#and then I’ll try to forget and move on | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaiyunsim · 1 day ago

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In between sets —

pairing : idol!anton x male!reader

summary : after recently coming back to the gym, you are a bit rusty and forget what to do. luckily, the only other person who goes is willing to help.

warnings : SMUT!! (dni minors), unprotected sex, kinda dacryphillia, sex in a public setting, sex while hiding, (provably more but idk, pls lmk if i should add more)

a/n : THESE ANTON PHOTOS GOT ME FEELING REALLY H***Y !!! also first smut so lmk how it is and maybe i’ll do more

— (w/c : 2.7k) — not proof read — minors dni —

anton had a routine. 3-4 times a week. early mornings before practice. sometimes he would have a gym buddy which was normally sungchan, wonbin, or eunseok but this time he decided to go solo.

he always has airpods in, keeping his mind in check by playing some music. he a was used to seeing the usuals, especially since the gym is almost always empty in the early mornings but was somewhat surprised to see someone new, someone he hasn’t seen before.

the newbie seemed to be fumbling their way through the weights section, looking moody along the rows of equipment. anton couldn’t help but notice him, it was quite a cute sight to see. they weren’t decked out in typical gymwear, instead, opting for a loose hoodie and sweats. their hair was slightly disheveled, looking as if they didn’t intend on coming today but decided to give it a try anyway.

by the end of his set, anton glanced over and noticed they were staring over at a dumbbell with what seemed like frustration or confusion. it was almost endearing. with a smirk, anton walks over.

“hey,” anton starts, pulling out one of his airpods. “you new here?”

you blink to look up to him, somewhat startled, you didn’t really notice him, “uh, yeah. just…trying to get back into shape,” you say, scratching the back of your head with a shy grin. “i’m y/n”

“oh, um… i think so. i used to work out, like, two years ago? but i kind of forgot what i was doing.” you laugh, clearly a little embarrassed, and anton found himself chuckling too.

“don’t worry about it,” anton said, leaning in a little closer. “why don’t we start with something simple? i’ll spot you.”

they moved to the bench press, anton demonstrating the proper grip and form as you listened intently. anton couldn't help but notice the way your eyes lingered, just a little too long, whenever he showed you a move. you would look and keep eye contact but it would wander to view the visible muscles you can see on anton’s arms. every time he reached in to help adjust your grip or stance, he noticed a brief flicker in your gaze, almost like he was wondering if the proximity was intentional. anton found himself leaning in just a touch closer each time.

as they finished up, anton noticed that you seemed more relaxed, even playful. you lightly punched anton's shoulder as they headed to the water fountain, giving him a grin. “thanks, man. i feel like i’m getting my gym routine back”

“no problem,” anton replied, feeling a heat rise as your eyes met his, this time lingering. "you know, i don’t mind helping out… if you need someone to keep you motivated.”

you pause, then smile, his eyes narrowing slightly with a glint of interest. you found anton attractive, plus it was a gym buddy that could help you get in shape, “how about tomorrow, same time?”

“deal.” anton’s heart raced as they exchanged numbers, both a little reluctant to say goodbye.

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴

the next morning, anton is already warmed up and stretching, tired due to having practices after his session yesterday, when he spots a familiar face coming in. today, your hoodie is swapped for a fitted t-shirt, showing more of your lean frame. anton can’t help but notice, a small blush playing on his face along with a smirk. you seems a little more confident, giving anton a nod and a smile as he heads over.

there was a change of focus today, instead of looking to work on arms, it was a day for the legs. anton guided you to the part where you squat with weights to improve your legs. trying nudge you to push yourself, anton adds more weights than you normally do so that he can spot you but as he does so you notice his eyes wandering up and down, smirk and all.

as they go through their workout, the tension between them feels more palpable than ever. you guys are talking and joking, but the physical closeness during spotting, the occasional brush of hands, and lingering eye contact hint at something more.

anton was almost certain you were flexing your muscles a bit when you caught anton watching, and anton found himself lingering longer than he usually would when spotting him.

after a few exercises, they move to the bench press again. you lay down, and anton stepped into position to spot him, standing right above him. their eyes met, and for a second, neither of them said anything. your eyes wander to his lower half before looking away and coughing hoping he didn’t notice. you start breathing a little heavier than you should have been, your gaze locked on anton’s, and the air felt thick.

anton finally broke the silence, his voice low. “you’ve got this. focus on your breathing.”

but you weren’t focused on your breathing. you barely even heard the words as anton leaned closer, hands hovering over yours, fingers just inches from touching. you could feel the heat radiating from him, and you couldn’t resist any longer. as you sit up after his last rep, you decide to stay close, closer than necessary, your knee brushing against anton’s leg.

finally, as they’re finishing up, they take a moment to rest on one of the benches near the locker rooms. you lean back, catching your breath, and give anton a sly look.

“you make this a lot more fun than i expected,” you say, your eyes glinting. “not sure i’d be so motivated without you.”

anton chuckles, feeling bold. “maybe we should work on some, uh, cool-down stretches together,” he suggests, half-joking but hoping his fellow gym goer catches the hint.

“maybe i should… uh, grab a shower after this,” you say, his voice barely a whisper. “you wanna join me?” you joke playfully.

anton didn’t hesitate. he made his way to the locker room, the silence charged with anticipation. the sound of water echoed through the empty space as he stripped off his sweaty top.

you immediately blush, and he could see your reaction. now you remain at a loss of words at the sight of anton’s body. fuck… it wasn’t the most built but he had some meat and muscle. “a-anton… i was joking” you try clear up, trying to drag him out of the locker rooms.

“well, i’m going to pretend that you weren’t” anton says, almost with a different, more teasing, energy. he tries to close the gap between them, enjoying the squirming you do when he does so.

he pushed you down on to a bench, “you don’t think i never saw you staring right?” he said playfully. his arms placed on both of your shoulders keeping you still.

your eyes widen, feeling the weight of anton makes you squirm slightly. you remain quiet, not able to form a sentence coherently in the current situation you are in.

anton kept that sly ass smirk, “why don’t you take this off?” he teases, playing with the hem of your shirt.

he was really pushing your buttons now. but you know that there was no one else in the gym because it was so early so…

fuck it.

(smut starts here)

you knew what anton was implying so you decided to catch him off guard and make the first move. you quickly close the gap between the two of you, lips colliding. your lips parted along with antons, and like that, the tension finally snaps.

their kiss was slow at first, you wanted it to be careful of course, but anton quickly takes control and it becomes more intense, fuled with the excitement building up throughout the days.

your hands find themselves on anton’s chest, fingers tracing the ridges and lines of his muscles, long with squeezing his pecs, feeling it out, almost as if you are trying to memorize them. anton’s hands find their way down to your waist, enjoying how their bodies fit perfectly.

you break the kiss to catch your breath, looking rugged and already worked up. anton sees you like this and brings back the smug smirk, with a hint of desire behind it, “you look so fucking cute right now,” he says, ruffling you rough hair while staring into your half-lidded eyes.

your usual shyness was softened by the confidence that had come from finally breaking the tension, you resch up, hand sliding to the back oh anton’s neck, and pulls him in for another kiss, slower this time to savor the moment.

anton’s hands move from over the fabric, to the shin of your waist, show removing your shirt to see your body for himself. “yknow,” anton says, running a finger along your jawline, “i don’t normally do this with gym buddies”

you undo the belt buckle to signal that your waiting for from anton, “nice to know im special” you let his pants drop seeing a bulge in his underwear. “someone wants to say hello,” kai says playfully.

anton’s smirk looks like it’s derived from something primal, “in the gym space? you’re something else” he says, giving a quick search of anyone else before pulling out his cock.

it was something else, nothing too big, but something that definitly match his body. you guys switch positions, anton sitting on the bench and you on the floor on your knees, appreciating the sight in front of you. your gaze didn’t last too long as you quickly took the head in.

his legs spread further, giving you easier access to what you want. “god… fuck…” it’s been forever since anton was able to do something like this as he is an idol. but since it was at a time where no one was around it was almost perfect for anton.

you take it deeper and deeper, bobbing up and down, keeping a steady, not so fast, pace before you feel a force from the back of your head. it was anton’s hand, pushing down further and faster. you start to gag, it was too much for you, but anton liked that. some tears started to stream and everything was getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen

“yeah, you like that?” he says with a smirk, lifting his hand from you neck to let you catch your breath. you soon pop off your motch fron his dick, heavily breathing as your vision started to get blurry.

without letting you recover, anton picks you up and places you on the bench, stripping your bottom half while doing so. now that both of you are without clothes, anton can give you some attention.

his hand runs along your thighs, eventually reaching your shaft, nice and hard. “mind if i play with this?” he asks. you give him a nod, still catching your breath.

he takes it and starts stroking it, making you react with whimpering and squirming. it was the feeling of recovery and that sumg ass smirk he kept on his face as he looks you down as he strokes you.

some moans started to leave your mouth as he stroked faster and faster, “a-anton… t-thats too much…”

“c’mon, you dont have to call me anton, what about toni? my friends call me that sometimes,” he teases you verbally, while also teasing you physically, slowing his pace on your shaft.

“t-toni…” you whimper, “i think we shouldn-“ you say before you get cut off by anton’s sneaky lips.

“that’s enough,” he says, letting go of your shaft, making you needy as he leaves you with no stimulation. you sit there, looking like an absolute mess on one of the workout benches and anton takes a step back to admire how you look.

he then spreads your legs which makes you react with surprise, “w-wait,” you retort but before you could say anymore you feel antons cock enter you.

you thought he would start off slow but it was the opposite, thrusting into you with what seemed like no other thoughts. it was probably because of how you looked like how messed up he made you already.

it was so big inside you, hitting your prostate everytime, making you a moaning mess. it was good, making your eyes roll up and back arch for better angles.

he enjoyed the warmth inside you, after being a trainee he hasn’t been able to have anything like this so his body reactes well to your warmth and tightness.

though you guys were making lots of noise you were able to hear the chime that happens when the front door opens. panicked, anton picks you up,dick still in you, and brings you to the shower room.

you’re able to hear a voice, “anton are you here? manager’s looking for you,” you arent able to distingust the voice but anton can, it was eunseok, one of his hyungs he goes to the gym with.

anton likes the sense of thrill that comes from the situation happening right now, he puts you on a shelf and smirks, hoping you get the message with whats going to happen.

he turns on the shower to cause some noise in the bathroom before starting to thrust into you again, softer this time but more calculated to a reaction from you. and it definitely did. you closed your eyes, trying to focus on the sensation. you opened your mouth to make a noise but anton covered it with his hand, “can’t have the other person know what’s happening can we?” he whispers playfully. he liked seeing you like this, recuded to a mes because of him, yet not able to express it.

“yeah eunseok, i’m just showering,” he replied, sounding normal. in reality he looked as rough and sweatt as ever.

“well, hurry up, you have an early schedule today” eunseok reminded before the same chime played, indicating he left.

anton finally lets go of your mouth, letting your whimpers and moans out only to be silenced again by his mouth meeting yours.

“god damn, just hearing you makes me wanna cum,” anton groans, head tilting back.

“y-you should…” you manage to get out between the noises he makes you make.

just by hearing that anton’s pace quickens, “fuck, you asked for it,” he says, riding his climax out, letting his fluids leak into you. he knows you’re close but haven’t came yet so he tries to put all his attention to you.

anton keeps his semi hard cock in you, slow pace just to let you enjoy, practiaclly for cockwarming. he knows you can’t cum with just him moving slowly so he grasps your shaft and starts stroking it while also putting attention to your nipples with his mouth.

anton takes his mouth off for a moment “you like that? my cock in you while you’re a moaning mess?” anton teases,

if your were moaning before, you’re fucking crying from pleasure now. it was so much happening and anton knew what he was doing to you.

he takes your hand and places it in his own pecs and lets your feel him out. as you feel everything happen all at the same time it’s only inevitable that you would reach your climax.

“toni..!” you moan the other man’s name loudly, “i-i’m gonna cum!” you scream.

you feel a large sense of euphoria while white stings of cum come out of your cock, landing on anton’s and your chest and abs. anton finally takes out his cock from your ass.

“f-fuck,” you say, recovering from the high dooamine sensation.

“let’s get you cleaned up,” he says as you both clean up from the sensual encounter you guys had. anton lets you shower but he doesn’t because he’s in a hurry as eubseok was waiting for him.

you guys both leave the locker room and you finally get to see the face of the mysterious voice. you bow to eunseok before saying bye to anton.

“why are your workout clothes on the bench?” eunseok questions while they both exit.

“oh erm,” anton stutters, trying to come up with an excuse, “i was just really sweaty,” he replies, obviously lying

“and why is your hair dry? i thought you just showered?” eunseok questioned further,

and just like that, anton knew he was fucked.

98 notes · View notes

goblinontour · 3 days ago

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Keep You Soft, Keep You Hard

a lesson turned into a lesson learned

warnings: dom!alex, smut, spanking, fucking, he’s a piano tutor in this one

word count: 6.9k

You told yourself to focus, to blink hard and drag yourself back to the lines of notes staring up from the page, to the tidy rows of black and white at your fingertips. But it was impossible, not with him so close.

The bench was small, and he had this way of filling it, of crowding your thoughts with his presence alone. It was maddening, the quiet authority that he seemed to radiate. His knee grazed yours, barely a touch, yet every nerve sparked, hyper-aware of that faint contact. A steady reminder, right there in your periphery, while his hands moved so effortlessly, coaxing sound from the keys as though he were simply pulling music from thin air.

His hands stilled, resting for a moment, fingers slightly curled, frozen in the poised elegance of someone who knew precisely what he was doing. He looked over at you, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark with expectation, heavy and relentless. He wasn’t saying anything, but his silence was a challenge. You could feel it in the air around, pressing down on you.

“Got it?” he asked, breaking the spell of quiet, his voice low and thick with a trace of impatience. It curled up in your chest. He wasn’t a big man, and yet somehow he seemed to take up so much space, shrinking you, folding you up in the force of his presence.

“I’ll try.” you whispered, and it felt like you were conceding some silent game of power that perhaps you hadn’t realised you’d been playing until this moment.

You lifted your hands from your lap, letting them hover over the keys as though you might find the confidence somewhere in the space between you and the piano, in the faint vibration left over from the notes he’d just played. Your hands were almost shaking — or were you imagining that? You tried not to breathe too audibly, tried to ignore the way his gaze felt like it was searing into you, trying to drag your attention back to the music. The melody, simple as it was, mocked you from the page, its simplicity an indictment of your scattered thoughts.

You pressed down, trying to mimic the way his fingers had danced, almost weightless and more than sure. The first note sounded harsh, loud, the clumsy sound of hesitation. You grimaced, starting again, forcing yourself to exhale, to soften, trying to hear the music he had made so effortlessly just minutes before.

He leaned in, just slightly, his shoulder brushing yours as he looked down at your hands, as if examining them. You could feel the warmth of his body, a slow, steady heat radiating through the coldness of his gaze, through the unyielding expectation. That closeness did something to you, ignited something bright and sharp. It made you forget, just for a moment, about the thin sheet of music paper in front of you and instead focus on the way his breath seemed to mingle with yours in the shared silence.

“Not quite like that.” he murmured, and it was almost unbearable, the quiet ease of his tone. One of his hands hovered near yours, fingers reaching, a faint suggestion. You could feel his pulse in his fingers as they ghosted over your hand, showing you where you should go. “Here, like this…”

It was a whisper of a touch, his hand grazing yours as he adjusted your fingers on the keys. The contact was brief, yet it set your skin alight, your heart stumbling over itself as you looked at your hands, at his hands, and then at him. His gaze held yours a second too long, something smoldering in his eyes, something that made you forget that the notes on the page even existed.

He leaned back, waiting, his expression a quiet challenge.

You tried. Over and over. Again and again, your fingers hesitating, faltering. The notes blurred, merging together into an indistinct haze. Each attempt brought a new mistake, a clumsy miss, a sour note hanging in the air, thick and uncomfortable. The heat of his presence, once electric, now seemed to be coaxing the uncertainty out of you and exposing it.

The room was silent except for the quiet creak of the piano bench as he rose, that little huff of impatience escaping his lips. It wasn’t much — a slight exhalation, a shift in his stance — yet it was as if he’d sent the entire world slightly off-balance.

His hand swept through his dark hair, and you could tell he was trying, struggling even, to keep some reign on his composure, but the attempt to hide the irritation was as thin as smoke. He leaned a little closer, his hip against the side of the piano, his fingers splayed across its polished wood surface. The gesture felt deliberate, looming in your line of sight, a hint of menace in the casual way he positioned himself, like he could close it and end this lesson — this — at any moment.

“You still don’t get it…” His voice was barely above a whisper, a murmur meant for himself, perhaps, but his eyes remained on you, their dark gaze unwavering, full of an exasperation that made your stomach clench. There was a weight to his words that landed hard in your chest. They stung.

“I’m sorry.” you managed, though your voice felt small, strangled. Your hands dropped to rest on your knees, helpless, defeated by the simplicity of the music you couldn’t manage to hold onto. You didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare meet the storm in his eyes.

His lips twisted slightly. “You should be.” he said, his words cutting, blunt, piercing through you with a cold, unapologetic edge. “We’re wasting time.” He didn’t need to emphasise it, but he did anyway, leaning in, “My time.” he bit out, as if it was some precious currency you’d carelessly squandered. He looked at you as if expecting you to feel his sacrifice, as if you’d let some vital opportunity slip through your fingers.

Your throat went dry. “I know, I-” you tried, but his hand moved abruptly, his fingers curling around the cover of the keys. He pulled it down over the ivories with a sharp, definitive sound that echoed in the quiet, and you flinched, the unexpected noise splintering through the silence like glass shattering. He held the cover closed for a moment, his fingers resting on its surface, a steady, relentless pressure.

But then, as suddenly as he had lost it, he seemed to regain control, the tension in his jaw softening just a fraction. He exhaled slowly, the corners of his mouth curving into a faint, perfunctory smile, as though he could erase the roughness of his words with that one small gesture. “Sorry.” he murmured. He let go of the cover and met your gaze again, softer now, less fire and more ice. “Let’s try again.”

And so you did, though something had shifted, something unsettled lingering between you both. When he moved behind you this time, his presence was overwhelming, almost suffocating, his body curved over yours, his shoulders just barely brushing yours, the subtle weight of his breath warm on your neck.

“Like…this.” he murmured, his voice inches from your ear. His fingers found yours, one by one, slowly positioning each in place. Deliberate, exacting, and somehow possessive, as though he were moulding your hand to his own will. His touch lingered, his fingers curling around yours with a strange intimacy that made the air feel thicker.

His hand pressed down lightly over yours, guiding you to depress the keys, the sound spilling out around you in quiet, uncertain notes. The music felt distant, secondary to the sensation of his hands on yours, his skin brushing against your own, the slight weight of his fingers as they settled over yours. Warm, the faintest tremor of tension in his fingertips as though he, too, were struggling to maintain his composure, fighting to keep some unnamed feeling at bay.

He guided you through the melody, a single line, slow and measured, the notes haunting, soft and lingering. It was as if he were showing you something secret, something he hadn’t intended for you to see, and you felt it, this strange flicker, the faintest glimpse of something vulnerable hiding beneath his sharp edges. But just as quickly, he withdrew, letting go of your hand, the sudden absence of his touch leaving the air cold and hollow around you.

He stepped back, allowing space between you, his gaze unwavering yet now softened by the connection you had forged through the music. A subtle smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a rare glimpse.

“You did well.” he acknowledged, his voice steady but carrying a warmth that had been absent before. “Again.”

And so you tried. Again. Stumbling through the notes, the sounds were fractured, scattered, hollow attempts that echoed off the piano and seemed to hang in the air between you, each wrong note punctuating the palpable strain. You didn’t know if you couldn’t get it right without him or if, somehow, you simply didn’t want to, as if each mistake only pulled him closer, made his attention sharper, heavier.

“Stop.” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “Stop…Stop, stop, stop it. Now.”

He was shaking, just barely, his breath catching on each word, and for the first time, you saw something raw flicker in his gaze — a frustration that bordered on something harsher, something almost painful.

“Get up.” he demanded, but you were frozen, your mind barely processing the command, every nerve straining, every muscle locked in place.

“Come on, get up.” His voice was a low snarl, almost desperate, but you couldn’t move. The space between you felt impossibly small and all you could hear was your own heartbeat hammering in your chest. His eyes met yours, unrelenting, and you felt yourself break under them.

“Now.” His voice rose, the word almost breaking as it left his lips, and it was as if he were barely holding himself together.

You stood, the smallness of the room pressing in as you shuffled to turn toward him, as if the act itself might offer you some release. But before you could even face him fully, his hands found your wrists, his fingers curling around them with a deliberate strength that held you in place, pinning you where you stood. You felt the pressure of his grip, not quite painful but harsh. Like a shock to the system, a steady burn against your skin.

He was close, his chest brushing against your back, his breath fanning across your neck, the heat of him all-consuming. His fingers tightened around your wrists, firm, his pulse thrumming against your skin. Even with the stool between you, the space felt suffocating, filled only with the rapid staccato of your breaths, the sound of your own pulse echoing in your ears.

Then he kicked the obstacle aside, and you felt him press against you fully, his body a solid, burning presence at your back. Every inch of him pressed against you, searing into you, keeping you there, locked in place. His voice came, soft and devastating, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear.

“You said you’d do better.” he murmured, his tone almost mournful, like a wound he couldn’t bear to look at. His words slid down your spine, igniting something that was equal parts fear and desire, something that left you trembling, unable to breathe, unable to think.

He shifted, leaning down, his broad shoulders hunched over yours, his chin coming to rest on your right, his mouth brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. You could feel a faint vibration as his words continued, slipping into the hollow beneath your jaw, wrapping around you like a shiver. “You promised me.” he whispered.

You felt the faint press of his mouth at your pulse, his lips barely brushing, lingering as though tasting the words he’d just spoken, as though binding you to them. His grip loosened on your wrists, one hand sliding slowly up your forearm, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake, his fingers tracing the line of your skin with a deliberateness that felt like both a question and a dare. You could feel his heartbeat, quick and insistent, echoing your own, swept away in the sheer gravity of his presence. A loaded stillness seemed to pulse and twist.

“You promised you wouldn’t make me do this again.” Then his lips traced the shell of your ear, his breath warm and rough before he let his teeth graze your earlobe, biting down. The sensation drew a gasp from your lips, a sound that echoed in the silence, fragile and thin. His response was immediate — a low, guttural groan that seemed to reverberate through his whole body, breath catching in his throat.

His hands tightened, fingers pressing into you as he guided you forward, bending you at the waist over the piano. Your palms landed heavily on the keys, and the sudden, discordant noise shattered the quiet. It was too loud, a jarring reminder of the chaos. You barely registered it, lost in the feel of him pressed against you, his hips against the curve of your back, his breath uneven as he held you there. You could feel the unforgiving press of the cold wood digging into the front of your thighs.

Time slowed. Your heart was a drum, matching his beat for beat, two pulses woven together in the thick quiet.

And then, suddenly, his touch left you, the absence so abrupt it felt like a jolt. You turned instinctively, glancing over your shoulder, your eyes wide with a mix of longing and something that bordered on fear. Your heart tripped in your chest, and a faint sound escaped your throat, helpless and raw.

But his expression shifted, his jaw clenched as he took in the look on your face. His hands moved to his hips, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers, and you could see the tension in him, see it written in the tight set of his mouth, in the way his chest rose and fell, the faint crimson flush at the base of his throat creeping up into the open collar of his shirt.

“No, don’t do that.” he said, his voice rough, almost pleading as his gaze caught yours. “Don’t look at me like that.”

His words were quiet, but they held a warning, a boundary that neither of you seemed able to respect. You could see the way his hands balled into fists, could see the conflict etched into the lines of his face. His shoulders were taut, his trousers tight, his stance tense, like he was holding himself back by the faintest thread, every muscle braced, unwilling to give in. He looked down, his eyes tracing over you, lingering on the delicate arch of your back, the softness of your eyes, the way your body seemed to lean toward him instinctively.

This had been inevitable, written in the stolen glances, the barely-there touches, the tension that had simmered from the very beginning. You’d known it when you left the house, every step up the street, every second in his presence only confirming what you already knew you both wanted. You’d known it when you chose which skirt to wear, when you felt the anticipation coil inside you, knowing you’d see him, knowing exactly what you wanted.

And he’d known, too. You could tell in the way he moved now, as though he’d planned this, as though every choice had been leading here, somehow certain that this moment would come.

His hand brushed the edge of your skirt, his fingers grazing your thigh with an almost unbearable lightness, teasing, testing, as he raised the hem slowly, each inch of skin exposed to the cool air intensifying the fire that already burned low in your stomach. His touch was unhurried, a slow, savouring cruelty that made your breath catch as he bunched the fabric around your waist, revealing the secret you’d been hiding, the choice you’d made just for him.

He stilled, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took in the sight of you, already trembling, already ready and glistening, his fingers lingering just above your skin, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his hand, the faint tremor of his breath against you. “You’re so naive.” he murmured, as if marvelling at the sheer audacity of you, that you wanted this as much as he did, a dark edge of amusement colouring his tone as his fingers ghosted over you, not yet touching, just enough to make your whole body ache.

They traced a line, feather-light, down your thigh. You felt your skin heat up, as his touch hovered, taunting, not quite touching the place where you needed him most. You could see the way his jaw tightened, his eyes dark with the same hunger that burned through you, uncontained from the knowledge that you were already, unmistakably, his.

His hand drifted up to your lower back, then to your hips, his fingers splaying out over the curve of you as though to steady himself, or perhaps to stake his claim.

“I hate that I have to do this, you know?” His voice was a murmur, edged with a roughness that made your stomach twist. He was close again, his breath warming your shoulder as his lips pressed softly against your skin, lingering, his kiss a soft contrast to the harshness of his words.

“I know.” you replied, barely a whisper, the admission slipping out before you could catch it. His hand flexed against you, and you could feel the shakiness in his grip, fighting against a feeling he couldn’t quite control.

“But you make me do it.” he continued, his tone softer now, almost tender, as though he were caught between anger and desire. He bent over you, letting his lips press another kiss onto your shoulder, the heat of his mouth lingering against your skin as he breathed you in, slow and deep, as though he needed to commit this moment to memory. “Until you’re all red, yeah?”

You nodded, a faint sound escaping your lips. “Mhm.”

“Good.” he whispered, satisfied, a quiet acceptance of what was to come. You braced yourself, your heart pounding as you felt him shift behind you, the warmth of his hand leaving your skin as he took a step back. The quiet stretched out, the seconds slipping by with agonising slowness.

And then, his palm came down, sharp and sudden, a searing heat spreading through your skin where he struck. The sound reverberated, louder than you’d anticipated, the sting bright and instant. You gasped, the sharp sensation leaving your breathless, but it was his reaction that surprised you most — a sharp, quiet intake of breath, as though he, too, felt the impact, the strange ache of it lingering in the room.

There was a pause, brief and fleeting, as he steadied himself, his hand hovering over your skin, fingers flexing. Then he brought it down again, the sound sharper, the sting hotter, his movements controlled as he adjusted his angle, perfecting it, finding the rhythm.

“You know,” he whispered, his voice thick with something unspoken, “this could have been avoided.” His words held a hint of frustration, but there was something else layered beneath it, something raw, almost regretful.

You swallowed, gathering the strength to respond, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

His lips hovered close to your ear. “I know.” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet resolve. “I’m sorry too.” he murmured, his voice rough and frayed at the edges, as if the admission cost him. But then he didn’t give either of you a chance to dwell on it. His hand descended again, and again, each strike measured, unyielding, filling the room with the sharp sounds and leaving no room to think, no space to breathe. “But sorry doesn’t make it right, does it?”

Before you could answer, his hand came down again, another sharp strike that sent a shock through you, forcing you to brace yourself against the piano. The sting seemed to resonate, lingering long after his hand lifted, and you could feel your pulse throbbing in time with the heat spreading across your skin.

He took a slow breath, his fingers brushing over the marks he’d left, tracing the warmth, feeling the impact of his own actions. “I didn’t want to do this.” he murmured, almost to himself. “But you…you make it so damn hard not to.”

“I know.” you replied. There was a heaviness in the air, a shared tension that seemed to press in, leaving no space for anything else. His presence, his hand, his breath — they all surrounded you, a consuming heat that blurred the lines of pain and need.

He didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes, a quiet acceptance. And then, his hand came down again, another strike, harder this time, the sting biting. You gasped, the pain a vivid spark that seemed to connect you both in a way that went deeper than words.

“Do you understand now?” he asked, his voice rough, his tone almost pleading. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, his touch light, a strange contrast to the intensity of his strikes.

“Yes.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I understand.”

He shook his head, letting out a low, frustrated breath. “I don’t think you do.” he murmured, more to himself than to you. His hand came down again, a quick succession of strikes, each one sharper than the last, each one pulling a gasp from your lips, leaving you breathless, each one resonating through both of you.

The sting grew with each impact, building a slow, burning ache that seemed to settle deep within you. He didn’t let up, his hand moving in a steady rhythm, each strike precise, his movements honed to a rhythm that left no space for anything but the sensation.

“Look at me.” he demanded, his voice low and edged with something raw that caught at the back of his throat. His hands tightened on your hips, steadying you as you shifted, glancing back over your shoulder to meet his gaze. His pupils went wide, and there was something unguarded in his expression, something that looked almost vulnerable, caught in the same heat.

You held his gaze, your breath catching as you saw the way he looked at you, the faint tremor in his jaw, the way his hands gripped you just a little too tightly. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but he hesitated, his gaze dropping to where his hand rested on your skin, his fingers tracing the marks he’d left, committing them to memory.

“Why do you push me like this?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His fingers tightened on your skin, his grip unyielding as he drew in a slow, shaky breath. “Why do you make it so hard?”

You swallowed, your voice coming out in a rough whisper. “Because…because I know you want this, too.”

He let out a low, frustrated sound, his hand coming down once more, a sharp strike that left you gasping, the sting immediate. His breath caught, and he stilled, his hand hovering over you, as though the force of his own body had taken him by surprise.

“You think this is what I want?” he murmured, conflicted, his hand tracing the line of your spine with a tenderness that belied his words. “You don’t understand, do you?”

“I’m trying to.” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. You could feel his gaze on you, the weight of his stare as he searched your face, as though trying to find some answer in the lines of your expression.

After a long moment, he drew back, his hands moving to steady you, a faint tremor in his fingers as he took in the sight of you, your body still flushed, your breath coming fast and shallow. His gaze softened, his expression shifting to something almost tender, as though the fire between you had softened, leaving something gentler, like the quiet after a storm — a fragile, trembling peace that felt bound to shatter. His hands settled against your hips, pressing you back against him, his body grounding yours, the soft fabric of his clothes rough against your skin, still sensitive, still burning. The heat radiated between you, unrestrained. The moment had left you both stripped bare, without pretence.

“Can I turn around?” you whispered, your voice quiet, unsure.

He didn’t answer, but he loosened his grip, allowing you to slip from his hold. As you turned to face him, you searched his face, hoping to find something there — some trace of tenderness, of gentleness. But his gaze had fallen, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor, lost in some unspoken thought that kept him at a distance, even now.

You hesitated, a strange ache twisting in your chest at the sight of him like this, but then your hand moved of its own accord, slipping into his line of sight as your fingers reached for the buckle of his belt, fumbling slightly as you unfastened it, feeling the heat of him beneath the fabric. You let your hand linger there, tracing the line of his cock, feeling the way his breath hitched under your touch.

“Do you want to fuck me now?” you asked, your voice barely more than a murmur, but the words cut through the stillness, shattering the fragile quiet as you traced your fingers over the last barrier of fabric, feeling the barely-contained hunger in his stillness.

He nodded, silent but certain, his gaze lifting to meet yours, the intensity there almost overwhelming. And for a moment, you felt a strange vulnerability in him, an openness that felt as raw as your own.

“I don’t deserve it.” you murmured, almost to yourself, the admission slipping out unbidden. The words hung in the air, fragile and true, as far as you knew.

He reached out, his fingers brushing over your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that caught you off guard. “You don’t.” he whispered, his voice rough, but his touch gentle. He held your gaze, his thumb tracing a slow line over your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his. “But I do.” he continued, a quiet declaration that carried the weight of all the things he hadn’t said, all the things he’d kept hidden.

He leaned in slowly, and you could feel the weight of his desire, the depth of it, pressing against you. His lips brushed over yours, a soft, tentative kiss that felt at odds with everything that had come before. It was a slow, lingering moment, his lips moving against yours with a gentleness that left you breathless, a quiet confession in the way he held you, as though afraid to break the fragile stillness. Wrapped in his touch, you realised that maybe this was what you’d both been searching for — not the sharp edges, not the intensity, but the quiet truth that lay beneath it all, the connection that bound you both, unspoken but undeniable.

He was physically pressed against you now, fully, his need palpable, and the sheer hardness of it sent a shiver through you. For him being the aforementioned small man he was, he felt impossibly big against you, and the sensation was overwhelming. You could take him — mostly — but there were moments when he’d push further, deeper, relentless, making sure that every inch of him was buried inside you, as though he needed all of you, as though the connection wasn’t complete until there was nothing left between you.

Your breath caught as he moved, as he filled you, the pressure and heat building until you felt like you were coming undone under him. He kept his gaze averted, his eyes closed or fixed somewhere past you, refusing to meet your gaze, as though if he looked at you, he’d lose himself.

But you couldn’t help yourself — you reached for him, fingers brushing over his hair, craving the softness of holding him close. For a split second, he let you, his hair soft under your touch. But then his hand was there, pinning yours down with a strength that felt possessive, leaving you no room to resist, making sure you couldn’t reach for him again, couldn’t draw him in.

“Keep them there.” he murmured, his voice rough, a quiet demand, his hand tightening slightly as if to underline the point. The weight of him, the pressure of his touch, made you dizzy.

As he moved, you could feel the way he held himself back, trying to stay quiet, trying to keep control even as he pressed into you. His face was tight with restraint, his lips parted in a silent gasp each time he thrust, and you could see the faint lines of tension in his brow, as if he were holding himself on the edge, refusing to fall. He wouldn’t let himself make a sound, not fully — each time he came close, he’d grit his teeth, his breath catching as he fought to keep his composure. But his body betrayed him in the way his hands tightened on your wrists, the slight tremor in his arms as he braced himself above you, his breath coming faster, harsher, each thrust a little more desperate.

He liked hearing you, though — that much was clear. Each time you gasped, each breathless sound that escaped you seemed to spur him on, as if the music of it was something he needed, something that fed him. And so you gave in, letting yourself surrender to the sounds, letting him hear what he did to you, each gasp and moan, each confession.

His lips brushed over your neck, a fleeting touch that left you breathless, his control slipping for a brief second as he let himself lean into you, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder, his mouth hot against your skin. And in that moment, you felt the depth of it — the way he was holding onto you, the way he needed this, needed you, more than he would ever admit.

The rhythm softened and there was a flicker of something risky that crept in — a dangerous sweetness that neither of you could allow. And just as quickly as it had come, it vanished, replaced by the darker need he couldn’t restrain. In an instant, he had you flipped, repositioned. The sudden absence of him left you gasping, only for him to push back inside in a single, hard thrust that stole the breath from your lungs. The force of it rocked you forward, the whole piano trembling beneath you, and you heard the dull thud of his shoes slipping against the wood floor as he steadied himself, finding a rhythm that was relentless. No more room for tenderness.

He kept you down, his hand firm against the back of your head, pressing your cheek against the polished wood. You felt the ache, the sharp edge of pleasure and pain, the burn of him rubbing you raw from the inside, and the sharp slap of his hips against your bruised skin with every thrust. But even the ache, even the bruising sensation, blurred into the overwhelming pleasure, all of it heightening, feeding into the feeling building inside you.

You felt yourself surrendering, giving in completely, every sense overcome, until you could hardly keep yourself together. A trickle of drool slipped from the corner of your mouth, leaving a warm trail against your cheek, and you cursed under your breath, embarrassed by the loss of control.

But he noticed, of course he noticed, with that sharp attention that caught every small detail. “Don’t make a mess…” he murmured. His hand shifted, angling your head so that your cheek brushed against the wood, and his fingers lightly traced over your lips. “Lick it off.” he instructed.

You obeyed, your tongue darting out to catch the trace of drool, your cheeks heating, both at the intensity of his eyes watching and the act in itself.

His control snapped again, and he resumed with a renewed vigour, each thrust sharper, more consuming, as though he were lost in the sensation, unable to stop himself. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. And as he moved, as he filled you again and again, you felt that same feeling you always craved rise in you, a shared hunger that bound you both, tightening until you could hardly tell where he ended and you began.

The pressure inside you built, tension wound so tightly it felt like it might break you apart. And then, with his relentless rhythm, his hands digging into your hips, holding you in place, the wave crashed over you, pulling you under in a flood of sensation. You came around him, your whole body shaking, the feeling consuming you as you dared to moan his name, broken, unable to hold anything back.

He grunted, feeling your release as your muscles tightened around him, and it was enough to finish him. He pulled out suddenly, leaving you gasping at the absence, his hands firm as he guided you upright, making sure you stayed in place. His hand moved to gather the fabric of your skirt, smoothing it down from where it was bunched up around your waist, his fingers almost twitching as he positioned himself over it.

“Keep still.” he commanded, his voice rough, his breath uneven as he stroked himself in his hand, his gaze fixed on you with a look that was both possessively sick and admiring. “I’m going to make sure you remember this. Every time you put this skirt on…” he trailed off, his voice low, as he guided himself to your thigh, brushing against your skin.

He hissed a quiet, “fuck” through clenched teeth, his body tense with the effort of holding back, his hand moving faster, the muscles in his forearm flexing with each motion, even through his shirt. You watched him, captivated by the sight of him giving in completely, his usually composed exterior slipping away. He caught you staring.

“Like watching me?” he asked, not fighting back his smirk, teasing. “Is this what you wanted?”

You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Yes.” you whispered, feeling a thrill run through you at the way he looked at you like he needed nothing else in the world but this moment.

He laughed softly, a low, satisfied sound. “Good.” he murmured, his gaze intense as he held your eyes, his hand moving faster. “Then watch.”

And then, with a final, rough exhale, he came, his release splattering onto your skirt, warm, delivered precisely. His grip on his cock loosened more and more as he held you there, steadying himself, his breath coming in short, harsh bursts. He watched the mess he’d made, a gleam in his eyes as he admired his work, a small, self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“Perfect.” he murmured, his voice softer now, a hint of tenderness in his tone as he took in the sight of you. He reached out, his fingers tracing lightly over the fabric, smearing it slightly, leaving a deliberate mark. “Just like I planned.” He let out a low chuckle, his sticky thumb brushing over your cheek. “Now every time you put this on, you’ll remember who did this to you. And you’ll know why.”

After a moment, he tucked himself back in, fingers steady, composed, as though smoothing back every crease into the carefully maintained image he always wore. His shirt, a little wrinkled, his belt buckled, everything was back in place, sharp and polished, the usual mask settling back over his face. He took a slow, measured breath, pulling himself into that cold, closed-off composure, looking as good as new.

But you — he’d left his mark on you. The stain on your skirt was his, deliberate, visible. It made you feel claimed in a way that filled you with a guilty thrill, though you’d never tell him that, wouldn’t dare. And he’d know without you saying it, anyway.

He sat back down on the bench, reclaiming his place, his expression distant now. The fire between you seemed to dissolve into a quiet, foggy comedown, a return to reality. He ran a hand through his hair, a touch of restlessness in the motion, as if trying to shake off whatever had just taken hold of him. He let his gaze drift over you one last time, but this time it was cool, already locking himself away again.

“I think our time is up.” he said, his voice flat, almost clinical as he glanced at his watch, his eyes shifting back down to his hands, fingers curled loosely in his lap. He dropped his head to his palms, the shadow of exhaustion just visible in the hunch of his shoulders.

You adjusted your skirt, smoothing out the fabric where you could, feeling his eyes flicker back to you, watching you through the gaps between his fingers. Even through his guarded expression, you could sense him taking in every detail, like he was cataloging the moment to revisit later.

“I’ll learn it for next week.” you said softly, a promise meant to close the gap between you, to act as if you’d merely been practising all along. You reached for the sheet music scattered around, some pages crumpled from where they’d pressed beneath you. His eyes followed your hands, and he let out a quiet, dismissive “yeah, yeah” as he straightened up, only half listening.

He stood up, almost mechanically, then froze, watching you with a conflicted look. There was a pause, tension still hanging between you, as if he wanted to say something more, but couldn’t.

“You’re alright?” he asked at last, the barest hint of vulnerability still slipping through.

You nodded, feeling the warmth creep up into your cheeks. “Yeah…thank you.” The words came out softer than you intended, trailing off as his expression tightened, a barely perceptible flinch crossing his face at your quiet gratitude of what lay unsaid, but neither of you would put words to it.

His eyes shifted, searching your face for a long moment, something uncertain flickering in his gaze. Then he gave a small, resigned sigh, a hint of care lingering in the shadow. “I’ll clean you up.” he said. Kindly, like a faint echo of the person he was beneath the walls he’d built.

Without another word, he reached out, carefully brushing his thumb over your cheek, wiping away the smudge he’d left, an unspoken apology wrapped in the gentleness of his touch. He didn’t elongate it, his hand pulling back as quickly as it had come, but the warmth stayed, a reminder that somewhere beneath his icy demeanour, a part of him cared.

He pulled a napkin from his pocket, worn from being tucked away and handled, but still clean enough to press gently to the stain on your skirt. His movements were careful, almost reverent, as he dabbed at the fabric, his thumb brushing over the marks, trying to erase evidence of his own impulse.

You could feel his heat even through the layer of cloth as he worked, methodical, his eyes focused intently on the task. It required his full attention. Each touch was precise, respectful, the passion of moments before gone, forgotten, and replaced. When he was satisfied, he folded the napkin back up, creasing it at the corners. His hand hesitated over his pocket before he slipped it back inside, his eyes stuck on the place where the stain had been.

A question formed on your lips, one you didn’t even know you’d wanted to ask. “Did I do good?”

He froze, his fingers still lingering over his pocket. For a moment he looked uncertain, eyes flicking from the floor back up to meet yours, searching. Then he stepped forward, slowly, and you felt the distance between you dissolve as his arms circled around you.

He pulled you close, his embrace firm yet gentle, enveloping you in him. Your head nestled just beneath his chin, and his hand found its way to the back of your head, fingers threading softly through your hair. He held you there, still and quiet, his breath steady against your temple.

“You were good.” he whispered. His hand moved gently, smoothing over your hair in a gesture of silent reassurance, as if he were trying to ease away any doubt in your mind. “Better than you know.”

There was something calming in his touch that he wouldn’t allow himself to express in words. And though he eventually let go, stepping back and regaining the familiar, guarded expression you’d come to know, you felt the lingering warmth of his presence, his arms around you still imprinted on your skin. He gave you a final, quiet glance, a look that spoke of more than he’d ever speak, before he turned away, his fingers brushing his pocket once more, as if to hold on to the trace.

a/n: I feel like it's a bit messy, couldn’t really focus, but it’s decent enough, I guess. Night night.

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #dom!alex #goblinontour

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marvelavengerspovs1 · 2 days ago

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Lazy Day

Pairing: Bucky x F!reader

Warnings: Nothing but fluff

Length: 808

Summary: You and Bucky have a lazy morning.

A/N: After a VERY long break, I’m semi-back! I’m not going to say I’m fully back because I still don’t log into Tumblr that often, but I’m hoping to write a bit more! I got severe burnout in May, partially because of finals, but now that the new semester has started I feel that itch to write again, especially after the past week. Right now I’m feeling more fluff than smut, so I hope y’all don’t mind!

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

You open your eyes with a hum. Your once warm body was getting colder and colder by the second. You only notice when you roll over that it’s because your personal heater has gotten out of bed. With a heavy sigh, you roll back over and close your eyes. You hear heavy footsteps coming from outside of your shared bedroom to your side of the bed.

“You got out of bed,” You grumble into the pillow.

You hear Bucky chuckle before he kisses your temple. “Sorry Doll, I wanted to make sure there was some fresh coffee for when you woke up.”

At the sound of fresh coffee, you cracked open one eye to look at him. “Fresh coffee you say?”

Bucky laughs again and shakes his head. “Don’t worry Doll, I’ll bring you a cup.”

Bucky moves to get up but you grab his arm to stop him. “Will you come back to bed?”

Bucky smiles down at you and gives you a gentle kiss on the lips. “Of course I will Doll, I’m just going to get our coffees.”

You let go of his arm and close your eyes again as he leaves. You hear Bucky working his way around the kitchen and decide that you should at least sit up and fix your hair. You readjust your pillows so you can lay back comfortably and before you can fix your hair, Bucky comes back with two cups of coffee.

“I tried to make it just the way you like it,” Bucky places both cups of coffee on his bedside table.

Bucky leans over the bed and gives you a gentle kiss as you fix your hair. He lets out a hum of approval and smiles.

“You know, I could get used to this.”

“Could you now?” You ask him with a smile, settling back in on your side of the bed as Bucky hands you your coffee.

“Oh definitely. I get up and go on my morning run, I make us coffee when I get back, you looking absolutely gorgeous.”

“Oh you flatter me too much Barnes.” You say dramatically with a laugh.

“There is no amount of flattery in the world that would capture everything I love about you.” You feel yourself get warm as butterflies erupt in your belly.

“Bucky, it’s too early to be cheesy.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and sips his coffee. “Well I can’t help that you’re my dream girl, Doll.”

You scrunch your nose at both his cheesy comment and the way he drinks his coffee. “I don’t know how you are so sweet but take your coffee black.”

Bucky looks down at his mug, his eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just so bitter. At least add some cream or something.” You tease him.

“Just so you know, I happen to really like my coffee just the way it is. I don’t need all that extra stuff to make it taste better.”

You take a sip of your coffee and shake your head at him. “Lying isn’t good Bucky, you should be honest.”

Bucky rolls his eyes once more and lays against the headboard. “If I change my coffee, you’ll have to change yours too.”

You glare at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He glares back. “You want to try me, Doll?”

The two of you continue the stare off for a minute before a white furball makes her presence known. Alpine jumps onto the bed and meows loudly, trying to get your attention. Bucky breaks first, turning to look at her.

“Are you hungry Alp?” He asks her, petting under her chin.

Alpine flips onto her back and lets out a small meow, letting you both know that she wants food. You both smile at her.

“Don’t worry Alpine, we didn’t forget about you.” You tell her.

You rub her belly and kiss the side of her head. You place your cup of coffee on your bedside table and get up.

“And where do you think you’re going, Doll?”

“Alpine has to eat.” You look at Bucky with a ‘are you serious?’ face.

“Get your cute ass back in bed. It’s a lazy day which means I take care of everything. You don’t have to lift a finger today.”

You smile and sit back on the bed. “Can everyday be a lazy day?”

“If you want it to be Doll.” Bucky smiles at you.

This is why you love him. Not because you can ask him to do anything and he would do it. But because he would do so without you asking. He would rather you be comfortable and him do all the work. You couldn’t ask for a better partner.

Bucky leans over and places a gentle kiss on your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You lean forward and kiss him again.

#avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky x you

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gothamite-rambler · 2 days ago

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Bruce is beekeeping age, but Artemis would still smash

I respect and agree.

Artemis (Amazon): Jason, your dad is at “beekeeping age.” You know what that means?

Jason refused to respond; he already knew where this conversation was headed. But Artemis took his silence as an invitation to elaborate on the slang term.

Artemis: It means he’s an attractive, middle-aged man—usually in his 40s or 50s. You know, the kind of guy who would keep bees and make his own honey.

Jason (monotone): That’s not something he does.

Artemis (undeterred): He doesn’t have to do that exactly. It’s just cute how he’s the cape crusader at night, but at home, he’s such an emo dork—like a businessman and a cool dad.

Jason pretended to examine his soda can, regretting that he had said anything at all. He wondered how the conversation had even started.

Artemis: He’s kind of cute—tough, tall, and handsome. How old is your dad?

Jason brought his hands together, trying to block out the thoughts swirling in his head.

Artemis: He’s definitely at "beekeeping age." Some Amazons even call him a DILF.

Jason (whispering to himself): I wonder if I killed myself and got thrown in the pit, would I forget this?

Artemis (looking longingly): He reads books, he’s always there for you guys. He protects you like he protects Gotham. I never had a dad, but my mom wasn’t even there for me like that.

Jason refused to respond, taking a long drink from his soda can instead.

Artemis (wistfully): The crazy thing is, none of my former partners—besides you, of course—have made my heart flutter like Bruce and guys like him do. I know you two aren’t close, but a strong man who loves you, supports you, and is conventionally attractive…

Jason examined his gun, debating what Artemis would say next while struggling to keep his boiling annoyance at bay.

Artemis (twiddling her fingers, lost in thought): Jason, I think I want to fuck your dad.

Jason (angry): No, really? I couldn’t tell!

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

Later that day, Jason made a surprise visit to Bruce to discuss the earlier conversation. If he was going to live with that moment replaying in his head, the man connected to it would have to hear about it too.

Bruce: She said I was “beekeeping age?”

Jason (staring at his feet): Yes. And before you ask, it’s a term for an ‘attractive’ middle-aged man, usually in his 40s or 50s.

Bruce: How did she know I was in my 40s?

Jason: Oh my God, that's what you focus on?!

Bruce (alarmed): Sorry, sorry! I’m just thrown off by the fact that she said it—she’s your age, and that felt wrong to hear.

Jason: Yeah, she called you a DILF too.

Bruce: What’s a DILF?

Jason covered his eyes, cringing at the word.

Jason: Look it up. Because if I say the full acronym, I might shoot you in your kneecaps!

Bruce shrugged, then pulled out his phone to search for the definition. After reading it, he buried his head in his hands, exhausted by the world.

Bruce: I’m so tired of this. Why can’t people just see me as fairly attractive and move on?

Jason: Thank God we’re on the same page about this.

Bruce: Yep, yep, yep. I already had to get Selina to stop calling me "Daddy."

Jason nearly vomited at the thought of that word connected to his foster dad.

Jason: Yep, this is going to be a full session in therapy next week. Anyway, avoid her forever, or I'm going to lose my mind.

Bruce: I promise, I’m not going to do anything with her. That may have sounded wrong, but I wouldn’t because it's all kinds of messed up. I’m with Selina—she's my partner. Even if I were single—

Jason shot Bruce a glare, clutching a letter opener. Bruce nodded, cutting himself off before he could say anything that would make Jason want to stab him.

Bruce (ashamed): Have I paid you this month? I have not! Let me get my phone; I’ll be right back!

Bruce hurried out of the office, leaving Jason to collect his bearings. He pondered whether he deserved an extra paycheck after just getting paid last week, then shrugged.

Jason: Works for me.

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eddiazx · 20 hours ago

Text

benefit part 2 - evan buckley x reader

part 1 here!

Buck wakes up with his nose pressed against your hair. You’ve slept at Buck’s multiple times, even shared beds once or twice, but he never realized just how clingy you are in your sleep. Half your body is on top of his: your head is tucked underneath his chin, your arm is splayed out over his bare torso, and your right leg is hooked over his left thigh, knee brushing up against his morning wood.

Buck likes this. The domesticity, the smell of you, your warmth; Buck could get used to waking up this way all the time.

Except, he thinks soberly, that’s not what the two of you had agreed on. This was supposed to be just sex. But Buck has come to the belated realization that it could never be just anything with you.

“Buck? You awake yet?”, Eddie’s voice comes ringing through the loft from his front door. Buck’s eyes widen; he had completely forgotten that he made plans to get breakfast with him that morning. He looks at you, who had woken up to the sound. With an impressive quickness, you roll off and drop down soundlessly to hide under the bed in all your naked glory. Buck would have busted out laughing if he wasn’t so scared that Eddie was going to catch the two of you together. Neither of you would hear the end of it if the rest of the team found out about your little arrangement.

Eddie makes his way up the loft stairs and gives Buck an unimpressed look over at his sleepy, shirtless form. Buck had had the sense to throw the covers over his legs to avoid flashing Eddie.

“Hey Eds”, Buck smiles weakly.

“Morning, sleeping beauty. You able to get ready in 5, at least? I’m craving that breakfast burrito from Joe’s.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Just…go watch TV and I’ll be ready in a bit.” Buck says, desperately hoping Eddie doesn’t look too closely at the fact that your bra was on the floor in the corner of the room.

Eddie nods, before saying, “Maybe we can text Y/N if she wants to join us too.”

Buck lets out a startled cough at your name, but Eddie already has his back to him, walking down the stairs. A few moments pass until Buck hears the sounds of Brooklyn 99 playing downstairs.

Buck leans over and peers down at you. You have an amused smile on your face, but Buck can’t help but mouth, “you okay?”

You nod, and give him a thumbs up. You gesture at your phone, which Buck hands over to you. He watches as you open up your notes app and type out 'go grab breakfast, I’ll let myself out and lock the door' before showing him the text.

Buck nods and walks to the bathroom, all the while wondering what the heck he got himself into.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Eddie is talking about a project Chris has for his history class while chewing on his burrito. Buck is trying really hard to pay attention, but his brain keeps providing him with unhelpful flashes of last night. He thinks he might be hallucinating, because he can even picture you sitting down in front of him.

Wait, that’s not a hallucination, you were actually here.

“Hi guys”, you smile, swiping a potato off of Eddie’s plate and popping it into your mouth, eyes sparkly and beautiful as usual. Buck is again met with a memory of last night, when you put something of his in your mouth.

Buck shakes his head, as if he can physically clear his mind from the memory. “Uh, what’re you doing here?”

“I knew you would forget so I sent her a text to join us while you were getting ready.” Eddie responds for you.

"Right, yeah." Buck nods quickly.

Eddie and you exchange glances. Buck was acting weird, weirder than normal.

While you order and promptly delve into a conversation with Eddie, Buck considers moving to another firehouse, one where he didn't have to see and work with his best friend that he was hopelessly in love with.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

"Hen, can I talk to you?", Buck stammers, when they're the only two seated at the firehouse dinner table one evening.

"Sure, what's up?" Hen asks, closing the textbook she was reading.

"I... I think I have feelings for Y/N." Buck admits.

Hen continues to stare at Buck expectantly, not a single difference showing in her face after Buck's admission. "Wait, that's it? That's not news to anybody, Buck."

Buck blinks at Hen. "What?"

"Buck, you've been gone for her since she started at the 118. You've had permanent heart eyes for that girl."

"No... we're friends! Best friends!"

Hen shoots Buck a patient look. "Chim and I are best friends, Buck. You and Y/N are in a different category entirely."

"Okay, fine, whatever. It's bad, Hen. We started sleeping with each other last week and -"

"What?!"

"She's so smart and beautiful Hen, and she makes the hottest sounds when-"

"Okay, ew."

"But she doesn't want to be in a relationship and I don't know how to act around her now that I know I have feelings for her and-"

"Alright Buck, breathe." Hen motions for Buck to inhale and exhale with her hands. Hen seems thoughtful for a second, before she asks, "how do you know she doesn't want to be in a relationship?"

"I don't think a relationship was what she had in mind. She suggested we have sex casually; that it wouldn't be weird 'cause we're friends."

"That... was a horrible idea."

Buck groans and puts his head in his hands. "Well, I know that now!"

Hen smiles softly, prying Buck's hands away to hold onto them. "Buck, we all knew that you were in love with her, but she looks at you the same way. I think you guys should talk to each other. You guys might be on the same page."

Buck looks at Hen's earnest, honest face. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he knows that he couldn't keep avoiding you or clamming up the way he did at breakfast. He needed to come clean.

And then promptly move.

#911 x reader #911 x you #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley smut #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x you #evan buckley fic #buck x reader #evan buckley x y/n

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sc4rrc · 2 days ago

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Jealous much, but for a 'solid' reason

════════════════════

- 2012!Donnie x reader - Jealous much, but for a 'solid' reason - Fluff - Warnings: None Request: Nope, just came up with this on my own whilst reading through some one shots of my personal favourite creators. You like Donnie, he likes you. But you're both as oblivious as ever, despite clearly showing each other that you care. And as a date is set between you and someone who is -clearly- NOT Donnie, he finds it hard to not feel jealous. ════════════════════

For quite some time, nearly since you met, both you and Donnie had held an affection for one another. Whether it was how he saved you and your friend, April, from the Kraang that first drew you to him, or the fact that he so easily got along with you from then on, it didn’t seem to matter. You became close from that point, and eventually you even took part in most of their missions—after you’d gotten more familiar with fighting through Splinter’s lessons.

A few problems did arise between the two of you though, like how oblivious you both seemed when it came to actually catching on that someone might be interested. Or the way doubt crept in because of your close friendship. He’d compliment you a lot, always ensuring your safety on missions, and you did the same for him. But somehow, you both missed the bigger picture. “It’s not something new; he worries about all of us during fights,” you’d tell yourself whenever April pointed it out.

And it was true; he always watched out for his brothers, too. How could he not? They were family. But there he was, watching you train, helping you improve when Splinter was busy.

Other times, you’d be the one to assist him. Sometimes you’d grab things from the top that he did not have easy access to, or simply keep him company in the lab to make sure he took breaks. Lunch, water—the basics. But one thing you both did constantly, no matter how oblivious each of you seemed in the moment, was stare. Even from across the room, one of you would be looking at the other. On movie nights, for example, you’d sit on the couch, Mikey on your right and Casey on your left, everyone focused on the screen—except Donnie, whose gaze would occasionally drift toward you.

He’d become well aware that he was absolutely, undeniably infatuated with you. Even he knew he sometimes went a bit too far with his attention, though his brothers never hesitated to tease him. Raph, mostly. But with his feelings also came doubt, for both of you. After so long, with neither of you daring to believe the other felt the same, you both wondered if it could ever work. You didn’t want to risk your precious friendship on a confession that might lead to rejection. So, silence it was.

“I don’t know, April. Just think about it. If I say something, and he doesn’t feel the same, then this might just ruin our friendship. And I don’t want that.”

Harsh words to admit, really. The thought wasn’t exactly pleasant. April had been trying for ages to nudge you both toward a confession, convinced it would lead to something good. Or maybe that was just the hopeless romantic in her, but she hoped nonetheless. And despite her efforts—along with the boys’ attempts to coax Donnie out of his safe shell—neither of you would budge. Sighing, she finally said, “That is fair, I suppose. But I still stand by what I said earlier. Forgetting doesn’t sound like the best alternative. I’ll help, but that doesn’t mean I’m agreeing with this plan.”

Her words made you smile in gratitude. Crushing on Donnie, though a genuine feeling, had become almost frustrating. He seemed so unaware of your feelings—close, yet so distant. It made you wonder if maybe he really didn’t feel the same. And yes, that stung a little. But it also made you realize that moving on might be necessary. For everyone’s sake, including your own. So, when a boy in your History class asked you out, you accepted. It felt like progress for a moment, but only for a moment. Soon, it became a test to see how quickly you could let go of Donnie, knowing that dwelling on him wasn’t helping you move forward. And after all, it was just a date—a way to focus on someone else. ════════════════════

When it came to being in that position—being told by the girl he couldn’t stop being so fond of that she had a date with some guy, a human guy no less—Donnie wanted to dig himself a hole in the lab and never come out. He’d imagined this day might come, and he felt like he was losing his chance—if he ever even had one. His heart sank as the words left your mouth, and it was hard not to show his disappointment. But for your sake, he put on a smile and congratulated you. He even wished you good luck. Then, once you left the lair, he retreated to his lab, shutting the door behind him, eyes focused on his work. Anything to avoid thinking about his growing jealousy, even for a moment. The others noticed the slump in his shoulders as he walked away but decided to let him be. They knew it might be a long evening in the lair, but they figured the situation might resolve itself—if it could.

--- Time Skip ---

Hours went by, some faster than others, and soon you found yourself back in your apartment, changed into a new set of clothes, ready to sleep the day away. Reflecting on what was supposed to be a date, you thought back to what he’d said: “Listen, I’m not really one for these serious things, ’kay? You’re cute, I’ll give you that. But I’ve got my ways around relationships, if you want to keep me happy.” That was about all you’d heard before mentally checking out of the “date.” He seemed nice at first but turned out to be a self-centred idiot—not the good kind of idiot either. And with all his talking, you made little effort to understand what he really meant.

You couldn’t recall the whole conversation, but you knew there was no way you’d repeat the experience. The things he said—about you and about others—were all wrong for you. He kept going on about some “party with girls” he had to get to, and the moment he crossed a line, you’d made your exit, realizing just how little interest you had in seeing him again.

You’d only just drifted off when a soft, rhythmic tapping at the window stirred you back to consciousness. Groaning, you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders and shuffled toward the window, squinting through the curtains. It could only be one of the guys, you knew, but the last thing you expected was to find Donnie, hanging upside down on the fire escape patiently, his expression hovering somewhere between nervous and excited.

Fighting back a laugh, you pushed the window open. “Donnie?” you whispered, the surprise obvious in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

He offered a tentative smile, voice low. “Hey. Sorry if I woke you. Just, uh… thought I’d check in. Make sure you got home okay.”

You laughed softly, raising an eyebrow. “It’s a bit late for a check-in, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I know, but…” He shrugged, his calm exterior cracking just enough to reveal a hint of nervousness. “Couldn’t help myself. April mentioned the date didn’t, uh… go quite how you planned?”

A sigh slipped from you as you pulled the blanket around yourself a little tighter, rolling your eyes. April, of course. “You could say that,” you chuckled. “He was… something, alright.” You caught his amused grin, the faint hint of relief there not lost on you. You shook your head, feeling a smile tug at your lips despite it all.

Donnie’s face softened, his eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, well… I think you deserve better than that.” His voice was quiet, sincere, but even he looked surprised by his own words, cheeks darkening just a bit under his mask. “I mean, someone who’d treat you better than that. A lot better, actually.”

A warmth spread through you, his words settling in, making you feel a little lighter after such a disappointing night. His gaze hadn’t wavered, and you felt yourself holding your breath, caught off guard by how much his simple words meant.

“Thanks, Donnie. For worrying about me,” you said, the words barely a whisper. Before either of you could overthink it, you leaned out the window and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Donnie froze completely, his eyes wide, his usual calm vanishing in a heartbeat as he stared at you, utterly speechless. It took him a second—maybe two—before he swallowed, blinking a few times as if to process that the kiss had actually happened. A deep blush crept over his face, nearly reaching the edges of his mask.

“Oh. I, yeah.. Anytime,” he stammered, his voice slightly higher than usual. His hand moved almost instinctively to where you’d kissed him, and for a second, he was all but suspended there, entirely lost in the moment.

You bit back a laugh, giving him a little wave before you gently closed the window and pulled the curtain back in place. A small thrill ran through you as you moved back toward bed, a smile lingering even as you settled back under the blankets.

Outside, Donnie remained still, one hand pressed to his cheek, replaying the moment over and over in his head. A grin broke out slowly across his face, unable to hold back the ridiculous happiness building up inside him. "Oh, man... She kissed me. She actually kissed me.” He couldn’t help the ridiculous grin on his face as he clambered back up the fire escape, his heart still thudding as he slipped back into the shadows, feeling no more of that jealousy from earlier. Not even the knowing looks from his brothers as he made his way through the entrance of the lair brought him fully back, his mind still stuck in that moment.

════════════════════ A/N: Here's my first one-shot. I think it turned out pretty good, considering nearly half of what I made the other night in drafts did not save. But idk if I should make a part 2 for this? I could, if I feel like it. It also depends on what you guys want so I might pole it, but the main idea is that I did it. (Also I love Donnie so much, he's so bf material.) - I do NOT give permission for any of my work to be republished on any other sites, or even here. Not Ao3, not Wattpad, nowhere. This is simply for entertainment purposes and I would appreciate respecting this.

#tmnt #tmnt donnie #tmnt donnie x reader #x reader #tmnt 2012 #raph tmnt #leo tmnt #mikey tmnt #april o'neil #one shot

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lesbehonestsstuff · 3 days ago

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Catholic guilt - part 6

Casey Novak has always been the good catholic girl. Always perfect, always trying to meet high expectations. But she doesn't understand why she feels no interested in the boys who flirted with her, why her eyes instead linger on other girls.

Word count: 2371

Chapter 6/7

I was rushing with deadlines but I finally got time to write so here you go

The day had gone by and Casey had barely moved. She lay there barely able to breathe. The motion felt too hard, the pressure hurting her ribs. She was staring up at the ceiling, the tears that were falling catching on the soft brown fur of the bear. The room felt smaller, suffocating, the walls closing in on her. Her father’s words echoed in her head, “I’ll make you normal if it kills me.”

She wasnt broken, she wasnt something he could fix. Her entire life she had been living under their pressure and she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t let them send her away. She couldn’t lose Alex.

The thought of being torn from the only person who truly loved all of her, who understood her—it send another rush of tears down her face. She couldn’t stay, her father would make sure she was gone by tomorrow. They would force her into that camp, try to erase everything she was, make her forget the love she had for Alex.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes. She knew what she had to do. She couldn’t stay here, not with them. Not after she knew what they’d do.

Quietly, Casey got up and grabbed her backpack from the floor. She moved quickly, her hands shaking as she stuffed it with the most important things she could find—some clothes, her favorite sweater, the one she had stolen from Alex months ago, her favorite book filled with images and a photo from the Photo Booth she and Alex had taken, all of it hiding in its pages.

She opened the door to her room and heard them downstairs, dishes clinging and her fathers voice rough and loud as it always was. She took the chance to run to their room, to the box of documents her mother kept under their bed and quickly grabbed what was hers. Everything else she left behind. There wasn’t time. She needed to get out.

Wiping her the rest of her tears with the back of her hand, Casey shoved everything in her bag and crossed the room to the window. She stopped for a second looking back at all the memories, all the things she was leaving behind. It made her ache to know that her life would never be the same, that her parents were so hateful they had pushed her to this point. If she stayed she would be gone, so she would go before they could take her.

Grabbing the bear Alex had won for her and stuffing it at the top of her backpack she went to her window. The latch clicked softly as she unlocked it, the cool night air rushing in as she pushed the glass up. She hesitated for a moment when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, glancing back toward the door. If he heard her, if he caught her leaving, she didn’t know what he’d do. But she wasn’t waiting around to find out.

With a deep breath, Casey climbed out onto the roof, it had gotten dark and she used it to her advantage, her movements quick and careful. She’d done this a dozen times before to sneak out, but tonight it felt different. Tonight she wasn’t sneaking away, she was escaping.

The gravel crunched under her feet as she dropped down onto the driveway below. Without looking back, she ran. The wind whipped through her hair, and the cool night air stung her cheeks, but she didn’t slow down. Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse racing as she made her way to Alex’s house, each step fueled by desperation and fear.

By the time she reached Alex’s house, her lungs were burning, and her legs felt like lead. She scrambled around to the side, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could see Alex inside asleep on the couch, the tv illuminating her features. She tapped on the window trying to get her attention.

She could see Alex slowly wake up, looking around confused until their eyes locked together Alex’s came closer rushing to the window, her brows furrowed in confusion at first, but the second she saw Casey’s tear-streaked face, the confusion melted into concern.

Alex pushed the window open, leaning out. “Casey?” Her voice was soft, but Casey could hear the worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Let me in,” Casey choked out, her voice shaking, desperate with sobs that wanted to crawl out her throat. “Please.”

Without hesitation, Alex disappeared for a second, and Casey heard the sound of her unlocking the back door. She rushed to meet her, and as soon as Alex opened the door, Casey crashed into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Alex’s arms tightened around her immediately, holding her close. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Alex murmured, her voice gentle, though panic was creeping into her tone. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Case. What happened?”

Casey couldn’t speak. She just clung to Alex, her fingers digging into her shirt as if letting go would make everything worse. Her body shook with sobs, her face buried against Alex’s neck.

Alex guided her inside, shutting the door softly behind them and leading Casey upstairs to her bed. They sat down, and Alex kept her arms around Casey, rubbing slow circles on her back. “You’re safe here. It’s okay.”

Alex felt helpless, she held tightly to Casey, waiting as sob after sob came out of her. She had never seen her so distressed and not knowing what had caused it had her so worried she felt like she was going mad. Casey was barely breathing between her cries, the desperation in them making Alex’s eye glaze over.

It took what felt like forever, but eventually, Casey’s sobs subsided enough for her to speak. Her words came out in ragged gasps, choked and broken, as she tried to explain what had happened. “My dad…he knows…they both do. He—he called me a pervert. He said—he said I was disgusting. That I’m.. that I’m—”

Alex’s felt her breath knocked out of her at the words, her grip tightening protectively around Casey. She pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing the hair out of her face, her blue eyes full of worry and love. “Casey… they’re wrong,” she whispered, her voice filled with so much conviction that Casey almost believed it. “They’re wrong. You’re not. You’re perfect, just as you are.”

Casey just shook her head, a hollow look in her eyes. She hugged her arms tightly around herself, a faint wince escaping her lips as her hand brushed against a tender spot on her arm.

Alex’s brows furrowed, and her gaze dropped to Casey’s arm. She reached out, gently lifting Casey’s sleeve to reveal a darkening bruise wrapping around her arm, the clear mark of a handprint. Her breath caught, her eyes wide with shock. “Casey… who did this to you?”

Casey swallowed hard, her gaze shifting away. “My dad,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alex’s hands were gentle, but her voice was filled with barely controlled anger. “Is… is there more?”

Without a word, Casey lifted her shirt slightly, showing Alex the darkening bruise that was starting to form on her ribs. Alex’s face went pale, her jaw tightening as she took it in, her hands shaking as she looked at Casey, barely holding back her tears. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at the bruises, her mind racing. Finally, she took a shaky breath and gently lowered Casey’s shirt.

“Stay right here,” she whispered, her voice tight. She left the room briefly, returning with a small ice pack. She knelt beside Casey, her fingers gentle as she traced them on Caseys side, her touch so careful it made Casey’s chest ache. “This will help a little,” Alex murmured, pressing the ice pack to Casey’s ribs, her hand lingering to hold it in place.

Casey winced at the cold but Alex kept the pack still, she then pulled out a small camera her expression sad, a camera Alex had that Casey knew was filled with their happy moments. “Case, I’m going to take pictures of these, okay?” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were filled with a fury Casey had never seen. “Just in case. In case we ever… in case you need to show someone.”

Casey nodded numbly, letting Alex take the photos. She hated the idea, hated that this moment was now something to remember. Hated that it was now going to be tainted. But as she watched Alex, the determination in her girlfriend’s eyes made her feel safer. She knew Alex would protect her. She trusted her.

With the bruises documented, Alex sat back down beside Casey, her hand resting on her knee. “What happened after that?” she asked softly, her voice gentle but urgent.

Casey shook her head another sniffling “My dad… he… he said they’re sending me to a camp. Tomorrow. He’s taking me tomorrow morning, Lexie—”

Alex’s arms brought her back in, pulling her as close as she could. She felt nauseous at the thought. She had heard, had been threatened by her parents at some point, but the thought of Caseys parents actually following through and sending their daughter to one of those places made Alex feel like she was going to be sick. “No, they can’t… they can’t do that. Casey, we won’t let them. We won’t let them take you.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Casey cried, her voice breaking. “I can’t go back home. I can’t. But if I stay, they’ll find me—”

“We’re not staying,” Alex said firmly, her voice strong despite the fear in her eyes. The decision quickly made. “We’re leaving. Tonight. You and me.”

Casey pulled back, her eyes wide with fear. “No, you can’t… you can’t just leave because of me. I don’t want you to throw everything away.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Alex said, her voice soft. She cupped Casey’s face gently, wiping away her tears with her thumbs. “I don’t care about any of it if I don’t have you. I’m not letting them take you away.”

“But… your parents—”

“They don’t care about me,” Alex said quickly, pain glazing over that was gone as fast as it came. “They stopped caring years ago. But there’s someone who does. My uncle, Bill. He’s like us, Casey. He understands what we’re feeling. He lives upstate, in New York. He’ll take us in. We can be safe there.”

Casey’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process any of it. Everything was too much. They had been happy the day before, everything had been perfect and now it was all falling apart.

She knew Alex meant it. They were going to run away—leave everything behind, leave the people that hurt them, the awful town they had never felt welcome in. They didn’t have a choice. If they stayed, Casey’s parents would destroy them.

Alex was right. They couldn’t, they had to go.

“Okay,” Casey whispered, her voice shaky. “Okay, let’s go.”

Alex gave her a kiss, a soft kiss that sent a wave of warmth through Casey. They rested their foreheads together as the last of Casey’s tears fell. “Okay” Alex whispered giving her another peck and pulling away.

Alex packed in silence, the weight of what they were doing sinking in with every item she shoved into her bag. Casey had taken only what she needed—the things she couldn’t live without—and left everything else behind. It didn’t matter anymore. She sat there, the ice offering her some relief as she wondered how she had managed to find herself so lucky to have someone like Alex by her side.

When Alex was done she grabbed Casey’s hand giving it a soft squeeze. “You ready?”

Casey squeezed her back with a small nod “Yeah. Im ready”

They went down the stairs, Alex turning all the lights off and grabbing her keys as they walked outside. She locked the house, giving it one last look as they headed out into the night.

The bus station was quiet at this hour, the sky just beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. Alex bought two tickets, one-way, to upstate New York. Casey stood beside her, still feeling the last waves of shock pass through her, trying to wrap her mind around what they were doing.

They were really leaving. Running away together. It would’ve been romantic had the situation not been so dire.

As they boarded the bus, Alex took Casey’s hand, not leting her go as they made their way to the back, finding seats by the window. The bus was nearly empty, just a few other passengers scattered throughout. It was perfect—no one would notice them. No one would care.

Casey leaned her head on Alex’s shoulder, her body exhausted from the everything that had happened. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her feeling drained, her emotions overwhelming. But there was one thing she knew for certain—Alex was with her. Alex was always with her.

“I’m sorry,” Casey whispered, her voice chocked up and soft.

“For what?” Alex asked, her fingers gently brushing through Casey’s hair.

“For making you leave. For… everything.”

Alex leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Casey’s forehead. “You didn’t make me do anything. I chose this because I love you, Casey. I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.”

Casey felt tears prick at her eyes again, but this time they weren’t tears of fear. She shifted, pressing a soft kiss to Alex’s shoulder, her heart swelling with gratitude and love. She didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve Alex’s kindness, her love. But Alex was here, holding her, refusing to let her go.

They were running, yes. But they were running together.

As the bus rumbled to life, the city disappearing behind them, Casey let her eyes drift shut, exhaustion pulling her under. She felt safe here, next to Alex, wrapped in her warmth. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t afraid, she didn’t feel guilty anymore.

#law and order svu #alex cabot #casey novak #casey novak x alex cabot #calex #probably could’ve done better at proofreading but it is what it is

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