost unconsciously, you tilted your hips slightly and nudged the bulbous tip of him through your glistening petals, the pleasure of which caused your eyes to roll in your skull. 

But just before he could take the initiative and catch your fleeting invitation to let him inside, you caught him off guard and suddenly rolled him onto his back with your frame plastered atop of him. 

Propping yourself up slightly, you grasped his fat girth before slowly sinking down upon it, “o-oh my god,” couldn’t help but breathlessly tumble out of your lungs as a flat palm came down to brace on his broad chest and your thighs gently quivered at the sudden stretch of him. It was a few times that you had to pause on your slow journey down just in order to catch your breath, as his intimidating size caused you to question yet again how you’d ever been able to take it before. 

“Atta girl,” his grip dug into your hips when you slowly began to move, “just like that…” though you still couldn’t persuade your pelvis to sink all the way down to meet his own. 

As you found a gentle roll, one of Bucky’s palms scooped up past your waist and caught one of your tits. Your back arched slightly as he played with your boobs, his hand travelling back and forth as you rode him, though a shuttering moan rippled through your body as he landed a gentle tap down upon one of them, a shiver swiftly trickling down your spine at the spark.

But just as you thought the bodyguard beneath you was blissfully enjoying the show and letting you do all the work yourself, his hips then abruptly offered you a greedy buck.  

“Bucky!” you nearly screamed as he buried the last few inches that you had so fiercely struggled to conquer on your own, “that’s–, I–, holy fuck!” 

You hadn’t been able to take all of him on your own, so he just gave you the little nudge that you needed, even if that nudge thoroughly punched all of the oxygen out of your lungs, he still made you take every staggering inch.

“Come on, don’t stop now,” a chuckle escaped him at your reaction before his palm came down upon your ass to get you back to work, “make yourself cum on this cock.” 

Shakily, you tried to pick up your rhythm once more, dropping your hips to meet his, though he couldn’t remain still for long before he began to fuck up into your warmth. Heavy taps echoed throughout the room as his balls slapped against your slick skin at his efforts. As he met your movements halfway and drove his cock much deeper than you could muster on your own, your left hand drifted down to strum your buzzing clit. 

Already dangerously close to the edge, your hazy gaze flickered down to watch not only how your pussy magically swallowed his big dick, but your eyes also caught sight of the dull bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, making your brain feel even more fuzzy than before. As your glance flickered back to try and catch his, you found his own stare to still be fiercely locked on the same spot where yours had just strayed from, watching intently at just how deep he went, nearly rearranging your guts just to mould you perfectly to fit his shape. 

When you finally reached your peak, your cunt nearly choked his cock as your silky walls clambered down on him, a small accompaniment of sinful gush squirted around him and drizzled to soak the sheets below. 

While you were still foggy with your eyes barely open, Bucky rolled you both over, his dick still throbbing deep within you. Welcoming the softness of the bed beneath you with a gentle sigh, he then captured your lips in a kiss and swallowed the whimpers that promptly bubbled up as he began to fuck you once more, offering you long, deep strokes that sank you so far into the mattress that you began to wonder if you might rock through it completely.  

“O-oh, so fucking d-deep,” you blubbered. A rhythmic cry forced its way out of your lungs each and every time the tip of him kissed your cervix, nearly bullying the deepest parts of you in a manner that made you feel like the wobbliest of jellies. 

“You scared I’m gonna break you, baby?” his soft lips ghosted against your cheekbone. 

“I–, maybe,” you admitted, blinking up at the way his frame eclipsed your vision, “but it feels so good, I don’t care if you do,” though your confession ended up not only exclusively being about the purely physical entanglement you currently found yourselves in. 

A deep growl rumbled in his chest as his hands scooped down beneath your bottom, before he let himself manhandle you, repeatedly dragging your hips up to grant him a better angle for him to fuck into. A bit of drool trickled out the corner of your mouth and found the pillow below your head when his cock soon throbbed within you, pumping you full of his hot load. 

When he pulled back out of your warmth, your pussy didn’t get to stay empty for long as his cool metal fingers swiftly took his dick’s place. Plugging you full, his frame shifted slightly to grant him a good view of the leaky mess he’d made of you. As he pushed his cum deeper inside of you, scooping it back in as his fingers forced it out, he increasingly added more and more digits till the amount matched the girth that had just split you apart, before he withdrew them all at once and grinned proudly at the way he made your hole gape slightly for him, before winking back to a closed as if he’d never even tickled you before. 

It didn’t take long with all of his molten motions before your pussy wept for him once more, a display he only drew out as his fingers stayed hooked inside of you while his other palm came down to offer your puffy pearl a few taps. 

A hazy giggle was bubbling out of your shaky frame as his attentive touch finally faded and his kisses fluttered back up your body till your arms wrapped around him and drew him in close. 

As you layed there in the plush bed and stared up at the ceiling, you didn’t know yet that the man sprawled out beside you was awake as well. 

You just couldn’t find rest no matter how hard you tried, for how could you as tonight was your last night in the chateau. 

Carefully, you slipped out from under the covers, grabbed your long robe from the armchair it was draped over, and tip-toed towards the wide French doors that lead out onto a balcony. Pushing the doors open, a mild gust of wind rustled the robe as you fastened the tie around your waist and crossed over the threshold. 

Though you knew that you didn’t have any other choice, the thought of returning home in the morning still broke your heart. The last thing you wanted to do was burst that dreamlike bubble that you and your bodyguard had built together and go back to a world completely desaturated of colour. 

Not only had you made the grave mistake of repeating history, but putting it under such an intense microscope didn’t help matters either, as well as your feelings, those having become terrifyingly clear over the past two weeks. 

“Hey,” you suddenly heard the doors behind you creak and you tore your hazy gaze away from the dark gardens below to spot Bucky gently leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” you breathed, keeping a flat palm on the ivy-covered stone railing as you twisted your frame slightly to glance at him, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I was already awake,” he shrugged slightly before joining you outside in the pale moonlight, “you okay?”

“Yeah…” you sighed, casting your gaze back upon the woods blooming in the distance. 

“…well, that didn’t sound very convincing,” he chuckled gently as he settled in beside you, leaning both his forearms against the half-wall, “do you wanna talk about it?”

Sucking in a breath, your eyes flickered over to catch his own, “I just–…” you hesitantly began before admitting, “I don’t wanna go back to Paris…” 

“Why not?” though a crinkle found his brow, his expression still softened, “is there something going on with you and your mother?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” you shook your head, “I just don’t wanna go home yet…” staring at him a moment longer, you then heard yourself confess, “…I–… I don’t want this to end yet…”

Watching closely as his lungs expanded with oxygen, for the first time you witnessed the gruff man look utterly and completely stunned, simply staring down at you with bated breath. 

Parting your lips once more, you nearly whispered, “…I don’t wanna go back to pretending that I’m not in love with you…” 

Bucky didn’t say a word, only continued to stare as he tried to comprehend the truth you’d just professed.

“I love you,” you gathered up the nerve to spit out, “I love you now… I loved you this morning… I loved you after you’d probably only worked at the embassy for a few weeks…” your vision became blurred as tears began to form in your eyes and you continued to babble, “and I don’t think those feelings are planning on changing anytime soon, so it only seemed fair for you to be aware of that for when I ask you in two seconds if you wanna keep this thing between us going, because I do, though probably for different reasons than you–, not that I don’t enjoy that part, you are an incredible lay, I just didn’t think it would be fair for you to be unaware of the feelings I've developed for you, because I don’t know how to ignore them anymore, and–, oh my god, please just say something, I feel like I arrived naked at school or something–”

But before you could ramble any further, Bucky seized your face and fiercely pressed his lips to your own. A shiver ran down your spine and nearly caused your knees to buckle as he kissed you, and when he withdrew, slowly pulling back, he found your stary gaze and uttered, “…I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” he then sucked in a breath before confessing, “because I–… Y/n, I love you too…” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[paxtito]

secret door

pairings: jenna x fem!reader

word count: 4936

warnings: smut 18+, fingering, kissing- that’s about it

summary: you’re not famous so attending your first event (mexico beetlejuice, beetlejuice premiere) with jenna was nerve racking

a/n: so, so bad at summaries. this is for the anon who wanted more jenna content and the other anon who wanted smuttt— twas not originally gonna be smutty but — everything i touch turns to smut — #poetic

MASTERLIST

The hotel suite buzzes with activity. Jenna sits at the vanity, her makeup artist carefully blending a soft shimmer onto her eyelids. She’s wearing a silk robe, her deep teal leather dress hanging nearby, waiting to transform her into the star of the night.

Her stylist, Enrique, circles the room, picking at details, double-checking accessories, and adjusting the angle of her shoes laid out by the full-length mirror. Meanwhile, you’re standing by the suite’s other mirror as a tailor pins the last adjustments to your suit.

You glance at Jenna through the reflection, watching as she talks with her team, that familiar mix of excitement and focus lighting up her expression. She catches your gaze and smiles softly, the kind of smile that feels like it’s meant just for you, even with all these people around.

“How’s the suit looking?” Jenna asks, her voice cutting through the gentle hum of conversation.

You turn to face her, straightening your jacket. The tailor steps back, allowing you to move freely. “It’s coming together,” you reply, running a hand down the lapel. The suit is sharp—deep teal with subtle leather accents along the cuffs and collar, designed to complement Jenna’s dress without competing with it.

Enrique claps his hands dramatically. “It’s more than coming together,” he exclaims. “You look fantastic.”

Jenna tilts her head, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. “He’s right,” she says, her lips curving into a grin. “You look incredible.”

You feel a blush creeping up your neck and try to brush it off with a playful smirk. “Not bad for a first-timer, huh?”

“Not bad at all,” Jenna replies, her voice warm.

Her makeup artist steps back, admiring her work. “Done! You’re all set, Jenna.”

Jenna stands, tying the belt of her robe before walking over to you. Up close, she’s even more breathtaking—her hair styled to perfection, her makeup subtle yet striking. She places a hand on your chest, right over your heart, and looks up at you.

“Are you ready for this?” she asks softly.

You exhale, the weight of the evening settling over you. You’re not famous, not used to the flashing cameras and crowded red carpets. But then Jenna’s fingers curl slightly into the fabric of your suit, grounding you.

“As long as I’m with you,” you say, meeting her gaze, “I’m ready for anything.”

Her smile widens, and she leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Good. Because you’re going to blow them away.”

Enrique claps his hands again, pulling both of you back to the moment. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s get you dressed, Jenna! The car’s going to be here soon.”

Jenna winks at you before turning to Enrique. “Alright, alright, I’m coming!”

As she steps into her dress, you take a moment to compose yourself. Tonight isn’t just about her—it’s about the two of you, stepping into the spotlight together for the first time. And as nervous as you are, you can’t help but feel a swell of pride knowing you’ll be by her side.

A few minutes later, when Jenna emerges in her dress, the room falls quiet for a beat. She looks stunning, the deep teal leather hugging her figure perfectly, the details nodding subtly to the Beetlejuice theme.

“Wow,” you murmur, unable to stop the word from slipping out.

Jenna grins, brushing her fingers against your arm as she passes. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases, though there’s a sparkle in her eyes that tells you she means it.

As the two of you head out, hand in hand, you can’t help but think that no matter how many cameras flash or how loud the crowd gets, the only thing that really matters is the way she looks at you—like you’re the only person in the world.

The car ride to the premiere is a blur of laughter and nervous energy. Jenna keeps brushing her fingers against your thigh, a small gesture that sends shivers up your spine. She tells you stories from the set of Beetlejuice, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she recounts the behind-the-scenes antics.

When the car pulls up to the red carpet, you feel your heart rate kick up a notch. This is it—the big moment. Jenna squeezes your hand, her skin warm against yours.

“Remember, breathe,” she says, her voice low and soothing. “And if it gets too overwhelming, just find me in the crowd. I’ll be looking for you.”

You nod, drawing strength from her calm presence. As the car door opens, the flashes of cameras and the shouts of fans hit you like a wave. Jenna steps out first, her dress swishing around her legs as she takes in the scene. She turns back to you, her hand extended.

“Come on,” she says, her smile wide and infectious. “Let’s do this.”

You take her hand, letting her pull you out of the car. The world seems to spin for a moment, a kaleidoscope of colors and noise. Jenna keeps hold of your hand as she leads you towards the mass of reporters and photographers.

She stops every few feet, posing for photos and answering questions with ease. You hover slightly behind her, trying not to be trampled by the flood of people. Every so often, Jenna glances back at you, her eyes checking in, making sure you’re still there.

When it’s your turn to pose together, she wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The cameras go wild, the flashes nearly blinding. Jenna leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “You’re doing great.”

Her words settle something inside you, and you stand a little taller, a little prouder. As the night goes on, you find yourself relaxing into the role of being by her side. When Jenna introduces you to her co-stars and friends, she does so with a casual intimacy that makes you feel like you belong.

After what feels like hours, the red carpet portion of the evening finally winds down. Jenna leads you into the theater, her hand still clasped tightly in yours. The cool darkness of the space is a welcome reprieve from the hot glare of the lights outside.

As you take your seats, Jenna leans over, her breath warm against your ear. “Thanks for being here tonight,” she says softly. “It means a lot to me.”

You turn to face her, taking in the way the dim light plays across her features. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

The movie starts, and for the next two hours, you find yourself lost in the world of Beetlejuice. Jenna’s performance is captivating, her ability to blend comedy and depth leaving you awestruck. Every so often, you catch her glancing at you from the corner of her eye, a small smile playing on her lips.

When the credits roll, the audience erupts into applause. Jenna stands, pulling you up with her. She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before pulling back to take in the standing ovation.

As the crowd begins to disperse, Jenna tugs at your hand. “Come on,” she says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Let’s get out of here.”

Jenna leads you through the quiet door, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the theater. You find yourself in a small courtyard, the walls draped with lush greenery and the air heavy with the scent of jasmine.

She turns to face you, her eyes searching yours. “I needed a moment away from all that,” she says, gesturing vaguely back towards the main event. “Just the two of us.”

You nod, understanding all too well the pressure of being constantly in the public eye. “I get it,” you reply, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. “It’s nice to breathe.”

Jenna leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opens them again, there’s a new intensity in her gaze. “Yeah,” she says softly. “It’s nice to breathe with you.”

She takes a step closer, her body almost pressing against yours. Your heart races at the proximity, at the way her eyes drop to your lips for the briefest of moments.

Jenna's eyes meet yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You answer by leaning in, closing the distance until your lips are a mere breath apart. She exhales, her breath mingling with your own, and then you're kissing, soft and slow at first, then deeper, more urgent.

Her hands come up to cup your face, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer. You respond by wrapping your arms around her waist, molding her body against yours. The kiss goes on for a long moment, the rest of the world fading away until it's just the two of you, lost in each other.

Finally, Jenna pulls back, her chest heaving. She looks up at you, her eyes dark and half-lidded. "Wow," she breathes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That was..."

"Incredible," you finish for her, your voice rough. "You're incredible."

She ducks her head, a blush staining her cheeks. "I'm not the only one," she murmurs, her fingers toying with the lapel of your suit. "You look pretty amazing yourself."

You grin, pulling her back into your arms. "I guess we make a pretty good team, huh?"

"The best," she agrees, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. "Now, what do you say we explore this beautiful city? I hear the food here is to die for."

You grin at Jenna's suggestion, your eyes roaming over her figure appreciatively. "Food sounds amazing," you agree, "but first, I think we need to change out of these fancy clothes. I'm not sure I can eat a taco in a leather suit without looking ridiculous."

Jenna laughs, the sound bright and melodic in the quiet courtyard. "Good point," she says, smoothing down the front of her dress. "Though I have to say, you wear it well."

You wink at her, enjoying the way her cheeks flush at the compliment. "Thanks, but I think I'd rather be in something more comfortable. Plus, I don't want to risk getting any salsa on this thing. Enrique would have a heart attack."

"True," Jenna agrees, glancing down at her own outfit. "I'm not sure I can handle the stares if we waltz into a taqueria looking like this."

You take her hand, lacing your fingers with hers. "Then let's find somewhere to change. I'm sure there's a shop nearby where we can pick up something a little more casual."

"Ooh, shopping!" Jenna exclaims, her eyes lighting up. "Now you're speaking my language. Lead the way, miss fashionista."

You laugh, pulling her along as you exit the courtyard. The cool night air feels good on your skin, and you can't help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of exploring the city with Jenna by your side.

As you walk, you keep up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out interesting shops and restaurants as you pass. Jenna listens attentively, asking questions and sharing her own thoughts. It's easy to forget, in moments like these, that she's a famous actress. Right now, she's just Jenna—your Jenna—and that's all that matters.

As you and Jenna walk down the street, you suddenly freeze, your eyes widening in horror. "Did you see that?" you gasp, your hand tightening around Jenna's.

She follows your gaze, her brow furrowing in confusion. "See what?"

You point a shaky finger at a dark shape scurrying along the sidewalk. "That! That rat!"

Jenna squints, then bursts out laughing. "Y/N, that's not a rat. It's just a sock."

You blink, realizing she's right. The "rat" is indeed just a stray piece of fabric, fluttering in the breeze. You feel your face flush with embarrassment.

"Oh," you say lamely, trying to regain your composure. "Right. A sock. Not a rat."

Jenna grins, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're cute when you're scared," she teases, bumping her shoulder against yours.

You roll your eyes, but can't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks," you reply dryly. "I think."

As you continue walking, you can't help but marvel at the way Jenna makes you feel—safe, cherished, and loved, even when you're being silly. With her by your side, you feel like you can face anything, even the threat of a sock-turned-rat.

After your close call with the sock-rat, you and Jenna make your way to a nearby clothing store. The shop is small but cozy, with racks of colorful clothes and friendly staff. You head to the changing rooms, each grabbing a few items to try on.

Inside the dressing room, you peel off the leather suit, feeling a sense of relief as the tight material slides off your skin. You opt for a pair of simple black sweatpants and a gray hoodie, the soft fabric a welcome change from the structured lines of your suit.

As you emerge from the changing room, you spot Jenna across the store, her arms laden with clothes. She's wearing a pair of ripped jeans and an oversized pink hoodie, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looks adorable, and you can't help but grin at the sight of her.

You make your way over to her, your own arms full of potential purchases. "Find anything good?" you ask, setting your clothes down on a nearby bench.

Jenna nods, holding up a pair of red sneakers. "These are perfect," she says, her eyes bright with excitement. "They'll go great with the jeans."

You help her try on a few more outfits, offering your opinion on each one. She does the same for you, her eyes roaming appreciatively over your body as you model hoodies and sweatshirts.

Finally, with bags full of new clothes, you pay for your purchases and step out into the night. The air feels fresh and cool, and you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the rest of the evening.

As you walk hand in hand, you glance over at Jenna, a smile playing on your lips. "Ready to find some food?" you ask, your stomach grumbling at the thought.

Jenna grins back at you, her eyes sparkling in the streetlights. "Lead the way," she says, giving your hand a squeeze. "I'm ready for whatever you have in mind."

You and Jenna wander through the bustling streets of Mexico City, the night air filled with the tantalizing aromas of street food and the lively chatter of locals. After a bit of exploration, you stumble upon a cozy little taqueria tucked away in a side alley. The smell of sizzling meat and warm tortillas draws you in like a magnet.

"This looks perfect," Jenna says, her eyes lighting up as she takes in the colorful decor and the inviting atmosphere.

You nod in agreement, your mouth watering at the thought of authentic Mexican cuisine. "Definitely. Let's check it out."

As you enter the restaurant, the hostess greets you with a warm smile. She leads you to a small table in the corner, the candlelight casting a soft glow over the checkered tablecloth. You settle into your seats, the menus already making your stomach rumble.

"Everything looks so good," Jenna sighs, her finger tracing the options. "I don't know what to choose."

You grin, leaning back in your chair. "Well, we could always share a few dishes. That way we get to try more things."

Jenna's eyes light up. "Ooh, I like the way you think. How about we start with some guacamole and chips, then maybe some tacos al pastor and enchiladas?"

"Sounds perfect," you agree, flagging down the waiter to place your order.

As you wait for the food to arrive, you and Jenna chat about the movie premiere, the different outfits you tried on, and your plans for the rest of your time in Mexico City. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and the occasional brush of hands across the table.

After a long evening of exploring Mexico City and indulging in delicious food, you and Jenna arrive back at your hotel room, exhausted but happy. You can barely keep your eyes open as you stumble through the door, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the plush sofa.

Jenna flops down next to you, her head landing on your shoulder. "That was amazing," she mumbles, her words slightly slurred with fatigue. "But I think I might have eaten too many tacos."

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You and me both," you agree, rubbing your stomach. "I thought I was going to burst."

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. You both startle, your heads snapping up in surprise. The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

"Jenna? Y/N?" a voice calls from the other side. "Are you guys in there?"

You recognize the voice immediately—it's Enrique, Jenna's stylist. You exchange a glance with Jenna, your eyes wide with panic. You had completely forgotten that Enrique was expecting you back earlier.

"Uh, yeah, we're here!" you call out, your voice slightly strained. "Just give us a minute!"

You scramble off the couch, hastily straightening your clothes and running a hand through your hair. Jenna does the same, her movements slightly clumsy with exhaustion.

When you open the door, Enrique is standing there with a look of concern on his face. "Where have you two been?" he demands, his eyes narrowing. "You disappeared for hours! We were worried sick!"

You and Jenna exchange another glance, then burst into laughter, the events of the day catching up to you in a wave of hysteria.

"Sorry, sorry," Jenna gasps out between giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. "We got lost in the city and ended up on a taco crawl. We didn't mean to worry you!"

Enrique's stern expression softens, and he can't help but join in your laughter. "You two are impossible," he sighs, shaking his head.

As Enrique steps into the room, his eyes widen in surprise. "Wait a minute," he exclaims, his gaze flicking between you and Jenna. "What are you two wearing?"

You glance down at your outfit—a simple hoodie and sweatpants, a far cry from the designer leather suit Enrique had so painstakingly selected for you. Jenna looks similarly casual in her ripped jeans and oversized hoodie.

"Oh, uh, we went shopping," Jenna explains, a sheepish grin on her face. "We wanted something a little more comfortable for exploring the city."

Enrique's eyes narrow, his gaze sweeping over your casual attire with a critical eye. "Shopping?" he repeats, his tone a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "You two went shopping while you were supposed to be at the afterparty?"

You and Jenna exchange a guilty glance, suddenly feeling like naughty schoolchildren caught in the act. "Well," you begin, trying to find the right words, "we thought it would be nice to have something a little more practical for our time here in Mexico City. And we didn't want to get the fancy clothes dirty or ripped."

Enrique sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I understand the practicality, but you should have at least let me know. I was starting to think you two had run off and eloped or something."

Jenna lets out a snort of laughter, quickly covering her mouth to stifle the sound. "Eloped? In Mexico City? On the same day as the premiere?" She shakes her head, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "If we were going to do that, we would have at least planned it better."

Enrique rolls his eyes, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Very funny," he says dryly. "Just promise me you'll let me know next time you decide to go on a spontaneous shopping spree, okay?"

"We promise," you assure him, holding up your hands in a gesture of surrender. "No more disappearing acts without warning."

Enrique nods, seemingly satisfied with your response. "Alright then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some calls to make. I need to do damage control after your little stunt." He gives you both a mock glare before turning to leave.

As soon as he's gone, you and Jenna collapse onto the couch once again, dissolving into a fit of giggles. The exhaustion of the day catches up to you, and before you know it, you're fast asleep, your heads resting on each other's shoulders.

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the hotel room. You blink awake slowly, your eyes adjusting to the light. For a moment, you're disoriented, unsure of where you are. Then the memories of the previous night come flooding back—the premiere, the shopping trip, the delicious tacos.

You turn your head to the side, your gaze landing on Jenna. She's still fast asleep, her face relaxed and peaceful in the early morning light. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of her, and you can't help but smile.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, you shift closer, your bodies pressing together under the soft sheets. Jenna stirs slightly, her arm draping across your waist as she mumbles something unintelligible.

You let your fingers trace the curve of her cheek, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. In moments like these, it's hard to believe that she's a famous actress, that thousands of people adore her. To you, she's simply Jenna—your Jenna—the girl who makes your heart race and your soul sing.

As if sensing your thoughts, Jenna begins to stir. Her eyes flutter open, her gaze hazy with sleep. When she sees you watching her, a slow smile spreads across her face.

"Morning," she murmurs, her voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning," you reply softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well?"

Jenna stretches languidly, a soft yawn escaping her lips. "Like a baby," she says, her voice still groggy. "You?"

"Pretty good," you reply, your fingers still tracing lazy patterns on her cheek. "Though I might have gotten used to this view."

Jenna's cheeks flush a soft pink, and she ducks her head shyly. "Flatterer," she teases, but you can see the pleased smile tugging at her lips.

You lean in, your forehead resting against hers. "I'm not flattering," you murmur. "I'm just stating facts."

Jenna's eyes sparkle with mirth, and she closes the distance between you, pressing her lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. You melt into it, your arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer.

The kiss deepens, growing more urgent as the morning haze lifts. Jenna's hands slip under your shirt, her touch sending shivers down your spine. You lose yourself in the sensation, in the feel of her body against yours, the taste of her lips.

After a long moment, you both pull back, breathless and smiling. Jenna's hair is mussed, her lips swollen, and you've never seen anything more beautiful.

"Wow," she breathes, her eyes dark with desire. "Good morning indeed."

You grin, your heart feeling full to bursting. "Breakfast?" you suggest, though your gaze lingers on her lips.

Jenna laughs, a sound of pure joy. "Food can wait," she says, pulling you back in for another kiss. "I'd rather savor this moment a little longer."

You lose yourself in Jenna's kiss, the rest of the world fading away until it's just the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms. Her lips are soft and insistent against yours, her tongue teasing the seam of your mouth until you part your lips to let her in.

A small moan escapes you as Jenna deepens the kiss, her hands sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. You can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of your sleep shirts, the curves of her hips pressing into your own.

Dimly, you register the sound of a phone buzzing somewhere in the room, a reminder of the outside world waiting beyond the closed door. But you push it aside, too lost in Jenna's embrace to care.

After a long moment, you both surfaced for air, your chests heaving. Jenna's eyes are dark, her pupils blown wide with desire. "I want you," she whispers, her voice low and husky. "I want you so badly."

Your heart races at her words, at the raw need in her voice. "I want you too," you breathe, your hands sliding down to cup her face. "So much."

Jenna takes your hand in hers, guiding it slowly down her body. Her skin is warm and soft beneath your fingertips, and you can feel the rapid beating of her heart as you trail your hand lower, over the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist.

She lets out a soft gasp as your hand skims over the hem of her sleep shirt, dipping just beneath the fabric to brush against the smooth skin of her stomach. Her grip on your hand tightens, urging you higher, until your palm is cupping the weight of her breast.

You can feel her nipple hardening against your touch, the sensitive bud straining against the thin cotton of her shirt. Jenna arches into your hand, a soft moan escaping her lips as you knead her flesh.

"Please," she whimpers, her hips grinding against yours in a slow, deliberate motion. "Touch me, Y/N. Make me feel good."

Your own desire is a hot, pulsing need between your legs, but you force yourself to focus on Jenna, on bringing her pleasure. With a gentle tug, you pull her shirt up over her head, exposing the creamy expanse of her skin to your hungry gaze.

"You're so beautiful," you murmur, your hands skimming over the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. "I can't believe I get to touch you like this."

Jenna shivers under your touch, her skin pebbling with goosebumps as your hands explore every inch of her bare flesh. She reaches for you, tugging impatiently at the hem of your own sleep shirt, desperate to feel your skin against hers.

You comply eagerly, lifting your arms so she can pull the shirt over your head. As soon as it's gone, Jenna's hands are on you, tracing the contours of your chest, your stomach, your sides. She leans in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down the center of your chest, until she reaches the valley between your breasts.

You gasp at the sensation, your head falling back as Jenna's lips and tongue work their magic on your sensitive skin. Her hands slide lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts to cup your ass, pulling you harder against her.

The ache between your legs is growing, your clit throbbing with need, but you focus on the feel of Jenna's body against yours, the way she makes you feel cherished and desired. You slide your hand between your bodies, palming Jenna's breast, thumbing over her nipple until it's hard and straining.

Jenna moans into your skin, her hips bucking against your hand. "I need you," she pants, her voice rough with want. "Please, Y/N. I need to feel you."

Your own need is a pulsing heat, your panties damp with arousal. With trembling fingers, you slip your hand into Jenna's shorts, groaning at the wet heat of her. She's soaked, her folds swollen and slick with desire.

"Fuck," you breathe, circling her clit with your thumb. "You're so wet for me."

You slide your fingers through Jenna's slick folds, teasing her entrance with the tips of your fingers. She's so wet, so ready for you, and the knowledge sends a thrill of desire straight to your core.

Slowly, carefully, you push one finger inside her, groaning at the tight heat of her walls. Jenna bites her lip, her hips rolling in a slow grind against your hand as you work her open. Her inner muscles flutter around your digit, drawing you deeper.

"More," she whispers, her eyes dark and pleading. "Please, Y/N. I need more."

You add a second finger, curling them just so, brushing against that spot deep inside that makes her see stars. Jenna's breath hitches, a small moan escaping her lips as you stroke her most sensitive places.

You kiss her deeply, swallowing her whimpers as you finger her faster, harder, pushing her towards the edge. Her hips move in time with your hand, her thighs trembling with the force of her arousal.

"That's it," you murmur against her lips. "Let go for me, Jenna. Come for me."

Jenna shudders, her walls clenching around your fingers as she comes with a soft cry. Her orgasm washes over her in waves, her body shuddering and twitching as she rides out the pleasure.

You hold her close, your fingers gentling their movements as she comes down, pressing soft kisses to her neck and collarbone. When she finally stills, you withdraw your hand, bringing your fingers to your mouth to taste her essence.

Jenna watches you with heavy-lidded eyes, her lips parted and her chest heaving. "That was... incredible," she breathes, reaching out to tangle her fingers in your hair. "But I'm not done with you yet."

With a wicked grin, she pushes you onto your back, settling between your thighs. "Your turn," she purrs, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. "And I plan to take my time."

—

[luveline]

hi again!! i saw you mention wanting to write for prince!steve, and i also saw that you write with dialogue prompts so i present to you:

A: “I’ll take care of you.”

B: “It’s rotten work.”

A: “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

maybe the reader gets injured doing something for training, but it’s all up to you!! i’m sure we’ll love it regardless. kisses!!

thank you for requesting! —prince steve au. fem, 1.5k

Pain was familiar before you came to the palace. Small pains and big, all kinds of hurting, poverty-driven neglect leading to toothaches and back pain, twisted ankles walked on without choice, sore skin otherwise ignored. It didn’t matter if you got hurt as long as you lived. 

Not in a dramatic sense. It didn’t feel dramatic at the time, only miserable. You go to work with a migraine because you can’t afford not to. You walk home in the dark because the mag-trams are getting too expensive. You break your holo, so you make do without one. You pick your head up to keep looking both ways and you get everywhere you need to go because you need to work, to get paid, to eat, to work. 

That’s how it always was. So getting sick didn’t matter. An injury was temporary pain that your body would fix eventually, and if it didn’t, well, it’s cheaper to pull a tooth than pay to have it filled. 

You were used to your sorry life, and then you met Steve. Tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed Steve. Looking at him sometimes is enough to make your whole body a void for things you used to complain about; you wake up across from him in the big bed and forget you can feel pain at all, if only because he’s already awake, waiting for you to open your eyes before he rests his hand on your cheek. You met him and your soul-mark glowed with a lacy, almost feathered light, your wrist braceleted with white colour that soon faded to mellow blue. 

When you first meet your soulmate, the colours you make tend to shift. It takes time for your heart to decide if love is pink or orange or blue. It seems to have settled now —when Steve kisses you, your mark turns a Gaussian amber. When you kiss back, his mark turns light pink, like the lotus flowers he keeps in his private gardens. 

Right now, your mark hums an angry red. It’s typical in its colour, and it’s common. Most people’s marks turn red when they’re hurting. Yours is a crimson so dark it looks black in the dim lighting, and it throbs in time with your pain like a vexing metronome. You’ll never be able to put it from your mind if the mark continues to remind you. 

Steve is uncharacteristically quiet at your side. His own mark is lit in sympathy, mostly pink with his affection, but threaded in red like spider lily flowers blooming against his forearm. 

He shifts beside you. It’s been more than a month since your wedding, and yet he’s careful with you. Almost shy, though he can be brash and cocky. You know intimately how sweet Steve can be when he’s in love. 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

“How’s the pain now?” he asks, his eyebrows pulled together at their starts. 

“Not so bad.” 

“Could you rate it on a scale? If zero was no pain at all, and ten were enough to warrant another dose of white willow bark?” 

“What if I were at a five?” you ask. 

“A half dose and a good kiss?” 

You turn his way but flinch when it puts undue pressure on your leg, a stab of hot pain jumping from your fractured tibia to deep inside of your hips. Steve sees your wincing and presses your shoulder into the bed, leaning over you, a scolding he doesn’t give in the pinch of his eyebrows as he leans down to kiss you. It’s more caress than kiss, his hand cupping your cheek, his lips barely touching yours before he rests his nose at your brow. “Can you stay still?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“Just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.” 

He lifts his head. Holds your cheek for longer than you can work out why, dotting another soft kiss to your nose before slinking out of bed to find you some white willow bark tincture. It’s a potent pain reliever. You shouldn’t have too much of it. If you were still living your past life, you’d be chewing on ginger skins trying to limp your way back into work. There’d be no time to stop. 

“Steve,” you say, watching him a small ways away at the table of your quarters. He turns to you. “I don’t really need anything else.” 

“You said it’s hurting?” Steve pipettes the tincture into a cup of water. “You said a five, and you lie. Knowing you, it’s closer to an eight, you just don’t want to tell me.” 

It might not be as extreme as an eight now, laying down and bandaged, but it hurts badly and a tincture would solve this. Still, you say, “It’s fine, I don’t need it.” 

He brings the glass regardless and puts it on the nightstand. Your bed is yards too big for one person, even two, but when Steve sits next to you he leaves no room between you. He looks down at you fondly. Brown hair like down feather falls against his forehead. 

“You’re going to be in pain for a long time.” He brings a hand to your cheek again. “It might sound tame, a plateau fracture, but that’s still a fracture. You know doctors say fracture when they mean broken, right? You broke your leg. It’s okay to want pain relief.” 

“I knew that. I didn’t know you knew it.” 

“Impolite.” He ducks down to look you in the eyes. You’re a little skewiff, straight to his sideways, but it gets a point across. He wants to kiss you while you’ve said something maddening. “I don’t see why you’re so insistent on pretending it hasn’t happened and that you’re fine. You got hurt, and you’ll stay hurt for a while. It might be weeks of bed and– and you need to be looked after. I don’t know why you’re so guilty about it.” 

“I’m not guilty,” you deny guilty, turning your face to lean into his hand, rather than continue to face his imploring gaze. “I just… I’m not used to this. Before, if something went wrong, I couldn’t just lay down and wait to get better, and I surely wouldn’t be laying here with doctors and servants and the ladies in waiting all trying to make sure– It’s like it’s not my fault, and that doesn’t make any sense. I don’t want to be a burden on everyone. More than I already am,” you add, a bitter mumble nearly lost to his palm. 

He makes a promise, then, turning your face to the light. “I’ll take care of you,” he says. 

“It’s rotten work.” 

Steve shakes his head gently. “Not to me. Not if it’s you.” 

You press your tongue to your teeth, worried you’ll say something you’ll regret. You don’t want him to go. You want him to mean exactly what he says, to stay here and take care of you, and to enjoy doing it. Wouldn’t it be nice to be loved for love's sake? 

Steve shuffles inward and encourages your head into his lap, thrusting pillows aside to take up station against your headboard. He frames your face, upside down, before both hands begin to run down your arms. A hug, in a way, as he twists his face to kiss the skin beside your eye. You squint at the proximity. 

“You’re not a burden,” he says, hands climbing upwards now, warm and steady where they travel, “you’re my wife. My cherished wife, remember?” 

His tone is silk. 

“You… haven’t proved to be a wretched husband,” you confess. 

“I did try. But loving you has been easy. It makes husbandry a gift.” He laughs at his grandiose and gives you a kiss that’s more familiar by your ear, his pleading, searching kisses, the kind he likes to press to all your softest junctures. “I wish you could understand that we’re marked for a reason. We were always meant to be together, and I couldn’t have asked for a better person to stand with me. I’m happy you’re here. I want to take care of you.” 

Not if it’s you, he’d said. 

You wonder if it might be okay to cry. He’s massaging your arms, still bent in half over you trying to kiss some belief in him into your forehead. 

“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs between chaste, silent kisses, “really. You don’t have to pretend things don’t hurt you anymore.” 

You feel strange, then, shivery and weak as you turn your face into his thigh. His hand slips behind your back to hold you.

“Can I convince you to drink this tincture now?” he asks, just above your ear. 

“I love you,” you mumble. 

He pauses his trailing hands. You squeeze your eyes closed, but he doesn’t pause for long enough to scare you. “I love you,” he says. “Since the day we met, I’ve loved you. I’ll take care of you.” 

He is easy to believe. 

[caitified]

Hi can you please try to do Paige x reader wife. Where in they both want to have kids so they do IVF and after a year of trying reader is finally pregnant and Paige is so thrilled. Also, can it please be like first trim, second trim, and last trim until she gives birth? I hope you try this one out please. Thank you so much! And I just want to say how I love your witting!🩷

beginning

paige bueckers x reader

warnings:none, this will be the start of my new paige family series! feel free to drop ideas in my inbox. hope this is ok for you, i can into more detail if you’d like!

the first time you see the positive pregnancy test, you don’t believe it. after months of negative results, doctors’ appointments, and so many nights spent comforting each other when it felt like nothing was working, it doesn’t feel real.

but it is.

you call paige into the bathroom, your hands trembling as you hold the stick. “paige,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

she looks at you, confused for a second, before her eyes fall on the test. when she sees the two pink lines, her face lights up like you’ve never seen before.

“oh my god,” she breathes, taking the test from your hands and staring at it, her lips curving into a shaky smile.

“it’s happening,” you whisper, tears spilling down your cheeks.

paige pulls you into a tight hug, burying her face in your neck. “we’re having a baby,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

the first trimester is a mix of excitement and nerves. paige is constantly hovering, making sure you’re eating enough, resting enough, and not lifting anything heavier than a pillow.

“babe, i can carry the groceries,” you laugh one afternoon as she insists on hauling every single bag into the house.

“not a chance,” she replies, grinning. “our baby’s in there, and i’m not taking any risks.”

she spends hours reading parenting books, bookmarking baby names on her phone, and talking to your growing belly even when it’s too early for the baby to hear.

“hi, little one,” she whispers one night, her hand resting gently on your stomach as you lie in bed. “it’s me, your mama. i can’t wait to meet you.”

you can’t help but fall more in love with her every day.

by the second trimester, your bump has started to show, and paige is obsessed.

“look at you,” she says one morning, her hands gently cupping your belly as you get dressed. “you’re glowing.”

���i’m sweating,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but her grin is contagious.

she goes with you to every doctor’s appointment, holding your hand during the ultrasounds and tearing up when you hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time.

“that’s our baby,” she whispers, her voice full of wonder.

she also becomes extremely protective. when a random person at the grocery store tries to touch your belly, paige steps in with a polite but firm, “please don’t.”

“you’re like a guard dog,” you tease later, and she shrugs, unapologetic.

“i’m just taking care of my girls,” she says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

the third trimester is harder. your back aches, your feet are swollen, and you’re more exhausted than ever. but paige is there for you through it all, rubbing your feet at night, running out to get your weird cravings, and reminding you how beautiful you are even when you don’t feel like it.

“you’re amazing,” she says one night as she helps you settle into bed, her hand resting on your belly. “i don’t know how you’re doing this.”

“because i have you,” you reply, your heart swelling as she leans down to kiss you softly.

she’s the one who sets up the nursery, carefully assembling the crib and decorating the walls with soft colors and tiny basketball decals.

“our kid’s going to be a baller,” she says proudly, and you laugh, knowing she’s probably right.

when the contractions finally start, paige is a mix of nerves and excitement. she holds your hand the entire time, whispering words of encouragement and brushing your hair out of your face.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” she murmurs, her voice steady even though you can see the tears in her eyes. “i’m so proud of you.”

and when your baby is finally born—a tiny, perfect girl—paige is the first to hold her, her hands trembling as she cradles your daughter against her chest.

“she’s perfect,” paige whispers, tears streaming down her face as she looks at you. “thank you. thank you for her.”

you smile, exhausted but so full of love, watching as paige presses a gentle kiss to your daughter’s forehead.

“we did it,” you say softly, and paige nods, her eyes never leaving your baby.

“yeah,” she whispers, her voice full of awe. “we did.”

[keepingitformyself]

especially for tender ones like us

A/N: hehehehehehehehehehehehe synopsis: humor, anxiety, and the salvation of love.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: no?

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha tries not to stumble over her words when she suggests staying in, instead of going out. she does not mean to, but she does. 

how could she not? could you really blame her for wanting a quiet night? something that isn’t so public. she wanted to see you, of course, but she wanted to see you in a space you could be comfortable in, without any of the outside world and free from any distractions.  

you listen intently through the other line, you fight the giggle at catching her little stutter. she can’t see, but you smile widely at the whole thing.

“yeah, we can stay in. i can cook us dinner,” you nod. natasha’s shoulders drop in a quiet sense of relief at your words. her lips curl into a smile. “i’d like that. i can’t wait.”

although this would only be the fourth time you had met up together, to natasha, it felt like the first every single time. 

you continue talking for a little while more. natasha shares details about her day, work, and what she ate during lunch. she tells you how on her way to grab her usual coffee order, an americano, she decided she’d switch her order to a matcha latte after having had you recommend it to her. she tells you, 

“it was good, but not nearly enough caffeine for me to keep up with,” she said, her tone light but teasing. and while it hadn’t become her new favorite drink, just knowing she’d tried it for you was more than enough. her words sent your thoughts spiraling, a warmth blooming in your chest. you were certain that if she were standing next to you, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss her right then and there.

but you can’t do that so instead, you just fall back on your bed like a high schooler talking to her crush. 

when you finally do meet up the following evening, natasha is buzzing with nerves she doesn't understand. she has taken down whole regimes and has fought aliens from space, yet she seems to draw the line when it comes to facing you. 

she knocks on your door, her other arm clutching a brown bag containing wine and flowers. a reasonable offering if you’re having dinner with someone you want to impress. 

when you answer the door, you're wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. 

“i thought i heard pacing out there.” you joke. 

natasha’s cheeks flush as she tries—and ultimately fails—to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “i wasn’t pacing,” she says, though the slight crack in her voice gives her away.

you step aside and invite her in, and neither of you acknowledges the quiet intimacy of the moment. it feels like more than just dinner, more than just a simple evening in your apartment.

you’re about to cook for her, and somehow, that feels monumental.

natasha’s nerves are a mess, though she can’t quite figure out why—or maybe she can. maybe it’s the way your presence makes her feel unsteady, as though the ground beneath her shifts whenever you’re near.

but natasha doesn’t want to be nervous.

she saw once—a penguin mistaking a sleeping walrus for a rock. the penguin had been caught completely off guard when the walrus stirred, nearly crushing it before it scurried away just in time.

natasha had found it funny at the time, the way surprises can sneak up on you. but now, thinking about it, it doesn’t feel so funny. it feels… unnerving.

surprises are bad for the heart, she thinks. she’s been taught her whole life to avoid them, to anticipate every possibility before it unfolds.

but knowing too much, being too prepared—that can hurt, too.

her thoughts are interrupted by your laughter, light and unburdened, as you guide her toward the kitchen. your smile is so easy, so genuine, and she can’t help but feel how good it is to exist in this space with you.

she offers to help you cook, but you shoo her away instead. you make her watch.

she sits there, with her hands on her lap, and just stares. and she can’t help the look of longing on her face. the kind of thing that suggests she wouldn’t mind this being a constant. 

you made pasta for the evening. nothing too spectacular, but natasha had treated it like you were a top chef and had spent hours crafting everything with your bare hands. 

and then once you’ve plated food for you both and you’ve gotten down to a few bites, you notice the small sigh natasha lets out. the flutter of her eyes as she takes in the meal. 

you smile at her reaction as you move some of the food with your fork. 

“do you like it?”

she looks at you, mid-chew, her mouth stuffed with the food, but she manages a smile. 

“yeah, uh, yes it’s good. it’s so good,” she says, hand over her mouth. 

you continue eating, talking about everything and anything. the night was filled with small moments that would bleed into much deeper ones. you laughed, she smiled, you smiled, she laughed. the kind of things one feels they become when around those who make you tender. 

and you don’t know how or when but you try not to notice how little by little natasha seems to retract a little. 

you decide maybe she needs a small moment for herself and start cleaning up the table. she offers to help, but you wave her off, insisting she relaxes. 

she tries to, but realistically, natasha doesn’t know how to relax. so she sits back and stares at you like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. she isn’t used to this at all. spaces like this–warm, cozy, comfortable.

the impending guilt comes. it’s all so layered. she feels so much at once. the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear of loss, the fear of not being present enough. 

natasha doesn’t know how to be here without sacrificing so much. 

after a while, natasha speaks up. 

“i should probably get going.” her voice too casual to sound like she meant it. she tries not to notice the look of disappointment on your face when you turn around to face her. 

“you don’t have to.” you find yourself saying, not wanting her to leave. 

she hums, something that says she’s already made up her mind. she gets up and gathers her things. 

you follow her to the door, or at least try to—but you pause at the end of the hall when you see her linger near the door, uncomfortably. unsure if she should leave. 

you call her out on it. “you can stay longer if you want.”

natasha wrestles with herself because she really wants to. she looks at the door as if it’d answer for her. 

you’re letting her know. 

natasha feels awkward, clammy hands. she doesn't know what she’s doing. and it’s hard to think of anything else when your eyes are screaming, don't actually leave, at her. 

you look at her carefully, trying to see if you can find any clear indication of what she may be feeling, but it isn’t hard to figure out the redhead in front of you. 

you’ve noted quite quickly how easy it comes for her walls to lower when you’re around. and if there’s anything you’ve learned from that, it’s that natasha romanoff isn’t the trained killer everyone thinks she is. 

sure we all have certain versions we show to certain people. but the natasha you know is anything but rough-edged. the natasha you’ve come to know is actually quite the opposite of what everyone else perceives. 

she’s tender, in her own silent way. too afraid to ever let too much slip away that she’s so painfully aware of everything around her. 

natasha is tenderness wrapped in quiet strength, a paradox of someone who feels deeply but guards herself fiercely. she sees the world clearly—the beauty and the harm—and carries that weight like a constant ache.

like she knows the world hurts more for those most aware of hurt. 

her tenderness isn’t soft; it’s sharp, vigilant, always bracing for the pain that comes with letting others in. you can see it in the flicker of her gaze, the way she hesitates as if expecting the world to hurt her.

and yet, she doesn’t harden. she holds onto that fragile, open part of herself, even when it would be easier not to. it’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

natasha looks up at you, then back down at her hands. just above a whisper, she says, 

“i don't know what i’m doing.” 

“that’s the most fun part.” you joke. she smiles, she doesn’t know how to say she wants more time. 

how could she say she feels greedy at this moment? she wants to protect being here with you. we have such little time, she thinks. 

bashfully, she steps closer to you, “i don't want to go.” she says. 

“then don’t.” and natasha almost complies. instead, she takes a step closer, her hand lifting towards your cheek. she’s so close now. 

she kisses you, soft, and shy, but you make her feel sure when your arm circles her neck, deepening the kiss altogether. when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“maybe i’ll forget my scarf,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“please do,” you replied. please leave your scarf, please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of leaving. please always come back. “that way you’ll have to come back later for it.”  

and just like that, her quiet uncertainty washes away. 

she takes her scarf off and drops it near the door. you follow her actions, you smile, amusement in your eyes. 

later that night, when natasha gets home, she texts you. 

i forgot my scarf. 

you reply, you’ll have to come get it then. 

[janeyseymour]

All To Myself

requested by @schemmentisbaby

Summary: Your little girl is getting ready to go to Abbott- not that your wife's coworkers know.

WC: ~3.6k

Melissa Schemmenti, second grade teacher at Abbott Elementary, your wife, and mother to your beautiful little girl: Grace Marie. Melissa Schemmenti, a woman who rarely talks about herself, so all that her coworkers know about her is that she’s married- and even then, she wishes they didn’t know that. It’s not that she has anything to hide or like she’s ashamed of you, but after growing up the way that she did, she’s learned that keeping her mouth shut about personal information is probably for the best. The fact that people know she’s a Schemmenti holds enough weight as it is.

Your wife has been able to keep it quiet that she has a little girl due to the fact that while she is present on Facebook, and so are you, there are very few people that she has on there. The only people that she’s so graciously allowed to friend her on that social media app are you, her family (yes, Kristen Marie included), and one Mrs. Barbara Howard. Those that are present on your social media aren’t aware of the weight that your last name now holds, having grown up just outside of Philly in the suburbs. So when you post images or updates on how your life is going, it doesn’t much matter, and Melissa doesn’t mind.

The second grade teacher has been relatively successful at keeping the personal and professional lives from mixing. That is going to change though, because Gracie is getting ready to head into kindergarten at none other than Willard R. Abbott Elementary School.

“Hun,” you sigh to your wife quietly as the two of you begin to grasp the fact that Grace is going to be attending your wife’s workplace.

“I just didn’t think it was going to be happening so soon,” Melissa mumbles. “I mean, it’s like she was born yesterday, and now she’s getting ready to enter kindergarten.”

“You’re telling me,” you chuckle. “I feel like we were hearing her heartbeat for the first time, and now we’re getting ready to send our baby to school.”

“Jesus, we’re gettin’ old.”

As it turns out, Grace is more than excited to be heading to school- she’s so excited to see the place where her mother works, and she can’t wait to be a big kid. And luck just so has it that your daughter is placed in her Aunt Barbie’s class.

“I get to be with Aunt Barbie all day?!” Grace squeals out with excitement when you tell her who her kindergarten teacher is.

You can’t help but chuckle at how precious she is. “You do, but at school she’s Mrs. Howard, yeah?”

Your little girl nods her head with enthusiasm. “When do I get to go?”

“School starts in two weeks, but Mommy goes in next week,” Melissa tells your little girl at the dinner table. “And on that Wednesday, they have a special night for kindergarteners to meet their teachers and get familiar with the school.”

“I can’t wait for school!”

“Oh, but I can,” your wife grumbles so that only you can hear her.

The day before Melissa goes back to Abbott for professional development days, she’s a bit more moody than usual. Because of this, your little girl spends most of the day with you. The redhead is stressed beyond belief trying to ensure that she has everything packed into her car to take to the school for the new year. She’s focusing on meal prepping so she can just grab things and go. Her outfit for whatever reason is stressing her out more than it usually would.

“Honey,” you mumble as she stands in your closet staring at all of her shirts. You wrap your arms around her waist and set your chin on her shoulder before kissing her neck gently. She hums as she leans into your affections.

“What has you so worked up tonight?” you prod gently. “Usually you don’t care what you wear to work.”

“I just… these are the last few days where my coworkers will see me as just Melissa, not Grace’s mother,” she admits. “Reminds me I’m gettin’ older.”

“We are getting older,” you remind her. “But that just means that we’re one step closer to retirement, to having a beautiful daughter to take care of us, more years of love under our belt.”

Your wife sighs softly and cranes her neck to look at you. “How do you always know what to say to help calm me down?”

“We’ve been married for years,” you chuckle. “Practice.”

The next morning, Grace cannot for the life of her understand why she doesn’t get to go with Melissa to her new school. She’s gotten herself dressed and ready, adorned with the backpack that is just about the size of her, and her new sparkly shoes.

“Mi amore,” your wife sighs as she kneels down to pull your daughter into a hug. “Mommy has to go do boring things at the school. Trust me when I tell you, you would rather stay with Momma and play at home for these last few days.”

“But I want you!” your little girl pouts. “I want Aunt Barbie!”

“And you’ll get me tonight,” Melissa tries to placate. “And I will talk to Aunt Barbie and see if she can come over today after work to play for a little bit, how does that sound?”

That seems to satisfy your daughter who comes bouncing over to you. She curls into your arms as your wife makes her way out the door.

At work, the redhead is happy to see her work wife, but she isn’t necessarily thrilled to be back at work for the school year.

“I saw Gracie’s name on my list for this year,” Barbara whispers to her friend when she’s certain no one else can hear.

“She’s real excited to have you as her kindergarten teacher,” Melissa chuckles softly. “She’s asking for you already. I told her I would see if you could come over after work today.”

“She’ll be sick of me by the end of this year,” the kindergarten teacher laughs.

Green eyes are rolled. “I doubt that. I’m fairly certain my kid loves you more than she loves me or Y/N.”

“You know your little girl has the most love for her mothers,” Barb smirks. “And then of course for Aunt Barbie. I’ll be there.”

“And I’m going to need every hand on deck for kindergarten orientation on Wednesday,” Ava announces. “This is the biggest class to come through Abbott since the 90s.”

“No can do,” Melissa states in front of everyone. “Have business I need to take care of, and it ain’t like you’re payin’ me.” She shoots her boss a look that dares her to challenge.

The principal quirks her lips to the side before rolling her eyes and sighing loudly. “Every hand on deck except for Red Hot.”

After the workday is done, the kindergarten and second grade teachers make their way back to your house. You and your little girl are sitting in the living room reading a book when you hear the front door open and close. All thoughts of the game are abandoned when Gracie jumps to her feet and goes to the door as fast as her little legs will take her. She launches herself at Melissa, who catches her with ease. Then she’s throwing herself at Barbara, who has just barely kneeled down to embrace her.

“How’s my baby girl?” Barbara asks as she kisses your daughter’s head.

Your little girl soaks up the attention. “Good! I want to go to school though.”

“Well, that comes next week, but I’m sure Mommy’s told you about how you’ll get to come see my classroom in a few days.” When Grace nods with excitement, Barbara continues. “And I know at home I’m Aunt Barbie, but at school I have to be Mrs. Howard. Think you can remember that for me, baby?”

“Pinky swears,” your daughter holds out her pinky with a grin.

“That’s my girl,” the kindergarten teacher smiles as she links pinkies with your little girl. “Now, what are we going to do today?”

Come Wednesday, after a long day of professional development in the morning and prepping for open house on Thursday, Melissa comes home to you and your excitable daughter.

“Mommy!” Grace goes running over to the front door, abandoning her station to help you prepare dinner.

“Mi amore,” your wife sighs happily as she lifts your daughter to her hip. “My beautiful girl.”

Grace giggles incessantly as the teacher pecks her cheeks continuously. Then your wife is making her way over to you.

“My gorgeous wife,” she whispers as she kisses you softly. “You’re the best.”

“I’m making your favorite,” you tell her quietly as you lean in to kiss her again.

Grace makes a face at your affections. “Ew, moms. Stop kissin’!”

The two of you roll your eyes in a playful manner. “You know I just love your momma so much,” Melissa laughs that low laugh that you find irresistible. She kisses you again.

“Are you ready to go see Aunt Barbie and your new school?” the redhead asks gently as she sets your daughter back down on the chair you have pulled up to the counter.

“Mrs. Howard,” Grace corrects with a toothy smile as she picks up the spoon to begin mixing the salad again.

Melissa rolls her eyes and pokes your daughter in the belly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

After dinner, your family makes their way down to Abbott. Grace clings to your hand the entire time. At the thought of going to a new school, she was excited. But now that the time is upon her, she’s nervous.

“It’ll all be okay, Gracie girl,” Melissa promises. “You know Mommy wouldn’t work here or let you go here if it wasn’t a good place to be.”

That seems to settle your daughter’s nerves just slightly, but she still remains close to you.

You and Grace walk in and head right to the little check in, knowing immediately where to go. Barbara just smiles and checks off your daughter’s name before greeting your wife who is trailing a few paces behind.

“Melissa!” you hear the boisterous voice of the principal of the school. “You said you wasn’t coming!”

Your wife just rolls her eyes and shrugs. “What can I say?”

The incoming class of kindergarteners are ushered into the gym for a quick presentation of teachers that they might come across throughout the school year. Of course, Barbara is up on the stage with all of the kindergarten teachers, but so is your wife and the rest of her work crew, as well as some other staff members that she rarely mentions.

Once that’s over with, they begin to move the children down to the classrooms that they’ll be spending most of their time in for the year. Grace takes your hand gently and guides you towards the correct line.

Abbott is a special school, you can see that just by walking through the halls. It’s filled with artwork from students, there are several plaques with various award titles on them, the teachers who are helping to guide students around are warm. Aside from the odd lingering smell, you can understand why Melissa works here and has worked here for years. 

Your wife lingers in the room under the guise of just helping out her work wife- it makes sense to the rest of the staff that she would go with Barbara. Grace finds her desk with ease, knowing all of the letters in her name. She squeals with happiness when she sees the few little goodies that Mrs. Howard left on the students’ desks.

“Momma,” your little girl tugs on your shirt. “Sit with me?”

You oblige her request with a smile, settling in her chair before pulling her on top of you. Grace brightens and gives your wife a thumbs up before beginning to color the princess page Barbara had placed there. You can’t help but press a soft kiss to your girl’s temple before looking up at your wife with a smile. She’s absolutely precious. Melissa tries to hide the fact that she was sneaking a picture of the two of you, but it’s no use. Her cheeks tint just slightly red before shrugging her shoulders with a bashful smile.

The rest of your daughter’s class settles in and is allowed to color for a few moments while Barbara and Melissa chat with parents- no doubt answering questions that will surely be answered within the next few minutes.

Your wife’s boss makes her way into the classroom, and she eyes the redhead warily before teasing her. “I shoulda known you’d find your way into Barb’s classroom.”

“Well, she is-”

“I don’ care,” Ava states. She turns to scan the room, and her eyes immediately land on you. She winks.

You have to fight to roll your eyes. It’s funny that she chose you to focus in on, but it will be even funnier when she realizes that she just hit on her shadiest teacher’s wife.

Before the principal can say anything too out of line, Barbara claps her hands together and begins her spiel about herself as a teacher, the classroom that the students will be in, and the school itself.

Grace seems more than content to sit in your lap and color quietly while Melissa nods along to the things that her work wife is saying. She knows it all already, but it’s nice hearing what will be expected of your little girl while she’s in Barb’s classroom.

“And now, while the parents are filling out the paperwork necessary for the beginning of the school year, I figured I might take the students on a walking tour of the areas in the school that they’ll be in,” the kindergarten teacher explains with a clap of her hands. “So, we’re going to practice lining up and walking in the hallways like big kindergarteners.”

She manages to line up the entire class quietly before walking them out the door with Melissa. You sigh and begin to quietly fill out the paperwork for your little girl. It’s a while before you hear footsteps come back into the room, just as you’re getting ready to write down Melissa’s name under the second guardian spot. When you look up, you expect to see Barbara, your wife, and the students in tow. Instead, it’s Ava again, and she’s looking directly at you- you can practically feel her eyes on you.

“Does anybody have any questions about Abbott?” the principal asks.

A few hands go up, but she blatantly ignores them. She points to you. “What about you, angel face?”

Your brow goes up. “I think I’m all good, but thank you.”

“Surely you can’t know everything there is to know about this school,” Ava frowns. “You have to have at least one question.”

“Not that I can think of,” you tell her. If you do think of a question, you doubt she’ll know the answer to it anyway.

“Is that little girl of yours your first one to go through Abbott?”

You nod. “But I know all about this school.”

“Oh?” Ava smirks. “You did your research?”

Instead of telling her that your wife is Melissa, you just nod. Sure, you had done your research and asked your wife about the building, but you know the ins and outs of this school- the things that go on behind the scenes. 

You think that’s the end of the conversation and start to write “Mrs.”, but she makes her way further into the room, and she stands over you sitting at a student desk.

“Where’s the wife?” Ava asks you as she leans against the desk. She drapes a gentle hand over your wrist. “Because I know someone as fine as you has one.”

You look up to her with a smirk before beginning to write down Melissa’s name.

Almost comically, the principal gasps and her hands fly to her mouth. She stands straight up. “You ain’t telling me Melissa is your wife, are you?!”

With impeccable timing, Melissa walks back into the classroom with Barbara and the kindergarteners. 

“I am,” is all your wife states as she folds her arms over her chest and stares down her boss. “Why? You got something to-”

“Bye, y’all,” Ava runs out of the classroom as quickly as she had come in.

Barbara just looks to you with the silent question of if the principal was flirting with you, and you nod subtly.

Your wife sees red for a split second before she makes her way over to you with your daughter and wraps her arm around the top of your shoulders.

“Idiot,” Melissa grumbles as she plants a kiss to the top of your head. “Flirting with my wife like that.”

You reach up a hand and lay yours gently over hers. “She didn’t know because you didn’t tell her.”

“‘Cause she has no business knowin’ about my personal life,” your wife mutters.

“She will now,” you remind her. “Grace is goin’ here now, and you know that Ava’s gonna open her mouth about it the first chance she gets.”

“Which will be once everyone is out of the school, and we somehow get corralled into helping break everything,” Melissa rolls her eyes.

It’s a bit of time before Ava makes the announcement that all families should head out of the building to allow the teachers to get home for the night. But when you think that Melissa is going to try to book it out of there as quickly as possible, she begins to help her work wife straighten up her classroom.

You know that the two of them are quite close, but it is something else to see them working together in silence. It’s like how you and Melissa work- in sync, with ease, naturally.

And then the rest of the group begins to come in, asking questions before they even fully enter the room to see you and your little girl sitting quietly on the carpet reading a book together. Okay, you’re reading, but Grace is touching each word as you read.

You pause your reading as the boisterous group comes in. Their eyes immediately go to you, and they halt their questioning.

“I’m sorry,” a shorter woman, who you can only assume is Janine, speaks quietly. “I didn’t realize you still had a student in the room.”

“They’re fine,” Melissa cuts in before anyone else can say anything. “They’re with me.”

Gregory furrows his brow. “Why would they-”

“Melissa Schemmenti, when the hell was you goin’ to tell us you have a daughter that was going to come to Abbott?!” the principal yells as she struts in. “And that your wife was fine as-” She cuts herself off at the challenging look green eyes give her.

“They’re with me because that’s my wife and my daughter,” the redhead points to the two of you. “Gracie, come say hi to Mommy’s friends.”

Your little girl jumps out of your lap and runs over to your wife, who lifts her onto her hip with ease. “I’m Gracie, and I’m five!” she holds out an entire hand for emphasis. Her smile is enough to melt their hearts.

“Oh, Mel Mel, she’s so cute,” Jacob grins as he high fives your daughter.

“Mi amore,” Melissa jerks her head for you to come over.

“Y/N,” you smile that charming smile of yours as you wrap an arm around the Melissa. “Mrs. Schemmenti, if you will.”

“How the hell didn’t we know about this now?” Mr. Johnson wrinkles his nose. “That’s a load of bull… trash.”

Emerald eyes are rolled. “Because the boss don’t look at the rosters to know who’s comin’ in.”

“I did!”

“Did you?” Janine narrows her eyes as she looks to the principal. 

Ava looks offended. “So what if I did or did not? Overseeing an entire school is hard! It ain’t my fault Melissa never told us she had a daughter!”

“You didn’t tell them about me?” Grace frowns, and she looks a bit wounded by that knowledge.

“Mommy just wanted you all to herself,” your wife promises as she dots a few kisses along your daughter’s hairline.

That seems to placate your daughter, who snuggles right back up to the redhead before yawning. “Aunt Barbie is my teacher.”

“She is,” you chuckle as you smooth down a few of her wild locks. “But at school she’s Mrs. Howard, remember?”

“Mrs. Howard is my teacher,” your little girl yawns out.

“I think it’s about time we head home,” Melissa chuckles softly. She looks to you. “Are you about ready t’head out?”

You nod and grab your purse from where Grace will be sitting next Monday. “Well, it was really nice to finally meet you all,” you chuckle out. “I know she’s in good hands here at Abbott.”

The group seems to have more questions for the redhead that is quickly escorting you out, but she ignores them and ushers you out.

Just as you’re leaving, Ava shouts down the hallway, “Girl, don’t think we ain’t talkin’ ‘bout how youse are milfs tomorrow!”

There’s a loud chorus of “Ava!” that can be heard right after. You have to hide the smile. You’re already well aware that your wife is hot.

“Momma?” Grace looks to you with curious eyes.

“Yeah baby?” you ask.

“What’s a milf?”

“Ava is dead tomorrow,” your wife grumbles.

“You love your boss, and your coworkers,” you remind her.

Melissa sighs heavily. “They’re freakin’ lucky.”

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[pickingupmymercedes]

34+35 - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: 34 + 35 - Ariana Grande

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: smut (these photos of him in a garage did something to me)

wordcount: +3k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER THE CUT, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

The heavy click of your heels echoes through the foyer, mingling with the faint hum of music drifting from the living room.

You drop your keys on the console, the sound loud enough to announce your arrival but soft enough not to interrupt him—because of course, he’s home.

And of course, he’s doing something maddeningly nonchalant while you’re practically vibrating with tension from your day.

You walk in, ready to unload the day’s chaos onto the nearest chair—or him, whichever happens first.

But the sight that greets you brings you to a sudden halt. There he is, sitting on the couch in a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted white tank top, his body draped over the cushions like he owns the world.

His curls are loose, a few even falling into his face as he scrolls through photos on his tablet, the soft light of the screen casting a golden glow over his sharp jawline.

Your eyes flick to the photos for a split second, and there it is: him, in his new +44 merch, leaning against a vintage car in the shot, all casual dominance and smoldering eyes.

You swear under your breath. You’re already unraveling.

Lewis looks up and smirks, that slow, knowing grin that’s half amusement, half challenge. “Tough day? Or just can’t get enough of me?”

You roll your eyes, stepping out of your shoes and setting them by the sofa to buy yourself a moment. “Both” you mutter, brushing off the comment.

He sets the tablet down, leaning back into the couch with his arms stretched out over the backrest, watching you with the kind of lazy attention that makes your pulse skitter. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” The word slips out before you can think better of it, and his eyebrows rise just slightly.

“For what, exactly?”

“Lewis,” you warn, though it’s a weak attempt. You’re already losing the battle against the smile threatening to tug at your lips.

“What?” His tone is innocent, but the glint in his eyes betrays him. “Your body is telling me something, you know.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the arm of the couch to look down at him waiting for him to go on.

“Come here, love. Tell me what is it.” He gestures lazily toward the space next to him.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to sink into the cushions beside him, let his calm energy wrap around you. But the other part—the part still running on adrenaline from back-to-back meetings and decisions—won’t let you.

You shake your head, staying where you are.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, your voice just a little too tight. “The usual chaos. Nothing worth rehashing.”

Lewis tilts his head, studying you like he’s deciding whether to push. He knows you too well, and it’s infuriating how easily he can see through the armor you’ve spent years perfecting.

“Huh” he says finally, his voice slow. “So, you’re pacing the room like you’re about to go to war for fun?”

“I’m not pacing” you shoot back, realizing too late that you’ve taken at least three steps toward the kitchen without thinking.

He laughs, the sound low and warm, cutting through the static in your mind. “Sure, love.”

You glance back at him, narrowing your eyes. He meets your gaze, holding it with a calm steadiness that makes your stomach flip.

“You’ve got that look, you know” he says, his voice softening slightly.

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re trying not to lose it, but you’re already halfway there.”

You exhale sharply, your shoulders sagging just a fraction. He’s not wrong, and the admission stings more than it should. You hate how easily he can disarm you, but there’s a comfort in it too, in the way he sees you even when you’d rather stay hidden.

“Maybe I am” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis’s expression shifts, the teasing fading into something softer, more intentional. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you before getting up and reaching you on the kitchen.

“Come here,” he says again, his tone firmer this time, leaving no room for argument.

And for once, you don’t argue. You take the steps that separate you and settle in his arms, hoping the day would begin to loosen its grip on you.

But regardless of how comforting is the weight of Lewis around you, it’s not enough to quiet the restless buzz in your chest. You stand there rigidly, your back straight and your arms folded like they’re holding the last shards of your resolve together.

Lewis’s thumb rubs slow circles against your back, and while the motion is meant to soothe, it only makes the energy under your skin prickle more.

“You’re still wound up” he says softly, the observation maddeningly accurate. “What’s got you so tense?”

“Nothing” you reply curtly, eyes fixed on the far wall. The response is clipped enough to make him chuckle.

“Liar.”

Your head snaps toward him, a glare aimed to warn him off. But Lewis only smiles, his arm slipping so he can lean forward and face you fully.

“I’m serious,” he says, his tone shifting to that deliberate calm that somehow grates against the storm inside you. “You walked in here looking like you wanted to fight me and the furniture, and now you’re here like the world owes you a fight.”

“I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

“No?” He tilts his head, clearly unconvinced. His gaze sweeps over you, and you can feel the weight of it like a spotlight, exposing every crack in your composure.

“You look like you could use some unwinding” he says, his voice low and careful not to push too far.

“I’m fine,” you snap, the edge in your voice sharper than you intended. “Can we not do this right now?”

Lewis lets out a soft hum of acknowledgment, leaning back against a stool at the kitchen island as his eyes linger on you. “Sure. We don’t have to do this. But you know you’re not just gonna sit there and stew all night.”

You roll your eyes and stand abruptly, pacing around under the guise of needing water. It’s an excuse to put space between you and him, though you can feel his eyes on you the entire time.

“You always do this” you mutter under your breath, reaching for a glass.

“Do what?” he asks, following you like a shadow you can’t shake.

“This.” You gesture vaguely toward him, spinning around to find him leaning casually closer, now against the counter, arms crossed and a smirk playing at his lips. “This thing where you sit here all calm and collected, acting like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I do?”

The nonchalance in his voice makes your teeth grind, and he knows it. He shifts closer, his hand brushing against your arm as he takes the glass from you and sets it back further on the counter.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet command.

“I don’t need to talk. I need—” The words catch in your throat, your pulse quickening as his gaze locks onto yours.

“What?” His tone is steady, unrelenting.

You hesitate, your lips pressing into a tight line. You hate that he can read you so well, that he knows exactly how to dismantle the walls you’ve spent all day reinforcing.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, the admission bitter on your tongue.

Lewis steps closer, his presence cornering you until there’s nowhere to hide. He reaches out, brushing his thumb on your cheek. “Sure, you don’t” he says softly, his thumb grazing dangerously close to the corner of your mouth.

And that touch is enough to send a crack through your resolve, and the frustration bubbling inside spills over.

“I need you to fuck me senseless so I can get out of my head” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

The moment hangs in the air, thick and electric. His hand drops from your cheek, and for a heartbeat, he’s still. But then his expression shifts, his smirk sharpening.

“Finally,” he murmurs, the word more to himself than to you.

Your heart races as he closes any of the distance left between you two. His hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him, and his eyes meet yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

“Senseless you say?” he half asks, his voice low and edged with challenge.

You glare at him, refusing to back down. “Right here and now.”

His grin widens, wicked and unapologetic. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

And he’s spinning you around, your back now pressed against the cool marble of the kitchen island. His hands are on you, firm and deliberate, and all the tension you’ve been carrying—the frustration, the restlessness, the overwhelming need— finally begins to slip.

Lewis’s lips claim yours with an urgency that leaves no room for overthinking, his hands gripping your hips like he’s anchoring you to him. Your breath hitches as his mouth moves to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin while his hands roam, tugging at your blouse to free you from it.

He isn’t soft, and you don’t want him to be. You want the fire, the friction, the rawness that only he can give you.

"You're still in your head," he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice a low rumble that makes your stomach tighten.

"Am not" you lie, though even you can hear the tension in your voice.

Lewis pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the bare skin at your waist. His gaze is piercing, like he can see every thought you’re desperately trying to bury.

"Yes, you are" he counters, his tone steady, assured. "But I’ve got you"

The words hit something deep, something tender, and you swallow hard, gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself. But Lewis isn’t having it. His hands leave your waist only to slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the island.

"You’re going to let go, babe" he says firmly, stepping between your legs. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them wider as he leans in. "I’ll make sure of it."

A sharp retort rises to your lips, but it dies the moment his mouth captures yours again. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if holding onto him might keep you from drowning in your own thoughts.

"I hate how you do this" you mumble against his lips, your voice a mix of frustration and surrender.

"Yeah?" His lips curve into a teasing smile, but his hands are anything but playful. They slide up your thighs, gripping firmly before tugging at the waistband of your pants.

"How you make me need you" you admit, the words cutting through the fog in your mind like a blade.

Lewis leans back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression softening even as his hands remain possessive on your hips. "That’s not something you need to hate" he says, his voice a low murmur.

Before you can respond, his hands move again, sliding your pants down and over your hips, leaving you only in your lingerie.

"Look at me," he says softly, tipping your chin up with his fingers when your wonders.

The intensity in his eyes pins you in place, grounding you in a way that makes your head spin. You feel the fight in you start to waver, your grip on control slipping with every deliberate touch, every whispered word.

"You’re here with me" he continues, his other hand trailing up your thigh. "Stay with me, Y/n."

"I’m trying" you whisper, the words thick with frustration.

"I know" he replies, his tone gentle but unyielding. His fingers graze the inside of your thigh, teasing but firm, and you can’t help the moan you let out.

The way he says it, like he knows you better than you know yourself. You exhale shakily, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, your hands clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

"I hate how much I need this" you confess, your voice muffled against his skin.

"No, you don’t" he murmurs, his hands tightening on your thighs as he pulls you closer.

The next moments blur together in a haze of heat and motion. His lips are everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the sensitive skin just below your ear.

The cold of the marble beneath you is a fleeting sensation, eclipsed entirely by the warmth of his body pressed against yours. He’s meticulous, demanding and reverent, as if he’s determined to strip away not just your clothes but every ounce of tension you’ve carried with you.

And he does. Piece by piece, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left but you and him and the steady, grounding rhythm of his movements.

His hands leave your body for only a moment as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, shedding them in a single motion.

You can’t help but reach out, your hands instinctively finding him, wrapping around the hard length of his dick with a confidence that earns you a raised brow and a teasing smirk.

"Handsy, aren’t we?" he quips, his voice warm with amusement, though there’s also a hunger there.

You don’t bother with a response, too focused on the weight of him in your palm, the way his skin feels hot and smooth against your fingers. But your grip tightens slightly, and he inhales sharply, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by primal need.

Lewis leans down, one hand bracing the counter beside you while the other trails up your thigh. When he glances at you, his intentions are clear.

He’s going down on you.

The thought of his mouth on you, of him taking his time, should be enough to unravel the tight coil of frustration lodged in your chest. But it doesn’t.

Instead, the restless energy intensifies, and the idea of waiting—of anything standing between you and the rawness you crave—makes your pulse hammer in protest.

Your hand shoots out, fingers grasping at his biceps and tugging just enough to make him stop.

“Don’t,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

Lewis freezes, his eyes snapping up to yours. For a moment, there’s confusion there, a flicker of surprise that quickly softens into something more intentional.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice low, careful, as his hands pause on your thighs. He searches your face like he’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re not saying.

Instead of answering, you pull his body against yours, locking your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, leaving no space for doubt.

That’s all he needs.

Lewis captures your lips in a kiss that’s all consuming, swallowing the moan that escapes you as he presses closer. His hands grip your thighs, positioning you at just the right angle, and then he’s there, pressing into you in a way that forces every other thought from your mind.

Even after all this time, the first stretch always takes your breath away. The sheer girth of him, the way he fills every inch of you, is something that never fails to surprise you.

A gasp escapes your lips, muffled against his mouth, and he groans in response, his forehead dropping to yours as he steadies himself.

Lewis adjusts his grip on your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin with enough force to leave marks that will bloom tomorrow—an unspoken promise of this moment lingering long after.

He draws back, his cock sliding almost all the way out before slamming into you again, forcing a broken cry from your lips.

"That's it," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "I know you want to run that mouth of yours, but I don’t think you can right now, can you?"

The words should irritate you—no, they do irritate you—but any retort you might have had dissolves into a moan when he grinds his hips just right, hitting that devastating angle that makes your vision blur.

Your mind tries to fight back, to form some kind of response, something sharp and biting to remind him you’re not completely undone.

"Thought so," he says smugly, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a brief, punishing tug. His thrusts grow harder, more deliberate, and your head falls back against the cool surface of the island.

"You’ve been in your head all day, haven’t you? Spinning, overthinking. Let’s see if I can’t fuck all those thoughts right out of you."

You want to argue. But every time you’re on the verge of saying something, he pulls out nearly to the tip and drives back in, stealing the air from your lungs.

Fuck him.

Fuck this.

Why does he have to feel this fucking good?

"You’re too quiet, baby," he taunts, his hands shifting to grab at your waist, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter so he can pound into you even deeper.

The sharp slap of his skin against yours echoes in the room, drowning out your ragged breaths. "Where’s that smart mouth now? The one giving orders all day?"

Your fingers dig into his arms, desperate for something to ground you. "Lew" you manage to choke out, though your voice is barely audible over the obscene sounds of your bodies colliding.

"Don’t worry, I’m just getting started." he replies, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He adjusts his angle slightly, and the next thrust makes your toes curl and your back arch off the counter.

Your mind tries to claw back some semblance of control, some internal quip to distract from the overwhelming sensations, but it’s useless.

Every sharp comment that tries to form is obliterated the moment he moves, his hips driving into you with unrelenting precision.

"You feel that?" he growls, his voice rough with exertion. His hand slides up your stomach, between your breasts, until his fingers wrap lightly around your throat—just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

"That’s me pulling you out of that head of yours. Don’t think, babe. Just feel."

You’re too far gone to respond, but he doesn’t need you to. His pace picks up, relentless and punishing, the rough drag of his cock against your walls pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his tone darkly satisfied. "You’re mine right now, aren’t you? Just me and my cock on that pretty little head of your."

You can’t argue. You can’t even think of a reason to try. Your mind is blank, your body a live wire under his control, every nerve ending tuned to the rhythm he’s setting.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Let go for me. I’ve got you."

And with one more thrust—perfect, devastating, him—you do.

The world felt like it had shattered into fragments, each piece scattered too far for you to grasp.

You lay there on the cool counter, body limp, chest heaving, utterly boneless. Reality was an abstract concept—one you weren’t even sure you wanted to return to.

When Lewis pulled out, you barely noticed. It was only the warm sensation spreading across your stomach of his seed on your skin that registered somewhere deep in the recesses of your fogged mind.

But even that didn’t fully bring you back. Not yet.

It wasn’t until his hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your warmed up skin, that your senses began to reassemble themselves.

Your eyes fluttered open to find him watching you with satisfaction, his dark eyes searching your face. His curls damp with sweat, and his lips were swollen from all the kisses you’d stolen—or he’d stolen from you.

Either way, he looked unfairly good for someone who had just ruined you.

"Okay?" he murmured softly, his thumb pausing in its gentle stroke as he waited for your response.

You blinked up at him, still too blissed out to form words. Instead, you gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"Yeah?" he pressed, his voice dipping into that soothing tone he always used when you were at your most vulnerable. His other hand joined the first, cradling your face now, as if you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

Another nod. Your lips parted to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse, barely-there whisper. "On my stomach?"

His lips quirked into a cocky grin, the sharp contrast to his earlier gentleness making you want to smack him—if you had the strength.

"A little souvenir" he echoed, his tone playful but still laced with warmth. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Would you rather a creampie"

"Shut up," you muttered, your voice gaining a little strength now.

"You didn’t want me to shut up earlier," he teased, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones. "In fact, I think the words you used were—what was it?—‘fuck me senseless.’"

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the counter.

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and warm. "As long as you’re feeling better"

He kissed your forehead, soft and lingering, and you sighed, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. Your body was still thrumming from everything he’d done to you, but your mind—your perpetually spinning, overanalyzing mind—was finally still.

And damn it, as much as you hated to admit it, he’d been right.

"Yeah, yeah," you grumbled, closing your eyes again as his hand smoothed over your skin "Congrats. You shut me up."

"Didn’t shut you up" he corrected, his voice brimming with that maddening mix of confidence and affection. "Got you out of your head. Big difference."

Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy with the remnants of satisfaction, and found him staring down at you with a stupidly smug grin.

"Right," you muttered, voice scratchy, "I’m going to clean myself up." Your hand motioned lazily to the sticky trail now spreading down on your thighs, the remnants of him painting your skin.

Lewis stepped back, making no effort to stop you as you slid off the counter, your legs wobbling a little before you caught your balance. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, that same infuriatingly cocky smile plastered on his face.

As you padded down the hallway, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes trailing after you. Halfway to your bedroom, you stopped abruptly, glancing over your shoulder to catch him watching you, leaning there like he didn’t have a care in the world.

"You coming, or are you just going to stand there?" you called back, one brow arching as you let your eyes rake over him for emphasis.

His grin widened, his gaze dipping shamelessly down your body. "I am coming," he replied, pushing off the counter with a slow, deliberate motion. "Just didn’t want to rush and miss the view."

You rolled your eyes and turned back around, but the small, satisfied smirk tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Typical him. Always cocky. Always exactly what you needed.

_____________________________________________________________

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[n0vazsq]

Forever mine? Forever yours | CL16 x Reader

pairing . . . charles leclerc x gf!reader

summary . . . When you and Charles have a fight, you want nothing more than his forgiveness

request . . . no!

word count . . . 884

warnings . . . just a bit of angst that turns into fluff!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . was listenting to like love // break up songs while writing this and legit wanted to cry like kms

. . . The streets of Monaco were unusually quiet that night, the hum of distant cars replaced by the echo of footsteps against cobblestone. The city lights cast long shadows, stretching like ghosts between the narrow alleys.

Charles walked ahead of you, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, shoulders tense. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the reminders of words you hadn’t meant to say, things you both couldn’t take back.

The fight had started small, like it always did. You had only asked about the upcoming race, about his late nights at the simulator, about why he was pushing so hard. It had spiraled from there. Frustration simmering just beneath the surface, boiling over into harsh words and defensive silence.

Now, you followed a few steps behind, heart heavy, each breath tight in your chest. You wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap between you, but the distance felt overwhelming. Charles had always been intense, carrying the weight of expectations like a second skin. But tonight, he seemed…fragile, like a wire stretched too thin.

He stopped suddenly by the marina, the dark water stretching endlessly before you. The wind carried the scent of salt, cool against your skin. He didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, staring out at the horizon, hands clenched at his sides.

"You think I don’t care enough?" His voice was quiet, but the tone is his voice was unmistakable.

Your eyes stung. "Charles, no. That’s not what I meant." You took a step closer, but the space between you felt like a chasm. "I worry. You push yourself so hard, and I-"

He turned then, eyes meeting yours, frustration and something deeper swirling in their depths. "Do you know what it’s like?" His voice cracked, raw and tense. "To carry all of this? The pressure, the expectations…? Every single day, everyone looking at me, waiting for me to either win or fail." He shook his head. "And then I come home, and it feels like I’m failing here too."

The words hit you like a stab to the heart, and they probably were a stab to the heart. "Charles…" Your voice was barely a whisper. "I didn’t mean to add to it. I just… I see you carrying all of this, and it scares me. I don’t want you to break."

He looked away, jaw tight. "I’m already breaking." The statement was soft, almost lost to the wind. "I wake up thinking about the next race. I go to sleep replaying every mistake I made. And I know people are waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m not good enough." His eyes found yours again, and there was a vulnerability there that made your heart ache."I’m afraid too. Afraid of letting everyone down. Afraid of losing… you. All because of my stupid mistakes."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You closed the distance between you, reaching for his hand. He let you, fingers cold but steady. "You’re never losing me,” you said, voice firm despite the emotion threatening to choke you. "I’m here. I’ll always be here."

He looked down, chuckling emotionlessly, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Sometimes, it feels like I can’t breathe. Like I’m drowning under it all."

You squeezed his hand, stepping closer until your chest touched his. "You don’t have to carry it alone. I know I can’t take the weight off your shoulders, but I can stand beside you. I can remind you that you’re more than the races, more than the wins or losses."

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. When he opened them again, the anger had softened, replaced by something raw and unspoken. "I’m sorry. I know I shut you out sometimes. It’s not fair to you."

You shook your head. "You don’t have to apologize for being human. I just… I want you to let me in. Let me help."

He reached up, cupping your face in his hands. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the tension that had been there moments ago. "I don’t deserve you," he whispered, voice barely audible.

You smiled, tears slipping down your cheeks. "You deserve everything, Charles, my angel. And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to."

He leaned his forehead against yours, the distance between you finally gone. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you faded away; the distant hum of the city, the gentle lapping of the waves. There was only this. Only him. Only Charles.

"Forever mine?" he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your heart swelling. "Forever yours."

He held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, his grip tight, almost desperate. The walls he had built around himself were still there, but for now, they had cracks, just enough to let you in.

As the wind carried the scent of salt and the promise of better days, you knew that this was how it would be. There would be fights, and fears, and moments where everything felt like it was falling apart. But there would also be this: quiet moments in the dark, where love felt like the strongest thing in the world.

[yuiiiriii]

megumi is head over heels for you. Maybe even obsessed but he’d never admit it.

There was only one problem.

You both were friends because he was too much of a coward to tell you how he felt. He told himself many times that it was okay. If you could still drag him everywhere with you, if he could still come over and do your skincare routine.

Then it was ok.

But he was selfish.

Oh how he wanted to hold you, kiss you, he couldn’t help the jealousy that filled him when another guy treated you terribly.

Megumi was never subtle with his feelings but you’re oblivious. When he’d take you out to get your favorite treats, your to busy stuffing your face that he swiftly swiped your hair out of your face, holding it with an amused smile on his face. The way he ‘complains’ about you not bringing a sweater when you said that you wouldn’t get cold. But he thinks it looks better on you anyways and now you’re happy, that pretty smile on your lips. But it’s so painfully obvious because Megumi is only soft with you.

“Come on Megumi!” Yuuji yells, throwing his arms around his shoulder. Megumi slumps, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t call me that.” Nobara eyebrows raise, digging her shoulder into his side.

“Why? Only your ethereal best friend can call you that?”

Megumi wants to smile because he’s always happy when you’re mentioned or around. But he bites it back and pouts instead. He sucks his teeth as the two continue to pester him.

He lets out a sigh when he enters your room.

“Megs!” You light up and that warm smile etches back on his face.

“Hey.” He caresses your hair when you hug him.

“Come! Sit!” You pat your bed and he obliges. You begin rambling about the new skincare products you wanted to try with him.

“I got you something.” His words cut you off.

“Huh? Me?” You blink and he laughs.

“Yes you.” He pulls a small box from his pocket.

“You’ve been saying you wanted one…so I got you one.” He opens the box and your eyes twinkle, much like the diamond on the necklace.

“Megumi.” You breathe out, holding it so softly in the palms of your hands.

“Thank you.” You quip, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

It wasn’t the first time and Megumi hopes it isn’t the last.

“Put it on me!” You say giddily, turning around. He gently rests it in your neck, clasping it. You face him, playing with it.

“Does it look pretty?” You smile at him but he’s already looking at you, never flickering to the necklace.

“Very pretty.” He says so softly.

“So are we gonna try those products?” He tilts his head and you clasp your hands.

“Right! Come on!”

Megumi enjoys his time with you like it might be his last. He cherishes every look you give him, every word you say. He holds onto everything. He’s sat on your bed once again, as you rummage through your bag. Your hands engulf his face.

“I was gonna put a lip mask but they don’t even look dry. You have pretty lips ‘gumi.” You say staring without a shame and his heart races.

“I do?”

You hum.

“But I don’t so you need to apply some on me.” He laughs as you close your eyes, scooting closer to him.

He holds your chin between his fingers, letting the cream lather on your lips. You can feel his breath inches away from you, making your stomach do backflips. Your eyes flutter open and he blinks at you. He gulps, focusing back on your lips. However your eyes stay open, engraving his features into your memory.

“You’re very pretty Megumi.” He tries to fight the blush that covers his face.

“Pretty?” He glances at you.

“Fine. Handsome.” You cheekily say and he shakes his head in amusement.

He swipes his thumb over the bottom of your lip, cleaning it up. He holds your chin, his thumb gliding across your skin. Your big eyes blink up at him and he can’t find it in himself to hold back any longer. As soon as his lips meet yours, you deepen it, almost as if you’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

News flash, you were.

Megumi loses himself in you, the way your lips feel, your hands coming up to brush at the nape of his neck, your scent. When you pull away you break into a smile.

“My lips were kinda chapped.” He jokes, the product on his lips as well. You laugh and he does too.

“So…” You drag on and he laughs.

“Come over here you idiot.” He says as he pulls you onto his lap, kissing you once again.

Finally his problem was solved.

© yuiiiriii

[loveliluc]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ⋅ make up for lost time ᡣ𐭩 ་༘࿐

— ft. alhaitham, diluc, neuvillette, wriothesley, zhongli

synopsis — even when they arrive home from work much later than usual, there you are, ready and willing to welcome them into your arms; 3.7k words.

— minors do not interact! unprotected sex. oral. fingering. mirror play. kissing. sexual language. afab!reader with no use of specific pronouns. sub!reader.

— alhaitham 𝜗𝜚

acting grand sage alhaitham this, acting grand sage alhaitham that. alhaitham has lost count of how many times he’s heard that title today, a perpetual reminder of his current station and a thorn in his side. he isn’t one to do more than required of him, what with his resolute desire to live an easy life. but one thing he is is dutiful. he will do his job, as scribe or acting grand sage alike, because doing his job well will save him the hassle further down the line. but this isn’t to say alhaitham isn’t annoyed with the situation he’s found himself in, temporary as it may be. he’s beyond aggravated as he leaves the akademiya, the sun already well beyond setting. another long day. his annoyance doesn’t last much longer through the threshold of his home, however. especially not when he sees you curled on the couch with a book. he almost sighs of relief when your pretty eyes turn upwards to meet his.

“you’re home,” you say in greeting. you snap your book shut gently as your body turns to face him, already preparing to welcome him in as you watch him move closer.

“you waited up for me again.” it’s a matter of fact statement, and it falls off alhaitham’s lips in a dull tone, but you know him, and know that he feels somewhat bad that you’ve stayed up so late just for him. but he’s grateful for you all the same. his toned body collapses next to you on the couch, quickly bringing you in close with one arm. you’re eager to receive the embrace and quick to settle yourself upon his lap.

you nuzzle your face into his neck and breathe; you’ve missed him. “i’m glad you’re home.” your arms are around his shoulders and you sigh when his hands find your waist and squeeze. the man below you simply grunts, and you know he’s beyond tired from the day. “i missed you today.”

alhaitham’s hands smooth over the curves of you and finally slip under your shirt to feel your skin. he feels you shudder. “oh yeah?” he’s never been a man in need of affirmative words, but he can’t help but love to hear you say that you missed him, him of all people.

“mhm.” your hands are toying with his hair now, fingers tangling in the silvery locks. you can’t help the involuntary grind of your hips.

the man beneath you grunts again at the action, your clothed cunt warm against his groin. his fingers travel higher up under your shirt just as he feels your lips against his neck. “how much?” he hears you sigh and feels the heat of your breath. his skin is littered with goosebumps, and they don’t go unnoticed by you. and he’s not concerned with hiding the effect you have on him.

“a lot,” you reply against his skin, your hips rolling again. you feel something hardening under you, and it grazes your heat in a way that makes you shudder. you pull your head away to look at his handsome yet tired face. “care for a demonstration?”

he smirks. “by all means.” and you’re so eager to show him, to prove to him the way you yearned for him all day. and he doesn’t speak it aloud just yet, but he doesn’t need words when his hard cock that springs out of his pants is sufficient evidence that he has also longed for you. you’re on your knees now, taking his length in your hand. he’s hot and solid in your grasp, and already so sensitive as he takes the first plunge into your welcoming mouth.

you hollow your cheeks and suck after taking what you can of him. your hand wraps around what’s left, and the combination has the scribe-turned-acting-grand-sage groaning above you. he’s so heavy on your tongue, and he tastes so good just like he always does. you’re already a mess between your thighs, panties dampened with your slick. you clench your thighs as you suck him off. the taste of him and the sounds of his raspy groans are getting to you, accelerated by your desperation.

alhaitham watches you bob up and down his shaft through hazy vision. his eyes are heavy with sleepiness, but also lust as he admires the way you swallow him. fuck, he’s missed you. it’s so evident in the way he reaches his end quickly with one final push of his cock in your mouth, his hot cum spilling down your throat. you take all he has to give and then some until he’s pulling you off him.

you swallow the last of his release while your eyes remain on his. his hand tightens in your hair. “was that good enough proof, hm?” the man above you smirks.

he’s pulling you into his lap again until your face is only mere inches away. he can feel the way your arousal has seeped through your shorts with the way you settle yourself over his bare cock. alhaitham kisses you once, twice, thrice. “i suppose,” he whispers against your skin. “but now i think it’s my turn to show you, yes?”

— diluc 𝜗𝜚

it’s no secret that your husband diluc is a busy man, to say the least. he wears many hats, and has many responsibilities. he’s dutiful in all things, dedicated and diligent. anyone would be hard pressed to find someone more committed to mondstadt than him. he does so much beyond what people are even aware of, and as much as you adore how honorable and noble he is, you can’t deny that you some times grow tired of how busy he is. he always does his best to pamper you when he can, to be the most attentive, caring spouse he can be to you. and he is very much that and more. you couldn’t ask for a better husband, it’s just…you wish you could have more time with him. and as for the last few days, he’s been even more busy than usual.

and diluc knows this, so painfully aware of his absence. which is why he wastes no time in heading towards the direction of your bedroom after getting home tonight. it’s so late that even the winery staff have already retired for the night; it’s quiet, but diluc doesn’t linger near the front door too long in worry some other obstacle may stand in his way of you. his heart is fluttering faster the closer he gets to your door, and it all but bursts in his chest when his eyes find your form. you’re springing off the bed before he can even register your movement, but his natural reflex to always reach out for you allows him to catch you when you barrel into his strong chest.

“you’re home.” you’re relieved, immensely so. your body melts in his warm embrace and you almost purr with content when you feel him relax around you.

diluc’s overwhelmed by your scent and he feels like his knees could give way any moment. as elated as he is that you’re awake to greet him, he’s overly aware of the hour and a worry rises within him. “and you’re still awake. should you not be asleep, my love?”

“can’t sleep without you,” you whine. “wanted to see you when you got home. i missed you so much.” and the pouty eyes that look up at him just about does him in for good.

he feels the way you cling to him, and he breathes a chuckle while he kisses your forehead. you’re too cute. “i cannot deny that i’m happy to be welcomed by you. i have missed you as well, my love.” and he’s pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, and he only intends for it to be a quick gesture but the way you tug and pull at him keeps him rooted in place.

the longer you kiss him the more heated things turn. you’re clambering at the lapels of his coat because you simply cannot get close enough; his hands are in a firm press around your hips and soon enough he’s pushing you backwards towards the large bed. there’s so much you both could say, so much left unsaid from all the time apart, but the best way either of you could express it all is through desperate touches and sighs. and it all escalates until he’s balls deep inside your warm, wet cunt, your legs thrown over his broad shoulders.

diluc isn’t precise in his rhythm, his cock driving wildly into your warmth and it’s all he can do to keep himself together. you’re already so overwhelmed under him, nails in his skin and his name on your lips. his mouth is all over your face, your lips, and then your neck. “missed you, missed this tight little pussy. i — hah — am so sorry, my love. promise i’ll make it all u-up to you.”

and you have no doubt he will. it doesn’t really matter how much time he spends away when he’s always so good at coming back to you at the end of the day. your face is buried in his shoulder as you wail out his name. “diluc! ‘m so close! don’t stop!”

diluc groans when you squeeze him so good. a hand snakes down between your body to press a warm thumb to your puffy clit. “will never stop, my love. never stop making you feel good. so good.” and he doesn’t stop that night; he’s tired, you’re tired, but neither of you could get enough after all the time apart.

— neuvillette 𝜗𝜚

neuvillette suspects there must be something in the water as of late, because the oddities he’s endured in such a short amount of time are abundant. his job as iudex has been particularly peculiar lately, or rather, the trials he has been overseeing have been quite…out of the ordinary. there’s been more legal documents atop his desk as of late, and as the ever diligent chief justice that he is, he allocates all of his time to make sure they’re properly sorted. a hectic work schedule wouldn’t be so unbearable though if the thought of you didn’t dwell on his mind every waking moment…

you’re his motivation to push through every document, to be done with his responsibilities and finally leave his office and seek out your presence that awaits him at home. he groans at the thought of you waiting for him, your pretty little self eager for him and only him. his trousers are becoming all too tight the more he muses upon you; it’s too much, you’re too much and you’re not even near him. he feels wildly inappropriate getting so worked up within his office, at his place of work. it’s so shameful, but he supposes it cannot be helped. all he can do now is finish as quickly as possible so he can alleviate his pent up sexual frustration.

it’s late when he arrives home, and neuvillette is certain you’re well asleep by now. but to his pleasant surprise, you’re very much awake when he steps into your shared bedroom, sitting at the large vanity. he’s stunned for a moment as he watches you; why does it feel like it’s been ages since he’s last seen you? you’re brushing through your hair but stop when you notice him, your gaze meeting his through the mirror.

you make his heart leap in his chest when you give him a smile in the reflection. “welcome home.” it’s so simple but he feels all the stress wash off of him at your attention. his feet are moving on their own accord, and you stay put to welcome him in once he’s close.

“my dear, my love.” neuvillette sighs out in both relief and adoration while he towers behind you. he’s bending forward and burying his face in your nape, and his breath makes goosebumps erupt all over your skin. his gloved hands are squeezing at your shoulders before wrapping around to settle against your waist. you giggle when he peppers kisses along your throat and shoulder.

“if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you missed me,” you tease, leaning into his embrace. your eyes watch the reflection, and you enjoy the sight of his larger frame around you. “is that a fair statement, love?”

neuvillette groans; it’s a sound that slips out more guttural and needy than he intends. “very fair, indeed.” his hands smooth over the silk of your night gown and you exhale. his need from earlier is returning with a vengeance, dick throbbing pathetically in his pants. your smell, your body, it’s all affecting him. “you’ve taken over my mind all day. I simply could not escape you in the slightest. very distracting, i must say.”

you sigh when his large hands rise up your arms to toy with the thin straps of your night gown. he tugs them off your shoulders the moment he nibbles at your neck, and you can’t help the moan that flows forth. “show me, neuvillette. show me all the ways you thought about me while you were away.”

and oh, he does. he soon has your breasts free to his viewing and feeling pleasure, one large palm around one of the plush mounds of flesh, fingers pinching at the pebbled nipple. his other still gloved hand is plunged between your thighs, two fingers knuckle deep in your weepy cunt. he watches you in the mirror and it’s a nasty sight, and when your eyes find his he almost meets his end right then and there. he fucks you on his fingers while his thumb works over your swollen pearl, urging you to your climax with haste.

“neuvillette, m-my love —” you dissolve into pleasure before you can finish your words, your high overwhelming all of your senses. it’s so intense, amplified by the way your eyes remained locked on his through it all;

neuvillette guides you through your high and relishes in the way your cum soaks through his gloves. he’s kissing your temple as you calm down, but he is far from finished with you. “well done, my love. now,” he urges you on your wobbly feet. “lay on the bed for me.”

— wriothesley 𝜗𝜚

the duke doesn’t get to see the topside often. leaving the depths of the fortress is a rarity, but when he does ascend to the world above, it’s always to make his way home to you. but as luck — or lack thereof — would have it, spending time at home with you has become even more rare these days. being the warden is a never ending job, and his responsibilities persist even when he misses you so much it hurts. he’s wrangling new inmates when he’d much rather be tangled up with you, your knees folded over your form, and him balls deep inside —

wriothesley grunts when his dick throbs impatiently in his slacks. he’s fumbling with his keys in a frantic search for the house key because he quite simply cannot get inside fast enough; there’s an overwhelming urgency to be inside you that’s compelling him to practically knock down the front door once it’s unlocked. it’s been much too long since he’s been graced with the sweet wrap of your cunt. he’s almost sprinting through the house towards your shared bedroom; fuck, he hopes you’re still awake. and thank the archons, you’re awake and so beautiful and right in front of him with the prettiest little smile that’s beckoning him closer.

“ah, there you are!” you’re sitting up in bed and wriothesley almost falls to his knees at the sight of you in one of his shirts. “i was beginning to think you weren’t coming home at all.”

“sorry, darlin’,” he’s climbing over the bed, his icy gaze locked on his target: you. “tried my best to make it on time. you haven’t been waiting up for me, have you?” and he knows you have and he’s grateful. his pretty darling staying up just to welcome him home.

you hum and open your thighs so he can slot himself between them. your fingers are quick to tangle in his hair and you almost hear him purr. “not too long, i suppose. but you’ll need to be quicker next time, or else i won’t be so forgiving.”

the duke in your hold smirks widely, and you feel a pulse between your thighs at the sight. “understood.” wriothesley presses a quick peck to your nose and you giggle; the sound is music to his ears, but as he travels down your body, he’s in search for a much different tune. he hikes up your — his — shirt and sighs at the sight of your panties, which he’s swift to hook two fingers underneath. he tugs them to the side and you so obediently widen your legs for him, to show him. “mmh, guess this means i’ve got some making up to do, huh?”

you don’t get to respond. well, not with words at least. you’re gasping when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, your fingers that are still in his hair tugging at the sudden sensation. “wriothesley!”

he smirks against your sex before offering another suctioned kiss to your mound. he follows it up with long swipe of his tongue through your folds and he earns himself the most precious moan from you. “you’ve got the prettiest and sweetest little pussy, darlin’. been missing her so much.”

you burn red at his words. soon enough he’s making a sticky mess between your thighs, and all you can do is lay there and take it while he laps up your essence like a dog. “fuck, wrio! that…that feels so good!” your legs are beginning to shake as he winds you up to your release.

“is that right, darlin?” wriothesley gleams up at you, distracting you with his devilishly handsome face while his fingers sneak their way to your entrance. he might not be punctual in getting back home to you tonight, but he’s eager to get in your good graces once again.

— zhongli 𝜗𝜚

zhongli thinks that maybe he’s getting too old for this after yet another errand for the wangsheng funeral parlor. there’s been an uptick in responsibilities recently, and the ever energetic director has been full of many requests for the consultant. and he powers through them, but all zhongli can focus on is the way he misses you terribly. all he wants is to get home to you at a decent hour, to spend time with you for a moment before you both have to retire for the night to prepare for the day ahead. it’s a domestic lifestyle the ex geo archon finds himself, working a steady job with a wonderful spouse waiting for him at home. he doesn’t want it another way truly. the only time he grows tired is when his work life overwhelms his personal one, leaving him with less time with you.

zhongli ponders back on this morning; you underneath him, your hands in his hair, his name on your pretty lips as he fills you with two long fingers. the way your back arches into him, the way you shudder and weep. it’s so clear in his mind, him so close to taking you on his cock before he realizes just how late he’s running for work. he never got to have you, to relish in your tightness, and he swears he hasn’t been able to get over it all day. the desire to have you grows the closer he gets home; he wonders if you’re still awake, and he also wonders if he’ll have the self control to not wake you up if you aren’t. he gets his answer when he walks into your shared home, his eyes finding you quickly.

you’re seated at the dining room table. you look so beautiful, and there’s a pot of tea with two cups sitting in front of you. you smile as he draws nearer. “welcome home,” you greet him. “i figured i’d wait up for you, and brew you a pot of tea. i know you’ve been working so hard lately.”

the god of old’s heart swells in chest. he smiles warmly. “you’re always so good to me, my dearest,” he praises as he closes the distance with a few more strides. when he’s able, he reaches out to cup your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek affectionately. he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, and oh, how he’s missed you.

you hum in delight and look up at him with eyes so beautiful they might just bring this ex archon to his knees. you giggle when he dives back in for another kiss, and then another, and then one more. this one lasts, it’s slow and languid. but then you reach and grasp his collar to pull him closer, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room changes.

it makes zhongli pause and chuckle, and he casts an almost apologetic glance at the teapot. “mmh, the tea will get cold…” he follows up his words with another searing kiss and clearly neither of you are too concerned with the tea. he’s handsy with you now and desperate to feel you, to pick back up where you both had left off this morning. he’s so hard, cock straining in his trousers, and when he plants you on the table and slips his fingers passed your underwear, he feels how aroused you are as well. you’re slippery with slick, and he groans. “my dearest, i simply must have you, is that alright?”

you nod eagerly. “y-yes, zhongli. please.” he absolutely cannot deny you when you sound so sweet.

which is why you find yourself a while later with your legs pinned to the table, your back arched in pleasure, and his cock nestled deep within your sodden cunt. the poor teacups rattle with every thrust of his hips, and even the table itself can’t withstand the way he takes you, the wooden furniture skidding across the floor. you’re so tight and warm and perfect around him. it’s maddening, and his large hands are squeezing your waist to keep himself grounded to reality. his tip kisses your womb repeatedly and you wail out his name. this is everything he’s been aching for all day. “so good for me. taking me so well, my dearest,” he groans. “i will never tire of coming home to you and this wonderful little pussy of yours.”

nat’s notes — if you’ve read until this point, thank you! this is my first fic/first time writing for genshin impact. so i figured this is the best time to introduce myself. i’m loveliluc aka nat! i’m new in the genshin impact fandom space, and new to the game overall as i only just started playing back in early september. guess you could say i’ve very much fallen down the genshin rabbit hole lol. i hope you enjoyed this first piece, and i look forward to posting more! would love any support on this, and would love to create new moots going forward. i also ask for patience as i am still getting to know many of the genshin characters so sorry if i write anyone ooc. thank you! <3

[inkandtension]

Tie That Binds.

Minho adjusted his tie for the third time, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. Weddings were supposed to be joyous occasions, weren’t they? Celebrations of love, laughter, and promises of forever? Yet, here he was, standing in an impeccably tailored suit, about to marry a woman he barely knew, feeling anything but joyous. His reflection stared back at him, the crease between his brows deepening with every second. The tie felt like a noose.

“Stop sulking, hyung,” came Changbin’s teasing voice from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “You look good. A real scholarly heartthrob.”

Minho shot him a glare that would have silenced most people. Changbin, however, was immune. “I’m not sulking,” Minho muttered under his breath, though even he didn’t believe the words. His fingers tugged at the tie again.

“You’re brooding, then,” Changbin replied cheerfully. “Brooding scholar. It’s a vibe.”

Minho sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. His mind wasn’t in the room; it was too busy turning over the absurdity of his situation. Years spent lecturing on logic, dissecting literature, and championing the idea of individual agency had somehow led him to this moment—a meticulously arranged marriage, orchestrated by his mother and some aunt whose face he couldn’t even remember.

“Can’t back out now,” Changbin added, pushing off the doorframe with a grin. “Unless you want to send all the guests home and deal with your mother’s wrath. And trust me, hyung, I’ll be the first to sell popcorn and watch that drama unfold.”

Minho shot him a flat look but said nothing. Changbin wasn’t wrong. Backing out wasn’t an option, not when the woman he was about to marry came with glowing recommendations. A surgeon, his mother had informed him with a delighted clap of her hands. Accomplished, brilliant, kind, and apparently drop-dead gorgeous. The perfect daughter-in-law material, in other words. His family had done everything short of hanging her résumé on the wall like a trophy.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing his blazer. As he shrugged it on, he couldn’t help but feel like he was stepping into a role he hadn’t auditioned for—a leading man in a play where the script had been written long before he entered the stage.

Y/N’s palms were sweating, and no amount of discreetly dabbing them with the edge of her dress seemed to help. She stood at the altar, her heart pounding in her chest, as the murmur of guests filled the room. Her eyes flitted to the door, waiting for Minho to appear.

For the past week, her life had been a whirlwind of surgeries, late-night meetings with wedding planners, and answering endless texts from her mother. It felt surreal, like she’d been thrown into someone else’s dream wedding—one she hadn’t exactly volunteered for.

“Why am I doing this?” she whispered to her best friend, who stood beside her in a pastel bridesmaid dress, looking far too amused for Y/N’s liking.

“Because your parents threatened to disown you if you didn’t at least try,” her friend whispered back with a barely-contained laugh.

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. It was true. Despite all her achievements, she was still that shy little girl seeking her family’s approval. Being a world-class surgeon hadn’t changed that. The wedding might have been their idea, but here she was, going through with it because walking away felt too much like failure.

Her thoughts scattered like confetti the moment the doors opened. Minho stepped in, and everything else seemed to fade into the background. He was tall, lean, and devastatingly handsome. His black hair was styled to perfection, framing his sharp features. His suit hugged him like it had been crafted by someone who understood the definition of precision, and the air of quiet confidence he exuded was enough to make her breath hitch.

Her best friend let out a low whistle, leaning closer. “Okay, I take it back. If you don’t marry him, I might.”

“Shut up,” Y/N hissed.

Married life was... odd, to say the least.

Minho spent his days teaching university students, delving into the intricacies of Shakespeare and Kafka. Y/N spent hers in a hospital, saving lives and dealing with emergencies that left her too drained to care about trivial things like cooking or cleaning.

They had an unspoken routine:

Y/N would come home late, exhausted, and Minho would have dinner waiting for her.

Minho would stay up grading papers while she crashed on the couch, sometimes falling asleep mid-sentence while recounting her day.

They’d exchange polite “good mornings” and “have a nice days,” but deeper conversations were rare.

It wasn’t awkward, per se—just... unfamiliar.

Over the weeks that followed, something shifted.

Minho started texting her during the day, little things like, Don’t skip lunch, or Did you sleep last night?

Y/N found herself bringing home snacks for him, claiming she’d picked them up on a whim, though she’d actually spent way too much time in the store debating which ones he’d like.

They started watching movies together on weekends, bickering over genres. Minho preferred psychological dramas; Y/N loved rom-coms.

“You seriously think this is funny?” Minho groaned one night, watching the lead actor trip over a series of increasingly ridiculous obstacles.

“It’s hilarious,” Y/N shot back, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Minho rolled his eyes but didn’t miss the way her laugh made his chest feel warm.

…

“You know,” Minho said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, “I didn’t think married life would mean sharing my coffee stash with someone who performs literal surgeries before I even wake up.”

You glanced up from the stove, where you were stirring scrambled eggs for the both of you. "I didn’t think it’d mean coming home to someone who alphabetizes their bookshelf and gets irrationally angry when one book is out of place.”

“Touch my books again, and it’ll be war."

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Good morning to you too, husband.”

The word still felt foreign. You’d been married for three months now, after a whirlwind of family introductions and a mutual agreement that, while neither of you believed in love at first sight, you could give companionship a chance. He was a literature professor, calm and composed with a sharp wit, and you were a surgeon, thriving on adrenaline and precision. Two opposites in every sense of the word, now sharing the same roof and calling it home.

“Don’t burn the eggs,” Minho teased as he set the table, placing his usual cup of black coffee at your spot.

“They’re perfect, thank you very much,” you replied, sliding the pan off the burner. “Unlike someone’s last attempt at cooking pasta.”

Minho feigned offense. “Excuse me, my pasta was avant-garde.”

“It was burnt.”

The morning ritual of trading barbs had quickly become your favorite part of this arrangement. Despite the awkwardness of the early days, you’d found a rhythm. You respected each other’s space, cheered each other on, and occasionally stole moments like this—warm and light, like the eggs you plated and brought to the table.

Minho sipped his coffee, glancing at you. “Long shift today?”

“Not too bad. Just six hours,” you said. “You?”

“Grading papers,” he said with a grimace. “Seventy essays on whether The Great Gatsby is a love story or a cautionary tale.”

“Ah, the joys of shaping young minds,” you teased.

Minho shook his head, but his smirk softened. He looked at you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “You’re really good at this, you know.”

“At what? Mocking you?”

“That too,” he admitted, “but I meant… this. Us.”

You froze, caught off guard. He wasn’t usually this candid. “I guess we’re both trying,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm.

“I’d say we’re succeeding,” Minho said, reaching out to steal a bite of your eggs with his fork. “Even if you do insist on putting ketchup on your eggs, like a heathen.”

“Hey!” you laughed, swatting his hand away.

The truth was, Minho had a knack for sneaking past your defenses. Whether it was his quiet attentiveness when you came home exhausted or the way he made sure to send you texts during your long shifts (“Don’t forget to eat. And drink water. And sleep. I’m grading your habits, 2/10 so far”), he was making it harder not to fall for him.

As you cleaned up the dishes together, Minho cleared his throat. “By the way, my department’s hosting a dinner next week. Spouses are invited.”

“Oh,” you said, your heart skipping a beat. “Am I—?”

“You’re coming,” he interrupted, looking at you like it wasn’t even a question. “I need someone to laugh at my jokes when my colleagues inevitably talk about Chaucer.”

You snorted. “You’re assuming your jokes will be funny.”

He leaned closer, his voice low. “I don’t need them to be funny. I just need you there.”

Your breath caught, but Minho had already turned away, heading to his study. “Have a good day at work, Dr. Ketchup.”

“Have fun with Gatsby, Professor Burnt Pasta,” you called after him, hiding your grin.

You stood in the kitchen for a moment, fingers brushing the counter where his hand had been seconds ago. Maybe this marriage wasn’t just about making it work. Maybe, just maybe, it could be something more.

(You couldn’t make it to the party, an emergency surgery happened, you apologised though, his colleagues were a bit too sad when you didn’t make it)

It was supposed to be a peaceful Sunday morning for Minho—his one precious day to lounge in sweatpants, sip coffee, and enjoy the rare luxury of a slow, uneventful routine. He had even entertained the idea of making you breakfast before you left for work, something simple yet thoughtful. But fate, as always, had other plans.

A sharp knock on the door disrupted his rare moment of domestic bliss. With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself away from the stove, glancing warily at the pan on low heat. As he shuffled to the door, half-asleep, he wondered who could possibly be bothering him on his sacred day off.

The door creaked open, revealing Felix, one of his students, standing there in all his youthful glory. A textbook was tucked under his arm, his expression bright and hopeful.

“Professor Lee!” Felix greeted, his tone unnaturally chipper for a Sunday.

Minho blinked slowly, still processing the intrusion. “Felix? What are you doing here?”

“You said you’d help with my essay on Sunday,” Felix reminded him, his tone tentative but insistent.

Minho racked his brain, piecing together fragmented memories from office hours. “Right…” he muttered, groaning internally. He vaguely remembered agreeing to it but hadn’t expected Felix, the popular, gossip-loving, poster-child of charm, to actually follow through. “Yeah, come in.”

As Felix stepped inside, his eyes scanned the space with open curiosity. It was his first time seeing his professor’s home, and it wasn’t what he expected. The cozy, lived-in atmosphere seemed at odds with Minho’s perpetually serious demeanor in class. His attention was quickly snagged by a pair of stylish, feminine glasses sitting on the coffee table. Girlfriend? Felix wondered, tilting his head.

Before he could dwell on the thought, the distinct sound of heels clicking against the floor made him freeze. A moment later, you emerged from the hallway, dressed sharply for work. Felix’s eyebrows shot up, his thoughts immediately scrambling for an explanation. You blinked, just as surprised to see someone new in the living room. “Oh,” you said, your tone polite but slightly off-guard. “Hi.”

Felix, now officially overwhelmed, managed to blurt out, “Hello”, he said, before his gaze flickered back to the coffee table, then to you, as he didn’t know how to address you.

No way, he thought, it’s the doctor who came on news for saving a K-pop idol, from almost death.

“Minho!” you called, turning your head toward the kitchen. “Is this one of your students?”

Felix, his curiosity reaching critical levels, edged closer to the source of your voice. Peeking into the kitchen, he found Minho by the stove, a pan in hand. Smoke curled lazily upward, and the sharp scent of burning food filled the air.

“Minho,” you said, stepping into the kitchen with an incredulous laugh, “are you burning food again?”

Minho startled, nearly dropping the pan. “I’m not burning it! I’m… enhancing the flavor,” he argued, his tone defensive.

“Enhancing?” you repeated with a laugh. “Minho, cooking is about creating something edible, not staging a kitchen fire. It’s amazing how often you mix those two up.”

“I was trying to make you something before you left for the hospital,” he muttered, clearly embarrassed but reluctant to admit defeat.

Your playful smile softened at his admission. Gently, you reached over to turn off the stove. “That’s sweet, but maybe stick to teaching literature instead of culinary experiments.”

Felix, lurking just out of sight, stared wide-eyed as you roasted him. The banter, the easy familiarity—it all added up. They’re married?

“Go sit down,” you told Minho, nudging him out of the kitchen. “I’ll make something quick before I leave.”

Minho grumbled under his breath but obeyed, brushing past Felix on his way back to the living room. Felix hurried to take a seat, trying to appear nonchalant, though his mind was racing.

When you passed through the room moments later, coffee in hand, you offered Felix a warm smile. “Nice meeting you. Don’t give him too hard of a time with your questions.”

Felix nodded mutely, watching you leave. The moment the door shut behind you, he turned to Minho, who had returned with two glasses of juice.

“Professor…” Felix began slowly, his voice thick with disbelief. “Is she your wife?”

Minho raised an eyebrow as he sipped his juice. “Yes. Why?”

Felix blinked rapidly, struggling to reconcile this new information. “No reason,” he mumbled, though his expression betrayed his shock.

Moments later, you returned to the hallway, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. Minho met you by the door, leaning casually against the frame.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll try,” you replied, a familiar warmth in your voice. You both knew it was a promise you likely wouldn’t keep.

Felix, still reeling from the day’s revelations, hovered awkwardly nearby. As you stepped outside, he called out suddenly, “Have a good day, Mrs. Lee!”

You froze, the unexpected title catching you off guard. It wasn’t unpleasant—just unfamiliar. Slowly, you turned, offering Felix a polite but flustered smile. “Uh… you too,” you managed before hurrying to your car.

Minho chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe as he watched you leave. “Mrs. Lee, huh?” he mused aloud, mostly to himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Felix, now thoroughly overwhelmed, buried his face in his hands. Sundays, he realised, were never as peaceful as they seemed.

Minho shook his head, walking back inside. “Come on, let’s get to your essay before you start narrating this like a drama.”

The next day at school, Felix did exactly that.

Felix leaned forward dramatically, hands splayed wide as he began recounting his Sunday adventure to a growing crowd of curious students in the cafeteria. His voice, filled with excitement, caught the attention of several nearby tables, each eager to hear more.

"Guys, listen up," he said, flashing a grin. "You won’t believe what I saw at Professor Lee’s house yesterday."

A few students glanced at each other, intrigued, as Felix's words hung in the air. He leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to keep everyone hanging on his every syllable. "So, I went to his place for some essay help, right? And the first thing I notice when I walk in is this super cozy vibe. You know, soft lighting, a hint of fresh coffee... real domestic bliss. But then—then, I spot these feminine glasses on the table."

Hyunjin, who had been lounging back in his chair, rolled his eyes. "What’s so weird about glasses?" he asked, unimpressed.

Felix raised a finger, signaling that this story was about to take a turn. "Wait for it. So, as I’m trying to figure out who’s glasses they are, out walks this stunning woman. She’s in full professional attire—like, the whole deal. She’s walking like, like a CEO walking into an important meeting. And guess what? She’s his wife. Dr. Y/N. The surgeon."

Hyunjin blinked, his expression shifting from indifference to shock. “His what?” he practically shouted, hands flying to cover his mouth as his eyes widened.

The murmurs of disbelief spread like wildfire among the crowd, each person leaning in a little closer, straining to catch every word.

"You’re making this up," Jisung said skeptically, shaking his head as he crossed his arms.

Felix smirked, leaning back in his seat with an air of triumph. "I’m not! They’re so romantic, it’s almost nauseating. I’m telling you, it’s like one of those cheesy rom-coms. He even tried to cook for her."

"Professor Lee? Cooking?" Hyunjin scoffed loudly, half-laughing in disbelief. "That man lives off convenience store meals. There's no way he was cooking anything decent."

Felix leaned in closer, lowering his voice for effect. The group went quiet, eager to hear the juicy detail. "He burned it," he said, his face full of mock sympathy.

The table erupted in laughter, the absurdity of the image painting a perfect picture in everyone's minds.

"But that’s not even the best part!" Felix exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. "No, no. The best part is how she roasted him. And I mean roasted him. And then, do you know what he said? He said he was trying to make something special for her before she left for work. I mean, come on—imagine that. Your husband burns breakfast out of love for you. Isn’t that just... romantic?"

Jisung couldn’t help himself and muttered, "That doesn’t sound romantic. That sounds tragic."

Felix ignored him, continuing with the fervor of someone who had just witnessed the most entertaining drama. "And the way they bantered? Oh my god, guys, it was like something out of a rom-com. She laughed at him, and he got all offended but secretly pleased—it was like watching this whole love story unfold before my eyes. You would think they had a love marriage, not some arranged one."

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued now. "Wait, they’re in an arranged marriage?" he asked, trying to wrap his mind around it.

Felix nodded solemnly, as if he were revealing some deep, hidden truth. "Yeah. But you’d never know. The way they looked at each other, the way they interacted—if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were madly in love."

By now, half the cafeteria was hanging on Felix’s every word, the whole campus’s girls were there(for felix’s charm) of course.

And, as expected, the rumors began to spread like wildfire. What started as Felix’s casual recounting of a Sunday visit quickly turned into a full-fledged mystery. Everyone was dying to know more about Professor Lee’s mysterious wife—and, more importantly, if they could have a glimpse into this romance that Felix had so dramatically described.

…

Minho was halfway through grading essays in the faculty lounge when his colleague, Chan, approached him with a mischievous grin.

“Hey, Minho,” Chan started, plopping down in the seat across from him.

“What?” Minho asked without looking up.

“So… I heard some interesting things about you and your wife,” Chan said casually, his tone laced with amusement.

Minho froze, his pen hovering over a student’s paper, Felix’s. “What things?”

“Oh, nothing major,” Chan said, feigning innocence. “Just that you’re apparently head over heels for her, cooking her breakfast and all that. Burnt, of course.”

Minho’s eyes traveled through the paper in his hands and it clicked. “Felix.”

Chan laughed. “So it’s true?”

“Partially,” Minho muttered. “He came over to the house for essay help and caught us in the middle of a normal morning.”

“Normal?” Chan raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, you’re living in a K-drama.”

“Don’t start,” Minho groaned.

Chan grinned, leaning forward. “Come on, though. Is it true you tried to cook for her?”

Minho hesitated before muttering, “I might have… attempted.”

Chan burst out laughing. “Wow, you really are whipped. I didn’t think you had it in you, Minho.”

Minho shot him a glare. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not,” Chan said, smirking. “But, honestly, it’s nice to see you so… happy. You’re usually such a grump.”

Minho rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he picked up his pen and went back to grading(maybe unfairly) , pretending not to notice the smug look on Chan’s face.

As Chan got up to leave, he clapped Minho on the shoulder. “By the way, I think Felix might be your biggest fan now. Watch out, or he’ll start writing a romance novel about you two.”

Minho groaned, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Meanwhile, you were eating lunch with your colleagues, when a message from Minho popped up.

Minho: Felix told half the campus we’re madly in love. You: We’re not? Minho: That’s not the point. You: It’s not a bad rumor to have, Professor Lee. 😉

Minho stared at the screen, shaking his head. Felix might’ve been overly dramatic, but maybe the kid wasn’t entirely wrong.

[azzifuddslover]

off the court

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: angst, jealously

tw: swearing (i think that’s all?)

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i had fun with this chapter! excited to continue writing 😋 i had to ofc add the lil dijonai & lyss foul haha. also if u have any one shot suggestions please please lemme know! enjoy

CHAPTER TWO

“oh my goodness, hi!” nika pulled each one of the freshmen into a warm embrace. “we’re so excited to have you guys here!”

we? paige thought to herself, that she didn’t dare speak out loud.

“we’re excited to be here!” caroline smiled at the three older girls, as aubrey and azzi hugged.

paige purposefully put distant between herself and the curly headed brunette, not wanting to start arguments her first day.

“so, where do you guys wanna see next?” aubrey questioned, while paige remained silent, keeping to herself.

“you tell us,” ashlynn said, excitedly.

“alright,” nika slung her arm around paige’s shoulder, “let’s go show you the dorms then.”

as the seven girls made their way to the dorm rooms, azzi walked behind aubrey who led the way, while nika and paige placed themselves in the back.

“you good, p?” nika whispered, “it’s unlike you to be this quiet.”

paige plastered a smile on her face, “all good, nik.”

“no, seriously, what’s up?”

“i’m fine, really. just tired,” she reassured her close friend, gently squeezing her shoulder.

minutes later the girls arrived at the dorms when nika spoke up.

“i think it’s best to divide into groups so we can still get lunch. aubrey, show caroline and yanna your room, paige show azzi yours and i’ll show ash mine.”

of course nika would place azzi with paige. alone.

“um, i’ll take ashlynn,” paige suggested, but it was too late. ashlynn was already off with nika, aubrey was leading carol and yanna to her dorm.

azzi stood awkwardly in the hallway, eyes focused on the floor, as paige glanced once at her before taking off to her room.

“cmon,” she muttered, passing azzi.

azzi was hesitant to follow, but she did regardless, keeping her head low while nerves twisted in her stomach. azzi couldn’t remember the last time she was alone with paige, if ever. the pair have clearly never gotten along, so she was nervous to see where this would go.

paige opened the door to her dorm, that she shared with another teammate, dorka, who happened to be laying in her bed.

“hey dorka,” paige said, announcing her presence along with azzi’s.

“hey p,” dorka looked at her, then at the freshmen, “who’s this?”

“one of the new freshmen, azzi.”

dorka smiled at azzi in a reassuring manner, then pulled her in for a quick hug. “welcome to uconn, azzi!”

azzi gently hugged the older girl back, feeling less nervous with dorka being there. “happy to be here.”

“you’re going to love it. i’m a transfer, and its absolutely amazing. the girls are all so great, geno can be a bit tough, but he means well,” dorka explained.

azzi was genuinely excited for her start at university of connecticut. she’s always kept uconn as an option for her future school, and finally was able to commit just a few weeks ago. she figured it’d be the best fit for her, despite paige being here.

“well, i told lou i’d meet her in the dining hall, so i’ll catch y’all later,” dorka said, grabbing her bag and phone before quickly leaving.

the silent in the small dorm was haunting. paige’s eyes were focused on her phone, while azzi motionlessly stood against the wall, waiting for any sort of conversation.

“so, do you like it here so far?” paige asked, finally breaking the silence.

azzi looked over at paige, “it’s nice, yeah. the girls seem nice.”

“that’s good,” paige replied.

“are you excited to meet-“

“you don’t have to make small talk, paige. we both know you aren’t happy with me committing here,” azzi bite out.

paige scolded her eyes, “you’re right. i’m not happy with you being here. but i can’t change it, can i?”

“nope, you can’t. let’s just ignore each other like we’ve always have.”

secretly, paige didn’t want to ignore azzi. she couldn’t. but she pretended to did it anyway.

“fine by me,” paige shouted, walking towards the door.

“where are you going? this is literally your room!”

“anywhere else but here, with you. go catch up with nika or something,” paige muttered as she left, leaving azzi staring at the door.

it was the first day of practice with the new additions to the uconn team, and paige successfully avoided azzi at all costs. whenever the team got together, they’d always converse with other players, never daring to look each other’s way.

paige brought the basketball up the court during a 5v5 match. she directed the players on her team to her liking, then passed it to lou who made the open 3 shot. aubrey secured the rebound, threw it off to azzi, who began to bring it to the opposing net. paige, of course, was right on her heels, defending her. azzi noticed the blonde from the corner of her eye, looking unbothered as ever.

reaching the 3 point line with paige right there, azzi considers all the potential lanes to the basket. when nika, part of the opposing team, goes to defend aubrey, azzi sprints through an open lane, going for the layup.

paige was quick to notice her plan, though. she blocked the ball from entering the basket, hitting azzi in the process. it was an obvious foul.

“hey, that’s a foul!” azzi shouted.

paige, who’s grinning to herself, adverted her eyes to the brunette. “no it wasn’t, it was clean.”

“bullshit!”

“you’re just mad you can’t make a shot on me,” paige replied.

“please. like i haven’t done it before!” azzi exclaimed loud enough for heads to turn.

“ladies!” coach auriemma interrupted their argument, “make sure to stay after practice.”

for goodness sake, paige thought to herself.

“this is all your fault,” paige whispered, loud enough for only azzi could hear.

azzi simply rolled her eyes at paige’s remark. she wasn’t going to let the older girl distract her further; she’s already done it enough.

practice quickly came to a close; azzi managed to put distance between herself and paige, not wanting to cause any more trouble than she already had.

each one of the basketball players made their way out of the gym, while azzi and paige anxiously remained, waiting for coach.

his office door opened, “come on in.”

paige took the left chair as azzi took the right, both not saying a word. coach auriemma looked pissed.

“your behaviors is unacceptable. if you both want to help this team succeed, we’ll all need to get along, including you two. especially you guys. you both are two of the best players we have, and i’m going to need y’all to quit it with the bickering and focus on the game. am i clear?”

“yes, coach,” paige and azzi say in unison.

“alright then. with that being said, go out to eat with one another. get to know each other. i don’t know what caused your disliking of each other, but it’s got to change immediately,” geno auriemma instructed the girls.

paige’s eyes widen as azzi shifted uncomfortably in her seat, clearly not pleased with his suggestion. but azzi was new, and she only wanted to please her coach.

“that sounds fine by me,” azzi said, despite her brain saying she’d rather do anything else.

paige stole a glance at the younger girl, before also agreeing.

“good. when tomorrow comes around, i better not hear any arguments. and if i do, the pair of you will face further consequences. am i understood?”

paige nodded her head rapidly, “yes coach.”

“so, where do you wanna go?” azzi questioned the blonde after exiting coach auriemma’s office.

paige rolled her eyes, “we aren’t actually going anywhere together. if you thought that, you’re crazy.”

azzi couldn’t help but be slightly shocked that paige would lie to their coach. “paige, i’m not getting into more trouble just because of you. look, i don’t want to go anywhere with you either, but we have no choice. let’s just get it over with.”

paige absorbed azzi’s words, carefully considering them. “alright, fine,” she sighed, “where too?”

“do you like chick fa la?”

“uh, yeah. who doesn’t? that’s like asking if i breath air.”

after a silent car ride with paige driving and azzi being the passenger princess, the two ordered their meals and sat in an open booth, facing one another.

paige continued not to look azzi in the eye. azzi, however, was harshly glaring at the older girl. “are you going to ignore me forever or actually acknowledge we’re teammates?”

paige finally locked gazes with azzi, “i was planning to ignore you forever.”

azzi couldn’t help but softly chuckle, “of course you were.”

paige lips rose at the sight of azzi’s breathtaking smile, “you make it impossible, though.”

“oh, really? it seems you’ve been doing it pretty damn well for as long as i’ve known you.”

paige didn’t dare to tell her that ignoring azzi is the hardest thing someone could do. it wasn’t just her skills on the court, that could make anyone, including paige, second-guess their game. it was the way azzi carried herself, making everything she did seem effortless, even when it wasn’t. her silent confidence and her ability to make everyone feel included even in a busy crowd. paige hated how much she admired the young girl from afar; how looking at azzi made her forget about everything and everyone around her. it was impossible to ignore a girl like azzi.

instead, paige settled on, “you’re just a pretty good player. i always notice good players.”

after swallowing a bite of a chicken nugget, azzi leaned her elbows on the table, a small smirk lingering on her face. “so now you admit to me being good?”

paige couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her comment regarding USA basketball days. “whatever, whatever.”

azzi laughed to herself, and continued to enjoy her meal, while paige also focused on eating rather than the conversation.

azzi and paige eventually relaxed to each other’s presence, feeling more comfortable than before. they discussed the challenging classes they were taking and geno’s firm coaching methods; the girls began to somewhat enjoy each others company, when a boy around their age walked up to their table.

paige and azzi both looked up at the man, who was directly eyeing the brunette. azzi’s cheeks reddened at the sudden attention.

“can we help you?” paige asked, making the man turn to look at her.

“yeah, uh, i was wondering if i could get your number? you’re, like, really pretty,” the man said to azzi.

her cheeks were basically inflamed at this point, “uh,” she tried to think of the words, “sure, i guess?”

paige scoffed at azzi’s interaction with this random guy. they were finally talking and she had to ruin it. paige clenched her fists and suddenly rose from the table, causing the man and azzi to look at her.

“i’m going to the car,” paige announced, taking off before azzi could get another word out.

after paige’s exit, the boy looked helplessly at azzi, beaming regardless of paige’s reaction. he was pretty cute, but azzi didn’t have the time to focus on anything but basketball and her classes.

“i’m kameron, by the way,” he said.

“i’m azzi, but i gotta go, sorry,” azzi replied, trying to hurry out of there as soon as possible.

“wait, your number-“ but azzi was already out the door.

azzi climbed into the passenger seat, immediately aware that this ride will be even more awkward than the one they previously had.

paige’s grip on the steering wheel caused her knuckles to turn white. when azzi noticed, she softly asked, “are you okay?”

“are you kidding me, azzi? we were finally getting along and you had to ruin it by giving some dude attention. what the actual fuck?”

“it wasn’t my fault he came up to me!” azzi shouted at paige.

“you could’ve said no! but instead you agreed right in front of me!”

azzi gaped at paige, “why do you care who asks me for my number?”

“i don’t!” paige answered defensively, although it was a complete lie.

“what are you, jealous?”

paige’s cheeks tinted at her comment, “don’t be silly, azzi.” she turned on the car and began driving down the road.

arriving back on campus, paige instantly took off without as much as a glance at azzi. after their short argument in the car, paige blasted music to avoid further comments from azzi.

azzi scrolled into her dorm that she shared with caroline, letting out an aggravated sigh.

“you good, girl?” carol asked azzi, with her eyebrows drawn together.

“yeah. coach auriemma made me and paige go out to eat, trying to make us get to know one another. complete bullshit, if you ask me.”

“why don’t y’all like each other, anyway?” carol questioned her friend.

“i don’t know! i have no idea what i did to her. she’s hated me ever since USA basketball,” azzi complained.

caroline looked around in confusion. “wait, so what went down when you guys were out?”

“we were actually talking, without arguing, and a guy came up, asking for my number. paige just got up and left. then in the car, she got all pissing and screamed how i said yes ‘right in front of her,’” azzi made quotations with her fingers.

caroline laughed at azzi’s explanation. “what?” azzi smiled.

“she was jealous!”

although azzi accused paige of being jealous earlier, she didn’t exactly believe it to be true. how could paige be jealous of someone hitting on azzi? she hated her.

“no, trust me, she wasn’t. she was just upset for some reason.”

“oh my god, she’s totally in love with you or something,” carol suggested as azzi turned pink.

“caroline, she’s not. she’s constantly avoiding me and is always mean. does that really should like her liking me?”

carol held out her hands like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “um, yes!”

azzi couldn’t comprehend how caroline got the impression that paige was in love with her. that was beyond crazy. paige’s hatred for azzi has been going strong ever since USA basketball tryouts. there was just no way.

practice the next day was going smoothly; paige and azzi didn’t interact much, like the usual, which didn’t cause geno to enable further consequences for the young girls. azzi was showing off her 3 point shooting skills, while paige continued to be an assist machine.

it was time for another 5v5, and of course paige and azzi were on opposing teams. azzi drained 3 after 3, getting impressive looks from her teammates as well as the two coaches.

a long rebound ended up near the 3 point line, to which azzi managed to secure it. however, she didn’t see the older blonde who was also going for the rebound right behind her. paige crashed into azzi, knocking her to the floor face first. paige maintained her standing position, with each one of her legs around azzi’s torso.

without thinking, paige reached down to place both hands on azzi’s hips, gently pulling her up. azzi’s ass was flush against paige’s front, sending unwelcome feelings throughout the blonde’s body.

there’s a brief moment of awkward silence, azzi still slightly disoriented from the fall. paige’s hands lingered on azzi’s hips a second too long, not that azzi made any hint to move them. she can feel the older girls hands on her body, steady and warm, making her heart skip a beat in her chest.

“you good?” paige whispered, practically in the curly brunette’s ear, given the distance between the girls.

“yeah, thanks,” azzi replied breathlessly, trying desperately to hide the flush creeping up her neck.

after noticing her lingering hands on the hips of azzi, paige removes them acting as calm as possible. paige notices a shift in tone and smirks, teasing the younger girl, “didn’t think i hit you that hard.”

azzi responds with a snark of her own, “i’m not fragile, you know,” attempting to look tougher than she truly is.

paige’s smirk widens as she allows her eyes to take in the sight of azzi. messy bun, leg sleeve, practice jersey slightly ruffled. she looked good.

“like what you see?” azzi commented on paige’s wandering eyes.

embarrassed, paige looks away, “you wish.”

azzi softly chuckles as the freshmen makes her way over to caroline and yanna, ready to continue the 5v5.

in a dais, paige stands motionless in the spot of her and azzi’s interaction, silently wishing she could have one more excuse to talk to her.

but the older girl didn’t, so she walked back into position, ready for the next play to come.

[greengoblinswifey]

Old Flames, New Fire— Jaehyun x Fem!Reader

summary— you and jaehyun are torn apart by his commitment issues but when he sends you a ticket the ab nct concert, you reconnect unexpectedly with old sparks reigniting during an intimate and apologetic backstage meeting after a show the show

warnings— exes to lovers, oral(m&f receiving), praise kink, choking, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, fluff.

a/n— my first nct fanfic requested by my hg, hope you all enjoy <3

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

You hadn’t seen Jaehyun in over six months—not since the breakup. The relationship had been a whirlwind of emotions, full of late-night phone calls, spontaneous road trips, and quiet nights where his voice lulled you to sleep. But as intoxicating as it was, it had unraveled just as quickly.

“I can’t do this right now,” he had said that night, his voice low but firm, his eyes avoiding yours. “It’s not you. It’s just, I’m not ready for something this serious.”

You remembered standing there, stunned, trying to process his words. “You’re not ready?”you had repeated, bitterness seeping into your tone. "Then why start this at all? Why make me fall for you if you were going to leave?”

He had no answer. His silence cut deeper than anything he could have said. Despite his claims, you knew there was more to it. Jaehyun was afraid—of what it meant to love and to be loved fully. His commitment issues stemmed from the intense pressure of his career, the relentless schedules, and his fear of letting someone in only to disappoint them.

Now, months later, you found yourself at his concert. The ticket had come unexpectedly, delivered with a simple note, Come. Please.

The arena was packed, the energy palpable as NCT took the stage. Jaehyun was magnetic, his every movement commanding attention. But your focus was on him alone. His eyes scanned the crowd as if searching for something—or someone. When his gaze landed on you, it lingered, a flicker of recognition and something unspoken passing between you.

After the show, you were escorted backstage. Jaehyun was waiting, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his hair damp with sweat. The sight of him sent something through you, but you steadied yourself.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice softer than you remembered.

“I almost didn’t,” you admitted, crossing your arms defensively. “Why now, Jaehyun? What do you want?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know I messed up,” he said, his tone sincere. “I pushed you away because I was scared. Scared of how much I wanted this—wanted you.”

Your heart twisted at his words. “You don’t get to do this,” you said, your voice firm. “You don’t get to walk back in and expect me to just forgive you.”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I’m asking for a chance to prove that I can do better, that I want to do better for you.”

The sincerity in his eyes was disarming. But the pain of the past still lingered. “And what happens when it gets too hard again? When the schedules and the pressure become too much? Do you leave me again?”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “No. I’ve learned, I’m not perfect, but I’m not running this time.”

You studied him, searching for cracks in his resolve. But all you saw was the man you had fallen for—the man who, despite everything, still made your heart race.

The tension was thick as he led you to his dressing room, his hand brushing against yours. Once inside, the air seemed to shift. “I meant every word I said out there,” he murmured, his voice low. “But if you don’t want this, tell me now.”

You didn’t reply with words. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. Months of longing and unresolved emotions poured out, the connection between you just the same.

“Still can’t speak when I’m around,” he teased, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

“Shut up,” you murmured, pulling him closer.

Your lips crashed against each other as his hands roamed your body, making sure he felt every inch of you to make up for the past few months. When you finally pulled away, he had that stupid smirk on his face.

Back at his hotel room, he handed you a glass of water, his usual post-show routine on full display. His eyes kept flicking back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Finally, he sighed and sat down next to you on the couch. “I owe you more than an apology,” he began, his tone earnest. “I was so scared back then, scared of failing, scared of letting you down. And instead of facing it, I pushed you away.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “It wasn’t just fear, Jaehyun. You didn’t trust me to handle it with you.”

“I know,” he admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. “I was selfish. And I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But I want to show you that I’ve changed—if you’ll let me.”

His vulnerability caught you off guard, but the sincerity in his voice was undeniable.

“Show me,” you said simply, a small smile on your lips.

You stood, the black silk of your dress catching the soft hotel lighting as it slid off your shoulders. His gaze darkened as the fabric pooled at your feet, revealing your black thong.

“Who’s this for?” he asked

“Whoever the lucky guy backstage was going to be,” you replied with a smirk, watching as his eyes widened slightly before narrowing in playful challenge.

“You’re something else,” he muttered, stepping closer and brushing his fingers along your jawline.

He eased you onto the bed, his hands grazing your sides as he peeled the thong away. When he paused, his eyes flickering with surprise, you felt a spark of pride.

“You’re this wet already?” he murmured

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you teased, though your breath hitched as he lowered his head to your leaking pussy.

His movements were deliberate, every flick of his tongue, every kiss on your clit reigniting memories of the passion you’d shared before. Your hands tangled in his hair as his lips and tongue worked their magic, drawing soft moans and gasps from you.

“Baby,” you whispered, your voice breathy and unsteady.

“Cum on my tongue,” he urged, his voice low and full of need. You obeyed, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you.

When he finally looked up, his lips glistening, he smirked at your flushed expression. “Still the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice tinged with mischief.

But as he sat back, you felt a sudden urge to even the score.

“Your turn,” you said, your voice firm as you reached for his shirt.

“You don’t have to,” he protested, though his words lacked conviction.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you replied, your hands already working the buttons. “You know how much I love your dick in my mouth.”

You kissed along his chest, savoring the way his breath hitched as your lips traveled lower. When you finally fell to your knees, his body tensed.

Your movements were purposeful, every touch designed to elicit a response. You took him deep into your mouth, working your tongue from the base back up to the pink, leaking tip. You then moved to stroking the girthy base, your tongue now focused on swirling around the tip, the saltiness savory on your tastebuds. His hands found their way into your hair, gripping lightly as he moaned and whimpered under your attention.

“God,” he groaned, his voice shaky. “I missed that mouth.”

You smirked, speeding up your efforts, determined to push him over the edge. You bobbed your head faster, gagging noises filling the hotel room as his cock got sloppier and twitched in your mouth. Not be able to hold on any longer, he finally released, his body trembling and you swallowed his cum, looking up at him with a satisfied grin.

He pulled you up and kissed you deeply, his hands cradling your face. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice full of reverence.

The moment Jaehyun pressed you against the bed, the weight of him grounding you, every lingering doubt you had about the two of you dissolved. His lips moved with an urgency that felt like he’d been starving for you, his hands wandering over your naked body as if memorizing every curve all over again.

He broke the kiss first, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

Your reply got caught in your throat when you felt him hard against your thigh. A faint blush rose to his cheeks when he noticed your smirk.

“That looks painful," you teased, your voice laced with amusement.

He groaned softly, running a hand down your side. “Yeah, well, maybe you could help me out?” His lips brushing over your jaw. “Let me make you feel good too.”

You bit your bottom lip, hesitating for a split second before nodding. You weren’t in the mood to play coy, you’d been craving this as much as he had.

You felt his tip brush against your wet folds, and the sensation sent a jolt through you. He teased you at first, sliding over your wet pussy, creating that aching friction. The squelching noise filled the room, making your cheeks burn.

“You hear how wet you are?” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s all for me.”

You opened your mouth for a snarky reply, but the words died the moment his thick cock pushed into you, a gasp escaping your lips instead.

“Fuck, still just as tight as I remember,” he growled, his voice strained as he eased himself deeper.

He started slow, letting you adjust, but every thrust felt hard and deliberate, as though he wanted you to feel every inch of him. One hand gripped your hip, and the other slipped around your throat, his fingers applying just enough pressure to make your heart race.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispered against your lips, his movements steady and controlled, your body jolting beneath him.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” he asked, his tone dark but affectionate.

“You,” you whimpered, arching against him.

“That’s right,” he said, his voice softening. “And it’s only ever going to be me. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

His words made your orgasm rip through you, the coil in your body finally snapping. You cried out, clinging to him as your release washed over you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, brushing his lips against your temple.

Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you over, pulling you into his lap. “Remember how much I love watching you ride me?" he asked, his hands firm on your hips.

You smirked, resting your palms on his chest. “I could never forget.”

Slowly, you began to move on his cock, savoring the way he stretched you. His hands gripped your waist, guiding your rhythm, while his lips found the sensitive spot on your neck that always made you shiver.

“You’re doing so good,” he groaned, his voice full of pride. “I missed this—missed you.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you bounced on his thick cock faster, your body responding to every praise and touch. He moaned your name, his grip tightening when you reached you finally shuddered again, trembling in his arms. The feeling left you limp.

Jaehyun wasn’t far behind. Flipping you onto your back, he picked up his pace, his hands framing your face as he whispered your name like a prayer. He thrusted up into you, pounding like his life depended on it so he could get the release he wanted to. As he did, you locked your legs around him, a droopy smirk on your lips.

“You need to let go baby, I’m close,” he warned, his voice desperate.

You shook your head, pulling him closer. “No. Cum inside me. Now.”

His eyes searched yours for a moment before his cum spurted deep inside your pussy, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled into you.

The two of you lay tangled together afterward, his hand stroking your hair as his lips found your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth and then your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. “For everything. I’ll make it up to you��I swear.”

“You’d better,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Just promise me you won’t either.”

He kissed you deeply, pulling you closer. "I promise."

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter fifteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.6k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, swearing, alcohol consumption, description of a panic attack, reader wears a dress and heels at one point, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: wow, i can’t believe it’s been almost two months since i last updated this!! as always, i appreciate your patience so much. life has been pretty wacky crazy recently and it’s been hard to find the time to unwind and write. enjoy xx 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 – 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟓, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔. 𝟖:𝟎𝟎𝐏𝐌.

The cocktail party buzzed with conversation, the soft clink of glasses blending with the low hum of music from a corner of the room. People milled about in elegant but understated outfits—cocktail dresses, tailored blazers—their laughter and chatter filling the air, a symphony of mingling voices that seemed to stretch and echo in the lavish space. You had been to countless events like this since you started competing on the professional circuit, but tonight felt different. Tonight, you were sharing the spotlight with Art.

Your ex-boyfriend, first love, and the person you admired most.

It had been surprisingly easy to avoid Art since college. You saw each other at major events and tournaments, but there was always a distance between you; just enough to make the possibility of confrontation seem too painful to entertain. At this point in your career, you had fourteen Grand Slam wins under your belt, but you had never won in the same year as Art. That day, you had earned your second French Open title, but it was Art’s first.

And what better way to celebrate than by parading the winners around together for the cameras?

Avoiding him was somewhat impossible. You saw him as you walked in, standing by the bar with a beer in hand, his broad shoulders tense under a perfectly cut jacket. His dark blonde hair was a little shorter than you remembered, a few strands brushing his forehead in a way that made your chest tighten, like the string of a violin pulled too taut.

And then there was Tashi.

Your breath hitched—not in a romantic, heart-skipping way, but in a way that felt like you stumbled and caught yourself just before falling into the chasm of old wounds. You smoothed your dress—a fitted black Oscar de la Renta dress with delicate spaghetti straps, a tulle-panelled bodice adorned with soft ruffles, and a figure-hugging skirt that fell just below the knee, chosen to make you feel confident—and stepped further into the room. Your heart beat a little faster, the pulse thrumming painfully against your ribcage. The photographers were already circling, their lenses clicking like clockwork, their flashes staccato bursts of light that made your nerves tangle.

“Y/N! Over here! Smile for us!”

You managed a polite smile, forcing yourself to stay steady in your black heels, the sharp click of each step an echo of your unease, and let the people working the event usher you to the photo area. This was nothing new for you, but nothing could have prepared you for when Art joined you. He stood so close that you caught a faint trace of his cologne—the same one he used to wear in college. It was a delicate, familiar scent, wrapping around you like a storm cloud, pulling at the edges of your thoughts. You drew in a shaky breath, willing yourself to keep grinning at the cameras and not blink every time the flash went off.

“Congratulations,” Art said softly, his voice barely audible over the chaos. His words were like a weight landing on your chest, slow and inevitable.

“Congratulations to you too,” you replied, keeping your tone polite but distant, a mask carefully constructed over the trembling chaos inside. Even as you saw Art try to meet your gaze in your periphery, you kept your eyes on the cameras, focusing on nothing but the flashing lights, desperate to avoid that blue gaze.

“Closer! Let’s get the champions side by side!” one of the photographers called.

You felt Art’s arm brush your back as he shifted closer. The contact was brief but enough to send a shiver down your spine, a twinge of sensation that prickled your skin like a live wire. Dread filled you when you realised Art had probably felt the tremor. The heat from his proximity wrapped around you like the suffocating press of too many hands, and you couldn’t escape it.

“How have you been?” Art asked, his voice low and measured like a question long withheld.

You finally turned your head, catching his icy blue eyes. That was dangerous, you scolded yourself, hurriedly looking away, but not before you felt the sharp stab of nostalgia pierce through you, making your throat tighten.

“Busy. You know how it is,” came your aloof response.

His lips curved into a small smile. “Well, not really. This is only my second time winning a slam,” Art pointed out, his voice lingering in the space between you like an invitation for something more. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the photographers were shouting again, directing you into different poses.

You felt his gaze linger on you, the heat of it sinking into your skin, and you forced yourself to ignore it. Art still had that effortless charm, the kind that had drawn you to him in college. His presence was magnetic, tugging at the air between you. If you ignored all the ways he had changed physically—putting on more muscle, cutting his hair, and dressing differently—you could close your eyes and transport yourself back to your old Stanford dorm. Though you tried to ignore it, a small part of you ached. The part that remembered late-night conversations and how he used to make you laugh.

Tashi’s voice broke the moment. “Y/N, you look stunning.”

You turned to her, plastering on another smile, the effort of it making your jaw ache. “Thank you, so do you.” You hated pretending that the sight of Tashi didn’t make your skin crawl, but you endured it. The last thing you wanted was for the press coverage to be about petty drama instead of Art’s first French Open title.

Tashi did, of course, look stunning. Her deep orange dress matched the colour of the Roland-Garros clay court perfectly, the fabric gliding over her skin like liquid bronze, and her dark hair swept back in a way that accentuated her sharp cheekbones. But her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

You wondered, briefly, what she saw when she looked at you. Did she see you as the girl who used to share her secrets? Or the one who had walked away from it all?

Unlike your conversation with Art, it brought you physical pain to be nice to Tashi in public. The words felt like needles, sharp and unwelcome, threading into the fabric of your politeness. What she and Patrick had done the night he proposed to you was unforgivable, and—unless she contacted you stating that it was an emergency—you would never answer her calls willingly.

The evening passed in a blur of interviews, handshakes, and obligatory small talk. Art was always nearby, his laugh carrying over the noise, his presence impossible to ignore, like the weight of the air had changed. At dinner, he was seated beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours when you reached for your glass.

“Sorry,” he murmured, pulling back, and the softness of his voice made your chest tighten like a hand gently pressing down on the raw edges of a wound.

You shook your head quickly, avoiding his gaze. Tashi, seated on Art’s other side, noticed. She always noticed. Her eyes flicked between the two of you, her expression unreadable. When she leaned in to whisper something to Art, he nodded absently, his attention already back on you, as if the air between the two of you still held a charge, something neither of you could shake.

The tension was suffocating. You could feel the pulsing weight of it in your chest, the heat that rose in your cheeks, the way your breath seemed to falter when you were near him. It was all too much, and yet, nothing at all had changed.

As soon as dinner ended, you excused yourself, weaving through the crowd toward the quieter edges of the venue. A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne, and you took a glass, sipping it slowly as you tried to collect yourself. The party was vibrant, the room filled with laughter and music, but all you could focus on was the lingering warmth of Art’s presence. It seemed to follow you like a shadow that never quite left.

When you glanced back, you found him watching you again. Tashi stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, but his eyes were locked on you.

Tashi saw everything. She always had. It was one of the things that made you such close friends back in college—her uncanny ability to read people, to pick up on things left unsaid. Even now, as she stood beside Art, she could see how his gaze drifted toward you. She’d always known part of him still belonged to you, no matter how many years passed. And she couldn’t even blame him.

You’d been careful, distant. You’d kept your distance for years, and yet tonight, here you were, glowing under the lights, every bit the woman Art had fallen for all those years ago and so much more. Tashi wasn’t angry, not really. If anything, she felt tired. Tired of the distance between her and Art, tired of the slow erosion of their marriage. She’d thought it would be easier by now—especially after they’d had Lily—but it was like covering a bullet wound with a bandaid. It was enough to ensure Tashi and Art would always be family and have a place in each other’s lives, but it wouldn’t save their romance.

Seeing you tonight—seeing how Art looked at you—brought it all rushing back. She excused herself, slipping away to the restroom to collect her thoughts. When she returned, Art was gone.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been wandering the estate grounds. The party continued in the distance, laughter and music drifting through the cool night air. Your feet ached, but the night was still young, and as you looked out over the glittering lights of Paris, you felt a strange sense of calm descend over you.

You found yourself drawn to a small fountain tucked away behind a hedge, its waters glowing under soft golden lights. The scene was quiet and peaceful—a welcome reprieve from the chaos inside. You set your champagne glass on the fountain edge and sat down, letting the cool night air soothe your nerves.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

The voice startled you, but you recognised it instantly. You turned, finding Art standing a few feet away, his tie loosened and his jacket draped over one arm. He looked as uneasy as you felt.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” you asked, your voice carefully neutral. Please go back inside, you begged below your polite words. 

“Probably,” he admitted, stepping closer. “But so should you.”

You didn’t respond, turning back to the fountain. Art hesitated before sitting beside you, leaving a few inches of space between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The gentle trickle of the fountain filled the silence.

“It’s been a long time,” he said, his voice soft.

“Five years,” you replied. Your tone was quieter than you intended.

You both knew exactly how long it had been. Five years since Patrick’s disastrous proposal. Five years since Art had found you, heartbroken and vulnerable, on that tear-soaked night. Neither of you said it, but the memory hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken.

“How’s Tashi?” you asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

He hesitated. “She’s… good. She’s great.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “That convincing, huh?”

Art let out a quiet laugh, but it lacked real humour. When he looked at you, his expression softened. And for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟒, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟏. 𝟏𝟐:𝟏𝟗𝐀𝐌.

Your eyes widened as you stared at Patrick, your heart pounding. The words hung in the air between you, almost tangible. You blinked, half-expecting the moment to dissolve into a dream. But there he was, standing before you, his face—previously full of hope and excitement—reduced to absolute terror by the question he had asked.

“So?” Patrick prompted, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Will you marry me?”

The world tilted. It was as if the axis of your life had shifted without warning, throwing you into uncharted territory. The room was the same as it had been a moment ago. But everything felt unfamiliar now—the weight of Patrick’s gaze, the quiet hum of the air conditioning, the distant chatter from the street outside. Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, and you realised you hadn’t breathed since he first spoke.

Was he serious? He couldn’t be serious. Not now, not like this.

Patrick reached into his duffel bag by the door and retrieved a small velvet ring box. You covered your mouth with your hand when he opened it, revealing a delicate ring, the light catching on its surface. The diamonds sparkled, each facet glinting like a shard of frost on a winter morning.

Your heart stuttered, and a wave of panic surged through you. The pressure of the question pressed down harder, and your thoughts began to race, colliding in a chaotic mess. You loved him—you knew you loved him—but things had been hard recently. Patrick had been struggling, his insecurities bubbling to the surface more often.

What if this was his way of trying to hold onto you? What if this was about proving something to himself? Or proving to the tennis world that he could be a suitable partner for you even if he was less successful than you? Or to… anyone but the two of you?

“Y/N?” Patrick’s voice pulled you out of your spiralling thoughts. His face broke into a wide grin, misreading your silence. “I knew it! You’re so happy you’re speechless.” He shifted closer, holding the ring toward your finger. “Here, let me put it on you.”

“Wait,” you snapped out of your haze. You instinctively stepped aside, feeling a wave of claustrophobia with your back to the wall, and staggered toward the centre of the room. Your left hand was clutched in your right as if to shield your ring finger from the weight of Patrick’s question. “Just… wait.”

Patrick froze, confusion clouding his expression. “Wait? For what?”

You hesitated, fumbling for the right words. “Can I think about it?”

Patrick stared at you as if you’d suddenly spoken another language. “Think about it?” he repeated, his voice low with disbelief. “What… what is there to think about?”

You swallowed hard, guilt twisting in your stomach. “I don’t know if I’m ready to get married,” you stammered. The words felt foreign as they left your mouth, almost as shocking to you as they clearly were to him. 

Patrick’s face shifted, his joy giving way to an uneasy smile as he tried to brush your concern off. “We’re not eloping tomorrow or anything,” he said, a nervous laugh breaking the tension. “We can be engaged for as long as you want. I’m not in a rush. You can set the timeline. We’ll get married whenever you’re ready.”

You bit your lip, your mind still racing. Patrick was trying to keep things light, but your heart urged you to step back and process. “I know, but it’s not just that.” You winced. The way you worded it made it seem like there were a string of issues, which there were, but the last thing you wanted to do was hurt your boyfriend. “I wasn’t expecting this. I need time to settle into it.”

Patrick’s smile faltered, and you saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “Y/N,” he said slowly, his voice dipping lower. “Is this about Art and Tashi?”

The mention of your ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend caught you off guard. “What?”

“Is this because they got engaged?” Patrick pressed, his tone sharpening. “Because if it is, that’s–”

“No. Well, a little. But not because of me, because of you,” you explained. “I mean… you’ve been bringing them up almost every day for months. You mentioned them getting engaged again this morning. It’s not crazy that I’d think–”

“Oh, come on,” Patrick snapped, the hurt giving way to irritation. “Why would you even go there? This has nothing to do with them.”

“It’s not that far-fetched,” you shot back. Your voice rose despite yourself, the tension pulling at your every word. “You’ve been comparing us to them nonstop. How could I not think about it?”

Patrick sighed, dragging a hand through his dark curly hair. “Y/N, I’m not saying this because of them. I’m saying it because I love you,” he insisted. “Because I want to spend my life with you. You’ve always said you wanted that too.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I do. I–” You stopped yourself, the weight of your words bearing down on you. “I just need time to process this. I’m not saying no, Patrick. I just… I wasn’t ready for this right now.”

The tension in the room grew unbearable. 

His shoulders slumped, and his free hand clenched into a fist. “You weren’t ready?” Patrick repeated, his voice trembling now, edged with frustration. His cheeks flushed, and his jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure. “I don’t get it. You always talk about wanting to marry me, about having a family with me. And now, when I’m finally asking you, you’re not ready?”

You could feel tears threatening to surface. “I don’t know why,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I’m just not. I wasn’t expecting it. I need time, Patrick. Please.”

Patrick’s breath hitched, his eyes glistening. He turned his head away, clearly trying to stop the tears from falling, but his voice cracked when he spoke again. “I’m not gonna sit here hoping I’ll be good enough for you one day. If you don’t want to marry me, then just say it. Because I can’t–” He swallowed hard, his breath unsteady. “I can’t wait around for you. What am I supposed to do? Sit here and wonder if you want to marry me until you finally decide that you probably don’t?”

“That’s not fair,” you cried. “Patrick, please,” you said, stepping closer, your hands trembling as you reached for him. “I’m not saying no. I just need time to think. We both need to calm down and process this.”

Patrick whirled around and shouted, “You aren’t being fair! If it’s not a yes–” he said sharply, turning to you with a tear-streaked face– “then I’m done. This is it. You either want this or you don’t. Either you want me or you don’t.”

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded, your voice breaking. “Please don’t do this. Don’t make this an ultimatum. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking for time.” You reached out to him, your hands trembling. “You know I love you. I–”

“Do you?” Patrick cut you off, his voice rising now, pain in every syllable. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like it right now.” He was shaking as he tried to stop crying. His eyes were red and a deep, dark blue-green you had never seen before. “I’m done waiting around hoping that I can be good enough for you one day–” Patrick said, his chest heaving with each breath, “I won’t be your fallback. You either say yes, now, or it’s over.”

Your heart sank as the finality of his words hit you like a tidal wave. The room seemed to close in on you. You opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Patrick stood there, giving you one last chance, his eyes searching your face for a response.

Shaking your head, tears streamed down your face. Patrick stared at you, his expression hardening as if the vulnerability had been carved away, replaced with something cold and distant.

“I can’t,” you sobbed, your voice trembling. “I can’t say yes right now, I’m sorry. Please, don’t–”

But he didn’t give you the chance to finish. Patrick turned away from you, wiping his face with his hand, trying to control the tears threatening to spill. He was angry; so angry, but there was so much pain in his eyes that you couldn’t breathe.

“You know what?” Patrick said, his voice shaking with fury. “Maybe you should just go back to your mother’s house. You want time? Take all the time you need. But I won’t be there waiting around for you to win another Grand Slam. I’m done.”

You froze. The words hit you like a slap. Your mother’s house. The place the two of you had made your home base for the last few years—had referred to as your shared home. Hearing Patrick rebrand your safe space as a house where every room was haunted by the ghost of your mother’s neglect and resentment hurt almost as much as Patrick’s ultimatum. 

Your whole body trembled as the old wounds reopened, raw and painful. You reached for Patrick, but he was already storming out—the ring box still clutched tightly in his hand. As the door slammed behind him, you sank to your knees, the weight of the moment crashing over you, leaving you broken and alone. For the first time, you truly understood the depth of what was at stake. But even as your heart screamed at you to fix it, to say something, you couldn’t find the words to make it right.

You felt the cracks in your chest deepen as you stayed on the floor, your body shaking like the last leaves on a tree caught in autumn’s final gust. Your hotel room felt distant, as though you weren’t in it. Your palms were flat against the floor, fingers splayed out on the carpet to hold yourself steady, but the tremors only intensified.

You didn’t know how long it had been since Patrick left, but the silence that followed his absence was suffocating. It pressed against your ribs like the weight of a thousand unspoken words, a thousand apologies you never thought you’d need to say.

Your breath hitched again, catching in the back of your throat. Panic rose like a wave, and the world tilted dangerously on its axis. The walls seemed to close in, each inhale feeling tighter, colder, more impossible. Your chest was tight with something raw, something dangerous—this feeling of being unmoored. Of not having a place to land. Of not knowing if you’d ever stop falling. The room tilted again, but this time, it wasn’t the room; it was you.

Your hands shook so badly that you barely noticed the tears until they stung your skin. They were hot and angry, but they didn’t belong to any one thing. They didn’t belong to the breakup—not entirely. They belonged to the feeling of losing control, of losing everything at once, and most of all, to the gaping emptiness threatening to swallow you whole.

The silence was deafening. All you could hear was your own rapid breathing, the frantic beat of your heart, and the staccato sound of your shallow gasps for air. You could feel your pulse pounding in your neck, a rhythmic reminder of how fragile everything was. How everything could shatter in the span of a few words.

You want time? Take all the time you need. But I won’t be there waiting around for you to win another Grand Slam. I’m done.

The words echoed in your mind, repeated like a drumbeat, over and over until they lost meaning. Until all you heard was a blur of syllables and your heart thudding in your ears.

Your fingers pressed harder into the carpet, your nails digging into the plush fabric as if somehow this would ground you. As if somehow this would keep you from floating off into the ether. You had to breathe. You had to stop this. You knew this was a panic attack—the kind that built from something small and spiralled until it felt like you were drowning in your own mind—but it had been so many years since you’d last had one that it caught you off guard.

The tightness in your chest pulled deeper. The weight of it was unbearable. It felt like a boulder sitting on your lungs. No matter how much you tried to push it off, it stayed. You tried to inhale, to hold it steady, but your breath came out in short, stuttering bursts. It was too much. It was all too much.

The air felt thick and heavy. It was thick with the absence of Patrick, with the sting of the finality in his words. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. You couldn’t pull him back. You couldn’t change the past few hours. The finality was there, like a door slammed shut with too much force, leaving you standing on the other side, wondering if you ever had the key. After everything you and Patrick had been through, he ended it like it meant nothing to him.

You forced yourself to take a breath, but the air felt thick in your throat. It burned. It wasn’t enough, and your hands began to tremble more violently, your legs aching as they tried to hold you, to keep you from crumbling.

But then, slowly, you managed to take another breath. And another. And another. Each one was shaky at first, like the tentative steps of someone who’d just learned to walk. But the fog started to lift, even if just a little, the sharp edges of your panic beginning to dull as your breath steadied. Your hands stopped trembling.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. And in that moment, something was enough.

You reached for your phone, the screen glowing in the dim room, and typed a quick message to your dad. You needed to go. You couldn’t stay in that house anymore. You couldn’t go back to the place where ghosts of the past haunted every corner, every creaking floorboard. It had been a place of refuge for a time, and it was easy with Patrick by your side, but now it was just a tomb. 

You sent the text, feeling the weight of it settle into your bones like a quiet resignation. The words were a decision. A choice. It was time to leave.

But even as you pressed send, your mind raced back to Patrick. To the way his voice cracked when he told you he was done. To the way he walked out, leaving behind a vacuum where he had once stood. You didn’t want the night to end this way, and you definitely didn’t want your relationship to be over. Not like this.

You gathered your courage, your breath still shaky, and you called him. Patrick’s phone rang somewhere in the hotel room; he hadn’t taken it with him. Of course, he didn’t. All he was holding when he walked out was the ring box. 

He was probably already miles away by now, distancing himself from whatever just happened between you two. Your fingers trembled again as you ended the call, but your eyes caught the gleam of his car keys on the nightstand, his wallet next to it. He’d left his things there. He was gone, but he hadn’t gone far.

Your heart beat faster as a strange sense of urgency rose inside you. You needed to find him. He couldn’t be out there alone, not after everything. The night was dark, and he was vulnerable, just like you. And if something happened to him, you’d never forgive yourself.

You grabbed Patrick’s wallet and keys, sliding them into your bag, but your body protested. It ached, exhausted, and yet you pushed yourself out the door and into the night, your feet carrying you through the empty streets. The world around you felt cold, too cold for comfort, but you pressed on. You couldn’t stop now.

You turned the corner, walking faster, your breath quickening as you scanned the streets, asking every passerby if they’d seen a man with dark curly hair wearing a grey t-shirt. But no one had seen him. No one knew where he’d gone. The night stretched out before you like an endless maze. With every passing moment, your panic returned, hotter this time, suffocating.

You pulled out your phone again, eyes blurry with the beginnings of a panic attack. The tears threatened to fall, but you couldn’t afford to let them. You couldn’t afford to break down out there, not like this, not alone.

Your thumb hovered over Patrick’s name in your contacts, but then you stopped.

Your breath caught as you thought of Art. You hadn’t talked to him in months. Not since your birthday, and even then, it had been only a brief conversation, polite but distant. You didn’t know why you reached for him now. Maybe it was because he was part of your past, someone familiar who still knew you. Maybe it was because he was close—he was playing in the Atlanta Open finals tomorrow.

You pressed the call button before you could second-guess yourself.

His voice was immediate, calm and steady, like the anchor you didn’t know you needed. “Y/N?” Art asked, his tone surprised. You shut your eyes, nearly weeping at the familiar timbre of his voice. It was like a weighted blanket, pushing down on your chest and reminding you that it would be okay. “What’s wrong?”

The panic rose again, sharper this time, and you choked on your words as you explained between sobs, between breaths. You told him you didn’t know what was happening, that Patrick was gone, and you didn’t know where he went, that you were scared. You were scared of everything.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Art said, his voice never wavering, never questioning. “Where are you?”

You told him that you were near a hotel, walking around, asking people if they’d seen Patrick, but it was no use.

“That’s where I’m staying. I’ll meet you in the lobby. Stay on the phone,” Art instructed firmly. “Keep breathing.”

His voice, steady and unwavering, was a balm to your raw nerves, a lifeline thrown out into the sea of your panic. Art was here. Art was going to fix it. Art was safe. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel the fragile comfort of knowing you didn’t have to face this alone.

Art arrived at the hotel lobby, his heart still thumping erratically from his conversation with you. He glanced around, eyes scanning the space for a familiar face. But a fleeting glimpse of something else caught his attention first: Tashi.

She was sitting at the lobby bar, her dark hair shimmering under the low lights, the soft curve of her cheek reflecting the warmth of her drink. Across from her sat Patrick with his familiar curly hair, with his hand wrapped around Tashi’s hand. It was clear they were in the middle of an intimate conversation across the small table, but Art couldn’t make out Patrick’s expression.

Art froze, his body tensing. He was rooted to the spot, struggling to piece together the sight before him. Tashi, his fiancée, and Patrick, your boyfriend. What was she doing with him? Especially after you were in such a panic about Patrick’s whereabouts. It didn’t add up.

“Art? Mr. Donaldson?” Art turned around to see a fan smiling widely at him. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe my luck that I would run into you so late at night,” she expressed. Digging through her bag for a marker, the fan asked, “Um, would you, uh–” She handed him her boyfriend’s cap to sign.

“Sure, yeah,” Art readily agreed. He tried to sound cheerful despite the confusing sight of Tashi and Patrick lingering in the background. Art took the pen, offering a polite smile, and scribbled his signature across the brim of the cap. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” the fan said warmly.

“Thank you,” Art echoed. 

He turned back to the corner of the bar to find Tashi and Patrick’s seats vacant. Art looked around quizzically, trying to figure out where they went. He stood for a moment, disoriented, the sight of them together stirring something deep within him. But before he could lose himself further in his thoughts, a burst of energy and warmth rushed through the lobby. 

It was you.

Your face was still streaked with tears, but you looked beautiful. It had been a few months since he last saw you at a tournament, and he hadn’t expected to see you at the male-only Atlanta Open. Like always, you were a breath of fresh air. It was like Art had been slowly suffocating and you were the oxygen that filled his lungs once more.

Without hesitation, you rushed through the lobby and threw yourself into his arms, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Oh my God, Art!” you exclaimed, your voice full of relief. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Art’s chest tightened as he held you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, instinctively trying to offer you comfort, his mind still whirring over the strange encounter with Tashi and Patrick. But for now, all that mattered was you and how your body shook in his arms, the weight of everything crashing down on you.

“I’ve got you,” Art whispered, brushing a strand of your hair out of your face as you pulled back, your tear-filled eyes locking with his.

You moved to the couches in the lobby, settling into a corner with a drink in hand. Art watched you as you wiped your eyes, trying to steady your breath.

“Where do I even start?” you murmured, shaking your head, eyes darting around the room. “I’m such a mess, Art. Everything is… everything’s broken and wrong.”

Art took your hand gently, squeezing it in reassurance. “Tell me what happened,” he said softly, his voice steady.

Your breath caught as you exhaled slowly, beginning to explain what had happened between you and Patrick that evening. Your voice trembled with each word as you recounted how Patrick had told you he was done if you didn’t agree to marry him, how everything had spiralled into a confrontation you couldn’t escape.

“I just don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I thought we were okay. We were so happy, Art. But then… then it just fell apart. It all just fell apart.”

Art’s mind wandered back to the strange scene he had witnessed moments ago, Tashi and Patrick in the bar, their proximity oddly intimate. His stomach churned. He wanted to believe that your heartbreak had nothing to do with Tashi, that Patrick wouldn’t do something like that. But a part of him couldn’t shake the suspicion.

Your words began to blur, your pain seeping through in every syllable. Art kept his gaze fixed on you, trying to stay focused, but the more you spoke, the more he felt a sinking dread in his chest.

“I don’t want to believe it,” Art said quietly, more to himself than to you. “But I think… I think Patrick and Tashi are together right now.”

Your face fell, brows knitting in confusion. “No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, I—I don’t believe that. I don’t.”

Art felt a painful ache in his chest, a knot forming in his stomach. He knew it was hard to accept, but the pieces were falling into place.

“I don’t think Patrick would cheat on you,” he said carefully. “But he’s going through so much right now. I think… I think he might have pushed you away, Y/N, but maybe not because he didn’t care. It’s like he’s trying to protect himself from getting hurt again. And–” Art hesitated, trying to find the words that didn’t feel like betrayal. “And maybe the way he would try to heal, to deal with everything, is to have a one-night stand with Tashi.”

Your lips widened in horror. You shook your head again, trying to push the thought away. But the way your lips trembled told Art that deep down, you understood. “I… I don’t think so. It’s not possible. Tashi and Patrick?” your voice wavered with disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t do that.”

Art lowered his gaze, his voice quiet. “I don’t know… I saw them sitting together in the bar. I don’t know what that means, but I don’t think it’s good. You don’t know how things have been since Tashi and I got engaged. I thought everything was fine, and then she... she just couldn’t handle it. Especially with how you’ve been dominating in tennis. She couldn’t stand seeing you succeed, not after everything. Things have been hard for us, and maybe she needs this. We never really understood their relationship when they started seeing each other all those years ago. They were never… together, but they had a way of comforting each other that I could never replicate.”

You recoiled slightly. “No,” you said again, shaking your head more frantically now. “I don’t want to believe it. Not Tashi. Not Patrick. They wouldn’t do this to me, they know that this–” You inhaled sharply. “This would destroy me.”

Art sighed deeply, his heart heavy. He wished there was another explanation, but he knew deep down that his instincts were rarely wrong. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I just think that if you’re right, and Patrick really is done, then he knows he has to hurt you. Because you’re the kind of person who fights for what they want until it’s no longer an option. I don’t think Patrick wants you to fight for him anymore. He wants you to hate him, and I think this is how he’s going to do it.”

You looked away, your face filled with tragic sadness as you fought to keep yourself together. Art could see it in your eyes—you were trying to hold everything in, to protect yourself from the truth.

“I need to leave,” you murmured after a long pause, your voice thick with emotion. You stood up, clutching your bag tightly in your hand. “I can’t stay here. I can’t be around this anymore. I need to get out.”

Art stood, his hand instinctively reaching out to you.

“Don’t go,” he said gently. “Please. I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

“I need space. I just… I need space,” you whispered, your voice breaking. Without another word, you turned and walked toward the door, your steps slow but determined.

Art watched you go, his chest heavy with the weight of everything he had said, everything you were feeling. He couldn’t stop you.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was just the beginning.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 – 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟓, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔. 𝟏𝟎:𝟏𝟓𝐏𝐌.

You looked at Art, your heart thudding in your chest as the years between you two melted away in the quiet, charged space around the water fountain. There was something unspoken. Something in his light blue eyes that reminded you of the days when things had felt simpler. You had both been so much younger in college, so much more naive about what would come, about where you would end up. The lives you had now—separate but somehow still linked in the quietest ways—felt like they belonged to someone else.

Ever the gentleman, Art slipped his jacket around your shoulders, and you closed your eyes, relishing his familiar scent. His comforting action was so natural that it sent you back nearly ten years when you first fell in love with him. You settled beside him, the faint rush of water the only sound for a moment before he broke the silence.

“So, how’s it going?” Art asked, his voice soft, trying to sound casual though there was an undercurrent of concern. “All the success, everything... how are you really doing?”

You chuckled, a hollow sound that didn’t express joy or amusement. “Oh, I’m good. Really good,” you said, though the words felt strange, foreign on your tongue. “Just... lonely, you know?”

Art’s brow furrowed, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. “Lonely? With everything you’ve built?” he asked, incredulous.

You nodded, the weight of his question pressing down on you. “Yeah. I don’t really have anyone except my dad. No partner. No friends.” You paused, swallowing thickly, unsure whether you wanted to say the next part. But you did, anyway. “Everyone’s always using me, Art. Like... like some accessory to parade around, not a person. And the few people who could have been close, the ones I thought would be–” You sighed, rubbing your forehead, trying to keep the bitter edge from your voice. “My closest friend, Elora, she’s too busy being my manager, too busy planning my life to actually be my best friend. I know she loves me and sees me as more than her client, but the little free time she has is spent with her wife and kid, so I don’t really fit into her life like I used to.”

Art’s expression softened, his eyes locking with yours as if searching for the deeper meaning behind your words. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said quietly. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” you admitted, staring down at the water, feeling your chest tighten. “I thought I could handle it, you know? But sometimes I wonder if I’ve just become this... this shell of what I wanted to be.”

He exhaled slowly, his gaze far away for a moment before he spoke again, quieter this time. “I’m sorry you’re going through that. I know you wanted more. You deserve more.”

You felt your heartbeat quicken at his words, a rush of something unexpected—something raw—coursing through you. But before you could let it settle, Art turned to you, his eyes heavy with something unsaid; something darker than you expected.

“I’m... I’m not doing too well, either,” he confessed, his voice laced with a sadness you hadn’t noticed before. “Tashi and I are separating.” Art let the words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.

You blinked at him, your breath catching in your throat. “What? But... I thought everything was good. You two have a daughter.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you saw the way Art’s eyes clouded, a mixture of regret and something else flickering beneath the surface.

“We do,” he confirmed, the words heavy, each weighed down by something painful. “But... we haven’t been in love for a long time. Our daughter, she was... well, we wanted kids. Not because we were so madly in love we had to procreate. We just... wanted kids.” He paused as if trying to explain the hollow truth of it. “The love went away, Y/N. It left years ago. I don’t know if it was ever really there, or if we both just wanted to be close to you somehow.”

You didn’t know what to say. The reality of it was too much, too sudden. The image of Art—always so solid, so strong—shaken, cracked in a way you didn’t know was possible, made something inside you ache. You wanted to reach out, to fix it, but you knew there was nothing you could say. Not now.

The silence that followed felt too long, stretching between you both like a gap too wide to cross. The water bubbled in the background, the only sound now, filling the empty spaces around your words.

“I never knew,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “I always thought that the love was always there, even when you and I… Anyway, I guess I thought I was in the way. That you finally found happiness together. I’m sorry that wasn’t the case.”

Art smiled wryly, though there was no humour in it. “Yeah. We’re keeping it under wraps. It was easier that way, I guess. Easier to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. Especially with Tashi being my coach.”

You shifted beside him, your heart racing in your chest, and for a brief moment, everything felt so impossibly tangled. For so long, you’d been feeling like nobody in the world understood how you felt. But Art did. Art always understood you. Just as his relationship with Tashi had been relegated to a professional one, your friendship with Elora had done the same. 

You wanted to ask him more; wanted to understand what had happened, but there was something more pressing in the air between you—something unsaid. The space between you, the physical distance that had always felt safe before, now felt too wide, like a canyon you couldn’t cross. You were both standing on the edge of something, not quite ready to leap, but afraid of falling into it. And yet, there it was: the undeniable pull, like gravity, drawing you closer.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “I’m sorry about everything.”

Art didn’t respond right away. His gaze locked on you, his lips pressing together in a way that made his jaw tighten. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and then, as if pulled by some unseen force, he leaned in slightly. Just enough to make you feel the shift in the air.

Your heart skipped. Your breath hitched.

And in that moment, neither of you moved. Your lips were close. So close that you could feel the heat from his skin, the warmth of his breath, but you both stopped. Just a whisper away from something you didn’t know if you should want. You closed your eyes instinctively, letting your pulse race, the ache in your chest growing sharper. You wanted it. You wanted him. More than you could admit to yourself.

You both leaned in again, drawn to each other with a magnetic pull that neither could resist. The air between you was thick with the things left unsaid, the years of longing and unresolved feelings flooding back. You could feel his warmth, the faint tremor in his breath as his lips moved closer to yours. For a second, you could have sworn everything in the world had narrowed down to this moment, this breath, this longing.

Your heart raced in your chest, and everything about this felt like it was meant to happen. The rush of emotion was so intense it hurt, and for one fleeting moment, you thought, Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment where everything changes.

And then—as his lips hovered so close, barely brushing yours—your voice broke the silence, barely a whisper in the still air. “You’re married.”

The silence between you was suffocating now, and you fought against the tightness that had formed in your chest. You pulled away. It wasn’t fast, but it was firm. A sudden, painful decision. You took a sharp breath, heart hammering in your chest as you stood, your legs shaking beneath you.

“Art…” Your voice broke. A jagged edge of regret cut through you. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Not clearly, at least.

He stood beside you, his gaze locked on you, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Y/N?” His voice was soft and uncertain, but there was hope there too. Hope that you both knew couldn’t come to fruition, not like this.

“You’re married,” you said again, the words like acid on your tongue. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You’re married, Art. And I can’t... I can’t do this to someone else.”

Art blinked, the shock in his eyes growing as you spoke. “I–”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I can’t. I can’t be the other woman. Not after everything with Tashi, and the night Patrick proposed, I just can’t do it.” Your eyes and nose stung with the onset of tears. 

The memories of that night—of seeing Patrick leave the hotel when you went to get some air and realising Art had been right; of realising your trust had been shattered, your heart broken, all because of their betrayal; of realising Patrick and Tashi would rather hurt you than set aside their pride and try to make things right with you—rushed back in full force.

You had loved Art, so deeply, once. And to see him like this now, so close, so familiar, and yet so far away, it was unbearable. But what was worse was knowing that, at this moment, you couldn’t be the reason he hurt someone else. You couldn’t be the one to cause pain the way you’d felt it.

Art’s expression shifted, like the weight of your words finally registered, and the hurt in his eyes was a mirror of the pain you felt. He reached out as if he wanted to bridge the distance, but his hand faltered in the air.

“Y/N…” he said delicately, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not... I’m not happy, Y/N. I’m not in love with Tashi. I haven’t been for years. I don’t know if I ever actually– But she’s my wife. And I haven’t figured out how to end it... not yet. I don’t have the courage."

The words hit you harder than you expected. You knew this. Deep down, you’d known. Art was always the kind of person who would stay until the other person told him to leave. It was why you had to be the first one to say your relationship wasn’t working anymore in college. Art would have stayed with you, even through the pain. And now, Tashi was who he would stay with. Hearing him say it out loud made the reality all the more painful. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever have the courage,” he added, his voice low and raw. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N. But I’m stuck. I’m stuck between what I want and what I’m supposed to do.”

You closed your eyes, the ache in your chest intensifying. You wanted to scream, to tell him to leave Tashi, to choose you. But the reality was crueller than that. He hadn’t left her, not truly, and maybe, just maybe, he never would. Inhaling shakily, you tried to steady yourself.

“You’re still married.” You tried to keep your voice steady, but the pain was so raw it broke through. “You haven’t ended it. You haven’t set yourself free.” A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, embarrassed by the display of emotion. “You have a family, and I respect that. But I can’t be the reason someone else gets hurt. Not even Tashi.”

A painful silence followed. You both stood there, inches apart, each feeling the pull of what could be and the harshness of what already was. You wanted to kiss him, to give in to the desire that burned between you, but you knew you couldn’t. Not while he was still tethered to Tashi, even in this broken state.

“I need to go,” you whispered, your voice faltering. The words were hollow, but they were all you had left.

He didn’t stop you. He couldn’t. Not when he knew the truth of what he was holding onto, and what he had already lost. “I’m sorry,” Art murmured, his voice strained with the weight of everything unsaid.

You shook your head, trying to hold yourself together. “No, it’s not your fault,” you said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “It’s mine too. I’m sorry too. For the record…” you paused, wondering if you had the courage to confess something you’d only told yourself on your darkest, saddest days. “You’re the guy I wish I had fought harder to be with.”

And as you walked, you knew you had done the right thing. But it didn’t make it any easier.

[earthchica]

Funny How Times Flies | 4

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

summary: you and terry make the best of the end of the trip and promise to make time for each other despite being a short distance apart but you begin to have doubts.

warnings: fluff, angst, panic attack, short long-distance relationship, misunderstanding, first-ever argument, jealousy & possessive! terry, explicit smut (18+), fingering, handcuffing, breeding kink, dom/sub, unprotected sex, dirty talking, nicknames (baby, baby girl), words: (5k)

note: i really love how this chapter came out; it might be my favorite. please enjoy! Let me know your thoughts and if you want to be tagged in future parts.

series masterlist

-

You haven't been this happy and at ease in a very long time. This trip has been so excellent, and you’ve had so much fun with your friends, especially with Terry.

Today was the last day, and sadly, all of you had to leave tomorrow morning. Terry wanted this last day to be just the two of you, so first he surprised you with breakfast in bed.

"Good Morning, beautiful," Terry says, placing the tray in front of you and giving you a quick peck before grabbing his plate and sitting on the end of the bed.

You laughed at how cheerful he sounded. “Good morning, handsome!” You responded with a smile and grabbed the fruit bowl first.

"How did you sleep? I bet you slept hella good huh?," He teased with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at him, knowing what he was hinting at.

"I slept amazing, Terry, but I can’t walk now 'cause you had to do that thing," You said, eating out of the fruit bowl; you picked a strawberry and fed it to him, which he gladly took in his mouth.

"Thank you," Terry said, chewing the strawberry down before adding, "You mean the thing you were begging me for?" He asked with a chuckle, and you looked at him as he tilted his head towards you with a smile that caused your heart to flutter.

“Whatever!” You said, sticking your tongue out at him playfully, making him scoff, jump on you, and tickle your side. You bursted out of laughter, trying to push his hands away. “Terry, oh my god, stop.”

He continued to tickle

“That’s what I thought,” Terry stops, looking down at you with those pretty eyes of his. He was staring at you with this affection that made you feel shy. ”God, I love you,” He said, and your eyes widened, realizing what he was saying, and his eyes widened too.

He cleared his throat, moving off of you. “Uh…this breakfast is good,” Terry said, looking away from you. You sat up, sharing through his eyes as he went to talk about something, and you just went on with it to not make it awkward.

After breakfast, both of you got dressed and left the villa. You and Terry walked hand in hand and visited a few gift shops before finding yourselves in a taco restaurant and eating the best tacos you had.

Soon leaving there, you couldn’t help to ask. "So where are we going now?"

Terry shook his head and couldn't help but chuckle, finding your excitement adorable. "I thought we checked out one of the cenotes since we didn't get to go to one in Valladolid!"

"Terry, really???!!!" You asked, hugging his arm tightly, looking up at him with those big warm eyes of yours.

“Yeah, the van is waiting for us,” he said, motioning to the van crossing the street. You grabbed Terry’s hand and dragged him to the van.

The ride was filled with laughter and upbeat Latin music as the car meandered through vibrant landscapes beneath the top of towering trees.

Upon arrival, a guide escorted you to a location where you could change and securely store your belongings. You and Terry changed into swimwear before meeting a woman who assisted with lifeguard sizing.

The lifeguards fit snugly, ensuring your safety as you prepare to explore the cenote's inviting waters. The guide gave you a brief overview of the cenote's history and unique features, adding to the sense of wonder.

As you look at the water, you feel excitement and peace, the beauty of the place enveloping you like a warm embrace.

“Terry, this is truly breathtaking. Thank you!” you exclaimed, giving him a kiss on the lips.

“Anything for you, baby,” he responded. “Come on, let’s go for a swim.” He added, and you stopped him for a second, feeling yourself get a little panicked.

Terry could tell immediately by how your hand began to tremble in his. You didn't hear what he said; it was all muffled as you realized that you might be terrified of large bodies of water.

Your knees slightly knocked as you stared into the water as another couple jumped in with no problem. You started shaking your head and feeling yourself get worked up.

Terry grabbed your shoulders and told you to sit down. You tried to suppress your trembling, but you were failing, so he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey, baby…just take deep breaths." He instructed, and you did what you were told, closed your eyes, and took several slow, deep breaths.

"There you go…do you still want to do this?" Terry asked, cupping your cheek as your trembling turned to slowly fade away with his soft touch.

"Yes, let’s…let's do it," you said with another deep breath, and he took hold of your hand and walked you towards the edge of the water.

You and Terry slowly got in, feeling the refreshing and invigorating cool water. You were captivated by the vibrant marine life and the beautiful rock formations hidden beneath the surface.

“Thank you,” you said, leaning back against Terry. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, the gentle rhythm of his breath matching the soothing lapping of the water.

“No need to thank me, baby. I’m always here if you need me,” Terry said, kissing your forehead, causing you to smile happily at the words he used, it was similar to what you told him.

“Look at those fish,” you said, pointing at a flash of color that darted past. “They’re like little jewels swimming through the water.” You added.

Terry chuckled, his laughter rich and warm, sending a thrill through you. He said, “Just like us, right? A couple of precious finds in this hidden paradise.”

Your eyes met, and the world around you faded at that moment. “You’re definitely a treasure,” you whispered, your voice barely above the sound of the water.

Terry turned slightly, brushing a braid behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your dark-brown skin.

“And you’re the most beautiful part of this place,” he replied softly. The sincerity in his voice made your heart race, a flutter of excitement igniting in your chest.

“You know, um, I meant what I said earlier…I do love you…I know it’s too soon to say it, but I feel it in my bones, and I know I do,” Terry said, his voice a soft murmur.

Your eyes sparkled, searching through his eyes, and there was truth behind him, a sincere expression on his face. He loved you, and you felt it grow with every intimate moment togather.

You loved him too, but you were a little scared to say it out loud, so you just said, “I know, Terry…..I don’t want this to end; I don’t want to return to the real world…"

You trailed off for a second, looking away. "And this feeling will change,” you confessed, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice.

“Baby, I promise this feeling I have for you won't change. We'll make time for each other and create our own moments that we can cherish forever; we just gotta try and give it a chance” Terry suggested, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

Your heart swelled at his choice of words, and you nodded, a smile blooming on your lips, sealing the promise with a soft kiss. In that perfect moment, surrounded by cenotes' beauty, you hoped you two kept the promise.

-

The shift back home wasn’t easy. The first week without Terry was tough, but he called you almost daily and facetime you sometimes at night.

The two of you lived in Louisiana, but you lived in Lafayette, and he lived close to New Orleans was about two hours away from each other.

Terry texted you one day that he was driving down to visit you for the weekend, and you were beyond excited. When you heard the doorbell ring, you rushed to the front door.

You practically swung the door open, and there Terry stood, looking so damn fine in a baseball cap, hoodie with sweatpants. His voice was like music to your ears when he said, "Hey, baby,"

You dragged him in with his suitcases before closing the door and jumping into his arms. His arms wrapped around your waist tightly, not letting you go.

You felt him burying his face into your neck for a second before placing soft kisses on it, bringing butterflies to your stomach. You both stood there, holding each other for a few minutes,

Terry moves from your neck to kiss you softly. You place your hand on the back of his neck, and his tongue begins dancing against you, causing you to let out a light moan.

"Fuck. I missed you," He says, pulling away, resting his forehead against yours while staring into your eyes with a mixture of warmth and love.

"I missed you too, Terry," you said with a smile before slightly pulling away from his embrace, taking his hand, and guiding him to the table in your dining room.

"I made your favorite," he looked at the table and then back at you with a smile. At this very moment, Terry was happy to be here with you for a little bit.

Shortly after eating dinner, chatting, and enjoying each other's company, you were both in the living room, cuddling while watching a movie.

Clearly, neither of you was watching. "Terry, stop," you giggled, moving his hand away from the inside of your shirt. As much as you wanted him to take you, you love being a tease.

"Watch the movie," you said, pointing to the TV. He paused, removed his hands away from you, and crossed his arms while staring at you with a look.

"Don't make that face," you said, looking over at him. Wrapping your arm around his shoulder, you began playing with his ear, causing him to smack his teeth.

"Why shouldn't I? I haven't seen you in weeks. I miss you and want to show you how much I do. I know you do, too," Terry said, giving you a knowing look.

You smiled, didn't say anything, and just rearranged yourself onto his lap and pulled him into a needy, passionate kiss. You pulled away for a second to take your shirt off.

Terry growls at the sight of your breasts; he's very weak. He caresses your body with his soft, large hands while leaving soft kisses on your neck.

His hands moved down your ass and squeezed it harshly before pulling you back into a kiss. Both of you stood from the couch and began to tear each other's clothes off.

You both feeling so aroused and craving for each other. Terry lifted you up, carrying your bridal style, and asked. "Where is your bedroom?"

"It's right around the corner," you said, helping him with the direction. He opened the door and glanced around your cozy bedroom before gently laying you on your bed.

Terry hovered over you and began kissing up your body; you could feel his throbbing, erect dick pressing against your leg. "Terry, please, no teasing. I need you now,"

You moaned as he began to kiss your wet folds. He looked up at you, seeing the need in your eyes. "Of course, my baby needs me." He nodded with a smirk, kissing his way back to your lips.

Terry positioned himself between your legs, and you moaned, wrapping your legs around his hips as you felt him thrusted forward, fulling you up good.

The very good feeling of his dick sliding into your wet pussy almost sent you over the edge. Without warning, Terry began pounding into you, making you grip his back.

Terry lowers his lips to yours and kisses you hungrily while still pounding into you with an unimaginable speed. He bites your shoulder and lets out a muffled moan.

He pulls away to look at you as you let out a moan, feeling yourself clench around his dick already. It was all so good, and desperately wanted to last.

"Ahh, fuck. I miss you, baby; I miss this pussy so much," Terry moans, rearranging the sex position to missionary to the lotus. He lifted you into his arms as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

"Fuck, fuck fuck me, Terry," You moaned, throwing your head back as you felt the undeniable, great pleasure that both of you were giving to each other.

The rocking rhythm of it all and the deep connection were sensational. Your moans were so loud together that you swear you were next-door neighbors who could hear the two of you.

You placed your forehead against Terry's, both of you panting heavily, looking into his beautiful, light eyes as his fast pounding drove you crazy.

"Ahh Yes, Terry. Fuck, I love you; I love this dick," You moaned, feeling your body begin to flutter as you felt yourself get closer to the edge of orgasm.

"You love me, huh?" Terry asked, pulling your hair sightly. You nodded shyly, not realizing you had blurted it out, and felt slightly nervous to repeat it.

"Come on, baby, let me hear you say it again," Terry said, tugging your hair again but a little harder than before, causing you to whimper in pleasure.

"I love you…I love you…I love you, Terry," you chanted loudly with every thrusted he gave you until he kissed you passionately, feeling satisfied.

"Mmm...I fucking love you too, baby so damn much." He moaned, grabbed your shoulders, and you moaned, burying your face into his neck.

Terry pounding harder and faster to the point both of you orgasm together. Both of you screamed each other's names as your bodies shook from the high.

Terry tries to stay steady and hold you but eventually falls on top of you towards the bed. After a few breaths, Terry pulls out, watching his cum dripping before cleaning you up.

He lays down next to you, caressing your cheek with his hand before Terry pulls you into his chest, hearing you mumbling something and you close your eyes and fall asleep from the good dick you just had.

The following morning, the sunlight shone through the blinds, casting on your glowing dark-brown skin, and Terry couldn't help but admire your beauty.

Your silk-pressed hair was sweated, your lips were open, and a little snore came from your mouth. He couldn't help but caress your cheek, lingering on your neck.

Terry smiled happily as you started to stir, slightly mumbling some under your breath as you stretched out your limbs before cuddling back into his chest.

Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks before they opened, revealing your warm eyes. You looked up at Terry with a slight smile, who was staring at you.

"You know it's not nice to stare," You said, yawning as his eyes sparkled with the light seeping in from the cracked blind. "I know I can't help it, you're so beautiful"

You felt your heart flutter; it was wonderful how this man affected you so strongly. "Good morning, baby," he added.

"Morning!" you said, yawning again. Terry smiled, but slowly, that smile turned into a frown. You were about to get out of bed, and he stopped you.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Terry asked, pulling you back into the bed, causing you to giggle. "To start my morning routine and shower if that's okay with you, handsome."

"Yeah, but only if I join," He said, kissing the sweet spot on your neck, causing you to let out a small moan.

"Mmm, okay, but you gotta catch me," You said playfully, rushing off the bed.

"Hey," Terry growled, jumping out of bed. You giggled as you ran into the bathroom; right behind you was him.

You and Terry had a fantastic weekend and continued to have those weekends, but as a few months went by, you two still made time for each other, working around strict job schedules.

You slowly felt this wouldn’t work out and began to distance yourself. Terry immediately noticed you weren’t answering his calls or texts like you used to.

You always give him a rundown of your day, morning to night, ask about him, make sure he's doing well, ask about his work, and try to plan another weekend to see each other.

“Hey, boss, everything alright?” One of his employees approached Terry with a concerned look on his face.

He nodded and said, “Yeah, you think you can hold down the restaurant for me? I got sort of an emergency”

“Sure thing, I got you. Go handle your business” Marcus nodded, giving him a dap and reassuring expression.

“Thanks, Marcus!” Terry said, grabbing his jacket and keys. He was so worried that he was on his way to Lafayette to see you and figure out what was wrong because he didn’t like this distance from you.

Meanwhile, you were just getting off work, checking your phone, and seeing multiple notifications from Terry. You sighed and ignored them.

You grabbed your bag and phone and went to look for an Uber on it since your car was in the shop until the next day. You were almost out of the door until you heard a familiar voice call your name.

“Hey, we’re going to get some drinks, you should come” Quentin said, walking alongside you and you weren’t gonna lie before you went on this trip and met Terry.

You had a slight crush on Quentin. I mean, he was a fine, brown-skinned brother with charm. You were surprised he was even talking to you.

You guessed that after coming back from the trip, you had this new glow that attracted more people. You were less shy and introverted and more talkative and open to others.

“Oh come on, it would be fun,” He said, and you thought about it for second looking into his brown eyes. “Okay, I’ll go, only because my car is in the shop and I need a ride home”

“Well, I’m your guy,” he said charmingly. You, Quentin, and a few other co-workers went to a bar and had a great time. Quentin made sure you went home, and you and the two were laughing.

Quentin walked you to your front door, not noticing the car in your driveway. Terry was watching the whole thing. He texted you earlier that he was here, but you didn't answer.

So he was just waiting for you to come home, and now seeing you and this guy, he thought the worst. However, he tried to keep a level head and not jump to conclusions.

“Thanks for inviting me and giving me a ride, Q. I had a lot fun” You said, turning towards him with a friendly smile.

“Of course, anytime. Um…I was wondering if…” He started, getting this look in his eyes, and you knew where this was going, so you stopped him quickly.

“I have a boyfriend,” You said shyly, looking away for a second, then back at him. He looked slightly disappointed but changed his expression fast.

“Oh, shit…of course you do, beautiful woman like had to be taken sorry,” Quentin said, and you were about to say something until you heard a car door open and closed loudly.

“What the hell is going on here?” A familiar voice came out. You and Quentin turned your head, and Terry came up from his car. You didn't notice it in the driveway.

Your heart began racing, and you felt slightly scared, not for yourself but for Quentin; you had not seen this level of fire and possessiveness in Terry's eyes until now. 

It was hot and scary at the same time. Terry approached your side, wrapped his hand tightly around your waist, and saw a look at Quentin.

“Uh…Quentin, this is my boyfriend, Terry, and Terry…” You started clearing your throat before you could finish your sentence. Terry cut you off and said, “I don’t give a fuck. Who is he? Why is he here?”

“My brother….was just.” Quentin began but Terry didn’t let him finish.

“I ain’t yo brother, I don’t fucking know you” Terry said, raising his voice a little bit and you placed your hand on his chest to calm him down while looking up at him.

“Terry, relax. Quentin is my coworker. Me, Him, and some of my other coworkers went out for drinks. He was just making sure I was getting home safe,” you explained, trying to reassure Terry, but the tension in his posture was still firm.

“Look…Ima go, I’ll see ya at work,” Quentin said to you before rushing off to get in his car and drive away fast. You scoffed, feeling slightly embarrassed.

You got your keys out, opened the front door, and looked at Terry, motioning him to get inside. Terry bit his bottom lip, looking away, before walking into the house, with you following him behind.

You closed the door, locked it, and placed your bag on the side table. “What was that, and what are you doing here?” You asked, following Terry into your living room and watching him go sit on the couch.

"Nah, I don’t think I need to explain myself. What’s up with you and the old boy?" he replied, folding his arms and looking at you.

"Terry…like I said, Quentin is just my co-worker, nothing more or less. You think I can't talk to other men just because I'm with you? Even when It’s just an innocent conversation!" you shot back, frustrated.

"It didn’t look like just an innocent conversation to me," Terry said defensively. "You were smiling at him like you wanted him or something."

"Don't make this into something it’s not, Terry," you said, calm but firm as you took your shoes off. "I was just being friendly and thanking him, that’s all."

"Friendly? You were practically fucking flirting with him!" Terry shot back, his expression tightening.

"Flirting? Is that what you call it? I was just being polite! You're being fucking ridiculous right now, Terry," you countered, crossing your arms in frustration.

Terry shook his head. "I don’t want you to talk to “Quentin” again. He was clearly interested, and he wanted something from you."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. "Terry, I'm allowed to talk to people, especially my co-workers, man or woman. Plus, I made it clear to Quentin before you jumped out of your car and acted all possessive and shit….I told him that I have a boyfriend."

“I don’t want him or anyone else. I want you, Terry,” You added, moving towards him, and Terry's expression softened with a flicker of remorse.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I just….these past few days, you’ve been distant, not answering my calls or texts, and I needed to see you. When I saw you with Quentin, I don’t know; I just thought the worst and saw red, " he expressed.

You took a breath and grabbed hold of his hand before next to him on the couch. “I’m sorry too, Terry. I should’ve answered your calls and texts…I guess I’m still trying to work on my communication.”

“Hey, it’s okay," he started, looking at you softly. "Do you really drive two hours to come to see me?" You asked with a slight smile.

"Yeah, I was worried, baby. Whatever it is that's going on, I need you to know that I'm here to listen and that you don't have to shut me out. ” Terry said softly, kissing your hand, making your heart flutter.

“I thought this short long-distance relationship would work, but I’ve been doubting. I'm gonna be honest, Terry..." You paused for a second, looking away before back at him.

You added, "I can’t keep up with us driving two hours back and forth to see each other; I want you close and right by my side."

Terry took a breath and nodded before speaking. “I understand, baby and I can't either. So it got me thinking, and I've decided to move here and be here with you”

Your eyes almost bugged out. “What? No, I can’t let you do that, Terry. You gotta think this through…" You paused, searching his eyes, and you see he had made his mind up.

"My mind is made up," Terry said with a smile. "But your whole family lives in New Orleans, and your job, the restaurant. You would really give that up for me?” You asked, shaking your head.

“Yeah, it’s worth it because I want to be where you are, the woman I’m madly in love with." He starts caressing your cheek with his soft hand.

"I don’t want to lose you, baby. You are the best thing that ever happened to me in a long time. I’m not letting you go so easy,” Terry added.

His eyes locked onto yours, a fierce determination lighting them. You held his gaze, feeling everything else fade away as tears of happiness came down your face. "Okay, Terry."

"Okay, good!" he said, his voice low, filled with love and devotion that sent shivers down your spine.

"I missed you, you know that?" Terry said, pressing his forehead against yours and you nodded.

"I missed you too, Terry, so damn much!" You cried, and he pulled you into his chest and brushed a stray tear from your cheek.

You trembled at his touch as his fingers wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. "I love you so much, baby. You know that, right?"

"I do, and I love you so much, too." It was almost a whisper on your lips, but he heard you. Terry smiled, slowly moved in, and pulled you into a passionate kiss.

You moaned softly, placing your hand on his cheek before slowly pulling away and grabbing hold of his hand. You got up, and he did the same and followed you to your bedroom.

You let go of his hand and went to your dresser. There, you grabbed a pair of handcuffs and handed them to Terry, whose eyebrows raised curiously.

"Do whatever you want with me; I'm yours forever, Terry," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist. This caused him to grin and his eyes to darken.

"Mmm, my nasty girl wants to be handcuffed, huh?" He asked, roughly cupping your chin with his massive hand, causing you to whimper.

You nodded. "Yes!"

"Yes, who?" He asked, still cupping your chin while tilting his head to look at you with gentle dominance.

"Yes, Daddy!" You corrected, already feeling wet with the way he stared into your soul and towering over you with his height.

Terry lets go of your chin, straightening his posture, folding his hands against his stomach, and says, "Strip!"

You slowly take each piece of clothing off while keeping eye contact with him, watching the desire on his face deepen. You were completely naked now, slightly feeling a breeze hit your nipples.

"Mmm, so fucking gorgeous baby. Turn around," Terry says, motioning with his finger. You turn around and feel the heat of his hands on your wrist.

Terry wrapped the cold metal of the handcuff on you and locked them before giving your ass smack. He turned you around to face him and pressed his lips against yours, taking your breath away.

Terry pulls away and helps you get down on your knees before him. You bite your lip, looking up at him for a second, then to his pants. He unbuttons them and pulls them down with his boxer.

You let out a moan as your mouth began drooling at the sight of his big, juicy dick so hard and throbbing. Terry took his hoodie off before grabbing hold of your face.

"You think you can suck me with no hands for me, baby girl?" He asked, and you nodded with confidence. "Yes, I can Daddy"

"Mmm, okay. Go ahead, make Daddy proud," Terry said, hitting his dick against your face before you wrapped your mouth around his dick.

You started to suck him and bob your head slowly while looking up at him, causing him to moan. You began to move your head faster, making Terry grip the back of your head.

“Fuck, baby just like that, just like that” Terry moaned as you continued to suck him as he began to play with your breasts and you took him fully into your mouth,

He let out a moan at the warmth of your mouth, gripping your hair and popping you off of him. You gasped with saliva, looking up at him with desire in your eyes.

"Mmm, fuck I ain't gonna last if you keep looking at me like that, sweet girl. So fucking beautiful: Terry moaned, watching you sucking him back into your mouth.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, open your mouth wider, baby," Terry chanted, grabbing your hair and beginning fucking into your mouth, causing you to moan and your eyes to water slightly.

He pulls out of your mouth, saliva dropping, and slaps his dick against your face causing you to chuckle. "Mmm, yes, love it when you slap me with your big dick."

“Shit...girl..." He continues, and then you take him back into your mouth. "Yes, yes, yes, just like that, keep sucking this dick so good” Terry bites his lip and throws his head back, moaning in pleasure.

You continued to bob your head up and down faster, looking into his eyes, always loving the expression of pleasure he made when you sucked him off.

"Shit, shit, shit, i'm gonna come!" Terry shouted, his panting extremely heavy. His muscles tensed up, veins almost popping from his arms with a loud moan.

You moaned muffled, feeling him release his seed into your mouth. The warm liquid trickled down your throat as he pulled out. You adjust yourself on the floor and taste his cum.

"Mmm, It tastes…sweet, Daddy," You said with a giggle, showing him the cum on your tongue, causing him to let out a moan at the amazing sight.

"You truly are my nasty girl!" He said after a couple of minutes of catching his breath. He went to get a wet washcloth to wipe your mouth before helping you up on the bed.

He didn’t waste any time on putting you on all four, spreading your ass cheeks, and pushing his tongue in your pool of sweetness and lavish wetness.

“Oh, ahhh, yes” You moaned into the sheets, feeling his tongue moving in and out of your wet pussy folds while adding two fingers into your dripping hole.

He began moving them back and forth between the two. Your moans chanted came louder than before as his tongue and fingers moved faster.

"Pussy is pretty and tastes so good, baby. So delicious, how am I so lucky to have you, huh?" Terry asked, giving you little licks here and there.

“Oh shit...Terry, don't stop, please,” You moaned, and he smirked, removed his tongue and his fingers, and replaced them with his dick, making you come.

"Oh my god, oh my.....Terry," You moaned, feeling yourself come hard on his dick as your body began shaking. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

Terry grabbed your wrist with his left hand and smacked your ass with his other before thrusted into you hard, causing you to gasp and moan.

"Terry, wait, please," You said, trying to move away, feeling sensitive; he didn't care and continued to grab your wrist and thrusted faster and harder.

“Mmm, fuck, baby, you're gushing, you hear that, baby?” Terry asked, pulling out slowly and thrusted his dick in and out of your pussy, causing wet sounds from your pussy.

"Yes, yes, ahh," You moaned, tilting your head slightly to look back at him with so much pleasure and want. "Fuck me, fuck your pussy, fuck all of me, giving all of that dick deeper."

"Mmm, baby girl. Keep talking nasty to me; you wanted it deeper?!" Terry moaned in pleasure and gave your ass a smack on the cheek and went slightly deeper.

"Shit, yes just like that." You moaned; he always knew how just you wanted and made you feel so good. Terry was looking down at the crack between his dick moving in and out of you.

The sensation of just thrusting in and out, feeling your walls, was everything. He smacked your ass, then grabbed a hand full of your ass cheek to spread them wide.

Halfway through, he takes the handcuffs off of you and pulls out of you. "Ride me, baby. I want to see that pretty face," Terry said, going to lay on his back, and you crawled on top of him.

You positioned his dick to slide into your pussy, causing both of you to moan. You placed your hands on his chest and began to bounce up and down his dick.

He smacks your ass with a growl, and you bit your lip, rolling your hips and grinding against him. You look down at him, meeting his eyes and feeling yourself clenching around him.

Terry opens his mouth in an O shape, watching every expression on your face, being in awe of you fixed on your breasts and loving how you moan his name and your eyes flutter at him.

His hands leaving your ass to caress up along your back softly. "Fuck, girl, keep looking at me like that, fuck with those pretty eyes. Might come and put fucking baby in."

His words made your body flutter slightly. You grinned at him and asked, "Mmm, do you want me to have your baby, big daddy?"

"Shit, yeah, I bet you'll look so damn sexy pregnant with our kid." He said, reaching up to squeeze your breasts. "Especially seeing these beauties all big and vein-filled with milk."

You knew he was just talking, but how he looked at you told you something else. The thought of having a baby with Terry in the future was ideal.

“Ahh...yes, yes, yes I wanna have your baby, Terry, one day,” You chanted out between moans, feeling your orgasm start to get close as you clenched around his throbbing, full of cum dick.

His hips slammed into your ass, feeling his balls hit at a different angle. "I'll give it ya one day if you wanted it, filled you up," he grunted, wrapping his hand around your neck.

"Fuck, yes fuck I'm gonna cum! fuck me” You screamed as he continued thrusted into you. “Me too, baby, together.” Terry let out a choked out of moan, his face scrunching in pleasure as both of you came together.

You blinked, seeing stars as you felt him release his seed deep inside of you, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head before letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

You dropped on Terry's chest, burying your face in his neck. He kissed your cheek and wrapped his arms around you, stroking your back.

Terry lies on your back and cleans you with the same washcloth he used earlier. He then takes a breath, lays beside you, and pulls you into his arms.

He looks at your face to find you knocked out, causing him to grow a chuckle. "I will try to make you a mother one day." His hand slowly reaches your belly, caressing it in circles with a hopeful smile.