#and that's what makes me sad more than him moving away

[seitmai]

“What did she say?” Steve whispered to break the silence. “You heard what she said. Everyone heard it,” Sam whispered back, giving you a quizzical stare. “How many drinks have you had?” You held up a finger followed by another couple. “Like this many. And water. Hydration is so important.”

Hahah this just cracked me up 😂

“Yeah, I know. He’s hot. We all know he’s hot,” you shrugged. “And I said what I said.”

Period

You were careful not to be cruel if you disagreed with anyone, but you still led with honesty. Alcohol didn’t change that. So, if you said you thought Bucky was hot and you wanted him to fuck you raw, you meant it.

Honesty to a fault 🤷🏻‍♀️😅

“And you know he’s sitting next to you, right?” she asked. You downed the rest of your drink and shrugged again. “Yeah, I know. And I’d let him fuck me raw. Every day. Twice on Sundays,” you said unapologetically as Steve coughed. You swung your head toward Bucky with a sultry smile and leaned in a little closer. He smelled your perfume before you sat down tonight, but now the sweet smell combined with your natural scent was making him dizzy. “You’d fuck me raw, right? Maybe fuck me from behind so you can get nice and deep.”

No holding back hahah

Bucky heard Thor’s footsteps, but didn’t take his eyes off you as the God of Thunder took a seat. “Clearly, I’ve missed something.” “I said I want Bucky to fuck me raw,” you said without missing a beat. And your bluntness didn’t seem to bother the blonde. “I thought you two were already having relations. With how close you two-”

I love how unbothered and 0% of shocked Thor is 😂

“Is that not what they’re discussing?” Thor asked, taking a sip from his flask. “Though if there is no protection there is the risk of procreating, but they would have beautiful offspring.”

I can't 😂😂😂

“And if a breeding kink is what you’re into, actually breeding me or not, I’m all for it. I’m wet just thinking about it.” Thor laughed and held up his flask. “That’s the spirit.”

Thor is killing me 😂

Bucky’s cock twitched in his pants. “I know you’re wet. I can smell it,” he all but growled. He inhaled so deeply he could actually taste it, and he wanted more. And if he could smell it, Steve could smell it. "Okay then.” Clint removed his hearing aid. “I think I’m done.”

No Clint removing his hearing aid 😂

“Breed her well, Barnes. Make us proud!” Thor shouted. Steve hauled him from the room, too, with Clint hot on their tail.

I'm so sad, I loved Thor’s commentary 😅

“I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or weird. I’d never want that.” “That’s the last thing I feel,” he exhaled, still gripping your arms when you finally moved into his lap and straddled him. “Good,” you smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

Perfect 😌

“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life,” he admitted, brushing a tear away that fell. “But you’ve been drinking, and that means you can’t fully consent, and I will not take advantage of you, no matter how you say you want me or this. I respect and care for you too much for that.” HYDRA took consent away from Bucky for a long time, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. He’d hate himself for doing anything with you without your full consent. He wouldn’t be the kind of man who did that. The man you deserved would be the one who properly took care of you in and out of bed.

He is just the best 🥰🥹

However you wanted your first time to be, he'd make it happen. He'd make love to you or fuck you or both. As long as there was clear consent and communication, he’d give you everything you needed and more, and he knew you'd do the same for him.

🥰🥰🥰

The smile you gave him repaired the cracks in his heart. “You’re a good guy, Bucky,” you said, snuggling against him. “And it isn’t just sex I want, but, well, I do want to have sex with you.” “You’re adorable,” he chuckled and rested his chin on your head. “And I know. It isn't just sex I want either.”

Ahh this was just the perfect mix of spicy, cute and hilarious 👏🏻

Love drunk Bucky! What about a drunk reader?

Yes, we've seen drunk!Bucky in Pretty Girl. A drunk reader could be fun.

Your Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You're very vocal about wanting Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Drunk reader with no filter, drunk confession, dirty talk, humor, slight feels, talk of consent and communication, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Raw. Next question.”

You sipped your drink, the room going eerily silent. It was the quietest it had been since everyone gathered in the lounge for some drinks hours ago. Pairs of eyes stared at you with a mix of fascination and shock as your words hung in the air.

Just moments ago, Clint had been going through his phone and showing everyone candid photos he managed to snap of everyone. Most of them were hilarious, but the most recent one wasn't hilarious at all. It was clearly hot based on your reaction.

“What did she say?” Steve whispered to break the silence.

“You heard what she said. Everyone heard it,” Sam whispered back, giving you a quizzical stare. “How many drinks have you had?”

You held up a finger followed by another couple. “Like this many. And water. Hydration is so important.”

“Hold on. Back to what you said a second ago.” Clint turned the phone toward him with a raised brow and slowly turned it back toward you so you could see it again. “You know that’s a picture of Barnes, right? Not some model or actor?” he asked.

Bucky Barnes, the beefy super soldier who was trying not to shatter the bottle in his metal hand as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. Clint managed to snap a photo of him when he removed his shirt after a recent workout, which begged the question of why he was taking the photo to begin with. Bucky wasn’t looking at the camera since his eyes were shut, but his parted mouth, slightly messy hair, and sweat shining off his torso made him look like a thirst trap. The sweatpants only made the picture that much hotter.

“Yeah, I know. He’s hot. We all know he’s hot,” you shrugged. “And I said what I said.”

Bucky audibly exhaled. You had a penchant for being very honest with the team which they appreciated. If someone asked for your opinion or thoughts on something you didn’t hide how you felt. You were careful not to be cruel if you disagreed with anyone, but you still led with honesty. Alcohol didn’t change that.

So, if you said you thought Bucky was hot and you wanted him to fuck you raw, you meant it.

Clint exchanged a quick glance with Natasha before the redhead nodded to the spot beside you. The spy looked like she was having a hard time not smiling. “And you know he’s sitting next to you, right?” she asked.

You downed the rest of your drink and shrugged again. “Yeah, I know. And I’d let him fuck me raw. Every day. Twice on Sundays,” you said unapologetically as Steve coughed. You swung your head toward Bucky with a sultry smile and leaned in a little closer. He smelled your perfume before you sat down tonight, but now the sweet smell combined with your natural scent was making him dizzy. “You’d fuck me raw, right? Maybe fuck me from behind so you can get nice and deep.”

The bottle shattered which only made you smile more. Bucky’s nostrils flared and everyone backed up a few inches, except for you, the newest member of the team. The person who loved to leave little treats and snacks for him to make sure he ate throughout the day. The same person who made a show of bending over and stretching in front of him whenever you two worked out together. The only one who seemed to get a real smile out of him since you showed up like a shining beacon of happiness and sass.

And now you were telling him you want him to fuck you. Raw. He thought about it, of course- how wet and snug you’d feel around his bare cock, how you’d take him like a good girl. He pictured you sobbing his name and squirming as he pinned you down and brought you over the edge again and again. Licking his lips, he imagined the taste of your arousal on his tongue and wondered if he could make you squirt. He sure as hell wanted to try.

Bucky heard Thor’s footsteps, but didn’t take his eyes off you as the God of Thunder took a seat. “Clearly, I’ve missed something.”

“I said I want Bucky to fuck me raw,” you said without missing a beat.

Bucky bit back a groan. He was two seconds away from throwing you over his shoulder like a caveman and taking you away from everyone. There were so many filthy things he wanted to say and do to you…

And your bluntness didn’t seem to bother the blonde. “I thought you two were already having relations. With how close you two-”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say ‘relations’?” Clint asked. “Relations.”

“Is that not what they’re discussing?” Thor asked, taking a sip from his flask. “Though if there is no protection there is the risk of procreating, but they would have beautiful offspring.”

You leaned in a bit closer, but Bucky gripped your arms to move you away from his spot. “I don't want the glass to cut you.”

“You're so thoughtful. And amazing,” you smiled. He adored your smile. “And if a breeding kink is what you’re into, actually breeding me or not, I’m all for it. I’m wet just thinking about it.”

Thor laughed and held up his flask. “That’s the spirit.”

Bucky’s cock twitched in his pants. “I know you’re wet. I can smell it,” he all but growled. He inhaled so deeply he could actually taste it, and he wanted more. And if he could smell it, Steve could smell it.

“Okay then.” Clint removed his hearing aid. “I think I’m done.”

Steve jumped up when his best friend glared at him. “I think I’m done, too,” he said, not wanting to face Bucky’s wrath even though it wasn’t his fault he also had heightened senses.

“Let’s go, boys. I think these two should talk without us,” Natasha suggested, hauling Sam up by the arm and giving both of you a wink. “Be good, okay?”

“No promises,” you replied in a sing-song voice.

“Shouldn’t they get a room? I’m just saying,” Sam said as Natasha dragged him away.

“Breed her well, Barnes. Make us proud!” Thor shouted. Steve hauled him from the room, too, with Clint hot on their tail.

“Alone at last,” you giggled. If you were at all embarrassed, it didn’t show. And now that the two of you were alone, the tension skyrocketed. “You know, this isn't how I pictured saying any of this, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” he said. He couldn't believe you wanted him, but you did.

“I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or weird. I’d never want that.”

“That’s the last thing I feel,” he exhaled, still gripping your arms when you finally moved into his lap and straddled him.

“Good,” you smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

As much as he wanted to feel your lips against his, he stopped you. And as much as he wanted to tear your leggings away and have you then and there, but he couldn’t. “I’m not fucking you. Not tonight.”

The playfulness slipped from your eyes. So did the smile from your face. “Oh. I thought…” you breathed, looking away and quickly blinking. God, he hoped there weren’t tears in your eyes. “You don’t actually want me, do you?”

Bucky hadn’t meant for his words or stopping the kiss to come across as rejection, but that was exactly what happened. “That’s not–”

“Oh, my God. I ruined everything, didn't I? Why did I open my mouth?” You sniffled and tried to move away, but he wouldn't let you. “Six months of friendship and crushing on you and I-”

“Hey. You didn't ruin a thing.” Bucky gripped your chin with tenderness he didn’t think he was capable of anymore, and his heart broke when he saw the tears swimming in your beautiful eyes. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life,” he admitted, brushing a tear away that fell. “But you’ve been drinking, and that means you can’t fully consent, and I will not take advantage of you, no matter how you say you want me or this. I respect and care for you too much for that.”

HYDRA took consent away from Bucky for a long time, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. He’d hate himself for doing anything with you without your full consent. He wouldn’t be the kind of man who did that. The man you deserved would be the one who properly took care of you in and out of bed.

And he’d be the best man for you if you let him.

“So, you do want me?” you asked, your voice uncertain.

“I did say more than anyone else, and I meant it,” he replied. You had to believe him. “But our first time should happen when you're sober.”

However you wanted your first time to be, he'd make it happen. He'd make love to you or fuck you or both. As long as there was clear consent and communication, he’d give you everything you needed and more, and he knew you'd do the same for him.

The smile you gave him repaired the cracks in his heart. “You’re a good guy, Bucky,” you said, snuggling against him. “And it isn’t just sex I want, but, well, I do want to have sex with you.”

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled and rested his chin on your head. “And I know. It isn't just sex I want either.”

Bucky wanted to take you to bed, but he also wanted to take you out on dates. He wanted to make you laugh and smile, wipe your tears and comfort you when you cried, and be the one you confided in. He wanted to be your man, and he wanted you to be his best girl.

“I wanna be yours,” you sighed as if you read his mind, his heart skipping a beat. “Can I be your girl?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes when he kissed the top of your head. “You can be my girl.”

And tomorrow once you were sober, he’d officially ask you to be his girl.

Happy Moanday, lovelies! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[leclerc-hs]

save a bull! part 2 - cl16

pairing: bull rider!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which a city girl meets a cowboy OR charles finds himself infatuated with the visiting city girl warnings: language, NOT PROOFREAD, smut under the cut!, bad writing? word count: ~3k author's note: SURPRISE SHAWTYYYYY! hiiiiiiii I missed you all SOO much. I'm sorry if this isn't good I'm really really rusty on my writing since it's been a few months but I'm trying to get back into it. if you hate this I'm SORRY lol but I love u all and I hope you like it anyways. xoxo let me know what you want to see next.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The tension is palpable, a charged current zipping through the air as his touch seems to melt every bit of composure you had left. His grip on your back is firm, but not forceful—just enough to make you aware that he’s in control of this moment.

He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t back down, his eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to argue, daring you to say something that will break the silence. But all you can think about is how his breath feels on your skin, how his fingers leave a trail of heat where they touch.

Your brain momentarily froze. In no fucking world, would I let you wear anyone’s but mine. 

You could feel the flush of your cheeks start to burn not only from the alcohol consumed but his confession. The heat of his fingers seeping through the thin material of your dress was just the icing on the cake.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning forward so the edges of his lips graze your ear. “You want a hat, you take mine.” 

He pulls his head back a few inches, his eyes dipping to your lips for a brief second that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“You’re insane.”

“You keep calling me crazy,” he says, his voice low, gravelly, “but you’re the one standing right here, aren’t you?”

“Delusional.” Your pulse races, lips parting slightly, as if you might say something else, but all that comes out is a shallow breath.

His fingers sprawl across your lower back, pulling you towards him even closer if possible.

“So you’re telling me that if I slipped my hand up your little dress right now, you wouldn’t be soaked?”

You don’t know what to say. He’s got you right where he wants you. 

“Maybe I like crazy,” you finally murmur, your voice betraying the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his breath mixing with yours. “I thought you might.”

-

The days since that night have been a blur. His words echo in your mind, louder than anything else, like a broken record. You’ve tried to push it down, tried to bury it with distractions, anything that would stop you from thinking about the way his fingers lingered on your skin, the way his eyes burned into yours. But the more you push, the more it pulls.

And now, here you are, waiting for him again.

“I can’t believe we have to go back to the city in a few days already.” Abigail groans— the two of you sprawled in the grass, just staring out at the open fields.

You looked down at the grass, your fingers ripping some of it to play with. “I can’t believe I’m sad to leave.”

You both fall into fits of laughter. “Yeah, but that’s just cause of a certain cowboy.”

You shake your head, looking at Abigail with the biggest smile. “I’ve never felt so at peace like this before. The quiet is nice.”

You fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments, letting the harsh sun beat on your skin. 

“So when is he coming to get you?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the sound of a pick-up truck turning on the gravel of the driveway has you shutting it. 

Abigail moves to stand up, her hands reaching down towards you to pull you up from the grass, then turns to Charles, who is slipping out the driver side door with a smile pulled on his mouth. 

“Don’t keep her out too late or she’ll be grounded.” Abigail jokes, which earns her a small smack to her arm from you.

He dips his head, tilting his hat towards the both of you, “Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.” His voice is low, laced with something you can’t quite place—something that makes it feel like he is the one making the promises, not you.

Abigail gives a final wink to you before heading back into the house, leaving you both alone.

You watch her walk away, trying to pretend you didn’t feel that little jolt in your chest. But as soon as she’s out of an earshot, Charles turns his attention back to you, his gaze more intense than before.

“So, you ready for a ride?” He asks, the corner of his mouth curling into something dangerously close to a smirk.

You hesitate, “And if I said no?”

He chuckles, and its like the sound rolls right through you, making your heartbeat pick up. “Not if you want to earn that cowboy hat,” he says, the teasing glint in his eyes.

-

The soreness settles in deep, a quiet ache in your muscles you didn’t even know you had. Horseback riding hadn’t seemed like such a workout when Charles first suggested it—hell, you thought it would be a relaxing, leisurely ride through the fields. 

But now, after hours spent clinging to the saddle, your body is sending you sharp reminders of how much work it actually takes to stay upright and in control. Your thighs are tight, your lower back sore, and every small movement feels like effort.

As you stretch out your arms, trying to relieve some sort of tension, you can’t help but smirk. You’d never expected a day with Charles to feel like this— like you’d been put through the paces, not just by the horse, but by him too.

It’s the subtle shifts in his movements, the way he guides the horse with just a slight tug of the reins, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon, and the way his hand brushes against yours when he reaches for the reins that keeps your attention. 

“You alright there?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a hint of something more when he looks you over, taking in the way you’re moving a little more carefully than earlier.

You roll your shoulders. “I feel like I just ran a marathon on a horse.”

He laughs, his eyes lighting up. “That’s the price of learning how to ride. But you did good, yeah?”

The way he says it, like its a compliment, makes you stand a little taller despite the soreness. “I didn’t expect it to be so…intense,” you admit, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingers just a second too long on your lips.

“Nothing about this place is every just easy,” he says with a shrug. “But, I guess that’s what makes it worth it.”

The weight of his hand at your back sends a warm shiver up your spine, a subtle pressure thats both grounding and electric. You try not to focus too much on the way his touch seems to anchor you, or the way your pulse quickens with every step toward the open field.

The picnic is simple—just a blanket, a few baskets, and a clear view of the sun slowly starting its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the land. It’s the kind of peaceful scene that feels too much like a dream. And yet, it’s real.

As you both settle onto the blanket, Charles moves with an easy confidence, reaching for the baskets without breaking the quiet tension that lingers in the air. 

“You hungry?” His voice is casual.

You nod, still not quite sure how to handle the way your body feels with him so close. There’s something about his presence that makes it hard to think straight, hard to remember you’re supposed to be relaxing.

“I think I could eat,” you reply, your voice softer than usual. Your eyes flick up to meet his, and you catch the subtle way his lips curl into a half-smile, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking without needing to hear it.

He uncorks a bottle of wine, and pours a glass for the both of you.

The quiet stretches again, comfortable yet heavy, as you both settle in.

Charles leans back, resting on his elbows, his eyes never leaving you as you take a sip of wine. “You know,” he says after a beat, his voice low and thoughtful, “I didn’t think I’d be sharing a moment with you like this today.”

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass as you glance over at him. “What do you mean by that?”

His smirk softens into something almost like a grin, “You didn’t think you’d be here, either, did you?”

You want to brush it off, act like its just another evening out here, but something in the way he says it makes your chest tighten. You hesitate for a moment before finally responding. “Guess not. Guess I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

The air shifts around you as he watches, his gaze intense and focused, like he’s weighing his next move. “Well, I hope you’re not regretting it.”

You place the barely touched glass of wine in your hand, onto the grass, and then turn to Charles. Your heart races, and for a split second, you’re sure he’s talking about more than just the picnic.

Your gaze drifts down to the hat resting beside him, the brim casting a shadow over the worn denim of his jeans. It sits there, between you two, almost purposefully. The thought hits you unexpectedly—the way its placed, almost like a bridge, an offering, a challenge.

There’s something oddly magnetic about it, the way it ties him to the land, to this place, to who he is. The fact that it’s so close, just inches away, and yet you feel like you have to earn it somehow.

You glance back up to find him watching you, his eyes lingering on yours with that quiet intensity, like he's aware of your thoughts without you needing to voice them. There’s no teasing, no playful smirk this time—just that still, steady gaze. And for a moment, it feels like everything is poised on the edge of something important.

His fingers twitch, like he's fighting the urge to reach out, to pull the hat closer or to pull you closer.

"You thinking about it?" he asks, his voice quieter now, almost too casual, like he’s pretending he doesn’t know exactly what you’re thinking.

You blink, and your heartbeat picks up a fraction of a beat. "What do you mean?"

"The hat," he says, almost like it's obvious, though there’s a small glimmer in his eyes that tells you he knows what it’s really about. “You ever worn one before?”

You shake your head slowly, the question hanging in the air, the tension between you both thickening with the simple exchange.

His hand moves just slightly, like he’s about to offer it to you, but he pauses, letting the silence stretch for a moment too long.

"You know," he says, his voice low, as if the words are meant only for you, "it doesn’t look right on just anyone."

The weight of that statement settles over you like a slow burn, and your thoughts race, caught between wanting to prove him wrong and knowing, deep down, that this—whatever this is—has already shifted something inside you.

Fuck it.

You know he’s watching the way your fingers dance along the brim, your thumb tracing the edges as if you’re deciding whether to make the commitment or leave it in its place between you two.

Your fingers continue to toy with the edges of the brim, before you grasp it in between the pads of your fingers, picking it up thoughtfully as you weigh the symbolism of it. It feels heavier than it should in your hands. 

“Don’t tease me.” His gaze never leaves you, steady and unblinking, as though he’s waiting for you to put the hat back onto the blanket again.

You could easily put it on, feel it settle on your head, feel his presence there with you. Finally, you look up at him.

“You said it doesn’t look right on just anyone,” you murmur, your voice low, like the words are meant for you and him only. “But what if it fits?”

The air seems to thicken, the question more loaded than it should be.

He shifts his hips just slightly, still leaned on the back of his elbows as he stares at you. “You’re not just anyone.”

It’s a statement more than an answer. And it leaves your stomach in knots as you raise the hat to your head, pausing before it touches the hairs of your head.

“Trying to figure out if this is going to be some cruel joke.” He groans. “Don’t do it, unless you mean it.” His voice is rough.

You place it on your head, looking at him with a wicked smirk and glint in your eyes. “What was it you said about me liking crazy?”

-

He gives you no more than two seconds, before he’s sitting up from his arms and quite literally yanking you onto his lap. Your legs straddle him, and you want nothing more than to rub yourself against him. 

His eyes trace every feature of your face and then land back on your eyes. The look on his face so serious, you wonder if he’s alright.

“Just kiss me alr-“

Your words are cut off almost instantly as the palm of his hand swallows the back of your neck and pulls your lips down to his. You can feel the vibrations of his groan into the kiss, and you feel like you might combust right then and there.

Your hips rut against his lap involuntary as his tongue slips into your mouth like he owns it. There’s no more teasing. His own mouth takes over yours in deep, intoxicating kisses, that have you arching for more.

His hands glide down the swell of your back, before landing on your hips and guiding them to work against his groin.

The tantalizing touches create a surge of heat forming in your stomach, before you pull away from him, his eyes glazed with a sort of hunger it seems only you can fill for him. You lift your hips from his for a second, giving him time to unbutton your jeans and yank them off of your body, while he finds the time to unbutton his and pull them down halfway.

“I don’t think I can wait.” You seem to say, your voice laced with desire at the sight of his hardened cock before you.

“So don’t.” He huffs, before pulling you down on him, his mouth overpowering yours instantly. You start to lower yourself, more than ready to quench this thirst you’ve had for days. 

He hisses through his teeth when the head of his cock slides between your thighs. His fingers lock on your hip, stopping you from getting any lower. “I need to know you’re 100 percent about this.”

“I’m half nude in the middle of a field for you, what do you think?”

“I’m serious.” He grits, he sounds almost pained as he feels just how soaked you are against the head of his cock. “You do this, and you’re mine.”

Your eyes meet his in this moment and you feel your heart pounding against your chest. “Does that make you mine too?”

“I’ve been yours since you stepped foot in this town.” He says, like he didn’t even have to think about a response. Like it was in his nature.

“Good.”

You drop your hips down further, effectively slamming him right into you. You both cry out at the pressure, the stretch, and the depth he’s hitting you with at this angle. It’s all perfect. 

“Oh my fuck.” He tenses. "You look fucking unreal in my hat."

You grind against him, like you cant get enough, as he fucks up into you as merciless as possible. Its as if neither of you can get close enough. His arms envelop you as he pulls you back, letting him fall to his back as thrusts into you powerfully.

“Charles,” you whisper. “I need..”

You don’t even know what you need. All you know is that you need more of him.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, so rough in your ear, you could come just from hearing it. “Fucking gripping me like you’re gonna come.”

His voice is hoarse as he slips a hand down your back, gripping your ass in his hands and pushing you to meet his thrusts even harder. 

It doesn’t take the long. You both shatter completely, groaning and moaning against the blanket.

“Oh fuck.” His arms are tense as he snaps his hips into you, dropping his head back against the blanket as you careen forward with a cry. You both can hear the squelch of the both of you, and it somehow makes it even hotter as he keeps going.

You sag against his chest and it rises and falls deeply as you both come down from the high.

“My god sweetheart.” He chuckles, his fingers sweeping your hair behind your ear as you lift your head to look at him. His cock still inside of you.

“Yeah, you’re mine alright.” He says it like he’s talking to himself. He probably is.

You smile, dropping your face back into his chest.

Yeah, you are. But how could you keep him when you're leaving in just a few days?

[honeyryewhiskey]

mirrored souls

or, dean dreams of what he believes he can never have. warnings ! angst, hurt/some comfort, dean's feelings are hurt, unexpected pregnancy, tough conversations, two ppl with the same fears j's note ! hey so let's not even talk about the fact that this is neither of the two fics i posted snippets of lol idk what possessed me to write 5k fucking words for this i'm sorry i just want to baby trap dean winchester erm idk enjoy? it's sad but maybe pls dont take my word for it i'll continue this and let them be happy also i stopped proof reading half way through bc it is my bed time <3 5k words

He’s had this dream every night for weeks. 

The sun is golden, thick with warmth, stretching over endless fields of green. It settles on his skin like an old friend, seeps into his bones, loosening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The air is clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer, and for the first time in his life, he feels safe. Like he could lie back in the grass, close his eyes, and let the world move on without him.

Then, he hears her.

A laugh—small and weightless, like wind chimes in a summer breeze—rings through the stillness. It stops him cold, strikes something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

He turns, and she’s there.

She can’t be older than four, standing barefoot in the grass, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes—green as polished emeralds, too big for her little face. His eyes.

But everything else—her delicate nose, the slope of her cheekbones, the way her wild hair frames her face—that’s you.

She tilts her head, smiling in a way that makes something inside him shatter. Then she reaches for him, small fingers wrapping around his calloused hand like she’s always belonged there.

And just like that—like the break of a wave, like the snap of a thread—she’s gone.

Dean wakes with a sharp inhale, the remnants of warmth already fading, replaced by the cold press of reality. His chest aches, heavy with something deeper than longing. A quiet, creeping fear slithers in, curling around his ribs.

Because she has his eyes and your face—a combination that will never exist.

You left. And you haven’t come back in months.

It was always cat and mouse with you—years of fleeting moments, an unspoken desire for more that neither of you had the courage to face. You’d cross paths, use each other's bodies to release some tension, but never linger long enough to ignite anything real. 

Until about eight months ago, when everything changed. You stayed longer than just a weekend. Dean had you in his arms for four months—four months that felt like a lifetime of stolen moments, of finally letting down walls you both had built so high. But when it all started to feel too real, when the weight of it all settled between you like an unspoken truth, you pulled away. You told him it was too much, that you needed space, that you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to breathe, to step back before it swallowed you whole. And with that, you walked away, leaving him to sift through the pieces of something that was never meant to last.

His heavy hand slams down on the bleating alarm clock beside his bed. The sharp noise cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of his breathing in the dark. He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his tired eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to clear the remnants of the dream—the sunlight, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he was her whole damn world.

Dean exhales sharply and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Another short night, another dream of something that doesn’t exist, of someone who will never be real. He tells himself it’s just a trick of the mind, a byproduct of too many years spent running on empty. But the truth—the one he won’t say out loud—is that the dreams never started until you left.

And maybe that’s what makes them feel more like a haunting than a fantasy.

He’s spent each day the past four months trying to shove it down, burying it under booze and hunts and half-hearted distractions. But it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he’s over it, that he saw it coming. Because he did. He knew you would run the second things got too real, the second you got too close, too comfortable, like maybe you wanted this life with him.

And then, just like his dream, you were gone.

You never said it outright, but he knew—deep down, you were always more like him than you wanted to admit. Built for the road, for the chase. Love wasn’t something you stayed for.

Except you never really left, not completely.

Every now and then, his phone would ring, and it’d be your voice on the other end—casual, distant, asking about a hunt, about a lead on something nasty you were tracking. Always avoiding the bigger conversation, never asking how he’s been, never giving him the chance to ask where you are.

And Dean let it happen. Let you keep him at arm’s length. Because at least this way, you were still something in his life.

But now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, the dream still fresh in his mind, it pisses him off.

He stands, yanking on a t-shirt and running a hand through his hair before heading for the door. He just needs coffee—something to shake off the lingering ache sitting heavy in his chest.

But the second he steps into the hall, Sam is there, hovering with that anxious look that never means anything good.

“Hey,” Sam starts, lifting a hand like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Before you go in there, just—don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean’s stomach tightens, his muscles tensing. The look he cuts Sam with makes the younger brother’s eyes widen, searching for words to mediate and settle the storm brewing at either side of him. “Sam, what the hell are you—”

Before Sam can answer, Dean hears it.

The sound of pacing. Quick, uneven steps against the kitchen floor. His body goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t need to see you to know.

You’re here.

Dean’s pulse pounds in his ears. His stubborn rage choking out the glimmer of childish hope that sets his nerves on fire. He stares at Sam, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Sam just shifts on his feet, uneasy.

That’s when another sound cuts through the silence—your voice.

Muffled, pacing, like you’re muttering to yourself between shallow breaths.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he pushes past Sam. His mind is already racing, his thoughts a tangled mess of you, his dreams, his heartache and the damn voice in his head telling him to grip you tight enough so that you can’t leave him again. Whatever this is, whatever brought you back, he’s not in the mood for it. Not today. Not after all this time.

But when he steps into the kitchen, the world tilts on its axis.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter as if you’re holding yourself together, bracing for something. For him, maybe. Your posture is rigid, your whole body taut with tension. You look… different. There’s an unreadable heaviness in the way you stand, the nervous bite of your lip as you chew it—like you’re preparing for a blow, for him to lash out, to reject you. 

A heavy silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no anger now, no easy target to aim it at. Just this painful, aching pull between what he wants and what he’s afraid to hope for.

“You…” He’s barely able to get the word out. His throat feels tight, words caught somewhere between anger and something much softer, something more dangerous. He’s not sure which one is scarier.

You glance at him, then quickly look away, the uncertainty in your eyes like a crack in a mirror he never thought he’d see. Dean feels something in his chest twist—familiar, painful, like it’s been waiting for you to come back and break him open all over again.

His mind is a whirlwind. He wants to be angry—hell, he’s had four months of anger built up over your disappearing act. But standing here, with you so close, he realizes just how torn he is inside.

He wants to scream at you, demand to know why you didn’t come back sooner, why you couldn’t have just stayed. But that’s not the real question, is it? Because deep down, a part of him knows it wasn’t just you who ran. It was him, too. He shut off long ago, convincing himself it was easier that way. He was easier that way.

But you? You always seemed to slip through his defenses.

Dean stares at you, struggling to find his voice, his hands suddenly feeling useless at his sides. The walls he’s built up for his entire life—years of anger, bitterness, and pain—are cracking, piece by piece, and he has no idea how to stop it.

Dean crosses his arms, trying to shove down the storm already brewing inside him. “Well,” his voice is rough with sleep and something dangerously close to hurt. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Your spine straightens, and just like that, the tension shifts. Whatever nerves had you pacing seconds ago are buried under the sharp edge of your own attitude. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it either.”

Dean scoffs, a bitter chuckle, the undertone to the eye roll he throws you. “Oh, great. That makes me feel real special.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers digging into the edge of the counter before you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know if this is the right thing, or if I’m just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip again. You were never as good as he was at hiding your pain. It’s evident now, in the vulnerability in your eyes that cuts through him, raw and unguarded, and it makes everything inside him spin faster.

Sam clears his throat. “Why don’t I give you guys some space?” He glances between the two of you, clearly ready to escape the tension.

Dean doesn’t look at him, just stares at you as you stand firm, the scowl on your face trying desperately to cover the sadness in your eyes. The fact that you’re asking for anything at all should piss him off. After months of the half-hearted check-ins that only ever came when you needed something, after the way you left—why should he give you the time of day?

But he can’t say no.

And that scares him more than anything.

Sam nods to himself when neither of you protest and slips out of the kitchen, leaving you and Dean in thick, suffocating silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out quieter than he intended, but the question hangs in the air, laced with something deeper, something that sounds too much like hope. A falsehood he’s terrified to acknowledge.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping just slightly, as if the weight of being in the same room as him is too much to carry alone.

Dean takes a step toward you, his feet heavy on the floor, his chest aching. His instincts shout at him to pull away, to protect himself from the inevitable hurt, but something else—something buried deep inside him—begs him to go closer.

The words come out before he can stop them, quieter now, barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again, are we gonna keep pretending we have nothing to talk about?”

You wince, a flicker of pain crossing your face, and it rips through him. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop the fear, the resentment, that’s built up over all this time.

"I don't know if I can just act like nothing ever happened between us. Like you didn't leave me. Like..." His voice breaks off, his throat thick with emotion he’s been swallowing for far too long. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, you or himself.

His hands are trembling now, and he clenches them into fists, fighting to keep the storm inside him contained. But every time he looks at you, sees the way you’re standing before him, so tired and lacking the fire that he always adored. That you’re here now when he never thought he’d see you again, it pulls him under a wave of emotion he can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how to do this, not after everything,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your eyes fill with regret, but there's something else too—a quiet understanding. You know what you’ve done. You know what this looks like, but still, you're standing here. And that small, painful spark of hope flickers in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we just sit and talk, please?” Your voice is soft, pleading. And this time, you don’t look away.

Dean stands there, his whole body tense, his mind screaming conflicting words in the crosshairs—walk away, stay. But something in your gaze, in your quiet desperation, tugs at him. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—conflicted in the most unfamiliar way.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nods. “Fine. But we talk,” he jabs a finger at you, his brows set with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat, “really talk. No more running.”

You nod, your shoulders relaxing, just slightly, and Dean wonders, not for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of believing in the possibility of this. Of you.

His eyes narrow, the weight of years of unresolved anger and hurt pressing down on him. But despite it all, despite everything you put him through, he can’t seem to dig his heels into this anger. Not when you’re standing here, so close, with those big, pleading eyes that always seemed to strip him bare.

The years of touch and go, the broken promises, the words left unsaid—they all float between you, a suffocating fog that neither of you knows how to break. But Dean’s tired. Tired of fighting this pull, this pull toward you he can’t seem to ignore, no matter how many times you leave.

With a frustrated sigh, he crosses the kitchen, the hard floor beneath his boots clacking louder than it should. He grabs two chairs from the worn wooden table, scraping them across the linoleum as he sets them down. Wordlessly, he nods toward the seat beside him.

“Sit,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You stand there for a moment, the air between you thick with things left unsaid. And then, quietly, you take the seat next to him.

Dean can feel the weight of the moment in every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to look at you. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to hear whatever it is you came to say.

The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, as you sit side by side, neither of you knowing how to begin.

Finally, you clear your throat, a small sound, but it’s enough to break through the tension. “Look, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. But… can we just talk, like we used to? No games. No running away this time, okay?”

Dean stares at the table in front of him, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge. Your words hit harder than he expected, and for a second, his chest tightens with something raw and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, you know?” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Every time you leave… it’s like you take a piece of me with you. And I’m just left here picking up the pieces, wondering if you’ll ever come back.”

You wince at the admission, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t know why he said it—maybe because this is the first time in years that you’re actually sitting here, facing him. Maybe because it’s the first time in years that he feels like you might actually be willing to stay.

You reach out, placing a tentative hand on his, stilling the tapping. And for a brief moment, his breath catches.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” you say softly. “I never wanted to be another person who hurts you.”

to forget the months of silence, the aching space you left behind. He wants to pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and pretend none of it ever happened—that you never walked away, that he never let you.

But reality crashes down just as fast.

He can’t let himself go there, can’t let himself believe this is something he can have without it slipping through his fingers. So instead, he exhales sharply, shoving that fragile part of himself deep down where it belongs. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with his angry armor.

“Then why did you leave?” he grits out, his voice quiet but commanding. He needs to know. Needs to understand why the person he thought he might finally let himself love disappeared without a trace.

You pull your hand back, lips pressed tight. “I—”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, like the weight of months spent apart. Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, why you’re here, why you’re sitting beside him, but something shifts in your expression.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling to your lap before lifting to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words soft but full of weight. “I’m sorry for always running off. For disappearing when things got too real. I know it’s not fair.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what to say, what to feel.

“I was scared,” you continue, voice breaking just a little. “I still am. I…” Your words falter, but then you press on, searching his eyes for understanding. “I was consumed with this fear of losing it all. That I’d attach myself to you and this life would rip you away.”

The quiet admission sits heavy in the air. Dean feels his heart thudding faster beneath his rib cage. A pang of regret washes over him, for never admitting he shared that fear. That he thought he would be the thing that rips you apart. And maybe if he had, you wouldn’t have felt alone in those thoughts. 

You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture, and he watches the movement, the tension in your body. “I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think we could do this. I don’t see a world where something like that survives,” you shake your head, lost in the thoughts that shuffle through as you try to find your words, “Where… where we get a happy ending.”

Dean feels his chest tighten, his pulse speeding up as he takes in what you’re saying. The words hang between you, both of you holding your breath. And for a long, painful moment, the only sound in the room is the distant hum of the refrigerator, a constant reminder that time is still moving, even when it feels like everything’s frozen in place.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it, Dean,” you add quickly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to believe it’s possible. But I didn’t come here to ask for you to take me back.”

Dean stares at you, his pulse hammering against his ribs. There it is—that damn crack in your voice, the one that always cuts through him like a blade. He wants to be angry, to hold onto the bitterness that’s been festering since you left, but it slips through his fingers the second he sees the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re scared. Like you don’t expect him to want this.

Like you don’t expect him to want you.

His throat tightens, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to reach for you. “Then what do you want?” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “If you’re not here to ask me for anything, then why come back?”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for words. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jacket, your shoulders curling inward, like you’re bracing for him to tear you apart. And damn it, that does something to him, because he’s never wanted to be the reason you look like that.

Dean drags a hand down his face, trying to ground himself. His mind is a battlefield, waging war between the fear clawing at his insides and the need to fix this—fix you. But how the hell is he supposed to do that when he’s still not sure how to fix himself?

“You don’t know how to believe it’s possible?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, join the damn club.” His chest feels too tight, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “You think I had some fairytale idea of us, sweetheart? That I thought this would be easy?” He lets out a breath that’s more of a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Hell, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at this. But you didn’t give me the chance to figure it out, did you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. And God, he hates that. He hates seeing you cry. Hates even more that he’s the reason for it.

“I was scared,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like shattered glass. “I am scared.”

Dean swallows hard, his anger flickering, giving way to something deeper, something more painful. He’s scared too. He’s scared as hell. Of not being enough. Of screwing this up. Of losing you all over again.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the way you’re trembling, barely holding yourself together—it hits him. He’s not the only one drowning in this.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before finally, finally stepping forward. His hands hover for a second before settling on your arms, grounding you. Grounding himself.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, softer now, “I guess we can be scared together.”

You drag the backs of your hands across your cheeks, trying to contain the tears that just won’t stop flowing. “No, Dean, you don’t get it—” you cut yourself off with a groan. Your breathing is coming out uneven as anxiety pulls at your every nerve, and suddenly you can’t sit still. You can’t do this. 

You’re up on your feet again, pacing slightly as you try to steady your breathing. 

Dean watches you, his stomach twisting as you distance yourself. There’s a wild, frantic energy in the way you move, your arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Your breath is uneven, shaky, and those damn tears keep slipping past your lashes no matter how hard you try to blink them away.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you again, to do something—anything—to stop that panicked look from overtaking your face. It melts his resolve, steadies his rising temper.

His voice comes quieter this time, hesitant. “Hey—what’s going on?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head as if you can will away whatever storm is raging inside you.

Dean’s chest tightens. His mind is running through every possibility, each one worse than the last. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, the pet name easing off his tongue as if no time had passed since he last called you that, “talk to me.”

"I... I didn't catch it in time, I'm sorry." You start, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words thick with something he can't quite name. Your eyes squeeze shut as if the simple act of speaking is too much.

Dean’s chest tightens, a knot of confusion twisting in his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone is gentle now, trying to coax it out of you, but the moment you raise your eyes, he sees it—the fear, raw and trembling beneath the surface.

He’s on his feet again, closing in on you like you’re a scared animal that’ll take flight from any sudden movement. 

“I just thought it was stress making me miss my period again, but…” You choke, your voice cracking as if admitting it out loud is tearing something inside you apart.

Dean’s breath hitches, and his heart races, but he doesn’t dare interrupt you, his own confusion giving way to a growing sense of dread. He takes another step toward you, but you flinch, eyes shimmering with tears that slip through your heavy breathing.

You finally break, the tears turning into sobs that shake your shoulders. You shake your head, wiping at your face again, as if trying to push it all away. But it’s too late now.

“I’m scared, D.” You gasp the words out, the weight of them crushing you. “I’m so scared.”

Dean’s chest tightens, a cold sensation creeping down his spine, even as his heart lurches in his chest. He can feel the tremor in your voice, the rawness in every syllable, but he can’t make sense of it. The world seems to slow, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place—but not quickly enough for his mind to catch up.

“What… What are you saying?” He asks, his voice quiet, strained with confusion and something that feels dangerously close to panic.

You glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy with tears. You open your mouth, but the words seem stuck, lodged in your throat. The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, you take a deep breath, almost like you’re gathering the strength to face something unbearable. “I’m pregnant, Dean.” The words fall from your lips in a broken whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Dean freezes. His entire body goes still, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. The weight of your words hits him like a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Pregnant.

His mouth goes dry, his thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces click into place—the missed periods, the way you looked at him when you walked in, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His dreams.

 He takes a half-step back, his mind too far behind, too rattled by the weight of what you just said.

And then, slowly, it hits him—this isn’t just a shock; it’s a bombshell. One that could tear everything apart, and yet, at the same time, it pulls something from him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The edges of his world begin to blur. He’s scared. He’s terrified.

“Are you… are you sure?” His voice comes out rough, almost panicked, like he’s waiting for you to tell him this is some sick joke, but he knows it’s not.

You nod, sniffling. "I took a test, I went to the doctor and they told me I was already four months along." you whisper, choking back a sob. "I didn’t know what to do."

Dean steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. But you flinch again, the space between you thick with everything you’ve never said to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. I could have just called, I should have—” Your voice cracks, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes full of everything—regret, fear, and a raw, aching vulnerability that threatens to break him.

Dean's heart races, the panic starting to crawl up his throat. He wants to scream, to tell you that he’s terrified—that he doesn’t know how to be a father, that he’s too broken, too fucked up to raise a kid. The thought of something happening to you, to your child, terrifies him in ways he can’t even put into words. But you’re standing there, so small, so vulnerable, looking at him like he’s the only one who can fix this. And damn it, he has to be strong.

He closes the distance between and pulls you into his arms before either of you can second guess it. His hands are warm and steady on your back, but inside, his mind is a storm. His pulse is erratic, his breath shallow, but he holds you close, trying to give you the comfort he doesn’t know how to find for himself.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice like a lighthouse to steer your sinking ship. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head against his chest, a shaky breath escaping. “I’m so scared, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression soft but full of intensity. His thumbs pushes away your tears, warm and rough against your skin. “You don’t have to know right now,” he assures you, trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Inside, though, his mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know how to be the man you need. He doesn’t know if he can even be the father this child deserves. But in this moment, he’s all you have. And somehow, he knows that no matter how badly he’s freaking out, no matter how scared he is, he’ll find a way to make this work—for you, for the little life growing inside of you.

He gently strokes your hair, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, grounding himself in the act. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers again, his voice thick with the promise of something more than just words.

But inside, the panic churns, a rising tide he can’t escape. He holds you tighter, pretending for your sake that everything will be fine, even as the weight of the world presses down on him.

edit to add tags why do i always forget tags @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @ultravi0lence14

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 6 - you look good

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: lanuguage

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

you headed out of bed and made your way downstairs to where everyone was having breakfast, a rush of nerves taking over you entered the room, searching for the group.

you could feel rafe's gaze on you before you even looked in his direction, and when you did, you could see his eyes narrow, his look unreadable.

"there you are!" sarah spoke, "thought we were gonna have to leave without you." she laughed.

"don't be silly i just needed my beauty sleep." you laughed back. "what's the plan for today?"

"thought we could have a walk around a bit before we had to drive back?" cleo asked.

"sounds good" you said as you grabbed some pastries. "you gonna come rafe?" you asked him directly as he was yet to address you.

"i will if you are" he said quietly, making your heart skip a beat, his remark not going unoticed by the rest of the group.

jj cleared his throat, and a small smile played on sarah's lips, enjoying the small interaction between the two of you. "alright lets get going then, you guys ready?" she said.

"yeah lets go" topper said bluntly, a shift in his usual upbeat demeanour, but he quickly bounced back as you all made your way outside.

after a few hours walking around, you all made your way back to the hotel to pack up your things and get ready for the drive home. the boys had a flight to san francisco for their show before they were headed to LA for their last nights on tour there.

you had all made a rough plan to fly out to LA for the last show, making sure the whole group was there to celebrate the end of tour.

as everyone made their ways to their rooms, you hung behind with rafe, walking slower than the rest of the group, intenitally from you, and hoping it was for rafe also.

"how are you feeling to be finishing the tour?" you asked him, breaking the silence.

"sad, but ready for a long break and to spend some time at home" he replied leaning against the door as everyone got into their rooms.

you nodded understandingly, "LA will be good though. it'll be my first time there."

"no way? i'm gonna have to show you around then." he responded smugly.

"yeah?" you pushed.

"yeah." he smiled, "can't have you lost in the streets of LA now can we?" his height meaning he had to lean closer to you to get his words across.

"i guess we can't."

"i'm happy you're gonna be there." he added

"you are?'

"course." he responded quickly. "always nice to know there's a pretty girl in the crowd cheering me on." and with that, he turned away from you and made his way to his own room, leaving you flustered and stuck in your stance, taking in his words. pretty girl?

as you went to open the door, it flung open and sarah dragged you in.

"oh my god not to be a CREEP but i heard that all" she said excitedly. "y/n he likes you. i knew it i knew it!" she shut the door with an exagerated slam, not even giving you time to process what just happened.

"lord sarah what just happened." your voice barely above a whisper.

"he literally just called you pretty. i KNEW he was acting different around you, he's been so nervous." she squealed.

"are you sure it wasn't just rafe being rafe?"

"stop right there. look i'm not blind. it all makes sense now, the way he's always looking at you. i just thought he was trying to figure out his opinion on you, but he likes you. rafe isn't the type to throw out compliments like that, he's always playing it cool, he doesn't care about anything. but the way he just spoke to you? that was different"

"you don't mind?" you asked nervously.

"i would if i hadn't got to know you like i do now. i'm so protective of him and his whack ass fans, but i love you y/n, you've become my best friend in such a short time, i want you happy, and i want my brother happy. do you like him?"

"fuck, maybe. what does this mean?"

"i don't know, but i know LA is about to get a whole lot more interesting." she grinned. "come on let's hit the road and chat with the girls. we need to come up with a plan."

and with that, you finished packing and headed out the door, making your way to the car for the long drive home, where you were sure a lot would be unpacked.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: feeding you all today, felt the slowburn needed to be RESOLVED. anyway just wanted to clarify you can tell who's ig story it is by the profile pic as i'm not sure if that was clear or not my bad

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation

[scribbly-artist]

Warm You, Melt You

Summary: Jayce insisted that he and Viktor should brave the cold and work at the laboratory at the academy today. However, an unexpected snowstorm had them running home. Viktor was a bit grumpy about slipping over on the slick ground and was absolutely freezing, so Jayce wants to make it up to him and warm him back up, one way or another.

Author’s Notes: This was a long one stewing in the pot. I’ve been building it up piece by piece until this morning. The server has convinced me to post it earlier rather than later tonight, so here’s a little treat for everyone. >:)

Words: ~1,550 | AO3 Link

The door to the apartment flew wide open with the assistance of the strong wind the snowstorm had brought. Two men came tumbling through the open doorway, covered in snow, slamming the door closed upon entry. 

They were covered in snow. Jayce and Viktor both had to go out today to the academy to do some work, which was clearly a mistake. They should have just written some notes and ideas down in the comfort of their toasty apartment instead of braving the wild weather outside. But, Jayce had insisted.

Jayce brushed off some of the lingering snow on his shoulders. “I know what you’re gonna say—”

“I told you so.” Viktor responded smugly.

“I know, I know,” Jayce replied with a sigh. “I didn’t think the storm would get that bad, though.”

“Mhmmm.” Viktor was brushing off the cold snow off of his clothes with a frown. The snow on his head was already starting to melt, dampening his brown hair.

Jayce let out a chuckle, patting Viktor on top of his head. “You’re looking like a sad, wet puppy right now.”

Viktor scowled at that, shivering. “This sad, wet puppy just wants to get warm. The cold, it just goes straight through me. That’s why I try to not go out in that weather, I’m not as crazy as you are.”

Jayce’s eyebrows raised at that, not taking Viktor’s bait of attempting to get a rise out of him. He let out a sigh, those emotions clearing as he brain stormed a way to warm each other up.

“Don't worry, I've got an idea.”

And Jayce did. He passed Viktor a towel so he could dry his hair (Jayce offered to assist him but Viktor did it himself), they both stripped down so they weren't in their bulky outside clothes, but in their cozy inside clothes. Jayce lended Viktor a hand to remove his brace on his leg and his torso so he would be more comfortable. Then they got all snuggled up in their shared bed, Jayce being the little spoon, of course. 

“You’re like a human hot water bottle.” Commented Viktor from behind Jayce, making the other chuckle. 

“I've always ran on the warmer side.”

They were basking in each other's silence for a while. Viktor eventually stopped shivering from the cold, and instead wanted to get into a bit of mischief as payback for Jayce’s insistence of even suggesting stepping foot outside the apartment today. While his core was quite toasty, his hands were still a little cold. Viktor’s chilly hands travelled, finding their way under Jayce’s shirt and planted themselves on his stomach. Ahh, his skin felt nice and warm on his palms. 

Jayce involuntarily let out a full body shiver from the difference in temperature. 

“Woah, your hands are still that cold?”

“Mhm… you can help me warm them up.”

And with that, Viktor’s fingers started moving. He started tracing patterns into Jayce’s belly. Soft and gentle, enough to make the other jitter with giggles. 

“Vihihiktor, it tihihickles!”

Viktor planted his chin on Jayce’s shoulder, giving his neck a little smooch which only made the other only giggle and scrunch up. “How will the full surface of my hands warm up properly if they’re still?”

“Juhuhust leheheave them in thehehe one spohohot!” 

It wasn't tickly enough that Jayce was trying to pull away (not that he ever did — and Viktor noticed this), but enough to get him giggling, his nose scrunching up and his eyes crinkling close. 

Viktor let out a content hum. “But that wouldn't be fun. Would you deny a man his little bit of joy?” He did slow down his tracing just enough so that Jayce could actually think straight. 

Jayce thought for a moment, only giggling more until he responded, “I guehehess I can beahahar it for yohohou…”

And it stayed that way, at least for a while. Viktor mindlessly traced patterns into every inch of skin his cold fingertips could reach — until they felt nice and warm. Jayce appreciated that now they weren't icicles touching his poor bare skin, no longer making him shake and shiver. While Viktor loved hearing Jayce’s sweet giggles, his ears and his mischievous side also wanted to hear him laugh without a care in the world. 

Viktor started to squeeze at the little bit of tummy fat that he had discovered last time he tickled Jayce. It was a tiny bit of chub Jayce couldn't get rid of no matter how much he exercised. 

And Viktor learnt that spot in particular was very ticklish. 

Jayce flinched, then let out a laugh. “Vihihik! I was getting– USED to the trahahacing!” He exclaimed, his voice raising once Viktor squeezed that niiiice spot yet again. 

“Need to keep you on your toes, Talis.”

With that statement, another idea to bug Jayce came into Viktor’s mind. While his hands were nice and warm, his feet were still as cold as a block of ice. 

Jayce had no time to react to the blankets shifting as Viktor shuffled himself to raise his good leg up, planting an icy cold foot against Jayce’s bare back with an amused chuckle. 

The only way to describe the noise that came out of Jayce’s mouth was akin to a prey’s screech from being hunted by a predator. 

This made Viktor laugh, but he would be laughing from a different cause in only a few moments. 

Jayce spun himself around in the bundle of blankets, grabbing Viktor’s cold ankle in a headlock, scribbling fingers touching down on his sole as revenge. 

Viktor screeched just as loud as Jayce did seconds before. Maybe even louder. 

“Hey, I think I know how to warm your feet up.”

“JAYAHACE– NOHOT THIHIS!”

“I think some tickling would warm them up plenty. I have you keep you on your toes, too. Don’t you agree?” With that, his dexterous fingers travelled up to his mentioned toes, tormenting the spot underneath their scrunching up that they were trying so hard to protect. 

This drove Viktor wild. 

“NOHOHO!! B-BACK TOHOHO CUDDLES– BACK TO CUHUHUDDLES!” He attempted many times to tug his foot out of Jayce’s hold with no avail. Viktor was just much too sensitive on his feet. 

Jayce let up after a few more moments, giving his poor foot a couple more traces on his arch for good measure, releasing his ankle from his grip. “Seems like someone can’t take what they dish out.”

Viktor rolled over the other way in mock annoyance, letting out a dramatic huff. However, the smile glued to his face betrayed his actions. 

Jayce snuck his way over to his partner’s side of the bed, his arms snaking around to spoon him. “Back to cuddles, like you said.”

“Hmph, after you already tortured me.”

“Hey, you did the exact same to me earlier.”

“While yes, I did, you deserved it.”

“What? How come?”

“For making me bear that snowstorm outside. I even slipped over on my ass from how slick the ground was.”

Jayce let out a laugh, and from the contagious sound, Viktor did as well. There was a comfortable silence for a moment, their breath syncing.

Jayce plopped his head down against Viktor’s bare shoulder, his lips ghosting his skin, the other letting out a shiver. Jayce planted a soft kiss on a mole he could see. “I think I can make it up to you.”

Viktor could feel his cheeks starting to burn, but kept up the charade. “Hmph… such bold confidence; you sure about that?”

“Oh, I know I can.”

He put his plan into action. Jayce began tenderly kissing whatever moles he could spot on Viktor’s back and shoulder. This led him up a trail to Viktor’s neck and jaw, kissing a few that were in abundance on the side of his neck. His partner let out a shiver and a huff at the affection. Not only did his cheeks burn a fiery red, but Jayce could see how pink his ears had gotten as well from his service. 

Snuggling his face into Viktor’s hair, Jayce spoke up. “So, how’d I do?”

“Mmm, could be better.” He was playing it up, of course. He enjoyed pushing the other’s buttons.

“Don’t lie to me, your ears say it all.” Jayce reached up and gently traced his finger against the edge of Viktor’s ear, getting a giggle and a scrunched up shoulder from the other.

“Alrihihight, alright. You did well, Jayce. But don’t let it go to your head.”

Oh, it already did. 

“Want some more?” 

Was that even a question? Of course.

“If you would be oh so inclined.” Viktor replied, the grin could be heard in his voice.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Jayce continued his kissing journey — whatever skin on Viktor’s face he could reach, down his shoulders and back again, even a bit against his side and stomach. His moles and freckles were his guide on his devoted act of service. And Viktor was loving every moment of it, and he told Jayce as such.

This continued on from the afternoon, evening till night until they were both very, very warm.

[goldfades]

after some…recent events (damn u mavs) i NEEEDDD some luka 🙏🏾 maybe like a comfort or smut fic?

p.s you have kept me FEDDDD w ur wnba/nba fics ILY ILYYYY queen!! ❤️

i wasn't in a smutty mood so here's a hurt-to-comfort fic with luka <3 ily too nonnie!!! hope you enjoy.

The hotel room is too quiet. Too still.

Luka sits on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it’s personally wronged him. His hands are clasped together, fingers flexing every few seconds like he’s working through a hundred different thoughts and not landing on a single one. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows over his face, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint crease in his brow—the kind of details you wouldn’t normally notice when he’s laughing, talking, playing.

But he’s not doing any of that now.

You can still hear the echo of his phone vibrating on the nightstand from earlier. The world is spinning around him at full speed—headlines, analysts, fans dissecting every angle of the trade—but in here, in this dimly lit space that smells faintly of his cologne and something unshakably sad, it’s like time has stopped.

You step closer, carefully. Luka doesn’t look up, but you feel it when he notices you.

"You should be sleeping," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges.

"So should you," you counter, lowering yourself onto the mattress beside him. The bed dips under your weight, and for a second, neither of you speak. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s just... heavy.

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "Crazy, huh?"

You watch him for a moment. The way his fingers tighten around each other. The way his shoulders rise and fall, the weight of the entire day pressing down on him. You could say a lot right now—some perfectly crafted reassurance, something wise and comforting—but instead, you just lean in, resting your shoulder lightly against his.

A small gesture. A quiet offering.

Luka doesn’t move for a few seconds. Then, almost hesitantly, he shifts, just enough that his arm brushes against yours, just enough that he’s no longer holding quite so much of himself alone.

At first, Luka doesn’t say anything. He just breathes—slow, measured, like he’s trying to find a rhythm that makes sense, but it keeps slipping through his fingers. His hands unclasp, pressing against his thighs, then clench again like he doesn’t know what to do with them. The tension in his shoulders is impossible to ignore, so rigid and locked up that you wonder if he even realizes how much he’s holding in.

You don’t push him. Not yet.

Instead, you just sit there, close enough that he can feel your warmth, close enough that if he wanted to lean into you, he could.

After a long moment, he exhales, and it’s the kind of sigh that doesn’t fix anything, just deflates him further. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks, barely more than a breath.

“I didn’t think it would happen like this.”

You don’t need to ask what he means. The trade. The blindsiding weight of it. The way everything he thought he knew shifted beneath his feet in an instant.

“I get it’s a business,” he continues, jaw tensing. “I knew that. I always knew that.”

His voice drops lower, rougher.

“But I didn’t think I was leaving.”

And there it is.

The rawest part of it all. Not the move itself, not the logistics, not even the media whirlwind that’s been dissecting every angle of his future before he’s even had time to catch his breath. It’s the fact that he wasn’t ready. That for all the control he has on the court—for all the ways he makes the impossible look effortless—he had no say in this.

You swallow, watching the way his fingers twitch against his knee, like they want to grip something, hold onto something solid. You hesitate for only a second before reaching out, letting your hand rest over his. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t react at first. But you feel it—the way his muscles are wound tight beneath your touch, like a wire stretched to its limit.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” he murmurs, and this time, there’s something in his voice that makes your chest ache.

Goodbye.

It’s such a simple word, but it carries everything Luka isn’t saying. The years he’s spent in Dallas, the friendships, the routine, the city that had started to feel like home. He wasn’t just traded—he was uprooted. And now he’s supposed to pretend like it’s just part of the game. Smile for the cameras. Say all the right things.

But right now, in this room, there’s no script to follow.

“You don’t have to,” you tell him softly.

His brows draw together slightly, finally glancing at you, like he’s trying to figure out what you mean.

“You don’t have to say goodbye, not yet. Not tonight.” You squeeze his hand, just lightly. “Just—be here. Just for now.”

Luka stares at you, like he’s waiting for the catch. Waiting for you to tell him to suck it up, to move on, to think about the future. But you don’t. You just meet his gaze, steady, unwavering, until he finally exhales, something in him loosening just a fraction.

His hand turns beneath yours, fingers wrapping around yours like he’s holding onto an anchor. His grip is warm, firm—not desperate, but grounding. Like he’s only just realizing he doesn’t have to hold all of this alone.

For the first time all night, his shoulders drop slightly.

And you stay like that, in the quiet, just breathing.

Not fixing. Not rushing. Just existing. Together.

Luka doesn’t let go of your hand. If anything, his grip tightens, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away first, like he’s testing the weight of the comfort you’re offering and deciding, for once, to accept it.

His fingers are warm against yours, slightly rough from years of handling a basketball, but there’s something uncertain about the way he’s holding on—like he’s not used to being the one who needs this. Luka is always the one keeping others steady, the one playing through injuries, the one flashing a grin even when his body is screaming for rest. But this? Sitting here, holding your hand, letting himself lean into something softer—this is different.

Slowly, hesitantly, he shifts. His body turns toward you, his knee brushing against yours. His breathing is steady but measured, like he’s still figuring out if he’s allowed to ask for more.

You don’t make him. You just open the door.

Without saying anything, you lift your arm slightly, just enough that it’s clear you’re not just sitting beside him—you’re offering. And for a second, you don’t know if he’ll take it.

But then Luka exhales, long and slow, and leans in.

His weight presses into your side, warm and solid, his forehead dropping to your shoulder like it belongs there. He’s not shaking, not crying, but there’s something heavy in the way he melts against you, like he’s been holding himself together with sheer force of will and finally, finally, he’s allowing himself to let go.

Your free hand comes up instinctively, resting against his back. You can feel the tension still coiled in his muscles, like he doesn’t quite know how to relax, even now. So you let your fingers move in slow, steady circles against the fabric of his hoodie, not rushing, not forcing. Just there. Just present.

Luka exhales again, this time through his nose, and you feel it—the way his body slowly starts to ease. The way his head shifts slightly, resting more fully against you.

“This is stupid,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. Just exhaustion.

“It’s not,” you say simply, your voice soft.

He huffs, but he doesn’t argue. If anything, he leans in a little more.

The room settles into something quieter. Something almost peaceful. Outside, the world is still moving, still spinning with headlines and speculation and expectations Luka isn’t ready to deal with. But in here, it’s just the two of you. Just warmth. Just the quiet weight of the moment.

And then, in a voice so low you almost don’t catch it, he murmurs, “Stay.”

The word is barely there, more breath than sound, but it lands like a tether, anchoring the space between you. You don’t answer right away—not because you’re unsure, but because you want him to feel it, to know that you’re not leaving.

Instead, you shift just slightly, adjusting so he’s more comfortable, your hand still moving in slow, steady motions against his back.

“I’m here,” you say, and that’s all he needs.

Luka exhales one more time, a little softer now, a little less heavy. And for the first time since the news broke, he lets his eyes close.

--

Los Angeles feels different.

It’s not just the time zone or the weather or the way the city hums with an energy that never quite fades. It’s the way everything is unfamiliar—the drive to the training facility, the locker room that still smells like someone else’s cologne, the weight of a jersey that doesn’t feel like his yet.

Two days ago, he was in Dallas. Now, he’s here.

And now, he’s supposed to be fine.

The press conference had gone as well as it could have. The reporters asked the same questions over and over—how does it feel to be a Laker? What does he think about playing with LeBron? What does he want to say to the fans in Dallas?

Luka answered all of them the way he was supposed to. He smiled in the right places, gave the right amount of gratitude, even threw in a joke or two to lighten the mood. But the second it was over, the second the cameras were off and he was back in the hallway leading to the parking garage, he felt it creeping in again.

That feeling.

That hollow, misplaced feeling, like he’s wearing someone else’s life.

You’re already waiting by the car when he steps outside, leaning casually against the passenger door like you have all the time in the world. And maybe you do. Maybe that’s why he exhales just a little when he sees you, some of the tightness in his chest loosening.

You don’t ask how it went. You don’t need to. He appreciates that.

Instead, you just nod toward the car. “You wanna get out of here?”

Luka huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The drive is quiet at first. The city moves around you in golden streaks of headlights and neon signs, the sky just beginning to settle into that deep LA dusk. Luka shifts in his seat, one elbow against the door, fingers resting against his lips like he’s lost in thought.

Then, finally—

“It still doesn’t feel real.”

His voice is softer than usual, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you.

You glance over but don’t say anything right away. Instead, you let the silence sit for a moment, let it breathe.

Then: “Because it isn’t. Not yet.”

Luka looks over at you, his gaze heavy but searching. “And if it never does?”

You tap your fingers against the steering wheel, considering. “Then you figure it out. Day by day. Until one day, it does.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Just watches the city blur past, the weight of everything pressing down on him in a way you can feel, even from where you’re sitting.

And then, after a long moment, he nods. Just barely.

When you pull up to his new place—a sleek but unfamiliar house in the Hollywood Hills—Luka doesn’t move to get out right away. Instead, he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face before turning to you.

“You coming in?”

It’s not really a question. Not really an ask.

It’s more of a need. A quiet, unspoken need for something familiar.

You don’t hesitate.

The house is big but empty, boxes still stacked in the hallway, a duffel bag half-unpacked near the couch. Luka walks in and immediately shrugs off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair before dropping onto the couch with a heavy exhale.

For a moment, you just watch him. The way he leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling like it might hold some kind of answer he hasn’t figured out yet.

Then, without thinking too hard about it, you sit beside him, close enough that your knee brushes against his. Luka doesn’t react right away, but then—slowly, naturally—he shifts.

Not dramatically. Not obviously. But enough.

Enough that his shoulder presses into yours, enough that his body angles slightly toward you, enough that he lets out a breath he probably didn’t even realize he was holding.

And just like that, it’s familiar again.

Not Dallas. Not the way things used to be.

But something.

Something solid. Something real.

And for now, that’s enough.

[cherryblossomcowgirl]

The Bodyguard part 2

WC: 2.5k

TW: age gap; angst; mentions of weapons; FLUFF; more angst; unrequited feelings; mentions of virginity

.

.

*1 week later*

I sleep past Pilates, waking up feeling down on my 25th birthday. When I walk into the kitchen, Jake is at the breakfast table with a chess board sitting in front of him. “What’s this?” Jake’s green eyes pierce mine, “Happy birthday, Ms. Y/l/n.” My eyes water and I turn to make my coffee, “You play?” “No ma’am, you’ll have to teach me.” “Only if you never call me ma’am again. Already feeling old today.” He smirks, “Noted.” I sit down across from him, explaining the rules. Each game he gets better. By the 6th game, he actually beats me. There’s a knock at the door and Jake runs over, looking through the peephole. His body stiffens, he opens the door and carries in huge vase filled with roses. He sets it down and I read the card.

Happy birthday, darling.

I’m sorry I’m not there to celebrate with you.

Thinking about you.

xx,

Glen

I smile and set the card down. Yet I notice that there is no warmth spreading through me. Not like how it does when Jake is near me. Jake rolls his eyes, “Seems a bit excessive.” I sigh, “Yeah. It’s what my Dad does too. Did you see what he sent me?” He shakes his head and I walk over to the kitchen. Pulling out a large Tiffany’s box, I show him the diamond necklace and earrings. The necklace is a round, solitaire diamond on a dainty chain and the earrings match. Jake’s eyebrows raise, “Wow.” I close up the box and set it next to the roses, “I should be happy, right?” He stands beside me, staring at the gifts, “Are you?” Tears fill my eyes, “No. Neither of them called… or even sent a text.” In a completely out of character moment, Jake’s hand rests in my shoulder. A comfortable silence surrounds us as a fluttering feeling touches my heart. Butterflies? Butterflies from Jake? Butterflies that I have never felt before? The warmth pools in my stomach again and a tear falls down my cheek. He brushes it away with his thumb, “Ms. Y/l/n, I have another surprise for you.” Jake grabs my hand and leads me into the living room. There’s candy, popcorn, and a copy of the Sound of Music on the coffee table. The fluttering feeling touches my heart again as I sit beside him on the couch, “You did this?” He nods and pops the DVD in. I chuckle, “Your age is showing. You could’ve just rented it on my Amazon Prime.” “Ms. Y/l/n, you can’t talk about my age like that anymore. You’re getting up there now, too.” I playfully gasp, “How could you?” He smiles, a real smile, and I take a moment to appreciate it. He nudges me, “Pay attention, the movie is starting.”

.

Right around 16 going on 17 I doze off. While I am half asleep, I swear Jake is playing with my hair. The credits wake me up and Jake smiles, “You missed it, they escaped in the nick of time.” My voice is groggy, “I’m sorry, l didn’t mean to…” He cuts me off, “It’s okay. I’m gonna start making dinner.” The feeling threatens to touch my heart again, “You’re making dinner?” He nods and heads to the kitchen. I sit at the counter, watching him cook. Jake moves swiftly, with extreme precision. He sets a plate in front of me, steak, broccoli, and mashed potatoes. “Thank you, Mr. Seresin. You really didn’t have to do all of this for me.” He shrugs, “I couldn’t have you being sad on your birthday.” I smile and take a bite of the steak, “I’m happy now. This steak is amazing, by the way.” Jake smiles again and it takes my breath away. I wonder if he knows how handsome he is. How when he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle in the most adorable way. Once we finish, I head up to change into my pjs. This time a silk set that is black. When I come down, I turn on some trashy reality tv show. He sits beside me, leaving more room than he did before. My phone rings and it is Glen. Jake’s jaw twitches as I answer. “Hi! … No, don’t worry. … Yes I did! Thank you. … It was a really nice day actually. … Oh, okay. … Have fun. See you soon.” Jake’s body is tense, “How is pretty boy?” “He’s good. Going to some after party.” His eyebrow raises, “How do you feel about that?” I shrug, “We technically aren’t … anything. So even if I was jealous, I wouldn’t have any right to be.” Jake smirks, “Okay, sure.” I roll my eyes, “Let me guess, you’re the jealous type?” His eyes meet mine, “I do not share what is mine.” The heat spreads from my stomach all the way to my cheeks, “Does your girlfriend mind that?” He notices my blush and chuckles, “She doesn’t exist. Not a big dating guy.” I look down at my hands, “Me either. Glen is the first guy who has ever really shown interest in me.” His eyebrows raise, “I highly doubt that.” “No one really wants the trouble of dating the President’s daughter.” I head into the kitchen to make tea.

.

While drinking my tea in my room, I scroll Instagram. Glen is tagged in a million photos of an after party. Models and actresses all around him. He isn’t dancing with them or kissing them, but for some reason it still hurts. I’m just… me. Maybe that’s why it’s never gone further between us, he just knows that I won’t know what I am doing. Sobs escape my mouth, the loneliness of this life hitting me especially hard. There’s a knock on the door, “Ms. Y/l/n, are you okay?” I don’t respond, hoping he’ll leave. Instead, he walks right in. “What’s wrong?” Jake glances at my phone, seeing the photos. He sighs, “Hey, it’s probably nothing.” I shake my head, “You don’t get it. You don’t understand how isolated I have been my whole life! I’m not like those girls and he knows it. That’s probably why he won’t even kiss me!” “Ms. Y/l/n, you are more beautiful than those women. Don’t talk about yourself like that.” I stare at my phone and sigh, “It’s not that. I’ve never been with a man before… in that way. So a guy like him will never want me.” I see something in his eyes that I wasn’t expecting after that admission, understanding. His large hand rubs my back, “If he doesn’t want you then he is an absolute idiot.” We stay like this for a moment, him comforting me until I calm down. I look up at him, “Wait, I thought we weren’t friends.” He sighs, “Okay, I was wrong. You’re not nearly as insufferable as I thought you would be.” “Thank you. You are difficult, but you can also be very kind.”

.

.

*1 week later*

There’s a knock on the door and Jake walks over. He sighs, opening it up. “Hey! Is Y/n home?” I walk over, “Glen! You’re back!” He wraps me in a hug, “I missed you so much.” I lead him into the kitchen for coffee, “Really?” He smiles, “Of course, darling. I was thinking about you the whole time.” A smile spreads across my face as I take a sip of coffee. My brain wanders, thinking about while Glen was gone. I thought about him some, but Jake took up way more space in my mind. Guilt washes over me. “Earth to Y/n? You there?” “Sorry. Got lost in my head.” Glen brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, “The book?” I nod, noticing that there isn’t any fluttering or heat. Then, cursing myself for not feeling it. He checks his watch, “Darling, I have a meeting in half an hour. Can we schedule dinner sometime soon?” “Yeah, that would be great.” His eyes flicker between my eyes and my lips. Glen leans in, kissing me gently. It is soft. Sweet. And completely underwhelming. There was no spark. Or excitement. When he pulls back I smile, “See you soon, Glen.” His grin spreads wide, “See ya, darling.” Jake walks him out.

.

I write the rest of the day and Jake has completely avoided me. I sit across from him while we eat dinner. “Why are you not looking at me?” He looks up from his plate, “I don’t know what you mean.” “Well lately we’ve been friendly, but it seems a cold front has come through.” Jake rolls his eyes. I huff, “Really? Just tell me what’s going on.” He raises an eyebrow, “You don’t seem very giddy for a girl that just got kissed by a movie star.” I shuffle food around on my plate, “Shut up.” He chuckles, “Oh so now you don’t want to talk. What, is he a bad kisser?” I stare at my plate, “It just wasn’t what I was expecting.” “And what was it you were expecting?” My eyes meet his, “A spark. Butterflies. Anything.” “So, none of the above?” I shake my head and he laughs. “Don’t laugh at me!” He stops and his face looks serious, “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because pretty boy walked out of here like a lovestruck little girl.” Guilt washes over me. He shrugs, “Don’t feel bad. He doesn’t deserve you anyways.” I cover my face with my hands, “I am going to die alone.” Jake sets his dishes in the sink and pats my back, “Come on. Let’s watch one of your shitty shows.” We sit down on the couch and I turn on the tv. Part way in to an episode, my phone rings. It’s Glen. I let it go to voicemail. Jake clears his throat, “Can I ask you something?” “Of course.” “A few months ago, you were head over heels for this guy. What changed it? Because it has to be more than just the kiss.” I think for a minute. “I started to notice things. His attention always being somewhere else. Gifts instead of quality time. And I never felt heat when I was around him.” He raises an eyebrow, “Have you felt ‘heat’ with anyone before?” Looking down at my hands, I blush, “Yes.” Jake’s jaw twitches, “Then why haven’t you gone out with that guy?” “I can’t.” “Why not?” “He doesn’t feel the same way.” He furrows his brow, “Have you asked him if he does?” “No but I can tell, okay? I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight Mr. Seresin.” He mutters goodnight as I walk up the stairs. I lay awake in my bed, thinking about Jake.

.

.

*1 month later*

I wake up covered in sweat. The nightmares have been happening for years, but this one really spooked me. I can’t fall back asleep, so I head downstairs to make tea. Jake runs downstairs in his pajama pants and no shirt, gun by his side. My jaw almost drops to the floor. “Calm down G.I. Joe, it’s just me.” “It’s 2 am! Are you okay?” I take my tea over to the couch, “Yeah, just a bad dream.” He frowns, “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you need anything?” I sigh, “No, just couldn’t fall back asleep.” He joins me on the couch, “Want to talk about it?” I shake my head. We sit in silence and my phone rings. Glen. Probably out drinking with friends. “What are you gonna do about pretty boy?” I rub my forehead, “I don’t know.” “What are you going to do about mystery man?” “I don’t know, okay!” He throws his hands up in surrender, “Hey, I’m just kidding. I’m sorry.” “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m just frustrated.” Jake shrugs, “Then just tell the guy. The worst thing that could happen is he says no.” I bury my face in my hands and he rubs my back. I stiffen, “Please don’t touch me right now.” Jake pulls his hand back, looking hurt. Then the realization hits him. “Oh, Ms. Y/l/n are you talking about..” I don’t hear the rest because I run upstairs, shutting myself in my room. Jake follows me upstairs, knocking on my door. “Go away!” “Not until you talk to me.” I wipe my eyes and walk over to the door, opening it a crack. Jake’s face falls when he sees the streaks of tears. He pushes the door open, bringing my head to his chest. I breathe in his cologne. The heat of his body radiates into mine. His heart is beating fast, the complete opposite of that night in the alley. “Ms. Y/l/n, you are amazing. I mean that. But…” “But you don’t feel the same.” His green eyes meet mine with a look of seriousness, “But you’re my client. My job is to protect you. Any distraction puts you at risk and I can’t have that happen.” I step away, “I understand. Goodnight, Mr. Seresin.” He starts to speak but stops himself, walking out of the room. I stare at the ceiling, wishing I could disappear.

.

.

*1 week later*

I have been avoiding Jake at all costs. Keeping our conversations short and only about security. I can see that it hurts him, which kills me. When Dad calls, he keeps asking what’s wrong but I don’t know what to say. Oh sorry Dad, I have the hots for my bodyguard? He was annoying at first but he’s actually kind and sweet and strong and looks so damn good shirtless. Yeah, can’t say that. Glen calls, inviting me over for a movie. I head downstairs, “Mr. Seresin? We are leaving in an hour.” He comes out of the office, “Where are we going?” “Glen’s house. He’s invited me over for a movie night.” That jaw muscle twitches like always and he mumbles, “But you don’t even like him.” “What?” Jake moves closer, clearing the distance between us in seconds. With his face inches from mine he repeats himself, “You don’t like him, so why are we going there.” I look at my shoes, avoiding his eyes, “Just be ready in an hour. You’ll be dropping me off. He has security at his home.” I turn and Jake’s hand closes around my wrist, “Like hell I will.” I whip around, “I’m your client, remember?” The familiar heat starts to spread through my stomach. Jake’s eyes stare into me, dark and stormy. His voice is low, “You are not going over there because he does not deserve you. If you want to watch a movie, rent one on your Amazon Prime.” “You’re ridiculous! You don’t want me, unless you suddenly forgot about the other night. So, I am going to spend the night with Glen.” Jake leans in and a flutter flies across my chest. He notices my blush and smirks, “Oh, I want you. I’ve wanted you since the day we met. But once I have you, I won’t be able to let go.”

[okminer07]

A Growing Problem Pt 3

Lily’s hands pulled away and Jeremy couldn’t help but wish they’d stayed there, cupped around the bottom of his face, “Well… a-are you still hungry?” He grimaced when his stomach answered before he could, not being able to shut up for less than a minute, “I’ll take that as a yes. Stay put, okay?”  

He nodded. She turned and hurried into the kitchen. The carton of milk was spilled onto the floor and was a lost cause, so she hopped over that and over to the pantry. After a little bit of digging, she pulled out two bags of chips, the sad corn-type ones that usually required a dipping sauce or something to add flavor.     

“Here you go,” she walked over and tossed one of the bags up to him, the entire thing barely filling up his hand. The words family size seemed to tease him as he pried the bag open and dumped a good amount of the bag's contents into his mouth.   

“Thanks” he mumbled while he chewed, going right back for another helping after he’d swallowed.  

“H-hey, slow down, okay?” She set the remaining bag of chips down by his feet and pulled out her phone, “I'm going to make a quick call.”  

Jeremy stopped, “Who?”  

“Someone that might be able to help.”   

He paled, “I… I don’t know about the hos-”  

“I’m not calling the hospital, I’m calling a friend.”  

He raised his brow and opened his mouth to ask more but Lily already had her phone up to her ear and was walking back to the kitchen. Sighing, he tossed the now empty bag of chips to the side and grabbed the other one.   

Who could she possibly be calling? Who in the world would be able to help? He didn’t think even the most prestigious hospital would know what to do.  

Lilly continued to rummage through the cabinets, pulling out all sorts of ingredients and such while she talked on the phone. Jeremy sat there quietly eating his chips, trying to pick up traces of the conversation.   

After five minutes or so, she tucked her phone back into her pocket and turned to him, “Okay.” she took a deep breath, “I don’t know how much help this will be but it's a start.”  

“Who did you call?”   

“Someone I’ve met through my internship at the local clinic. Again, I don’t know how much help he’ll be, but he’s the best I can think of.”  

Jeremy nodded, “Good enough for me.”  

Lily took another deep breath, “Okay well… we’re gonna have to head over to his place, and when we get back and maybe hopefully have a diagnosis, I can prepare a proper meal or something  while we sort this all out.”   

He paused, eying her nervously, “I… we have to leave the house?” Lily nodded. Jeremy gulped, “B-but how will I travel like this?”  

She shrugged, “I… I think you could still fit in the truck’s back.”  

“Okay but,” he glanced over at the front door and then down at himself, “I’m… not sure if I can even make it to the truck.”  

Lily looked over at the door as well, it was rather small, not even six feet high, “Well, I don’t see any other options, and, I don’t think it will be too tight of a fit.” she walked over and pulled the door open, sizing it up before turning back to Jeremy, “Again, what other choice is there?”  

He replayed her words in his head before weakly nodding, “Okay… uh… can you hold the door open for me?”   

She nodded, pressing herself against the wall, and pulling the door open as much as she could.  

Okay, he thought as he fell onto his hands and knees. The floorboards creaked as he ever so slowly crawled forward, each one filling him with nausea.   

His trembling limbs came to a stop once his head was parallel with his friend. Lily seemed to be holding her breath as she watched, trying her best to appear calm and collected.  As he glanced down at her, he grimaced at the sight of her pinning herself against the wall to hold the door open for him.  

What are you doing? Just go through it!  

He forced himself forward, lowering himself down as he moved forward and poked his large head outside. Though there hadn’t been any real reason to worry about it since he lived so tucked away in the woods, he was still relieved to see no sign of anyone else. There was nothing but darkness and large pines surrounding them.   

Jeremy went to crawl out further but froze when his shoulders smooshed up against the doorframe’s sides. He tried to heave himself forward, only causing his shoulders to ache. The doorframe wasn’t wide enough.  

“Try rotating them,” piped up Lily. He did, angling his left shoulder to the ground and the right up towards the ceiling. Thankfully, the door was tall enough and he shuffled his way forward and out the door.   

The chill of the outside air struck him, sending a shiver down his spine. Large pines that surrounded the house swayed as they were swept along by the wind. Even in the spring, the Pacific Northwest remained cold.  

He crawled his way down the front porch, cringing at the snap of one of the wooden steps. When he thought he was far enough away from the house, he straightened and stood up. His heart narrowly leaped out of his chest since, for a split second, he had forgotten his new stature and was frightened to see the ground so much further away than normal. He stumbled back, staring down at his bare feet, now over a literal foot long each, maybe two.   

How is this even real? 

There was a blimp of movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked, only for his stomach to churn at the sight of Lily, standing beside him and not far off from being face-to-face with his knee.    

She looked up at him and he felt his stomach tie into another knot, “Truck’s right over there,” she pointed over to a beaten-up silver vehicle, tucked away in the trees, “I’ll… go and make sure nothing else’s in the back.”   

He nodded as she hurried over to it, popping open the back door and crawling up into the truck bed. A second later she was struggling with a crumbled-up tarp. For a moment, he wanted to go over there and help her, but he felt too afraid to move without her guidance and permission.   

After wrangling the tarp into the backseat, Lily turned and gestured to the open truck bed, “I think it will do. Are you ready?”   

Jeremy swallowed the rising nervousness in his throat and began making his way over. He stopped right at the opening to the back. The highest point of the truck didn’t even reach his shoulders. Sparing a helpless glance at his friend, he turned, placed his hands on either side of the rim, and heaved himself in.   

He scooted himself in, and once he was as far in as he could go, he rested his entire weight down into the truck bed. The metal beneath him let out a strained creak and he winced his eyes shut, bracing for the worst. Thankfully, the truck seemed fine after a second or two.  

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Jeremy laid down, cramming his legs into the truck as he did. To his dismay, a large amount of him was still overflowing out the top. He tried to pull himself into an even tighter ball, but it was no use. Anyone with eyes would be able to see the giant freak curled up in the back of the silver pick-up. 

“H-hey Lily?”    

She poked her head out from within the truck, “Yeah?”  

He swallowed, “I’m uh… I think people will be able to see me.”  

Her eyes widened, “Oh, right… um….one sec.” she stuck her head back into the truck and began rummaging around in there for something. When she reappeared, her face was obscured by the balled-up blue tarp which she was struggling to keep a hold on as she blindly hopped down and slammed the truck door shut.  

Jeremy’s stomach squirmed as he watched her struggle, “Do you need any-”  

“I’m good.”  

She stumbled over to him and began shaking it out, grabbing hold of one side, and tossed it over top of him. He grabbed onto the other end and helped pull it over himself while she fussed with the other side.  

“There, how’s that?” 

“Can you see me?”  

“No, just looks like I’m toting around a huge pile of lumber or rocks. You’re not too cold are you?”  

He murmured something along the lines of yes as he relaxed into the truck bed. The cold wasn’t really bothering him at all. Strange, especially during this time of year. He heard Lily’s footsteps as she walked away and popped into the truck. The engine roared to life and the truck lurched forward. Jeremy listened silently and continued to hope every time he blinked, he would wake up in bed, realizing this was all a bad dream.  

Every second on the road felt like an eternity. The fact that Jeremy didn’t even know where they were going made it all the worse since he had no idea how much longer till they arrived. He didn’t dare move a muscle let alone peek out from under the tarp, lest someone spot the rippling tarp and start to wonder if there wasn’t just lumber beneath it.   

After what felt like the longest drive of his life, the truck’s brakes screeched them to a halt. He heard the door pop open and soon after, felt a little tap on his shoulder, “We’re here, come on out.”  

Jeremy grimaced, “I-is there any-”  

“No there isn’t anyone around unless someone decided to go for a late-night stroll through the woods. Come on.”   

With a sudden flourish, the tarp was yanked off of him. He looked up and tensed when he spotted Lily leaning over him with an expectant look. She disappeared as she hopped down and began wrestling with the tarp once more.  

Jeremy took a deep breath and heaved himself upright, his neck and back cracking as he stretched them out. Hands slightly trembling, he braced himself as he pulled his legs up and over until they were planted onto the ground. Once he was situated, he gazed around him.  

The scene was very similar to the one outside his house; desolate forest, towering pines, and a lone house. The only difference was the house in question was unfamiliar and quite large compared to his grandmother’s quaint hovel. It looked to be three stories high and was breaming with large windows, clearly of the modern sort that was odd for around these parts.  

He shifted his gaze down to Lily who was making her way over to a walkway set into a quite maintained garden. “Where exactly are we?”   

“You’ll see.” she replied offhandedly, “Follow me.”  

He fidgeted where he stood before making his way over to her in a few short strides. As she led him up the paved path, he focused on keeping his large feet on the path. Though he had no idea who owned this place, he didn’t think they would appreciate having a freakishly large footprint among their hydrangea bushes.  

They came up to the double front doors and Lily turned and looked up at him, looking a bit uneasy, “Okay, we don’t want to freak him out, so can you… stand over there and out of sight of the doorway?” she sputtered out.  

Jeremy looked over his shoulder to the remaining porch space and nodded, backing away until his bare back was pressed against the cool stone. Lily nodded his way before facing the door, hanging her head, and taking a deep breath to ground herself. She spared one last glance over and rang the doorbell.  

A couple of seconds went by before he could faintly hear the sound of movement on the other side of the door. Another few seconds and the door swung open.   

“Ms. Duckworth?” came a masculine voice.  

“Good…. Good evening Professor. Luppi.”  

Professor?  

“Wha… what are you doing here? At this time of night no less.”  

Lily’s eyes flicked to her right where Jeremy was standing before continuing, “I have- well not me- a situation.”  

This Professor Luppi let out a sigh, “If this is about the internship, I’m certain it can wait till-” 

“No! No. It isn’t about that at all.” 

“Then what is it?”   

She paused for a moment before answering, “A… medical anomaly of sorts.”  

The hinges of the door creaked. Jeremy was worried for a moment it was from closing, but it seemed the exact opposite, as more light from the house illuminated the front porch, “An anomaly? What kind? Did you happen upon an animal with an extra limb, or better yet, an extra head?”    

Lily fidgeted with her hands, “Um… no. Something… something I’ve never seen or heard of before.”   

“Seriously? What?”    

“Um…. before I tell you, do you promise not to freak out?” 

The man scoffed, “Oh just tell me what it is! Why are you dodging around telling me?”   

“The… anomaly in question is… well it’s human in nature.”   

The man gasped, “Of what sort?”  

“Well, like I said. I’ve never seen or heard anything like this. So can you promise me you won’t freak out?”   

“Yes, I won’t freak out, now tell me.”  

Lily looked up from the professor to Jeremy. Slowly she raised her hand and beckoned him towards her. He took a shuddering breath and stepped forward.  

There was an audible gasp as he stepped into view from below him, the top of the door meeting him at his waist. He took a step or two back so he could actually see who it was he was supposedly being introduced to.  

Standing in the doorway was a quite well-put-together middle-aged man. His head of brown hair was starting to grey and a pair of reading glasses were perched atop a rather small nose. The eyes behind those glasses were bulging out of their sockets, staring up at the looming figure before him, gaping.  

Jeremy shifted uncomfortably where he stood, “Uh… hi.”  

The professor’s eyes seemed to light up when he spoke, “By God.” He stepped closer, looking the boy up and down.  

“Uh, professor. This here is Jeremy. Jeremy, this is Professor Luppi.” squeaked Lily. The professor didn’t make any notion that he heard her as he continued to stare.

“Impossible” he muttered. “It’s simply impossible.”   

Jeremy cleared his throat, “Do you… do you think you can help me?”   

The professor’s eyes met his and then Lily’s, “Come in, come in both of you.” He suddenly hurried back into his house, hastily gesturing for them to follow.  

Jeremy looked to Lily, who nodded before following the professor in. He looked after her, brow furrowed, okay… I guess we’re doing this. 

[rebeccasbiscuits]

I think ultimately ted did need to leave and be with Henry in kansas, the way they'd set it up by the end. I just wish we'd seen more how much he cares about the Richmond people, and more of a suggestion that they'll still be in each others' lives. I don't like the Mary Poppins angle where its like he just affected their lives and they didn't affect his. I like to imagine a future where they all come back together, someday.

[undead-moth]

I know I've been on about this for a while now and I'm being a hater but you're telling me SydCarmy was "always meant to be platonic" even though there are two seasons of writing making use of tried-and-true explicitly romantic tropes, themes and writing signals, and SydLuca is going to be romantic because...he was nice to her on screen for a few minutes?

I don't even care if people ship SydLuca, or if they just prefer it, but you can't honestly tell me that you believe Carmy was always meant to be a friend but Luca is an obvious love interest.

Just because Syd and Carmy haven't kissed or confessed their love to each other doesn't mean that isn't very obviously the direction this show is going. The Bear has already shown you who is endgame. It has shown you every episode of the show so far.

Honestly I really don't think The Bear fanbase understands this show or cares about these characters or the story being told here, which is unfortunate because this show is shockingly well-written in comparison to most shows right now, and we should be so grateful for it but all we're doing is complaining that the writers led us on by not making a ship canon fast enough. It's just. Sad.

[mymelodyisme]

My sister’s graduation day 😤 let’s go 👏🏽

[mrfoox]

I'm kinda glad I can keep my opinions to myself but man

[classyrbf]

ᯓ★ BETTER THAN YOUR BOYFRIEND! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...what happens when your boyfriend cheats on you and you look towards your best friend for help

INFO...jjk men (toji, gojo, geto, nanami) x fem!reader, reader gets cheated on, riding, sending a video to your ex, oral (f!receiving), car sex, kinda cute/some fluff in the beginning, pet names (doll, princess, baby, sweetheart), creampie, possessiveness, choking, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

ᯓ★ TOJI

When you showed up on Toji’s doorstep in the middle of the night with tears pouring down your face he was more than ready to kill whoever made your cry. He wasn’t surprised when you told him your shitty boyfriend had cheated on you and not with just one girl but multiple. Toji never liked your boyfriend, he could tell that guy was up no to good from the start, reading him like a book. He’d be sure to beat the shit out of him once he helped you gain composure.

“I’m sorry for showing up so late,” you hiccuped as he wiped your tears.

“Don’t worry about it, doll. You know I’m always here for you.” He gave you a soft smile. Toji hated to see you this way, you were too pretty to be crying over some guy who looked like he crawled from the sewers. “That guy was a piece of shit. You deserve better.”

“But, every guy I’ve been with or tried to be with has done me so wrong!” It only made more tears spill from your eyes. Toji engulfed you in a hug, rubbing your back. “Toji?” You sniffled.

“Yeah?” He pulled away from you, wiping your tears again.

“Kiss me. Right now,” you demanded. You had to see for yourself if what you’ve been feeling these last couple of weeks was absolutely true. Toji had zero clue, but you’ve been thinking about him way too much, more than a best friend should, feeling more than a best friend should. And when he planted his lips on yours, cupping your face, kissing you like a starved man, you didn’t quite expect your tears of sadness to be turned into tears of pleasure.

“Nnngh, Toji!” You moaned, his fat tip rubbing against your g-spot with each thrust of his hips. Your arms clung around his neck, fingers resting in his black silky hair.

“Can’t—mmm, fuck—believe he’d cheat on you! His fucking loss!” He growled in your ear, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, hugging you close to him. Your pussy clenched down around him, milking him for his every worth, juices dripping down his length and onto his balls. “So tight, doll—oh shit!” He grunted. Lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your ass filled the room, echoing off the walls around you. “Been wanting you forever, craving you.”

Your brows furrow in pleasure, barely able to contain your moans as you and Toji stare into each others eyes. “M-me too!” You whimper, nodding your head at him. You lips messily interlock, tongue gliding against one another, swallowing each others moans.

“Let’s show him what he’s missing, baby.” He smirks, reaching for your phone on the couch. His thrusts come to a stop, clicking on your now ex boyfriend’s contact and opening the camera to record a video. “Go nice and slow for me,” he says huskily.

Slowly, you move your hips up and down his thick shaft, whimpering when you feel him throb against your walls. Toji angles the camera up, a devious look in his eye. He moves it back down when you start to move faster, you sloppy pussy squelching when you slam your hips down on his. Toji slaps your ass a few times before grabbing it, guiding your hips to go slower once again. “That’s it, doll. Good fucking girl,” he lowly chuckles in your ear. Toji ends the video, sending it and tossing the phone to the side.

“I can’t believe we actually did that,” you giggle, biting down on your lip. Not even one minute passed before your phone began ringing, vibrating on the couch but you were too busy getting your brains fucked out to even notice. “Ah, you’re so deep,” you mewl, the curve of his dick making your back arch.

“Better get used to it cause we won’t be stopping anytime soon.” He placed a wet kiss on your neck, sloppily thrusting into your poor pussy. “You’re my girl now.” He’s slamming your hips back down on his cock, fucking you deeply, making sure every inch of him is coated in your juices. He quickly pulls out, jerking his cock before thick globs of cum coat your skin before he’s inserting himself back inside your dripping entrance. Neither of you noticing the five missed calls and fifteen unread texts from your ex.

ᯓ★ GOJO

As soon as you called Gojo crying, he basically teleported to your house. When he learned that your boyfriend had cheated on you and you kicked him out, he was the least bit shocked. For the past month you’ve told Gojo that your boyfriend has been acting off, and finally the truth came to light.

“I’m so sorry,” he frowned, rubbing the top of your head as you cried into his chest. It hurt Gojo to see you like this, constantly seeing you get hurt by these shitty guys who didn’t know any better. He had a massive crush on for the longest time and he’s always been afraid to say anything. He’d treat you better, treat you the way you’ve always deserved.

“I just don’t it, Toru! Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” You frowned.

“No, no! It’s not you all! You’re absolutely perfect. He’s a fucking asshole for not seeing that sooner. You’re kind, funny, smart, and beautiful. You’re everyone’s dream girl, y/n.” It may have sounded like he was only trying to be nice, but in reality he was speaking from his heart.

“Awe, Toru, thank you,” you giggled through your tears. Gojo looked at you few seconds, the most sincere expression written on his face.

So how, in only a few minutes, did he make you go from giggling to moaning like bitch in heat?

“Feel better, princess?” He mumbles against your cunt, sucking on your swollen and sensitive clit. “Please tell me you feel better,” he whines.

“Toru—mmph! What’s—ah! Oh my god!” He slides his long, slender fingers into your sopping hole, pumping them in and out, curling them up slightly. Your jaw falls slack at the way his tongue expertly explores your folds, licking up every last drop of your essence. Your hand clings to his fluffy white hair, his hands pushing your legs open each time they threat to close around his head.

“Taste so good, princess. Just like I imagined—mmm,” he moans at your delectable taste, ignoring the way your squirming in his hold and clenching around his fingers as your second orgasm approaches. His captivating eyes flutter open to look at you, watching the way you lose yourself on his tongue. He could tell your boyfriend—ex boyfriend has never pleasured you like this before, let alone made you cum.

“Fuck!” You gasp. “Feels so good—hah, shit! Toruuu!” You cry out, legs quivering when the tip of his tongue runs back and forth over your clit.

“Promise me something, yeah?” He moves his fingers in and out of your sloppy hole slowly, bringing you right on the edge. “Be mine? I’ll treat you so good, princess. Been wanting to for the longest time, god, you’re so fucking perfect. Please?” He presses soft kisses to your thighs that make your breath hitch.

“You’re confessing now?!” You chuckle, trying to catch your breath.

Gojo smiles up at you. “Is that a yes?” He quirks a brow. He presses the pads of his fingers against your g-spot massaging slowly.

“Ah,” you bite down on your lip, “you’re no fair!” You run your fingers through his hair. “It’s a yessssuhh.” You’re barely able to get the word out before he dips his head between your legs again, his wet tongue circling your clit. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m cumming again!” Your head is thrown back as your entire body shakes with pleasure.

“Thank you, princess,” Gojo murmurs.

ᯓ★ NANAMI

Nanami noticed you haven’t been yourself for the past couple of days and he didn’t dare to ask but he had a feeling it had something to do with that obnoxious and egotistical boyfriend of yours. It always had something to do with him no matter what. He didn’t think of it when you asked him if you can come over and watch a movie, but not even five minutes in the door you start explaining everything. You didn’t cry, just talked and talked about it, venting about the situation. He was glad to be an ear. He’ll always be here to help.

“I’m just so frustrated and I hate feeling this way!” You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe you need to deal with it in other ways rather than venting,” he suggested.

“Like what? Drinking my problems away? I’d rather not.” You shook your head, waving your hand in dismissal.

What didn’t cross your mind was the fact your best friend was talking about having you bent over, fucking you into the mattress. “K-Ken! F-fuck!” Your eyes squeeze shut when he thrusts his hips harder, the tip of his swollen cock pressing into your sweet spot.

His thick fingers squeeze into your plush skin, pulling you back onto his cock. He leans over next to your ear, breath fanning against your skin sweaty skin. “He doesn’t know how to handle a woman like you. Not like I do.” He peppers kisses down your back, a contrast of you screaming his name.

Your walls squeeze around him at his words, your pussy somehow growing wetter than it already was, creating a sloppy and sticky mess where you two met. Your hands grasped the sheets below. “Yes, Ken, handle me, show me you can handle me!” You grit your teeth, looking back at him.

A feral growl escapes his throat, blonde hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. He reaches a hand down, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushes your head into the mattress, the sound of skin to skin slapping against each other growing constant as he fucks your hard and deep with such a grueling pace. “I can handle you, sweetheart,” he chuckles deeply. “Better than your boyfriend.” He licks his lips.

“Mmm—ah, yes!” You laugh with a smile. “Ex.” You’re quick to correct.

“Who gives a fuck what he is—hah, shit, sweetheart, gripping me so damn tight.” He’s so focused on the way your ass ripples against his hips, addicted to how warm and wet your cunt is. It was hypnotizing. Your jaw hung open, eyes rolled back, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth and onto the bed below you. Each rut of his hips had you going stupid, barely able to think.

Successfully, you can say that his method of dealing with your problems has worked better than you could’ve imagined. “Feel so good inside me! Don’t stop!” You cry out, voice wavering. The stretch of his cock against your gummy walls had you craving more. So much more to the point you wanted to feel all of him. “Cum in me.” You’re bitting down your lip so hard you’re afraid you’ll draw blood.

Those three words have Nanami’s eyes wide in excitement. His body runs hot, your words making the blood rush straight to his pulsating cock. “D-don’t say stuff—mmph—like that,” he grunts.

“I thought you could handle me?” You’re smirking, playing with fire. His rough hands grip onto your hips harder, hard enough to leave bruises. Each thrust of his ragged hips shoots bolts of pleasure through your core.

His brows furrow in concentration, grunts and growls mixing in with your moans as his abs tense up, body jolting forward as his sloppily thrusts into your greedy hole. “I can handle you better than anyone else and you know it!” His hand swats your ass, a loud smack cracking in the air. “Nngh, shit!” Before he knows it, his tip kisses your cervix, pulling you back on his cock as his hot cum paints your walls.

ᯓ★ GETO

When you told Geto about your boyfriend cheating on you, he knew you’d needed to be comforted despite what you said. So he planned a day just for you to do your favorite things in attempts to take your mind off of things, but he could see that you were still thinking about it deep down. The both of you sat in the car, watching over the city lights while music quietly played on the radio. The orange sunset casted a hue over the world, shining brightly.

“I’m sorry I just can’t get it out of my head.” You pout, fiddling with your fingers. “I appreciate you doing this, Suguru.”

“Of course, y/n. It’s the least I could do.” He gave a half smile, caressing your back.

“It just keeps replaying over and over in my head,” you shut your eyes, “I hate it. Nothing takes my mind off of it no matter what!” You ran your hand over your face, slouching in the passenger seat.

“Well, there’s something we haven’t tried yet.” Geto raised a brow, shrugging his shoulders.

“What?” You asked, confused.

Minutes later your knees are to your chest, the sheer force of his hips rocking your body into the seat of the car. Strands from his messy bun cling to his forehead, sweat dripping between the divots of his abs. His calloused hand presses down on your lower abdomen, the pad of his thumb reaching down to rub your neglected clit. “Sugu!” You cry out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

The car shakes with his feral and animalistic thrusts, the curve of his cock finding your sweet spot, knocking the breath out of you. You’re panting and gasping, clawing at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Come on, baby, you can do it.” His lips quirk up into a smirk, his hand reaching out, slipping his fingers into your mouth to suck on. “Let it all go for me.” He moves at a rapid pace, your eyes rolling back and your body going limp, hands falling to your sides.

He removes his fingers from your mouth, his hands gliding down to your throat, fingers ghosting over your skin before he carefully wraps his hand around it, gripping it firmly. “I’ll make you forget everything about him. You want that, don’t you? Fill that pretty little head of yours with nothing else but me.” His sultry words send shivers down your spine. A devilish chuckle escapes from him when he feels you flutter around his throbbing length. “Nnngh,” he plants a wet kiss on your jaw, “cum for me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m cumming!” You scream, eyes widening at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. “Yes, yes!” You squeal, legs shaking as he continues to rub your clit, dragging every last bit of your orgasm out of you.

His heavy balls slap against your ass at a rough pace, threatening to spill his seed inside of you. “Want to mark you, show that asshole who you’ve always belonged to!” Sinful eyes stare back at you.

Fat tears roll down your cheeks. “I’m yours! I’m y-yours! Ahh!” He puts more pressure on your clit, your body jolting, squirming beneath him.

“Hah, fuck, baby!” He moans, jaw falling open as he tosses his head back. He clenches his jaw, grunting as he keeps the same fervent tempo. He watches the way your filthy pussy clings to him so tightly, your juices forming a ring at the base of his cock, creating a sticky, slimy mess. His thrusts grow hasty, hungry for his orgasm, itching to see you coated in his cum.

He bullies his cock into your cunt, snarling and moaning at how rapidly his orgasm was nearing. He pulled out of you with a drawn out moan and instinctively your soft hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him until you felt warm cum drip onto your stomach.

[rafesugar]

rafe changing his mind about leaving

warnings: s2 rafe, overstimulation, fingering, rafe getting a little bit aggressive, mean!rafe if you squint, heavily inspired by that scene in buffalo 66 where billy leaves layla in the motel

p!link

you were woken by faint rustling in the motel room. your eyes adjusted to the dim light just enough to make out rafe’s silhouette as he slid something sleek and metallic out of the room’s vault. “what are you doing…” you mumbled sleepily, unsure if he even heard you. as your eyes got used to the dim light, you realized he was about to leave. you sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes. “where are you going?” you ask in a panic, your eyes following his every move.

“i'm getting something taken care of, but for the meantime, you need to stay here” rafe said, your eyes making out the gun metal in his hand. “why can't i come with you?” you didn't want rafe to leave, ever, and especially not at this time. it was dark and quiet, too quiet.

rafe paused, his gaze steady on yours. “if someone finds you, they’ll take you away from me. we don’t want that now, do we, doll?” he said, his tone monopolizing. “when are you coming back?” he exhaled sharply, his irritation growing with each question. “you really gonna start this again? why would i even leave you, baby? really leave you.” he scoffed before taking his keys from the table.

“i really like you, rafe. i'm gonna be really sad if you don’t come back.” you prop yourself up on your knees, looking up at him. he froze in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. why couldn't you just trust him? “i’m coming back! goddammit..” his voice rose before he caught himself, throwing the keys at the tv, shattering the motel's property. you jumped at the sound, squirming in bed with unease. rafe let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. he tossed his gun onto the armchair, the pistol falling at its cushion. “look. look, baby, i'm sorry.. you really want me to stay?

“no.” you had a small pout on your face, but no way were you gonna admit that you wanted him to stay, especially not out loud. “no?” rafe let out an amused chuckle, getting in bed and pulling your hips onto his lap. “my baby doesn't want me to stay?” he teased before wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you in place as his other hand reached for your panties, ripping them off you.

he wasted no time, slamming two fingers in until he was knuckles deep. you winced at the intrusion, your walls fluttering against him. “r-rafe!” you bury your face against the pillows to muffle your moans. “shhh” he pumped his fingers in and out at an unforgiving pace, the room filled with the sound of your whining and whimpering, as well as the squelches of your sweet little cunt.

you let out a whine, kicking him and pushing his hand away in attempts to get him to stop or at least slow down. “no no no. what happened to the ‘i really like you, rafe’ bullshit, hm?” he curled his fingers to hit that soft spot of yours. you let out a cry as your orgasm hit you harder than the previous ones where he alternated between torturing your clit and drilling into your abused hole. “n-no more! no more!” you cried, kicking him in attempts to get away. “acting so needy and the second i give it to you, you don't want it? well too bad ‘cause you're gonna take what I give you.”

[nothingweirdhere]

“i don’t want you to catch feelings, i don’t want you to get hurt” says guy (deeply afraid of commitment) that i’ve been crushing on for over a month

i told him that was a risk i was willing to take... i did not tell him it was already too late 🙃

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.