#I’m going on Saturday and that’s like a day and a half away | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

distantdarlings · 1 year ago

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HESITATING // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.9K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After a trip to Hogsmeade, you realize that Theo seems to get an awful lot of attention from girls. To avoid getting hurt, you start to distance yourself from him to rid yourself of your crush. But Theo is not having it. (Smut)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! No protection - piv, praise kink, slight body worship, biting (one time), fem reader, language, one time skip, dom!Theo (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

more than friends - Isabel LaRosa

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Your eyes found the clock on your bedside table. You were supposed to meet Theo in the Great Hall in ten minutes, yet you stood completely still in your dorm, switching back and forth between two outfits. It was a Saturday, and you didn’t have the usual crutch of your school uniform, hence the inability to decide.

As the year progressed, the temperature dropped outside as well as within the castle. When chills were scattered across your arms in class, your teeth were almost clacking together. At the thought, a small shiver went through you.

You decided on a heavier sweater and jeans, noting that if you were cold in the warmth of your dorm, you’d likely be cold in the stone Great Hall.

You slipped the outfit on, selecting a thick pair of socks and a ratty pair of shoes you’d had since fourth year. It wasn’t the most stunning style, but it was efficient and comfortable. Five minutes to go.

You slipped your wand into your back pocket and headed toward the hallway, slipping the dorm door closed behind you. Theo was likely already there with his group of friends, ones you liked to call friends, as well. The sons of big names around Hogwarts and the wizarding world, in general, though they were just boys to you.

As you arrived at the grand doors of the Great Hall, the boys in question caught your eye and shot excited waves at you. While some of them had a bit more pride than others, they always seemed happy to see you. A smile broke across your face as you walked over to the Slytherin table, claiming the space between Theo and Mattheo.

“Hello there, darling,” Theo purred in your ear when the group went back to their conversation. A twinge of heat flared in your chest. You hid a smile.

“Miss me?” You asked, voice low. He smiled.

“Of course I did.” He threw a playful arm over your shoulder. Though it seemed to be a friendly gesture, it felt like a claim to you. A claim by him placed onto you, alerting all who you belonged to. It made you embarrassingly happy.

“Any plans today, boys?” You asked. The group turned to you.

“Actually, we were thinking of heading down to Hogsmeade for the day,” Mattheo said. “We were going to ask if you wanted to go with us?”

“I’d love to, as long as I’m not forcing myself on the group,” you said, only half-joking.

“Of course not,” said Enzo, a sweet smile on his face. “We love hanging out with you.”

“Yeah?” You teased. Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“You know we like you,” he joked, running a mean hand over your head, tousling your hair. You exclaimed and pushed his hand away, laughing along with the dark boy.

“We definitely do,” Theo laughed, pulling you tighter against him for a moment.

“Well, alright,” You laughed. “Heading there now?”

“Yes!” Enzo clapped his hands together and stood, already headed toward the door. The rest of you laughed and made to follow him.

“What about jackets? It’s cold out there!” You exclaimed, rubbing your hands over your arms.

“Ah, I’ve prepared for that,” Theo said, picking up two jackets that had been placed beside where he’d once sat. You hadn’t noticed them originally.

He selected the smaller brown one and slipped it over your shoulder while he pushed his arms through the black one.

“Theo!” You exclaimed, running your hands over the nice corduroy material. “Where on earth did you get this? Whose is this?”

“Yours, of course,” he laughed as the four of you exited the castle and headed down the cobblestone path to Hogsmeade.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Call it an early Christmas gift,” he said, smiling smugly.

“You can’t be serious!”

“Of course I am,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I saw it in one of the shops last weekend and thought of you.”

If you weren’t the wiser, you’d have thought your heart had melted and poured down through your rib cage. A blush filled your cheeks and your stomach at the thought of Theo thinking of you and then buying something.

“Thank you, Theo,” you sighed. He laughed and shrugged it off as if he hadn’t just made your whole week, if not your whole decade.

The whole way down to Hogsmeade, your heart refused to let go of your brain. The pink filter that had been placed before your eyes glowed brightly. This little crush of yours seemed to have elevated a bit, but you’d never admit that, of course.

The group stopped before the Three Broomsticks, eager to slip into the cozy building’s warmth and order several rounds of Butterbeer.

The four of you pushed through the door and selected a round booth near one of the back windows. Enzo and Mattheo headed to the front counter to order for the group.

“Have you got any plans for the rest of the day?” Theo asked, naturally sliding his arm around the back of the booth behind you.

“Well, if you’ll have me, I’d love to stick with the three of you,” you suggested.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he smiled, playfully tugging on a piece of your hair. He was hoping you’d say that?

“Here we are!” Enzo cheered, placing two pints of Butterbeer on the table before the two of you. Mattheo was close behind him, carrying two for the both of them. They slid into the booth beside Theo, with you and Mattheo on the ends and Theo and Enzo between you. It felt comfortable.

Between each of your smiles, all with different personalities, you’d found a very safe space to stay. Every moment with these people made up a memory you knew you’d remember until you could no longer. Nothing could have ruined this evening.

“Oh, my God!” A loud voice said, drawing the syllables out. The four of you turned to look at the unfamiliar face standing before your table. “Teddy? Is that you?”

“Teddy?” You asked, wrinkling your nose at the nickname.

“Holy shit. Laverna!” Theo laughed. “How long has it been?”

“A while! I’ve just been visiting recently and thought I’d stop by Hogsmeade after not having seen it for so long.”

The girl standing before your table was incredibly gorgeous, with flowing platinum hair that reached the bottom of her spine and shocking blue eyes. Her skin appeared flawless and luminescent beneath the comforting lights within the restaurant. A fire of jealousy broiled in your chest.

“Guys, this is Laverna,” Theo introduced her. “We were pretty close before her family moved to France, and she transferred to Beauxbatons.”

“That’s me!” she giggled. It sounded like she even had a hint of a French accent. You struggled not to roll your eyes.

“I was just going to get a drink. Do you want to catch up a bit?” she asked.

Theo ushered Mattheo and Enzo out of the booth. A bit confused, they got to their feet and allowed the boy next to them to slide out and give a hug to the beautiful woman. You sipped your Butterbeer.

The other two boys sat back down and glanced up at you in scattered patterns. You ignored their eyes. You were pretty sure they knew about your little crush. Scratch that. They definitely knew.

Over your shoulder, you could hear the two of them laughing and carrying on. You attempted to ignore the burning in your cheeks. Mattheo and Enzo nursed their drinks, fidgeting randomly.

A few moments of randomized chatting passed before Theo finally came back, a poignant smile still painted over his lips. You looked away from him.

“Sorry about that,” he laughed, scooting in next to Mattheo. You tried not to think about the fact that he didn’t sit next to you. You were being dramatic.

“Alright, where to next?” He asked. The four of you discussed what to do with the rest of your day with random store names circling about. The final agreement was to head over to Honeydukes to enjoy some of their Christmas sales, and so Enzo could stock the small jar that sat beneath his bed. He tended to snack throughout the night as he was tending to assignments, refusing sleep.

You gathered together and made your way through the small town, window-shopping here and there. Every time you pouted over Theo’s seemingly obvious interest in the gorgeous girl, you remembered the jacket currently around you. Theo cared about you. Was it the way you wanted him to? You weren’t sure.

Once inside the colorful store, the four of you split and wandered your separate ways, each looking for different sweets. You always headed right toward the chocolate frogs, eager to extend your vast collection of cards. Perhaps it was a bit childish, but who cared? It was a fun hobby.

You stopped before the rack piled high with the blue boxes and stared. You tried to guess which one would have a card you’d never gotten before, conjuring up every ounce of intuition you had.

With another second of thought, you chose the one sitting on the shelf directly in front of your face. You were excited to open it with Theo; he always loved to see you add to your collection.

You turned the box over in your hands, examining the packaging. Out of the corner of your eye, a flash of red caught your attention. You turn to the left and notice Theo laughing aloud, talking with that same girl, Laverna, and another girl. A dark-haired goddess with blushed cheeks and a perfect figure. Fuck’s sake.

The urge to crush the chocolate box in your hand flashed through your mind. You rolled your eyes and headed further into the store, trying to put distance between the two of you.

Mattheo was standing against a wall, browsing a rack of magazines, occasionally picking one to flip through. You stopped before him, leaning up against the same wall.

“Pouting, are you?” He asks, not looking up from the magazine in his hands. You scoff.

“No, I’m not…I’m just…,” you sigh and close your eyes.

“Just in love?” He asked, glancing up at you with a smirk.

“Fuck off,” you groaned. Was it that obvious? Maybe it was. You didn’t know. An exhausted sigh left your lips.

Uproarious laughter sounded from the corner. You recognized one of the laughs as Theo’s. The others belonged to women. That was it.

“Okay, I’m heading back to the castle,” you said, throwing your hands up. “Tell Theo I wasn’t feeling well or something.”

“What? Are you sure?” Mattheo asked, finally dropping the magazine. “We still want you here with us.”

“It’s okay, I’m just tired,” you said. “I think I’ll just head back for a nap until dinner.” And with that, you paid for your candy and headed back to the castle.

xxx

Over the next week, you made an unintentional decision to skip meals with the group. You weren’t trying to avoid them—or maybe you were—but you found yourself wanting to be alone more and more the past few days.

The thought of having to see Theo after Saturday, when he had the attention of half the girls in Hogsmeade, made you want to vomit. Perhaps it was jealousy pushing you away, but it was your anxiety keeping you there. Every time you thought of heading back to eat with the group, you reminded yourself that Theo hadn’t tried to reach out since you’d stopped seeing them. If he wanted to, he would, right?

With your decision to keep away from the boys for a while, you’d taken to eating in your dorm over your lunch break. Nobody else was ever in there, and it was kind of comfortable, to be honest. You would nibble on your meal and read, or draw, or whatever came to mind, and it was nice and quiet.

You set your book on your bed and gathered the little meal you’d prepared for yourself. Pulling the covers back, you settled in and grabbed your novel. This was absolutely lovely after a busy morning.

Just as you’d begun to settle yourself into the routine you’d started the previous week, two shouts of your name shot through the air. Before the disappointment and onset of anxiety came shock. Was that Theo?

Rapid steps grew closer and closer until the dormitory door echoed a gentle knock as if the person behind it had slowed down just as they’d arrived.

“Um…who is it?” You asked awkwardly.

“Baby, it’s Theo,” a breathless voice came from behind the door. “Please open the door. Please. I need to talk to you.”

Baby? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? The shocked mantra rushed through your head as you shakily ripped your comforter away, ignoring your food and book.

You slowly pulled the door open, seeing a nervous Theo. His eyes were shot with blushed red, and his lips were swollen. Had he been crying?

“Theo, what—?”

“Please, can I come in?” he asked. His breath exited his body in short, rough pants. You nodded wide-eyed and moved out of the way. He pushed into the room, walking to the center of the room. His hands pushed through his hair repeatedly.

You pushed the door closed and pushed the lock. When you turned, he did the same, eyes on yours. His eyebrows were furrowed together, desperation painted on his face. His lips were parted, his eyes wanting.

“What is it—?”

“You have to tell me what I’ve done,” he begged. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean! Where have you been? You’ve been gone for days; the boys say you’re mad at me, that you might not come back—what the fuck are they talking about?” he demands, his eyes wide.

Your lips parted stupidly. No words came, no matter how hard you searched for them. The only thought that could process within your brain was how you were gonna kill Enzo and Mattheo for saying such stupid things to him. If anything, they were likely trying to get him to come and talk to you—which, it seems, has worked.

“Theo,” you cave, “it’s not that I wasn’t returning or mad at you…I was…” You could barely get the words out. He watched you with intent and pressure. It felt as though you were about to suffocate.

“What? Please tell me. What’s wrong?” He begged, his voice cracking. He moved toward you, his hands raising to touch you, then hesitating and dropping. A line of shimmering tears pool within his eyes, and the pure shock of seeing Theo about to cry had your lips parting again.

“I was…,” you groan, “…jealous.” You practically whispered the last part.

“Wait, what?” He gasped, his eyes widening even further.

“Theo, please don’t make me repeat it,” you sighed, pressing your hands to your face. “I’m embarrassed as is, I was jealous of those girls from last Saturday. I felt like every time I saw you, you were making another girl laugh, and they were all fucking perfect, of course, and I-I like you so much, Theo—”

His hands pressed to either side of your face, his fingers tight and warm. His eyes were widened, his breaths heavy.

“No more,” he breathed, “please, tell me to stop, and I will, but I have to…”

His lips pressed roughly to yours, his breath more like pants. He kissed you like you were air, his lips desperate and biting. The sound he pressed against your mouth was like one of relief. You gasped against him, finally realizing where you truly were and what was happening. Your fingers tightened in his hair, begging him closer to you.

“I n-need you,” he shivered against your lips, breath shuddering. You nodded fervently, barely having time to wrap your arms around his neck as his hands placed themselves around your thighs. He yanked you into the air and placed himself on your bed, settling you over his lap. The way he’d forced you to straddle him pressed his firming core against yours, sending a shock of excitement through your body.

His fingers began to quickly work the buttons of your shirt apart. When the fabric was finally split down the middle, he pressed his mouth to the top of your breasts, mouthing hot kisses against the soft flesh there. You sighed softly, letting your head fall back to allow him all the necessary room.

“Wanted you for so long,” he mumbles against you. Your fingers brush through his curled hair, gently scraping against his scalp every so often. The feeling of his lips against you made your heart race to the point of beating against his tongue.

Much to your dismay, he pulled away and shoved you back. You fell against the foot of the bed, completely helpless as he climbed over you. The domineering air he carried with him spread over your body, rendering it pliant beneath his searing touch.

His fingers gently cradled your hips as he worked his mouth over your stomach, dipping his tongue across every curve and dip, savoring the taste of sweat that slid down your skin. As his lips heated your skin, the shaking breaths he blew through his nose cooled it down and had you reeling. The ceiling above you was all but spinning.

He followed the curve of your body all the way up to your mouth, allowing his tongue to learn every inch of your abdomen. When his lips found yours again, the both of you were panting. The only thing standing between the two of you was your uniforms.

With a burst of confidence thanks to his session of worship, you gently cradled him in your hands, applying slight pressure against his most sensitive area. At the touch, he choked against you, sucking in a rough breath.

“Please,” he moaned. “Let me fuck you. I'll do anything.” He whispered your name. Over and over and over. Begging and begging.

“Anything?” You smirked, watching as his eyes seemed to well up with the same liquid. He nodded quickly.

“I want you to do whatever you want to me,” you whispered. And if it wasn’t like giving someone a million bucks.

“Thank you,” he whispered, a wave of relief washing across his face. The obvious desire written across his face and actions had you feeling wanted and gorgeous. The confidence built by the second.

His fingers quickly found the hem of your skirt and pushed it up over your thighs. At the sight of the thin bottoms you had on, a slow moan pushed itself between his lips. “Fuck,” he whispered.

His thumb came down to slowly swipe down the center of your core through your bottoms. You jolted at the soft action, not prepared for it. A smile spread over his face.

He gently pushed the fabric to the side, reveling in the feeling of the white lace against his fingertips. Once he’d revealed you, an even louder moan escaped from him. Only a moment passed before he pressed two fingers to his lips, coating them with a thick layer of saliva. He pulled them from his lips and began to lather you in himself.

Your lips parted in a breathy whine at the feeling. His fingers were gentle but direct, only brushing the most sensitive spots before slowly filling you up to the hilt of his fingers.

“Fuck, you just opened right up for me,” he groaned. His words sent shocks of lightning through your stomach. His skilled fingers stretched you out perfectly, preparing you for what was to come. The want in his eyes was growing darker and darker, imagining the next few minutes. It was all too much; you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Please, Theo, just fuck me,” you whined, “no more.”

“Yeah, baby? I’m gonna fuck you, don’t worry about that,” he whispered. “‘ve been dreaming about this cunt for months.” He makes quick work of his trousers, roughly ripping the clinking belt from its loops. He separates the button and pushes them down, revealing the dark briefs that framed every muscular curve.

He separated your legs and placed himself neatly between them. His hands reached down to agonizingly trace himself up and down your core. You moaned at the feeling, bucking your hips against his warmth. You attempted to salvage any of his warmth, begging for the feeling of him within you.

When he finally pushed himself into you, there was no resistance. The sounds that left your mouth chorused each other, echoing across the dorm room. He gave only a few seconds for you to adjust before building his pace rapidly. The pure length of him hit everything within you with ease. This time, there were tears welling up in your eyes as he abused every inch of you.

Sweet nothings left his mouth as he pushed roughly into you. His strong hips showed no weakness, and the hands that gripped you branded bruises against your flesh. Every second of this moment would visit you for years to come, promising you’d never find someone like Theo. He was the body made to fit perfectly against yours, with the intent to love and please and hold. And, fuck, if he wasn’t doing exactly that.

As he worked you closer and closer to the end, he reached down and pulled you quickly against his chest. Out of habit, your arms wrapped around his neck. Despite the change in position, he never let up on his speed or brutality. The only thing you could feel was his strong hands bouncing you up and down him. His teeth pressed into your neck, piercing the soft flesh there. And that was what did it for you.

You finished around him hard and heavy, your limbs becoming pathetically weak. As you came down from your high, you could barely keep your hold around him. His arms tightened around you, holding you up as he fucked himself into you, harder and harder, until he was coming, too. The feeling of his release pouring within you and every thrust he performed to push it back within you pulled you out for the final moment.

Stars danced around your head as he finally set you back down against the bed, his touch so gentle in comparison to what he had done prior. The contrast of his touch against you as he pushed the wet hair clinging to your forehead was blinding. You sighed contently as he lay next to you, eyes watching you closely.

“I’m sorry I was so emotional,” he whispered. “I thought I was going to lose you forever…before I’d even had the chance to tell you what kind of feelings I was harboring.”

“What kind of feelings?” you whispered back, turning over to face him.

“That I’m completely in love with you and have been for a long time.” Your heart swelled at the confession. Quiet giggles spilled from your mouths at the realization of what he was saying.

“I’m in love with you too, Theo,” you laughed. “That’s why I was so jealous.”

“Because I’m so sexy?” he teased. You rolled your eyes and placed a playful smack on his arm.

The moments that followed were filled with quiet laughs and sweet kisses. And before either of you had noticed, you’d both drifted off against each other. Afternoon classes were a lost cause, as was the hope of meeting back up with Mattheo and Enzo for dinner, but neither of you minded.

*Tag List: @lilymurphy03 (if you want to be added to the tag list for any future works, please send me a dm or message in my inbox, thanks!)*

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shybluebirdninja · 3 months ago

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Clawsome Dad

Summary: When Logan mistakenly thinks you’re pregnant (you're not), he gets way too excited about baby names and starts building a baby-proof bunker in the backyard.

Pairing : Logan Howlett x Wife!Human-reader

Note : fluff

It all started with Logan catching you looking at a baby onesie at the store—once. You didn’t even touch the thing, just smiled at it for like, two seconds before moving on to the checkout. But that was enough for Logan. His superhuman reflexes missed nothing. You hadn’t even gotten through the door before he had this weird look on his face—half intense, half like he was about to tear through the drywall with his claws.

“Babe?” he asked, voice low, as if he were interrogating a witness. “Is there somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

You blinked at him, setting down the groceries. “Uh… no?”

Logan stepped closer, sniffing the air around you. You rolled your eyes. This man and his feral senses. “You’re sure? Nothin’... different?” he pressed, like he was waiting for you to drop some major bombshell.

“I’m sure, Logan. What’s with the third degree? Did I do something?” you asked, confused.

Then it hit you. His eyes flickered to your stomach, and you nearly choked.

Oh hell no.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you held up your hand, waving off the insanity that was clearly brewing in his head. “I am not pregnant.”

Logan frowned, not entirely convinced. “But you were lookin’ at that baby crap in the store—”

“I looked at a onesie for two seconds, Logan! It was cute, that’s all! Doesn’t mean I’m knockin’ out kids tomorrow!” you laughed, but the man didn’t seem amused.

“No baby?” he repeated, brows knitting together like he wasn’t entirely sure you knew how your own body worked.

“NO baby, Logan. Geez,” you reiterated, shaking your head, but the damage was already done.

Over the next couple of days, things got weird. He started acting real strange—asking you about baby names out of nowhere while you were brushing your teeth.

“Thoughts on ‘James Jr.’?” he muttered casually, mid-toothbrush stroke.

You spat out toothpaste, staring at him through the mirror. “James Jr.? Are you serious?”

Logan shrugged. “Seems practical. What, you don’t like it?”

“I—Logan, we are not naming a non-existent kid right now. Where’s this comin’ from?” You were barely containing your laughter. The man could take down an entire squad of bad guys without breaking a sweat, but the idea of potential parenthood had him spiraling into this dad mode that was both terrifying and hilarious.

The worst of it came when you caught him in the backyard, shirtless, sweat dripping, hammering away at something… with adamantium claws fully out. It was definitely not a normal Saturday activity, even for Logan.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, hands on your hips as you watched him drive metal sheets into the ground like a crazed man.

“Buildin’ a bunker,” he replied gruffly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“A what?”

“A baby-proof bunker. Ain’t no kid of mine growin’ up in a death trap house,” Logan muttered, slamming another panel into place. “This world’s dangerous, and that’s just the neighbors.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You—what? Baby-proof… Logan, we don’t even have a baby.”

Logan stopped hammering for a second, looking at you like you were the one missing something here. “But we might, right? Gotta be prepared.”

You slapped your forehead, trying not to lose it. “Prepared for what? An apocalypse where the baby needs a bunker to survive? Babe, seriously, there’s no baby. You don’t need to go full Rambo on the backyard.”

“I’m always prepared,” he grumbled, but there was a glint of uncertainty in his eyes. You could tell he wasn’t ready to back down, though. Logan was never the type to half-ass anything—especially not something he deemed necessary.

By now, the neighbors had definitely noticed. Old Mrs. Jenkins from next door was peeking over the fence with a terrified expression. She whispered something about Logan being a “madman,” which wasn’t entirely untrue in this case.

You sighed, walking up to him and grabbing the hammer from his hand. “Alright, Mr. Clawhammer, we’re done here. Come inside before you scare the rest of the neighborhood.”

Logan hesitated, claws still out. “But—”

“No buts, babe. Unless you’re ready to explain to Mrs. Jenkins why you’re preparing for baby Armageddon, you’re gonna stop now,” you said firmly, dragging him toward the house. “I swear, the last thing we need is for someone to call the cops on your baby-proofing bunker. We’re not even pregnant!”

He let out a gruff noise, retracting his claws with a reluctant snikt. “You sure ‘bout that?” he asked, still looking unconvinced as you pushed him through the door.

You smacked his arm lightly. “Yes, I’m sure. But if I ever do get pregnant, I’m not raising a kid in a damn underground fortress like we’re in some post-apocalyptic wasteland, got it?”

Logan smirked, the edge of his grumpy attitude softening. “Fine, no bunker. But I ain’t changin’ my mind on James Jr.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he shot back with a cocky grin.

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burningembers91 · 7 days ago

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Not Who I Want to Be - Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Thanos is tired of life, until he meets you.

A/N: I am determined to make this man likeable. Redemption story arc incoming!

Warnings: Mentions of abusive father, mentions of drug and alcohol dependency. 18+ only!

Thanos couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent 24 hours sober. He’d either been drunk, high, or both for as long as he could remember. When he was a teenager, it was a way to escape his abusive father, but the pills and drinks eventually became a crutch, one he couldn’t function without.

He still had no idea how he’d become so famous, how his music had managed to become such a hit with so many people. There were songs he didn’t even remember writing, days that were completely lost in a haze of booze and drugs. But somehow, people loved him. He was under no illusion that people loved him for who he was – he knew he was a prick. No, people loved him for his fame, his money, and his seemingly unlimited supply of narcotics.

It didn’t matter to Thanos though; he relished the attention, basked in the flirtatious attention he received from women whose names he never bothered to learn. His friends were nothing more than people desperate for fame, clinging to him in the hope he’d make them as big a name as he was.

People seemed to love his outlandish character. Every time he did something insane, his fans would go crazy for him. So, Thanos slowly became more unhinged, forgetting the little boy he’d once been, the one who’d had big dreams. He spent each night with a different woman, attending every party in Seoul. His penthouse apartment was a constant hive of activity, the people he’d picked up along the way using it as a base to get high.

He didn’t even enjoy music anymore, the words he wrote meant nothing to him. His fans constantly demanded more of him, so he worked like a dog to give them exactly what they wanted. Nothing he wrote made sense; it had no meaning, no context behind the raps. His songs were as empty as his soul; but people were eating up his words like they were gospel.

It was a usual Saturday night ritual for him to attend a club in Seoul. To make an appearance to the crowd, before getting blackout drunk. Tonight, he found himself in the throng of a sweaty crowd, so high off the pills he’d taken before coming out that he was barely clinging to existence. The usual scroungers were there, taking as many free drinks from him as they could get, posing for photos that would instantly be uploaded to Instagram for a few minutes of fame. Girls were clinging to his shirt, their slurred words ricocheting off his ears, melting into the thump thump thump of the base from the speakers to his right. He was dizzy, dehydrated and so, so fucking done with this crowd. He needed to get away, needed to breathe some fresh, sweat-free air.

Pushing himself away from his followers, he stumbled up the steps to the rooftop. It was raining, the wind pushing the droplets sideways into his face. If it was cold, his body didn’t feel the chill. It had been a long time since Thanos had felt anything. The roof was empty, expect for a figure to his left. You were stood huddled under a thin canopy, your arms crossed over your chest. You sipped periodically from a glass, shivering every now and again against the stormy night.

You were the most beautiful thing Thanos had ever seen. You seemed to light up the entire space, despite the wind and rain. Your outfit clung to your figure, accentuating your curves and leaving him breathless. You spotted him staring and offered a small smile. Half walking, half stumbling, Thanos made his way over to you. One good thing about the booze and the drugs, it gave him confidence; and he’d need a bucketful to speak to you.

“Hey girl,” he said, instantly transforming into his overly-macho, too confident persona. “You know who I am?” “No,” you simply said, taking in his tall, lean figure and bright purple hair. “Should I?” “I’m fucking Thanos, baby!” He cried, the wind drowning out his voice, making him seem as small as he felt. “Right… Sorry, doesn’t ring any bells,” you shrugged, downing the last of your drink. “Where would I recognise you from?” “My music,” he told you proudly, spreading arms so you could take him all in. This wasn’t the usual reaction he got. People usually knew he was before he’d even introduced himself, but you, you were just looking blankly back at him. “I’m award winning, senorita!” “Sure,” you smiled, “I’ll uh… I’ll take your word for it.” A clap of thunder stopped your next words, the two of you looking towards to the storm-laden skies. “We should get inside,” you said, “wouldn’t want the famous Thanos to be struck by lightning.”

Following you inside, he couldn’t help but eye your figure as you walked down the stairs. You were nothing like anyone he’d ever seen. Your indifference and unfamiliarity with him were refreshing. You weren’t scrambling to get an autograph or clinging to him in the hopes he’d buy you a drink or take you home for the night. “You here with friends?” He didn’t want the conversation to end, he didn’t want you to leave. He’d probably never see you again if you left now. “Yeah,” you nodded, “it’s my colleagues’ birthday. She really loves this place. You?” Thanos looked around, his eyes scanning the crowd for the people he knew were anything but his friends. “Yeah, baby! It’s Saturday night! It’s party night!” If he wasn’t so off his face, he’d be cringing at the way he was speaking. This wasn’t him; he knew it wasn’t. But he didn’t know how to be any other way. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your evening,” you smiled. He could tell you thought he was a joke; he knew you saw straight through his bullshit. “Wait!” He called after you. “Can I get your number”? You turned and shook your head. “Sorry, Thanos,” you smiled, “I don’t give my number to Marvel villains.” He laughed; not only were you beautiful, you were funny too. “What about your Instagram then?” You thought for a few moments, and finally agreed. Typing your account name into the search bar, you pressed the follow button. “Hey, your accounts private!” Thanos remarked, seeing the request pending written across the screen. “Yeah, it’s to stop all the weirdos from following me. You never know, I might accept. Have a goodnight, Thanos!” And with that, you disappeared into the crowd.

He awoke the next morning, his head pounding and his mouth dry. Some random girl lay next to him in bed, a bottle of vodka tipped on his side and dripping the last of its contents all over his custom-made tile floor. His memory of last night was hazy; he didn’t remember leaving the club or getting home. He didn’t remember going to bed with a stranger, but he remembered you. He remembered the way the strobe lights reflected in your eyes, the way you refused to put up with his shit. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his apps until he found Instagram. Clicking on your profile, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw you’d accept his follow request.

A message popped up on his notification banner from you. His hands shaking from nerves and withdrawal, he clicked on it. Hey Thanos, it read, I hope you didn’t get blown away in the storm last night. He laughed, harder than he had done in months. Finally, he was excited about his day. He couldn’t wait to reply, couldn’t wait to see where this new conversation could lead him. He jumped out of bed, heading for the shower with his phone clutched in his hand. For the first time in a long time, Thanos was looking forward to the day ahead.

#squid game 2 #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #thanos squid game #thanos x reader #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #t.o.p

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xo100 · 4 days ago

Note

Hi! Could I ask Lando with pregnant reader. Like maybe her getting dizzy bc of all the paparazzis and fans surrounding. Maybe angsty. Dunno if you'll like the idea, but I honestly love ur work soo much

Our little miracle - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: request by anon as you can read above this!

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1244

*:･ﾟ A/N: first of all I want to say sorry for not being so active lately! I’ve been busy with school and work, I didn’t had any time to write! Second I want to say thank you so much anon! I hope you like this story too! If not let me known!

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The late morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, warming the bedroom and casting soft golden streaks on the walls. The gentle hum of the city outside was barely audible over the rhythmic sound of Lando’s breathing beside you. His arm was slung lazily over your waist, his warmth seeping into your skin like a comforting blanket.

You blinked sleepily, turning your head to look at him. His face was still soft with sleep, his hair a wild mess of curls that begged to be smoothed down. He looked so peaceful like this, so completely at ease, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

“Caught you staring,” he mumbled, his voice raspy as his lips curled into a sleepy grin.

“I wasn’t staring,” you lied, your cheeks heating up.

“Sure,” he teased, his eyes still closed. “You’ve been staring at me every morning for the past five years. It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Good morning, Lando.”

“Morning,” he said, finally opening his eyes. They were warm and bright, like pools of melted chocolate, and they crinkled at the corners as he smiled at you. “Guess what day it is?”

You blinked, still half-asleep. “Uh… Saturday?”

“Baby shopping day,” he announced, his grin widening.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “You’re more excited about this than I am.”

“Of course I am!” he said, propping himself up on one elbow. “We’re picking out stuff for our baby. This is a big deal.”

It was a big deal. After months of trying—months of hope and heartbreak—you were finally here. Fourteen weeks pregnant, your little miracle growing inside you. It still didn’t feel real sometimes, like you were dreaming and could wake up at any moment.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” you said softly, your hand resting on your small but growing bump.

“It’s happening,” Lando said, covering your hand with his. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “And I can’t wait to spoil both of you today.”

---

The car ride into the city was filled with laughter and teasing. Lando, as usual, couldn’t resist cracking jokes, trying to lighten the nerves you hadn’t even realized you were feeling.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he said, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “What if we name the baby after a car? Like… Ferrari Norris. Or McLaren Norris. That’s got a nice ring to it, right?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not. Our child is not going to be named after a car brand.”

“Fine,” he said, pretending to pout. “But if they grow up to be a racer, I’m taking full credit for the inspiration.”

The boutique Lando had chosen was tucked away in a quieter part of the city, its window displays filled with pastel-colored baby clothes and wooden toys. The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by the soft scent of lavender and the faint sound of a lullaby playing over the speakers.

Lando’s eyes lit up as he took in the rows of tiny clothes and baby accessories. “This is it,” he said, grabbing your hand. “This is where we find all the cool stuff.”

You spent the next hour wandering the store, debating over cribs and strollers, laughing as Lando tried to convince you that the baby absolutely needed a mini Formula 1 onesie.

“Come on,” he said, holding it up with a grin. “How cute would they look in this?”

“They’d look adorable,” you admitted, “but they’ll probably outgrow it in a month.”

“Worth it,” he said, tossing it into the shopping basket.

You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. Seeing him like this—so excited, so ready to dive headfirst into parenthood—made your heart swell with love.

---

By the time you left the store, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the streets were bustling with activity. Lando carried the shopping bags in one hand, his other arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

You didn’t notice the paparazzi at first.

It started with a few flashes, the sudden brightness making you blink. Then came the voices—shouting questions and calling Lando’s name.

“Lando! Over here!” “How’s the season going?” “Is it true you’re expecting?”

The crowd seemed to grow out of nowhere, fans and photographers swarming around you. The noise was overwhelming, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks that made your head spin.

“Lando,” you said softly, gripping his arm.

He turned to you immediately, his eyes scanning your face. “Hey, are you okay?”

You tried to nod, but the dizziness was already setting in. The flashes, the shouting, the crush of bodies—it was too much.

“I don’t feel…” Your voice trailed off as your vision blurred.

Lando didn’t hesitate. Dropping the shopping bags, he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you steady. “Alright, that’s enough!” he snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. “Back off! She’s pregnant. Give her some space!”

The crowd faltered, the realization rippling through them. But Lando didn’t wait for them to comply. He guided you away from the chaos, his body shielding yours as he led you down a quieter side street.

“Breathe, love,” he said softly, stopping to face you. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “In and out. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, focusing on his voice, his touch. The dizziness slowly faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, guilt creeping in. “I ruined our day.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Lando said, his tone gentle but firm. “You and the baby come first. Always.”

You managed a weak smile. “Even over baby sneakers?”

“Even over baby sneakers,” he said, grinning. “But just barely.”

---

Back at home, the chaos of the day felt like a distant memory. Lando had insisted on ordering takeout, claiming that you deserved to be spoiled after the ordeal.

As you sat on the couch, surrounded by the shopping bags you’d managed to bring home, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. Lando was in the kitchen, humming softly as he poured you a glass of water.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you before sitting down beside you. His hand immediately found its way to your stomach, resting there gently.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I’m okay,” you said, covering his hand with yours. “Thanks to you.”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “I can’t wait to meet them,” he said quietly, his voice filled with wonder.

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning into him.

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the faint hum of the city outside and the occasional rustle of the shopping bags.

“You know,” Lando said after a moment, “I meant what I said earlier. You and the baby come first. Always.”

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling with love. “I know,” you said. “And I love you for it.”

“I love you too,” he said, his eyes shining with emotion. “More than anything.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, golden glow, you realized that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Lando would face them together.

And that was all that mattered.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @gridprincess-04 , @justaf1girl

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reilemon · 3 months ago

Text

Beneath the Collar

♡︎ synopsis: What do you tell yourself when you develop a crush on a hot priest? 'It'll pass.' But what if it doesn't?

♡︎ pairing: priest!Zayne x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: personal sacrilege, mutual masturbation

♡︎ word count: 13k

♡︎ a/n: the fifth story for kinktober 2024. i know i wrote something else as a prompt for this story, but it kinda didn't fit into the vibe. I hope you'll still like it.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

You’d been absentmindedly wiping down the counter, eyes flicking to the clock every couple of minutes. You were anticipating the weekend as if it was your lifeline. The shop was nearly empty, just a couple pastries left. You could already taste the freedom that awaited once you locked up. Saturday nights were your escape. You’d head out of town and finally let loose with your old friends. You couldn’t wait to slip into a tight dress, feel the beat of music thrumming through your veins, and drown the stress of your quiet life with a few too many drinks.

You loved the buzz, the way you could disappear into the crowd. It was so different from the slow, predictable pace of this town—so different from the way you had to be here, composed, calm, responsible. You could already imagine the way your friends would greet you with shrieks and hugs, the taste of sweet cocktails on your lips, the feel of someone’s hands on your waist as you danced the night away.

You hadn’t realized how tightly wound you’d become until you started thinking about it. The endless days of baking, of small talk with customers who didn’t really know you, of going home to an empty apartment. This wasn’t the life you’d imagined.

The chime above the door rings, pulling you back from your thoughts. You straighten instinctively, slipping back into your practiced routine, eyes flicking up with a tired smile ready—until you see him.

The man who steps in isn’t like any customer you’ve seen before. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark, understated clothes. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the stark white collar around his neck—the unmistakable sign of a priest. Yet you can’t help but stare at his features - his sharp jawline, the raven-black hair falling slightly across his forehead, and those intense green eyes. He looks cold, distant, his gaze hard and unreadable as it sweeps the room before landing squarely on you.

You can feel your heart pound as your breath catches. You aren’t supposed to feel this way. He’s a priest, for God’s sake. Yet here you are, rooted in place, unable to tear your eyes away from him. You shouldn’t be thinking about how strong his hands look, or how his lips might feel if they ever touched yours. Guilt twists in your gut, making you flush with shame.

You swallow hard, the professional smile faltering for a second as your thoughts race. What is a man like him doing here? He doesn’t look like the type to indulge in something sweet.

He steps forward, approaching the counter, and the closer he gets, the more you can feel your façade slipping. You force yourself to break eye contact, focusing instead on the pastries.

You need to say something, anything to break the tension. “Good evening,” you finally manage.

“I’m sorry for coming in so late,” he says, his voice deep and smooth, instantly making you feel butterflies. “I was hoping to grab something before you closed.”

You nod, trying to keep the conversation professional, though your mind is anything but. “Of course,” you reply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

His eyes flick over the display case before returning to you, making your heart flutter. “Macarons,” he says after a moment. “Do you have any left?”

You blink, thrown off by the unexpected request, by how he knows exactly what he wants. “Ah—no,” you stammer, shaking your head. “Sorry, they sold out earlier today.”

He nods once, but doesn’t seem disappointed. You half-expect him to say something more, maybe ask about the next batch or try one of the remaining pastries. But he doesn’t. His eyes flick to the empty spot where the macarons should’ve been, then back to you.

"Thank you," He doesn’t smile, just offers a polite nod before he turns and walks toward the door. The air feels lighter the moment he steps out, but your heart is still racing, your mind still tangled in thoughts you shouldn’t have.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what just happened, your hand still resting on the counter as if anchoring you back to reality. Slowly, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

‘What the hell was that?’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Later that evening, you stand in front of your mirror, smoothing your dress down over your hips, but your thoughts are miles away. You’ve been looking forward to this night all week— but now, you can’t stop thinking about him.

As you spray the perfume on your neck, your mind drifts back to the way those cold green eyes had fixed on you with such unnerving intensity. You replay the interaction over and over in your head as you fix your lipstick, each swipe of color across your lips bringing back the memory of his deep, steady voice.

You grab your heels and slide them on, trying to push the image of him away. It’s your night - you should be thinking about the friends you’ll be laughing with, the strangers you might flirt with, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. And that damn collar, the way it stood out against his sharp jaw, mocking you.

You sigh, frustrated with yourself as you grab your clutch and head for the door. Tonight is about fun, freedom. As you step outside, you convince yourself that by the end of the night you will forget all about him.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You stand just outside the church, a box of macarons clutched in your hands. The crisp autumn air hits your face, cooling the remnants of your hangover. You wince slightly as the last pulse of your headache throbs behind your eyes. But it’s nothing compared to the nervous energy swirling in your stomach. The night before is a blur of music, laughter, and drinks—too many drinks—and yet, through it all, he was still there. No matter how hard you tried your mind kept circling back to the priest.

You woke up early this morning, despite the dull ache in your head, the need to see him again pulling you out of bed far earlier than your body wanted. You spent more time than usual getting ready, trying to make yourself look presentable. Like you hadn’t spent half the night dancing under neon lights, sweat mingling with perfume. Like you were fresh and composed, not some hungover mess delivering macarons to a man who probably didn’t even remember you.

Now, as you stand outside the church, watching as the last of the congregation trickles out from Sunday mass, you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous. ‘What the hell am I doing?’ You glance down at the box in your hands. Last night, you’d come home and found the extra macarons sitting in your fridge—fresh, untouched. And somehow, in your alcohol-soaked brain, you’d convinced yourself that bringing them to him would make sense. That maybe, just maybe, seeing him again would clear your thoughts.

Inside, you hear the faint echoes of voices, the last goodbyes being exchanged. Your pulse quickens, the nerves settling in deeper now. ‘What if he thinks I’m crazy?’ You glance up at the church doors as they swing open again. More people spill out, some of them familiar faces, regulars from your shop. You offer a small, polite smile to those who glance your way, though the last thing you want is to be seen here, holding this box like some desperate girl with a crush.

The crowd thins, and finally, you see him. He steps out of the church, tall and composed, his dark coat catching the cool breeze as he exchanges polite nods and handshakes with the remaining parishioners. Your heart stutters in your chest when his eyes land on you, sharp and focused, just like yesterday. His gaze flickers with confusion as he approaches. The contrast between the two of you couldn’t be more stark. He’s the picture of calm and control, while you feel like a bundle of frayed nerves.

"Good morning," he greets, his voice low and even, though there’s a hint of curiosity in it. His eyes drop to the box in your hands, and then back up to meet your gaze. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

You force a small smile, suddenly feeling foolish again for showing up like this. "I, um..." You glance down at the box before awkwardly extending it toward him. "I brought these... for you. Macarons. I had some extras, and I thought..." Your voice trails off as you realize how ridiculous you sound.

He hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the gesture, his brow furrowing slightly as he looks between you and the box. "That’s very kind of you," he says after a beat, his tone polite but still laced with confusion. He takes the box from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through you. "But I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why bring them here?"

You feel your face heat up, the embarrassment creeping in again as you try to explain. "I just... yesterday, you asked about the macarons. And I had some left at home, so I thought..." You trail off again, unsure how to finish without sounding completely absurd.

His eyes soften slightly, the confusion changing into something more like understanding. "I see," he says quietly. He looks down at the box in his hands, then back at you. "Thank you. This was... thoughtful."

There’s a long, awkward pause before you gather the nerve to ask, "Have you visited my shop before? I mean, you knew we sold macarons, but I don’t remember seeing you."

He glances away for a moment, then returns his gaze to you, his tone still measured and calm. "I have stopped by a few times, yes. But more often than not, my colleagues bring me your macarons. They speak highly of your pastries." His lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but the closest thing you’ve seen from him. "They’ve made sure I know where to find the best sweets in town."

You blink, processing that information. ‘So, he has been there.’ A strange mix of relief and disappointment washes over you—relief that he’s not a complete stranger to your shop, but disappointment that you missed those visits. Still, knowing he’s tasted your work fills you with a sense of pride.

"I see," you murmur, nodding. "I wasn’t sure, since... well, you don’t seem like the type to indulge in sweets."

He raises an eyebrow. "I do, on occasion," he says, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Especially macarons."

Another silence falls between you. The cold morning air feels sharper now, the quiet around the church almost too loud as the last of the parishioners filter away, leaving just the two of you standing there.

You feel the urge to say something, anything. "I hope you enjoy them," you say quickly, nodding toward the box in his hands.

His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than feels comfortable. "I’m sure I will," he replies, his voice softer now, though his serious demeanor never wavers. "Thank you again. This was... unexpected."

You nod, unsure what else to say, and suddenly, the weight of what you’re doing—standing outside a church, hungover, giving a priest macarons—hits you all over again. You swallow hard, feeling the need to leave before you make things even more awkward.

"I should probably go," you blurt out, taking a small step back. "I didn’t mean to interrupt your morning."

He watches you, his gaze steady, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to say something to stop you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he simply nods. "Take care,"

You turn and start walking away, your heart pounding in your chest, the cool air biting at your skin. You feel a little silly, a little reckless, but something about the way he looked at you, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he accepted the macarons... it stays with you.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Sunday arrives quicker than expected, and this time, you're determined to play it cool. You still went out the night before, but you kept it light—a couple of drinks, no wild partying. The ache behind your eyes this morning is faint, nothing like last week’s pounding. You’d woken up with enough time to fix your hair and choose an outfit that’s both casual and appropriate, though you spent longer than you’d like to admit deciding on it.

As you step inside the church, the scent of old wood and candles washes over you, calming your racing heart just a little. The crowd is larger than you expected—families, couples, elderly regulars. You quietly slip into a pew near the back, hoping to blend in.

You settle in, your eyes scanning the front of the church, seeking him out. There he is, standing at the altar in his robes, his presence as commanding as ever. He’s facing the congregation, his expression stoic, speaking in that calm, steady voice that fills the room with reverence. At first, he doesn’t notice you. He’s focused on his sermon, his attention on the crowd as he guides them through the service.

And then, as if he can sense you watching him, his gaze flickers toward the back of the church—and locks onto you.

For a moment, the rest of the congregation fades into the background. It’s just you and him, his eyes lingering on you longer than they should. There’s no surprise in his expression, but his gaze isn’t the distant, detached look you remember from before. Your breath catches, and for a second, you’re not sure what to do. You glance down at your hands, trying to steady yourself, but when you look back up, his eyes are still on you. He’s quick to recover, though, returning his focus to the sermon, but the brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

The rest of the mass is a blur. You try to listen, to follow along with the prayers, but all you can think about is the way he looked at you. The quiet intensity of his gaze, the way it felt like he was seeing more than just another face in the crowd.

As the mass ends and people begin to rise from their seats, you remain seated for a moment longer. You watch as the crowd shuffles toward the exit, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, offering their thanks and farewells. For a second, you think about slipping out quietly and disappearing before he notices you again. It would be the easiest thing to do—walk away, avoid any awkward conversations.

But just as you start to stand, your eyes find his across the room. He’s still speaking with a couple of elderly women near the front, but his gaze shifts—briefly, unmistakably—back to you. And there’s something in that moment that makes it impossible to leave. Before you know it, you’re moving toward him, your pulse quickening with each step.

You tell yourself it’s only polite to say hello, maybe thank him for the sermon. It’s what people do, right? But the truth is, you haven’t attended a church service in so long, you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to talk to a priest. What do people even say in these situations? Your mind races as you approach, trying to figure out what you’re supposed to say.

When you reach him, he finishes his conversation with the elderly women, offering them a polite nod before turning his attention to you. For a moment, you stand there, unsure of how to start, but before you can stumble over a greeting, he speaks first.

"Good to see you again," Zayne says, as he offers you a barely visible smile. It’s subtle, just a small upturn at the corner of his lips, but it’s enough to make your heart race. "I don’t recall seeing you here before last week."

You blink, feeling like you’re caught red handed. You fumble for a response, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Oh, no, I—I haven’t been here before," you admit, glancing down at your hands before looking back up at him. "I mean, I used to go to church when I was younger, but... it’s been a while." You force a small smile. "I’ve been in this town for a few months now, but I guess I still feel kind of... new. I’m trying to, you know, be a part of the community."

It’s a half-truth, but close enough to reality.

Zayne listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he considers your words. "It’s understandable," he says after a moment, his voice softer now. "Moving to a new place can feel... isolating." His gaze lingers on you. "I’m glad you’re finding your place here."

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. "Yeah, I think I’m making some progress."

You’re unsure of what to say next, but Zayne is the one that speaks next. "Those macarons you brought last week," he begins. "There was one flavor I hadn’t tried before—rose, I believe?"

You hadn’t expected him to bring it up. "Oh, yeah," you say, a giddy smile creeping onto your lips. "I like to experiment with new flavors in my free time. I wasn’t sure if anyone would like that one."

He nods, with a faint smile. "It was... different. Unexpected, but in a good way."

Your smile widens at that, unable to contain the warmth blooming in your chest. You hadn’t realized how much his opinion would matter to you. "I’m always experimenting," you admit, feeling more at ease now. "Sometimes I stay up late trying out new combinations."

The air between you feels lighter, warmer. "I can tell you put a lot of effort into it."

The compliment catches you off guard, and you’re not sure how to respond. But before you can say anything, Zayne shifts the conversation slightly. "We’re hosting a bake sale next week," he says, "It’s for a local charity. I was wondering if you’d have the time to volunteer."

Volunteer? At the church? You’ve never done anything like that before. But the idea of working with him, of contributing in some way—it tugs at you, and before you can think it through too much, you find yourself nodding.

"Yeah, I’d love to," you say quickly, the giddiness from earlier still bubbling beneath the surface. "I mean, I’m sure I could make time."

His gaze softens, and there’s that almost smile again. "Good," he says. "I think your talents would be appreciated."

You nod, feeling strangely content. Working with him, even if it’s just for something simple like a bake sale—seems like a small step forward, a way to stay close without pushing too far.

As the crowd continues to thin, you realize you’ve lingered long enough. You take a small step back, your heart still racing from the interaction. "I’ll see you next week, then," you say softly, offering him a final smile before turning to leave.

"Yes," he replies. "Next week."

You can feel his gaze on your back as you exit the church, the weight of it lingering long after you step outside into the cool autumn air. And though you try to tell yourself that it’s just a bake sale, just a way to be part of the community, you can’t shake the excitement simmering beneath the surface.

Next week couldn’t come soon enough.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The bake sale was a success. The air was filled with the scent of baked goods and laughter, but you hardly had time to enjoy it. Zayne, ever the center of attention, had been pulled away in a dozen directions the entire day. When you’d arrived early that morning, hands full of pastries and stomach full of butterflies, you barely got a chance to exchange more than a quick greeting.

He had smiled at you, brief but warm, though his attention was quickly snatched away by people needing his assistance, asking for advice, or organizing last-minute details. Of course, he handled everything with calm efficiency. You watched him navigate the chaos with admiration, though a part of you ached for more than those fleeting glances you stole throughout the day.

Now, as the sun begins to set and the crowd dissipates, everything is finally winding down. The tables have been mostly cleared, the leftover baked goods packed up, and most of the volunteers have either left or are chatting amongst themselves. You’re still tidying up, folding a tablecloth when you feel a presence beside you. Zayne.

"Need any help?" he asks.

You offer him a small smile, shaking your head. "I’ve got it," you say, too aware of how close he’s standing. "But thank you."

"You did a lot today," he says quietly. "The bake sale wouldn’t have been as successful without you."

The compliment, though simple, warms your chest, and you can’t help the slight flush that rises to your cheeks. "I’m just glad I could help," you reply, glancing at him, and there it is again—his gaze, lingering just a fraction too long.

"Will you be attending mass tomorrow?" he asks after a pause, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

For a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. Attending Sunday mass on a regular basis was not something you imagined for yourself when you moved here. But neither was the crush on a priest. You tilt your head slightly, offering a small smile. "I might," you say. "But... I’d be more than happy to help out around the church too. If you need extra hands for events or... anything else." The offer hangs in the air.

Zayne’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer, before he nods, his lips curving into that barely-there smile that always makes your heart race. "I’ll keep that in mind."

As you both finish the last of the cleanup, the weight of the day settles over you. The connection between you and Zayne feels more real.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Days pass after the Sunday mass, and your mind is restless. You had hoped—foolishly—that this crush would fade. That the flutters in your stomach and the lingering heat in your chest, and somewhere else, would disappear. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s grown stronger. It’s more than just attraction now—it’s curiosity, fascination, a desire to know him beyond the surface.

You had gone to mass that Sunday, and the entire service, your eyes had found his. After the service, you exchanged pleasantries as usual, but there was something beneath the surface. The way he smiled at you, as if holding back. And then, before you left, he had handed you his phone, suggesting that you exchange numbers, “in case there’s any more help needed with events.”

It was a perfectly reasonable request, and yet, your hands had trembled slightly when you typed your number in. A simple exchange of phone numbers shouldn’t feel like this, but you couldn’t shake the thrill it gave you.

Now, days later, you’ve been staring at his name in your phone for what feels like hours. Your fingers hover over the screen, your mind spinning with a thousand excuses you could use to text him.

‘Just invite yourself over.’ Tell him you’ve been working on new desserts and want to share them. It’s innocent enough—after all, you’ve done it before, and he was more than happy to accept. Why should this time be any different?

You lean back, the phone still in your hand, your thoughts a tangled mess. ‘It’s not wrong to want to see him, is it?’ When you’d exchanged numbers, had there been something in the way his hand brushed yours? Something more than just casual contact?

Your thumb hovers over his name on your phone, heart pounding in your chest. ‘One message. That’s all. Just one message to bring him something.’ It’s innocent. Harmless.

You begin to type. “Hey, I’ve been experimenting with some new dessert recipes. Thought you might like to try them. Could I drop some by?”

Before you can second-guess yourself again, you hit send.

The message disappears, leaving you staring at the screen, your heart racing.

Your phone buzzes a minute later, and you can hardly breathe as you open the message.

“That sounds great. I’d love to try them.”

His reply is simple, casual, but the effect it has on you is anything but. You glance around your apartment, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’ve done. You’re going to see him again, and this time, the meeting will be more personal, more intimate. ‘Just you, him, and those damn desserts.’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You close the shop with shaky hands, flipping the sign to "closed" and locking the door behind. You try to calm your nerves as you walk toward the church.

‘Why am I doing this?’ you ask yourself for the hundredth time. You always shared your new recipes with your two employees—they were your taste-testers, your go-to feedback. So why now? Why are you heading to a priest, of all people?

‘He’s the customer experience,’ you remind yourself, a weak excuse at best. However, if anyone could give an honest opinion, it would be him—level-headed, composed, with that quiet seriousness that always unnerves and excites you. It’s just an opinion, nothing more. You repeat it like a mantra as you approach the church.

The doors creak open as you step inside, the familiar scent of incense filling your senses. The church is mostly empty, the soft glow of evening light filtering through the stained-glass windows. As you enter, you spot Zayne standing outside the confessional. He’s speaking quietly with an older woman, but his eyes flick up as soon as you walk in. The moment he sees you, his expression changes for a split second, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat.

The woman finishes her conversation, offering him a polite smile before heading toward the door. Zayne watches her go, and when she’s gone, he turns his full attention to you.

His lips curve into a subtle smile. "Good evening," he greets you with that calm authority that always makes you feel both at ease and strangely vulnerable at the same time. "Thank you for coming. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble."

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady as you return his smile. "No trouble at all. I just closed up the shop, so... it worked out."

He nods, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before gesturing toward the back of the church. "Shall we?" He leads you down the quiet hallway, until you reach his office—a small, private room tucked away from the rest of the church. The walls are lined with bookshelves, a modest desk in the middle, and a soft lamp casting a warm glow. Zayne closes the door behind you, and for a second, the air between you feels thicker than it had before.

You sit across from each other at the small desk. You set the box between you, showing a display of your latest creations. Zayne’s intense green eyes take in the array of sweets.

"These look incredible," he says as he leans in. He reaches for one, pausing as if to savor the moment. "Shall we start?"

You nod, your voice wavering as you describe the little creation.

As he finishes the first dessert, followed by more praise, his eyes drift over the others in the box. His eyes linger on a small orange-tinted one. His brow furrows slightly, and he glances up at you. "Is that… carrot?" he asks, with reluctance in his tone.

You laugh softly, "Yes, it’s a mini carrot cake," you say, your voice light and teasing. "I’ve been thinking about adding it to the menu."

Zayne’s smile tightens just a little. His fingers hover near the pastry, but he doesn’t reach for it. "Carrot cake... that’s..." He trails off, clearly searching for the right words, though his discomfort is obvious. "I’m sure it’s delicious," he adds, his tone strained with effort.

You can’t help but chuckle softly at his expression, the idea of Zayne being uncomfortable with something as simple as a carrot cake is both endearing and amusing. "You don’t like carrots, do you?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him with a grin.

Zayne shifts slightly, his ears tinged with a faint blush as he gives a sheepish smile. "I’ve never been... fond of them," he admits.

You laugh again. "That’s completely fine," you say, shaking your head. "You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to. I won’t be offended."

Relief washes over his face, and you can’t help but find it charming. "Thank you," he says with a smile, his voice more relaxed now. "I’m sure it’s wonderful. Just... not for me."

You nod, smiling back at him as you make a mental note not to add the carrot cake to the menu after all. Who would have thought Zayne, of all people, would have such a small but specific dislike?

As you both settle into a comfortable rhythm of tasting the remaining pastries, the earlier tension eases, replaced by the easy conversation and laughter that flows between you. There’s something natural, almost soothing, about this—sharing these quiet moments, watching his reactions as he tries each new flavor, the occasional teasing smile crossing his lips.

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to push the boundary just a little. “I won’t ask what made you become a priest at such a young age,” you begin, offering a shy smile to lighten the weight of your words. “But I have to admit... I do wonder what you do when you’re not here. What’s Zayne like when he’s not... well, Father Zayne?”

Zayne’s lips twitch slightly at the question, as though he’s surprised but also amused by your boldness. He leans back in his chair, his posture relaxing a bit.

“Well,” he begins, a faint chuckle escaping his lips, “I don’t have much free time, to be honest. Between the church, the community events, and my other responsibilities, it’s hard to find a moment just for myself.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “But when I do get some time, I like to read. Mostly fiction—novels, stories that take me somewhere else for a little while.” His voice softens with a hint of something like nostalgia. “I also try to visit new restaurants when I can. There aren’t many options in this town, so sometimes I take trips to the city just to try something different.”

There’s something so relaxed, almost vulnerable, in the way he talks about it that makes you feel like you’re seeing a side of him that few people do. A side that isn’t weighed down by the responsibilities of his role, but is simply... Zayne.

He shifts the conversation, leaning forward slightly as he looks at you. “What about you?” he asks, his voice warm with genuine curiosity. “When you’re not experimenting with food, what do you do in your free time?”

“Well,” you begin, shifting in your seat, “when I do take a break, I like to drive out of town, too. I’d meet up with old friends, go out for a drink or two... but honestly, I like the quiet here. It’s different. Calming, in a way.”

Zayne nods, his expression thoughtful. “I can see that. There’s something peaceful about being here, away from the noise. But I imagine it must get lonely sometimes.”

His words strike a chord in you, and for a moment, you feel a vulnerability creeping in. You hadn’t expected him to understand, but somehow, he does.

“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “It does.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, you feel like you’re seeing him in a new light— as someone who, like you, is navigating his own struggles, his own desires.

The rest of the evening continues with light topics and soft laughter. But as you glance out the window you see it’s pitch-black outside. You glance at your watch, feeling a pang of reluctance as you realize it’s time to go.

“I should probably head out,” you say softly, not wanting to break the moment but knowing it has to end.

Zayne nods, though there’s a hint of something in his eyes that shows he feels the same reluctance. He stands, walking you to the door of his office. “Thank you for the desserts,” he says, his voice feeling more personal now. “And for the conversation.”

You smile. “Thank you for listening. And for the... honesty.” There’s a moment of hesitation before you step toward the door, the space between you suddenly feeling too close. He opens the door, and as you step out into the quiet hall, you glance back at him one last time.

His eyes linger on you. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice low, and for a second, it feels like there’s more he wants to say, but the moment passes.

“Goodnight,” you reply, turning to leave, your heart still racing from the quiet intimacy of the evening.

As you walk out into the cool night air, you can’t help but feel that this connection—whatever it is between you and Zayne—has deepened. And as you head home, your thoughts linger on him, wondering where this path will lead.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next day, your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips a beat. It’s a message from Zayne.

“The desserts were incredible,” it reads. “You have a real gift for combining flavors. Thank you again.”

You smile, rereading the message a few times before typing out a casual reply. His words, the thoughtfulness behind them, mean more than they should. You tell yourself it’s just feedback—he’s just being kind, just acknowledging your work—but the fact that he took the effort to write this message... it lingers in your mind.

Days pass, and the messages continue. They’re not frequent, but every other day, you’ll receive something from him—a thoughtful comment on one of your desserts or a small exchange that feels more personal than before.

One evening, your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a picture—a grainy snapshot of a small, scruffy-looking cat sitting outside the church doors.

“This little guy hangs around the church sometimes. I think he’s starting to expect me to feed him,” the message reads.

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself as you look at the picture. You quickly type out a response: “He’s adorable! Have you tried petting him yet?”

A minute later, Zayne replies: “I’ve tried. He runs away every time I get close.”

You smile to yourself, finding the image of Zayne—a man so composed, so in control—being outwitted by a stray cat endearing. You imagine him, kneeling down, trying to coax the little creature closer, only for it to scurry away. There’s something so human about it, so... normal.

“That’s adorable,” you reply, the smile still on your face. “Keep feeding him, and he’ll come around eventually.”

The conversation carries on like that—simple, easy exchanges that make you feel more connected to him in ways you hadn’t expected. But with every message, every small insight into Zayne’s life outside of his role as a priest, the ache in your chest grows. The attraction you’d hoped would fade has only grown stronger, and now it’s not just about the way he looks or the way his voice makes your heart race. It’s about him—his quiet strength, his thoughtfulness, the way he seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders but still finds time to send you a picture of a stray cat.

You know you shouldn’t feel this way. He’s a priest, and you’re well aware of the boundaries that are supposed to exist between you. You’ve tried telling yourself that it’s just a crush, something that will pass.

But it hasn’t.

Late at night, you lie in bed, staring at your phone, your thumb hovering over the screen as you reread his latest message for the hundredth time. You feel a warmth spread through your chest, a soft ache blooming alongside it—a gnawing longing.

Your set the phone beside you as you exhale, closing your eyes. The ache doesn’t go away. The thought of him consumes you. Every night, it’s the same. You tell yourself not to think about him, not to let your mind wander to those places where it’s dangerous to go, but you’re powerless to stop it.

You imagine his hands—strong yet gentle—the way they would feel against your skin. You think about his lips, how they’d taste, how they’d move against yours, how they’d trail lower. Your body heats at the thought and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties. The room feels too quiet, too still, as your breath quickens, and all you can think of is him.

Every night, you touch yourself to the thought of him. It’s become your secret ritual, a way to chase the frustration and desire that builds up inside you. You picture the way his body would feel pressed against yours, the way his breath would hitch as he gives in, as the control he fights so hard to maintain finally snaps. You can almost hear his voice—low, rough with need—as he murmurs your name, telling you how much he’s wanted you, how long he’s been fighting it.

Your fingers move faster. And just as you reach the edge, teetering on the brink of release, you whisper his name into the darkness, your voice barely audible.

When it’s over, you lie there, breathless, your heart pounding in the silence of your room. The guilt creeps in, just like every night.

During the day, at the shop, you go through the motions—serving customers, smiling, chatting. But your mind drifts back to him, and you wonder –

‘Does he ever think about me like that?’

You think of him during the slow afternoons at the shop, when the world feels like it’s moving on without you. You wonder what he’s doing, if you cross his mind in those rare moments when he’s alone. Or if you’re just another parishioner to him, someone he texts about cats and pastries and nothing more.

The next time your phone buzzes, and you see Zayne’s name light up the screen, your heart skips a beat, followed by that all-too-familiar flutter in your belly. He’s sent another picture of the cat, this time with a playful caption:

“Still no luck with petting him. I think he likes to torment me.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. Warmth spreads through your chest, but the ache follows closely behind.

You type out a response, light-hearted to match his tone. “Maybe he’s playing hard to get. He knows you’ll keep trying.”

The response comes seconds later, “You’re probably right. I’ll keep trying. Maybe one day he’ll trust me.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Sunday mass comes, and you sit quietly in the back, as you’ve grown accustomed to. Zayne stands at the altar, delivering his sermon with the same calm and captivating demeanor. The words, though meaningful, drift over you like a gentle breeze—comforting, yet distant. You can’t help but let your mind wander, your gaze occasionally flitting up to meet his. Each time your eyes find his, there’s a momentary spark, a flicker of something that passes between you.

At first, it’s subtle—a glance, nothing more. But as the moments pass, the weight of his attention seems to grow heavier. His gaze lingers on you for just a heartbeat longer than it should. The words coming from his mouth slow for the briefest second, just enough to notice, before he corrects himself and continues. But the flicker is there, a momentary lapse in the composed, unwavering Father Zayne.

You feel a rush of heat rise in your chest. ‘Is he losing focus because of me?’ The thought sends a thrill through you, though you immediately try to brush it off as wishful thinking. But then, it happens again.

Zayne’s sermon flows smoothly as usual, but this time, when his eyes find yours again, there’s a subtle shift in his expression. His voice falters, just slightly, as if he’s momentarily forgotten his place. He pauses, clearing his throat, his gaze quickly flicking away. You feel your heart pound in your chest, and you know he felt it too—his usual calm shaken, if only for a moment.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. A pair of elderly women seated a few pews ahead of you exchange a glance, their heads turning slightly as if they’re trying to figure out what—or who—might have caused the good Father to stumble. They lean toward each other, whispering quietly, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, a mixture of excitement and guilt flooding through you.

Zayne continues, his voice steady once more, but you can see the subtle tension in his posture now—the way his hands grip the edges of the lectern just a little tighter, the slight crease between his brows as if he’s fighting to regain control. You try to focus on the sermon again, to pull yourself out of this strange, charged moment, but it’s impossible.

When the service ends, and the last of the parishioners trickle out, you step forward, your heart still pounding in your chest. Zayne looks up, and you can tell he’s still unsettled from earlier.

But he smiles. "Good morning," he says, his voice quieter now. "I—uh, hope you enjoyed the service."

You nod, offering him a small smile in return. "I did. Though, I have to admit... I still don’t understand most of it."

Zayne chuckles, "As long as you’re here, that’s what matters," he replies, and for a moment it seems as if there’s more he wants to say but can’t quite find the words.

Before either of you can speak again, you glance toward the doors and realize that, during the service, the skies outside have opened up. Rain pours down, tapping against the windows with a steady rhythm. You curse softly under your breath, realizing you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

"Looks like I’m stuck for a while," you murmur, half to yourself, half to Zayne.

He follows your gaze, then turns back to you with a thoughtful expression. "You don’t have an umbrella?" he asks.

You shake your head, feeling a bit foolish. "No, I didn’t think it would rain today."

Zayne pauses for a moment, as if thinking about something, before he speaks again. "I could walk you home," he offers. "I have an umbrella, and I need to head out anyway. We could talk about the next bake sale on the way."

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of walking alone with him.

"Are you sure?" you ask, though you already know what his answer will be.

Zayne nods, that soft smile returning to his lips. "Of course. It’s no trouble."

And just like that, the decision is made. You follow him to the coat rack near the entrance, where he retrieves a large, dark umbrella. He opens it with a swift motion, then gestures for you to step under it with him. As you do, the two of you step out into the rain, the world around you suddenly feeling smaller.

You walk side by side, the umbrella barely covering both of you, forcing your bodies to press close together. His arm brushes against yours every few steps, the warmth of his presence almost too much, making it difficult to focus on what he’s saying. The scent of rain mingles with the faint hint of his cologne, and it makes your head dizzy.

At one point, your eyes meet again, and for a split second, Zayne’s step falters, just slightly. His words stumble as he’s explaining something about the church’s plans for the sale. He catches himself quickly, but when you glance up at him, there’s a flush of color in his cheeks. And in that moment, you wonder – ‘Is he affected by this as well?’

As you walk, the rain begins to lighten, turning into a soft drizzle, but neither of you rush to part ways. The conversation continues, easy and unhurried, and for a moment, you forget about everything else—the church, the responsibilities, the complicated emotions swirling between you. It’s just the two of you, walking in the rain.

When you finally reach your street, Zayne stops in front of your building.

"Thank you," you say with a smile.

Zayne smiles, that familiar softness in his eyes again. "It was my pleasure."

There’s a brief pause, and for a moment, it feels like something hangs in the air between you. But before either of you can break the silence, Zayne steps back, offering a small nod.

"I’ll see you soon," he says, his voice quiet.

You nod, watching as he turns and walks away. As you head inside, you can’t shake the feeling that the space between you and Zayne is growing smaller with every encounter. You wonder if the boundary between friendship and something more is becoming increasingly blurred.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next day, you couldn’t stop replaying it all in your head. The way he had looked at you, the subtle hesitations in his words, the fleeting touches. You found yourself waiting for a message from him, hoping for a hint that he felt something.

But the message never came.

You tried to brush it off at first. ‘He’s busy.’ The church had its demands, and the bake sale was coming up soon. He probably had a hundred things to take care of. But as the days passed, the silence grew heavier. Each time your phone buzzed, you found yourself hoping it was him, only to feel that familiar stab of disappointment when it wasn’t.

When you finally couldn’t stand the silence any longer, you sent him a message, keeping it casual. You told yourself that it wasn’t a big deal, that he’d reply, and everything would be fine. But when his response came, it was short, almost curt.

Your stomach sank as you stared at the screen. You told yourself you were imagining things, that maybe he was just having an off day. But the pattern repeated itself. Another message from you, another short, impersonal reply from him. It was as if a wall had gone up between you, growing taller with every passing day.

And then there was the shop. Zayne had always made a point of visiting at least once a week, stopping by for a quick chat and dessert. But that week, he didn’t come. Each day, you glanced toward the door, half-expecting to see him walk through it with that quiet smile, but the door never opened for him.

The absence weighted on your mind, leaving you questioning everything. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ you wondered, replaying your last conversations over and over in your head.

You tried to focus on work, on the bake sale preparations, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You thought about sending another message, something more direct. But each time, you hesitated. ‘What if he’s distancing himself on purpose?’ The thought left a hollow feeling in your chest.

By the time the weekend approached, the doubt and confusion had hardened into something else—hurt. You couldn’t understand why he had gone so cold, why the easy warmth between you had turned into this frigid distance.

And as you stood behind the counter of your shop, watching the door and waiting for a familiar face that never came, you realized something. ‘He’s avoiding me.’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Saturday, the church is buzzing with activity. Tables are set up along the hall, covered in pastries, cakes, and breads that you had carefully crafted over the week. The sight of them should be enough to fill Zayne with excitement. He usually enjoyed events like these. Always eager to chat with volunteers, admire the work of the community, and, if he was honest with himself, look forward to seeing you.

But today, as he scans the room, his gaze lingers on the table where your pastries sit, beautifully arranged and ready to be sold. He can feel a flutter of anticipation. ‘She’ll be here.’ he thinks to himself, hoping to see you among the busy volunteers. You hadn’t come to last Sunday’s mass, and even though he had tried to keep his distance, part of him had been looking forward to seeing you today. He hadn’t realized how much he missed your presence until you weren’t there.

But as the minutes tick by, his eyes sweep over the table again, and something unsettling clicks into place. You’re not here. Instead, your two employees are standing behind the table, chatting with customers, offering samples and smiling as they go about their work. The sight of them, rather than you, feels like a punch to the gut.

Zayne takes a deep breath, as he walks over to the table. He exchanges polite greetings with your employees, but his mind is racing. ‘Why didn’t she come?’ He expected you to be here, after all the work you had put into the preparations. He glances around the room again, hoping maybe you’re somewhere else, mingling with the other volunteers. But you’re nowhere to be seen.

The knot in his chest tightens. For the first time in days, the weight of his own silence, his distance, hits him with full force. ‘She didn’t come because of me.’ His guilt, which he had been trying to push down, now rises to the surface. This time, for a different reason. He remembers the unanswered messages, the short replies, the way he had deliberately pulled away, thinking it was the right thing to do.

He moves through the rest of the bake sale with that guilt gnawing at him. Every time he passes your table, he feels the weight of your absence, the emptiness it leaves behind. And though he tries to focus on the event, shaking hands and exchanging small talk with parishioners, his mind is elsewhere—on you, and how he pushed you away with his silence.

As the crowd thins and things begin to slow down, he can’t resist any longer. He approaches your employees again, keeping his tone casual.

“She did an incredible job with everything,” Zayne says, offering a small smile as he glances over the leftover pastries. “I was hoping to thank her in person, though. Is she around?”

One of your employees, a young woman with a friendly smile, looks up at him. “Oh, she’s not here,” she says. “She’s actually out of town right now. I think she’s with her friends for the weekend.”

Zayne’s chest tightens. ‘Out of town?’ ‘With friends?’ The information feels like another blow. He hides his reaction, nodding politely.

“Ah, I see. Thank you both for participating,” he says, his voice a little more strained than he intends.

As he walks away from the table, the guilt intensifies. The thought of you spending the weekend elsewhere, with your friends, leaving the bake sale in the hands of someone else, feels like a quiet rejection. ‘She didn’t want to see me.’ The guilt twists in his chest, tighter and heavier than before.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You stood in your kitchen for a few minutes, debating what to do. You weren’t planning on attending tomorrow’s Sunday mass—again. The thought of sitting there, with Zayne at the altar, pretending everything was normal, made your stomach twist. But the tablecloths. They needed to be returned, and the idea of just dropping them off quickly, quietly, without having to see anyone—without having to see him—seemed like the easiest solution.

You didn’t expect the rain. The sky had been calm when you left, but halfway to the church, the clouds burst open. Within seconds, the rain comes down in torrents, soaking through your clothes as you clutch the tablecloths tighter, your feet pounding against the wet pavement.

By the time you reach the church, you're drenched, the fabric in your arms heavy and useless. Gasping for breath, you push open the door. Your shoes squeak on the stone floor as you step inside, water dripping from your clothes and pooling beneath you. You wipe a hand over your face, trying to gather yourself.

"Hey," a voice calls from deeper within the church.

Your heart skips a beat. You recognize that voice immediately. Of course, it had to be him.

You’re standing there, dripping wet, trying to catch your breath and your bearings when Zayne steps closer, his eyes scanning over your soaked clothes. There’s a flash of concern in his expression, though he quickly tries to mask it with something lighter, a smile playing on his lips.

"You really don’t like carrying an umbrella with you, do you?" he teases softly, trying to ease the tension, and it works—just for a moment. You chuckle, shaking your head.

"I guess not," you manage to say, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your shivering.

His smile fades slightly as he takes in the sight of you, soaked and visibly trembling. “You’re freezing,” he says, his voice gentler now, more serious. “Why don’t you come to the rectory? You can dry off and change into something warm.”

The idea of going to the rectory, the space where Zayne lives, feels like crossing a line, a line you’ve been tiptoeing around for weeks. You shake your head, stepping back slightly. “I’ll just call a cab. I’m just here to return these,” you say quickly, you murmur, gesturing to the tablecloths. "I don’t want to intrude."

But Zayne steps forward, his brow furrowed as he looks you over. "You’re not intruding." he says, his voice more insistent now. "You’ll get sick if you walk back out like this. Please, just let me help."

You look up at him, the concern in his eyes stirring something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to suppress. The rain outside is relentless, and despite your instinct to retreat, you find yourself nodding. "Okay," you whisper.

Relief flashes in Zayne’s eyes, and he nods, stepping aside to lead the way. "Good. Follow me."

Zayne leads you into the rectory, the warmth of his home. He guides you toward a small bathroom. “Take a hot shower,” he says, “I’ll put your clothes in the dryer, and I’ll leave some of my pajamas for you to change into.”

You nod, stepping inside the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

As the hot water runs over your skin, you feel the tension in your body begin to ease, the heat chasing away the lingering chill. You try to focus on the steam rising around you, on anything but the fact that you’re in his home, about to wear his clothes.

When you finally step out of the shower, you glance at the folded set of Zayne’s pajamas waiting for you on the bathroom counter. You slip into them, the soft material comforting against your skin, and can’t help but take in the smell of his fabric softener – fresh, floral scent. As you step out the bathroom, suddenly you’re self-conscious, aware of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. The loose fabric brushes against your skin with every movement.

You walk timidly toward the living room, your heart pounding in your chest. As you step into the room, you find Zayne waiting for you, seated on the far end of the sofa. He’s placed two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits on the coffee table. The room feels intimate, almost too intimate, with just the two of you here, the rain still tapping against the windows outside.

Zayne looks up as you enter, and for a moment, his breath seems to catch in his throat. His eyes widen slightly, and a blush creeps up his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you in his clothes, fresh from the shower. He clears his throat, his gaze quickly dropping to the tea in front of him, but the redness on his face betrays him.

You feel your own cheeks burn in response, suddenly hyper-aware of the way the loose fabric hangs on you. You move quickly to the far end of the sofa, sitting down with careful distance between the two of you.

"Thank you... for the shower," you say. "And for letting me stay while my clothes dry."

Zayne glances at you, his eyes flickering briefly over you again before he focuses on his hands resting in his lap. "Of course," he murmurs, his voice a little strained.

You give him a small smile, wrapping your hands around the warm mug of tea, grateful for something to do with your hands.

Zayne speaks first, before the uncomfortable silence could stretch, “I heard you were out of town,” he says, his voice soft but probing. “What are you doing here?”

His question catches you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to bring it up so directly.

“I was supposed to be,” you say quietly, your fingers tightening around the cup of tea, the warmth barely grounding you. “But... the friend I was supposed to go out with caught a cold. She cancelled last minute.”

The explanation hangs between you, and even though it’s true, it feels flimsy. You look down, staring into your cup. ‘I shouldn’t have come here.’

Zayne’s gaze remains fixed on you, as if he’s waiting for something more. Then, he continues. “And the bake sale?” he asks, “You didn’t come.”

The question lands like a blow. You know why, of course. Your throat tightens as you try to form a response.

“I—uh, I got caught up,” you say, your voice faltering.

You know how weak that lie sounds. But he doesn’t push. Instead his gaze softens as he looks at you. "I’m glad you’re here now," he says quietly.

You stare at him for a moment, his words sinking in, and a small, ironic chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it. "I find that hard to believe,"

Zayne looks at you, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, his brow furrowing slightly as he waits for you to elaborate.

"I thought..." you begin, but then pause, biting your lip as you glance away, trying to gather your thoughts. "I thought you didn’t want me around."

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Your eyes find his and the vulnerability in them makes your chest tighten.

"I’m sorry," he says softly. "For keeping my distance. For... pulling away."

The apology lingers between you, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity behind them, but also the pain. He’s struggling—just as much as you are, maybe more.

"I thought..." he starts, his voice faltering for a second. He pauses, his hand moving to the white collar at his throat. "I thought keeping my distance would help, that it would protect both of us. But it only made things worse."

You swallow hard as you watch him. His fingers linger on the collar for a moment longer before he drops his hand, his eyes filled with a quiet regret. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I started hearing things. Rumors. People talking about... us." The words make your heart skip a beat. "It was like a wake-up call, a hard one." His fingers brush the collar again, this time more deliberately. "That I’m a priest. And I took vows. Vows I can’t break."

You want to say something, anything, to ease the guilt you see in his eyes, but before you can, he continues, his voice even softer now. "But no matter how much distance I try to put between us, you’re always on my mind." He looks away for a second. "Everywhere I go, everything I do... I can’t stop thinking about you."

You don’t know what to say, what to do. Zayne’s vulnerability, his confession of how deeply you’ve affected him, makes the tension between you almost unbearable.

His eyes meet yours again. "You’re everywhere," he whispers, his voice almost breaking. "And I don’t know what to do about it."

Zayne’s words linger in the air, pulling at your heartstrings. You want to say something, to ease the pain, and you don’t know if you can. Not when you’ve been feeling the same way.

"Zayne..." you say softly, "I don’t want to be the reason you’re struggling," Zayne’s gaze drops to the floor, shoulders tense. Seeing him like this makes your chest tighten, but you can’t stop now. There’s too much unsaid.

"But I can’t stop thinking about you either," you confess, your voice trembling slightly. The words make you feel exposed, but it’s the truth you’ve been holding in for so long. "You’re in my thoughts all the time. It’s like... no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, I just want to be near you."

Zayne looks back at you, and you fight every fiber in your body to close the distance between you.

"I care about you, Zayne," you whisper. "And I hate seeing you like this. But I can’t pretend that what I feel isn’t real."

He’s quiet, his breathing shallow as he processes your words. Neither of you has the answers, but in this moment, it’s enough to know that you’re not alone.

"I’ve tried to ignore it," you continue, your voice shaky but honest. "I’ve tried to stay away, to give you space, but..." You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to say what’s been burning inside you for so long. "It’s not just the little things. It’s all of it. The way your touch lingers... even when you barely graze my skin. I keep thinking about it, imagining more, wishing you would... touch me, hold me.”

Your cheeks burn as the words leave your lips. This is it. There’s no turning back now. You’ve held this in for so long. And now, it’s out there between you, impossible to ignore, to pretend it doesn’t exist.

"I want to feel you," you confess softly. "I want to feel your hands on me. I can’t pretend I don’t need this anymore."

For a moment, Zayne doesn’t move. His breath is shallow, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers flex slightly against the fabric of his pants. You wait, breathless, watching him.

"I want to touch you," he whispers finally. "I’ve thought about it more than I should. About how it would feel…” Then, his expression falters, frustration flashing across his face. “But I can’t."

The empathetic side of you understands him completely, and you don’t want to push him. But at the same time, you can’t just let this moment slip away.

Your hand moves instinctively, slowly sliding down your chest in a deliberate motion. "You don’t have to." you murmur.

You don’t wait for him to respond as you reach up, your fingers tracing the top button of the shirt. Then, one by one, the buttons come undone, exposing your skin to the warm air of the room. You hesitate for just a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you look at Zayne. His gaze is fixed on you, the unbuttoned shirt, eyes betraying everything his words deny.

Your fingers slide along the edges of the unbuttoned shirt, and, with a steadying breath, you shrug your shoulders slightly, letting the material slip down your arms. The shirt falls away, delicately sliding off your skin. Your skin is bare now, exposed under the dim light, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Your nipples are hard as the air brushes over your skin.

Zayne’s reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, and you can see the deep flush flood his cheeks and ears. His gaze roams over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, his pupils dilated. He’s stunned, frozen in place, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing—what he’s allowed himself to see.

His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out, to touch you, but he doesn’t. He’s rooted to the spot, his body betraying him with how tightly he’s gripping the sofa, the knuckles of his hand turning white from the force of his restraint. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—he’s completely consumed by the sight of you.

Without another word, you let your hand slide down, your fingers brushing against the waistband of your pants. Zayne’s eyes follow your movements. You pause for a moment, savoring the anticipation. Zayne lets out a ragged breath, his body tensing as he watches you, helpless to do anything but stare. Your fingers tremble as you hook them into the waistband of your pants, eyes never leaving Zayne’s. You push the pants down slowly, the fabric sliding over your legs and pooling at your feet, leaving you sitting in just your underwear.

For a moment, you hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. You give him one last chance to stop you, to pull back before things go any further. "If you want me to leave," you say, your voice low, "you should say it now."

Your words hang in the air, the final chance for him to take control, to push you away. But Zayne says nothing. His lips part slightly, but no words come. He doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t tell you to leave. Instead, his eyes stay locked on yours, his silence a wordless plea for more.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

Your hand slides down slowly, Zayne’s eyes following every move. You let your fingers brush over the front of your underwear, and you know he can see the obvious damp spot, his presence alone having you already soaked through the fabric.

His pupils dilate as he watches, and for a second, you think you hear him let out a soft, involuntary sound—something like a groan—but it’s barely audible. His chest heaves, and his grip on the sofa tightens even more, as if he’s hanging on by a thread.

"I think about you all the time, Zayne," you whisper, your voice trembling. "And when I do... this is how I touch myself." Your hand presses down on the damp fabric. "There’s nothing wrong with this," you continue, your voice silky and sweet. "Not if you just watch."

The words feel like a challenge, a tease. Zayne’s face is a mixture of conflict and desire, but he doesn’t stop you. His eyes are glued to your hand, to the way your fingers move against the fabric of your underwear, his gaze filled with hunger he can’t hide anymore.

Your hand moves in slow, deliberate circles over your underwear, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body, and you let out a soft moan. The sound makes his jaw tighten, and he shifts in his seat, clearly aroused but still holding himself back. His gaze flicks back and forth between your eyes and your body, torn between wanting to pull away and being unable to look anywhere but at you.

Then, finally, his voice breaks the silence. "Take it off," he rasps, his voice trembling with the weight of his words. His eyes meet yours, and there’s no mistaking the command in them now. "I need to see... all of you."

His words send a rush of heat through you, making your entire body tingle. There’s no hesitation in his voice this time. Without a word, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, your fingers trembling slightly as you slowly slide the fabric down your hips. The underwear slips down your legs, falling softly to the floor, leaving you completely exposed before him. You sit there, vulnerable, your skin glistening with arousal. You can feel his gaze on every inch of your body, lingering on your thighs, your hips, and finally, on the slick wetness between your legs.

"You’re... so beautiful." he breathes, his voice barely audible, filled with astonishment and desire. Zayne swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to steady himself. "Show me," he says, his voice low, trembling with desire. "Show me how you touch yourself... when you’re thinking about me."

Your heart races, your entire body flushed with heat as you slowly slide your hand down your stomach, your fingers grazing over your slick skin. You let out a soft moan as you begin to touch yourself, your eyes fixed on Zayne. He’s completely captivated, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he watches you.

Your fingers move with a growing urgency, sliding over the slickness between your folds. The sight of you touching yourself, moaning softly, has him teetering on the edge of his restraint. You’re watching him just as intently as he watches you, and you need to see more.

"Touch yourself too," you whisper softly. His eyes snap up to yours, stunned. "It’s not so bad," you add. "You’re not touching me. We’ll just… watch each other."

Zayne’s jaw clenches. His eyes are locked on yours, a storm of guilt and desire brewing beneath the surface. But then he slowly reaches up and unclasps the white collar at his throat.

For a moment, he holds it in his hand, his fingers trembling as he looks down at the small strip of fabric. Then, with a quiet exhale, he sets it aside on the table beside him. His hands move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, each motion slow, as though he’s still hesitating at the threshold. When he’s halfway down, Zayne pauses, then pulls the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, slipping free, leaving him bare from the waist up.

The muscles beneath his shirt are more defined than you had imagined. Your eyes roam over every line, every curve of his body, taking in the way his chest moves with each heavy breath. He sits there for a moment, shirtless, his collar gone, his identity as Father Zayne falling away along with it.

He’s just a man now—just Zayne.

You swallow hard, your fingers still moving, your own arousal building with each second that passes. "Please," you whisper. "I want to see you. All of you."

Zayne’s hesitation doesn’t linger for long, before he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. Your pulse races as the pants drop to the floor, leaving him in nothing but his underwear, his arousal straining against the thin material. His eyes flick to yours, searching, almost pleading. He’s asking without words—asking if this is what you want, if this is what you’re ready for. And you are.

You nod, biting your lip, your body trembling with anticipation. With a shaky breath, Zayne hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, and you can see the tremor in his hands. But he doesn’t stop. He slides them down slowly, the fabric falling in one fluid motion, leaving him completely naked.

Your breath hitches, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as you take in the sight of him. His erection stands thick and heavy, the tip glistening with need. Every inch of him is raw, masculine, breathtaking. He’s stunning, more than you could have imagined, and for a moment, you’re lost in the sheer power of him—his vulnerability and strength laid bare before you.

Your fingers slide over yourself again, the slick heat of your arousal making you moan softly, your body shuddering from the touch. Zayne’s erection throbs visibly as he watches you. His hand twitches at his side, his body screaming for release, but he waits for you to give him permission, waiting to be told it’s okay to let go.

"Touch yourself," your voice is breathy, filled with need. "Please, Zayne."

His eyes flick between your hand and your face, but then, slowly, he wraps his hand around his length. The sight of him finally surrendering, of his strong hand gripping himself, sends a surge of heat straight to your core. You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your lips as your fingers move faster.

Zayne lets out a low groan, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he strokes himself. The room is filled with the sound of your combined breathing, the soft moans that slip from your lips, the slick sound of your fingers slipping inside your wet entrance. You’re both completely lost in each other now, and there’s no going back.

Zayne’s hand moves slowly, rhythmically over his length, his breathing heavy and uneven as he watches you, his eyes filled with a hunger so intense it makes your pulse race even faster. His breath catches in his throat, and you know he’s still holding back.

“Relax,” you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with warmth. “It’s okay... I want this. You don’t have to hold back.”

Your words seem to wash over him, his eyes flickering with something like relief. His gaze is locked on your body, the way your fingers are soaked with your wetness, the slick sound filling the quiet space between you. His jaw clenches as he tries to steady himself, his hand stroking his length with increasing need.

"You’re... beautiful," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. "God, you’ve been... in my head... in my dreams... almost every night."

His confession makes your squeeze around your fingers, a soft moan escaping your lips. The raw honesty in his voice, makes your body tremble as you teeter on the edge. Your fingers press harder, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you feel the tension in your body building, coiling tight, ready to snap.

You can see he’s close too—his hand moving faster, his body tense with the effort of holding on. But even now, even with his own release so close, his eyes are locked on you, filled with a hunger.

"I want to see you," he whispers, his voice low and rough. "I want to see you... let go. I want to hear you... Please..."

That’s all it takes. His voice, thick with need, and the sight of him on the brink, unravel you completely. Your breath hitches, turning into ragged gasps as pleasure overtakes you, your fingers moving faster, desperate to prolong the sensation as wave after wave crashes through you, each one more intense than the last. And all the while, Zayne watches, his hand moving faster, desperate to join you in the release.

Your breath steadies, your hand still resting on your wet folds, the space between you now feels too wide. "Come closer," you whisper. "I want you closer... please."

The raw need in your voice, the tenderness of your plea, draws him toward you, erasing any hesitation. He hovers over you, kneeling between your legs, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin. His arousal still hard and throbbing, inches away from you, his gaze filled with so much want that it makes your own body heat up again.

"I’m... I’m so close," Zayne gasps, his voice shaking, laced with desperation.

"Let go," you whisper, your voice soft but unyielding. Your eyes lock with his, your breath hitching as you speak. "Let go on me, Zayne."

His eyes widen at your words. He looks conflicted for a moment, as if he’s about to argue, to get up and find something else—a tissue, anything to keep from crossing that final line. But the hunger in your gaze, the trembling of your body beneath him pulls him back into the moment. The sight of your hand sliding over the slickness between your thighs seals his fate. His hand tightens around himself, his strokes quickening as his control shatters.

"Please," you whisper, your soft plea the final push he need.

And then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he finally lets go.

The first hot spurt of his release hits your belly, warm and wet, the sensation eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. His body trembles violently above you, his muscles taut and shaking as his hand moves over himself with desperate need. He groans deeply, the sound raw and primal, as more of his release follows, thick and hot, landing between your thighs, coating your skin. His breath hitches, his body tensing with each spasm of pleasure as he watches the way his release paints your skin. His hand continues to pump his length, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, caught in the overwhelming force of his orgasm.

Zayne closes his eyes as the last drops land on your flushed skin, his body still above yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The air is thick with the weight of what just transpired, but there's no guilt, no regret. His breath is still ragged, your own chest rising and falling with the same uneven rhythm.

When Zayne opens his eyes, they’re soft with awe—filled with pure, unguarded admiration.

"You..." he whispers, his voice rough and shaky, barely able to finish the thought. His eyes trace the glistening trail of warmth he’s left on your stomach, the way it pools between your legs, marking you with the undeniable proof of how far you’ve both fallen. "You’re... perfect."

A soft, breathless smile plays on your lips. "So are you," you murmur back.

For a moment, Zayne just stares at you, his eyes filled with something deeper than words can express. Then, he leans forward, pressing a soft, featherlight kiss to your forehead. The gesture is so tender, so filled with affection, that it takes you by surprise. It feels fragile, like something you both need to hold onto, if only for a little longer.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours again, and for the first time, there’s a sense of peace. Just the quiet aftermath of something real—messy, complicated, but undeniably real.

And for now, that’s enough.

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne smut #love and deepspace smut #zayne x you #lads zayne #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #lnds zayne #lnds #lnds smut

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saetoshi · 5 months ago

Text

i know who my first call will be to — sae misses home more than he thought he would

Itoshi Sae’s heart stays behind in Spain whenever he leaves for overseas matches.

An absurd notion, most certainly. Ridiculous, in every sense that exists to the word. So unbelievable, in fact, that he still has a hard time believing it himself.

Nevertheless, it remains the only explanation behind the ache in his chest whenever he goes to sleep in an empty hotel bed. It’s why his meal times are dull and monotonous; why he finds himself pushing past his bedtime to remain glued to his phone, listening to you recounting your day.

Sae isn’t sure if you know it — how he desperately yearns to remain by your side. And if you do, you’re good at hiding it (he likes to think it’s for his sake).

His grip on his phone tightens just enough, a soft hum rumbling in his throat as he absentmindedly agrees with something you said.

When you lean closer to the screen, Sae nuzzles into his pillow, holding it tight as he pretends it’s you instead. You cup your chin with your hand, looking away as you trail off mid-sentence.

“I miss you,” he says, quiet and soft and so, so unlike himself, filling the faintest gap of silence.

Your eyes flit back, meeting his own through the screen. Sae has to strain to catch the soft exhale that leaves your lips. Then, you smile — gentle and (somehow) pitying at the same time.

“You’ll be home soon enough,” you say, your tone full of warmth.

“I want to be home now,” he replies, almost petulant as the pillowcase slightly muffles his words. His gaze softens when you do. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you whisper, lightly poking the camera in a manner that has him instinctively scrunching up his nose. You tilt your head to the side, studying half of his face as best you can through a phone.

“My flight back is on Saturday,” Sae says, studying your face in return.

“I know. Want me to pick you up?”

“I land around midnight,” he mumbles. “I don’t want to keep you up—”

“Sae.”

The tips of his ears burn, embarrassment painting his cheeks red when your eyes meet. After a beat, he huffs in complaint, his brows furrowing. Still, your gaze softens; and he melts almost instantly.

He sniffles, lightly shifting onto his side. “I want you to pick me up from the airport,” he clarifies, trying to will a little firmness into his voice.

“Hm,” there’s a fuzzy feeling in his chest, fluttering and clinging to every corner at your soft hum. It further roots itself into him when you grin. “I’ll think about it.”

“What’ll it take for you to say yes?” he asks, trying to bite back a smile. He nuzzles into his pillow when you lean back, pretending to be deep in thought.

God, he misses you so bad. He misses being near you with every bone in his body.

“A kiss, maybe. If you want.”

Sae rolls his eyes, fondness buzzing in his chest. “I thought you were going to be more ambitious than that.”

You shrug, nonchalant, “I’ll max out your card when you get home.”

“Mm.” Sae rolls onto his other side, switching his phone to his free hand. “That sounds more like you,” he mumbles, soft.

The corners of his eyes crinkle when you guffaw, quickly defending yourself against his claim. His expression softens impossibly so — he’s sure the press would have a field day if they saw him like this. (Part of him thinks he wouldn’t care if they did; you’re the reason behind it, anyway).

“I wanna go home.”

“You’re staying in France for, like, two more days. You’ll be fine, Sae.”

He rolls his eyes, picking at the edges of his phone case. “Have you washed the bedsheets yet?”

“Yesterday,” you reply, absentminded. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” Sae murmurs, hushed. “Did you use the detergent I like?”

“Yeah?”

He makes a soft noise, “I hope you know I’m collapsing on our bed when I get home.”

“I don’t—”

“And I’m bringing you down with me.”

A soft, amused huff leaves his lips at your expression. His eyes narrow just a little, the action fond and affectionate in nature. When you sputter, Sae scrunches up his nose. He wishes he could kiss the frown off your lips.

“Whatever,” you grumble, softly clicking your tongue. “You’re lucky I miss you.”

“I miss you more,” Sae whispers, soft and gentle and so, so unlike himself. He supposes his demeanor is your fault — his heart turned to mush the moment he gave it to you. The thought is stupid and utterly asinine, truly.

Still, Sae doesn’t mind. He believes it more and more, letting it take root in his soul every time you brighten up at his tender, ‘I love you’s.

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 4 months ago

Text

night out

a/n: we back babyyy!!! i haven't been able to stop thinking about these two for fucking months, so i wrote both this aaaaand another part to wrap up their story and get it out of my system.

summary: “I can’t believe you’re fucking jealous right now…”

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader x ex!peter parker, light 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, bffs kate bishop and yelena belova, french rave, dancing, kissing, over-the-clothes fun, foreplay, references to public sex, choking, manhandling, jealousness, possessiveness, angst, arguments, brat mode activated (though its totally justified), these hoes are not dealing with their emotions in a healthy way but it's just for the sake of yummy drama

word count: 1993

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“I thought we were just going to a cute little wine bar, not a fucking rave,” you yelled over the music as your friends dragged you further into the warehouse.

“Oh, come on, babe,” Yelena boomed, slinking her arm around both yours and Kate's neck, “don’t be a chicken now.”

“Yeah,” your brunette friend on the other side of Yelena tilted her frame to catch your apprehensive eye, “you already sneaked out, so you might as well make it count.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” you groaned, your gaze narrowed to a squint as you got used to the warm flashing lights that dully illuminated the club.

“Then you must always hate me,” a smug smirk spread across her features before the trio of you ventured further into the crowded space.

As the night faded away, you found yourselves bathing in the strobes of neon light as your bodies moved on their own accord, like you were all part of a hive, buzzing together in harmony.

But then when you tapped both of your dancing friends on their shoulders and ushered their ears to lean in close to your lips, you told them, “I’m gonna go get some water,” receiving two thumbs up before you made your way through the crowd to the curved bar in the corner.

However, after the bartender handed you a plastic bottle and you tilted your head back to take a much-needed sip, a familiar voice found your ears from across the bar.

“As I live and fucking breathe,” you tipped the bottle back down and glanced down the way at the unexpected figure moseying closer to where you stood.

“Peter!” a surprised smile couldn’t help but spread across your features, “what are you doing here?”

Settling in beside you, he said, “it’s a Saturday night, where else would I be?”

“No, I mean, what are you doing in Paris?”

“Oh, what, am I not allowed to be in your city anymore since the breakup?” he joked.

“No, of course, you can be here.”

Leaning in even closer so that he didn’t have to yell as loud, he asked, “so how are you doing?”

“Me? I’m good, yeah,” your head bobbed in a nod, “how about you?”

“Can’t complain,” his gaze washed over you as if no time had passed at all, “so… can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you shifted the water bottle to your other hand.

“You seeing anyone?”

“Oh, wow,” you half coughed, “Peter Parker, king of subtlety.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen you naked more times than I can count, so I figured subtlety went out the window a long time ago,” he smirked, “so, are you?”

“I–, uhm…” your eyes averted a moment as you uttered, “no.”

You weren’t, it was true. Though the reason for why you’d sneaked out in the first place did have to do with a matter of the heart.

You’d asked your friends what their advice would be if you hypothetically needed to get over someone. They both of course assumed that you were referring to the man standing before you in the disco and not the person who watched you like a hawk every minute of every day. The method they had suggested wasn’t a sound one, though one that still found you desperate enough to try.

To go out, meet someone else and bang the dude out of your system.

“Can I ask you something else?” Peter asked again, ripping you out of your thoughts, away from your bodyguard and back in the moment. As you offered him a nod, he smiled brightly, “you wanna dance?”

And that’s how you found yourself in the middle of a crowded dancefloor, plastered against your ex.

It didn’t take long before your lips reunited as well, staying locked as you both let your hands wander, though for you it wasn’t entirely in the spirit of rekindling something that you’d missed, and more to help you forget about the person who you truly wished to lose yourself on a dancefloor with.

“Fuck,” you heard Peter groan in your ear and his desperation poked your lower abdomen for the attention you used to give it, “you wanna go slip into the bathroom?”

“Uhh,” you giggled as his lips tickled the side of your neck, “what kinda woman do you take me to be?”

“Mine,” he smiled, “that’s who. I know you. A club bathroom is nothing… remember Amsterdam?”

“Y-yeah, I remember,” your body tingled at the thought.

“That’s also an option, if that’s the kind of mood you're in,” he winked.

Chuckling as he squeezed your tit, you shook your head lightly, “I’m not fucking you here on the dancefloor.”

“Oh, come on, it–”

But the rest of your ex’s sentence was cut short as a figure forced itself between you two and pried you apart.

Instinctively reaching out for Peter as he was forcefully pushed back, your arm then faltered as you blinked up to discover who had shoved him.

“Barnes,” a shiver ran down your spine at the stormy expression plastered all over his face, a side of him you’d never witnessed before, “I–”

But he cut you off, only to bark, “out, now.”

“But I–”

“Do you wanna walk on your own or should I just toss you over my shoulder?” he glared down at you just before you watched Peter’s hand plant itself on Bucky’s broad shoulder.

“Hey, dude, don’t touch her, back off,” your ex tried to square up to the intimidating guard dog.

“No, no, Peter, it’s alright,” you rushed to explain, knowing full well that your bodyguard could and would put him in the hospital, “he’s–…” your eyes briefly flickered up to Bucky’s steely blue eyes, still directed at you, “he’s my bodyguard,” before you let your touch graze Peter’s forearm, “I’m so sorry, it was great seeing you again, but I have to go.”

Getting dragged out of the club like a perp from a crime scene was not the way you’d imagined your night would wrap up.

After he’d virtually tossed you in the back and slammed the car door shut behind you, you fished out your phone and swiftly sent your friends an explanatory text while you half-watched Bucky march around the vehicle to the driver’s side.

The silent treatment he then served you nearly felt worse than the heated words you imagined tumbled around in his head as he fumed, his knuckles nearly turned white from how fiercely he was gripping onto the steering wheel.

But when you finally mustered the courage to break the eerie silence, your words came out just above a whisper, “I’m sorry…”

“Are you?” his eyes snapped up to find yours in the review mirror, “really? Because I don’t fucking buy it.”

“Well, I am!” you threw up your arms, “what do you want me to do?”

“Not sneak out like a fucking teenager to get drunk with your little boyfriend,”

“I’m not drunk and he’s not my boyfriend!”

Not taking any of your words to heart, Bucky went on, “you know how stupid this was, right? What if something had happened, huh? I know you didn’t personally read the threats you got back when I first got this job, but trust me when I tell you that if any of those fuckers had gotten their hands on you tonight, you’d be lucky if you were still breathing when the sun rose. This is exactly the sort of reckless behaviour that caused you to need my help in the first place.”

Your mouth then fell open, utterly stunned at his audacity, “oh my god… you’re unbelievable…” you uttered breathlessly before hazily commanding, “stop the car…”

“No–”

“Stop the fucking car!” you roared, casting your gaze to him once more till you felt his foot step on the break.

As the car screeched to a stop, you wasted no time ripping the door open and storming out.

Though you didn’t dare to look back, you still heard him exit the vehicle as well and shadow you as you wandered a few paces away, just far enough for you to be able to get some air.

“Y/n,” you heard him from just a few meters behind you, “get back in the car–”

But you didn’t shift your feet as you then interrupted, back still turned to him.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking jealous right now…”

“What?”

“Well aren’t you?” you heatedly twisted around to face him, “because it sure fucking looks like it. Getting all fucking possessive, ripping me away from my ex before I can crawl my way back to him, before I get the chance to feel anyone inside of me but you–”

“Stop–”

“Is that it? You just want me all to yourself?” you kept on poking, too blind by your fury to consider the consequences, “you want it to be you that I’m so in love with that I’d make you personalised porn, which would consequently ruin my life and cause me to have a babysitter essentially stalking me.”

“Stop!” he took a step closer as he barked.

“Unless you’ve already seen the tape,” your feet shifted back, keeping him at a distance, “fantasising that it’s for you, getting yourself off to the image of me bouncing on that pretty pink dildo–”

Your sentence then crumbled into a shrivelled yelp as you felt his cold metal hand seize your neck and push you the last few inches up against the brick wall behind you.

His fingers didn’t squeeze you in the slightest, though you still knew just how easy it would have been for him to tighten his grip and turn it into more than just a raging warning.

“You done?” he spat as his eyes pieced directly into your soul, “or do you wanna give me more reasons why you’re nothing more than a spoiled little brat, why I should just quit now and not have to deal anymore with what a fucking pain you are in my ass?”

For the life of you, no attempts at offering him an answer were successful on your lips.

He scared you.

He’d never scared you before.

Both because of the explosion you’d undoubtedly made even worse than it had to be, but also his fleeting threat of leaving you for good.

It all terrified you…

Though, there was also a different sensation that it awoke within you, one that caused your eyes to flutter down towards his lips, an action that your bodyguard surprisingly mirrored as well as your heated breaths synced up.

You had no idea who moved first, if it was you or him, but the next thing you knew, you were kissing him.

With adrenaline still pumping in your veins, you clawed at his broad frame as you let your tongue flicker out and flutter against his own. The steely hand that had locked itself around your neck softened and whisked down your form, mirroring your own starving touch as he securely held you like you were about to fall.

However, just as your palm slid down to find the bulge in his pants, rubbing it needily before your fingers tried to seize the short zipper, Bucky took a large step back, snapping to his senses and creating a wide distance between him and your melted form against the brick.

His eyes refused to meet your foggy ones as he held them to the ground, slowly catching his breath before uttering, “get in the car,” defeat shining through in his low tone.

“Bucky–,” you tried, but without success as he then cut you off.

“Please, just–…” his gaze fluttered shut a moment as you then heard him sombrely promise, “look, I’ll make sure your mom doesn’t hear word of what happened tonight. If we go now, then we’ll arrive before any of the staff wakes up, no one will notice.”

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tojikai · 1 year ago

Text

SUNDERED

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Sundered+ (COMMISSION)

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments

word count: 3.2k

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo intentionally runs into you when you’re buying groceries just to show you his girlfriend. The woman was your classmate from high school. At the first meeting, she was shy and tried avoiding your gaze but Satoru just had to call you and ask something about your daughter. Completely unnecessary but he’s just that much of a jerk. Once was considered an accident. But when it happened two, then three times, you already know that you have to change your shopping schedule.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo picks up his daughter from your house an hour late, rubbing on your face that he overslept because he spent “some time” with his girlfriend last night. Distasteful and disrespectful, but you let it slide cause he seems happy. You don’t want to be a killjoy, right? You were never his girlfriend, to begin with. Just someone he got pregnant from a one-night stand.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo posts pictures of his day out with his daughter online. His girlfriend carrying your kid as the three of them wear matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse headbands. You could only scroll past and continue your work to busy yourself. Maybe you should stop lurking around social media and just use your phone for important messages. Maybe you should also lose feelings for someone who never harbored genuine ones for you in the first place.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo always lets his girlfriend open the door for you when you’re picking up your daughter from his house on weekends. He leans back on the couch, watching you grab your daughter’s things, opening his arms to cuddle with his girlfriend before you even get to walk out the door. It made you feel pathetic and small but what can you do? There’s simply no place for you in that house.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo insists that you spend more time together for the sake of your daughter. You agreed to it and now, you had to sit in the back of the car with your daughter as he drives his girlfriend to work. It made you feel sick and nauseous that you were only able to spend half a day with them before you decided to go home and sleep the day away. Maybe when you wake up, you’ll find it in you to hate him.

“Mommy? Call her, love.” Gojo used a higher voice to encourage his daughter to call you. He knows that he was foul for what happened earlier. But what is he gonna do? He can’t reject his girlfriend’s request, plus it was only a ride. It’s not like she was with you for the whole day. Still, he doesn’t think it’s the reason why you left early. You might be feeling…tired. Even if it was Saturday yesterday and you have no work. You might still feel fatigued on Sunday, right?

“Mama!” The little girl mimicked pointing upstairs. Satoru sighed placing her little bag on a nearby chair as he made his way upstairs. He figured that if you’re still asleep, he could just wait for you to wake up and just look after his daughter here. You’re a single mother for 4 days a week, and on top of that, you also have work. You literally don’t have time to rest. He told himself that he needs to stop messing around just to get a reaction from you.

Reaching your room, Satoru knocked on the door three times, calling out your name when you didn’t answer. “Wait a second.” You voiced out from the other side, “I’m just gonna call my mom, can you wait for her?” You suppressed a cough at the end of the sentence but it didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. “Are you sick? I could take her back to my house, we’ll look after her until you feel better. ” The suggestion made your stomach churn. They get to play house with your kid and here you are, being miserable.

You shook your head, realizing how bitter you sounded. She wasn’t unkind in any way to your baby but something in you hurts when you think of them giving your daughter the family experience that you cannot provide. You and Satoru tried to work things out but you just can’t get on the same page. Instead of trying to be better for you and your daughter, he decided to fuck around and date someone else instead.

You wouldn’t say that your name was clean. What with a couple of threats such as finding someone who could act right. You just didn’t think that he’d really leave. It hurt but now you’re getting yourself used to the feeling. Maybe he just couldn’t act right with you. Because why is he so good with his girlfriend now? She tamed him, as he once boasted to you during a fight.

“I’m stuck with a child that I have with you, but not with you.” He pointed out, leaving a searing pain in your chest. “There’s no way I’m letting that happen.” Tears were starting to form in your eyes as the words come out of his mouth. How could he say something so cruel to you, the mother of his child? All you did was tell him that his girlfriend was getting kind of too much after she told you what to do with your child. And now he’s making you the villain.

“I just told her that—” You tried to explain, voice starting to shake. “If that’s all you did, she wouldn’t come to me crying, Y/N.” You just can’t believe that you’re fighting over this. You already have so much to think about and now this, you also have to be cautious about his girl. “She told you herself, I just didn’t want her telling me how to raise my child!”

“Of course, she wouldn’t tell me that you’re being harsh to her. Unlike you, she’s actually kind and considerate of other people’s feelings.” You looked down, letting out a strangled sob escape your throat before quickly wiping away the forming tears in your eyes as you turn away from him. Why was he never this defensive of you? He didn’t even try to fight for you when his girlfriend convinced him to take your daughter with them on a trip. Without your permission.

And now he’s talking as if you’ve been nothing but a disturbance in his relationship with her. Everything's just unfair. Yet, you just let it slide because you wanted nothing but peace for your baby. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you anymore, Satoru. You’ve said enough.” You sniffed, walking to your daughter’s room to check if the noises woke her up. Satoru was left standing there, processing all the things that he said.

He watched you disappear into the dark hallway of your apartment, shoulders shaking with your head hung low. Even if he can’t see your face, he can tell that you’re crying and it made him feel like shit. He went overboard, didn’t he? “Fuck.” He threw his keys on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to apologize but at the same time, he wanted to prove his point. His girlfriend was only trying to help and you took it the wrong way.

At that time, Satoru thought that maybe she was right. You’re just getting kinda jealous that she could spend time with your daughter and Satoru more and now you’re being too sensitive, letting out your irritation on her. She said that it was a natural feeling for a mother to feel that way but Satoru can’t let you treat his girlfriend like shit just because of your pettiness and jealousy. You have to learn to adjust and accept that some things are gonna be the way they are because of your setup.

As for you, you felt hurt. Neglected even when you know that you’re not supposed to receive as much attention, much less protection from him. His priority is your child, but not you. You have no choice but to talk and work everything out with them for the sake of your daughter. You know that you could start dating someone of your choice but you wished that it would be that easy. You just want to focus on your daughter and if you’re gonna find someone, you want them to love her as much as you do.

You wonder what you lacked that couldn’t soften him the way he did to her. You started to think that you’re the problem and that is why you couldn’t fix him as easily as she did.

You stood up, opening the door for him seeing your two-year-old reach out to you. “Mama’s sick, love, sorry.” You covered your mouth, blinking away the heaviness in your eyes. Satoru watched you pack your daughter’s things. “If you’re gonna be busy, just tell me. I’ll just contact Mom. She can be with you for a few days, just until my cold is gone.” You murmured, counting the diapers to put in her baby bag.

You don’t want to be away from her, but letting her stay with you when you’re like this puts her at risk and that’s the last thing you want. You can’t stand seeing your daughter through pain and you’re pretty sure it’s the same for his dad. Begrudgingly, you placed the bag in front of Satoru before reaching over for her favorite toy. You smiled at how she squealed when she saw it.

“You know we’re never too busy to take care of her. Just rest, so you’ll get better soon.” You swallowed, nodding your head slowly as you thought of what else they should take. “Yeah, I’ll be picking her up.” You kept your distance from her, sitting down as you felt your head spinning a bit. “Do you...do you have medicine, though? I could get some if you want,” Satoru can tell that you’re really sick and despite his situation with you, he can’t just let you be when you’re like this. You’re still the mother of his child.

“No, it’s fine. I have some here. Just take care of her.” Your voice was hoarse and your daughter was starting to reach out for you again as if sensing that something was wrong so you urged Satoru to get going. “Be good, okay?” You waved as she watched you with her curious eyes but waved back, nonetheless. You wouldn’t admit it but you feel envious that they could be happy together with her. You’re afraid that one day she’ll prefer being with them over you.

As for your feelings for Satoru, you hated thinking or talking about it. You’re obviously in love with him, but you wouldn’t acknowledge that yourself, either. You fought too much, you hurt each other too much. Other than that, there’s no point for your feelings now that he has someone he really loves and truly cares about.

You never experienced the boyfriend-girlfriend stage with Satoru. It’s like one day, you just woke up and you’re already parents. You can’t blame him for not having real feelings for you. You do your best to be as civil to them as you can be but sometimes his girlfriend’s just out of bounds. And after a couple of painful fights with Satoru regarding her, it just became too much for you.

You’re just tired of feeling like a wedge to someone’s healthy relationship. That’s how Satoru makes you feel and you just can’t take any ache from that.

Another thing that you deny to yourself is the hope that you might fix this all. There are always what-ifs in your mind, and you would never tell Satoru about them. He’ll probably laugh at you and your threats that you’re gonna be with someone who truly makes you happy. You would never destroy his relationship just because yours didn’t work. If you have to cover your eyes, look away and pretend to be deaf every time they’re around you, you would.

You often think about what it would be like if he settled down with his girl; if they decided to get married and have a family of their own. You don’t want your daughter to feel left out. You don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have her own family in the middle of them. You also wondered if you’d have moved on by then. You hope so. You don’t want to be this pitiful and heartbroken forever.

------------------------------

After a couple of days, you’re finally feeling well. You got up early and sent Satoru a text that you’ll be picking up your baby in a few hours. You missed her and her giggles so much. The house was clean during the past days but you very much prefer it to be messy, as long a she’s there. You’ll never mind getting up in the middle of the night or waking up extra early for her.

Arriving at Satoru’s residence, you rang the doorbell as you waited patiently for someone to open the gate for you. You were hoping that it would be your baby girl, extending her short, chubby arms to you but instead, it was Satoru’s girlfriend. “Come in, she’s still playing inside.” She smiled at you, opening the metal door wider. “Thanks, I messaged Satoru that I was coming to pick her up. Is she ready?” You asked her as you walked to their front door.

“She is, but she’s kinda fussy about it. Satoru bought her a huge playpen and she just wouldn’t get out of it. She’s enjoying a lot.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and you can’t help but feel conscious of how you look. Opening the door, you were welcomed by the sight of Satoru lying down with his daughter in the said enclosure. She was fiddling with a toy as they watched on the big screen.

Her favorite toy was at the corner, and for some reason, it left a pang in your chest.

“Sweetie, someone’s here for you.” You hated the way she phrased it but you know that she doesn’t mean for it to be offensive or rude to you. The little girl looked up with her binky in her mouth, blinking before smiling at you. “Oh, you’re already here. She wouldn’t let me out of the playpen.” Satoru explained, probably thinking that you didn’t appreciate that it had to be his girlfriend opening the door for you.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” This place always made you feel like you’re an outsider. Probably because you are and it didn’t help that they’re making you feel like it. “Mama!” She waved at you, pointing at the screen as she sat down. “That’s a nice show, love. Maybe we could just continue watching it at home?” You know that she doesn’t have a big playpen there. The screen isn’t that big, either. She suddenly lied back down, whimpering as she kicked her tiny feet. You felt like telling her that you’d work hard to buy her that too.

She doesn’t want to go home yet and that’s what you feared.

“Baby, mom’s here. She missed you.” Satoru called out but to no avail. He came to lift her up, trying to see if she was just being too lazy to get up. Her eyes were glued to the television as she sucked on her pacifier. She was too into it, pointing the show to everyone before smiling at you. Oh, how you missed that smile. “Let’s go, now.” You cooed at her, softly clapping your hands.

When you tried to reach for her as Satoru leans her close to you, she started wiggling around. “Down, Mama! Wait.” Her cute language never ceases to make your heart swell with joy despite the fact that she’s trying to get away from you. She runs away, stopping to look around before going to Satoru’s girlfriend and hugging her leg. She was in awe when she picked up your daughter.

So… she’s who your daughter’s referring to by…Mama. You could almost hear your heart shatter at the realization. Since when did she start calling her Mama?

“You don’t wanna go home yet? But Mom’s here.” She talked in her baby voice and you don’t know if you’re gonna be happy that she treats your daughter really well or jealous that she came running to her when she don’t want to do something. Satoru went up to them, leaving you standing a few meters away. You don’t like what you’re seeing aside from your daughter.

“It’s not good to ignore Mama.” Satoru tapped her nose with his finger which she cutely swatted away, eliciting a chuckle from him. “Y/N, I was thinking… maybe I could just, uh, take her home later in the day. This playpen just arrived yesterday and you know how kids are…” He laughed nervously, struggling to find a nice way to say that your daughter won’t be coming home yet.

“Yesterday, I was joking about giving her playmates and she was so excited, she was running around.” His girlfriend giggled as she shared. It was a simple story yet it was a thorn to your heart. Why does it seem like your every nightmare is coming to life? You just smiled at her, understanding that she was talking about giving your daughter siblings. Satoru was silent, but you didn’t dare look at his face. You know that it’s in their future plans and you don’t have to see him smiling about it too.

“That’s adorable..” You don’t know what else to say, so you just nodded your head slowly, blinking quickly so as to bring yourself back to reality. His place was huge compared to your apartment. The playpen looks so much more comfortable than the crib she has at your place. She has new toys and a mom and dad by her side. So, now she doesn’t want to leave. Suddenly, you can feel the weakness in your knees from when you were sick starting to come back. You cleared your throat as you straightened yourself.

“J-just take her home later. I, uh, bought something for her.” You lied, knowing that you still have to go looking for something you can buy for your lovely child. You wanted to snatch her away from Satoru’s girlfriend, her other mom, but the giggle flowing out of her lips are too precious for you to ruin; the smile on her face as she tickled her tummy was too priceless. Look at them, you told yourself as you started to feel farther and farther away from their little world. They’re a picture of a happy family.

“I’ll see you later, honey…” You whispered, giving her head a pat as she looked up at you with her big, cerulean eyes. You didn’t wait for any of them to walk you out, you just let your feet take you out of their home, not daring to look back for the fear of breaking down. Your fingers tremble along with your lips and the tiny droplets of rain felt like acid on your skin. Maybe what they say was true. We experience people differently.

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

#angst #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk #jjk x reader

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goldfades · 2 months ago

Text

ROOKIE ─── PAIGE BUECKERS

request: "paige's gf and she insists on teaching her basketball—even though she's terrible at it. paige spends half the time “coaching” her (aka being flirty) and the other half laughing when she completely miss the basket"

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here—standing under the hoop on a Saturday afternoon, gripping a basketball like it’s some foreign object you’ve never encountered before.

In your defense, sports have never been your thing. You’re more of a cheer-from-the-bleachers, snack-at-halftime, maybe-ask-what-a-three-pointer-is-later kind of person. And yet, here you are, because your girlfriend, Paige—decided today was the day you’d “learn the fundamentals.”

“Okay, baby, it’s easy,” she says, her voice brimming with the sort of confidence only someone who’s mastered the art of the crossover can pull off. She spins a ball on her finger effortlessly, her grin teasing but somehow still the softest thing you’ve ever seen. “All you gotta do is aim and shoot. No pressure.”

You squint up at the basket. It feels like it’s a mile away. “No pressure?” you deadpan, bouncing the ball once and grimacing when it doesn’t exactly obey. “Do you even know me?”

Paige snickers, sidling closer until she’s standing next to you, her hand on your hip. She’s wearing her usual practice gear: baggy shorts, sneakers laced tight, and a loose shirt that somehow still manages to hint at the muscle underneath. It’s honestly unfair how good she looks while being this annoying.

“Listen,” she says, her tone shifting into something that almost passes for serious. Almost. “I know you. I also know you’re fully capable of putting this ball in that hoop if you just focus and stop looking at me like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

You glance at her, and she’s smirking now, like she knows she’s caught you. Which, to be fair, she has. “First of all,” you mutter, turning back to the basket, “I do want to be here. Second, you’re distracting.”

“Am I?” Her voice is teasing, but you don’t dare look again. You already know she’s doing that thing where she cocks her head just a little and raises her eyebrows like she’s so impressed with herself. “Want me to step back so you can concentrate, rookie?”

“No,” you reply, huffing. “But if you call me rookie one more time, I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna what?” Paige interrupts, leaning down just enough so her lips are by your ear. Her voice drops an octave, and you swear you can feel her grin against your skin. “Miss the basket again?”

You groan, shoving her lightly with your elbow, but the weight of her hand on your hip doesn’t budge. She’s laughing now, full and bright and utterly unapologetic, and despite your best efforts to stay annoyed, you can’t help but crack a smile.

This is going to be a disaster. You can feel it.

You take a step back, spinning the ball once between your hands, trying to look like you’ve got some semblance of control. You absolutely do not. It’s slippery and awkward, and you’re already regretting agreeing to this. Paige watches you with the intensity of a coach but the playfulness of a girlfriend who knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Alright, babe, let’s see what you’ve got,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning back on her heels, all casual and amused. She looks entirely too comfortable with the idea of watching you embarrass yourself.

You square your shoulders and look up at the hoop again, trying to remember the quick, nonsensical explanation Paige gave you about form and aim. Something about “elbows in,” “flicking your wrist,” and “imagining you’re putting cookies in the oven.” Honestly, she lost you after “elbows.”

Paige steps closer, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the court. “Okay, pause,” she says, gently placing her hands on your shoulders to adjust your stance. Her touch lingers a little too long to be entirely innocent, and you glance at her, catching the faintest flicker of her teasing grin. “You’re holding the ball like it’s gonna explode. Relax.”

You loosen your grip, if only slightly, and she takes a step back, nodding approvingly. “Much better. Now, bend your knees. Remember, this isn’t a free throw contest, it’s a rhythm thing. Like dancing.”

“Dancing?” You give her a skeptical look. “You’ve seen me dance. That’s not helping your case.”

“True,” she says, laughing. “But at least you don’t step on anyone’s toes here.” Her hand brushes your lower back, the contact brief but enough to send a little jolt through you. She always does this—throws you off-kilter just enough to make you forget what you were supposed to be doing.

You shake your head, focusing on the hoop again. “Alright, alright. I’m doing it.”

“You’re doing it,” Paige echoes, stepping back into your peripheral vision, her hands on her hips like she’s supervising. “Visualize it going in. Manifest it.”

“Manifest it?” you deadpan. “Are you a basketball player or a yoga instructor?”

“Both, apparently,” she shoots back, laughing again. “Come on, just throw it already.”

You take a deep breath, bend your knees, and, in one fluid (well, semi-fluid) motion, you shoot. The ball arcs through the air in what you think is a promising trajectory… only to miss the basket entirely and bounce harmlessly off the backboard. It rolls lazily away, as if to add insult to injury.

Paige absolutely loses it. She doubles over, clutching her stomach as laughter spills out of her. It’s loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that’s so contagious you almost forget why she’s laughing in the first place. Almost.

“Don’t laugh,” you say, but your own voice wobbles with the threat of a giggle. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Paige straightens up, wiping at the corner of her eye dramatically. “Babe, you hit the backboard so hard I think it just filed for workers’ comp.”

“Wow, okay,” you say, rolling your eyes but failing to hide your grin. “This is why I don’t play sports.”

“Oh, come on.” Paige retrieves the ball with a few quick strides, tossing it effortlessly between her hands as she makes her way back to you. She stops just in front of you, holding the ball out. “You’re doing fine. You just need more practice.”

“And by practice, you mean you laughing at me until I cry?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” she says with a grin that’s entirely too charming to argue with. “Now, let’s try again. But this time…” She steps behind you, wrapping her arms around you and placing her hands over yours on the ball. “I’m gonna guide you.”

Your breath catches slightly as she leans in, her voice soft and close to your ear. “Okay, elbows in. Knees bent. Don’t think too hard about it. Just feel it.”

It’s a miracle you’re even upright at this point, let alone holding the ball. Her voice is low and encouraging, her arms warm and steady around you, and suddenly, basketball doesn’t seem so terrible.

“Now,” she murmurs, her hands shifting just enough to nudge yours into position. “Shoot.”

You do, and this time, the ball actually arcs in a somewhat respectable manner. It hits the rim and bounces off, but it’s a lot closer than before.

“Progress!” Paige announces, stepping back with a proud smile. “You’re getting there, rookie.”

You groan. “Stop calling me rookie!”

“Never.” She’s already picking up the ball again, twirling it on her finger like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “One more time. Let’s see if we can actually make one.”

“Fine,” you say, holding out your hands. “But if I make this shot, you owe me something.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise, her smile turning playful. “Like what?”

“I don’t know yet,” you say, taking the ball and narrowing your eyes at the hoop. “But I’m thinking something big.”

Paige laughs, leaning against the pole of the hoop, her gaze fixed on you. “Deal. But if you miss… I get to call you rookie forever.”

You shake your head, fighting back a smile. “No pressure, right?”

“Exactly,” she says, her grin widening. “No pressure at all.”

You focus on the hoop again, blocking out everything except the promise of finally making this shot—and maybe wiping that smug grin off Paige’s face. With newfound determination, you bend your knees, grip the ball like you actually know what you’re doing, and take the shot.

Time slows down for a second. The ball soars in a near-perfect arc, hits the rim… and bounces around it once, twice, before dropping cleanly through the net with a satisfying swish.

For a moment, you just stand there, stunned. Then it clicks: you made it. You actually made it.

“Oh my god!” you squeal, throwing your hands up in triumph. “Did you see that? I made it! I actually made it!”

Before Paige can even respond, you’re hopping around the court like you just won a championship game. Your excitement is entirely disproportionate to what just happened, but you don’t care. You’re too busy celebrating your hard-won victory, flailing your arms and spinning in a little circle.

Paige leans against the hoop, watching you with a mixture of amusement and adoration. “You’d think you just scored the game-winner at Madison Square Garden,” she teases, but the softness in her voice gives her away.

“This is my moment, Paige!” you shoot back, still grinning like a fool. You stop hopping just long enough to grab her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. “I made it! I’m a basketball prodigy now. Bow down!”

She laughs, her hands coming up to rest on your waist. “Alright, Michael Jordan, calm down.”

You narrow your eyes at her, playful and determined. “No, you don’t get to laugh. I deserve a reward for this. A big reward.”

Paige arches a brow, her lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, do you now? What kind of reward are we talking about?” Her voice dips into that suggestive tone that always makes your heart skip a beat.

You tap your chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… how about… lunch? I’m starving. And since I’m the champion now, you get to go buy it for me.”

Paige blinks, her smirk faltering. “Lunch?”

“Yup,” you say cheerfully, stepping back and crossing your arms. “From that cute little sandwich place I like. You can’t say no. I earned this.”

Paige stares at you, her expression torn between disbelief and fake betrayal. “You just made the shot of your life, and this is what you ask for? A sandwich?”

“What did you think I was going to ask for?” you counter, cocking your head.

She shrugs, her tone casual but her grin anything but. “I don’t know. Maybe a kiss. Or maybe some leg-shaking, world shattering head.”

“Paige!” You shout at her language, rolling your eyes, though your cheeks heat up at the suggestion. “I just exerted all my physical and emotional energy making that shot. I need food first. Priorities.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face in mock despair. “You’re killing me here. Fine. But only because I’m impressed you actually made it.”

“Damn right you’re impressed,” you say, puffing out your chest dramatically. “Now go. And don’t forget the extra pickles!”

Paige shakes her head, laughing as she jogs off toward the parking lot. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. You owe me, rookie!”

“Never!” you call after her, grinning as you watch her go.

You sink onto the court, still buzzing with excitement. Sure, basketball might not be your thing, but moments like this? With her? You could get used to them.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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eowynstwin · 3 months ago

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John Price x Reader. Fluff. Implications of a BDSM relationship.

At some point in the evening—for you, anyway, since when you answer the call it’s clearly midday for him—John finds the time during his latest deployment for a video chat.

He looks a little haggard when the call connects, face reddened across his nose and cheekbones and dark circles under his eyes. He brightens when he sees you, though, crows feet deepening.

“There’s my dove,” he says fondly, the rasp of his voice low and soft. His beard is growing out, curly and dark in the artifacting of the camera.

“There’s my captain,” you return, smiling.

“What day is it for you, there?” he asks, sitting back, getting comfortable.

“Saturday,” you answer.

“Mmm,” he hums, as if it’s the nicest thing he’s heard all day. Probably is, really. “Tell me about it.”

You do; John always likes to hear about your days, when he’s far away. The tiny adventures, the workplace dramas, the little pleasures and minor catastrophes of normal civilian life. Keeps him balanced, he tells you; reminds him there are other parts of his life aside from the job, and the work.

You show him the embroidery project you’re close to finishing, the little window hinges you bought at the craft store for the miniature apartment you’ve been building from a kit. It’s the same one that he always half-complains about being spread over the kitchen island when he’s home, and you always remind him that he doesn’t have much room to complain; he bought you the kit on a whim, after all, without your even asking.

At one point the door starts opening behind him—he’s posted up in a large tent, empty bunks behind him—and he quickly covers the camera with his hand. He mutes you for a moment, then comes back.

“Only got a few more minutes, sorry,” he says, refocusing on you. “And—y’didn’t mention that other project, I noticed.”

You suck your lips between your teeth, effecting ignorance. “Hm?”

“The writing one.”

As always, nothing escapes him.

“So here’s the thing,” you say, strangling the fingers of one hand with the fingers of the other, “the bathroom is so clean now, John.”

“Dove.”

“And I finally ordered my new glasses, you know, like I’ve been meaning to for months, and you keep reminding me about.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose between two broad fingers, eyes sliding shut like you’ve just told him that some important intel has gone bad. “How long have you been working on this.”

“I don’t think that’s important,” you squeak.

One blue eye opens, piercing you. Humor sparks in its depths, though when he speaks, his voice is gruff, every bit as commanding as when he gives orders to his men. “I need to go,” he says, “so here’s the deal I’m gonna offer you. If that draft isn’t done by the next time I speak to you, then when I get home I’ll put you over my knee and tan your arse until you’re crying. Understood?”

Your voice has retreated somewhere down your throat, hiding very far beyond your trembling vocal cords. “Yes sir, understood,” you manage to peep.

His other eye opens, and he smiles affectionately. “There’s a love.”

#true story #lol y’all are gonna hunt me down it’s not even that long of a one shot…like 4k max #price x reader #mwritesprice #madi writes #captain john price #john price #price cod #john price x reader

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artinvain · 3 months ago

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in the midsts of hellfire (pt 1) (wc: 3.2k)

pit fighter!vi x reader & sevika x reader

cw: angst and toxic relationship (with vi). smut

the days had blended into a blur for Vi. she knew pain and it was the only thing that kept her sane. every time she sees a flash of blue hair in the crowd she allows her opponent a chance to get her mouth bloody. when she heard the soft lilt of cait’s voice the punch to her gut doesn’t feel like much but it knocks her on her ass and she loses the fight. except vi doesn’t hear the bell toll signaling the end of her match.

her ears are ringing with the sound of the bomb powder had set off - to kill her. powder, her pow hated her - what had she done? vi doesn’t realise she’s screaming maniacally, tears staining her cheeks as she picks a fight with her opponent. and because it’s the pits - she can and since her opponent is willing - the game continues.

it’s gorey, her back tooth is knocked loose. she pops some blood vessels in her opponent's eye. her hair is matted with blood to her forehead and when she stumbles into your apartment she finally collapses into your waiting arms.

in her new reality vi had allowed herself only two pleasures - sex and the comfort of a home. she hadn’t bargained for her feelings to grow so exponentially, though she never told you about her past, how it haunted her. and looking up at you as you worry over her, she realised that there could be a time where she tells you that she loves you and truly means it.

you are the prettiest girl in the undercity without a doubt, a flower anyone would love to pick and for some reason you had settled for vi. she still questions you - whether or not you were really on her side. sometimes she waits in the evenings with baited breath for enforcers to barge your door down and take her away. almost every night she imagines it's caitlyn that is at your door.

though looking over at you now, your eyes flitting around under your eyelids, your skin dewy with the heat of vi’s body so close to yours, god she regrets ever dragging you into her shit, you didn’t deserve to be second place to anyone. vi could appreciate how great you were, but she promised herself she would never let her love break anyone else. and yet, here she is, about to do it again.

“baby,” she whispers, her calloused hands brushing your cheek and easing you awake with kisses to your neck and jaw. “I need you, please wake up” she breaths into your ear, her lips tasting yours before you can interject and still you do -

“are you sure?” your voice laced with sleep and still under that - lust. she wondered how it is that you managed to care so deeply for her when she was so withholding.

“I’m patient,” you had told her when vi said she wasn’t ready for a relationship. you waited for months for her, let her cry in your arms. you let her tell you about her exploits - she was trying to make you jealous and when she had enough - vi came home to you and let you have her.

“I’m sure,” she breathes, clambering between your legs as you open them for her. “I love you,” she chokes out between kisses to your throat and it’s all you need to let go. vi rarely said it and to you, that meant when she did say it - she really meant it - really needed you. so you let her have you.

In the morning you wake up to a note pinned down by a small bag of coins.

“gone back to pits, buy something nice,”

you rolled your eyes - even on a saturday, vi remains relentless.

you take yourself to the last drop after your shift and you’re glad it’s still empty considering it was a saturday afternoon. it always was when you and sevika planned to meet. you didn’t know sevika had bought out half the bar so that it was emptier for you. she knew you hated crowds and she didn’t want half of zaun oogling at you - as if you didn’t get that enough on a daily basis. no one would know she did it because she was jealous, she didn’t want a full bar dividing your attention between her and the rest of the world. nor did she want her men to see how her eyes softened around you.

The two of you were unlikely friends, that is because sevika isn’t really friends with anyone but you. sevika adored you, the only girl who actually made her laugh, you were the only girl who looked at her like you wanted to hear what she had to say - not because you were afraid or being paid. sevika’s soft spot for you deepend every time she saw you.

when you plop down beside her in the booth, she lets you see a small smile. her stretched lips showing off the tiny gap between her teeth you often told her made her so pretty. no one ever called sevika pretty and it made her blush every single time.

“you smell nice,” she whispers, handing you a joint and lighting it for you as you bring it to your lips. “I smell like kitchen grease, which is incredible because i don’t even work in the kitchen,” you laugh and sevika exhales gently through her nose. “still smell like flowers,” she mutters and before you can reply - “how’s vi,” sevika spits her name like it’s hot ash in her mouth.

you were well aware of sevika’s dislike of your girlfriend though she never explained it to you and vi never liked to talk about sevika. Of course she had wanted you to stay away from “the scariest lady in zaun” but if she didn’t listen to your warnings about getting her face beaten in every day. you decided you didn’t need her approval on who to trust.

sevika masked her dislike for vi with the fact that you always seemed so sad because of her. not because she was head over heels in love with you. of course, vi had no idea you were so close with sevika and sevika used that to her advantage. she could be a sounding board for all your relationship issues and all it did was give sevika material on how to be a better girlfriend to you. because there was no way sevika was letting this shit go on any longer.

“she’s fine - she’s just -”

“absent? was she mean when she got back from the pits again this time?” sevika grunts and passes you the joint as you scoff at her. Even though she didn’t treat you right your eyes told her how much you cared about her. she wondered if you would look at her differently after she’s done with vi.

“no vika, that doesn’t happen that often-”

“but it happens” sevika interrupts you and doesn’t back down when you give her a look. “I hate what she does to you,” she continues.

“I don’t know why she treats you the way she does, but you don’t deserve it bunny,” sevika smiles when you stop scowling. you loved it when she called you that, curled her arm around your shoulder like she is. It made you feel safe and allowed you to be fragile as you were. and every time you sink into her chest, it takes all your strength not to let those feelings bubble over. the one’s you’d been denying since the moment you met sevika. you swallow down your guilt at the way your heart flutters when sevika gently caresses your cheek.

sevika knew it would break your heart, to hear the enforcers banging on your door - see the way that vi looks at caitlyn when they finally find each other again. at first sevika wanted to turn vi over to regular enforcers and see her shut in a cell again - serves her right for getting out and trying to turn zaun upside down.

it pissed sevika off - vi on her high horse as if she had never done a bad thing to survive. she waltzed in and halted sevika’s plans to turn zaun around with her anger and childish violence. If the girl had taken even a moment to talk to sevika then she would have known that the brutish woman had a plan to save her home after all.

“I know you don’t like her, but thank you for always hearing me out,” you say, taking sevika’s hand and now she’s no longer thinking about vi. only how supple your hand in hers is, the look of your soft lips as they shape her name.

“I’d do anything for you bunny,” sevika noses your forehead and gingerly presses a kiss there. your breath hitches, your face rising to look up at sevika as she looks down at you. sevika can heart her heart pumping in her ears, her face heating with need and your proximity.

��I love you,” sevika says softly, she’d never said it before, to any other woman and she doesn’t know how or why she lets it slip. but when your lips stretch into a grin, she takes a deep breath.

“I love you too sevika,” you bury your face in her neck and pull her arms over you in a hug. a poo attempt at masking the sincerity sevika already saw in your eyes and heard in your voice. you both knew what it meant, and that something should change or you should jump apart like teenagers being caught kissing but you don’t.

It feels more natural than it ever has, the way sevika’s hand comes to rub up and down your back, the sky kiss you lay to her cheek. her hand playing with yours in her lap.

“I should get going,” you pull back with an air of sadness and sevika packs the left over joint in a bankie for you.

“I’ll see you friday,” she replies and sits back in the booth to watch you go.

you’re shocked to find vi sitting on your couch when you get home. she doesn’t look up when you greet her. Instead she trains her eyes on the opposite wall, her pocket knife clicking in her hand as she skillfully plays with it. you sit on the couch beside her and gently lay a hand on her thigh, she tenses.

“you were with sevika,” she says finally, and you take a deep, nervous breath. had anyone seen you two together? had they seen how close you were?

“someone told me you were at the last drop today,” you exhale relieved that that’s all she has to say. you nod your head and try to say what you had practiced for this scenario, but vi doesn’t let you get a word in before she’s throwing your vase across the room with a yell.

“do you have any idea how stupid that makes me look? she is for everything im fighting against,” she yells and you furrow your brows,

“you don’t know her like i do, she’s trying to fix things.” your voice is shaky but the statement is bold. you know sevika, and she hadn’t told you everything but you know enough to confidently say sevika wasn’t ever just silco’s lackey. she was powerful and smart and making changes in zaun – starting with a centre for shimmer recovery.

“excuse me?” vi asks, anger making her breath shudder.

“I’m just saying you have no idea what’s going on in zaun anymore, your head is still in the ring vi, it always is,” you say.

and you’re right because vi can hear the toll of the bell in her head, the fight had started and she was feeling jealous and cruel.

“you don’t know how stupid you’re going to look when she drops you for someone who will actually open their legs for her. or maybe you’re easier than i thought,” she spits without looking at you but she can hear your jaw drop with a gasp.

she’s half expecting you to fight back. tell her she was being an asshole - that she was still in the pits. the usual and instead she’s filled with dread at you silence.

“I think you need a few days alone,” you say as you stand and go to put your shoes back on. vi jumps up to follow you to the door,

“are you really just going to leave me? like everyone else?”

you pause and turn to look at her.

“I don’t think you want me here,” you say, gently clasping your hands over vi’s and she drops to her knees, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. her arms wrap around your legs and she starts to cry into her belly.

“please don’t leave me,” she whimpers, resting her cheek against you. Your hands come to mindlessly play with her hair.

what she really wanted to say was “please don’t leave me cait,”

but you weren’t cait. you stayed. you were a placeholder that vi has grown dangerously attached to and she wondered now about finally sending that message to cait - whether or not she should do it. because maybe this is better, maybe this is what she deserves and her only reprieve is you - her angel.

“I’m sorry, i’m so sory i fucked up,” vi screws her eyes shut and holds you tightly her voice more honest than it ever has been.”i promise you things will be different, please just - please don’t go,” you try to pull vi’s arms off of you but she tightens her grip and you’re not in any position to challenge her strength.

“vi, you’re hurting me,” you grunt, but her arms stay locked. pain is the only way vi had ever known love. so surely, surely vi believed there was a part of her that could love you, get over cait and focus on you, on her new life.

a resounding knock echos in your apartment and the door handle rattles with effort to open in it.

“vi?”

at first she thinks she’s imagining it. but then cait is screaming her name, banging on your door and vi gets up past you, shoving you behind her and opening the door.

you know with the look in her eyes that vi never intended to stay, or to love you like she promised. she was filled with real calm, relief that you had never seen before. Neither of the girls take notice of you when they embrace, even less so when they kiss and by the time vi realises what she’s done, you’re moving past her into the street.

“no, no wait,” she runs after you and cait locks your door to follow her. vi pulls you back by your arm before you can duck into the crowds moving in the streets.

“It’s not what you think,” she sighs and she gives a look to caitlyn when she scoffs.

“This is - she’s from my past and -”

“and you’re in love with her, that’s where your mind has been this whole time - not in the pits - with her.” you frown with the restraint of keeping your tears back.

“I don’t ever want to see you again,” you swallow and wretch your hand from hers. caitlyn’s hand is on vi’s shoulder as she tries to pull her away from you.

“we have to go vi, now,” caitlyn looks around the streets wearily.

you nod your head, “go,” you say,

“I’m coming back for you,” vi says, as she starts to back away with caitlyn. her words thinning with the distance between the two of you. “I promise,”

and then she’s gone.

***

when you get to sevika's home you stumble into her arms, tears never-ending as you blubber and she hates to see you in pain. but it worked. cait had taken the bait and vi was gone for good.

she held you in her arms until you could breathe, and instead of falling asleep like she assumes you will, you're turning your face upto her from her chest.

"vika," you breathe and sevika's heart flutters at the need in your voice - "make me forget,"

sevika handles you into her lap and presses a

kiss to your mouth with vigour. She moans at the taste of you when she finally licks into your mouth. Your hips grind down on hers and sevika whines, so embarrassingly close to cumming and she has to reach under your top to grope your tits. she tastes your groans as she rolls your nipples between her fingers and loves the weight of your tits in her hands.

“never letting you go,” she groans into your neck as she turns you over in one swift movement, her muscles taking all of your weight and she appreciates you beneath her. Your soft hips and thick thighs pressed around her hips. She can’t help when she claws your clothes away from your body.

“m’sorry bunny, just need to see you - you’re so beautiful,” she moans, kissing down your body, “finally get to taste you,” her words of praise for your taste muffles as she buries her head in between your thighs and sucks your clit into her mouth.

you moan, all thought of vi clearing your mind as sevika sinks two fingers into you, curling them - “god you’re so fucking wet, and so needy for me,” she groans feeling you tighten on her fingers. “fuck fuck, m’gonna cum,” sevika whimpers and the sound alone from her - so vulnerable and soft beneath you, you’re cumming and so is she, feeling and tasting your pleasure.

she’s quick with the way she tears her own clothes off and secures her strap to herself. “I love you, and i will never let you go,” she whispers as she sinks into you. Her eyes trained on yours - lids lowered as you look up at her.

“I love you,” you gasp as she snaps her hips against your gspot, sevika smiles and pulls you in close so that your foreheads are pressed together. sev can feel your pussy pulling her in, the base of her strap rubbing and bumping up against her clit so deliciously.

“you’re mine,” sevika moans and you whimper in agreement, “yours, please cum with me” your words slurred as sevika speeds up her hips and holds your thigh up. “you’re so beautiful,” she gasps, looking down at you and when your back arches, you both cum with a groan, moaning and whining - bodies sweaty and intertwined.

“I could die happy now,” sevika groans after taking the water she’d given you and taking a sip herself,

“shut up…” you laugh and start to play with her hair, her head resting on your belly, she presses occasional kisses there. “how long have you-”

“since the day i met you,” she replies.

***

In caitlyn’s hideout, vi can’t keep her head straight. her eyes trained on your little red tracking do at sevika’s home.

“come to bed,” cait whispers, her hand gently squeezing vi’s shoulder. she swallows down her jealousy and tries to pull vi to bed.

“In a minute,” she says quietly, waiting to see if you would move though you hadn’t in the last four hours.

“I thought you’d be excited to be home,” cait snaps against her better judgement and vi has to restrain herself, cait isn’t sued to the monster she is now and she didn’t think now would be the right time to introduce her.

“you’re right,” she huffs and puts her phone down, vi steps away from the window and follows caitlyn to bed.

vi thought it would be different. Whenever she imagined this moment, she was always happy and probably fucking and safe but all she felt now was empty, and a longing pull for something familiar. you had seen all the darkest parts of vi and still loved her, and she didn’t know now, why or how she ever imagined she could let you go.

sevika tags: @archangeldyke-all @sexysapphicshopowner @sevsbaby @iamaboringrattat @lavendersgirl @opropheticsoul @ariariarr @femme-historian

#lesbian #18+ mdni #men dni #sevika arcane #nsft lesbian #mdni #vi acrace #caitvi #sevika arcane x reader #vi arcane x reader

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forwhomthewordsflow · 4 months ago

Text

Stars In My Eyes

(a part two to this fic!)

modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: fluff, so fluffy, first dates, first kisses, some anxiety/stress, a little dash of coach!steve harrington, suggestiveness

author's note: i feel like this took me ages to write! so sorry for the wait...i do sort of love how this turned out :) writing a first kiss scene is hard!!!

please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!

word count: 7.7k

Eddie Munson couldn’t believe his luck.

Like, sure he’s gotten lucky a few times before. There was that one time an officer let him off with a warning after he rolled through a stop sign, he’d played the “I’m a teacher during finals week” card and it had seemed to work out pretty well for him. There were also a few times when a stranger in front of him at the Starbucks drive thru had paid for his morning coffee, only for him to turn around and see there was no one behind him to pay it forward to.

And then, there was that time back during his final senior year where Stacy Cowell was going through a “rebel phase” and decided to give Eddie a string of random blowjobs over the course of a week and a half to make herself feel like she was living on “the wild side.” She quickly transitioned out of that phase when Eddie had asked her out on a date, he figured they should probably make an effort to learn a little about each other if she was going to be deepthroating him in the back of his van every other day after school. She turned him down with a disgusted sneer, leaving Eddie a little heartbroken by the fact that a girl could be so offended at the idea of a date with him.

But none of that even mattered to Eddie anymore. All of those situations touched by a bit of luck have been reduced down to mere coincidences now that he has you in his life. Even though it was only one IKEA date trip that the two of you went on last weekend, Eddie couldn’t stop himself from imagining a long, happy future with you because of how fucking perfect it all went.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervously giddy over anything in your entire life. There had never really been any boys that you were crazy for when you were younger. Sure, you’d been in love a couple times before, but nothing was ever…”wow.”

You’d never felt any real sparks, never met anyone truly special enough to change your life like all of the women you’d seen in movies or read about in books.

But Eddie…he was very much wow.

After you’d worked out the details for your IKEA trip that afternoon in your classroom, you found it hard to stop blushing for the remainder of the week. The both of you decided that you’d go on Saturday morning, and Eddie had insisted on picking you up and driving there together. He bowed his head and lightly pressed his lips to your hand in a dramatic and silly fashion before leaving your classroom. Your knees felt weak and a bright red blush bloomed on your face as Eddie stood back up to his full height to face you.

“You know,” he started, still holding your hand, "you're really cute when you blush like that.”

A tiny squeak is all that comes out of your mouth when you open it to respond.

You struggle to put together a coherent sentence and settle for the smile and girlish giggle that bubbled its way out of your chest.

“I’ll see you later.”

Eddie started to walk backwards, keeping your hand in his grasp until he was too far away and then turning around to exit your classroom. There wasn’t much else you could do except stare at the hand that had just been held by him, while holding your other over your mouth in shock.

Eddie waited the appropriate five seconds after being out of your line of sight before erupting into a silent “fist-punching-head-banging-fuck yeah!” celebration in the hallway. He couldn’t believe he kissed your hand. The thought to kiss your hand had barely graced his mind before his body had made the decision to go through with it. Eddie was terrified that his nerdy qualities would cause you to run for the hills, or that you’d think he was weird or stupid.

But instead, you’d blushed bright red and blessed his ears with a giggle, and all of Eddie’s worries and fears were banished from his mind at the sound of it.

Eddie decided he was going to really enjoy taking every opportunity to make you blush.

There were only two days until your IKEA trip with Eddie, and somehow you kept missing each other in the hallways at school. On the rare occasion that Eddie had a spare moment, you were at some kind of art teacher workshop. Whenever you could pull yourself away from decorating your classroom and lesson-planning, Eddie was leaving early for the day to go look at different types of Tubano drums for his classroom.

There were a couple of staff meetings that everyone had to attend, but the two of you never ended up sitting next to each other. Instead, you would indulge in a game of eye tag, making yourself feel like you were in high school all over again with a big fat crush.

While you were really looking forward to your day out with Eddie, a tiny part of you was glad that you weren’t running into him constantly. You found yourself overpouring your coffee in the morning because of the way the deep brown shade of the coffee matched the color of Eddie’s eyes. You accidentally took a sip out of your paint water cup instead of your drinking cup because you were staring off at the lamps in your room, wondering which one had been Eddie’s favorite. Two days was just what you needed to collect yourself enough to act like a normal human being before you saw Eddie again. You weren’t even allowing yourself the time to think about being in a car with him for the hour that it took to get to IKEA. All of the workshops, lesson plans and other preparation for the start of school kept you calm and collected.

Eddie, on the other hand, was reduced to a pile of chunky silver rings and nerves. He couldn’t stop thinking about everything he had to get done before your trip…date? Was it a date? Did you say the word date when you asked him? Is it even a date when the girl asks the guy-

Eddie’s frantic pacing is interrupted by a shark knock on his propped open classroom door.

“Yo, Munson. How’s the…” Steve trailed off as he took in Eddie’s disheveled state. “Dude.”

“I know, I know, man.” Eddie responds, plopping down in a chair that was meant for one of his students. He puts his head in his hands, tugging on the roots to try and get a grip.

“What’s goin’ on, Ed? I haven’t seen you this distraught since One Direction broke up.” Steve sits on top of a desk next to Eddie, jabbing him softly in the shoulder after his lame attempt at getting a smile out of Eddie.

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head at the stupid joke. He looks up at Steve with a deep sigh, then stands up and grabs him by the shoulders.

“If I tell you, it stays between us.” Eddie fixes Steve with a hard look and raised eyebrows, not any different from the look he gives his students when they’re getting up to no good. “I’m so dead serious.”

Steve’s eyes widen at the sudden seriousness, making a cross over his chest with his finger. “Yeah man, cross my heart and all that.”

Eddie lets go of Steve, slumping back into the chair with a huff.

“How do you know that a date is a date, and not just a friend thing?”

Steve smiles cockily and leans forward, always interested in Eddie’s love life…or lack thereof.

“Well, I don’t know…I think I might have to hear a little more about this special lady in order for me to provide some of my good ol’ Harrington Love Advice.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, throwing in a wink for the sake of being annoying.

Eddie rolls his eyes, he knew it was a mistake to bring up girls around this guy. Steve was always giving Eddie pointers on how to get chicks the way he did, but Eddie was in no way similar to Steve when it came to relationships. Steve never had nothing to do on the weekends, always with a new girl, sometimes even the single moms at school. He’d meet them out at a bar, woo them, take them to dinner and then even sometimes back to his place. Despite his fuck-boy tendencies, Eddie knows it’s never that meaningful for either party. Steve’s been pining after one of the English teachers for years, and these flings are only serving as a way to satiate his intensely flirtatious side.

As annoying as he may be, it would be nice to rant about all of his pent up loverboy feelings for you to Steve. Eddie knows he’s just giving him a hard time, it’s one of the many love languages they share as best friends.

“I-it’s just…she’s so beautiful man, like…holy fuck.” Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, looking off into the distance as he rambles on about you. “I mean just…she looks like some kind of Elven princess-angel-goddess-fairy–”

“Dude, Ed. None of that nerd shit please, say it to me in English.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head with a sigh.

“Okay. I really like her. I haven’t felt this way in years, maybe ever. We met officially yesterday and just…clicked.”

Steve smiles at Eddie as he talks about you, happy to see his friend so excited about someone.

“We made plans to go to IKEA this weekend, but I don’t know what to make of it? Is it a date? Should I bring her flowers? What if I do bring her flowers and she gets weirded out because it was actually never a date at all?”

Steve holds his hands up like he’s trying to calm down an animal.

“Woah there, buddy. No need to get all freaked out about it.” Steve can’t help but to laugh a little at the helpless look on his friend’s face. “Let’s just start with the details, okay? Who asked who?”

“She asked me. I said I liked her lamps and then she said she got them at IKEA and then I said that I needed some for my room and then she said that we should go to IKEAandshopforsometogether-”

“Okay, okay man. Take a deep breath.” Steve motions for Eddie to inhale for a couple seconds.

“Then let it all out.” Eddie expels the breath from his lips in a hard huff, looking a little calmer. “Alright. So, she asked you?”

Eddie nods.

“That’s good, it means she’s interested! Not a lot of women are making the first move these days, it means that she definitely wants a slice of Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at Steve, but still waits for him to go on.

“Are you picking her up for the trip to IKEA?”

“Yeah, I offered to pick her up and drive us both there since it’s about an hour away.”

Steve scratches his five o’clock stubble.

“Hmm…okay. Did she like…jump at the chance for you to drive her or was there some hesitation before she agreed?”

Eddie thinks back to that moment. How the two of you were standing slightly too close for new friends, the way your eyes seemed to sparkle as you looked up at him, how he was surprised you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest.

He remembers offering to drive the both of you to the store, surprising himself by saying it way calmer than he was feeling. Your face lit up a little, like you were shocked that he’d even offer to pick you up and drive you there. You smiled and nodded your head sweetly before agreeing out loud.

Eddie feels himself smiling at the tiny memory.

“It wasn’t like she immediately answered…but she definitely was smiling when she agreed. She didn’t seem nervous about it or anything, it was more like she was excited or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up as a smirk emerges on his face.

“So let me see if I’m getting this straight. She asked you to go to IKEA, probably knowing it was a long drive, and then she happily agreed to let you pick her up and drive the two of you there? For a whole two hours there and back?”

Eddie nods, anxiously awaiting Steve’s opinion on all of this.

“I mean, it’ll probably be a good four or five hours that you spend together driving and shopping.”

Steve fixes Eddie with a look that says ‘c’mon man, it’s obvious.’

Eddie’s had enough of his edging. “Will you just get to the fucking point please for the love of god?”

Steve sighs and claps a hand on Eddie's shoulder.

“Ed, it’s a date.”

Eddie barks out a triumphant laugh and Steve does the same. The two men high five and Steve wraps a beefy arm around Eddie’s shoulder to pat him on the chest. Eddie can’t help but to let out a big sigh of relief now that he can stop worrying about how to act on this trip date.

On Friday, you could’ve sworn you went slightly neurotic.

Since Tuesday you’d been considering your day with Eddie as a date, but it suddenly hit you that maybe he didn’t feel the same way. What if you’d been doing all this worrying and freaking out for no reason? What if he ends up calling you ‘dude’ the entire day? What if he has a girlfriend already, and he just agreed to take you to IKEA so that you wouldn’t get your feelings hurt?

You’d been running circles in your head trying to prepare yourself for any and all possible outcomes that Saturday could hold for you, but none of it seemed to be doing you any good.

So, you did what you always did whenever you found yourself flipping out over something new.

You made a to-do list.

Pick out an outfit. Dress! too fancy…jeans? Dress, definitely dress. not too fancy though…

Drink wine

Watch movie

Clean house…again

Drink more wine

Possibly reconsider outfit…

After all was said and done, you plopped down on your worn-in couch, sufficiently drunk with a clean house and an outfit neatly hung up outside of your closet. You decide to pour your third and final glass of wine for the evening, and to surrender your anxiety to the gods of love. You hope and pray that they like you enough to let you have this one.

It was finally Saturday. Eddie stands in front of his closet furiously, wondering why in the fuck he can’t find a single thing to wear for his date with you today. He’s got enough clothes to fill his entire closet, dresser, and a $20 clothing rack he picked up at Target years ago. Steve said to just go with what felt the most like ‘Eddie’, but he’s suddenly unable to remember what his style even looks like.

He wants to punch himself in the nuts for not taking the time last night to plan this all out like a normal person.

He ends up settling for a fitted white tee, a pair of trusty black jeans, and black boots. On a FaceTime call with Steve (so he could approve Eddie’s choice), Steve mentioned that the outfit was casual, but still fairly nice, and that the white shirt showed off his tattoos and muscles.

“Chicks dig the muscles and white tee combo, man. Trust.”

Eddie chuckles at his friend’s ‘frat boy’ lingo, but the comment makes him feel better about his appearance anyways. Last year, Steve had managed to convince Eddie to start going to the gym with him after school during the week, and it pains him to admit that he sort of really likes it now. He likes how much stronger he feels, he likes sweating out all of his frustrations, and most of all he likes the way he fills out his t-shirts now.

After hanging up the call with Steve, Eddie flexes a little in his mirror before leaving to go pick you up. He decides to do a few last minute push ups and to moisturize the tattoos on his arms so that he looks extra good for you.

Perhaps being slightly neurotic about this date was a good idea.

Thanks to all of your meticulous planning, you managed to get completely ready with a half hour to spare. You decided against sitting on your couch until Eddie arrived since the nervous butterflies in your stomach made you want to throw up, so you opted to wander around your house for the remainder of the time.

You pass by your mirror, doing a final check and making sure your outfit and makeup are up to par. You’d decided on a simple white dress, with a denim button up thrown over it and your pair of black chelsea boots that had yet to let you down. You smile at your reflection, happy that you’d managed to choose a comfy and cute outfit that felt like you.

There’d been too many dates before this one where you’d gone out and spent insane amounts of money on brand new outfits that you weren’t even sure you really liked, all in the name of impressing your date and hoping he likes you enough to ask you out on a second one. When prepping for those dates, you spent hours upon hours running around like a mad woman. Shaving, plucking, tweezing, waxing. Making sure your hair curled just right and that your eyeliner was sexy, but not slutty.

You couldn’t figure out why Eddie felt so different to you. Even though the nerves of a first date had really freaked you out the night before, this morning was fairly calm. Sure, you took plenty of time in the shower and doing your hair and makeup, but it didn’t feel like you were trying to morph into a different version of yourself to please a man.

It felt more like you were trying your best to look like your favorite version of yourself.

You want Eddie to know who you are inside and outside of work, and you really hope that he likes what he finds.

Eddie stays parked outside of your house for a minute or two to try and settle his nerves.

You lived in a small, red brick house in a family neighborhood. There were flowers planted in the beds under your windows, and your front door was painted a deep turquoise color. Eddie sucks in a breath when he sees your figure moving around through the gauzy white curtains covering your windows.

How can a hazy silhouette still be so beautiful?

Looking into his rearview mirror, Eddie takes a deep breath.

“You got this man. Be cool.”

He turns his car off and makes his way to your front door, knocking three times and then taking a step back to wait for you.

It takes all of two seconds for your front door to swing open, revealing you on the other side.

Eddie immediately feels weak in the knees. You looked so cute in your little boots, and he couldn’t help but to let his eyes trail up the smooth skin of your legs. He gulped a bit at the short hem of your dress, and then realized he should probably say something.

“Hey you.”

“Hi,” You smile up at him bashfully as he looks you up and down. You take the opportunity to look him over as well, and damn. You already knew he was sexy, but his tight tee shirt and pulled back hair made you want to drag him into your house and do things to him…

You only notice that he’s been holding a hand behind his back when he brings it out in front of him, revealing a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

“These are for you. I didn’t know which was your favorite, so I just asked the lady to throw together a bunch of different kinds and to make it look pretty.” Eddie holds the colorful bouquet out to you and smiles sheepishly.

Your mouth hangs open as you reach out to take them, being so careful for no real reason. You look up at Eddie with those big, sparkling eyes.

“Thank you so much, Eddie. These are so incredibly beautiful,” he watches you looking down at the flowers, gently brushing your fingers against their petals. “Let me run inside and find a vase for them real quick. Come on in!”

You wave him in behind you and hurry inside.

Eddie tries to suppress the excitement he feels at being invited into your home. He felt like he already got a good glimpse at who you are and how you express yourself when he was inside your classroom, but he’s now getting to see where you spend the majority of your time, where you live. As he steps over the threshold and into your house, he readies his brain to take mental pictures of everything he sets his eyes on, just in case he never sees it again.

Instantly, he’s hit with a sense of “home.” The inside of your house is the perfect temperature and it smells so good and womanly, like your perfume and also like you’ve been baking something but somehow also like flowers…Eddie loves it already.

You scurry off into the kitchen, trying not to think about the fact that Eddie Munson is looking around your house right now.

Where in the hell have all of your vases run off to?

Eddie walks around cooly with his hands clasped behind his back, taking in everything about your space. Much like your classroom, Eddie is able to spot at least four different sized lamps and light fixtures placed around your entryway and living room. There were warm white Christmas lights hung up along the ceiling, multiple green-leaved plants in different corners, and Eddie even thinks he spotted a black cat sprinting under your soft looking white sectional.

Overall, he’d give your interior design skills an 11/10.

He’s just starting to miss you a little when you come out from your kitchen holding your flowers in a sparkly glass vase.

It’s an odd feeling, seeing Eddie in your house. His ‘edgier’ look seems like it wouldn’t fit with your overall aesthetic, but to your surprise he looks like he belongs here. You walk up to him almost in a daze, admiring the silver hoop earrings he’s wearing, the smile on his lips, and the way some of his hair has made its way out of his low bun to frame his face.

The two of you stand there for a moment looking at each other, with you holding your flowers in between your bodies. You engage in a staring match for almost a second too long before you break the silence.

“No one’s ever gotten me flowers before,” you sheepishly admit, looking down at them instead of at him. Eddie grins at the blush that blooms onto your cheeks after your prolonged eye contact.

Eddie scoffs before he can stop himself.

“Seriously? That’s a damn shame, sweetheart.”

You look up at him again and try not to faint at how easily the word fell from his perfect lips. Unable to take another second of his eyes on yours, you retreat into your living room to find the perfect place for your new flowers. You decide to put them on your coffee table, then turn around to find that Eddie had followed you in.

He offers his arm out to you, “Shall we?”

This time, you can’t fight the smile.

You take his arm and swipe your purse from the coat hanger next to your front door on your way out.

Eddie was the perfect gentleman for the entire duration of the car ride to IKEA. He had opened the car door for you, he let you pick the music, and he definitely did not sneak a glimpse at your bare, voluminous thighs when your dress shifted as you sat down. The sweet smell of your perfume spread throughout the interior of his truck, he hopes that smell never fades away.

He couldn’t help glancing over at you every other minute, looking so beautiful in his passenger seat while you bobbed your head to whatever song you had queued up on his phone.

“Would it be a total invasion of privacy if I played your On Repeat playlist? I’m dying to know what the music teacher’s favorite music is right now.” Eddie turned to see that you were smiling pleadingly at him, and how could he say no to that face?

“I suppose,” Eddie sighs dramatically. “But, you are not allowed to judge me for whatever pops up.” He playfully points a finger at you while keeping his eyes on the road. You giggle girlishly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You hit ‘shuffle’ on Eddie’s playlist and aren’t surprised when the first song that plays through the speakers is ‘The Unforgiven ll’ by Metallica. You already knew Eddie was a fan of the band thanks to the music he always has playing a tad too loudly whenever you pass by his classroom.

“Oh, I know this song!”

Eddie’s face whips towards you sporting a shocked ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ expression. He was definitely expecting you to be the ‘indie music’ type. Your eyebrows furrow adorably angrily at the look on his face.

“What? A girl can’t like Metallica?” You fix him with a look that tells Eddie he should think twice about his response.

“W-well…I just didn’t expect you to be into them…that’s all.” You roll your eyes playfully at him and cross your arms. “But! I’m very pleasantly surprised that you are! Girls rule, alright? Men like…totally suck and stuff.”

You chuckle at his frantic attempt at avoiding a lecture on gender inequality and feminism while settling back into your seat. And because you actually do know and love this song, you start mouthing the words, which eventually evolves into singing them under your breath.

When Eddie thought he spotted you mouthing the words out of the corner of his eye, he was sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him. But just barely hearing you singing the words to his favorite Metallica song just further confirmed a fact that he already knew.

Eddie Munson was totally going to fall in love with you.

The rest of the car ride consisted of sharing music, talking about work and life, childhood memories, and other random topics. Eddie discovered that you love thunderstorms, your cat’s name is Pascal (after the chameleon from Tangled), and that you moved here at the beginning of summer from Chicago.

Eddie swears there’s never been a conversation in history that flowed as well as yours and his. He felt like he’s known you for years, and he hopes you’re feeling the same way.

You totally are.

Once the two of you made it to IKEA and inside the giant store, Eddie quickly realized that he never really put any thought into what he actually wanted to buy for his classroom. You swiftly came to his rescue and pulled out your phone to open up Pinterest.

Together, you found a couple pictures that matched the general vibe of Eddie’s classroom. He grabbed a map of the store and a cart, and set off into the maze of furniture.

You were back to being shy again, now that you were out in the wild with Eddie. He found that making jokes about all of the funny names got you giggling, and so he didn’t miss an opportunity.

He made you laugh the hardest next to the Koppang drawers.

You bumped your shoulder into his around the Baggebo bookcases.

His hand brushed yours next to a Tornviken kitchen island.

And Eddie finally worked up the courage to hold your hand next to a Klippan loveseat.

You gasped a little when you felt his warm hand slide into yours, interlocking your fingers together. A red hot blush worked its way up your neck as you snuck a glance over at him, only to find that he was already looking at you with a smirk. He knows exactly what this hand holding is doing to you.

He chuckles smugly as the two of you arrive at the lights section of the store. As he pushes the cart through the aisles, you’re enamored by the twinkling lights that are draped overhead. You’re lucky he’s holding your hand, or else you probably would’ve fallen flat on your face. Eddie can’t help but to stare at you as you stare up at all the different light fixtures. The different colors and hues of light shine beautifully onto your face, and the soft smile on your lips makes Eddie wish he could just grab you and kiss you right here in the aisle. But, he figures that would cause you to explode after your reaction to his hand-holding.

He watches as you look further down the aisle at the lamps that are on display there, your face lighting up in recognition.

“Oh! That’s one that I’ve got in my room!” You point at an orange, donut shaped light called a Varmblixt. Eddie recognizes it, you do indeed have one hanging on the wall behind your desk.

“I must have it,” Eddie says with a flourish ,”Never have I seen a more extraordinary donut lamp.”

You giggle and go to grab one to place in the cart, but the box proves to be way heavier than you remember. Eddie notices as soon as you inhale to exert more effort, and he steps in immediately.

No fair maiden such as you should be forced to exert any effort whatsoever in his presence.

“I’ve got it, sweetheart.”

You try not to let the name affect you but once again, you fail. You’re left blushing and biting your lip, speechless. You stare unashamed at Eddie as he picks up the heavy box and goes to place it in the cart with ease. The overhead lights were really doing him favors, every ridge and contour of his body was lit to perfection. You could see the delicious bulge of his biceps, the ripple of his forearm muscles, and the outline of his chest in his shirt….why is your mouth watering?

Eddie easily places the box in the cart, turning to face you again. He finds you blushing up at him with wide eyes, and is unable to contain the smug smirk on his face. The sudden lack of distance between the two of you did not go unnoticed by him, he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his chest.

The ‘normal you’ would’ve noticed that you were obviously in Eddie’s personal bubble, and you would’ve taken a step back like the respectable adult that you are. But the ‘normal you’ was long gone in Eddie’s presence. This version of you was not unlike the version that existed when you were an awkward teenager who was on the brink of passing out anytime a boy even breathed in your direction.

While you were busy ogling Eddie’s physique, you’d failed to notice the close proximity between the two of you, which led you to your current situation.

You and him were so close together, you could feel the warm puffs of air from between his parted lips gently hitting your face. His gaze trailed down from your eyes to your lips, but you wouldn’t have noticed anyways because you were one step ahead of him.

His lips looked so pillowy and soft, you wondered how they’d feel pressed against yours. Would he kiss you slowly, gently holding your face in his big hands and brushing his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks? Or would he be rougher than that, grabbing you by the waist and tugging you into him, kissing you with fire and passion?

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as he watches you suck your bottom lip into your mouth to bite it. You’re so goddamn beautiful, and you looked like an angel in this aisle of lights. A lamp from behind you lights up the silhouette of your hair like a halo, and he can see the lights above his head reflected in your eyes like stars.

Eddie knows he shouldn’t kiss you right now, not in the middle of IKEA where he can hear kids whining to their parents and couples arguing over which shade of beige would match their living room better. He knows this, but he can’t stop himself from reaching his hand up to gently grasp your jaw. His thumb slides from your chin to your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth.

His hand snakes down to the side of your neck, and you can feel the slight tremor in his hand. You’re glad that the situation is affecting him too, because you are freaking out.

Is he going to kiss you right now?

In IKEA?

On your first date?

Is this even a date?

Do you even want him to kiss you? Idiot, of course you want him to.

Eddie’s eyebrows lift slightly, almost questioning you. Asking you, ‘Do you want this? Is this okay?’

You answer him with a soft smile, and you feel his hand move behind your neck to pull you in.

It is at this moment that a baby starts to wail one aisle over, effectively ruining any sort of moment you and Eddie had been sharing.

He lets out a frustrated huff, and touches his forehead to yours with closed eyes.

“Of course,” he groans.

You’re secretly giddy at the fact that he so obviously wanted to kiss you badly. You bring your hand up to his arm that’s still resting on your neck to give it a reassuring squeeze, and in a surprising burst of confidence, you rise up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.

Eddie’s eyes shoot open at the feeling of your soft lips on his cheek. He pulls back to stare down at you as his face turns red.

You giggle at him, then turn around to walk down the aisle.

“C’mon, I think I saw another one of my lamps down this way!”

Eddie snaps himself out of his daze with a shake of his head, he’s sure that he’s got hearts in his eyes as he watches you walk away from him. Grabbing the cart with one hand, he holds his other gently to his cheek, touching the spot that’s still warm from your lips.

Eddie ends up purchasing five lamps from IKEA after an hour and a half of wandering through the aisles with you.

He can’t help but to act like the loverboy he is when he’s looking at furniture with you. He fantasizes about a life with you, imagining that the two of you are actually here to pick out items to furnish your shared house.

He wonders which kind of wood floors you’d pick out and which backsplash you’d want in the kitchen. You’d probably want to decorate with colorful rugs and throw pillows, and Eddie wouldn’t complain. Not as long as you’re happy. He’d live in a pink house decorated with bows and lace trim as long as he was living in it with you.

Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, it’s only your first date together right?

If only he knew you were having similar thoughts as you strolled up and down the aisles, hand in hand. You thought about what kind of decorating he did in his house, you figured it was styled in some way considering the amount of effort he puts into making his classroom look as cool as it does. Does he have shelves full of records or different posters framed and hung up on his wall? Which side of the bed does he sleep on? You hope he likes plants, there’s no way you could part with your beloved greenery if the two of you were to live together.

You’re quick to silence the random thoughts buzzing around in your head, it’s silly to think about these things on your very first date…you don’t even know his middle name yet!

You and Eddie both seem to snap out of your stupors at the same time, sighing simultaneously. You both turn to look at each other and then begin to laugh, unsure on whether or not the ‘jinx’ rules apply in a sighing situation.

Eddie pays for the lights, and soon enough you’re both back in his truck.

It dawns on you that your date is almost over, but you’re quickly redirected when you hear the starting notes to the next song that starts playing when Eddie’s phone connects to his radio.

Is that…Taylor Swift?

You turn to him slowly, confused at why a Taylor Swift song is on his ‘On Repeat’ Spotify playlist.

Eddie’s already staring at you mortified. He holds a hand up, pausing any words that might’ve come out of your mouth.

“Before you say anything,” he begins ,”I really admire her lyricism. Girl’s a wizard with words.”

The two of you sit in a charged silence for a moment before you can’t hold in your reaction any longer. A laugh breaks free from your chest, and Eddie can’t help but to laugh along with you.

You’re wiping tears from your eyes as your laughter dies down, and Eddie just grins at you.

“I can’t believe it. The rock and roll music teacher listens to enough Taylor Swift for it to end up on his ‘On Repeat’ playlist.” You shake your head at him with a wide smile on your face that Eddie wants to take a picture of and frame.

“Yeah, yeah…laugh it up. As a music teacher, it’s my duty to appreciate all types of music.”

You nod along to his explanation, “Yes, of course. How else are you supposed to connect with the teenage girls these days?”

“Right! Yes!” Eddie exclaims. “I do this lesson on lyrics and Taylor’s music is a great example of what storytelling in music can look like. I respect her, hard.”

You stifle another laugh at his emotional Taylor Swift themed outburst.

“This stays between you and I alright?” Eddie points a finger at you playfully. “If Harrington gets word of this I’ll never live it down.”

“Of course, my lips are sealed.” You mime zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key.

Eddie settles back into his seat with a huff, boyishly smiling over at you.

“I have a very important question for you Eddie.”

He leans in, intrigued by your seriousness.

“Which era are you in right now?”

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back with a groan. This sends you into another laughing fit, Eddie can’t help but to join in again. He’s coming to find out that your joy is such an infectious thing.

“Hmm let’s see…,” he muses. He turns to look at you with one hand on the wheel and a smirk on his face as he puts his keys in the ignition.

“Right now…I’d have to go with ‘Lover,’” he says with a wink.

Your laughter is cut off abruptly as you gasp and bite your lip, attempting to subdue the cheesy grin that’s surely made its way onto your face by now.

You stare unashamed as Eddie puts his right hand over the back of your seat to turn around and look through the rear window as he reverses the car out of its parking spot. You can smell the cologne he must’ve sprayed on this morning, which immediately awakens the butterflies in your stomach.

As soon as Eddie is set on the route back to your house, he holds out his hand expectantly over his center console. You look at it, then at him, then back at his hand before shyly placing your hand in his. He’s quick to lace his fingers through yours, holding on tight and running his thumb back and forth.

You’re both thinking that you could get used to this.

Eddie (reluctantly) only lets go of your hand in order to rush around the front of his truck to open your car door for you after he’s pulled into your driveway. He’s quiet as he walks you to your front door, wondering which way is the best way to ask you out on another date.

You stop when you reach your door, looking down at your hand in his. The silence begins to feel just a tad awkward as you both search for something to fill it.

“Thank you,” you start quietly ,”for today. I had a wonderful time.”

Eddie lets out a relieved breath and grins widely down at you.

“I did too,” he begins, readying himself for his next question. “Would you…I mean–would you like to…uh…shit, would you want to maybe do it again sometime?”

You know what he means, but it’s still so tempting to tease him when he’s blushing like this.

“Would I want to go to IKEA with you again?”

“N-no! I mean, if you wanted to we could I guess…b-but I was thinking something more along the lines of dinner?”

You find it adorable how nervous he is to ask you out on a second date, as if you wouldn’t agree to go out to dinner with him tonight.

“I’d love that.”

Eddie’s face lights up with a triumphant smile as he lets out the anxious breath he’d been holding in.

“Good, that’s really good.” The way you’re smiling up at him right now is causing him to lose his train of thought. “Um…how’s tomorrow night? Around 7?”

“Tomorrow night is perfect.”

“Awesome. Great, yeah I’ll just…I’ll pick you up, okay?”

You’re beaming as you nod your head, much too ecstatic at the idea of going out with Eddie again to form a coherent sentence.

Eddie finds himself smiling and nodding with you, you’re just too adorable.

“Hey could I uh…c-could I get your number?” Eddie stammers the question out like he’s a prepubescent teenager, mentally face palming the whole time.

He’s relieved when you chuckle and hold your hand out for him to place his phone in. He fumbles around trying to give you his phone as quickly as possible, he can’t believe how nervous he feels right now.

He finally somehow manages to pass over his phone with a new contact page pulled up and ready for you. You type in your number and name, making sure to add the artist’s palette emoji afterwards. Eddie laughs through his nose when he sees it, then pockets his phone again.

There’s a weird tension in the air that can only be brought upon by two people who so obviously want to kiss each other, but are too nervous to make the first move. Eddie wracks his brain for a way to ask you if it’d be okay for him to kiss you without looking like a total idiot. It’s really unfortunate that the way you bite your lip causes his mind to completely shut off and switch to autopilot.

“I really wanna kiss you right now,” he blurts out.

You look up at him, shocked at his bluntness. Eddie’s even more shocked than you are.

“Y-you probably should then,” you bashfully admit.

Eddie can’t believe that worked.

He steps towards you and softly places one hand on your cheek, the other going to gently grasp the side of your neck similarly to the way he had in IKEA during your almost-kiss.

Your eyes flutter closed as you feel his lips graze yours for the first time. The feeling is electrifying, and you can’t help but to venture forward for more.

Your lips were just as soft, if not softer, than Eddie imagined.

You plunge forward to press your lips against his, instantly deepening the kiss. Eddie found himself instantly addicted to the feel of your lips and the way you sigh into the kiss. It’s a shy kiss at first, where the two of you slowly begin to figure out your shared rhythm. But it wasn’t long before you sank into a synchronized dance, mirroring each other’s movements in a way that crafted the most perfect, earth shattering first kiss.

You let Eddie Munson kiss you at your front door in a way that you had longed to be kissed for your entire life. This was how the women you saw in movies or read about in books were kissed. You’d read about magic and sparks flying, and you think you’re finally starting to believe in all of it.

Eddie moves his hand from your cheek to your waist, gripping it and pulling you closer to him. The gasp you let out gave him the sweet opportunity to run his tongue against your bottom lip, asking, pleading for an entrance which you of course granted. You tasted like autumn and felt like home, he decided he could kiss you for hours on end.

You both stood there for a good five minutes at your front door, making out like giddy teenagers and feeling like them too. Eddie finally pulls away from your lips, pleased to find you subtly chasing his mouth with your own. You open your eyes and come out of your kiss-induced haze to find him smiling adoringly down at you with both hands now circling your waist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you once more.

“Actually, I’m gonna call you tonight.” He kisses you again. “Is that okay?” Another peck.

You're giggling as he places a final kiss on your forehead, “Yes, please.”

“Good.”

Eddie steps back, grabbing your hand to kiss it like he did on Tuesday. He pulls you back in with that same hand to plant one last kiss on your lips, then jogs back to his truck. He waves and quickly honks his horn twice as he pulls away.

You’re left standing at your front door, watching his truck disappear down your street and reliving every moment of your first kiss with Eddie Munson.

When you finally make your way inside, you make sure to smell your brand new beautiful flowers before scurrying off to your bedroom to pick out an outfit for your second date with Eddie tomorrow night.

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