#I’ve done it before and I can do it again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

777bae · 2 days ago

Text

WITH YOU JACK HUGHES

Summary :: After a brutal injury, you’re left to navigate recovery on your own. But Jack, despite the distance, becomes your lifeline—calling every day, offering comfort, and doing everything he can to be there. When he finally returns, his unwavering love and support help you heal, proving that together, you can overcome anything.

Warnings :: description of injury

Word count :: 5.6k

It all started at an NHL-run community skate event. You’d been invited along with a few other women’s league players to skate alongside the NHL stars, giving young fans a chance to meet their idols in a laid-back, personal setting. You didn’t expect much from the event—just another community outreach, another day to interact with fans and grow the game you loved. But that was before you met him.

Jack Hughes had been one of the NHL’s rising stars for a while, and despite the buzz around him, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Tall, with his bright blue eyes and easy smile, he was exactly as you’d imagined him—charismatic, charming, and somehow completely approachable.

As you laced up your skates, adjusting the blades on your boots, you’d heard his laugh first, a genuine, warm sound that made it hard not to smile. You hadn’t even looked up when you realized he was skating toward you until you felt the brush of a glove on your shoulder.

“You here to show us how it’s done?” Jack’s voice was playful, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his words. You glanced up, met his gaze, and for a moment, both of you seemed to just… stop. He wasn’t towering over you, but there was a light in his eyes that made you feel like you were suddenly the center of attention.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re the one who’s been stealing all the spotlight. I just came to get some practice in. You know, to make sure I don’t show you up.”

He laughed again, this time shaking his head as he lowered himself into a comfortable skating stance. “I’m not worried. I’ve seen how fast some of the girls on your team can skate.” He leaned in a little, his voice a touch quieter. “But I have to admit, I’m hoping I’ll learn something today.”

It was all playful banter, but somehow, there was a connection that flickered between you in that brief exchange. Something about his easy confidence mixed with a genuine curiosity about the women’s game. It wasn’t like the typical interactions you had with male players; there was no condescension, no weird power dynamic. Just a guy who appreciated the game and the players—regardless of their gender.

The rest of the skate went by in a blur of friendly competition and shared laughter, with Jack occasionally pulling you into a race around the rink. You couldn’t deny that his speed on the ice matched his charm off it. It was fun—refreshing, really—especially since you were used to competing against men who sometimes didn’t seem to understand the level of skill and commitment women brought to the game. But Jack, he didn’t seem like that at all. If anything, he seemed eager to learn, to listen.

Afterward, while most of the other players were heading off to grab something to eat, Jack caught up to you again as you were packing your gear away.

“Hey, you wanna grab some dinner?” he asked, his voice casual but with that little spark of hopefulness. “I promise I won’t make it weird—just thought it’d be nice to hang out, talk about the game… maybe see if you’re as competitive off the ice as you are on it.”

It was a little unexpected, but something about the offer felt right. You’d spent so many years in a world of competition, sometimes too focused on the next game, the next practice. The thought of having a simple, easy evening, talking about something other than hockey, sounded like a refreshing change.

“Sure,” you agreed, trying to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “I could use the company.”

That first dinner was nothing extraordinary—just a low-key meal at a local diner, where you both dug into greasy comfort food and swapped stories about your respective teams. But the conversation never lagged. Jack talked about his early days in hockey, his family, his goals, and somehow, you found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing things you usually kept locked behind a barrier of professionalism. It felt natural, easy, like you’d known him much longer than just a few hours.

By the time you were leaving the diner, you felt something click. It wasn’t just the conversation. It was the way Jack made you feel seen, valued. He didn’t view you as just a player; he saw you as someone who belonged in the same conversation as the men he idolized.

That night, as he walked you to your car, he hesitated before speaking.

“Do you think we could do this again?” His tone was soft, uncertain—nothing like the cocky attitude you sometimes saw from athletes. There was a real vulnerability in his question, an openness that you hadn’t expected from someone with so much attention on him.

You smiled, already knowing the answer before you even said it. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The following months passed in a whirlwind. The connection you’d felt that night only deepened as you found yourselves spending more time together, whether it was over quick dinners after games or stolen moments between practices. The distance between your homes had been a challenge at first, but Jack made it work. His busy NHL schedule and your packed NWHL calendar had their limitations, but you made it a priority. Phone calls, FaceTime, and text messages became lifelines, bridging the gap when you couldn’t be in the same place.

And then came the moment when it all felt a little more real. One night, after a game where you’d scored the game-winning goal, Jack called you to congratulate you. As you chatted about the game, the conversation shifted.

“So, I was thinking…” Jack’s voice dropped a little, a teasing edge creeping in. “What if we make this official? You know, like, ‘dating’ officially. I mean, we’ve spent enough time together at this point, and I’m kind of starting to like you.”

You’d laughed at first, but when you heard the sincerity in his voice, you felt that flutter in your chest.

“I think I could be okay with that,” you’d said softly, feeling something in your heart shift.

And just like that, what had started as a casual meeting at a community skate turned into something real, something deep. The spark between you two grew into a full-blown flame, one that, despite the distance and the challenges ahead, seemed unstoppable.

That was how it all began. From a community skate to something much bigger. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t just fighting for your place in the game—you were fighting for something real, with someone who understood and shared your passion for both hockey and life.

It had been a few months since you and Jack had officially started dating, and even though the connection between you two had only deepened over time, the long-distance nature of your relationship had taken its toll. Jack was a rising star in the NHL, and your team’s season in the Women’s Hockey League was just as intense, if not more so. So, when Jack had to leave for a week-long stretch of West Coast games, the distance felt particularly harsh. But you both had your routines, and you had become experts at making the most of what time you had together.

The first night Jack was gone, you walked through your shared apartment, the silence of the space more apparent than usual. You had been here before, used to being away from each other for stretches of time, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. Still, you had your own games to focus on, so you pushed aside the feeling and settled into your familiar routine of stretching, preparing, and strategizing for your upcoming match.

That week, your team was on a roll. You managed to secure comfortable victories in your first two games, and no matter the late hours or time zone difference, you made sure to FaceTime Jack after each of your games. His voice was always a small anchor that pulled you back into a sense of normalcy. His tired face would appear on the screen, grinning with excitement or offering words of encouragement as you recapped your performances. The calls were a lifeline, a reminder that even though the miles between you stretched across the country, you weren’t alone in this. You’d FaceTime on his days off, too, taking solace in the familiarity of his presence, even if it was only a screen away.

But it was that third game that shook everything.

You had been feeling sharp and focused, your team’s momentum riding high. You were confident going into the match, your movements on the ice instinctively flowing with each pass and play. The puck was on your stick as you skated into the offensive zone, eyes locked on the net ahead, the crowd’s roars swelling around you. But just as you prepared to make your move, you felt a brutal shove from your side. The force was unanticipated, and before you could brace yourself, you were sent spiraling off balance.

The hit slammed into your leg, pain shooting through your entire body like a bolt of electricity. Your vision flashed white for a moment, the rink around you spinning as you crumpled to the ice, unable to register anything other than the excruciating ache in your lower body. You could hear voices, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the raw agony. Your leg felt like it was on fire, every inch of it screaming at you in ways you didn’t think possible.

The next few moments were a blur. You were helped off the ice, each movement sending shocks of pain through your leg as your teammates rushed to your side. You were placed in an ice bath to try to numb the swelling, but it was clear from the first glance—the leg wasn’t just bruised. It was broken.

At the hospital, the diagnosis hit like a hammer to the chest. You had multiple fractures in your leg—some clean breaks, some more complicated. Surgery was the only option, and it needed to be done as soon as possible. You were too overwhelmed to process anything. The pain was all-consuming, and the physical shock of it was enough to dull your thoughts. The one thing that kept repeating in your mind, though, was that you hadn’t messaged Jack. You had forgotten. You had promised him you’d let him know if anything happened, but now, you couldn’t even remember if you had the energy to tell him.

You were rushed into surgery, the doctors prepping you quickly for the procedure, but you couldn’t shake the guilt of not reaching out to him. When you fell unconscious from the anesthesia, your thoughts faded, but that nagging feeling remained.

Meanwhile, in California, Jack had just finished his game. He had played well—scoring a goal and getting an assist—but his mind was elsewhere. His phone buzzed as he walked into the locker room to cool down. As he picked it up, his heart stopped for a second. It was a video message from one of his friends, a clip from the game he had just missed. It was you.

The footage was grainy, taken from the stands. He saw the hit happen in real-time, the moment when your body was slammed to the ice. And then, the terrible sight of you crumpling, unable to move as pain clearly overtook you. His breath caught in his throat, and panic surged through his chest.

Without thinking, he immediately called your number, but it went straight to voicemail. His hands were shaking now, his mind racing with worry. Why hasn’t she answered? He called again, and again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered ring.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, growing frantic. He tried texting you, then calling your teammates and coaches, but no one picked up. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he dialed number after number, panic creeping up his spine.

Finally, one of your coaches picked up. The calm, steady voice on the other end didn’t help to alleviate Jack’s mounting panic.

“Coach, what happened to her?” Jack’s voice was tight, strained. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she answering? What happened? I saw the hit—she looked… she looked like she was in so much pain!”

Your coach’s voice was reassuring but firm. “Jack, calm down. She’s in surgery right now. She fractured her leg pretty badly. The doctors are taking care of her. They’re going to monitor her recovery closely. But she’s going to be okay.”

He froze, his heart still pounding. “Surgery? Is she awake? Can I talk to her? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s still under, Jack. They’re finishing up. She’ll be okay. You can’t be here right now, and I know that’s hard. But she’s in good hands.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. “How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“At least a couple weeks. They’ll want to monitor her closely to make sure everything heals properly.”

The words barely registered at first, but Jack’s mind finally began to slow, even as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him. He had a whole week of games ahead. There was no way he could be by her side—he would have to wait. And the thought of being this far away from her, with nothing but the distance and his uncertainty, felt unbearable.

After the call ended, Jack sat in silence for a long moment, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t sure how he would make it through the next few days, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He would call her every day. He would check in, even if it was through a screen, and he would make sure she knew he was there for her, even if he couldn’t be there physically.

Hours after the surgery, you began to stir, the soft beeping of machines pulling you from the thick haze of anesthesia. Your body felt heavy, your head foggy, and the ache in your leg was muted but persistent, a constant reminder of what had happened. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, you slowly registered your surroundings—the sterile white hospital room, the IV taped to your arm, and the faint murmur of voices outside the door. Everything felt surreal, like you were caught between waking and dreaming.

The door creaked open, and your coach stepped inside. She offered a soft smile, her familiar presence grounding you amidst the disorientation. “Welcome back, kid,” she said gently, pulling up a chair beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a croak. “Like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s about right,” your coach replied, crossing her arms. “But the surgery went well. They said you’ll be back on your feet eventually—it’s just going to take some time.”

You nodded slowly, letting the information sink in. The details of the injury and the hit felt blurry, distant, as if they belonged to someone else. What you did remember, however, was the pressing need to call Jack. You opened your mouth to ask about him, but your coach beat you to it.

“Your boyfriend,” she said with a knowing smirk, “has been losing his mind. He’s been calling non-stop since he found out. I had to take one of his calls during your surgery just to calm him down. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone freak out that much in my life.”

Despite the lingering grogginess, you chuckled softly, though the motion tugged at your sore muscles. “Did I… Did I at least tell him I’m okay before I went under?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head. “You were out cold before you could even grab your phone. But don’t worry—he knows you made it through the surgery. Barely, though. The poor guy sounded like he was about to hop on a plane mid-road trip.”

You smiled faintly at the image of Jack pacing in some hotel room, his phone glued to his ear as he pestered anyone who would answer. Your heart ached at the thought of how worried he must have been. You motioned weakly toward the bedside table, where your phone sat, its screen dark but promising missed calls and messages. “Can you hand me that?” you asked.

Your coach retrieved the phone and placed it in your trembling hands. As you fumbled with the screen, your fingers clumsy and unsteady, you saw the barrage of missed calls and texts from Jack. Over a dozen calls, countless messages—all timestamped from the moment he must have seen the hit. Swallowing hard, you tapped his name and brought the phone to your ear.

It barely rang once before his voice burst through the line. “Hey!” Jack’s tone was frantic, a mix of relief and worry. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Is there someone there with you? Do you need something? God, I should’ve been there—I should’ve been with you—”

“Jack,” you interrupted softly, but he didn’t stop.

“I saw the clip. I saw it. That hit—it looked so bad. You just went down, and I—God, I felt like my heart stopped. I’ve been calling everyone, and no one was picking up, and then your coach finally called me back and said you were in surgery. Surgery! I should’ve been there—”

“Jack,” you said again, more firmly this time, though your voice was still weak. His words slowed, but the panic in his tone was still evident. “I’m okay,” you assured him, even as your own voice wavered. “The surgery went well. I’m sore, but I’ll be alright. I promise.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, the silence filled with his uneven breathing. “You’re sure?” he asked finally, his voice quieter but still laced with worry. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your lips curling into a faint smile. “They said I’ll make a full recovery. It’s going to take a while, but I’m okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry.”

His sigh of relief was audible, but it was short-lived. “How could I not worry?” he said, his voice rising again. “I saw the hit, and then I didn’t hear from you, and I was stuck here, a thousand miles away, with no idea if you were okay or if you were—” He stopped himself, his voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’m not there with you.”

The raw frustration in his voice was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “It’s just hockey,” you said softly, trying to reassure him. “Stuff like this happens. It’s part of the game.”

“Not to you,” he snapped, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. “It can happen to anyone else, but not you. You’re the last person I want to see getting hurt, and now you’re stuck in a hospital bed, and I can’t even be there to hold your hand.”

“Jack,” you whispered, but he was on a roll now, his frustration spilling over.

“I can’t believe this stupid schedule,” he muttered. “I should be on the next flight home. Screw the games. They can deal without me for one night—”

“You can’t do that,” you said quickly, your voice firmer this time. “Jack, I need you to focus on your games. I’ll be fine. You’ll see me soon enough.”

He sighed again, the sound heavy with reluctance. “I just… I feel so helpless,” he admitted. “You’re hurt, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you told him gently. “Just hearing your voice right now is enough.”

The conversation eventually calmed, though Jack’s worry never fully faded. He promised to call every day—and he did. Over the next week, he became your lifeline.

The first night after your surgery, Jack called you just as he promised he would. The moment your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, a sense of comfort washed over you. You answered immediately, his face appearing on the screen before you could even get out a greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but still edged with worry. His hair was damp from a post-game shower, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows propping you up. Your leg throbbed dully beneath the cast, but seeing Jack’s face helped dull the ache. “Sore, but okay.”

“You look pale,” he noted, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned the screen, like he could physically assess you through it. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you been eating? What about water—have you been drinking enough?”

“Jack,” you interrupted gently, your lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m fine. They’ve been taking care of me here, and the doctors said the surgery went well. You don’t have to worry so much.”

His sigh was audible even through the small speaker of your phone. “How can I not worry? I hate that I’m stuck here while you’re dealing with all of this alone.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re doing your job,” you reminded him. “And I’m not alone. My team’s been in and out, and the nurses here are great.”

“It’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone low. “I should be there.”

You reached up and adjusted the angle of your phone, so he could see your reassuring smile. “You’re here, Jack. Maybe not physically, but this? These calls? They help more than you know.”

His face softened slightly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you said firmly. “Now, tell me about your game. How’d it go?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, but when you raised an expectant eyebrow, he relented. “It went alright. We won, but it was closer than it should’ve been. I missed an open net in the second period, and the guys gave me hell for it.”

“Missed an open net?” you teased, your tone light. “Wow, Jack Hughes is human after all.”

He groaned, though you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll make up for it next game.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with a grin. “You always do.”

The conversation shifted after that, Jack asking about your day in the hospital. He wanted to know everything—what you ate, what the doctors said, how much pain you were in. His questions were relentless, but you didn’t mind. If anything, it warmed your heart to know how much he cared. By the time the call ended, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but the lingering sound of Jack’s voice in your mind made falling asleep a little easier.

The calls became your anchor over the next week. Every night, without fail, Jack would call you after his game, no matter how late it was. Some nights, he’d FaceTime you, propping his phone up on a stack of pillows in his hotel room while he lounged on the bed in sweats and a hoodie. Other nights, he’d call you during his downtime at the rink, his voice echoing faintly in the empty locker room as he checked in on you.

On the third night, after another win for his team, Jack’s call came through just after midnight. You answered groggily, your phone resting on your chest as you blinked sleepily at his face.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.

“No, it’s okay,” you murmured, shifting slightly to prop yourself up against the pillows. “How was the game?”

“Good,” he said, though his expression was a little sheepish. “I scored a goal, but I got into it with a guy on the other team. He cross-checked me, and I might’ve, uh, shoved him a little.”

“Jack,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You can’t get yourself hurt. One of us in the hospital is enough.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Don’t worry, I can take a hit. But seriously, how are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

You shook your head, smiling at his endless concern. “I’m fine, Jack. They’ve got me on some good meds, so I’m not feeling much pain right now.”

“Good,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if trying to detect any hidden discomfort. “Tell me if that changes, okay? If you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

“Jack, you’re on the other side of the country,” you pointed out, your tone teasing. “What could you possibly do from there?”

“Plenty,” he said stubbornly. “I could call your coach. Or your doctor. Or the president, if I have to.”

You laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I don’t think the president can help with a broken leg, Jack.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he shot back, grinning. “I’m serious, though. Just tell me if you need anything.”

“All I need is for you to win some games,” you teased, your voice light. “That’s all the help I need.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but you could see the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. “But you love me anyway.”

By the end of the week, the calls felt like second nature. Jack would update you on his games, sharing every detail with the enthusiasm of someone desperate to distract himself from his own worries. In turn, you’d tell him about the progress you were making in the hospital, even if it was slow. You joked about how the nurses were starting to recognize him just from the sound of his voice, and he teased you about how bossy you were getting with your requests for snacks and drinks.

Through it all, Jack’s constant presence—whether through a screen or a phone call—was what kept you going. And even though he couldn’t be there in person, he made you feel as though he was never truly far away.

Finally, after what felt like the longest week of your life, the day finally arrived when Jack’s West Coast road trip came to an end. He had called you every day, just like he’d promised, but it wasn’t the same as having him by your side. Through the screen, you could see the worry etched into his face and hear it in the tone of his voice. He hated being so far away from you, and every conversation ended with him muttering how much he wished he could teleport home.

The waiting had been agonizing for both of you. Jack barely slept, the guilt of not being able to be there gnawing at him, and you had spent your days in the hospital, frustrated by your immobility and longing for his comforting presence. So when you finally got the text that he had landed and was on his way, the anticipation became almost unbearable.

You sat up in the hospital bed, your leg propped up in a brace and wrapped in layers of bandages, staring at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return. You heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and then the door swung open.

“Jack,” you breathed, and there he was.

He looked exhausted. His hair was messy from the flight, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but the relief on his face was so palpable it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides, not even bothering to set his bag down before he wrapped you in the gentlest hug he could manage. His arms circled you carefully, mindful of your injuries, but the embrace was so full of love that it made your chest ache.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. “God, I was so scared. Watching that hit… hearing you were in surgery… I didn’t know what to do. I felt so useless.”

You could see the guilt swimming in his eyes, and you shook your head, resting your hand on top of his. “Jack, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I hate that I wasn’t here when you needed me most.”

“Stop,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “You did everything you could. You called, you checked in—Jack, I knew you were with me, even if you weren’t here physically.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his emotions flickering across his face like a storm. Then he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m here now,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud made it more real. “And I’m not leaving until you’re back on your feet.”

The first day of Jack’s visit was spent catching up—he pulled a chair close to your bed, his fingers intertwined with yours as he asked about every detail of the surgery and recovery process. He flinched when you described the pain of the initial hit and visibly winced when you told him about waking up after the surgery. His worry was written all over him, and it didn’t fade even when you assured him that you were healing.

But he didn’t just stop at sitting by your side. By the next day, Jack had transformed into a one-man care team. He brought you your favorite coffee every morning, carefully maneuvering around the hospital room as though he’d been doing it for years. He kept your water bottle full, adjusted your pillows to make sure you were comfortable, and even insisted on helping you wash your hair when you mentioned you felt gross from lying in bed for so long.

“Jack, you don’t have to do all this,” you said one evening as he helped you shift positions, your leg still immobilized in the brace. “You just got back from a road trip. You should be resting, not waiting on me hand and foot.”

He scoffed, his hands steady as he fluffed your pillows. “Resting? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here taking care of you?”

“A tired one?” you offered, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, but his expression softened as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Don’t fight me on this—I’m taking care of you whether you like it or not.”

And he meant it. Jack spent every moment he wasn’t at practice by your side, helping you with the little things that had become impossible with your injury. When you were finally discharged and sent home, Jack took charge of setting up the apartment to accommodate your limited mobility. He rearranged furniture, set up a cozy corner on the couch where you could elevate your leg, and made sure your favorite snacks were within reach.

At night, when the pain was at its worst and sleep felt impossible, Jack was there. He’d sit beside you, his hand resting on your arm as he talked you through the discomfort. Sometimes he’d read to you, his voice low and soothing, and other times he’d just sit quietly, his presence enough to calm your racing thoughts.

One evening, as you lay curled up on the couch with your leg propped up on a stack of pillows, Jack sat beside you with a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant. The smell of your favorite dish filled the room, and you smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” you said, watching as he carefully plated the food for you.

He looked up, his face flushing slightly. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would fly across the country after an exhausting road trip and spend every waking moment taking care of their injured girlfriend,” you pointed out. “You’ve been… incredible, Jack. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours as though he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “You don’t have to go through anything alone,” he murmured. “Not as long as I’m here.”

In the weeks that followed, Jack became your rock. He helped you through the frustration of physical therapy, cheered you on as you regained strength, and reminded you every day that you were stronger than you thought. And though the road to recovery was long and grueling, the love and support Jack gave you made it feel a little less daunting.

As you sat together one evening, your head resting on his shoulder and your cast resting across his lap, you realized something profound: this injury, as difficult as it had been, had only brought you closer. Jack’s unwavering dedication had proven, without a doubt, that he was in this for the long haul. And with him by your side, you knew you could face anything.

257 notes · View notes

fronzie · 20 hours ago

Text

technically has to do with this but you tend to teach your friends things unconsciously solely because they’re that interested in you.

I have this friend (one of my closest best friends that I met last year). I was really hesitant to meet them bc I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself again but that’s beside the point. They’re in one of my classes and before I met them was very prone to anger if something ticked them off but was capable to mask it completely.

When we finally talked we clicked immediately because we had a lot of the same interests so we already had an emotional bond instantly. They started rubbing off on me with little things like their accent (a mix of Greek and Puerto Rican) and the ability to mask my anger to some very beneficial stuff like starting to take care of myself and being proud of what I do! Why? Because what they say about what I do is just so motivating that I’m starting to strive more and more to do the best I can to make them proud. When I’m around them I get butterflies and I just wanna tweak out and hug them and just tell them how much I love them (platonically). To say I owe my life to them is an understatement. They saved my life time and time again.

Back to the story though. So a few months into our friendship (5 months), I had a breakdown on a face time call with them. To calm me down, they started to talk about what I’ve done for them. One thing stood out from what they said.

“You made me be patient”

“what.?”

I somehow taught them to be patient although I myself am not patient. I asked them to explain and they did. I was always patient and waited when they were busy w/ god knows what, I stopped what I was doing to help them in any way I could. If they needed a break, I’d wait till I got word that they were okay now. I thought that was just being nice???? they said I had the unconscious tendency to make sure they’re okay before I took care of myself which made them take care of themself.

your friends like you so much more than they put on. i really do mean it.

Notice: not only do your friends actually like you, they secretly like you twice as much as they let on

97K notes · View notes

luckykiwiii101 · 2 days ago

Text

SLEEPING MONSTROSITY

| | IF THIS DOESN’T WAKE YOU UP, NOTHING WILL | |

ཐི you might just live this life forever…ouch ཋྀ

And for you extra failure desensitised east siders -> CLICK ME!

Hey Upper East Siders.

Lately i’ve been thinking about how big of failure you are. And how you keep coming up with more stupid questions to ask bloggers because you can’t accept that life is just easy. I’d call you sleeping beauty, but unlike you, she actually woke up.

I want you to ask yourself how it feels knowing that even though you have all the power, you still don’t have the will to save yourself. Yet you think it’s all going to be okay. You still think you’re going to eventually manifest your dream life, and that this nightmare will come to an end.

Pardon my harsh words but that’s pathetic. Why? Because you told yourself the same thing months ago, and look where you are. You haven’t gotten anywhere. You may understand the law better but you haven’t done anything with it. And knowledge is useless when it’s held by…well, you. A lazy, hopeless, pathetic dreamer.

What actually makes you think that you’re going to be living your dream life by the time it hits 2027. You’re just staying still, and you’re going to continue to. You’re not on an escalator, you’re on a treadmill. Getting absolutely nowhere.

And as i’ve said before, leave those Pinterest boards on Pinterest. I can’t imagine how painful it must be to doom fully stare at something you know you’ll never give yourself. And save your dreams for nap time because that’s the closest you’ll ever get to seeing them.

The amount of people that have left this app, without their dream lives…and you’re just going to end up being another one of them. Another day you take to procrastinate turns into a week, then into a month, 6 months, a year, two years, five years…twenty.

“I’ll persist later!!!” Yes. Exactly. You’ll persist “later.” Later as in, next week? next month? next year? Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours, hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn in to years, and years turn into decades, and decades turn into small little segments of your tragic little life, spent doing what? Trying? Procrastinating? Sulking? Or living the life of your dreams? Call it Russian roulette, but YOU’RE the one holding the gun to your head. Nowhere to run.

“I’ll try to enter the void state again tonight.” Yes. Exactly. You’ll TRY again. And you’ll try again the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that. and so on…and so on…

But you know what’s the most shocking of all? The fact that you actually believe that everything is going to be okay. “I know i’ll win in the end.” Are you sure? Because you don’t win by staying the same. And that’s all you’ve been doing since forever.

You’re going to wake up tomorrow and make the same decision you’ve been making all your life. You’re going to deliberately and willingly choose to be someone you don’t want to be. As usual. Because that’s what’s comfortable to you. What can I say. You’re only human. And that’s all you’ll ever be.

But for someone like Blair Waldorf, failure is the end of the world. Because she’s uncomfortable with something she isn’t used to experiencing. But it’s only if she gets used to it, that she gets comfortable, and starts to let it in. And take over her. Sound familiar? Because it’s exactly what you’ve been doing to yourself. You’re so desensitised to failure that you read wake up calls in your sleep. Shrug them off, and move on. As if the words on this screen aren’t literally your reality.

If this doesn’t make your heart sink, i’m not sure what will. For some, the pain of knowing this might be too intense to ignore, for most of you, you’ll feel nothing. Your desensitisation to failure will be the death of you. What have you done to yourself…

Ouch!

- gossip girl

149 notes · View notes

i-dared-myself · 2 days ago

Text

The Bet

Seungmin x reader x Bang Chan

In which Seungmin has something to prove and no respect

18+ This is the filthiest thing I’ve ever written (Yet, heheh. I have something else sitting in my drafts) so BE WARNED. This contains some mxm so if you’re not comfortable you’re more than welcome to move on

“Weird,” you mutter to yourself as you walk through your front door. Usually you are the last one home, but it seems like the apartment is empty tonight.

“Hello?” you call as you kick your shoes off. “Seungmin? Chan?”

When no response comes, you text them quickly. You’re slightly worried, but it’s not completely unheard of for their jobs to keep them late.

You grab a set of pans and put them on the stove, bringing out ingredients for dinner too. It isn’t your night to cook, but being helpful never hurts.

Your phone dings from where you left it on the counter. You check it to see that Seungmin messaged saying he and Chan are almost home.

You open a bottle of wine, just needing something to relax with. As you pour a glass the door slams open.

“Seungmin?” Your eyebrows knit together in concern as your boyfriend storms right up to you. His fingers curl through your hair and he bends you over the kitchen counter, cheek squishing against the cold marble. “What are you-“

“Shh,” he coos gently. Seungmin presses up against you, body heavy against yours. “I’ll fuck you so good that you can’t walk straight for days after. How does that sound?”

You grope at the counter in shock, hands clenching and unclenching. “Seungmin? What are you- Where’s Chan?”

“Right here, baby,” Chan says as he shuts the door. It clicks behind him before he wanders closer. “Need something? My cock, maybe?”

“What are you both doing?” you demand. “Seungmin! Chan! Explain yourselves!”

“Seungmin and I made a little bet,” Chan tells you as he rolls up his sleeves, exposing the skin of his forearms. “He thinks he can be a better dom than me.”

“And how do I come into this?” You squirm back against Seungmin. “I don’t see how it’s my problem.”

“We’re gonna test it on you.” Seungmin rolls his hips into you experimentally. “So who do you want to fuck you first? Me, or whiny Chan? He’s so tired today I don’t think he’ll even be able to get it up…”

“Watch it!” Chan snaps. “I’ll bend you over my lap, bet or no bet.”

Seungmin snorts and drags you over to the couch. “Who will it be, baby? Me, or old man Bang?”

Chan huffs. “Second strike, Seungmin. There’s still respect that needs to be upheld.”

“You first.” You lean up to kiss Seungmin, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. He eagerly returns the affection, pressing against you.

You scoot further down the couch so there’s more room for him. Seungmin takes his place between your legs, throwing a pillow away.

“By the time I’m done with you, it’ll be past the old man’s bedtime.” Seungmin’s eyes glint mischievously as he slips a hand down your pants. His index finger finds your clit and circles it once, then twice before he adds, “I’ll fuck you again for him.”

Chan suddenly grips Seungmin’s hair and rips him away from you. The other man lets out a short cry as he’s tossed to the other side of the couch.

“Chan!” you protest as you reach for Seungmin. “He was about to fuck me!”

“Not anymore.” Chan grins at you, all dimples and joy before he turns to Seungmin, and it fades away. Now he’s angry and sexy, and you want him so bad.

You huff and scoot up further against the arm of the couch. “Well I was promised sex, and I don’t care who does it, as long as someone gives it to me.”

Chan laughs as he fists Seungmin’s hair, dragging him off the couch. He forces his head down to the floor until Seungmin’s cheek is smushed.

“Really?” Chan looks down at him with an eyebrow raised. His eyes glint darkly. “That’s the best you can arch your back?”

Seungmin struggles to lift his head, eventually just spitting out, “Fuck you.”

“Ah, so he’s in one of those moods.” Chan glances over his shoulder at you. “I bet he didn’t even want to dom you. He just wanted to fight me a little bit.”

You nod in agreement, sprawling out on the furniture. “Probably. He always likes his punishments. More so than rewards.”

Chan smiles at you softly, his hand still clasped tightly around Seungmin’s wrists. “Can you go bring me the cuffs, baby? Then I’ll give you what you want.”

You nod and rush off to the drawer that they’re kept in. You pass them to Chan and watch as Seungmin’s hands are restrained behind his back.

“There you go.” Chan pats Seungmin’s cheek condescendingly. “Now you can’t touch yourself either.”

Seungmin pushes himself up to a sitting position, glowering at Chan. His gaze flicks to you before back to him. “Come on! All I did was tease a little!”

Chan hooks his arms under Seungmin’s armpits and drags him to the corner, chuckling when Seungmin tries to bite him. “It’s the lack of respect, Seungmin. If I’m going to let you fuck her-“

“She’s my girlfriend too!” Seungmin protests.

“There have to be rules,” Chan finishes. “Such as respecting me, and no talking back. Now, I’m going to fuck her, and then if you’re lucky and I’m in a good mood, I’ll let you have her.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes defiantly. “You just wanted to go first before it was your bedtime, didn’t you? You could’ve just said, old man.”

Chan smiles and laces his hand together. “Is that right? You really think so?”

Seungmin hums in confirmation. “Yeah. I know that you can’t fuck her good enough.”

Chan’s expression is still light-hearted, which is what scares you the most. He has a lot of patience, but when it’s worn out he snaps hard.

“I’ve changed my mind on what’s happening tonight,” Chan declares. He looks back at you pleasantly. “Undress.”

You cross your arms. “Do I have a say in this?”

Chan turns his gaze to you. “Do you not want us?”

You shift. “Okay fine, I do.”

“Then undress while I take care of him.” Chan points his chin to Seungmin. “We can’t just leave him there to watch. Might as well give him something to struggle with.”

Seungmin’s eyes widen a bit and you can see his throat flex as he swallows. You’re not worried. He knows his signals for if it’s too much and needs to stop.

You hear a bottle cap being uncapped, but don’t pay it much mind. You strip out of your pants and shirt, quickly discarding of your undergarments.

When you turn around, Seungmin is propped up naked over the arm of the couch, Chan behind him. Seungmin’s mouth is parted and you can see his hands trying to grab at something.

You peek around his body to see Chan’s fingers working him open. You reach down to run your fingers through Seungmin’s hair soothingly.

“Is it good?” you ask him. You bend down to kiss his open mouth, smiling when he kisses you back. “Feel full, baby?”

Seungmin tries to respond, but Chan adds another digit and he cuts himself off with a whine. You laugh lightly and peer down at what Chan’s doing.

“Can you do me a favour, baby?” Chan looks up at you through his lashes. “Can you shut him up, please? This isn’t supposed to make him feel good, just to get him ready.”

“Sure.” You plunge two of your fingers into Seungmin’s mouth until they make him gag.

Chan chuckles. “That just made him clench on me.” He kisses Seungmin’s shoulder. “Did you like that?”

Seungmin nods as best as he can. Drool is pooling in the corners of his mouth around your fingers.

You give an experimental thrust of your fingers between his lips. Seungmin gurgles but lets a moan out. You debate adding a third finger but decide against it, not wanting to push him too hard today.

Chan pulls his hand away and presses a plug into Seungmin. “There you go, baby.”

You remove your fingers and wipe the spit off of them onto Seungmin’s face. “Is it my turn yet?”

“Yes.” Chan flashes you an expression of fond exasperation. He wrenches Seungmin off the armrest and back to the floor. “Give me a second.”

You sigh impatiently and roll your eyes. “I swear it’s been like two hours since I was promised sex. If I don’t get someone’s dick soon I’m leaving.”

“It’s not too late to come over here.” Seungmin’s cheeks are flushed pink along with the tips of his ears. His cock is hard and you know Chan’s going to make him wait a while for any form of release.

“Come here,” Chan calls from the couch. “I’ll let you ride me.”

You hurry over to him, ignoring Seungmin’s indignant cry. You don’t want to end up in the same position as him.

Maybe you do a little, but you also just want something now.

“Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?” you complain once you’re standing in front of Chan.

He tilts your chin up so he can kiss you. “Patience.”

As Chan shuffles out of his clothes, you watch Seungmin. He’s squirming, trying to get friction on his dick. He’s facing you, and you wish you could see the plug spreading him open.

“Baby.” Chan brings your knuckles to his lips and places a soft kiss to them. “Ignore him. If he wanted attention he should’ve respected me.”

You force your gaze away and back to Chan. He’s nude now, and you eagerly straddle his lap.

“Wait,” Chan laughs, “you need prep first.”

“No I don’t,” you protest, “I’m wet. I’m dripping. Please!”

His hands go to your hips and pull you down so you’re straddling his thighs. “Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What? And I’m fine to hurt?” Seungmin scoffs. “I still have bruises on my ass from when I called you a bitch!”

“I give you plenty of warnings,” Chan gently reminds him. “And you’re not supposed to be talking right now.”

“Please.” You bring Chan’s attention back to you. “Just hurry up already!”

Chan sighs. “Fine. But I’ll stop if you need me to.”

Then he’s guiding his cock to your cunt and very slowly entering you. You throw your head back at the stretch and the feeling of fullness.

He stops, keeping you in place like that. You glare down at him, unamused.

“Why?” you demand. “I’ve been kept waiting forever!”

“Just relax.” Chan strokes your hair. “We didn’t prep you and I want to make sure you’re okay.”

You grumble, but place your head in the crook of his neck. His chest rumbles with a barely contained laugh when your eyes flutter as he shifts.

“Okay,” you eventually murmur, “I’m ready.”

“Let me know if we need to stop.” Chan adjusts how he’s sitting so you’re have more room to move. A groan rips itself from his throat at your first bounce.

You can feel Seungmin’s eyes on you as you ride Chan. Chan’s hand tighten on your waist, but he lets you control the movements.

One of his hands drops to toy with your clit. The lazy circles it draws makes you squeeze around him, causing him to shudder.

“You close yet?” Chan asks. “Close to cumming around my cock?”

You bite your lip. “Maybe. Just need-“

He rolls his hips upwards to meet you when you sink down on him. Your orgasm washes over you and you let out muffled sounds against Chan’s torso, burying your face against him.

“That’s it,” Chan croons. “So good, not letting Seungmin see your pretty face as you cum.”

You flutter around him at his words, blinking your eyes open to see his face. His eyebrows are pulled together as he continues to thrust into you.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Chan promises lowly. His eyes are cloudy with lust, focused on your expressions. “Come on, do it again. I know you can.”

His fingers are still working at your clit, sending sparks to reignite the fire at your core. You mouth at his collarbone, preventing any of your moans to reach Seungmin’s ears.

Then you’re somehow falling over the edge again, so close to your first. Chan pulls out and leaves you to clench around nothing, making you mourn the fullness that just had.

“Seungmin,” Chan calls softly, “why don’t you come over here?”

You notice Chan hadn’t filled you, still hard. You’re confused for a moment before Chan’s manhandling you and your mind goes blank.

You’re dragged to the floor as Seungmin shuffles closer on his knees. Seungmin looks to Chan expectantly, finally behaving.

Chan reaches out to cup Seungmin’s cheek. “You finally get to fuck her now. If you make her cum, you’ll get your release. But if you cum first…” Chan glances to you. “What do you think, baby?”

You swallow thickly as your thighs are forced apart by Chan’s hands. “No sex for a month?”

Chan nods before facing Seungmin again. “You hear that?”

“Yes. I understand.” Seungmin blinks. “I’ve got this.”

“Good.” Chan, seemingly satisfied, lifts Seungmin and lays him atop you. Seungmin’s hands are still restrained behind his back and the plug is still in him. “Go ahead.”

“I- I can’t-“ Seungmin’s hips shift as he tries to find your entrance. He lifts his head to look down at your eyes, cheeks flushed.

“You can’t what?” Chan looms over the two of you.

“I-“ Seungmin squeezes his eyes shut. “I can’t find her pussy.”

Chan coos. “Oh, is that right? Need my help?”

Seungmin nods, his naked body pressing against yours harder as he tries again to press into you.

“Use your words.” Chan rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“Please?” Seungmin begs. “I just- I need- Please!”

“Shh.” Chan’s hands go to Seungmin’s hips and align him with your cunt. “It’s okay.”

Seungmin whines as he enters you. His eyes rolls back as he finally gets stimulation.

“Are you going to fuck her or not?” Chan settles on the couch, raising an eyebrow. “This is what you wanted, right? Don’t tell me you can’t make her feel good.”

Seungmin’s hips make a desperate thrust into you, but it’s not as smooth as Chan’s. He’s making whiny little sounds as he stutters through the movements.

Your hands go up to his hair, tugging hard. “Seungmin! Do it properly!”

“I’m trying,” he whines, hiding his face against your throat. “I- I’m trying!”

You try to buck your hips up, but his body weight prevents you from doing so. You’re trapped and at his mercy, and he can barely maneuver his body with his hands restrained.

“I don’t think she’s even close,” Chan taunts. He sounds as if he’s taking great joy in this. “Is that all you’re good for? Humping her until you cum?”

Seungmin blinks back frustrated tears. “N-No! I-“ He moans as your walls flutter around him, effectively silencing him.

“Make her cum.” Chan slides off the couch and kneels next to the two of you. “You can do that, can’t you? You made such a fuss about how you were a better dom than me after all.”

Seungmin makes eye contact with you again, mouth falling open. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get enough leverage to properly thrust into you. When he opens his eyes, tears bubble out of them.

Chan taps the plug in Seungmin, causing the man to jerk. “Would it help if I fucked you? Would my momentum fuck you into her? Or would it just make you cum immediately?”

“No. I can do this,” Seungmin slurs as Chan tugs at the plug until it’s at his rim, stretching him at to the max. “I- Just let me-“

You have enough and reach down to your clit. “I can’t believe I have to do it myself.”

“Did you hear that?” Chan places his hands on Seungmin’s hips. “I fucked her better.”

Seungmin and you both let out cries as Chan guides Seungmin into you. With your own hand at your clit, and actually having a rhythm with Seungmin’s cock, you can feel yourself getting close.

Seungmin’s hands are clawing for anything to grab at as Chan moves his hips for him. Chan takes pity on him and undoes the cuffs, and Seungmin immediately wraps his arms around you.

You arch up to kiss Seungmin, swallowing his whines. He eagerly returns the affection and allows you to slip your tongue in his mouth.

Then you’re having your third orgasm, moaning. Seungmin is wrenched away from you, his eyes glazed over as his dick spurts onto your pussy.

You shiver at the missing warmth as his body is maneuvered away from you. He’s bent over the couch, clutching at anything he can as the plug is eased from him. He lets out another pathetic whimper as it pops free.

Chan kisses his forehead, cleaning him up fondly. You’re given similar treatment before being tucked in next to Seungmin, watching as Chan goes off to grab some water.

“Doing okay?” you ask Seungmin, running a hand through his hair.

He hums sleepily, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Sorry I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay. I had fun,” you assure him. Chan returns and hands you both glasses of water. “Did you not…?”

Chan clears his throat, looking away. “I did when you two were messing around.”

“Ah.” You nod and sip at your drink. “Well next time you make one of those bets, I want in. I think I could do pretty good.”

Taglist (Open):

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #seungmin smut #seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader x bang chan

138 notes · View notes

kpop-reactions-povs · 2 days ago

Text

Stray kids- Apologizing after an argument they had with their S/O

Bang Chan

You told him you felt neglected because of his busy schedule, but he lashed out in frustration. "You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me!" Later that night, Chan walks into the room quietly. He finds you sitting on the bed, eyes downcast, and his heart clenches at the sight. "Hey… I’ve been thinking about what I said, and I hate myself for hurting you like that." His voice wavers slightly as he takes your hands in his. "You’re the most important person in my life. I was stupid and tired, but that’s no excuse. I love you more than anything, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right." He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly. "Please don’t doubt how much you mean to me. I’ll prove it every single day."

Lee Know

He had been acting distant, and when you brought it up, he snapped. "Maybe you should stop expecting so much from me!" After some time alone, Lee Know comes back to find you sitting by the window, wiping away silent tears. His chest tightens with guilt. "Y/N…" he says softly, kneeling beside you. "I was a complete jerk. You were just trying to talk to me, and I pushed you away." His eyes glisten as he cups your face gently. "I never want to hurt you like that again. You’re everything to me. Please forgive me." His lips brush softly against your forehead. "Let me take care of you tonight, okay? Just you and me."

Changbin

He kept brushing off your feelings, and when you insisted on talking, he got defensive. "Why can’t you just drop it already?" Changbin finds you curled up in bed, your back turned to him. He hesitates before crawling in beside you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. "I was so wrong, baby," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "You were just trying to be honest with me, and I made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter. But they do. You matter more than anything." He buries his face in your shoulder. "I’ll listen better. I’ll be better. I just… can’t lose you." His grip tightens around you. "I love you so much."

Hyunjin

You felt like he wasn’t prioritizing your relationship, and he lashed out in frustration. "Maybe we’re just better off taking a break!" Hours later, Hyunjin shows up at your door, his eyes red-rimmed from crying. "Please… let me explain," he pleads. "I didn’t mean any of it. I was scared and overwhelmed, but losing you would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me." His voice breaks, and tears roll down his cheeks as he takes your hands. "I love you more than words can ever say. Please give me another chance to prove it to you." He hugs you tightly, refusing to let go until he feels you melt into his embrace. "You’re my everything."

Han

You confronted him about being emotionally distant, and he lashed out in frustration. "Why do you always need so much from me?" Han sits across from you, his hands trembling slightly as he speaks. "I messed up. I was scared because you’re the one person who makes me feel vulnerable, and I didn’t know how to handle it." His eyes brim with unshed tears. "But pushing you away was the worst thing I could’ve done. You deserve all the love I have to give. Please… let me show you that you’ll never have to ask for it again." He cups your face gently, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Felix

He kept canceling your plans together, and you told him it made you feel unimportant. "I’m trying my best, okay? You’re being too sensitive!" Felix knocks on your door softly, his face filled with guilt when you finally open it. "I hurt you, and I hate that I made you feel like you didn’t matter to me," he says, his voice cracking. "You’re everything to me. I should’ve listened instead of pushing you away." He steps closer, his hands resting on your shoulders. "I’ll do better. I promise. Just… stay with me, okay? I love you so much." His voice is barely a whisper as he pulls you into the warmest, most comforting hug.

Seungmin

He had been sarcastic during a serious conversation, and you felt dismissed. "Not everything has to be so dramatic, you know?" Seungmin finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, his heart breaking at the sight of your teary eyes. "I messed up big time," he admits, his voice barely audible. "I made you feel like your feelings weren’t valid, and I hate myself for that." He kneels in front of you, his hands trembling slightly as they reach for yours. "You’re the best thing in my life. Please let me fix this." His lips brush against your knuckles. "I’ll never take you for granted again."

I.N

He forgot an important anniversary, and you were hurt that he didn’t seem to care. "It’s not like it’s a big deal!" I.N stands nervously in front of you, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a small handwritten note. "I was so wrong," he says, his voice trembling. "It is a big deal because it’s important to you—and anything important to you is important to me." His eyes glisten with unshed tears. "Please forgive me for being so thoughtless. I’ll never forget again. Let’s celebrate twice as hard to make up for it."

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #skz #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz reactions #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic

84 notes · View notes

asterafroditis · 1 day ago

Text

𐔌 . ⋮ too late to speak .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Azul Ashengrotto x gn! reader

𓏵 879 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, unestablished relationship with reader, angst, hurt/no comfort

might give this a part 2 with a happy ending if I feel like it or anyone asks (-ω-；) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Azul always knew you were kind.

Not just polite or charming, but truly, genuinely kind. The kind of person who greeted everyone by name, who asked how their day was and actually listened to the answer. The kind of person who saw past his sharp businessman’s smile, his smooth-talking arrogance, and treated him as if he was worth more than just a contract.

But that was just how you were with everyone.

He told himself that, over and over again. That you were just friendly. That there was nothing special about the way you spoke to him, that he was foolish for thinking he meant anything more to you than the next student you happened to befriend.

So he waited.

Waited for a sign. For proof that you might see him the way he saw you. Because Azul Ashengrotto didn’t take risks he couldn’t afford to lose, and losing you—the idea of you rejecting him, looking at him with pity—was something he could never gamble on.

So he said nothing.

And in turn, neither did you.

You used to think Azul would be the one to confess first.

He was strategic, after all—always had a plan, always thought five steps ahead. If he wanted something, he found a way to get it. And for a while, you let yourself believe that maybe, maybe, you were something he wanted, too.

You caught the way he lingered whenever you spoke, how his usually quick-witted tongue tripped over itself when you leaned a little too close. The way his gaze softened when he thought no one was looking.

You noticed it all. And it made your heart race, made your stomach twist in that agonizing, hopeful way.

But Azul never acted. Never said a word.

So, eventually, you convinced yourself you had imagined it.

That if he truly wanted you, he would have done something by now.

That maybe, despite the way you thought he looked at you, despite the way you wanted him to look at you—he never actually felt the same.

But you had to be sure.

So you tested him.

"Azul, I need your help."

He looked up from his ledger, barely registering your words at first. He had spent the past hour going over the Lounge’s weekly earnings, making adjustments, analyzing profit margins—but all of that became meaningless the moment you stepped into his office.

You were smiling. You always smiled.

"Of course," he said smoothly, placing his pen down. "What can I do for you?"

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. That wasn’t like you. You were usually so confident when asking him for favors, teasing him about his endless contracts and over-the-top business plans.

This time, though, you looked... nervous.

"I... well, you know I’ve been spending a lot of time with—" you said a name. Azul barely heard it. His mind had already started ringing, a dull roar drowning out the sound of your voice.

No. No, no, no.

Not that name. Not them.

"I think I like them, Azul," you admitted, fingers gripping the hem of your uniform. "And I—I want to tell them. But I don’t know how to do it without making a fool of myself."

Your heart was pounding. It was humiliating, really, standing here, asking him of all people for help with this.

Because you weren’t just asking for advice. You were waiting. Watching.

For the slightest change in his expression. A flicker of something—anything—that might prove you hadn’t been wrong.

That all those moments weren’t just in your head.

That Azul wanted you.

But Azul didn’t react.

He blinked once, his expression unreadable, and then—he smiled.

The same careful, practiced smile you had seen him use a hundred times before.

"I see," he said, voice perfectly even. "Well, that is quite the dilemma."

A laugh escaped you—light, relieved. That was that, then.

It was never real, was it?

Azul had never liked you the way you liked him.

His throat closed up. His hands curled into fists beneath his desk.

You—you were asking him for advice on how to confess to someone else.

He should’ve seen this coming. He did see this coming, deep down. But he had been too much of a coward to act. Too afraid of rejection to reach for the one thing he wanted more than anything.

And now?

Now you were asking him to help you love someone else.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"Azul?" Your voice was so soft, so sweet. So unfair.

He forced himself to smile. To laugh.

To play the part of the perfect, unaffected friend.

And when you beamed at him, oblivious, he knew—he had already lost.

You had your answer.

It stung. More than you wanted to admit.

But at least now you knew.

At least now, you wouldn’t spend another second waiting for something that was never going to come.

You smiled at Azul, one final test, but he didn’t hesitate. He launched into his usual confident spiel, offering you advice like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t crushing your chest with every word.

And for the first time, you really believed him.

Azul didn’t want you.

Not like that.

And if that was the case, then maybe moving on really was the right choice.

76 notes · View notes

mrslaflour · 1 day ago

Text

ᙏ̤̫ GRAPE PARTY — ROUND TWO! kai says it’s the last round, but we know that’s a lie.

pairing — huening kai x reader

warnings — noncon, dark overall, continuation of the first grape party, overall fucked up you know that, height different, tbh maybe it’s because i’m judging my own shit but this to me looks bad because i never planned on making a part 2 but everybody wanted one and my blogs been being weird idfk i hope it fits your standards though

summary — you wake up in that bedroom. a bedroom that carried a lot of fucked up memories not just from you, but probably at least ten other girls. you wished you hadn’t woke up. they all seem to be gone except one. he was the nicest, so whatever. you ask to go home now, they got what they wanted after all. but poor you, he wasn’t finished just yet :(

it felt surreal to be laying here. surreal to even be breathing. hours of literal hell and you still lay in this sweaty, cum stained bed. how many times have they cleaned these sheets? the worst part is that you were still in this room, his room, and not home. not laid out in the middle of the school naked for a janitor to find you and not laid out in the middle of the street ready for some stranger to use you the same way they did. how did they get the others before you home? just push them out the house? you’d run home naked if it meant you’d get out of this place. but you still feel hands on you. a thumb rubbing circles into your hip, a hand on your stomach, and a head just barley in the crook of your neck.

“i had a lot of fun last night.”

kai. kai was still here laying right beside you. his voice vibrates your neck. if you were going to get stuck with any of them, you were glad it was him. but you didn’t particularly want to be stuck with him either. he treated all of this too normal and it was scary.

“i told the others i’d be the one to get you home so we could get more time together.”

you feel his smile against your neck.

“i, ah, we, wanted to keep you here longer. but the cheer team saw us go up after you when you went to the bathroom and…it’s just a whole thing.”

he pauses.

“if we got caught we’d probably never get a chance to feel you again. but if we send you on your way we’ll see each other in school, the streets, you know.”

“why are you still talking to me..?”

the circling in your hip pauses. as if he’s thinking of what to say.

“why wouldn’t i want to speak to you?”

“because i don’t want to speak,”

“i could help with that.”

after all the dirty talk and things they’ve done tonight, you knew damn well what he meant and immediately shook your head no. you don’t have the strength to cry anymore but oh do you want to. all you wanna do is go home and fall face first in your bed and sob your eyes out. you hear your phone ringing and lift your head to see it on the night stand next to you. it’s your friends caller ID. you frown and reach an arm out to grab the phone but he pulls your hand to his chest.

“do you feel my heartbeat? you’re the best i’ve ever had.”

you just stare at the phone as the ringing goes off for the last few times before it’s hangs up automatically. you immediately get spammed with a million text notifications (which you can only assume are from her). you hear kai sigh before he drops your hand and gets up, you finally felt like you could breathe a little.

“you know she’s been calling you non-stop this whole morning? i don’t know how you’re just now noticing.”

he grabs the phone before opening the bathroom door and throwing it in there.

“we probably have limited time together before she drives over here or whatever and i don’t have yeonjuns charm to cover me…”

he frowns at that. you didn’t know what his other teammates were doing. you didn’t have school today so they probably went out to fuck some other girl on the street.

you’re sitting up now. you lean over the side of the bed and see your clothing littered everywhere. a cut up shirt and pants tossed across the room. panties poking out from under the bed and your bra laying right in front of your face. you pick it up while he’s not looking and quickly clasp it on so you can at least get a little bit of coverage. when he turns back around he just looks down at your boobs and gives you a light smile before sitting on the bed criss cross right in front of you.

“i loved how they felt you know? pushed up against my chest as i took my time with you. they were so soft.”

you look around before looking him in the eyes trying to signal to him that you were uncomfortable, but he just looked like a lovesick puppy.

“i want this not to just be a one time thing, yknow. i wanna wake up to you in my arms everyday. i want you to be mine..”

he sort of mumbled the last part but you heard him loud and clear, and hell no. not in a million years. maybe before all of this. he was tall, hot, but also cute! easy and fun to talk to, a football player, rich even! the absolute package. but uhm, nowhere in that package did it mention that he was a rapist…? and no you’re not gonna just — no!

“i don’t want anything to do with you.”

his face drops a little. as if you actually had hurt him. he looks down at his lap before you can see his face lift up a little and it looks like he has a thought.

“were they mean to you?”

what? he was there, he would know. and although kai was probably as nice as a rapist could be, he was just as disgusting. you just stare at him like he’s crazy.

“you liked me the most, right? i made you feel good. i know you didn’t want me to stop. you didn’t want soobin to take his turn, just wanted me to stay inside of you.”

it’s quiet and uncomfortably silent before he places his hand on your shoulder, causing you to flinch. he then forcefully, but gently pushes you onto the bed.

“please don’t — you all said i was going home today…”

he just strokes your cheek with one hand before he starts kissing you all over your face and moving down to your neck. sucking slowly, taking his time, thus leaving deep purple hickeys. you had just realized he never took the bra off again. you just feel his finger trace the outline of the bra before he lifts his face from your neck.

“i think the bra makes them look cuter,”

he pauses with a smile.

“your turn.”

he leans forward and puts his neck near your mouth. you know what he wants you to do but you don’t want to give into his sick fantasy. you shake your head no.

“please? if you do i promise i won’t make your mouth do other things despite how much i want you to…”

you quickly suck the air through your teeth and take a deep breath before you start going as slow as possible sucking on his neck. you didn’t know weather to go super fast or super slow. super fast would make you seem as if you were happy to be getting him off, so happy that you were just rushing through, but going slow would make it seem like you wanted to be sensual and loving to him, but ultimately you went with going slow. your eyes closed trying to imagine time was going by faster and faster and you were driving closer and closer to your house. kais hand is stroking through your hair and his finger is running through your collarbone.

“the others are gonna wonder how i got you to do this. how i got you to mark me up all over my neck. it’s because you just love me so much, right?”

you shook your head no. you didn’t want to satisfy his sick fantasy. he just did a light click with his tongue and moved lower down your body, running his hands on your stomach before rubbing his thumbs in circles on your hips. your hips were all purple from the hard grips they had made on you the night before. you flinched slightly, they hurt badly. kai looked up and gave a pouty lip to you. you couldn’t tell if it was sincere or mocking. it may not have been mocking, but it certainly was not sincere. he leaned in and kissed the bruises that marked your hips before his lips got lower, and lower, and lower, and lower, and—

you quickly push his head away, clearly catching him off guard as he went back far pretty significantly. you push yourself back up and crawl to the other side of the bed before attempting to run to the door. obviously that was going to do nothing, but it didn’t hurt to try. he quickly stops you before you even get close to the door and he pulls your back into his stomach. the sweat on both his stomach and your back making you both become one. he wraps his arms around yours, glueing your arms to your side. he places his head into the crook of your neck, having to lean down quite a bit due to the scary height difference.

“why would you try to run knowing that i’d get you?”

you feel his lips pout against your neck. but you quickly realize, ‘i have a mouth’. you should have been screamed by now. there’s no loud music to distract the neigbors, they would hear you loud and clear by now. so you scream. loud. you get about two seconds of screaming out before he slams his palm over your mouth.

“why must you be so difficult?”

he shakes his head.

“i just want to show you how well i can treat you, is that so much to ask? it’s not even bad for you, it’s not like i’m hurting you, i’m just making you feel good..”

he sounds genuinely disappointed and upset. he easily lifts you up and puts you back onto the bed before holding your right hand and letting the other hand just lay there trying to push him away unsuccessfully.

“i can make you feel great baby, you know that. but maybe soobin made you forget. that’s okay, i’ll show you again hun.”

he brings your left hand to a halt by holding it with the hand that was once on your mouth, leaving you perfectly capable of screaming again, which you took full advantage of. he was going to stop you but he quickly realized that it was fine. you’d tire yourself out and most people were at work anyways. yeah, he’d still get his time with you. he moves his head down low once again and starts marking up the inside of your thighs and kissing all over you pussy and moving himself lower down to start fucking you with his tongue. you quickly try to lift yourself up to push him away, but you realize it’s quite hard to lift your chest up while your arms are pinned straight down to your sides. he squeezes your hands tighter and rubs circles into the palms of your hands while he continues to kiss and suck on your clit. you start to cry and beg him to stop and he just lifts his head back up to kiss your forehead before he moves back down to your pussy.

“shhh, just relax and let me take care of you. let’s focus all on you right now, let me make you feel good.”

what was so terrible about kai compared to the others was that he was loving. he had both yours and his pleasure in mind. he cared about weather you were in pain or not. with the others, it was easier to ignore it all and not give them any satisfaction and to piss them off by being dry but with kai? it was impossible. deep down you wished this wasn’t the situation that you two were in because had it been different circumstances, maybe you’d enjoy this and maybe you’d actually be with kai. you’re knocked out of your thoughts however by the continuous feeling of his tongue flicking your clit, determined to make you cum. you didn’t want to. you couldn’t. but you’d already been so abused and so much more sensitive from the events that took place only a couple of hours ago that you just couldn’t help it when you came. and when he kept going despite that, you start to squirm more in his grip, completely afraid.

“you can give me one more, right? just one more pretty girl, ‘promise.”

he was a liar. one more became two more and three more became four more. you hadn’t even noticed that he stopped as you’d just decided to block everything out. it wasn’t until he lets go of your wrists and towers himself over you, pulling down his pants that you snap your head back up to face him. you try to plead using your eyes, whispering small pleases and sorrys, but he just strokes your cheek and frowns at you.

“i’m sorry.”

you still. he’s sorry? you didn’t expect that. but was he really? he just dropped his pants down to his knees and was messing with his dick still, about to line it up with your entrance. he wasn’t fucking sorry.

“no you’re not. if you were sorry you’d stop now.”

your voice comes out all cracked out and hoarse from the screaming you had just done and the screaming you’d done that night before. you expected your voice would go completely missing soon. he just stares down at your entrance, as if contemplating continuing but he finally speaks.

“that’s not true. i just know how good i can make you feel. how good that we are for each other. and now that we’re alone, i can really show you.”

he presses himself inside of you and you just lay there. you couldn’t fight back anymore, you didn’t wanna try to. he couldn’t keep you here forever, he’d have to let you leave soon, so you weren’t worried about that. but as his thrusts continue for longer and longer and you start feeling yourself clenching around him tighter and tighter and you can see his smile growing, you have to look the other way and throw a hand over your mouth as you cry. you’d cried a lot the night before and a little this morning, but you were sobbing now. you couldn’t help it. he doesn’t stop though besides slowing down his movements a little, but he just moves your hand away from your mouth as he presses a kiss into you and holds you there while he finishes. he had finished first, but he was willing to overstimulate himself so that you could cum too, and when you knew that’s what he was waiting for, you just stopped fighting how your body felt and let your orgasm wash over you as your legs shake. he pulls out of you before pulling his boxers up. his pants were still down to his knees but he just laid next to you and pulled you against his chest.

“just ten more minutes of us just laying here, okay? and then we can go back to your house.”

you almost let that fly over your head. we. we. we? wait, we? no no no. he wasn’t going home with you! no, you couldn’t be trapped in this hell, you couldn’t be trapped next to him. you have to bite your lip back and scrunch your eyes shut and just nod. you didn’t wanna know what would happen if you disagreed, and you didn’t want to know what would happen once you went back to school, and you really didn’t wanna know what would happen when you’d go back home with him.

@blessedbymoon @straykidsviolet @lxsunshine @midnightathenaeum @beebrightness @hanhani29 @cassieaestheticsstuff @jastheepic @lickingan0rchid @alm0ndr4 @lailols @barbara-228

116 notes · View notes

rafesbabygirlx · 2 days ago

Note

can you write something about sarah guiding reader to have an orgasm on her own? reader's super innocent so sarah teaches her, and it's really hot while she guides her through her orgasm? thanks

eeeeeeeeeeee this is tew good

𝚋𝚜𝚏!𝚂𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚑 𝚡 𝚋𝚜𝚏!𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

“Sarah this doesn’t feel right,” you say in frustration pulling your fingers from yourself and throwing yourself back on her bed.

“You’re probably not hit it at the right angle,” Sarah giggles crawling closer to you.

“I’ve never done this before, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” you roll your eyes.

It’s frustrating that you’re the last of your friends to be a virgin. It’s embarrassing to have never even masturbated. And now it’s annoying to have your best friend sitting over your half naked body trying to help you figure it out.

“Let me try,” Sarah smiles down at you and you snap your head up.

Sarah runs her fingers up and down your folds collecting your slick. She slides 2 fingers to you entrance and slowly slides in. She begins to pump into you, trying different angles, curling her fingers, trying to see what exactly pulls a reaction from you.

She knows she’s got it when you gasp out and arch your back. She hits it a couple of times over before pulling out. You’re brought back to reality with the sudden loss of her fingers.

“See, just gotta find your sweet spot, now try it again and do this,” Sarah raises her hand, waving her 2 fingers to mimic a curl.

“Got it,” you reach back down, pushing 2 of your own fingers back inside. You adjust a little to the right and begin curling your fingers. Your back arches again and your jaw drops from finding that juicy spot in the back.

The good feeling makes you speed up, loving the unfamiliar burning feeling developing in your lower stomach. Sarah noticed the reaction too and smiles knowing you’re getting close.

“You’re gonna come soon,” she whispers trying not to break your concentration.

“Y-yeah,” you moan and throw your head back.

Your legs start to shake and Sarah tells you to go quicker.

“That’s it, keep going,”

You cry out as a your vision goes white and your body shudders as you come. Sarah tells you what to do next.

“Feels good right? Keep going, ride it out.”

You continue to pump, clenching your eyes at the powerful overstimulation.

“Good, now slowly slow down.”

You do as she says, slowly easing the rhythm of your hand. The feeling is euphoric. Your breath keeps hitching as you prolong your orgasm. You get over that last flash of relief, come to a complete stop pulling out.

Sarah grab the washcloth she brought over earlier and wipes off your fingers. “See, I told you it feels amazing.”

tags + some moots 💗

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @maybankslover @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @percysley @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slut-4-gojo @akobx @jjmaybankmylovee @slurpdew @rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @writingroom21 @v3n1ce-bxtch

#sarah cameron x you #sarah cameron fluff #sarah cameron smut #sarah obx #sarah cameron x reader #sarah cameron outer banks #outer banks sarah #sarah x reader #sarah outer banks #sarah cameron #obx smut #obx sarah #outer banks smut #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #asks 💞

114 notes · View notes

come-as-you-are-111 · 1 day ago

Note

can u make like a depressed reader x dae ho where he finds her at a bridge or smth and then the rest is history

Crossing The Edge

Warnings: suicide attempt? Reader is abt to jump off a bridge b4 Dae-Ho saves her, fluff, blurb not a full fic

The city stretched out below, alive and indifferent. Cars moved in a blur of red and white, distant voices carried on the wind, but none of it reached you. Not really.

You curled your fingers around the cold metal railing, knuckles aching from how tightly you gripped it. The wind whipped through your clothes, chilling you to the bone, but you barely noticed. The water below was dark, endless, calling in a way that was too easy to listen to.

Then—

“Hey.”

A voice, warm and careful, like someone trying not to startle a wounded animal.

You inhaled sharply, stiffening, but you didn’t turn right away. Footsteps—soft, measured—until he stopped a few feet away.

“You shouldn’t be here alone.”

You exhaled harshly, your breath visible in the cold air. “I am alone.”

A pause. Then, quietly—“Not anymore.”

That made you glance back, just for a second. He stood there, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, damp from the drizzle. His dark eyes weren’t full of pity or panic—just something softer. Something that settled deep in your chest, unwelcome and unfamiliar.

Kang Dae-Ho.

You knew him. Not well, but enough. A man who’d been dealt too many losing hands in life and yet still found a way to laugh through it. Someone who, by all accounts, shouldn’t care about a stranger on a bridge.

So why was he here?

“What do you want?” you muttered, your grip tightening on the railing.

Dae-Ho exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking to your hands before meeting your eyes again. “To make sure you’re okay.”

You huffed, looking back at the water. “That’s a lost cause.”

“I don’t believe that.” His voice was steady, too gentle for the weight in your chest. “And I don’t think you do, either. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

Something about that made your throat tighten. You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “You don’t even know me.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then—“Does that matter?”

That made you look at him again, brows furrowed.

Dae-Ho shifted slightly, then—slowly, like he was afraid to scare you—he shrugged off his hoodie. Before you could react, he stepped forward and carefully draped it over your shoulders.

You flinched. Not because you didn’t want it, but because it had been so long since someone had done something like this for you.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, adjusting it gently before stepping back. “Just—take it, okay? It’s warm.”

You stared at him, thrown off by how earnest he was. By how much care he put into something so simple. The hoodie smelled like him—faintly like cigarettes, but mostly something warm, like vanilla and the lingering scent of rain.

It felt… safe.

You exhaled shakily, gripping the fabric. “…Why do you care?”

Dae-Ho smiled, small and lopsided. “Because I know what it’s like to feel alone.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “And because I’d really hate myself if I walked away from this and something happened to you.”

You swallowed, heart hammering against your ribs.

He rocked back on his heels, then, with forced casualness, said, “There’s this diner a few blocks from here. The food’s kinda shit, but the dumplings aren’t bad. And they make the worst coffee I’ve ever had in my life.” He shot you a look, like he was sharing some grand secret. “Wanna go judge it with me?”

You blinked. “You’re seriously inviting me to get bad coffee right now?”

“Well, yeah.” His lips twitched into something soft, teasing. “What, you got better plans?”

You let out a weak, disbelieving laugh, and Dae-Ho beamed like you’d just given him the biggest win of his life.

And maybe—just maybe—that was what made you step back. Away from the edge.

He didn’t react right away, just waited, patient and steady, as if he would’ve stood there all night if he had to.

Then, when you finally turned toward him, he gave you a nod, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon. I’ll even let you steal my dumplings.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t say yes.”

Dae-Ho grinned, nudging your arm as you started walking. “Yeah, but you didn’t say no either.”

And just like that, the rest was history.

A/n: Hi my lil monsters!! How we likey? This request was so adorableee!!! Hope this was exactly as anon wanted and always feel free to request if you have any!

Love ya, Twilight

Squid game taglist:

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @takuma-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @truefandemonium

#squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game fanfic #squid game x reader #squid game 2 #nam gyu #choi su bong #kang dae ho #dae ho edit #dae x reader #kang ha nuel #kang dae ho x reader #kang ha neul #fanfiction #fluff

77 notes · View notes

teslasucks37 · 3 days ago

Note

READER TEACHING CHARLIE HOW TO FINGER HER??? YOUR WRITING IS PHENOMENAL

CW: NSFW under the cut (MDNI), sub!Charlie, inexperienced!Charlie, fingering, squirting, afab!Reader (no gendered pronouns)

A/N: Charlie is deffo experienced enough today where he doesn’t have to learn, but if we were to go back in time before he did… 🤤🤤🤤 ALSO THANK U FOR THE COMPLIMENT ON MY WRITING IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME!!! For a long time I haven’t been able to post any fics of mine cause I thought they weren’t good or was worried that people would be sad that they weren’t done, but Tumblr has been helping me write more often and be okay with what I’ve written, so here’s this 🤭

Charlie Slimecicle x Reader

Teaching Him Hcs!!!

In the past you’d told him to just “do whatever feels right”.

You were simply too horny and needy to explain it to him in the moment.

He’d been a virgin before then, never having much experience with sex in general.

And of course when he did finger you for the first time it didn’t feel AMAZING, but it wasn’t bad by any means.

Well, he must have caught on because the next day he turned to you on the couch while you were watching a show.

“Can you… Teach me? Please?” He practically begged. “I want to know how to make you feel good…”

The question made your thighs clench.

Within seconds, you were laid back on the arm of the chair, your shorts and panties were discarded on the floor.

Charlie sat between your legs, staring in awe at the apex of your thighs, holding them like they were made of gold.

He’s practically silent, so shy and not wanting to miss a single instruction.

You grasp his wrist, separating his middle and ring finger from on his hand. “Use these two.”

Slowly pulling his hand to your pussy, you place the pads of his fingers on your slit and release his wrist.

He sighs, sliding his fingers over your entrance, slipping between your folds gently. “You’re really wet.”

“Cause I like it, Char~” You say with a smile, making his face flush.

He watches how you breathe, squirm, moan at his ministrations.

“But how do I…” He chews at his bottom lip in thought, before slowly turning his hand up and slipping his fingers inside your pussy.

“Fuck…”

He freezes, eyes wide and worried.

“Good.” You reassure him. “So good, Charlie~”

He cautiously moves his fingers in and out, constantly looking up at you to gauge your reactions to what he’s doing, to see what makes you feel the best.

“Curl your fingers up.” You plead, grabbing at his bicep and feeling his muscles flex as he moves.

Instantly, he changes his angle to reach that spongy spot inside you, taking note of the different feel.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, fuck~”

God he’s such a good learner for you.

His fingers and hands are so big he doesn’t even need a third.

And they’re so fucking long he can immediately reach that spot you struggle to with every thrust.

“Other hand.” You reach out with an open hand.

You drag his fingers over your clit, jolting at the sensation. “Feel that?”

He nods, his motions inside you slowing.

“That’s my clit.”

His eyes widen in recognition as he swipes his middle finger over it again.

“Ah~” You breathe out as he circles it all on his own. “Yeah, just like that.”

Charlie’s fingers press harder, just slightly, making your back arch.

“Mmm, keep using your other hand.”

He’s so mesmerized by your reactions he hadn’t even realized he’d stopping fingering you.

You moan out as he starts to finger you again, curling his fingers into just the right spot. “Faster~”

He obeys you perfectly, pounding his fingertips quicker into your gummy walls.

His finger on your clit becomes two fingers, circling it brutally in a way that hurts just the right way.

“Yes, don’t stop!” You moan, your head falling back over the arm of the couch. “Just like that, baby~”

Charlie’s eyes stay on your face, unable to look away from how you squirm.

His fingers feel so good, his combined motions making your vision go white

He feels your walls flutter around him, squirting around his fingers as your thighs shake around his waist.

Your orgasm wets his hands, his wrists, your thighs, his clothes, the couch.

It’s fucking everywhere.

You practically collapse where you lay as Charlie’s hands slow to a stop.

He blinks, almost scared to move.

He’d never seen someone squirt before.

Or cum in general.

Porn didn’t count, half of it probably wasn’t even real.

He watches you come down from your high, panting and shivering. “Was that… Okay?”

“Okay?” You joke, glancing up at him with glassy eyes. “That was amazing.”

Charlie smiled, filling with pride that he’d made you cum with just his fingers.

“Do you wanna be done?”

You grin, poking at the visible erection in his pants. “Not unless he wants to be…”

You guys weren’t done for at least a couple hours.

#charlie slimecicle #smut #charlie slimesicle x reader #slimecicle #slimecicle x reader #charlie slimecicle smut #i need it #it’s everywhere #literally

61 notes · View notes

littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 days ago

Text

title: the dancer and the angel PART 5 (finale)

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: a forbidden kiss, a fallout, a drunken secret and a broken girl… it all comes down to this

parts: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

warnings: SPOILERS FOR TGG, swearing

a/n: what a journey!! who knew this whole series could come from one request!! thank you @emelia07, I owe this all to you my love!! and thank you for everyone who has read along and been anticipating this part, your support and love has been AMAZINGGGG

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream @shattered-glass-roses @book-nerd-emi @peppapigsposts

YOUR POV

Light streams through the window and my head thumps, a constant monotonous banging. I groan, wincing slightly as I try to roll over into a more comfortable position to re-enter sleep. I feel like I’ve just been hit by a bus, my limbs ached and weighed heavy against the rest of my body. Even my mattress feels uncomfortable, it’s much stiffer than it usually is.

I don’t open my eyes, I prefer the solace I’m finding darkness at the moment. With a pounding head and sore body all I want to do is go back to sleep but it seems my overactive brain has other ideas. Suddenly I’m overwhelmed with a flash of memories. Last night rushes through my brain in jerky disconnected moments. Grayson kissed Lyra. I had gone clubbing with Avery. Gigi was missing. The bottle of alcohol I’d snagged to drown everything out, the crying, the running, the ocean and Grayson in my room.

Oh. Shit.

I suddenly realise I can smell him all over me. My mouth grows sour. I struggle to open my eyes, they feel velcro-ed shut but I manage to pry them open. Everything’s a little hazy, though once my vision clears I realise why my mattress feels so funny. Beneath me isn’t a mattress at all. It’s a man I never wish to see again.

I sit up suddenly, jerking away from him as a wave of nausea rolls over me. I know it’s not the alcohol, I don’t get sick from it. It’s the realisation, the dread pooling the deepest pit of my stomach. This couldn’t be happening.

Scenes replay in my head, like a twisted sort of horror movie where I am the main character who walks into the room the audience knows the killer is in, the same audience who is screaming at their television screens that I shouldn’t walk into that room alone with no weapons. But that’s the thing, you can’t change a film but screaming at the tv. What’s done is done.

Everything I said, I remember it so clearly. I’d told him everything. The truth. The truth that I’d planned to bury alive until it died naturally. It was never meant to have a voice again but of course under alcohol my brain was persuaded much more easily.

“I love you,” I’d mumbled, the words tumbling out in my drunken phase.

I’d admitted to still loving him at least three times and that was how many times in remembered. I feel a little more queasy at the thought.

I dare to glance to my left. Half of his face is buried in the pillow, golden hair spilling over the other. His eyes are closed and his face looks calm, peaceful, beautiful. How dare he look like that.

Panic seizes in my throat. I don’t know what to do. Wake him, yell at him, kick him out, kiss him, leave the room and tell him it was all a dream if he questioned it. My head spins and my heart thumps. I can barely see straight, overwhelmed with a sea of emotion. I’m angry and I’m upset and I’m desperate and I’m confused.

His eyes flicker of open before I have the chance to decide my best move. He immediately meets my eye and sits up in the bed. He’s frozen, half way between going to say something and saying nothing at all. Any lingering tiredness dissipates into panic.

“What are you doing here?” I yelp, before he even has the chance to plead innocent, “why are you in my bed?”

“You were drunk,” he blurts out suddenly, arms defensive over his naked torso.

“And that’s why you’re in my bed,” I cry out incredulously, widening my eyes.

He rolls his, “you wanted me to stay, I couldn’t leave you alone on that state.”

“I was only in that state because I was trying to forget about you,” I snap back, climbing off of the mattress to pull my shoes on.

“Forget about me?” he murmurs, almost in some sort of daze as he shifts his weight on the bed.

I glance up, not accustomed to the vulnerability of his tone when we were arguing. Of course I don’t want to forget about him, I’d wanted to forget that I’d been stupid enough to give someone my heart.

But he didn’t have to know that.

He looks delicate, just sat there, his features soft and mellow. I want nothing more than to reach out and cup his face in my palms and kiss all his pain away, all his built up fear and uncertainty. To run tender fingertips across his shirtless chest, to his collarbone and neck, only for them to get lost in the golden halo of hair that sat atop his head.

My own cravings and desperation annoy me. Why am I still drawn to someone who caused me so much hurt? My head spins. I always make the same mistakes, you’d think I would’ve learnt by now. I just decide in the flash of a moment that I need to see this through, whatever this is now, it needs to be over.

“Oh,” I tusk, rolling my eyes, “don’t sound like such a hurt bird.”

“I don’t I-“

He stands up and attempts to make his way over to me. I move away.

“Just shut up and get out,” I groan, cutting him off, pressing my cold fingertips to my temples, “I’ve got a banging headache and I just want to be alone.”

I sound like a bitch but he’s not exactly making this easy for me not to. I’m hungover and heartbroken, not the best mix.

He looks at me, eyes scanning over me too tenderly. I want to melt back into his arms and fall asleep with the comfort of his soft breathing. When his eyes roam me like that I feel vulnerable, like he can see all of the things that are hurting me most. I don’t like it, he shouldn’t have that right, not anymore.

“Let me help you,” he says quietly and twinge of desperation in his throat.

My insides are screaming at me to just collide with his mouth and accept anything that he says. I look him up and down and discard this moment, these feelings and whatever happened last night. I remember who he really is and what he really did. The part of him I can’t sugarcoat.

I scoff, tightening my arms across my chest., “I think you’ve helped enough.”

He look even more hurt as he steps closer, “please let me-“

A tingle runs down my spine at the familiar position we’re in. I can’t do this.

“Grayson,” I say sharply, “leave.”

And so he does.

He turns his back and walks out of the door, shutting it gently behind him. Part of me wishes he fought harder and part of me is glad. I sink down to the floor my head in my hands. I wait for the tears that are bound to fall but the tease me and make me wait that little bit longer to cry.

Head pounding, heavy with exhaustion and all I want is his touch back, I want his voice back, I want him back but I can’t afford to want anything like that. Not anymore I suppose.

***

GRAYSONS POV

“Grayson,” the way she says my name sends a sort of electrical shock through me, her tone is so attacking and bitter I almost wince, “leave.”

Leave. Last night I was supposed to leave but she asked me to stay, this time she’s asking me to leave but all I want to do is stay.

But I turn my back and walk out of the door. I owe her this and so much more, I can’t deny her of anything else, I can’t be selfish enough to stay. My token of selfishness ran out last night or maybe even long before that.

I feel numb. Through my veins courses an icy silver liquid, my brain is a void of empty blackness lacking thoughts or emotion and my heart can’t seem to beat. Everything is gone. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff waiting to meet my death, I’ll never know when it’s coming or who caused it but I’m contented, maybe even intrigued with the possibility.

I wanted nothing more than to fight for her, stay there and demand she didn’t let me go. I want her to know how much again, how sorry I am, but what good is an apology when you’ve destroyed someone’s heart?

The numbness floods away and it hits me out of nowhere that this time I’m leaving for good. The realisation attacks me hard in the chest, bullets raining on my skin, making it a little difficult for me to breathe. A tightness constricts my upper body and I feel hazy.

I’m not going anywhere in particular, I just let my feet carry me away. Where is there to go without her? I’m an idiot. Why did I think this morning it would be any different? I’d brainwashed myself into thinking she still actually wanted me because she’d said it when she was drunk. Deep down I knew this would happen and I still stayed.

I’m a selfish bastard. Just like my grandfather.

Where to go from here? I’m alone, sat on a slab of ebony rock, staring out to sea. Usually a practice like this would calm me enough to get me to think straight but today it’s a different story.

Slowly I strip my blazer coat from my back and disgusts the shirt I’d rushed on only moments ago and trousers. I leave them folded on the black rock and make my way to the ocean. I come to the edge, the waves coming to shore lapping my bare feet and ankles.

Then I dive.

As far out as possible into the waters, until I’m out of my depth. Whilst treading waters I analyse how far out I am and the seven best possible ways to get help if I come into danger before I begin to swim.

I’ve spent so much of my life swimming, I know when I’ve hit twenty five meters and then fifty. My body is used to how it feels. So I just do it over and over and over and over. I can feel my brain becoming a blank canvas. Swimming helps me think.

Though, I’ve never enjoyed swimming the ocean, not properly swimming anyway. But I suppose that’s not what the ocean was made for. A pool is reliable. There’s no current, no salt burning your eyes, no creatures lurking beneath the surface. As I swim, I’m constantly thrown off course by the waves, that only seem to grow in size. But maybe that’s a good thing, I have to work that much harder to reach my goal.

Suddenly I stop and make my way to shore, breathing heavily as I sit on the edge where the sand meets the sea. I know what I need to do and my chest feels hollow before I even do it.

LYRAS POV

My chest heaves in and out, rising up and down as I gulp in the oxygen that dance had just stolen. I stay on the floor, toe pointed, arms poised. I don’t know how long I’m there for but eventually I will myself to stand up. I’ve danced, my feelings should be processed, but oddly enough they don’t seem to be. Not like they usually are.

I feel someone’s eyes on me, a prickling sensation creeping down the back of my neck. I turn and face the my unwanted visitor. Perfected blonde hair though seemingly a little damp, mellow gray eyes and a suit. He’s here, of course he’s here. He can’t leave anyone or anything alone, he has to have it all. My peace, my freedom, my expression and his shadow bears weight over it all.

Fury courses through my veins, like lightning ready to strike. It crackles and hisses impatient to put a deadly shock through someone. I feel my expression morph into a scowl, my eyes narrow into sharp slits and despite my previously open body language through my routine I now tuck myself in and away from his prying eyes. I force myself up, legs still a little shaky from the adrenaline of the routine. I stand still, if he wants to talk, he can walk to me.

“Lyra-“ he begins, stepping inwards.

“You,” I spit, a bitter venom coating my tongue, acidic and sharp.

Something flickers across his face. Is that fear I sense? Good. I’m ready for a fight, for a battle, maybe even a war.

“Look-“ he tries to begin again.

I don’t give him the chance to continue. He doesn’t deserve to plead his apologies, I won’t be swayed with empty words.

“You are a horrible man,” I seethe, fire in my belly, “if you can even call yourself a man, I’ve got several other less polite words for it.”

“Please you do not need to list them,” he replies dryly.

I bark out a surprised laugh, “still arrogant, still full of yourself, after everything you’ve done and the people you’ve hurt you have the audacity to-“

“I’m sorry-“ he interrupts me with an earnest look in his eyes I can’t ignore. Maybe just maybe he really is sorry… or maybe he’s the fantastic actor he’s always been.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” I tell him coldly.

His desperate eyes dare to find mine, “hear me out-“

“No,” I shake my head, “I’m done with listening to you and your lies.”

He winces as if I’ve struck him across the face, “Lyra I didn’t mean to-“

“You did. And you won’t make that mistake again,” I say, an uninvited rawness in my voice, “not with me.”

“Lyra please-“

“Beg all you want,” I cut him off again. I know the lines he’s rehearsed, I’ve heard them said by other men. I don’t give in to excuses, not from a man like him, “get on your knees I don’t care there’s nothing you can say to save yourself now and who’s fault is that?”

“Mine,” he barely murmurs, looking like a scorned child.

“Funny,” I say, dropping my voice low, “it’s so convenient now is the time you take responsibly for your actions, maybe you should’ve thought about them before-“

“I made a mistake,” Grayson bursts, the action so sudden and out of character I wonder if it’s really him talking or some deranged drunken version.

I check his eyes. He’s sober. And yet here he is standing in front of me, admiting he’s wrong and actually looking apologetic for it.

“That much is evident,” I scoff, still I can’t trust any word that comes out of his mouth, any look in his eyes, “but you did worse than that. You hurt me, you hurt the girl who loved you, who gave you everything but still wasn’t enough to satisfy your egotistical, spoilt desires,” I seethe, “you didn’t only do that but you made me into someone I’m not and you of all people don’t get to do that. I write my own story, paint my own picture, dance to my own tune. You don’t get to decide who I am and you have, you’ve made me the slut who goes around kissing other people’s boyfriends.”

“She knows you didnt know,” he replies, almost softly.

“And what’s it to me now?” I ask with a crisp laugh, “What’s done is done and everything is ruined.”

“You’re right,” he mumble miserably.

“You know if I’d even thought for a fraction of a second there was someone else I wouldn’t have even looked in your direction,” I tell him.

It’s more than true, I could never do that to someone, not on purpose. It isn’t me.

“I know,” Grayson says, “you’re a good person.”

“I don’t need you of all people to tell me that,” I snap, keeping up every wall I could. He will never get past them again.

“You intrigued me,” he admits, as if it makes the situation better.

“Men are led by greedy eyes and tiny dicks,” I spit, such fury in my voice I almost don’t recognise myself.

He can’t stop his eyebrows from shooting upwards in surprise.

“The first half of that sentence was true,” he murmurs.

“Protecting your pride still,” I sneer, as if any man wouldn’t have, “how can you come here and look me in the eye to plead for forgiveness after what you’ve done.”

He looks pained, “I don’t know.”

“You’re an asshole,” I tell him. One final time.

“I know,” he sighs.

I’ve never seen a man that held himself with such composure look so defeated. I don’t enjoy this, making anyone feel like this, even if it’s him. He may have hurt people but it doesn’t make him immune to feeling hurt himself.

Still, that didn’t kill the pure anger within me, the burning ferocity for someone who had done me wrong. And maybe I’m a fool for being blinded by such an explosive emotion but I don’t care. I can’t afford to care.

So I almost smile, “I hope she doesn’t still love you, in fact I hope she hates you for the rest of your life and you spend your days torturing yourself over this.”

“I’m sorry I kissed you Lyra, I’m sorry I played with your heart,” he says solemnly.

“You didn’t play with anything,” I laugh, “if you think you got remotely close to my heart you’d be gravely mistaken.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you then,” he replied calmly, “and I’m sorry I painted you in a bad light.”

“But you’ll win this game in the end won’t you,” I say with a shrug, my voice softens, “of course you will.”

“There’s no game here Lyra,” he responds, a vulnerability in his tone, “just a stupid man and two angry women.”

“She doesn’t deserve you,” I reply, looking him up and down.

“I know that,” Grayson admits, “she never has.”

“And you proved that to her,” I remind him, salt in his wounds, I want them to burn as much as her heart does.

“I know that too,” he says, his voice soft and quiet.

He looks too agonised and suddenly I can’t bear to look at him.

“I want you to leave,” I tell him quickly, “and don’t look back.”

He nods silently, “I’m sorry, truly.”

I stare, waiting for him to leave. I would not run from a man, he should do the walk of shame out.

“Don’t even think about coming anywhere near me after this,” I call out, “this is a forever goodbye, Hawthorne. Stay out of my life.”

He doesn’t respond, only gives a second nod before he turns his back and walks off slowly. I exhale softly and hit play on the music to start a second routine with a now cleared head.

***

YOUR POV

The bathroom tiles are cold under my thighs but they’ve almost gone as numb as the rest of me. I’ve been sat here for who knows how long recounting last nights events over and over, all the parts I didn’t want to remember and maybe some parts that I won’t admit I do. This is one of the reasons I don’t drink, but of course I’d break that rule for him, betraying my own morals again for the same stupid man. I’m exhausted, physically exhausted by it all. I tip my head back and rest it on the edge of the bathtub, a chill runs down my neck reminding me of what his touch to me.

‘But I can’t say it out loud, because then I’m an idiot for loving someone who cut me deeper than any weapon could ever cut me.’

Of all the things to say I really did have to spill everything didn’t I? There’s no way of taking back, even twisting it into something it’s not. What I said was too raw to be lied about. Denial seems like my new best friend. If I pretend for long enough I never said it, maybe I’ll fool myself into believing it too.

‘And I tried to drink it all away, believe me I tried, but then halfway through my fifth glass I kind of realised it wasn’t working.’

Even my drunken tongue had lied, I’d realised before the alcohol even had the pleasure of burning its way down my throat that it wouldn’t work. I’d just convinced myself it might attack the pain receptors in my body.

‘It’s because I still fucking love you, how depressing is that? You murdered my heart and yet it can’t stop beating your name.’

Did his heart beat mine? His replies are hazier than my memory of what I’d said. My stupidity is woven deep into my brain, his hit the hardest when he’s kissed her so any other stupid things past that were more forgettable. My stomach rolls at the thought of all I’d admitted to last night. I groan wishing for the floor to swallow me whole and softly drown me into an eternal darkness.

But I can’t keep walking through this endlessness, whatever feelings I had left for him I had to leave behind. I’m good at tricking my mind and that is my plan now, trick my mind into thinking I don’t love, I can’t love. Maybe next time I won’t be so hurt. I stand up and gaze at the girl in the mirror, finally silencing the voice that was picking out all the features Lyra had that I didn’t. I inhale and exhale deeply. All my feelings would be discarded, here and now I decide. The moment I step from this bathroom and close the door, I’m closing off connection to him.

I walk slowly towards the door, my legs a little more shaky and a little less numb. I can’t tell which I prefer. I breathe deeply as I step out, taking in our happy memories for one last time, before this mess of a relationship it has become. And finally, finally I shut the bathroom door.

He’s out of my mind and I’m focussed on something else. I want to find Gigi, then I want to have a good nights sleep and then I want to go and find a career I love and cut this Hawthorne part of my life out completely. To truly lose him, I needed to lose everything close to him too. I can’t afford to be drawn back again.

I leave the room I’d slept in the night before and walk, fast paced and strong steps that leave me slightly breathless after a while. The island is bigger than it looks with many different pathways to walk.

I pick the one that seems the longest. I need to clear my head and focus on where Gigi could possibly be. I feel consumed with guilt that I hadn’t been trying harder to find her, instead I’ve been wrapped up in my own problems. She could be dead, dying or something worse that I didn’t even want to start imagining. All I know is, we have to work harder to find her and it starts here and now.

I need to gather all the information. When. When did she go missing? Exact time stamps of everything to calculate how swiftly any of this happened. Where. Where was she taken? We needed to revisit all the places she could be or could’ve been taken from. How. How was she taken? Did it leave any evidence? Would that give us a clue to who it might have been? Why. Why would someone want her? What’s the motive behind it all? What. What did they want? Surely they wanted something right? Who. The big question mark and blank face. Who in the world would want to kidnap Juliet Grayson?

A hand touches my shoulder and I flinch, immediately going into fight or flight. Unfortunately for the other person I choose to fight, twisting their arm quickly. They clearly aren’t expecting it as they cry out and don’t react fast enough. When I hear the sound of her voice I immediately drop the tight grasp I’d had on her and repeat apologies.

“I am so sorry,” I exhale, “I was thinking deeply about Gigi and I thought you might be a kidnapper.”

“It’s okay,” Avery says, hiding her wince quite well as she adjusted her arm, “you totally would’ve kicked ass if I had been a kidnapper.”

I try to smile but can only manage a half grimace, “thanks.”

She tilts her head as our eyes meet.

“You okay?” Avery asks, looking pitiful.

I hate it. I hate to think she feels sorry for me. What’s done is done, we all just need to forget and move on and her pity is only making me remember. I run a hand over my face to break eye contact. Clearly I look worse than I thought I did despite trying to hide my tired eyes and hollow cheeks with makeup.

“Fine,” I respond with a small shrug, as we begin a slow walk down.

She hesitates, I can tell she’d unsure to carry on the conversation, but she does anyway, “you don’t seem fine.”

I chew my bottom lip trying to come up with some sort of plausible excuse, “rough sleep,” I manage, my throat a little dry.

The silence between us feels thick and heavy, not the way it usually might. The paranoia in me thinks she knows something.

She stares at me for a moment and then sighs, saying what’s really on her mind, “why did Grayson walk out of your room this morning?”

And for once the paranoia is right.

I don’t say anything at first because I don’t know what to say. I’m trying to forget about him but slowly I’m learning every second I’m here I’ll be reminded. As soon as I can I’ll leave for good this time.

“Long story,” I murmur.

“Care to share?” she asks. Avery isn’t one to push, if I told her to drop it now she would immediately. But part of her knows what I don’t want to admit to. I need to talk about this, get it off of my chest. Burying it alive doesn’t mean it’ll die immediately. Maybe I need to kill it first.

“I got drunk,” I explain, more ashamed now because saying something out loud always makes it more real, “and said some things I shouldn’t have and he stayed… because I asked him to.”

She winced, unable to hold it back this time.

“Oh wait,” I laugh, through some pain, “it gets worse.”

Avery bites her lip, “please no,” she begs in a small voice.

I sigh and meet her eyes directly, “And then, like the idiot that I am, I told him I still loved him.”

She gasps, air caught in her throat. She stills in her sheer surprise of it all.

“Yeah,” I grimace, with an awkward cough, “so if you’re wondering why I look like crap that may or may not have something to do with it.”

“Rewind,” she says, “do you?”

“What?”

“Still love him,” she clarifies.

“Of course,” I murmur. If I’m going to keep lying to myself from now on I want the last person I tell the truth to to be someone who I can truly trust, “but he’s not supposed to know that.”

“This is tricky,” Avery says, tapping her fingers at her sides.

“You’re telling me,” I blow out a breath, “I have no idea what to do.”

“Did he tell you?” she asks curiously, “that you told him you loved him I mean?”

“No, that’s the weird thing,” I reply slowly, “he hasn’t said a thing about it.”

I hadn’t really thought of it until now. Why wouldn’t he use that against me? It’s perfect. Too perfect. He could’ve easily just explained the whole conversation and my only defence, I was drunk, which when thinking about it isn’t even a defence.

Avery’s eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head confused, “so how do you know you said that?”

“I remember everything,” I blurt out, “every single second.”

“But he hasn’t referenced it?” she clarifies.

“He doesn’t know I remember,” I say slowly, “and I’m keeping it that way.”

She nods in understanding but I can see part of her is wondering why.

“I can’t afford to love him Avery because I love too hard,” I admit, each word killing me softly, “I trust too much.”

“I understand,” she purses her lips, “but doesn’t it mean something, that he hasn’t said anything.”

I tilt my head to the side, “how do you mean?”

“He knows what he’s done is beyond wrong,” she begins, “and he also knows you still love him, but he also knows you don’t want to be with him, so maybe he’s trying to make it easier for you to leave, to just forget.”

I chew my lips, “I suppose.”

We fall into a silence of pondering. Maybe he is really trying to let me do what I want to. Maybe he is helping me leave because I asked him to. Maybe he knows if he asks me to stay, I will, so he’s not asking at all.

“I’m sorry,” Avery says quietly, wrapping as arm around my shoulder and pulling me into her.

“What are you sorry for?” I sniff, suddenly aware of a dampness on my cheeks, “none of this is your fault.”

“It’s not you either,” she whispers tentatively.

I don’t know how she knows but she knows I need to hear this. I keep trying to find the flaws in myself, all the things that I’d done to cause this to happen. And as much as I hate to think I would do that for a guy, it’s what I am doing.

I look up at her, glossy eyed.

“No,” she says firmly, “don’t you dare start blaming yourself.”

“Too late,” I smile sadly, a tidal wave of emotion hitting me hard. If I hadn’t been a problem, if there wasn’t something wrong with me, then why kiss another?

“Oh sweetheart,” she says tenderly, hugging me tighter, closer.

“Maybe I wasn’t good enough Avery, maybe if I was smarter, maybe if I was prettier, if I could dance like her…” I trail off, “I know I’m a lot, I know I’m hard to deal with but I just thought… I really thought I’d found someone who understood that and embraced it. I thought he loved every part of me, that he’s never feel like that for anyone but me. I was stupid enough to think for once I was the special one but I was wrong. I’m the girl I’ve always been, I’m not enough Avery.”

“Look at me, look at me right now,” she says with a fierce love, “you are enough. In fact you’re more than enough. You’re so kind and lovely and sweet, you light up a whole room when you walk into it, you’re constantly putting others before yourself. You’re brave and you’re beautiful and he’s letting all of that go. You are everything and don’t let him make you forget it because I’m not going to sit here and let a stupid boy make you think you’re not enough.”

I force a laugh, my throat so hoarse so the sound of scrapes and scratches.

“And I’m not even just saying this,” she says, once again proving that she can read minds, “you know me, I’m an honest girl and I wouldn’t lie to one of my best friends. He’s not worth you, he let you down, he hurt you and that’s on him, that’s a reflection of him. It has nothing to do with you, okay?”

I nod snivelling, “god I love you Ave.”

“I love you too,” she smiles through her own tears now.

We hug again and even thought I’d thought it was impossible to get ourselves any closer, we still managed.

“I can’t believe I’m crying over a boy right now,” I laugh through my tears.

She laughs too, wiping them from my cheeks, “it’s okay, I’ve been there one too many times.” I beam at her and slowly loosen my arms around nee to let her go.

“Avery,” I say carefully.

She hums in reply, brushing my hair behind my ears.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say.

She looks at me, almost knowing what’s coming yet still replies, “sure,” in such a way that made me more than comfortable to even ask.

I inhale deeply, “what would you do if Jameson did this to you?”

A sudden sadness coats her hazel eyes.

“Honestly,” she sighs, “I don’t even know, I wouldn’t know what to do. I know that’s the last thing you probably wanted to hear.”

I shrug, “it’s okay. I don’t really know what I expected you to say.”

***

GRAYSONS POV

My pride is wounded two times over. Good. Maybe that’ll teach it.

Ever since I was a child I had been raised to be a proud man, someone who held their head high no matter what they’d done or in some cases what they hadn’t. I could blame my grandfather for the way I turned out, the man who bred me to be such a foul and malicious creature or maybe my neglectful mother, absent father or a smiling red headed girl who pitched herself off of a cliff edge. But what good I blaming someone when I’m still stuck as myself?

I find myself back at the beach. A place that is both achingly familiar and distant all at the same time. I wonder if the salt in the water will cleanse me of what I have done. As I close my eyes and inhale, I remember pulling her between my legs, telling her she was the only one our first night on this island. I would do anything to go back to that moment.

Why is nothing ever enough for me? I don’t know when to stop, when to feel satisfied, when to recognise I have more than I want. Why am I the way I am? My head is a swirling mess of antagonising thoughts and strangling voices all on top of one another.

Though one is the loudest, one shows me the most.

I hurt her more than I could ever imagine and it’s killing me. Pieces of me are eroding away in the acid coursing through my veins. I can feel myself slipping away, everything growing heavier by the smallest fractions that build up over time until everything just crumbles one day and you look back and wonder what the hell happened.

I have hatred for a lot of people but my most loathed enemy is the man who looks me in the eye every day in my bathroom mirror, the man who shares my name and my blood and my mind. I hate him for hurting her. I want to destroy him for making a single tear slip. I wish nothing but an agonising life for him.

I feel someone sit beside me and I already know who it is. It isn’t the way she moves that gives her away, nor the smell of her perfume or sound of her breathing. I just know. Like I’ve always just known. She sits by my side and stares out to sea, not meeting my eye when I turn to look at her.

“I’m done with this,” she says, her voice stone, cold, “the tension, the arguing, all of it. I’m done with you Grayson. I want to make it clear. When I say stay away from me, you will stay away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

She’s still looking out, every weighted word is said towards the ocean and still I feel every jab just a heavy on my chest.

She’s so beautiful, too beautiful. I’m selfish in this moment for almost being glad she came, just so I could look at her, really look at her one last time. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, as well as her nose slightly pinkish. Long thick lashes curl up to almost touch her eyebrows. Her lips only taunt me in their perfection, rounded and red, making my desire to take them into my own that little bit more violent.

I understand what she wants, but I don’t want her to want it. But I have to give her this, if I truly love her, I have to let her go. But if this is the last conversation we ever have, I don’t want it to end here.

“What do you remember from last night?” the question escapes my lips before I can filter it.

Still she does not meet my eye, “are you not listening to me?” she’s agitated, annoyed and desperately trying not to glare at me in fear of making eye contact.

“I will do whatever you ask,” I tell her, praying she could hear my earnestness, thick in my throat, “I promise you-“

She scoffs cutting me off, “yeah because promises went far last time.”

A pang of shame attacks my heart, it aches and pulsates in agony. It’s my own fault and part of me is guilty it isn’t writhing more, I suppose it’s still holding out for some false hope.

“I swear it on my life and yours,” I say, slowly, “I’ll do whatever you ask. But please, please tell me. What do you remember from last night?”

“Nothing,” her voice almost softens, it’s not as harsh as before but not as sweet as I remembered.

It stings. Reality usually does, but I don’t think I’ve felt it this strongly since Emily died. I’d thought maybe somewhere there would’ve been part of her that remembered her confession, part of her that believed it. All I know for sure is I’m not going to say a word about it, I owe her far more than that and despite how much I want her, crave her, need her, I can’t do this to her.

“Absolutely nothing?” I murmur, wondering if words were even being processed by my brain anymore because I don’t remember thinking them.

“I drank a load of alcohol and then went to my room,” she replies briskly, her frostiness returning like an icy sheet on a winters day, “next thing I know I wake up with you next to me.”

“So you don’t remember anything you said?” I push, testing the waters.

If this truly is our last conversation, I need to know for sure that she doesn’t remember anything, that I should forget like she’s already forgotten.

“No and quite frankly I don’t care Grayson,” she groans, eyes blazing with a fury I wasn’t used to, “I’m tired of this vicious circle. You messed up and no amount of apologising is going to save you now.”

“I love you,” I blurt out.

I can’t help it. She’s everything to me and she needs to know it, even if she doesn’t believe it.

She shakes her head, almost sadly, “and clearly that’s not enough.”

“It is enough,” I say desperately.

I understand why she can’t see this like I do. I understand why she won’t consider it. I understand I’ve hurt her beyond her limit.

“This is what I mean by a vicious circle,” she chokes out, “we’re back to the same place again. You tell me you love me, then I ask why you did what you did, you say you don’t know and I can’t forgive and forget it.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I tell her, “but you know it as well as I do, we’ll go crazy without each other. I’m already losing it and so are you-“

“Oh thanks,” she scoffs, sarcasm clinging to her tone, “good way to win me back there, telling me I’m a mental case, real attractive.”

I wince then regain composure.

“You don’t drink,” I say, “you’ve never been a heavy drinker and now what? You suddenly are.”

“I’m allowed to do what I want,” she spits back, “habitual or not.”

Something about the way she is so defensive about being so reckless makes me feel sick to my stomach. I don’t want to be the reason she destroys her health.

“So you expect me to sit back and watch you hurt yourself!” I yell, suddenly angry, more with myself than ever at her.

“Well you’ve had no problem hurting me before,” she snaps, her voice almost acidic.

I fall silent. What is there left to say? She’s right. She has me backed into a corner of speechlessness. I’ve run out of defences to plead.

“You know what Grayson, it’s fine,” she says bitterly, harshly wiping away tears, “people move on I get it but couldn’t you have just said it to my face before you went behind my back? You knew, you knew I was insecure about her and you still went ahead and kissed her. What kind of sick person does that?”

She looks like she’s physically in pain, it agonises me to even watch her, let alone realise that I’m the one who caused this. Guilt consumed me so long ago and yet it feels like my first taste all over again.

“I don’t know how to tell you this again,” I fumble over my words, my hands shaking, “it meant nothing, I felt nothing.”

“Then what made you do it?” she sobs, “what made you do it?”

“I don’t know,” I ramble, “she was there and she was upset and I felt bad and I’d just spent the last 24 hours with her and she reminded me of you and so I got confused-“

“Confused.” she says darkly, she looks livid, “Confused? We’re completely different fucking people, Grayson. Please don’t try and feed me that excuse because it won’t wash with me!”

“I don’t know, I really don’t then,” I reply, holding my hands up to surrender, “I don’t know why this happened or how, all I know is that I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” she snaps, “as you should, now are you done here?”

I look at her longingly, my eyes latching to her body. I don’t want this to be goodbye but if it has to be then I want to remember every inch of her.

“If you promise me you’ll be careful,” I murmur, barely audible.

Her face scrunches up, “don’t tell me what to do.”

“You scared me last night,” I admit, softening my voice.

“I’m a grown woman Grayson,” she sneers, saying my name so coldly I feel it burn in my chest, “I can do what I like, I don’t care if it scared you, get your big boy pants on and get over it.”

“That wasn’t you,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” she laughs gently with a bitterness caught in her throat, “and I thought this wasn’t you but I was wrong too.”

“I don’t want you to waste away because of me,” I tell her.

“Oh, you do like to flatter yourself,” she shakes her head with a sad smile, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

I look at her as earnestly as I can, “I’m serious.”

“Grayson if I scared you so much,” she states simply, folding her arms across her chest and taking a dangerous step closer, “then why not just leave?”

“I couldn’t leave you like that,” I reply with the truth because I’ve lied far too much.

“Why?”

“Because I love you,” my voice cracks, “and no matter how much you scare me that fact doesn’t change.”

“You should’ve left,” she replies coldly, staring dead at me, like she’s trying to keep her emotions in check to defy the glistening tear stains on her cheeks.

“I know,” I respond quietly, “and I tried but you asked me to stay.”

“I was drunk,” she exclaims, raising her voice, “and being an idiot, I didn’t know what I was saying!”

“And if I’d left would you be any happier?” I shoot back, anger taking hold for that split second.

She falters, “no because the bottom line is you’ve hurt me more than I know I could hurt, so nothing you do can be worse.”

My heart throbs.

“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing the word will never be enough.

“That’s meaningless to me,” she shakes her head.

“I know but I’ll still say it until I’m blue in the face,” I shrug.

“Be my guest,” she replies, stepping backwards, “it’ll still be meaningless.”

She’s stepping away, she wants this to come to an end, she’s scared it won’t. I don’t want to let her go but I will. I ask myself if this is our last conversation. If so, I have to take the gamble.

“Being away from you is torturing me,” I say.

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you had your lips on hers,” she only shrugs in reply, opting for her stony tone, unsympathetic eyes meeting my own pleading ones.

“I know it’s torturing you too,” I whisper.

The world comes to a standstill for a moment and I feel like I’m in a place between life and death. A surreal sort of slowed experience where it doesn’t feel quite real but not quite synthetic either. Waiting for her to reply sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

“Of course it is, you idiot,” she groans, “I’ve got double the torture because not only am I now alone, I was betrayed by someone who I thought loved me.”

“I do love you,” I tell her.

I hope she can hear the emotion in my throat. She knows me well enough to know I could hide it, but I don’t want to. I want her to know that I feel more for her than I’ve ever felt for anyone else on this planet. I need her to know that she is everything to me.

“Empty words Grayson, all of them,” she replies. It’s what happens when you hurt someone so pure too many times, you ruin them. “The ones you said before and the ones you’re saying now, they’re meaningless to me,” she shrug.

It feels like it’s the end and it is consolidated as so when she walks away from me. She’s finished, she’s done. War is over.

But selfish me can’t let her do that, selfish me is still fighting, selfish me is taking over my brain and selfish me needs to try one last thing, as awful as it is, he has to.

“No they’re not,” I say loudly.

She stops, frozen in place. Her head whips around, fast, “are you seriously doing this?”

Her eyes blaze with the purest of fury. I begin to think I’ve done the wrong thing, but there’s no turning back now.

“You told me you loved me last night,” I blurt out.

I can’t believe it’s come to this. I hadn’t wanted it to but I don’t feel regret. I can’t hide this from her too.

She stares me dead in the eye, “I know.”

The wave of shock almost knocks me flat.

“You know?” I gape, jaw dropping. This whole time she knew and she just didn’t say anything.

“Of course,” she tusks, rolling her eyes, “I said the stupid words.”

“But you said-“

“I lied,” she snaps sharply cutting me off.

My eyebrows furrow, “why?”

“This reason,” she points to the both of us as my eyebrows draw together even tighter, “to avoid this.”

“What is this?” I ask. I need to clarity, I need to know what’s going on inside her head.

“This conversation,” she says, “I don’t want it.”

“Why?” I ask again, the painstaking monotony of the word making me feel like a petulant child.

“Because,” she meets my eye and her voice wavers for a moment, “I don’t want to look you in the eye and tell you it’s over again, because this time I don’t think I’ll cope.”

“Then don’t tell me it’s over,” I blurt out.

I never think straight when she’s involved, it’s always this mess of chaos in my brain and I say and do things without thought, without fear, without overthinking,

“But it is Grayson,” she replies, pain ripping through her voice, “it was over the moment you put your lips on hers.”

“I don’t love her,” I tell her again, she’ll never hear it enough but if I stop saying it I fear she’ll believe I do.

She shakes her head and her bottom like trembles, “that doesn’t change what happened.”

“How can I prove it to you?” I ask, trying to reach out for her in my desperation, “what can I do?”

She moves away so my hands can’t clasp hers. I’ll beg her in my hands and knees if I must.

“Grayson you have to understand that I can’t trust you anymore,” she explains, “and how can I be in a relationship with you if I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t know,” I murmur, “but we could try, you could rebuild the trust.”

She pauses for a long while, not moving, barely breathing. She limbs rest still as she analyses me, her eyes trailing up and down me slowly until they finally meet my eye and stop themselves from wondering. I can only hope she sees how much I mean it, the eyes are the window to the soul, she once told me. How clear is that window now?

She takes one step in, a single tear glistening as it rolls down her cheeks, “how do I know you don’t love her,” she whispers.

I take her face into my palms and I kiss her, deeply, smoothly. I say a thousand words without uttering a sound and I already know she feels every single one of them before we’ve stopped.

We break away naturally, “because I didn’t kiss her like that,” I say breathlessly.

“I won’t forgive you with just a kiss,” she shakes her head, pushing me away gently, “you can’t win me over with sweet talk.”

“I know,” I murmur, fingertips lingering like a ghost touch on her hips.

“And if we’re going to be us again it’s going to take time,” she responds, taking a step away so my hands fall from her body and we’re just two people looking at each other, “a long time.”

“I’m fine with waiting,” I tell her, “I’ll wait forever just to be with you.”

Every word is the truth, every word I mean.

She looks at me and I can’t quite read her, though she looks in deep thought, “you have the next stage of the game now,” she reminds me quietly.

“I don’t care,” I shrug.

And I don’t. This stupid game has caused me nothing but misery and I don’t want any part of it anymore.

“Go,” she whispers with a smile that still looked sadder than usual, “I need time.”

My heart clenches.

“Forever, I’ll wait forever.”

a/n: ahhh it’s so bittersweet to end this series!! I can’t believe how much it grew, starting from that one little fic to this whole story I somehow created?! special shout-out to @inmyheaddd and @midiosaamor for being my biggest cheerleaders 💘💘 I love you with all of my heart and thank you so much, but also thank you so so so INSANELY much to anyone else who had liked, commented or read this fic, it means more than anything to me

okay so this is PROBABLY a controversial ending because she doesn’t get back with him but she doesn’t not get back with him, I’ll leave the decision to you guys… (I know it leans towards she probably will BUTTTT hear me out: this is fiction and I wanted the main character to end with with grayson and I think it’s not like she just got back with him, she has conditions, she’s being cautious, but her love is so overwhelming that she still wants to be with him even though he brain is telling her no)

ANYWAYS i hope you enjoyed this final part, a little bit of me is scared it’s too underwhelming but I liked it :)) thank you all again <33

TIG masterlist

74 notes · View notes

seitmai · 2 days ago

Text

Ahh so many thoughts

Steve Rogers left you in your hotel room, a quivering emotional, mess.

I hope hehas left as quivering, emotional mess too 🤭

A lot happened in a short amount of time that caused you to deny your feelings for him. And now you were no longer trying to keep him out.

Good for her!

He was definitely a distraction, but now you couldn’t deny your feelings for him any longer. You just needed to be a woman about it and tell him.

Yeah let's woman up 💪🏻

Steve had to stop himself from going back up to your room three times after he left.

As he should 😌🤭

He finally exited the hotel and stalked down the street back to the Rebirth building to his car and pulled out his phone, dialing Bucky and pulling out of the garage. “Remember that shopping trip we took a few weeks ago? For the ring?”

Before you thought too hard, you sent it to Steve, then jumped in bed and pulled the covers over your head with that feeling of dread and panic when you don’t know if you’ve done something supremely reckless or not.

Literally me every time I send a message that stresses me out for various reasons haha (most of the time it's just my anxiety lol)

“It absofuckinlutely was. You’re joking about it being the wrong thread, right? That is mine, correct?” You shivered at his double meaning and at his possessiveness. “Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

👀

“You can have whatever you want...” A sense of power flooded Steve’s body, both heady and intoxicating at your admission. “You should be very careful when you make that offer, Peach,” he said softly. “I trust you.”

They're jumping straight in

This man was wearing a corduroy suit and he made it look damn good. And he made you feral.

Valid 🤷🏻‍♀️

You decided to give your cousin a hard time to prevent yourself from becoming a simp. “You look like that damn heart eyes emoji, ya know.”

Hahaha ballsy coming from a woman that just almost drooled over a corduroy suit 😂

She didn’t look at you as you yanked her chain. She just continued to follow Bucky’s every move and lit up when he glanced her way. She was gone, girl.

Let them be! They are in love🥰

His smile when you made eye contact knocked the breath out of your lungs. In that moment, you realized that you were in love with Steven Grant Rogers.

Yeah and making fun of others being in love just a few minutes before 🤭

“Hush, I’m trying to get the dirt. Now Nico, tell the truth…” Steve sat back and listened to your unhinged behavior on the drive over to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Your spirit and your laugh made him warm inside, despite the cold day.

Haha love that she interrogates Nico and Steve is just sitting there watching her like 🥰😍

“I know Nico wouldn’t crack, but I could tell from the way he went red. Those whores….” “Literal Freaks,” replied Steve. “Bunny is an appropriate nickname for him, because he and your cousin…”

Hahahha 😂

“Beautiful,” you murmured. And then you noticed that he was looking at you.

I'm swooning 🥰

“I want to capture the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed, or how you're gripping the bench like you're about to get up and run.”

It's in the details 🤭

Steve’s eyes lit up and he reached for you, pulling you into his lap as his lips crashed into yours. His hands were everywhere. He tugged you closer as he kissed you and both hands came down to grab your ass and pull you onto his erection. His desire for you was apparent. When you broke apart, you chased his lips and then kissed him again, greedy.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“I’ve been ready. Been yours for a while, now Peach. Since the day I saw you…” His voice was gentle and he was looking at you like you were fine porcelain. You felt so safe in his arms. He pulled back to look you in the eye.

“What if I don’t want you to behave? Like you said, you have the pavilion reserved. You can bend me over the bench and fuck me raw. Right here.” Steve’s pupils took over his eyes and his jaw clenched. Your stomach dropped as he looked as if he was about to do just as you suggested. But he took a deep breath and smiled. “We’ll explore that kink later. Our first time needs to be in private.”

Yeah let's just put a pin into it 🤭

“Your heart's beating so fast,” you whispered. “You do that to me, Peach.” “Really?” you questioned, suddenly unsure of yourself. “You have no idea how much power you have, do you?”

I'm swooning

“Oh god, Steve. I- I love you too.” Your smile blinded him. If he blinked it was because of that. Not that he was going to cry. Not at all.

Yeah, absolutely not because of any tears 🤭

Then, he pulled his underwear down, eyes on your face for your reaction. It was classic, your mouth hinged open and your eyes were like saucers. There was no way anyone could be that perfect.

🤭🤭🤭

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, baby.”

Is that a promise? 😉🤭

Inch after thick inch, he claimed you, stretched you, with a delicious push/pull of pleasure/pain. His length was one thing, but his girth was everything.

🥵🥵🥵

“You want me to cum inside you? You trying to have my baby?” “Unnnnnnghhhh! Maybe….”

That's not no 👀

“I would die for you, Y/N L/N,” Steve murmured against your temple, panting. He held you tight, carding his fingers in your hair. “I promise to keep you safe, and give you everything you need, I promise you that.” “I believe you, Steve. I trust that.”

Ahh finally, them are making so much progress 🥰

“Hmmmmm. I’d have to marry you before I answered that question.” Your heart slammed against your chest and your eyes went wide in the dark.

Huh? 👀

"You can’t be compelled to testify against your spouse. It was a joke, Peach.”

Yeah, a joke, right👀

“Do you… are you saying that you want to get married?” Steve thought about the ring that he had at his penthouse.

Omg

“Nah… what we looking like just up and getting married like that? We hardly know each other.” “True. But when you know, you know.” Steve kissed you and the small amount of logic in your brain was rapidly dissipating. “Would it make us look crazy…?” You could sense Steve’s smile in the dark. “…Or would it be so beautiful?” He replied.

Omg this conversation between them is everything! They so are gonna get hitched right away!! And everyone will think it's crazy, except for them because they think it's beautiful 🥰😌 and you know who else is gonna find it beautiful? A certain cousin and best friend, because this is gonna be the last push for Bucky to get down on one knee too 🤭

“If you ask me, I’m ready…” The light switched on and you were staring into the beautiful blue eyes of Steve Rogers.

I have a feeling that he is on one knee or getting dressed speeding to his penthouse to geta certain thing 🤭😍

Peach VI

Peach V | Peach VII

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. It’s definitely because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. You two FINALLY admit your feelings for one another and seal the deal. But how far are you willing to go for this love?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Artist/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: This is it! I hope the smut is up to par. When I tell you I’ve agonized about this. But thank you to all who were in my inbox and dms giving me encouragement this week. Love you bunches! ❤️

This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in Peach V. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angst. Slow burn, Mutual pining, idiots in love, eye fucking, Steve Rogers is an artist, y'all!, sending (almost) nudes, phone sex, possessive Steve, references to shibari, mutual masturbation, pining, references to sex in a car, the "L" word, oral (f recieving), fingering, overstimulation, nipple play, size kink, pleasurable pain with sex, definite breeding kink, raw p in v, Lil bit of Dom Steve if you squint, references to murder. Something big may or may not happen after the last line.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

Steve Rogers left you in your hotel room, a quivering emotional, mess.

He’d made you cum, hard, but you felt that he was holding back, that if you’d told him how you felt it would have been so much better.

Or maybe that was all in your mind. Steven Grant Rogers was on your mind since you met him as Grant Stevens in Atlanta.

A lot happened in a short amount of time that caused you to deny your feelings for him. And now you were no longer trying to keep him out.

He was definitely a distraction, but now you couldn’t deny your feelings for him any longer. You just needed to be a woman about it and tell him.

What’s the worst that could happen? You weren’t going to marry the guy, you just want to explore these mutual feelings. It shouldn’t be complicated.

Right?

You still had the rest of the week in New York to stress out about it, so that was a plus. The afternoon was ahead of you and the next day was the Summitt.

After that, you had your one on one with Steve.

Bucky told you about Steve being an artist himself during your meeting with him. So, for your meeting with Steve, you requested that you see some of his artwork, and he agreed.

You were curious to see what he could create, and you were anxious and turned on at the thought of him as a creator.

You were so into Steve Rogers.

And you didn’t know what you were going to do about that.

—--

Steve had to stop himself from going back up to your room three times after he left. He finally exited the hotel and stalked down the street back to the Rebirth building to his car and pulled out his phone, dialing Bucky and pulling out of the garage.

He needed a drive and a little alone time to clear his head and come down from you, but he also needed his friend’s help.

“Wassssaaaap! Did you get the–”

Steve cut Bucky off.

“Remember that shopping trip we took a few weeks ago? For the ring?”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Meet me on 47th street.”

—-

That afternoon, you just kept your distance from Sharon and ignored her, focusing on the task at hand and all business. You didn’t want to waste energy on her.

Your energy was spent on thinking about Steve and wondering if he was thinking of you too. You wanted to text him, but you were chilling. You didn’t want to seem to eager.

You were successful in your self control until 11 pm as you tossed and turned in your hotel king bed. Doubts, but mostly need and desire, coursed through you.

You were going to find out exactly what Steve was doing right now and who he might be with. You shook your head at how much you cared; it was definitely not something you regularly did. You were used to feening for someone.

You were choosing violence as you posed on the bed in front of the mirror. You sat on the bed, crossed your legs and snapped a picture.

You weren’t naked, but your panties were skin tone and your sleep bra was sheer and you were feeling needy.

—

Steve was ready for the Summit, but he couldn’t stop thinking of you. Sleep was elusive, so he was self medicating, sketching your body from memory of mostly touch.

His phone vibrated and he almost didn’t pick it up, but when he saw your name, his heart sped up.

He clicked through to your message and his heart started hammering in his chest.

Sorry, wrong thread.

The picture you sent along threatened to give him a heart attack. He zoomed in a couple of times and then read the message again. What the fuck?

——-

In less than a minute your phone was ringing. You picked up immediately.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Peach.”

Steve’s growl got you wet, but you instantly regretted your horny decisions.

“It was a mistake.”

“It absofuckinlutely was. You’re joking about it being the wrong thread, right? That is mine, correct?”

You shivered at his double meaning and at his possessiveness.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

Your voice was needy and that awakened a hunger in Steve. He was beyond frustrated that he wasn’t there to spank your ass raw, but he remained quiet.

You sensed his mood.

“If I were there, I’d make it up to you…”

You were testing the waters, experimenting to see if he would give you what you wanted despite his annoyance.

If he would give you what you needed.

“What would you do?”

Steve’s baritone was silk in your ear.

“What?”

You suddenly found that you couldn’t breathe.

“What would you do if you were here?”

“I’d kiss you,” you rushed out in a whisper.

Steve paused, letting your sentence hang in the air.

“And?”

There was an edge to the question.

“And… My lips. All over you.”

Fuck, he was hard. Just a few words in your husky voice, and Steve delirious, imagining his hands in your hair as you kissed him.

“Where?” he asked mercilessly, his voice broken with lust.

“Everywhere…your face, your neck, your nipples, your abs. Your cock.”

You were definitely not a virgin, but you were blushing through the phone although your hand was rubbing the skin at the edge of your underwear.

“Want you in my throat.”

Steve had to concentrate to stay hard.

“Oh? What if I want more than that?”

“You can have whatever you want...”

A sense of power flooded Steve’s body, both heady and intoxicating at your admission.

“You should be very careful when you make that offer, Peach,” he said softly.

“I trust you.”

Holy fuck. Why did that mean everything to him? He cleared his throat.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

“Okay.”

You complied so readily, it made Steve even harder.

Your clit was so hard as you circled it.

“Are you wet, Sweetheart?”

You moaned and Steve reached into his sweats and curled his fingers around his aching cock.

“My pussy is so messy for you, Mr. Rogers,” you whispered, thrilled and afraid of how much you wanted him.

Steve rolled his eyes as his cocked jerked for you.

“Such a good little slut.”

“Fuck…”

You realized the breath you’d been holding as you listened for his voice.

“Your pussy is so beautiful Peach. And god, you taste so good. Just like a sweet peach.”

Steve knew he had you in the palm of his hand. But fuck, you had him in yours too.

“But your cunt is so tiny. I’m gonna needs to get you ready for me, Baby.”

“Is it going to hurt me?” you whined.

Steve was about to explode at your little innocent voice asking the most nasty question.

“Yes, Peach. It is,” he growled as your anticipation reached 100.

Your breath sped up and so did your fingers. Steve grunted, his fist moving faster, thumb swiping the copious dribbles of precum dripping from his slit.

He should have known it was over as soon as he opened your message.

Hot sex was happening.

Electronically.

As the coil in your belly wind tighter, you realized with both joy and dismay that you were addicted.

“Steve, “m so close…”

“Of course you are.”

Steve soaked up your cute little sex sounds, thirsty for more.

“You know what I’m thinking about, Doll?”

A shaky breath was your only response. Steve continued.

“I think I want to tie you up. Silk ropes all over you, pretty little knots. I’d tie your arms behind your back, so those tits would sit up pretty for me to slap, lick and suck. That ass would be tied up so sweet and open so I could eat it.”

Your eyes rolled at the sensations his words and your fingers were sending to your clit.

“I’d fuck your throat and cum all over that soft, sweet body. Over and over, while I tease your greedy little cunt. I want to see it drip down your delicious nipples, your belly, your hungry pussy, your pretty face. I need to see all of you covered in my cum. Everywhere, marking you as mine…Mine.”

You gasped, and then moaned and your entire body tightened up then released.

Your mouth hinged open as you came.

“Mine,” Steve hissed, tightening the knots around you both and jerking his cock until cum spurted out. He listened to your breathing and knew that you’d just cum as well.

Suddenly, he missed you.

“You good, Peach?”

You hesitated.You heard the yearning in his voice and you wanted to be in his arms, but you lied to him anyway.

“Yeah.”

Steve smiled at you. He shook his head even though you couldn’t see.

“Sweet dreams. See you tomorrow.”

“Night Steve.”

—---

You needed a distraction.

Steve looked so delicious this morning, sitting on stage and serving art intellectual in a dark turtleneck and brown corduroy suit. A suit that was tailored to the detriment of everyone who looked at him.

Holy shit.

This man was wearing a corduroy suit and he made it look damn good.

And he made you feral.

You decided to give your cousin a hard time to prevent yourself from becoming a simp.

“You look like that damn heart eyes emoji, ya know.”

She didn’t look at you as you yanked her chain. She just continued to follow Bucky’s every move and lit up when he glanced her way. She was gone, girl.

You teased her some more until you saw Steve. You sighed and gazed at him, straightening your spine as you remembered how he made you cum twice yesterday. And he’d hardly touched you.

As if sensing your gaze, Steve’s head turned. Those mesmerizing blue eyes locked with yours, and the rest of the world disappeared in an instant. For a moment, you were frozen. Pinned in your seat by his magnetism.

This feeling was so heady.

When you realized you’d been caught staring Steve down, you tried to change the unspoken subject.

“Bucky is pretty much the man.”

“Fucking-A.”

Her chuckle was all-knowing. Then she read you.

“Steve is the shit too.”

You couldn’t front anymore.

“He’s amazing. I had no idea about everything that he does. Have to say, I’m impressed.”

She was speechless and so were you. You both continued enjoying the forum when your phone buzzed.

You look beautiful today. You’re my favorite thing to study. Can’t wait for today’s art experience. Meet me at the Laguardia Place entrance immediately after the talk. Sunlight is precious.

You were his favorite thing to study!

You waited on the edge of your seat until the end of the summit. Then you were up and walking out toward the entrance post haste.

The hair on the back of your neck raised when you saw Steve watching you from the door of Rosenthal Pavilion.

His smile when you made eye contact knocked the breath out of your lungs.

In that moment, you realized that you were in love with Steven Grant Rogers.

Holy hell.

His deep voice greeted you as you arrived.

“I’m anxious to get started.”

Steve searched your face and found a different look from the partially closed off expression you’d showed him since Thanksgiving.

Your face was open and trusting. His heart did a funny thing in his chest. It was almost too good to be true.

Could you love him, too?

He tempered his mood with sensible words, filling the space that he wanted to fill with romantic declarations.

“I’m going to take you to my favorite artistic landmark in the city. I’ve loved it since I was a boy.”

You smiled up at him and took his hand.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

—--

The driver that was taking you and Steve to your meeting place was the same one who picked you up from the airport. The one that your cousin knew so well.

You stared at the back of his head and then glanced over at Steve. He raised his eyebrow at you because of the look on your face. You grinned back, then leaned forward to tap the driver on the shoulder.

“So… Nico…”

Your eyes cut over to Steve with a mischievous look. His heart beat out of his chest at the joy you were serving him along with your chaos.

“You ever drive my cousin and Bucky around the city?”

Nico stole a look at you and smiled.

“Yes ma’am. All the time.”

“Do they ever do the nasty back here…?”

Nico laughed heartily as Steve shook his head.

“Peach…”

You shushed Steve.

“Hush, I’m trying to get the dirt. Now Nico, tell the truth…”

Steve sat back and listened to your unhinged behavior on the drive over to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Your spirit and your laugh made him warm inside, despite the cold day.

—-

Nico stopped the car at the Washington Avenue entrance to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Steve got out, shouldered his backpack, and then reached for your gloved hand with his own.

For some reason, you felt like a princess as you stepped on the path. The air was crisp, and there were traces of snow lingering on the ground.

You came out of the car chattering and laughing, making Steve’s heart light.

“I know Nico wouldn’t crack, but I could tell from the way he went red. Those whores….”

“Literal Freaks,” replied Steve. “Bunny is an appropriate nickname for him, because he and your cousin…”

Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes, although he fantasized about christening the backseat of the Lincoln for you and him.

The wrought-iron gate creaked softly behind you as you entered the Garden, and you looked around in wonder as the gravel path crunched beneath your boots. A magnificent metal and glass structure was in front of you.

“This is the Steinhardt Conservatory. Wait until you see the inside.”

Steve smiled and took your hand as you stepped through the glass doors into sudden warmth shaking your head at him.

There was a heavy scent of flowers and a haze of the waning rays of sunlight beaming through the glass panels overhead. It gave everything golden highlights, including you and Steve.

You squeezed his hand as you looked around in awe.

“Beautiful,” you murmured.

And then you noticed that he was looking at you.

“Yes…”

You grew warm as you looked into his gorgeous blue eyes.

“It’s like a completely different world in here.”

“It’s our world for the moment. Just you and me.”

He wanted to add the word Forever, but he didn’t. You felt it though.

You started on an indoor path and Steve pointed out the unique flowers and plants in his warm baritone. You were impressed, again, with how much he knew.

Steve Rogers was not a stereotypical mobster. This was a man who followed a path in life that landed him where he didn’t want to be and was trying to make up for it.

As he spoke, Steve drew you into his enthusiasm, and you found yourself smiling and relaxing, asking questions and marveling at the vast indoor space.

When you came to a small alcove furnished with a wooden bench and beneath a sprawling magnolia tree, Steve stopped and took his backpack off his shoulder, and then taking off his coat and draping it over the bench as you did the same.

"Please, sit."

His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the subtle command.

You hesitated.

"Why?"

"So I can sketch you."

Your stomach did an odd little flip.

"Here? Now? I wanted to see your sketches, not be your sketches."

You performed on stage in front of hundreds with barely no clothes on and you were so nervous to let Steve Rogers sketch you with winter layers of clothes on. What was wrong with you?

Steve raised his eyebrow and his gaze swept up your body slowly, making you shiver. Clothes couldn’t stop the intimate of that look.

“Too late for that.”

You raised your eyebrow at him and you felt irrationally happy. Steve had drawn you.

“Do you not trust me?”

You regarded him, guardian your reaction because you didn’t want to seem too eager.

“I do Steve. I trust you.”

It was true.

Steve smiled.

“Then please, sit down.”

You gave in with a sigh and lowered yourself onto the bench.

"Fine," you muttered. "But no weird artistic liberties. I better have a nose."

Steve chuckled, flipping open the sketchbook.

"I make no promises."

You watched as he proceeded to balance the sketchbook against his bended knee. Then he looked at you seriously, holding your gaze for a moment before his attention returned to the page, and his pencil began gliding effortlessly across the paper.

His thick fingers were surprisingly agile, moving with long, sure strokes. But then again, you shouldn’t have been surprised, with the way his fingers had previously made you feel…

For a few moments, the only sound was the soft scratch of his pencil against paper.

You attempted to sit still, staring at the plants around you. You also tried to pretend that you weren’t aware of the way he studied you with that relentless focus, switching his gaze between you and the sketchbook.

After a few minutes, Steve made a soft noise, something between a hum and a chuckle.

“What?” you asked, turning your head and narrowing your eyes at him.

“Nothing.”

He didn’t look up. But he spoke.

“It’s just... you’re trying so hard not to move, but you’re fidgeting anyway.”

You caught the hint of humor in his tone and it made you a little too happy again, so you decided to cause problems.

"Well, maybe if you didn’t look at me like that.”

"Like what?"

His lips curled into a knowing smirk, looking up at you quickly, then back down.

You fidgeted again.

"You know…"

Steve chuckled, deep and low and shook his head.

"Oh. Am I ‘sparkling my eyes at you again?’”

You scowled at him and he laughed.

“I'm an artist, Peach. I study form."

His eyes traced up and down your body, lighting you on fire again.

You clenched your thighs together to fight the flow of arousal threatening your thighs. This was dangerous. Steve was dangerous.

"You're insufferable, Steven."

“Well, can you suffer on a little longer, so I can capture more detail?”

You cocked your head in that adorable way.

“What details do you need?”

“I need…”

Steve looked at you like he needed all of you.

And he did.

“I want to capture the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed, or how you're gripping the bench like you're about to get up and run.”

You unclenched your hands and sat back.

“You’re making me nervous.”

He tapped his pencil against the sketchbook. Then he looked down again to continue drawing.

"Interesting."

"What is?"

He licked those red lips of his and your eyes tracked the movement.

"The fact that I make you nervous."

The way he was looking at you made butterflies riot in your stomach. That special electricity was buzzing around you both.

Suddenly, his pencil stopped. Then, without warning, he reached out, brushing his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your face slightly.

You stiffened.

"Hold still," he murmured.

His thumb ghosted over the curve of your jaw and settled at the edge of your throat.

Your breath hitched.

Steve’s eyes were dark now and his voice was softer when he spoke again, but there was an edge to it now, hinting at something rough beneath the surface.

“You always do this?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“React like this when someone touches you.”

You pursed your lips together and shook your head.

Just you.

"You’re doing it again," he mused as he stroked the side of your throat with his thumb.

"What, Mr. Rogers?"

You were about to combust. He clenched his jaw and increased the pressure of his fingers on your neck.

"Fighting it."

"I- I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"You do," he intoned, his voice stern.

"Don’t hide from me, Peach."

Your pulse beat beneath his fingertips.

"You think I don’t notice how you react to me?"

Steve’s hand grasped your throat, pressing more firmly before he let go.

"Hold. Still," he murmured, those blue, blue eyes stormy.

His fingers tilted your face up with authority now. You froze for a moment as his thumb came up to pull your chin down to open your mouth.

“Breathe.”

He slowly pulled his hand away and you had to stop yourself from chasing his touch.

Steve clenched his jaw, trying to restrain himself. If he had to guess, you were wet and ready for him to do whatever he wanted to you right now. But he willed himself to be patient.

He picked up his pencil again, rolling it between his fingers, like nothing had happened.

"Good girl," he offered to the page as he returned to his sketch.

Steve knew what he was doing. Knew exactly how much he affected you. You waited impatiently, clenching your thighs together desperately as his pencil continued to scratch on the paper.

"Done," he said, as he lifted the sketchbook toward you.

You gasped as you looked at the page.

The drawing was stunning. Steve had captured you with uncanny accuracy, from the curve of your parted lips to the shading of the different colors in your eyes. The hollow of your throat seemed to pulse, and you could almost see the indentations of his fingers.

The portrait was beautiful. And it told you everything you needed to know about how he felt.

“This is… how can I thank you?”

Steve’s heart flipped in his chest as he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you toward him on the bench.

"Steve…"

His eyes went to your mouth.

"Say that again," he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Your whole body was burning, but you stayed quiet. You were paralyzed with the possibilities.

"No? Too shy now?"

His voice made you impossibly wet. If you gave in, you were about to get everything you didn’t know that you wanted. And that scared you.

You let out a shaky breath.

"Steve."

Something flickered behind his eyes. Something hot.

“Have I told you that I love the way you say my name?”

His hand came up again against your side, slowly, more deliberate. His fingers moved over the curve of your side, and slid against your breast, his thumb ghosting over your nipple.

He continued, tracing over your cleavage and finally landing against your throat again, pressing against your pulse and driving you crazy.

"You're shaking," he murmured, voice low, thick with need.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and gave you a kiss against your throat. And he lingered, lips warm against your skin, before pulling back just enough to smile against your skin.

Your whimper told him so much.

"You act so tough, but you’re so easy to ruin."

You raised your arms and pulled him close, fingers playing at the nape clutching the hair spilling over his collar.

“You made me this way, Steve. And I don’t want you to stop.”

His now dark blue eyes searched yours as his fingers tightened on your waist.

“What does that mean, Peach?”

He’d pulled you closer, his eyes on your face as he waited for your answer. The anticipation was so much. He huffed and then dove into the curve of your neck, inhaling and tasting you there, as if he couldn’t help himself. His large hands palmed your breasts, pressing your nipples insistently.

“Oh…my….Steve!”

You squirmed in his grip.

“I asked you a question. Do I need to stop touching you so you can answer?”

“Please, no, Steve. Need you...”

You were the queen of changing the subject.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

His lips were on the curve of your jaw, so close to your lips. You whined. He cocked his eyebrow, the question not so silent.

You huffed, making your decision to go for it as your hands came to the side of his face so that he knew your intentionality. You wanted to look into his eyes when you said it.

“Moment of honesty? I want you Steve. I feel…I want to be yours. Really been yours since you put your hands on me in Atalanta. I can’t categorize or control this feeling. So I’m giving in. Are you ready for the chaos that is me being yours?”

When you broke apart, you chased his lips and then kissed him again, greedy.

“I’ve been ready. Been yours for a while, now Peach. Since the day I saw you…”

His voice was gentle and he was looking at you like you were fine porcelain. You felt so safe in his arms. He pulled back to look you in the eye.

“And this feeling? This is exactly how it should feel when it's meant to be.”

He kissed you again and his mouth took possession of yours in a way that was tender, yet full of promise.

“I gotta let you know that if you’re mine, I’m gonna give you what you need. When you need it. Do you want that? Do you trust me with that?”

This was the important question.

“Yes, please. I want that, Mr. Rogers, sir. And I trust you.”

"That’s so fucking hot… but I’m trying to behave. Even though I reserved the pavilion just for us, we’re still in a public place,” he murmured.

His voice was calm, controlled. But those sea blue eyes told a different story.

"You call this behaving?"

You rolled your hips against his cock. Steve kissed you again and let out a sexy chuckle, then stood you both up, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"If I wasn’t," he murmured, "you’d already be begging me for more."

You linked your arms around his neck and looked up at him as the cutest woman on earth.

“What if I don’t want you to behave? Like you said, you have the pavilion reserved. You can bend me over the bench and fuck me raw. Right here.”

Steve’s pupils took over his eyes and his jaw clenched. Your stomach dropped as he looked as if he was about to do just as you suggested. But he took a deep breath and smiled.

“We’ll explore that kink later. Our first time needs to be in private.”

Steve reached for your coat and helped you with it before putting his own on and gathering his things. He took your hand and led you out and across the grounds. He pointed to a familiar building.

“Your hotel is right there. Or do you want me to call Nico to take us to my place?”

You looked up at Steve as your breath vaporized in the cold air.

“We need my hotel. I’m ready. Right now.”

—--

You were in your room again, not entirely sure how you arrived, the journey through the park hurried and full of anticipation. You weren’t thinking too hard, you just knew you needed Steve. Immediately.

You were pushing his coat and blazer off his body and feeling his chest. The steady thrum of his pulse tapped a staccato in your palm.

“Your heart's beating so fast,” you whispered.

“You do that to me, Peach.”

“Really?” you questioned, suddenly unsure of yourself.

“You have no idea how much power you have, do you?”

“Me?” you asked in a small voice.

Steve nodded.

“You drive me crazy. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

It was confession time.

“It’s you that has the power, Steve. I can't stop thinking about you. Your voice gets me there.”

You felt tongue tied as you told him your raw feelings, all the while taking off your and his clothes.

“Sometimes I — I think I'm going to cum just from hearing you speak. Today, at NYU, I could hardly sit still. You're like a drug, pulling all my attention.”

Steve’s shirt was off now and you were in your bra and he pulled you near him to get his mouth on your tits.

“When I'm near you, I'm so hard it aches.”

“Really?” you whispered. “Are you aching right now?”

Steve groaned as you pulled back to unzip your skirt and take off your boots. He leaned back against the wall and palmed his crotch over his pants.

“Like you wouldn't believe.”

Steve couldn’t believe that he had you here like this, giving yourself to him. He had to tell you the truth.

“Look at me, Peach.”

You looked into his eyes.

“I’m In love with you.”

His rough voice pulled an involuntary sound from you.

“You're mine, Peach You always have been.

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart thudded against yor ribs.

“Oh god, Steve. I- I love you too.”

Your smile blinded him. If he blinked it was because of that. Not that he was going to cry.

Not at all.

He laughed as an expression of joy and then your lips met.

The kiss wasn't soft or sweet. This was feral, sharp, and intense. You moaned into his mouth, sucking his bottom lip into yours as he unhooked your bra.

“I fucking want you,” you whimpered into his mouth.

Steve smiled against your lips.

“Good, cause I fucking need you, my sweet Peach.”

Steve stood, looming over you, all big and fucking magnificent. The vision of him, all lithe muscles covered in smooth skin, and light feathering of hair making its way down his torso, between the defined planes of his abs and into his waistband, was… Good Lord.

You licked your lips, mouth instantly dry.

Steve’s mouth hooked up on one side as his fingers worked his belt and fly. His pants fell in a matter of seconds, and there he was, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs.

Steve was all thick thighs, and long, powerful legs, his hand slowly stroking himself over the sizable bulge in his underwear.

You gaped at him.

Then, he pulled his underwear down, eyes on your face for your reaction. It was classic, your mouth hinged open and your eyes were like saucers. There was no way anyone could be that perfect.

His dick was long and wide, at least eight or nine inches, and curved eloquently (if a dick could do that) against his abs. It was so pretty and your mouth watered for it at the same time your pussy clenched, as you were thinking he was correct. You would struggle to take him.

His smirked deepened as he reached for you and pulled your panties down slowly, his short fingernails scratching your legs and making you shiver.

For a moment he just stared, drinking in the sight of you spread before him

“Fucking sublime,” Steve breathed, the words filled with reverence.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, baby.”

He leaned over you and set about doing just that, kissing you deep and filthy, tongue diving to claim every inch of your mouth. You cried out, scratching at his broad shoulders as he suckled and nipped, worshiping your breasts until you were mindless with sensation.

Steve took his time tracing your torso with his lips, teeth and tongue, learning your body and paying attention to every sigh of pleasure as he climbed down your body.

The press of his mouth to your pussy made your back arch, and a ragged moan escape your mouth. Steve growled into you, the vibrations running through your soaked cunt.

He parted your pussy lips with his thumbs, and dove to lick your clit with the hot velvet of his tongue.

Slow, thorough licks made you writhe beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Ride my face, Sweetheart. Fuck my mouth ‘til you cum all over it.”

You arched like a bow as he latched on to your clit and sucked, two thick fingers thrusting deep to stroke along your inner wall. His practiced fingers found your g-spot and massaged it ruthlessly, curling and scissoring until you sobbed his name.

“Love when you call my name, Peach.”

He looked at you like you were something to be worshipped, and then continued what he was doing. When Steve bit down gently on your clit, your orgasm crashed over you in a burst of white light.

You shuddered through the aftershocks, trembling as Steve lapped at your folds. Each lick sent a jolt of electricity through you, on the edge of too much.

Rising to his knees, the thick, heavy length of him rose up again, even more swollen and glistening at the tip.

Steve notched the thick head of his cock at your entrance and his eyes crossed as he slowly sank into your tight, dripping heat.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

Inch after thick inch, he claimed you, stretched you, with a delicious push/pull of pleasure/pain. His length was one thing, but his girth was everything.

When he bottomed out, you both groaned at the intensity of the connection. He looked you in our eyes as your hearts pounded in sync, your breaths mingling as you got used to his size.

“I’ve never felt so full, Stevie…”

You quivered in his arms. And he knew that he was utterly possessed by you. It was more than just physical; it was an overwhelming sense of rightness.

“Perfect,” Steve rasped.

“So fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Like you were made for me.”

He dropped his head and trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, pausing to suck hard at your pulse point.

“Please,” you whimpered, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. “Move.”

“As you wish.” he whispered, brows knitted together.

You whimpered and your hands grasped the sheets as he started to move. He bent and sucked your nipple hard, causing a jolt of electricity through your body. Your brain was cloudy and your scratched his back as your eyes shuttered closed.

“Open your eyes, Peach,” Steve ordered darkly.

As he looked you in your beautiful eyes, Steve couldn’t hold back any longer. He started increasing his pace until he was fucking you roughly, pushing your knees to your chest.

“Yes.. feels so good Steve. Oh my godddddd, fuck me!”

Steve’s eyes roamed your body as he did as you asked. Your beautiful breasts bounced. The bed knocked against the wall and you gasped for breath, your face transfixed on the eye contact between you and Steve.

He was lost, one hand gripped your hair, and the other braced on the headboard. He fucked you hard, grinding against your clit with every stroke.

You were whimpering, on the verge of screaming as you two made noise up and down the hotel hallway.

He leaned up and grasped your throat, gritting his teeth as he asked a question.

“You want me to cum inside you? You trying to have my baby?”

“Unnnnnnghhhh! Maybe….”

You opened your eyes and pouted up at him.

“Paint my walls, Steve...”

Steve choked on air as he spurted hot cum into your welcoming pussy, but he pulled out, shooting the last jet of cum on your clit and pussy lips. Then, like a heathen, he bent between your thighs and started licking.

You sobbed, writhing as he devoured you.

“Need to eat you more than anything, my sweet, sweet Peach.

“Steve, Stevie… oh my god!”

You clutched his hair, tugging sharply. It was too much.

“Oh my God. Please Steveeeee!”

He raised his head, grinning as you fully collapsed, limp and spent. Your pussy was tender, your face flushed, your eyes gleaming.

You were eautiful.

You looked at him and shook your head as he took you in his arms.

“Are you mine?”

“Yes,” you whimpered out.

“I would die for you, Y/N L/N,” Steve murmured against your temple, panting. He held you tight, carding his fingers in your hair.

“I promise to keep you safe, and give you everything you need, I promise you that.”

“I believe you, Steve. I trust that.”

—

You and Steve stayed up late, ordered room service and talked about a lot of things, music, your parents, his friendship with Bucky, Nat, and Steve, everything.

You laughed and cried, and then settled back in his arms in the dark to sleep, his hand rubbing your hip as his breathing began to slow.

“Steve, can I ask you a question?”

It had been nagging at you for a while.

His sleepy voice answered you.

“Shoot.”

You chuckled.

“That’s just it. Have you ever… have you ever killed someone?”

Steve stirred, pulling you closer to him and moving his mouth next to your ear.

“Hmmmmm. I’d have to marry you before I answered that question.”

Your heart slammed against your chest and your eyes went wide in the dark.

“What?”

You tried to keep your voice even. You didn’t know what this feeling was that came over you. Steve continued, seemingly calm and not spiraling like you were.

“You can’t be compelled to testify against your spouse. It was a joke, Peach.”

You were silent for a good while.

“Oh.”

Steve stirred, leaning up against his elbow.

“Do you… are you saying that you want to get married?”

Steve thought about the ring that he had at his penthouse.

You laughed.

“Nah… what we looking like just up and getting married like that? We hardly know each other.”

“True. But when you know, you know.”

Steve kissed you and the small amount of logic in your brain was rapidly dissipating.

“Would it make us look crazy…?”

You could sense Steve’s smile in the dark.

“…Or would it be so beautiful?” He replied.

Steve wrapped you up in his arms and settled down again. Your mind spun as his breathing slowed to a steady rhythm and you spoke again.

He was probably asleep, but you had to get it out.

“If you ask me, I’m ready…”

The light switched on and you were staring into the beautiful blue eyes of Steve Rogers.

——

I’m so anxious about this one! Please let me know how you feel? Reblog, comment, like. TIA!

145 notes · View notes

thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 days ago

Text

I may be a real bad boy...but baby I'm a real good man -Part 2 Oneshot

One of my lovely little darlings asked for a part 2 of this one. Hope y'all like it! Word count: 4834 Warnings: talk of past abuse, scarring

Part 1

“What’s that?” Bucky asked as he walked into Y/N’s room.

“Another letter from my parents,” she sighed, handing it over to him when he sat next to her on her bed.

He read through it quickly, then scowled. “Jesus, what is their problem?”

“I’ve been seen with the Avengers, Buck, which must mean I’m rich now, and that obviously means I owe them something since they are the reason I’m alive,” she scoffed, rubbing her eyes harshly with her fingers.

He crumpled the letter up and stuffed it in his pocket before leaning forward and hugging her tight. “You don’t owe them shit, babycakes, you know that right?” he said reassuringly.

Y/N smiled as she hugged him back. “I know,” she said quietly. “I just wish they would do what they’ve done for twenty years and just leave me alone.”

Bucky sighed heavily, then pulled back to look at her. “Ignore them. There’s nothing they can do to hurt you now.” She nodded and leaned in to kiss him. He playfully bit her lower lip and she whined at him, making him laugh. “Come on, let’s go down to the pool with everybody else,” he said. “The party has already started.”

Y/N’s anxiety spiked at that, but she kept a neutral face. “Okay, um, give me a few minutes and I’ll be right down,” she said nonchalantly.

Bucky’s eyes slightly narrowed at her, waiting a beat to see if he could read what was wrong, before he smiled wider and nodded. “Alright, don’t take too long!” he said, kissing her once more before getting up and leaving her room.

Y/N waited for his footsteps to go further down the hallway before she let out a shaky breath. She hadn’t worn a tank top or anything revealing enough to show her back in years, and even during sex with Bucky she was always on her back, making it so he wouldn’t be able to see or feel it if he tried to wrap his arms under her. How was she going to hide it from the entire team?

***

Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Yelena were in the pool, splashing each other until Steve and Bucky raced each other across the pool to see who was faster. With the super soldier serum in their blood it was definitely impressive to watch. Y/N was sitting on one of the beach chairs with Wanda next to her while Tony and Bruce were grilling burgers further away.

“Aren’t you hot?” Wanda asked her after a moment. “It’s 92 degrees and you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N waved her off. “It’s a white t-shirt, and it’s not that hot.”

“Says the girl who is literally sweating through her hair,” Wanda said, reaching over and swiping off a bead of sweat from Y/N’s temple. “Come on, just take it off, you’ll feel better.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Y/N said, taking a long sip of her water.

“Babycakes, come on in!” Bucky called to her from the pool.

“I’m good, thank you!” she replied, trying to keep the air of nonchalance in her voice even as her frustration grew.

Why won’t she come in?

What’s going on?

Does she not feel good about herself?

Y/N took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her sunglasses hiding the tightness around her eyes. She was panicking, which made it so her mental blocks weren’t as strong as usual and she would hear people’s thoughts again. She heard Bucky pull himself out of the pool, water dripping heavily from him as he walked over to her chair and sat on it by her legs. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked quietly as he leaned over her. “Why won’t you come in?”

“I don’t feel like it,” she said quickly. “Just wanna get some sun.”

He frowned at her, then looked at Wanda. “Don’t ask me,” Wanda said, throwing her hands up.

Bucky leaned in closer to her ear so no one else could hear. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

“I don’t wanna take my shirt off, Buck,” Y/N said, silently begging him to understand.

“Why not? You look amazing,” he asked, looking shocked at her confession.

“Please just trust me,” she whispered, finally opening her eyes and looking at him. “Please?”

He looked surprised, his frown deepening, but he nodded. “Okay,” he said simply before giving her a quick kiss and getting up from the chair. She took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm herself as she turned on her electric fan and fanned her face.

A little while later as she was standing by the other end of the pool after eating a burger, she was sipping on a cocktail when Sam came up out of nowhere and lifted her off her feet, heading toward the pool.

“Sam! Stop!” she yelled, trying not to let her sonic scream overtake her voice. “Don’t!”

“Oh come on, Y/N, have some fun!” he said, laughing as she kicked and squirmed in his hold. The others started laughing at his antics, but Y/N was freaking out. No, please, not this, not now…

He suddenly maneuvered her into a position at the edge of the pool so that he grabbed her shirt and lifted it over herself before dropping her into the water. Y/N squealed, trying to twist her body as she hit the water. When she resurfaced she spat out the water that rushed into her mouth and nose before glaring at Sam. “Fuck you Sam!” she screamed, part of her ability slipping out and making the water ripple toward him. It splashed his feet and legs, making him laugh harder as she tried backstroke swimming to the opposite side of the pool away from him.

“Hey, glad you made it,” Bucky said, swimming toward her with a smile.

“I’m not staying,” Y/N said, keeping her back beneath the water as best as she could, facing him so he couldn’t see.

“What? Y/N–” he started.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice carried over from her chair. “What’s on your back?”

Y/N stiffened, shutting her eyes tight. “Nothing,” she said loudly as she continued trying to get away.

Bucky frowned. “What? What’s on your back?” he asked, trying to swim around her.

“No, Bucky, no,” she said, holding her hands out to him. Her constant protests were getting the attention of everybody by the pool, all of them watching on with frowns on their faces as well. “Just let me leave.”

“Okay, you’re scaring me now, babycakes,” he said, his eyes conveying his worry. He got close to her and reached for her shoulders. “Just let me see–”

“NO!” she yelped as she turned her sharply. The second he saw it he froze, his fingers tightening on her shoulders. She held her breath, hanging her face into her hands in shame.

“What is it—oh my god,” Wanda said when she walked around the edge of the pool to see. “Y/N…what…how did you get that?”

She could hear the rest of them all coming over to look, each of them reacting with some type of gasp or sound of surprise. “Y/N,” Bucky whispered. “What is this?”

“Scars,” she whispered, pulling away from his touch. “Please let me go.”

His hands fell away, and she swam to the side of the pool with the stairs and climbed out. She ran into the building without looking back, her tears pouring down her face as she raced to her room barefoot in a swim top and short shorts. She didn’t want it to happen like this. Of course she wouldn’t be able to hide it forever, especially from Bucky, but she couldn’t stand the fact that this was how everybody found out. When she reached her room she locked the door and instructed Friday to keep it locked before going to her bathroom and turning on the shower. She turned the water cold to try and cool down her feverish skin, the scars feeling like they were burning along her back. She washed off the sunscreen smell and let the water relax her as she cried heavily. Another lovely reminder of her parents’ anger and transgressions, permanently etched into her skin.

***

“It’s been four days and she won’t come out,” Bucky explained to her uncle Teddy as they walked down the hallway to her room. “She won’t talk to anyone, not even me.”

Teddy sighed heavily when they reached her door then turned to Bucky. “Thank you for calling me,” he said quickly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky nodded, looking at her door sadly before walking back down the hallway. Teddy turned to the door and knocked. “Y/N? It’s Ted–”

The door ripped open and Y/N gaped at him. “Teddy?” she cried, then threw herself into his arms. “Teddy, what are you doing here?” she asked, tears streaming down her face.

“Your boyfriend called me,” he said with a sad chuckle. “What’s this about you holing yourself away in here?”

Y/N let him go and gave him a pitiful sniffle. “He saw,” she said quietly. He frowned but nodded. “They all saw,” she said, trying to bite back more tears.

“Come on, let’s talk,” Teddy said, pushing her back into her room and closing the door behind him. “You look a mess, honey.”

“I know,” she sighed, flopping back down on her bed with him sitting next to her. “I just couldn’t face it. The looks they all gave me,” she said, her voice starting to raise in pitch as her emotions overwhelmed her again.

“Well they were going to find out eventually anyway, right?” Teddy reasoned. “What did you expect to do exactly? Hide away a huge part of yourself, even from him?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It was working for a little while.”

“Sounds like you still have a bit of therapy to get through,” Teddy joked halfheartedly. “You’re surrounded by the most extraordinary but traumatized people in the world. They of all people would not judge you for what has happened in your past and the literal and metaphorical scars you hold from that. Why did you feel the need to hide them?”

Y/N knew he was right. Everyone on the team had been through some type of shit in their lives, some worse than her, especially Bucky. Why was she so afraid? “I guess I just wasn’t ready to face it myself,” she said finally. “They’re just a constant reminder that I wasn’t…wanted. That I was wrong. Bad. Abnormal.”

“Do you think I’m bad?” Teddy asked.

“What? No, of course not!” Y/N retorted, looking at him incredulously.

“Am I wrong for having my ability?” he continued. “Am I abnormal? Unwanted?”

“No! How could you say that?” she frowned.

“Because I feel the same about you,” Teddy said, reaching for and holding her hands. “You aren’t bad, you’re good. There’s nothing wrong with you for having a mutated gene that gives you abilities, just different. Does that make us abnormal? Sure. But so what? None of that means that you aren’t appreciated, wanted and loved.” He pulled her into a hug, which she quickly reciprocated. “Bucky wouldn’t have called me if he didn’t love and want you, scars and all.”

That made her cry all over again. She had really sold him and the others short. They had shown no signs of fear, hesitation or hate towards her the entire time she had been here, so why would a few scars make any difference? “Thank you,” she said, squeezing him tight.

“Anytime,” Teddy said, his teasing tone coming back in his voice. “But before you talk to everybody, you need to shower. You stink.”

“Teddy!”

***

Y/N was sitting on a lone chair facing the rest of the Avengers who were all sitting on the couches and chairs across the common room, watching her intently. “Um, firstly, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I reacted the other day,” she started, wringing her hands in her lap. “And secondly, I wanted to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Wanda said quickly. The others all nodded in agreement.

“I appreciate that, but I think I do,” Y/N said, giving them all a small smile. She took a deep breath then stood. “So, uh, this is what I was hiding,” she said, unzipping her jacket and turning around. She had a sports bra on so she wouldn’t be completely naked, but she shrugged the jacket off for them all to see. There was a chorus of gasps and sounds of surprise. Y/N let them look for a long moment before putting her jacket on and zipping it before she turned to sit back down and look at them. Wanda was crying, Yelena’s frown was the deepest she’d ever seen, and Peter, Sam, Tony, Bruce and Steve were all upset. But the worst was Bucky’s look of despair, a look that she’d only ever seen when he was coming out of his worst nightmares.

“My parents didn’t know how to handle my abilities when they manifested themselves,” she explained. “I was seven when I first heard my mom’s thoughts. I caught her in a lie, and she freaked out when she realized it was because I could hear her. Then as she was spanking me I screamed, and it shattered the kitchen window.” She swallowed, trying to not let it all make her cry again. “I tried not to let the constant voices get to me, but I didn’t know how to tune them out like I do now. My dad couldn’t handle the fact that I had inherited the mutant gene, that I was a ‘freak like his brother,’” she quoted with a scoff. “After a pretty bad day he lost it on me, and hit me with his belt until I stopped screaming.” She sniffed, quickly wiping her eyes before smiling. “They shipped me off to Uncle Teddy so he could deal with me, and uh…long story short, I’m scarred, physically and mentally, and it sucks but it is what it is. And I’m sorry I wasn’t trusting enough in all of you to be understanding about it–”

Wanda stood and walked over to her, kneeling down and hugging her tight. “It wasn’t any of our business until you felt it was, dearest. I’m sorry we all pushed you, we just didn’t know. But we should have accepted your refusal from the start. I’m sorry.”

Y/N hugged her back. “Thank you.”

They each approached her with hugs and apologies, Sam especially feeling horrible for being the one to force her to show her scars, but Y/N felt lighter than she had in years at the way they all accepted it and didn’t judge or treat her any differently than normal. Last to approach her was Bucky, who silently took her hand and pulled her out of the common room and towards her room. Y/N let him lead her, knowing that they would need to have their own conversation about everything. He closed her door behind her when she walked in then locked the door, and turned to face her. Tears were brimming in his eyes and she panicked at the sight.

“Bucky,” she said, reaching up and cupping his face. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry I didn’t see, that I wasn’t someone you felt safe enough with to talk to about it–”

“No, oh my god, no, Buck,” Y/N shook her head fervently. “I do feel safe with you. I do trust you. I just wasn’t ready yet, do you hear me?” Bucky bit his lower lip to bite back more crying, sniffling as she wiped his tears away. “I love you,” she confessed.

His eyes widened at that. They hadn’t said it to each other yet, but Y/N knew what she felt and didn’t want to keep anything else from him. He released his lip and his lips trembled as he smiled at her. “I love you, too, babycakes,” he breathed. He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, then leaned down and kissed her gently. Y/N let herself melt into the kiss, but after a minute or two Bucky’s hands shifted down her back to the front of her jacket. His fingers gripped the zipper and he pulled away to look at her. “May I see?” he asked, a look of sadness and determination in his eyes.

Y/N nodded and took a deep breath. Bucky getting up close and personal with her scars had worried her before, but now she knew he was just curious and wanting to make it better somehow for her. He nodded then pulled the zipper down slowly, helping her pull it off and letting it fall to the floor before his fingers traced up her stomach to her sports bra. She nodded permission, and he helped her take it off, leaving her top naked. He kissed her again, pushing her back towards her bed until the back of her legs hit the mattress. His fingers pulled her bottoms down and off, then pushed her to lay down on the bed. “Turn over for me,” he said.

She took a deep breath to steady her heartbeat, then turned herself over to lay on her stomach. There was a beat of silence, then Bucky’s flesh fingers touched the base of her spine where the scars began. Most of them were small gashes from the belt buckle and prong, but there were two long ones that stretched along her spine from the length of the leather belt hitting her skin just right so that it made the skin split. His fingers traced along those two, the worst ones that had stretched her skin and pinkened it. She heard his clothes jostling for a moment and then the bed dipped as he climbed up, kneeling between her legs. Both of his hands were now on her back, almost massaging along her spine, until he leaned down and he kissed the first small scar near her ass.

Bucky’s kisses traveled over her back, making sure he touched and kissed every scar reverently before moving on to the next one. It was overwhelming for Y/N, a fresh wave of tears silently falling down her face. He was being so gentle, so sweet, and she couldn’t help the emotional reaction she was having. She took another shaky breath as he finally reached the top of her longest scar in between her shoulder blades.

“My pretty babycakes,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m so sorry you weren’t loved the way you deserve. Thank you for trusting me.” His hands spread her legs further apart, his metal fingers moved in between her legs, his fingers slipping through her slit slowly. “Thank you for loving me,” he continued. “Can I make love to you like this, Y/N?”

She turned her head to look back at him. His eyes were focused on her pussy, then glancing up at her back until he met her gaze. “You want to see them while we…?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, leaning over so he could kiss her again. “You accepted me, scars and all. Let me return the favor.” Her breath hitched, her chin wobbling as she bit back a sob. She nodded with a small smile and he smiled back at her. “Thank you.”

His first two metal fingers dipped inside her, making her moan and her head flop back onto the bed. She didn’t realize she had gotten so wet just from his kisses across her back, but she had, and as he worked her up she couldn’t stop the tears as she thought about how wonderful this man of hers was. Bucky pumped his fingers in and out of her slowly, taking his sweet time in pulling any and all sounds he could from her until her legs started shaking. “That’s it, babycakes.”

She stiffened after a moment, then her body fell off that last precipice and she came, a small gush coating his fingers as she moaned into the blankets, her fingers gripping them tightly. Bucky’s fingers fucked her through it until she stopped shaking, then he pulled them out and she could hear him lick his fingers clean. “So good,” he mumbled. “Get on your knees for me.” Y/N struggled to shift up on her knees, leaning on her elbows as the side of her face rested against the bed. “Aw, still sensitive?” he asked teasingly, then she felt the tip of his cock rub through her pussy lips.

She jiggled her ass at him, and he chuckled, his flesh hand giving her right ass cheek a quick smack. “Good girl,” he said, then started pushing in. Y/N moaned into the bed, her legs slightly spreading even more to be able to take him in. She would never get used to this, just how perfect he felt inside her, but now in this position he felt even deeper somehow, making her eyes roll back.

“Buckyyyy…” she groaned when he was balls deep.

“Shit, baby,” he groaned with her. “God, as much as I love the way we’ve always done it, this is…fuck,” he huffed, his hips trembling with how far inside he felt. “This is different.” She nodded, her arms moving above her head to grip at the blankets more firmly. “And seeing your pretty ass raised like this for me,” he said, smacking her ass cheeks again, making her squeak. “I didn’t know what I was missing. And these,” his fingers traced up her scars again, his hips starting a steady pace in and out of her, “proving just how strong and good and beautiful my baby is. I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Y/N was overcome with emotion, her tears falling harder and her breaths heavy with sobs. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said, keeping up the pace as he leaned over and across her back, positioning himself so he was basically mounting her. “Let it all out while I love you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

It felt like he was everywhere, his face tucked into the back of her neck, his huffed breaths heating her skin and his deep, low voice in her ear and vibrating from his chest onto her back, his metal arm holding around her waist while his flesh arm kept him up so he couldn’t crush her. Feeling his front against her scarred back was somehow relieving, healing, like the skin to skin contact stitched together those last few pieces of her heart from when she was a child. Her orgasm was fast approaching again, her legs shaking under him as he fucked her slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every little thing. Her mental block slipped and she could hear him…

My strong girl.

My pretty babycakes.

“Atta girl, cum on me,” he said, kissing and licking her shoulder and the top of the longest scar. “I can feel you. Let go. Let it all go, babycakes.”

Y/N’s breathing picked up even faster, her fingers scratching at the bed until the pressure built up impossibly high, then she was cumming again. She squealed loudly as her pussy constricted around him, another gush spilling from her as she shook beneath him. Bucky whimpered at how tight she was around his cock, fucking deep into her a few more times until he stiffened and came, his hips trembling harder as he let it all out inside of her.

They sat like that for another minute or two as their combined highs calmed down. Bucky nuzzled his face into her hair before pulling himself up. He groaned as he slowly pulled himself out of her then turned her over so he could see her. Y/N felt like jelly as she slumped to her back, her eyes feeling heavy as she looked up at Bucky. He smirked at the look on her face, leaning down to kiss her deeply. She lazily kissed him back, and when his lips moved from her mouth and down her neck she moved herself any way he wanted her to as he kissed across her skin. “Mmh, sweetness,” she moaned lightly.

Bucky kissed back up to her face, kissing her cheek chastely before wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks. “I hope those are good tears,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Y/N quickly nodded. “Yes. Thank you Bucky. That was incredibly…healing,” she said, sniffling before any more emotions could overwhelm her again.

He gave her a wide smile. “Please talk to me if you’re struggling, Y/N. Please don’t hide things from me. Nothing you say or do could make me judge or hate you. I love you too much,” he joked, nipping at her bottom lip.

She huffed a laugh at him, running her fingers through his hair affectionately. “I will, I promise,” she agreed. “I love you, sweetness.”

***

Bucky sat at the small kitchen table in the old house, waiting as the sounds of bustling movement came from the garage.

“Harry, stop being such an idiot!”

“Fuck off, Julia!”

Their shrill voices carried through the hallway, making Bucky grimace as he pointed the gun in his right hand, keeping it visible on top of the table for them to see as they walked in.

“How do you fuck up grabbing the bread I asked you to get? It’s the same bread we’ve bought for thirty years!” Julia yelled as she walked through the door, her arms heavy laden with grocery bags. She didn’t see him at first, plopping the bags on the floor before straightening herself up with a sigh, and as she turned to walk back out of the kitchen she did a double take of him. Her eyes widened, and just as she opened her mouth to scream Bucky held up the gun, his eyebrows raising in a dare. She cut herself off, her mouth shutting fast as she froze on the spot.

Harry walked through the door a moment later with a few bags in his hands. “Jesus, woman, will you just leave me alo–” he froze when he saw Bucky, glancing at Julia before dropping his bags. “What the fuck?!” he yelled. “Who are you?”

“Shut up and sit down,” Bucky snarled, cocking the gun toward the last empty seat at the table. Harry looked defiant but fearful, his jaw ticking as he slowly walked forward and sat down. Bucky could see Julia inching towards the sink. “I already grabbed that gun earlier,” he said to her. “And you could try the knife block, but it won’t end well for either of you.” Julia froze again, her eyes staying comically wide. Bucky focused back on Harry. “I’m not here to kill you,” he said.

Harry’s frown deepened. “Then what do you want? We don’t have any money.”

“Right, you’re just trying to get it from your daughter,” Bucky said, revealing his left arm as he let it fall on the table with a heavy thud that made a crack in the tabletop. Harry’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open and Julia whimpered behind him as they recognized him. “Let me just make something abundantly clear,” he continued. “You will not contact her again. No calls, no emails, no more pathetic letters,” he said, unfurling his closed metal fist and letting the crumpled letter he’d taken fall on the table. “She owes you nothing. Don’t you ever bother her or interrupt her happiness again. Do as you have done for the past 20 years, and leave her alone.”

“You have no right–” Harry started.

*BANG*

Julia screamed, cowering in the corner of the kitchen while Harry sat shaking, breathing heavily as blood trickled down from where the top of his left ear had been grazed. Bucky glared at him, pointing the gun more toward his face. “Do I need to repeat myself?” he asked dangerously. Harry shook his head fast. “Answer me,” Bucky grumbled.

“N-n-no,” Harry stammered.

“No, what?” Bucky asked, tilting his head at him.

“No s-sir,” Harry said, his chin wobbling as his eyes brimmed with tears.

Bucky glanced at Julia, who quickly nodded and held her hands up. “No sir,” she cried.

He glared at them both for another moment before nodding. He stood from the table, putting his gun away before walking toward the door they had come through. He stopped at the doorway and turned to look at Julia. “If I ever even hear of either of you again, I’ll end you. Slowly,” he warned, his metal arm whirring as he clenched his fist. Julia sniffled sadly, nodding again. Bucky huffed a laugh at how pathetic they were, then walked out of the house. If there was anything he could do to protect his babycakes, he would do it.

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #ask #request #anon ask #oneshot #part 2

45 notes · View notes