#big bang round 1 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moondirti · 1 year

Text

animalic (2)

← chapter 1 // series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 2.2k summary: a game of cat and mouse warnings: enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, guns, death, blood, angst, no use of y/n (reader is referred to as ‘wraith’) notes: remember when i said part 2 would take a while? i lied. the next chapter is fun as all hell so i wanted to churn this one out as build up. teehee i hope yall like it regardless

He let you go.

No matter how Miguel tries to vindicate it, he rounds back to the same conclusion. You weren’t subtle, regardless of what you’d have yourself believe; he’d seen the calculations glaze over your eyes the instant he pinned you to the wall. He knew what was coming, how your heavy breathing was a cover for the clicks of his watch – of which he heard regardless – and your squirming a diversion from the movement of your busy fingers. He had a goddamn plan too, a fail safe in case you decided to attack instead of listening to reason.

(One he’d settled on for the duration of your lost consciousness, for knowledge that you would.)

So, there is no dismissing it. You’re obnoxious and lack precision, and he could have had you halfway back home by now, which isn’t the case – because he let you go.

The frigid air of his office thrums with irritation, weighing down on his shoulders until they collapse inwards, his hands coming up to rub the weariness off his expression. HQ has been unsettlingly quiet as of late – occupied by only a fraction of its regular population – and the peace worries him. History betrays its status as the precursor to havoc; lulls in the past have fooled him into believing his mission was drawing to a close, only for another anomaly, another mess, to spin that naivety on its head.

You were one such instance. A year ago, you’d popped up on an Earth that wasn’t your own, and didn’t leave until you’d drawn all that you could from it. It’s an empty husk now, lacking land to propagate its agriculture. Thousands – millions – dead, from the flap of a butterfly’s wings.

Parasite. A fucking parasite who just won’t quit.

The mantra surges through him, festering from the base of his gut to the cap of his tongue. It bursts out with a roar right then, the sudden violence finding monitors thrown across the room, smashed to bits of orange light and static. It does nothing to sate him, though, the heady anger filtering out like molasses. His back hunches as he draws in thin breaths. He doesn’t count, nor does he attempt to. Instead, he looks for his only real decompressor.

The video of Gabriella flickers at him from a distant floor, the transparent tablet wrecked with four distinct claw marks. He exhales, pulling it back to the platform with an extended web.

“Boss,”

His mija smiles toothily down at his digital self, winding her small palms in his hair for balance as he carries her. He recalls helping with hers, tying it back into shabby ponytails the mornings before a big game. How she wouldn’t let anyone fix it afterwards, not until her elastic slipped off the ends and her bangs hindered her playing. And she’d run to him, whenever, to get it fixed again.

“Boss.”

Her jokes resonate still, echoing laughter from when she’d poke fun at how bad he’d gotten at it, amused by the sudden decline in ability. To Miguel, it was one more reminder that the life he led wasn’t his own.

“Oh Miguel!”

So much for calming down.

“Lyla.” He looks up at the virtual assistant, her corporeal character a little fuzzy around the edges. She chooses to ignore his dissociative episode, rather projecting a map of the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse, a point off centre highlighted in red. His heart skips. Placing the tablet down on his desk, he takes a step closer to survey the pin.

“Managed to track the Wraith down using the day pass you’d given her. Currently stationed on Earth-15, no signs of jumping anytime soon.”

Parasitic, and stupid enough to forgo destroying a potential tracking device.

Lyla snickers, seemingly able to read the sneer pulling at his cheeks.

“Seems like she’s afraid of glitching more so than she is you, Boss.”

His glare snaps to meet her heart shaped sunglasses.

“Funny.” His assistant shrugs at his admonishment. “Pull up the anomaly cam.”

A second later, your figure blinks into sight.

You’re crouched atop a tiled floor, the grout darkened to near-black with grime. In front of you lies a sparse spread of medical supplies; gauze, scissors, and miniature packets of disinfectant wipes. Miguel can’t help but wonder what you think you’re doing, treating your wounds in a bathroom as unsanitary as the one that cramps you. Graffiti littered walls, nests of used paper towels in every corner. You spring up to wash your hands after undoing the old bandages that hugged your forearm, but all that comes out is an inconsistent splutter of grey water.

His chest twinges, a tug of intrinsic sympathy playing against him. It worsens at the sight of your injury, the consequences of his talons’ assault on you, the puncture points brimming yellow and blackening closer to their middles. He can’t tell whether it’s gotten any better, whether you were good and had it treated by a professional, or made the common mistake of relying too much on your enhanced healing.

“Gave her a harsh gig there. You always that rough?”

“When I need to be.” Miguel murmurs, skimming over the conspicuous innuendo.

“Right. Until it comes to finishing the job, that is.” And, despite the offence taken to Lyla’s jest, he can hardly disagree. Newfound resolve hardens within him, sympathy fleeting at its failure to deter him.

“Set coordinates for Earth-15.” He rumbles, gesturing to his wrist as he walks away. The assistant does as she’s told, shrinking back to an icon on his watch. While waiting for the portal to configure, Miguel cocks his head, taking one last look at your oblivious form.

“I won't let her get away this time.”

“Put the money in the fucking bag or she gets it!”

Of all the spider-people you’ve met, you don’t believe any have been the hostage in an armed robbery situation. You imagine that they’d come in at the last minute, valiantly swinging through the window, accentuating their arrival in a shower of shattered glass. They’d demand the money be remitted, and all’s well that ends well. But – of course – there’s got to be a first for everything; your record just so happens to be the lamest of the bunch.

The masked man presses the gun further into your temple, bursting capillaries until the spot starts to ache with a raw tenderness. His body wraps around you, other arm waving wildly outwards, extending a plastic bag to the poor soul behind the register. You take a great gulp of air, staring at the buzzing fluorescents above, and pray.

Lord, now would be a really good time to phase out.

“P-Please, leave her be.” The owner throws a potful of crumpled fives into the bag, as if to punctuate her plea. The man is dismissive in face, urging her for more, shaking the receptacle with comedic insistence. You purse your lips, blinking up at the ceiling once more.

Or make this more exciting, at the very least.

“And you!” You’re jolted out of being a passive observer, rattled when the man diverts his attention to you. His gun thrusts harder against your forming bruise, adding to the list of damages sustained in the past week alone. You peer at him from the corner of your eye. His roll incredulously, pointing to the bill in your grip. “The twenty!”

“Is that a real gun?”

“Wha– Of course it’s a real fucking gun! Put the money–”

“In the bag. I know.”

His hold on you slackens, expectant. By contrast, you ball your fist and punch him square in the nose. The hit sends him reeling farther than it should for the amount of space you had in winding back, the feat prompting a deluge of pride to wash over you. It’s bolstered when he drops the spoils in the process, toppling into a rack of chips and cup noodles that consequently cushion his fall.

Your first save.

Filled with bravado, you snatch and pass over the bag to the cashier.

“Here you go, ma’am.”

But she doesn’t look at you. Rather, her stare remains trained on the man you’d just disabled. Nerves maturating, you join her line of vision, only to be met with the barrel end of his weapon. You catch the vicious conclusion in the way his hand trembles, veins protruding from the pale skin, supplying courage to the finger hovering right over the trigger. You process it all, aware of the ways it can end, at how fast it can sour.

Before you can so much as act on it, he shoots.

Your skin prickles.

You’ve heard stories of people who don’t realise when a bullet strikes them. Their bodies take time to catch up to the pain, cells stuck in paralytic shock, stimulus signals held somewhere between the existential and a will to delay the inevitable. You think you understand what they mean, your mind dragging in a rare bout of silence. Things slow, for a perennial moment, and you wonder how fast the blood loss will kill you.

You can do nothing but follow the man, who scrambles to a stand, letting him take the money – with whatever else – and watching as he runs out onto the street.

And even still, the pain hasn’t caught up to you.

Looking down, the case starts piecing itself together. No blood sticks to your shirt, the fabric still as pristine as it had been upon purchase. You check your arms, then your legs, then reach up to smooth over your head. Nothing. You’re okay.

The relief is short-lived when the morbid sound of gurgling meets your ears. Slowly, you turn, bracing for what you knew you’d find.

The scene unfolds with a distressing intensity as crimson liquid blooms from the cashier’s throat. The torrent is never-ending, every gush of ichor bringing forth a new momentum, splattering its macabre scene over the register. Her eyes gloss over with an unshed panel of tears, and she looks to you for help.

She looks to you.

(You don’t admit it to yourself, but it’s the novelty of that fact that pushes you into action.)

With a swift leap over the counter, you intercept her mid-fall, carefully cradling her weight as you guide her down to the ground. Scanning your surroundings, you search for a means to call for help. A rotary phone catches your recognition, situated a ways off by the back exit. Despite the inconvenient placement, it stands as your sole option at this stage.

In a split second decision, you sling your backpack off, hastily rummaging through its contents. You find solace in your hoodie, gathering its folds to tightly bunch it up, converting it into a makeshift compress. Knowing she lacks the strength to apply pressure to the wound, you move to wrap it around her neck, hopeful that it’s tight enough to stem the bleeding while leaving enough room for air.

Urgency fuelling your every step, you leave her side for a fleeting moment, dashing over to call an ambulance. Your medical knowledge only extends so far, and some selfish part of you itches to pass on the responsibility to someone more competent. It’s an impulse that derives from an innate acceptance, that resoundingly insightful voice in your head telling you it's too late. That she’s already dead, had been from the moment the bullet – that was meant for you – missed.

Perhaps your help isn’t really helpful at all, then. Perhaps it’s your attempt to wash your hands of the sin. You think back to the grey water in the bathroom, how exasperated you had been at your inability to stay clean.

(You don’t think you’ll ever rid yourself of this.)

“911, what’s your emergency?” The question crackles through the receiver.

The bell by the entrance jingles, the chime accompanied by heavy footsteps. You press yourself against the wall, the concept of the robber returning filling you with such dread that you feel your stomach tighten and congeal. It’s a heavy lump, icy cold and slippery, and it seems to weigh a hundred pounds.

“Hello?” The operator says.

But if it was the man, then he'd have to have changed into a navy and red suit. Somehow, your terror worsens.

“Hijo de la chingada…” The whisper is barely legible, but the deep baritone is discernible enough to validate the assumption pulled from your brief glimpse. You’d recognise him anywhere.

Shrinking in on yourself, you cup your palm over your mouth. “Hello,”

“Ma’am? Can you describe your emergency?”

“There was an armed robbery at the convenience off sixth and Third. Someone’s hurt.” You hardly register the words as they escape you, eyeing Miguel when he crouches over the lady. You’re propelled back to the conclusion of your last meeting; how his claws tore into you, how his persistence didn't falter until you pressed yourself onto him.

That kiss.

He runs a finger over your hoodie-turned-compress, wavering, like he can’t quite place where he’d seen it before.

Or, maybe he can, for he spins to meet your wide-eyed stare.

You drop the phone, bolting out the back door, charged on a paroxysm of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated panic.

chapter 3 →

follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs to be notified of future updates!

@ashjbu @its-cat-eyes @lavnderluv @22carolina08 @chocolat3pudding @fucknuggets420 @storyteller-le @royalpurplehuskies @vernon-dursley @ohantonia @vngelis @brucewaynesturtleneck @goldstars-to-all @swissy23 @aisyakirmann @kocasoda @starrfragment @@rei-vi @mbapbaesluvr @strangerfromketterdam @reypolaris @reddeaddepressed @@one17 @feyrespaintings @kuinnoa @omeletteattack @the-omnipotent-phlowr @coacaiyne @tis-niki @arcanaaaa @cookiezxx @flourescence

3K notes · View notes

sweetimpurity · 4 months

Text

I Think I'll Keep You 3

Notes: Thank you for your patience and your kindness! I've been finishing school and I'm graduating next week so I'm BUSY! But I love you guys and I hope you enjoy! I recommend rereading the last section of Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 next chapter>>

w.c. 8k. rated p for plot

Miguel storms back to his dorm, across campus, clutching his jacket around his bare torso. Feeling like an absolute idiot for losing his cool. Losing control. What is it about you that makes him act this way?

It’s like you’re trying to knock down the walls he’s built around himself all his life. Running to his building as rain starts to sprinkle, he makes it to the lobby, rushing around, pacing in the elevator getting up to his floor, his mind on total lockdown. As the doors open, he steps out, eyes widening, heart thumping, instantly seeing Peter and a few other teammates down the hall walking his way. Before another thought crosses his mind and before they can spot him, he steps back into the elevator as the doors are closing, slamming on the buttons for the lobby. His heart beating out of his chest.

It’s starting to pour by the time he gets back downstairs, racing out before anyone he knows will see him. He’s sure they’ll get a bloody nose if anyone tries talking to him now. He keeps his head down, pushing through the doors outside and walking in the freezing rain, running at a certain point, crossing the courtyard and running to the other side of campus towards the athletic building. His Nikes splash in shallow puddles along the uneven parking lot, his dark eyes squinting as rain pelts down from above. His long legs bring him closer to the doors, closer to sanctuary, out of the freezing rain. Soaking his jacket, his hair, dripping down the bridge of his nose, fluttering in his eyelashes.

He pushes through the doors, sighing audibly in a mixture of relief and annoyance and realizing how fast he was running. He pushes through the next set of doors, walking down the dark hallways of the building. Sneakers squeaking softly on the linoleum as he reaches the team's locker room door. Rain drips down from the curls that flopped onto his forehead and down the nape of his neck. Droplets glistening off his cheeks and his nose as he flicks on one of the locker room lights. He has no idea why he came here. Maybe it’s just the only place no one else is.

He runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back from the cold rain, a few stray hairs springing out around his face. His mind flashes with images of you. Your smile, the pink tint of your lips, the peachy soft roundness of your cheek. His breath is heavy and his cheeks flushed from the cold. He gets to his locker, figuring maybe he should just… just do anything… 27… his fingers slip over the lock as rain drips from his curls… he could run around the field until he passes out…15… the color of your eyes… he could work on those drills he just gave the team the other day…10… the joint of your hip… the team does have a big game coming up this weekend… the lock won’t unlock… 27… the crook of your neck… he could go back to his dorm and work on that grant proposal he’s been needing to start…15…he could go to the lab and keep working on his thesis project… your gasping whispers of his name… 10… he could go to you right this second and tell you he’s sorry… 27… maybe that would make things better…15… the sound of your whimpers… the pitch of your moans… he could kick a ball around until it fucking pops… holding you close as you come down… 10!!... kissing you as you’re trembling… Why won’t the lock unlock? “Fucking unlock!!” He bellows and tugs on the lock in anger. His anger is blinding, numbing, controlling… his fist slams into the front of his locker. The bang of impact ringing throughout the empty locker room.

Instant pain shoots up his arm but he doesn’t care. He hits the locker again… and then again… and a few more times until the pain is too much to bear. Bang. Bang. BANG! Until his knuckles are worn raw. Punching, beating, denting the big “C” painted on the front of his locker. Captain. Leader. But he feels like a fucking loser. Punch, punch, PUNCH! Until he can’t anymore. “Ah… fuck!” He grunts and clutches his hand. Knuckles busted and fingers tingling hot and numb. “Fuck fuck ah… ngh…” He winces and groans in pain. “Shit…” He sighs and slumps his shoulder against the lockers. His hand throbbing and searing, clutching his hand to his chest in pain. His head rests against his locker, and he can feel the dents from the punches against his arm. Squeezing his eyes shut in pain and trying to stop the tears. Clutching his right hand and beating himself up in his head for being such a baby… for freaking out… for having feelings like this. Even when he’s alone, he won’t let himself cry over this.

“Ah…” He winces, looking down at his hand, trying to move his fingers but the instant swelling makes it practically impossible. Hissing softly at the pressure and pain between his knuckles.

Maybe this was necessary. Maybe this was the only way he’d slow the fuck down for one second to get his head on straight. He’s standing there and going over the events of tonight in his head. All that shit with Dana… then seeing you, kissing you, touching you… leaving because he couldn’t bear to listen to what you were saying. It was too much. It was too real. And the kind of conversation he actively tries to avoid. He can hardly remember what you said, it all feels like a blur right now. He can’t even remember what he said right now either. Probably some douchey stuff. “Ow, fuck…” He sighs and winces, holding his hand close to his chest.

He sits in silence only when he catches his breath enough to suppress the sounds of pure agonizing pain. He feels embarrassed. He thinks you probably hate him now too. You must. How could you not after the shitty things he said. Sighing, he sits down on the bench in the middle of the locker room. His hair still dripping down the back of his neck uncomfortably.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He thinks to himself. Watching the purple bloom over his fingers and feeling the searing hot pain.

Why did I just do that? Freak out. Is it because he knew what you were about to say? That you… you might be in love with him? After all the needy nights, the sneaky meetups and the lazy mornings, why is he so afraid? He can’t help but think of one specific morning... a week before you'd left… after a long night entangled in the sheets.

“You’re so warm…” You had said. Wrapped in his arms after sleeping beside him all night long. Naked and soft in his thick arms. His chest pressed against your back, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He smiled softly to himself, wrapping his arms a little tighter around you. He wanted you to feel warm. He wanted to be the one to warm you.

“You’re so soft…” He hummed into your neck. Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You smiled, feeling so wanted, so safe and secure. No one had ever made you feel this way. And Miguel just kept doing it. When you were in his bed, he was always holding you. Always touching you. The sex was usually rough and desperate, and that was good… that was… incredible. But there was something about seeing him like this. Soft and quiet with all his attention on you. You were just dreaming of the day that these hookups would turn into something more. Trying to be patient but feeling like it would happen very soon.

“That tickles…” You whispered, squirming in his grasp as his breath and his lips tickled your neck. “Shhh…” He shushed you ever so softly, encasing you tighter in his arms and grazing his lips all around your neck and your shoulder. Knowing it’s tickling you, that it’s making you squirm. “Hah…” A soft puff of tense air left your lips at the feeling, unable to resist the urge to squirm and escape his tantilizing torture. “So sensitive…” He whispered, his hand coming up to softly grasp your throat, his lips moving up the side of your cheek before going back into the dip of your neck, biting down softly. You’d never experienced something so intimate, so romantic. You just closed your eyes, accepting everything he’s giving as you usually do. Except right now it feels like he’s giving it just to you. It’s for only you to have. His arm that’s under you wrapped around, his fingers teasingly tracing down your hip.

“Hey, don’t start anything. We both have class soon…” You said with a smile and he nipped at your shoulder. “Mm.” He grumbled defiantly into your neck, breathing in your scent, your shampoo mixed with the sweet smell of your skin. When was he not trying to start something? To fill you up and keep you in his bed all day after having you all night. “You’re not making me late to class again…” You said softly, still smiling as warmth spread over your cheeks. He smiled as you brought that up again. You just couldn’t seem to let that go. “It was one time…” He hummed playfully. “One too many…” You said with a sort of mischievous smile. “One too many…” He echoed your words in a breathy laugh, scoffing at your teasing. His voice is deep with sleep, fingers brushing down your chest, against your soft plush tummy and to your side, his fingertips pressing pleasantly to the little love-handles at your back, up to your shoulder blades and down your arm, his fingers encasing the back of your hand, so gentle, so soft. You’re still crushing on him hard except this time around he’s fucking you like he owns you and holding you like he made you. He sighed against your neck.

“You know what’s better than being late?... Staying in bed…” He said all smugly. “You know what’s actually better than being late?... Being on time…” You retorted back and he laughed softly. He can play this game. “You know what’s better than being on time?...... Staying in bed.” He repeated and it made you laugh. “You already said that one!” You pouted, feeling the vibrations of his laughter against your back. “You know what’s better than staying in bed?... Going to class…” You said quick and giggled. It didn’t really mean anything anymore but it was fun and you wanted to win this back and forth. “No way, that’s undeniably incorrect.” He smiled, leaning up on his elbow to look more at your face as you were laughing. You looked so cute. He just couldn’t resist. “You know what’s better than going to class?” He asked and you turned back a bit to look in his eyes. “What.” You brow raised knowing he was about to say something stupid. He really wanted you to stay in bed. He smirked. “Sex with me…” It made you roll your eyes when he said it. You should have known. He smiled and moved to climb more on top of you, looking down right into your eyes. The blush that washed over your cheeks and the way you tried to look so unimpressed. “You know what’s better than sex with me?” He whispered. Was there such a thing? “Sex with you.”

You looked up into his eyes. The tension got thicker the longer he just looked at you. Your eyes rolled again, trying not to break out into a big smile. He said it so easily. Before you could even form another thought his lips were on yours. His hand coming to your cheek, fingers soft upon your face. He kept it quick, knowing you actually didn’t want to be late for class. He was only teasing. But he kissed you again… and then again. Soft pecks. That kiss he kept doing. Like his lips couldn’t stop coming back for more. Your eyes fluttered open when you realized he’s not stopping. “Mm!” You hummed, pressing softly against his shoulder and he finally relented, pecking your cheek before getting off of you. Chuckling and laying beside you on his stomach, hooking his arm under the cold side of his pillow.

Your phone buzzed on his bedside table. Catching both of your attention. You picked it up, opening it for the first time this morning. He watched over your shoulder as you unlocked the phone and went to your messages. He tried not to look too much. He did glance at the screen a few times. A certain tension building inside him. Wondering who could be texting you. He wanted to ask, or just outright look at who was texting you but he didn’t want to seem like he cared. His dark eyes flicked to the side of your face, the wisps of hair around your ear and your hairline fanning to your cheek, the slight blush from sleep and his flustering touch. The thought of anyone else seeing you like this, being with you like this…. It made him want to kill any guy who so much as looked your way. Or texted you first thing in the morning…

“My mom is just… driving me crazy…” You sighed and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Your mom?” He managed to say, physically feeling himself relax finding it was just your mother texting you. The knot in his chest unraveling. He remembered you talking about some plans to go home for the weekend. A family reunion type of thing.

“Yeah she’s… I love her but she gets sort of… crazy when it comes to plans…” You said and sent one last text before setting your phone back on the bedside table. “Well she just probably wants to see you…” He said and it brought a smile to your face. “Yeah… I just feel bad when she tries to take care of everything...” You said softly. Thinking of your mom, the kind of brave and determined woman she’s always been. “I told her, I don’t need anything fancy, I just need to see her and dad and my siblings and that’s it. And we have all the time in the world once I’m there. I mean… until it’s time to come back to school obviously…”

“Yeah…” He said softly, but it sounded like his mind was somewhere else.

You have a large family. Lots of siblings. And Miguel doesn’t have that. He has one brother of course but he doesn’t even speak to his parents unless he needs to. It was interesting for him to hear about the conversation with your mom and your relationship with her. How you always spoke of your family with such love and tenderness. He’s never experienced anything like that in his life.

“You have such a…big family.” He said softly. You couldn’t really tell with what tone he was saying it. Whether it was simply an observation, a judgment, or some sort of longing. “I do…” You sighed with a smile. You are the oldest of six which Miguel was flabbergasted to learn. “It’s not something I expected, but once you told me, it made sense.” He stated. And you couldn’t help but be curious as to why he thought that. You turned over on your side to face him more, his eyes meeting yours and the look on his face was a little surprised like you caught him off guard turning around like that. Making a direct connection with him. “Made sense, how?” You asked with a smile, curious about how he sees you. His face felt hot. The way it got hot a lot when you looked at him like that. Like his body knew something his brain didn’t. So he tried to explain while he feels like the wind is being knocked out of him. “Well… you… are very…” He starts and you’re expecting him to say what a lot of people say. That you’re dependable, you’re mature, you’re independent, helpful, capable. Because that’s how everybody has always seen you. Like anytime anyone looks at you, they’re trying to get you to help them in some way. “…patient.” He said. And you’ve never heard that one before. You smiled softly at him and he felt relieved. “Five siblings, I mean you’ve got to be patient, right?” He said and smiled, trying to make it all just a light joke, looking around a bit and away from the way you’re gazing in his eyes. But what he said was pretty profound. Tells you he’d thought about you and the kind of person you are. He’d thought about more than just sex with you. You looked in his eyes, a smile dancing on your lips. It distracted him a bit.

“How does that make you feel?” You suddenly asked him. “What.” He asked, not knowing really how to answer a question like that. “How does my patience make you feel?” You reiterated slowly, looking right in his eyes like you’re staring right into his mind. He thought, getting distracted by that look on your face. The look that for some reason let him know whatever answer he gave you would never be the wrong one.

“It…makes me…feel….”

“Fuck.” He sighs, the memory dissolving in his mind as he shoves it away. How could he be so stupid? Why did he say that kind of stuff to you? It’s like he doesn’t even remember that being him. Like he’s looking at someone else’s memory with you. He becomes someone else when he’s with you. But you looked so happy and he remembers how warm and soft you were. Holding his swollen, mangled hand, he winces at the pain still throbbing. It’s not getting any better, it’s only getting worse.

It’s radio silence for the next few days. Midterms come and over the week you’re finishing up exams and tutoring students to do well. More students than ever are taking advantage of the tutoring program that you basically resurrected from the dead. So that’s a good feeling at least. You’ve been spending basically all your time in the library, both doing your own work and meeting with any students that need help. And just hanging out with a few tutoring friends. There are some new tutors that just joined the club a few weeks ago and it’s made this whole thing much more fun, hanging out with people that are like minded in that way. Wanting to help other people.

You haven't heard from Miguel. You don’t know what became of him on Sunday night. And he didn’t reach out or anything on Monday to talk. Discuss what happened. Will you ever talk to him again? Or do you have to pretend none of this ever happened and he never existed in the first place. Your Sunday night heartbreak turns into Monday numb and Tuesday rage. Now it’s Thursday and you’ve thought of all the things you’d say to him if he showed his face again. But deep down you know it’s only the kind of thing you’d never be able to say. Like scripting the perfect comebacks in the shower and kicking yourself for not thinking to say it in the moment.

It’s hard not talking to him. Not seeing him basically everyday. Because before this past weekend you were seeing him every second you both had to spare. You’re mad at him but you miss waking up in his arms. You miss the late night texts, him wanting you, coming to you and making you feel things you’ve never felt before. Maybe you’re delusional. Was that all this was? Sex and pillowtalk? After what he said Sunday night it seems that way and he made you feel bad for ever thinking otherwise. You’re not stupid, you know that friends with benefits exist and fuckbuddies are such a common thing. And you didn’t even need to be his friend if he really didn’t want you to be! There was never even a need for some conversation about labels because to you it just seemed so obvious! No one could fake that desperation and need. That wanting passion you both shared. The things he said as you gave him everything. Your body, your thoughts, your heart. His whispers of wanting you and how good you make him feel.

Of course he felt good. He was fucking you raw almost every night and you let him because you’d fallen in love with him. But were you even friends to begin with? Did he see you as anything more than a body to do whatever he wanted with? You thought he wanted you. You were his. He told you that.

This week has been hell but you push forward. Trying not to isolate yourself and staying in touch with some tutoring friends. Unfortunately, Miguel is so popular that you always find yourself running into his friends too. But you’re realizing more and more that no one knows about you. It’s like Miguel didn’t want anyone to know he was with you. Not even his closest friends.

You’re sitting in the library for a tutoring session. Last minute cramming before the last exams later that day. Typing on your laptop, a student at your side and helping him on a calculus study guide. Elbow leaning on the table, watching him work, checking what he’s doing as he’s doing it. “Simplify it first, then use the formula…” You say softly and he does as you say, erasing some and correcting himself. “And then just the same on the next one?” He asks and you nod. Patient. That word is in your mind. Remembering when he said it. You were a little too patient with Miguel.

Miguel’s watching all of this happen. Standing behind the library door, hidden mostly and only peering in through the window in the door. He finally caught up to you after days of trying to get to you. He tried multiple times to catch you in the library this week but he always missed you. Every night he debated texting you but ultimately decided he wanted you to text him first. Mostly because he had no idea what to say. He just wanted you back. For things to go back to the way they were. He’s pissed himself off. In his mind it’s like he’s convinced himself you don’t want to talk to him.

The library is mostly empty except for you and your tutee. He wants to get you alone right now but doubts he can. Especially when you’re in the middle of doing something. But what you’re doing can’t be as important as what he needs to say to you. As important as him. His hand is aching badly as it has all week since Sunday night. Hidden in his pocket. He hasn’t done anything about it. He’s been taking ibuprofen but it’s not doing much.

If he has to wait hours to talk to you, then so be it. He won’t let this go on any longer. You’re going to talk to him whether you have anything to say or not. Somehow he’s managed to turn his desperation into anger. He leans against the wall outside the library door. Staring at the pattern on the floor. Fidgeting with the seam inside his jacket pocket. Sighing deeply, he feels uneasy thinking about what he’s going to say to you. What you might say to him. He’s got to act tough so he doesn’t lose control of the conversation. If he does he’s sure he’ll lose you. Because he knows deep down that he’s the asshole here. It’s his fault. And he’s scared to beg you for another chance.

These feelings are foreign to him. Never before has he acted this way over someone and he doesn’t know why. Is there something wrong with me? He thinks. That always seems to be his first thought. A while goes by and his mind swirls with thoughts of you.

He’s lost in thought and only glances up as he hears the doors at the end of the hall swinging closed. Someone must have walked by him. He pushes off the wall, instantly going to the window in the library door and seeing you’re finally alone. His heart thumps in his chest. Clenching his swollen bruised hand in his pocket. He sighs and forces himself to walk inside.

He gets halfway to you before you suddenly look up. Stopping him in his tracks. And it’s like he suddenly feels like he’s doing something wrong. Eyes locked and breath caught in both your chests.

It’s been four fucking days. Not a call, not a text. Nothing. And now he’s here. You look away first. Back down to your laptop to continue typing. And he continues walking, stopping at the edge of the table across from you.

It’s silent. Not a word dared spoken until…

“I need to talk to you.” The tall man finally speaks, towering over the table. Silence follows as you think about how to go about this. You thought about this moment all week. All the different scenarios and possibilities. You imagined melting into his arms as you’ve done a million times by now. But thinking back to all those moments it’s like none of that ever mattered because it didn’t matter to him. How can you trust him again when he treated you like he wanted you and then told you, you were never supposed to happen. After he finally spoke, it lit a fire inside you. “I’m busy right now.” You say softly, keeping your eyes locked on your laptop screen. While this time away from him has been hell and you’ve been heartbroken over this, he’s also been a total dick. You don’t want to let him get away with it. You don’t know how you’re going to do that but you try not to bend completely to his will. Your attention is directed back to your keyboard, typing away and ignoring him. All those comebacks are stuck in your throat. Miguel frowns, watching you.

He’s been trying all week to find you. To talk to you. Trying to find sneaky ways so that he doesn't have to beg for your attention. And now seeing you ignore him. He wants your attention and he’s gonna get it.

After a few beats of heavy silence, he walks around the table. You don’t look up, not even sparing him a glance. Glaring at your laptop screen and seeing his movement in your peripherals. He silently walks to the seat right next to you. Pulling it out and slipping down into it to sit beside you. His hands shoved back into his pockets as he sits like he intends to stay.

“Y/n… hey...” He says gently, trying to get your attention. Turning in his chair slightly to face you more, his knee pressing softly into the side of your thigh. He can see your anger, he can feel it too. “I’m not talking to you.” You say without looking at him. “Well I’m talking to you…” He says so softly, one could mistake the tone for sweet nothings. You sigh, closing your laptop with a click, you grab your bag. Ready to just leave and brush him off if he’s not going to take the hint to leave you alone. “No…no.” He says softly and reaches across you, taking your bag, lifting it over and onto his side. So you can’t get to it.

An annoyed huff escapes your lips, crossing your arms and staring straight ahead to avoid him. You’re not good at confrontation. Never had to do something like this before.

His hand comes up to brush your hair back behind your ear. The backs of his fingers brushed across your cheek. And you brush his hand away when he does it. Is he really trying that right now?

“Stop it.” You sigh, pushing his hand away absentmindedly so he opts for resting his arm on the back of your chair. “Come on… let’s talk about this.” He says and you’re starting to fume inside. Now he wants to talk? After you begged him not to leave, begged him to talk to you Sunday night? You look over at him angrily and he keeps his arm around the back of your chair. His broad shoulders give him an advantage. “What do you want?” You glare at him and he sighs. He knew you might be angry but he’s never seen you look at him that way. “Why did you even come here? Just to make things worse?” You frown and keep your arms crossed, closed off from him. “I came here to speak with you.” He says calmly, trying to maintain the control he’s been losing all week. “Well you’re not doing much speaking.” You sigh. A beat of silence follows.

“I want you to come over… tonight…” He says in that soft tone again. In his mind the both of you just need some time and things can go back to normal. “We can cool off and then you can come over and we can just move on from this.” He says and leans back a bit as if that’s that. Everything’s fixed?

“What are you talking about?” You look at him like he’s from another planet. “Can’t we just move on from this?” He asks, patience running even thinner. “This has gone on long enough… I’m tired of it… come over…” He says again and he doesn’t even realize how disappointing this all is to you.

You sigh softly. Feeling let down. He couldn’t even apologize. Couldn’t fix the problem he created. He didn��t come here to explain, or apologize, or to check up on you. The words just start to flow now.

“So you just came here to get your dick wet, is that it?” You say and stare him dead in the eyes. But his expression changes, brow raises in a certain surprise. He wasn't expecting you to say something like that.

“No… I… I wanted to…” He starts but it’s like he can’t find the words. “I just wanted to see you.” He says feeling like he’s teetering on a very dangerous line right now. And silence follows.

Why must he be so confusing? It’s like he’s making it your fault that he has no idea what he wants or how he feels. This week started with you feeling so small and insignificant. You told yourself that he’d never talk to you again after the things he said. That he really regretted being with you. That you were never supposed to happen. Just like he said. But now he’s back and he doesn’t even apologize? He just wants to act like none of it ever happened? Like he didn’t break your heart?

“Why did you ask me to tutor you? That day?” You suddenly ask as it’s something you’ve been wondering and these are the things he’s not good at talking about. He knows all of this started with him acting like a greedy douchebag but he didn’t expect to feel this way towards you. He doesn’t want to tell you the real reason he invited you to his dorm a month ago. The real reason being he wanted a quick easy fuck with someone who seemed eager and innocent. He feels like a fucking jerk. “I don’t know…” He sighs and shakes his head, looking down at the table then back up at you. All your words just seem to come spilling out now.

“Well you knew that I liked you...” You state as if it should be obvious. “What do you mean?” He asks and your brow furrows. Is he serious? “You… you knew that I liked you. When you asked me to tutor you? A month ago??” You ask hopefully, trying to confirm what you hoped to be true. You had thought he knew you had feelings for him all this time. You even hoped those feelings were returned. “N-no I… I mean I assumed maybe you might have. I didn’t really think about it too much” He says a bit nervous about where this is going. His cool control slipping. But everyone likes him so it just makes sense that you would like him too. That’s why you didn’t refuse him. And it’s all getting twisted up in his head. “Didn’t think about it? Like… it wasn’t important to you whether I liked you or not?”

And the silence falls over the both of you right then. “Well then what is this? What have we been doing?” You frown at him, waving your hands in the air a bit because you just can’t understand how you got to this point and he just keeps acting so oblivious. And he’s losing control.

“No. Wait. I didn’t say it right. I-”

“Why did you start doing all this then? If you didn’t even like me in the first place?”

His eyes go wide, not having an answer that wouldn’t make you feel even worse. “I don’t know…” He says again. He doesn’t seem to know a goddamn thing. “Was it just to string me along?! Is this all just a joke to you?! Are you trying to make fun of me or something?” You press for answers, feeling more heartbroken the longer he doesn’t give you a real answer. “No! It’s not! I am not trying to make fun of you!” He exclaims, shaking his head. This isn’t going how he wanted. This is spinning out of his control and he’s on the verge of all this collapsing. If this happened with anyone else he’d just forget it ever happened in the first place. But he couldn’t forget you if he tried. He doesn’t understand that feeling.

“You’ve just admitted you didn’t even like me when you first started this… and after a month of me giving you nothing but sex, you still just ‘don’t know’?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

“That’s exactly what you just said! And apparently I was never even supposed to happen in the first place.” You throw his own words back at him and he scoffs before scrambling to explain himself in a way that won’t make you hate him even more.

“I freaked out… I don’t know why I freaked out. Can’t you just forget it? What I said was stupid I don’t even know what I was thinking…” He insists. “Seems like you were thinking a lot actually. That this was your plan all along. You don’t want a relationship, you just want a fucktoy…” You scoff and stand up from your seat, to which he immediately stands up too. His earlier confidence is crumbling.

“Come on, I was… drunk!” He scrambles to justify his outburst Sunday night.

“You said you weren’t drunk or were you lying about that too?” You move past him to grab your backpack from where he put it trying to keep it from you.

“Can you just come over? Let’s forget about this, this is a waste of time.” He begs and follows you around as you’re collecting your things off the table and shoving them into your backpack.

“I don’t think it’s a waste of time…” You say softly and shove your computer inside. “Yeah, well I do… you have wasted my time!” He raises his voice, trying to get a rise out of you but when he sees your disapproving expression he knows that wasn’t the right move. With one last zip, you’re starting to leave the empty library. And he follows frantically.

“W-Wait! Just wait… w-what do you want me to do? You want me to block Dana’s number? I’ll do it!” He’s speaking fast and frantic, reaching for your hand and holding it to stop you from leaving him.

“I don’t want you to block Dana’s number… I don’t care.” You sigh, completely over all of this. It’s too confusing. He’s a mess you’re not sure you want to be a part of.

“I’ll block her right now… you can watch me do it!

“Oh my god… enough…”

“Please.”

“Enough!!”

“I’ll cut her off… I don’t even want to see her anyway, I hate her…and we didn’t fuck on Sunday if that’s what you think!”

“Dana is not the problem”

“Dana must be the problem.”

“I’m telling you, she’s not!” You yell at him. And he finally shuts up, watching you wide eyed as you keep scolding him.

“Do you even hear yourself? D’you ever think that the problem might just be you? Are you incapable of just apologizing or do you genuinely not believe this is all your fault??! All of your problems just have to be other people’s problems right?!” And he flinches as you yell.

He’s stunned by your words and the volume with which you just scolded him. He knows he deserves it but he just can’t stop himself from arguing. He doesn’t want you to hate him even though he deserves it.

“Well I’m not perfect, okay? I can’t be…I can’t be perfect.” He pleads softly, holding onto your hand like a lifeline. A silent plea for you to not let go of him now.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect!”

His eyes stay wide. Staring at you like you’ve just told him a deep dark secret.

“I’m asking you to stop being a selfish asshole!!”

Your voice doesn’t echo in this place padded with old books and hardwood. It's sturdy and final. And finally it seems like you’re getting through to him. Maybe he’s understanding.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same. Do not tell me I was making it all up in my head. I’m not the one misreading things. You are.” You say. Your voice is softer now. Fragile as you can see he’s thinking about all that you just said.

Tell her you’re sorry, Miguel. He thinks to himself. He knows everything you’ve said is what he needs to hear. He knows he hurt you. What he said was not okay. And now he’s made you upset and angry too.

“You’re right I… about everything…” He mumbles. Sighing and looking down. His fingers slipping away from your hand. Letting it go. Letting you go.

“I… I’m sorry.” He finally says. And you let his apology sit. Allowing yourself time to decide if you’ll accept. If he deserves it. The silence is deafening.

“I-I just…” He sighs deeply. At a loss for words. He just feels so stupid. Rubbing his forehead down to his cheek frustrated. Sighing ashamedly as he tries to think of what to say that could fix this. “You asked me… to tell you what I’m feeling and I-I don’t know…” He says softly. And you stare at him wide eyed as he admits this.

“What is that?” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts for a moment. Looking back up at you confused. “Your hand.” You say, your eyes locked on his busted hand as he rubs his face. He pulls it behind his back. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy. “It’s nothing I-” He painfully clenches his hand behind his back. The guilt is overwhelming. Please don’t feel bad for me. He thinks to himself. You’ve been far too patient with him.

“Show me.” You demand softly, looking in his eyes. And you’re serious. He sighs softly and brings his hand out, holding it out sheepishly to show you. The hand that’s held you, the hand that’s touched you… it’s cut up and bruised.

“What happened?” You ask sternly with a hardened expression when you finally see the cuts in his knuckles and the bruises. His hand is mangled, swollen, purple and clearly would cause anyone lots of pain. “Don’t lie to me.” You sternly say. And he doesn’t dare lie to you again. “I just… punched my locker.” He looks down ashamed. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. Broken and defeated. It’s not a good feeling, you don’t like seeing him like this. “When did this happen?” You ask firmly and he answers in a sigh. “Sunday.” Shoving his hand back in his pocket. It makes sense that he would have thrown a fit after he stormed out Sunday night. He must have been going about his week with his hand like that and not doing anything about it. “Did you go to the hospital?” He shakes his head at your question. Averting your gaze. “It’s gonna get worse if you don’t.” You insist and he just nods. For fear of his voice breaking if he found any words.

“I’m sorry Y/n… I’ll just go…” He says softly and steps back, and once again it’s like everything inside him is telling him to leave. You stand there. Not wanting to stop him this time. Watching him as he goes.

“You should go to the hospital.” You say soft and serious as he walks past you. Staying still and not attempting to stop him from leaving. You’ve made your point. And he didn’t win. But neither of you won tonight. He nods softly and keeps his head down, walking past you to leave the library. And he’s going to try his hardest not to bother you again. You’re so kind, so patient, so real. And he fucked up the one good thing he had going on. The one thing that made him feel good. Instead of belittling you, he should have acknowledged that he has some messy feelings of his own.

So he leaves. And you’re left standing in the library. You stood up for yourself. You told him off. But why do you feel so empty? Maybe it was seeing him so broken. When it comes to things that are good for him, he seems to forget himself.

He leaves the library silently. Walking down the dim hallways of the building and then outside. It’s raining again. It’s been raining pretty much all week. Pulling his hood up, he walks down the front steps of the academic building. Walking through the rain and not even bothering to run this time. Letting the rain pelt his sweatshirt, soak right through to his skin. He feels so stupid. He feels confused. And he feels sorry. But you deserve better than him.

Getting back to his residence building, he gets in the elevator. Staring at the floor and leaning his head against the wall as it travels up to his floor. He scoffs when the conversation replays in his head. His own words echoing and hearing himself act like such a dick. He didn’t know what other way to approach you other than to try and make things go back to normal. He wants things the way they were.

But he’s realizing the way things were is not fair to you. It’s not like all month the two of you just happened to cross paths. It’s not like you were sleeping with each other because there was no one else. It’s because neither of you can stay away from the other. It’s this messy obsession fueled with fire. He could touch you blind and know the pulse at your throat, the tips of your fingers, the plush of your stomach. He’d know the whispers of your voice, the fan of your breath over his cheek, the taste of your tongue. So then why is he so afraid? If he’s memorized every shimmering stretch mark, every inch of your skin, the sound of your voice, then why does he keep pushing you away?

He wants you to be his… but he wants to be yours just as much.

Miguel sighs as the elevator finally dings and the door opens. He keeps his head down, walking down the hall to his door. Unlocking it and walking inside. His hand hurts like hell. The cuts are just starting to heal but his fingers are still busted and swollen. It’s hard for him to open and close his hand all the way.

His phone rings, vibrating in his pocket as he peels off his wet hoodie and kicks his shoes off. Pulling it out from his pocket, he sees who’s calling. He didn’t expect it to be you. And it’s not. It’s his Father.

His heart sinks further, letting it ring, staring at the caller ID. This is the last thing he needs right now. Sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his vibrating phone in the palm of his hand, his eyes start to sting. Hot tears welling up and brimming in his eyes. When the ringing finally stops he drops his phone on the bed and drops his face into his hand. A shaky sigh trembling in his chest, swollen, hurting fingers clenching painfully on his lap. His arms wrap around himself, leaning over and down into his bed. He’s so tired. And he’s alone again just like always. He doesn’t feel bad for himself, he feels bad about himself. What is it about him that drives everyone away? You just answered that question for him tonight. It’s just him.

...

“It… makes me… feel… steady? Like… like there’s nothing to worry about. Or like… y’know…” He sighed, flipping over to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling as you looked over at him across the pillows. The words felt trapped in his chest but they flowed like a river from his lips. “Like things feel slow...in a good way.”

…

He remembers saying that. He remembers meaning every word. Right now he feels anything but steady. He's collapsed.

His tears dry after a while and he keeps trying to just fall asleep and forget all of this. Even for just a few hours. But he can’t seem to just fall asleep. His head hurts and all he wants is to rest for once after this shitty week. But his running mind won’t let him.

His eyes crack open to check the time, his alarm clock blaring red in the darkness of his room. 2:17am. “Ugh…” He sighs, letting his head fall back onto the covers. He’s been sitting like this for hours now.

Knock knock knock.

He hears the knock on the door, flinching and sitting up slightly on his elbows. Watching the door and wondering if he’s hearing things. But there it is again. Three soft knocks.

“Miguel?” Your soft voice sounds from the other side of the door and he sits up completely. Eyes wide and heart thumping. This is his last chance. He can’t mess it up this time. He immediately gets up and turns on his desk light, running a hand through his hair and going to the door, unlocking the bolt and opening it. He doesn’t care if it seems desperate, he is desperate.

He looks smaller somehow. Or maybe you just feel bigger in some way. He’s staring at you as he stands in the opening of his door. And his immediate instinct is to try whatever he can to make things better.

“Y/n… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t hav-”

“Put your shoes on.” You shush him softly. You didn’t come here for an apology.

“What?” He steps forward, not understanding your request. It’s 2am and you’re both half asleep anyway.

“Put your shoes on please.” You say again. “And a hoodie or something, it’s cold outside.”

His brow furrows in confusion but he’s not going to argue with you right now. You’re here and talking to him so that’s what matters. Using his one good hand, he pulls his sneakers on at the door, grabbing his hoodie off the back of his desk chair. “Where are we going?” He asks and passes through his door to you. He’d go anywhere if it meant he could be with you right now. A soft hopeful expression on his face. “We’re going to the hospital.”

To be continued…

images from pinterest

Taglist: @miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@m4dyy @nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

@x0tw0d57 @vampyboys @miguelspriscilla

@francesca-the-1st @migueloharacumslut @daisy-artfield @peachey-pie @izakopanyi2

@rinnako @ohara-whore @migueloharasbbm @razertail18 @laysmt

@tojiragdoll @maiyart @wazawazooo @mun-2996 @marshhbs

#artists on tumblr #smut #artists on tiktok #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara smut #miguel #miguelohara #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguelito

432 notes · View notes

kumkaniudaku · 6 days

Text

Stay A While

Summary: Terry's back home and trying to make amends with an old friend.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,944

Part: 1 of ??

Warnings and Notes: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Drunk minds speak sober thoughts. Or at least Terry hoped that was the case as his thumb hovered over a familiar name in his contact list. A dingey hole in the wall became a haven on the tail end of his journey back to some sense of normalcy. He was down a bike, a truck, and a piece of his heart but continued to press on until fatigue forced him to stop for rest. The owner, a small woman with a big voice noticed his rough appearance as he passed by on foot and invited him inside to duck an incoming storm. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when he repeated that he had ground to make up before nightfall.

When she asked if he needed help he politely and foolishly declined all but a glass of brown liquor and access to an outlet. That same whiskey and a sprinkle of Motown-era love songs playing on a rickety jukebox had broken a grown man down enough to reach out to the one person who might still be willing to take him in. Even if only for a night.

Searching for extra courage, Terry took another sip of lukewarm Jack Daniels before tapping his phone screen. The line rang once, twice, and then a third time before a short pause signaled the call had connected.

The silence on the other him was loud, forcing him to speak up first.

“Hello?”

Fading voices and shuffling in the background were the only indicators of a presence on the other line, making Terry feel embarrassed for starting a call in the first place.

He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Hey, look… if now’s not a good time I ca -”

“Terrence? Did you mean to call me?”

“I, uh…yeah. I did. I’m sorry. I should’ve -”

“Are you okay? It’s loud wherever you are. You good? You hurt?”

“I could tell you if you would give me a chance to answer,” he chuckled. His amusement made her kiss her teeth in annoyance. “I’m okay. I’m a little banged up, but I’ve seen worse. I’m somewhere between Charlotte and home. Stopped in this spot for a drink and somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Terry took another swig of whiskey and sighed. “Nothing, really. I was hoping I could see you, though. You know, when I make it back tomorrow.”

“You staying anywhere when you get here?”

“Not yet, but I’ll find somewhere. I know how to survive.”

“TJ…,” More silence. Thick. Long. Full of tension and years of baggage that they had yet to discuss. The other voice sighed before answering. “Come on by. I’ll have the back room ready for you. You need toiletries?”

Terry’s face softened into a near smile at the invitation. “Yes ma’am. A meal would be nice, too.”

“Okay. I’ll have you something if you can get here before dark tomorrow. Please be safe, Terrence. I mean it.”

Before he could attempt to extend the conversation, the call ended, leaving her contact photo in full view. Terry allowed a slow grin to spread across his face just as a short text with her address came across the screen.

“Another round, brother?”

Terry looked up from his phone to find an expectant expression on the bartender’s face. He shook his head and reached for the wallet in his back pocket. “Nah, but thanks, man. Think I’m gonna close my tab, actually. I gotta see about a bus ticket before it’s too late.”

“If you heading to her,” the man started, pointing toward Terry’s phone. “you need a cut, man. A lineup. Something. You look like what you been through. If you got $20, I can get you right.” A slight frown and knitted eyebrows in response made the bartender shoot his hands up in surrender. “I don’t want no problems, big dog. I just know what it’s like to see your lady after a hard time. Let me help you.”

A quick look into the black mirror of his cell phone screen forced Terry to reckon with his appearance. He couldn’t remember his last haircut and his mustache was starting to dwarf his upper lip. He sighed and reached into his back pocket.

“Extra $10 and you can get the face too?”

“Extra $20 and I’ll get you where you going myself.”

------

City noise had long been replaced by suburban quiet by the time Terry’s destination came into view. His friend back at the bar was true to his word and arranged transport that turned a 6-hour journey into 2 hours of UGK on the speakers, a little privacy, and AC on the hottest summer day so far.

After exchanging pleasantries and cash, Terry stepped out of the cramped Honda onto the smooth driveway pavement. Every house, street sign, and front yard looked exactly as he remembered them, bringing mixed emotions forward.

The short journey to her front step felt arduous for his tired legs, but he persisted until he was mere inches from the front door. He lifted his arms and prepared to knock but stopped short when it swung open unexpectedly.

“Knocking when I can hear those heavy feet from a mile away is courteous but unnecessary.”

He chuckled and rubbed a hand down the back of his head. “Good to see you too, Treece.”

Patrice greeted him with a half smile as she studied his appearance from toe to head. A few years and a little extra weight had done wonders. She settled on his eyes and softened her gaze. “You look good, TJ. Come in here and cool off.”

Stepping inside her home felt like walking into a time capsule. He’d spent so many after-school days and summer nights here that it felt like his childhood home not too far up the road. Photos from yesteryear lined the walls on the way to the living room where nothing had changed except new furniture and a bigger television on the TV stand. The heat from the oven mixing with a slight chill from the air conditioning unit kept the room comfortable enough to nap if he could settle for more than a few minutes.

Terry’s eyes drifted from his surroundings to Patrice as she led the way. Long braids covered the back of a high school t-shirt and jean shorts. Her brown skin had become golden under the North Carolina sun, making her glow a little in the morning light. Grown woman weight had settled onto her once thin frame, transforming her into a more of a mini version of her older sister than before. All the changes he’d imagined when he had a free second were ions better in person.

Patrice gestured toward the leather recliner in the corner without speaking, inviting him to take a seat and settle in on her way to the stove.

They existed without words for a few minutes while she took fresh biscuits out of the oven and arranged them next to sausage patties and an omelet on one of her good porcelain plates. Terry trained his attention on his shoes, trying and failing to find a way to break the ice. He wanted to apologize. Confess his wrongs and desires in one grand speech designed to erase nearly ten years of absence. But the words wouldn’t form in his throat and the moment came and went.

Balancing a dinner tray in one hand and orange juice in the other, Patrice carefully made her way to his spot in the living room. Seeing her kind eyes calmed his nerves and set his chest ablaze.

“No more pork for you, right? This is chicken sausage from my Nana and them in the country.” She asked as she sat the tray on his lap.

He nodded in appreciation. “Yeah. You remembered?”

“You ain’t been gone that long, TJ. I still know who you are and what you like. That orange juice don’t have pulp in it either.”

“Thank you,” he said sheepishly before hanging his head to pray.

“Any time.”

A re-run of A Different World became the only sound in the room outside of an occasional content sigh from Terry as he tore through his breakfast. Patrice watched in amusement until her broad smile caught his attention. He slowed in embarrassment and returned the stare long enough to induce loud laughter from both of them.

“I look crazy, huh?”

“No,” she assured with a sweet smile. “You just look like you're happy to be back home, is all. Fayetteville missed you.”

“All of Fayetteville or someone specific?”

“Don’t start, TJ.”

“I’m only asking a question.” He answered without making eye contact. “You know you’re the only one who still calls me that?”

“What? TJ? That’s your name.”

“Yeah, but…you know. It’s not 2010 anymore.”

Patrice shrugged and settled deeper into the couch. “Considering that’s about the last time I saw you in the flesh, I guess it stuck for me. But, I can call you Terrence if you like.”

“Nah, TJ’s good. I like it. From you…specifically.”

The pair exchanged equally bashful looks, both too shy to say anything that would incriminate themselves. Instead, they watched the television in silence and stole looks until a commercial break took away their distraction.

Without speaking, Terry began to gather dishes and stand, prompting Patrice to rush over before he could move too far.

“Treece, I can do it.”

“I know,” she answered in a sing-song voice while sliding the tray from his grasp. “But I haven’t done this for you in a while. Let me love on you a little bit.”

His eyes tracked her every move until she was behind him at the kitchen sink. Boyish nervousness made him twiddle his thumbs until words came rushing out like water from a burst pipe as he sat back down.

“So, how you doing? How you been?”

“I’ve been okay. Mostly work and no play, you know. Thankful to be out of that classroom for a few weeks and get some peace.”

“Yeah? Kids driving you crazy?”

“Baby, the kids, their parents, and my parents are driving me to drink,” she laughed. “I can’t catch a break.”

“What about your man? He driving you crazy?”

Patrice scoffed and shook her head. Her mama and his mama talked too much. Terry chewed his bottom lip, hoping he didn’t offend.

“We…aren’t together anymore. Hard to build a family together when he’s off building one across town.”

Terry craned his neck around the armchair to make sympathetic eye contact. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that part. I wouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s alright. I gave it to God a long time ago. Maybe I’m not meant to be anybody’s wife yet.”

“Maybe you weren’t meant to be his wife.”

“Well, it’s not like any suitors are knocking down my door for my hand in marriage.”

“Probably because you keep swinging it open before anybody gets a chance.”

Patrice rolled her eyes and flashed her middle finger in Terry’s direction. “Ha-ha. I see you didn’t lose your jokes at Lejeune. Only your ability to keep in touch.”

Her retort left a shallow cut in Terry’s ego, making him turn his attention back to the television. He knew he’d broken a decades-old promise and that atoning for his sins would take time. But he also knew that, at any moment, Patrice could send him back into the world with nothing more than a full belly and a swift kick in the ass. He had to tread lightly.

Taking the lull in conversation as his opportunity to lick his wounds in private, Terry stood and gathered his belongings in both hands. Patrice watched him from her spot with an apologetic expression.

“You don’t have to leave. Got a couple errands to run so it’ll be quiet in here. Take the whole couch if you want.”

“That’s alright, but thank you. Figure I can make myself useful and cut the yard. Maybe unpack some of this stuff if that’s alright with you. You got a mower?”

“Yeah, it’s back there,” she answered, gesturing toward the backyard with her head. “Will you be here when I get back?”

Sensing the hidden motivation behind her question, Terry dropped his bag to the ground and made his way into the kitchen. Cautiously, he leaned down to press a short kiss to Patrice’s forehead before using his index finger to tilt her head upward and meet his eyeline. “Yes. I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Her eyes fluttered closed for a half second while she nodded her understanding. A wave of relief made the hair on her arms stand at attention but she quickly bit back any urge to engage further.

“You looked tired when you got in,” Patrice started, turning her back to Terry to conceal her flustered face. “I cleared Junior’s old bed back there. It’s a little small but sturdy. The sheets are fresh. Let me know if you need more blankets. I like it cold at night.”

“I’ll survive, girl. I’ve slept in worse places than a full-sized bed. Thank you.”

A split second of hesitation kept their eyes glued to one another until Terry ended the stalemate by backing out of the room and disappearing down the hallway.

Patrice took his absence as an opportunity to compose herself. Busy hands and racing thoughts fueled a cleaning marathon until tasks that had long fallen to the bottom of her to-do list were crossed off.

For hours they co-existed without many words exchanged. Occasionally, Patrice would steal glances at Terry while he meticulously tended to the lawn and bushes. When he could, Terry made a point to brush up against her when he walked past and agree with each of her many suggestions. Being in her space was enough for him and he dared not upset the natural harmony.

By the time dinner rolled around, they had found a groove. A quiet dinner led to an even quieter cleanup shift and quick good nights exchanged after watching Jeopardy together.

Terry left Patrice to her own devices while he fought to acclimate to such cushy surroundings. Try as he might, he couldn’t get used to the soft mattress below him or the near-frigid temperature in the house. Tossing and turning left him unsatisfied. The walls felt like they were converging. Flashbacks were turning into night sweats. He needed to escape.

Slowly, he slid out of bed and into a pair of slippers Patrice had gifted him earlier in the day. Measured steps help him sneak past her bed bedroom, out of the back door, and down into the backyard without causing a disturbance.

The early June air was balmy, clinging to the skin beneath his t-shirt. In the distance loud bass from someone’s car speaker vibrated until it was out of earshot. Dogs barked and howled to salute the moon worked in tandem with the faint smell of charcoal cooling from a night of backyard barbecues to remind him that he was far from the trouble of Shelby Springs.

It’d been a while since he could enjoy the night without being on high alert. The last week was a special kind of hell that he feared he could never shake. The urge to flee was beginning to creep in like the tide, threatening to wash away what little progress he’d made.

After a few deep breaths and mumbled prayer, Terry retreated to a porch swing to rest his weary legs. His shoulders relaxed as soon as his backside met the aged oak and, almost instantly, he felt safe enough to close his eyes. One deep breath turned into another until he was drifting into his first peaceful sleep in weeks.

Minutes passed like seconds. Thoughts slowed to a halt. His heartbeat regulated. Near bliss was upon him.

Inside, a single lamp flipped on to illuminate Patrice’s path as she searched the house for her guest. His room and bathroom had turned up empty results with almost no sign that he’d been there throughout the day. He wasn’t on the couch or in the kitchen raiding the fridge like she half expected. Worry had all but made her pass out until she heard the slight creak of her swing on the porch, making his head appear and disappear from the window above the sink.

She couldn’t fully open the door before Terry opened one eye and looked in her direction. She froze and he smiled.

“Feet not as heavy as you thought, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. If I’d known you trade in a bed for this old thing I wouldn’t have wasted my time on laundry.”

“Hey, I built this old thing, remember?”

Patrice chuckled at the memory and pointed at the metal chain keeping the swing in place. “Damn near lost a finger behind it, too.”

“Would’ve been worth it knowing you were happy.” Patrice nervously shifted her weight from left to right under Terry’s intense gaze while he took his turn to look her over. Finally noticing her awkwardly standing between the screendoor, he motioned to the spot beside him. “Sit with me for a second.”

Patrice visibly wrestled with her decision but ultimately joined him. They maintained a careful distance, being sure to keep their individual limbs from connecting for fear that the mere sensation would set them ablaze. They played a childish game of cat and mouse until Patrice spoke.

“I was rude earlier,” Patrice confessed while fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. Terry closed his heavy eyes to cure the burning sensation growing by the minute but acknowledged her statement with a confused grunt. She continued. “I never asked how you were doing. The whole thing about my ex sort of brought up old feelings.”

He frowned, hurt by her revelation. “You know I wasn’t trying to hurt you, right?”

“You never are. Same ol’ honorable TJ. Terry, I mean.”

“TJ for you.”

Again he popped one eye open and paired it with a grin that disamered Patrice and made her giggle like her high school self. The sound had him resolve that he’d spend his whole life making stupid faces if it meant she’d get some joy from them.

“You ready to tell me everything I missed or are you content with popping up on my porch? And how long do you plan to be here eating all my food, anyway?”

“I don’t think you wanna hear that,” he answered in an attempt to dodge the loaded question. Patrice persisted.

“No, I do. I see the tattoos and the fresh haircut. TJ turned into a man while he was gone. At least let me get to know this new person.”

“I grew up,” he sighed after some time. “Gained some. Lost a lot. Still trying to pick up the pieces.”

“What’d you lose?”

“Lately? Money. Family. Shit, my mind.”

“Why?”

“Mike died.” An abrupt interruption of an already complicated conversation brought forth a long pause. He waited for an interjection but found none, prompting him to offer more details. “He was killed. In jail. I tried to get him out and bring him home but I was too late.” Terry answered without making eye contact. Shame wouldn’t allow him to meet her potential judgment.

Patrice mentally cycled through names and faces until she realized the gravity of Terry’s statement. She reached out to breach their unspoken barrier and grabbed his hand which he accepted with no pushback.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” he answered before squeezing her hand and finally returning her eye contact. “I handled everything. It’s over for now. I’m here with you. We can focus on that.”

“Even though you keep skipping how long you’ll stay.”

Patrice’s warmth was starting to take a backseat to her cold nature. Old wounds had started to re-open and rebuild a wall they both thought they’d successfully hurdled. Despite her attempt to pull her hand out of his grasp, Terry stayed put. He eyed her for a moment, picking up on a thin veil of tears threatening to form at her water line.

She watched his normally steely blue-gray eyes soften into something that mirrored the softness he carried when they were kids. She couldn’t find the gumption to look away as he brought her knuckles up to his lips for a set of short kisses before looking back up at her. Pleading. Begging for any indication that she had softened her heart toward him.

“Treecey, I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to say it. You meant more to me than the way I left and I pray every day for a chance to make it right. We crossed a line that night and I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t handle that like a man should have. I’m sorry until I’m blue in the face.”

Sincerity was thick in his voice despite his low, even tone.

Patrice listened without a word. A single tear cascaded down her face despite her valiant attempts to keep her emotions at bay. She swore she’d never cry about Terrence Richmond again. But old habits die hard.

Terry used his free hand to swipe away that tear and the next one sitting at her lower lash line with the pad of his thumb.

“Say something,” he pleaded. “Anything. Tell me you hate me.”

“You know I don’t hate you,” she whispered, too choked up to continue without a deep breath. “I…I just feel like you took a piece of me with you, you know? And you never wrote back. You never called. You shut me out like we were never friends. We could’ve gone back to how things were.”

“I fucked that up.”

“I’m aware. But that doesn’t mean that I trust you won’t do it again. No matter how much I don’t hate you, I’m not eighteen anymore. My patience is thin. I can’t allow you to turn my world upside down again.”

“Hand to God I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Yeah. I hope so.” Though she whispered, Patrice’s words sliced through Terry like a hot knife through butter.

He hung his head in defeat as she pulled her hand from his grasp and made quick work of standing from the bench. Her footsteps retreated past him and to the back door until she paused.

He looked over his shoulder to find her eyes closed and chin pointed to the sky in contemplative silence. This was it. The final blow.

She took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. “Stay as long as you want. Junior’s living with his girlfriend now, so nobody’s coming to make you leave. Tomorrow, we can go get you some new clothes. I’m tired of looking at those raggedy t-shirts already.”

Terry took her jab in stride and gave her a half smile as a sign of compliance. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

“Mhm. Lock the door behind you when you come in.”

“Good night, Treecey.” His farewell came in an annoyingly sweet voice as a last-ditch effort to drag some loving words from her. Patrice stopped and gave him one more once over and a dismissive eye roll.

He waited for the ghost of a smile that disappeared before he could blink. She shook her head and took a step inside the house.

“Shut up, Terry. Go to bed.”

Terry hid his amusement until she was out of sight, leaving him alone to grin at how even her rebukes felt like love letters.

“Shut up,” he repeated to himself as he closed his eyes to doze again. “Hm. I’ll take it.”

TAGS: @planetblaque

Happy to tag whoever is interested.

#terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge #aaron pierre

239 notes · View notes

flowerfreya · 3 months

Text

No Knock Raid

I kinda have an obsession with mafia!141 and it's my fave dark romance trope

Pairing: John Price / Reader

No mention of name or description of reader

About this: SWAT performs a no knock raid on the readers and Johns room.

This whole day tasted like it was off , it was way too hot , the air was stagnant and you knew that tonight it was going to storm . John had been away on business since yesterday. He’s texted on telegram multiple times just updating you on what's he’s doing and you the same

The kids started summer about two weeks ago and you have officially run out of stuff to do.

You know you have wonderful children but they have so much energy , sadly and with “daddy” gone they have gone a little crazy. Youve been to the pool , water balloons and a pillow fort that is still up.

It's bath time and you can see the storm clouds rolling in and hoping you can get the kids to bed so they won't beg to sleep with you.

You hear a crack of thunder as you fall asleep.

You wake up to the sound of more thunder or so you think until men in SWAT gear are yelling at you with flashlights and guns to “GET , UP” and your first thought it that you need to get your kids and call John. You push the button on the backside of the night stand as you get led out of the bedroom and into the living room where your two children on their knees with the hands behind their head and one of the swat members holding your youngest.

“Mommy” the little cries reaching his little arms out for you.

“Can I grab him?”, you ask the agent.

“No”, he says.

“Please”, you beg. You think about what will happen once you tell him about the agent that refused to let you hold your children. Hearing your children cry and you not being able to do anything is hurting you in ways that you can’t even fathom.

“No”, he says again with a little more authority

You think you start to disassociate seeing them take your kids away in a separate car with tears rolling down everyone's cheeks. At the precinct you are immediately taken to the integration room and you wait… and…. wait and ….wait some more. When the agent finally comes in, he looks tired but you see the smirk in his eye thinking he finally got John Price.

“Do you want some water or coffee?”, he ask.

“I want my phone call you”, say quietly.

“You sure you want to call your husband” he ask

“I want my phone call”

He sighs ,“okay” and comes back with a flip phone

You call your sister , she answers on the third ring

“Hello”

“Can you come to the 18th precinct and pick up the kids”

“What”

“Can you please come the 18th precinct and pick up the kids”

“Yes , I will be there in thirty minutes” she hangs up after. You are worried about your children , they had guns pointed at them, woken up in the middle of the night with big men yelling at them, and you can't comfort them and it's making you go crazy.

The lights in the integration room are starting to give you a headache , your stomach is rolling around, and you have picked off all your nails and started doing cuticle work with your teeth. You know the agent is asking you questions

“Do you know what your husband does for a living “

“How often is he gone ? “

“What does 141 mean to you”

You answered none of them , didn't even acknowledge the questions being asked. You just wanted to go home and hug your children.

Agent number 2 walks in says something to Agent number 1 ears he purses his lips rises out of his chair and says “Well Ms.Price your good to go”

You relax your shoulders in relief and stand to your feet and follow them out the door.

“-IF YOU DONT GET MY WIFE RIGHT KNOW ,HEADS WILL FUCKING ROLL” you hear him before you see him and the voice brings you so much joy you quicken your steps and round the corner and you see him. You walk towards him bumping into almost every desk and banging your head into his chest , grabbing his hand and squeezing as hard as you can.

“My love , I’m so sorry” he whispers against your forehead.

“The children?” you ask just as quietly.

“Safe at home , with your sister”

“Is home really safe?”

He is quiet and doesn’t answer but his eyes narrow and looks around and zones in at the Chief and stalks over

“You got a lot of nerve doing a fucking no knock raid on my home” he’s standing toe to toe with him looking him directly in eyes. The Chief face pales and tries to back up and when sees that he runs into a wall , he sputters “I-I didn’t kno-”

John somehow gets closer and rears his fist back “You didn’t know that your agents were going to raid my house”, he ask almost rhetorically. He says underneath his breath to him , “You will regret this and will be dealt with later”

He then looks at you and walks toward you, puts his hand on the same of your back and leads you out the building and into the car.

#john price #john price x reader #captain john price #mafia!price #mafia au #mafia141

190 notes · View notes

megamindsecretlair · 7 months

Text

Runaway Lover, Part 1

Pairing: Big Stunna x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. ANGST. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving) teasing/mocking, cum play/swallowing, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, referring to female anatomy as she, all consensual. Use of n-word. Mentions of God, Christian leaning. Sorry if I missed some, I'm rushing, just let me know.

Summary: On a girl's trip with your friends to Punta Cana, getting some much needed rest before spring semester, you bump into Stunna and a whirlwind romance rocks you to your core.

Word Count: 9,326k

Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: This is a wonderful ask from @melaninpov. I'm sorry if this wasn't what you had in mind, I've been watching romance movies all day and this turned sweet unexpectedly. Happy Valentine's Day, my loves. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @blackerthings @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @iv0rysoap @notapradagurl7 @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @xo-goldengirl @kindofaintrovert @flydotty @judymfmoody @slippinninque @soufcakmistress @henneseyhoe @westside-rot @melaninpov @twocentuar @blackpinup22 @babybratzmaraj @theyscreamsannii @kiabialia

“Are you sure this isn’t too short?” You asked your friends. You stood in the bathroom of your hotel suite. The bright, fluorescent lighting in the bathroom highlighted everything. Everything. You wore a simple gold dress with intricate bronze and burnished orange swirls. It was a tad too short and showed a tad too much.

You weren’t a prude but you were also unused to showing…so much. You tugged at the short sleeves, the low neckline, and pinched the areas around your sides. You weren’t sure why you packed the damn thing, but you were drinking while packing. Something you vowed to never do again.

“You look so hot!” Your friend, Stella, said and moved closer to you and faced the mirror. She wore a violet dress with sparkling beads woven in to make it look like she wore a dress made of stars. It fit her deep ebony skin perfectly and brought out the subtle jewel tones in her skin.

You bit your lip, tasting the sweet lipgloss you dabbed on your lips. Abusing your lips was your worst sin and you avoided putting anything on them but tonight, you were all about new experiences. Hopefully.

“I should change,” you said. You pushed past Stella’s calls out for you to stop and that there was no need.

Angela appeared in the doorway and trapped you in the bathroom. “Damn girl!” You said. Stella’s sister was gorgeous in a marigold bodycon dress that hugged all of her curves and showed off her perfectly round ass. Truly, an apple bottom that she claimed was her best feature.

Angela preened under the praise but did not lower her hands from the door frame. “You’re not changing. None of us are changing. We only have two days left before it’s back to fucking school and we’re going out with a bang. They better be throwing us out before the trip is over,” she said.

She pushed you back into the bathroom. Thank goodness the space was big enough for all three of you. There were wide tile squares on the floor, a discarded hotel towel on the floor to keep you all from slipping, and two large mirrors over a double sink.

Angela and Stella finished up their makeup and demanded that you applied more gloss. Stella handed you a clutch to match your dress and told you to take the gloss with you.

You accepted it with a roll of your eyes. You’d likely go through the entire tube before the night was over. You were constantly at battle with your anxiety. Ya’ll really didn’t fuck with each other but it was like a toxic ex that didn’t know how to leave you alone. You could block, skip, and hop away from it but it was always lurking around the corner.

“Alright! Let’s go!” Stella yelled, getting you two pumped for the night’s activities. You all put on your matching heels or sandals, grabbed purses and clutches, and tucked in last minute items you may need, and headed out of the door.

Punta Cana was a balmy destination spot with plenty of resorts. The trip there had been uneventful but you and your friends had stayed glued to the windows, snapping pictures of the local plantlife, hills, and palm trees.

At the resort, you couldn’t help looking around in wide-eyed wonder, taking in the people and accommodations. You had been here for a few days enjoying the beach and accompanying swimming pool at the resort.

Everyone was friendly and open and a staff member was always around waiting to answer your questions. The goal of the trip was rest, rest, and more fucking rest. You were approaching your final year of school. After this spring semester, you were officially a senior and would have to enter the dreaded world of adults.

Stella and Angela kept up a steady stream of chatter on the ride down the elevator about what they were most excited for. The adults only resort was a breath of fresh air. No kids running around and no harried parents running after them.

Tonight, you were going to the club in the resort. So far, your activities have kept you from that venue. You rode ATVs and did a snorkeling tour off the shore of the beach. You also climbed into a boat to watch the local marine life. That part was your favorite.

Angela had to remind you that you were in fact young and it was okay to enjoy yourself. Half the time, you didn’t know where your anxiety came from. You could be having the time of your life and then boom! Your anxiety was snatching your breath away and warning you of an invisible threat. No matter how many times you asked for proof or begged to know what the threat was, your anxiety only shook its head and repeated the warning tone: danger, danger!

You shoved your anxiety in the recesses of your mind. You were not in danger. There was no threat. You were only here to have a good time.

On the main floor of the resort, the wide open arches and large windows let in enough of the view that you saw the moon ascending the sky. Sunset was losing its grip on this part of the world. Swirling colors of lilac, tangerine, and amber dotted the sky as night approached. The ambient lighting outside began to turn on one by one.

Stella looped her arms through yours and Angela’s arms and pulled you toward the entrance to the club. The music reached you first. Hotel guests were spilling in and out of the place so it must be a popular spot.

You swallowed around the huge lump in your throat as you pushed inside, flashing your wristbands that confirmed your age and the amenities you paid for. The staff member waved you in with a polite smile and soon you were entrenched in the booming club.

The space itself was huge with plenty of dancefloor area. The upbeat, fast paced music got everybody dancing and shaking their hips. There were pillars stationed around the room holding up the ceiling but other than that, it was pretty much open. There was a bar area on a raised platform filled with tables and chairs.

Most were all occupied as people looked over the railing at the brave people down below getting it on in various states of fancy clothing. Dresses flew through the space. Heels clacked on the floor. Hands were in the air in an undulating wave like the waters that crashed on the shore.

There was a heavy smell of liquor and sweat and some type of sweet perfume in the air that tried to combat it. There was no way to combat the funk so it ended up smelling like sweet sweat. But that was to be expected with so many people in one room shaking what the Lord gave them.

You and your friends made a beeline to the bar, immediately ordering sugary drinks that would go straight to your head. Alcohol was never a proper solution to anxiety. However, you’d take anything for a release from its shackles for the night.

As you waited for your drink, you bounced your shoulders trying to get your body to catch up to your mind. “Naw, show us what you got, girl!” Stella said. She whistled and encouraged you to dance a little more, shake a little more.

Fuck it. You couldn’t let your anxiety win this time around. You started getting into it, shaking your booty faster and then backing away from the bar. You felt the rhythm of the song, waving your hands and getting your whole body into it.

You backed up one more step and tripped, your body flying to the right. You shrieked, hands reaching out to catch your fall. However, you didn’t fall. Strong arms encircled you. It took a few moments for your mind to catch up to the fact that you weren’t kissing the nasty club floor.

Your heart roared in your chest, causing stops and starts that made you shake all over. The strong arms pulled you back to standing, righting yourself on your wedges. “Thank you,” you said.

You looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes you had ever seen. Those eyes were framed by a long face, wide nose, and a trimmed dark beard. He had a big smile with perfect, symmetrical teeth encased in hollow grills.

The man had rich, deep golden brown skin that he showed off with a collared navy shirt and black jeans. His upper arms were bulging with muscles, straining against the short sleeves of his shirt.

He was in a word: devastating.

“Are you okay?” Sound finally filtered past your racing heartbeat. The way he looked at you gave you the indication that he had asked it more than once. You bit your lip and nodded. You forgot how words worked.

“Are you sure you didn’t twist anything?” He asked. His voice felt like what hot chocolate on a cold evening tasted like. It warmed you up from the inside out, awakening places that didn’t usually awaken for anything other than your favorite celebrity and brownies.

Your mind was slow, fuzzy around the edges, as it dawned on you that he was pointing to your feet. You moved each leg, leaning on him while you lifted your legs and moved them in a tiny circle.

You looked back into his eyes and nodded again. “Good,” you chirped.

He smiled slowly. Fuck, you could watch him smile for the rest of your days and never get sick of it. He was so damn cute. And hot. A dangerous combination that had you acting like Helen Keller. ‘Cept you could plainly see how divinely sexy he was.

“Can I buy you a drink to apologize for ruining your dance?” He asked.

You smiled and ducked your head, cheeks warming up from the embarrassment of dancing in front of him. You looked down at his hands secured around your arms, at your hands on his.

You started to move them but he held on a little tighter, unwilling to let you go. “I…kind of already ordered one,” you said around the thick lump in your throat. Come on! Get it together! What the hell was wrong with you?

“Oh, are you here with someone?” He asked. He still didn’t let you go.

You licked your lips, the sweet taste of manufactured strawberries coating your tongue and snapping some sense back into you. You nodded and looked towards your friends. They were openly gawking at you.

“My friends,” you finally said.

“But no guy?” He asked.

You giggled and shook your head. “No girl?” You asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m Stunna,” he said.

You told him your name. He said a few times, rolling the syllables around his tongue like one did to a lollipop. You focused on his mouth and the way he said your name. As if he had been saying it his whole life and never wanted to stop.

“If I can’t buy you a drink, can I get your number? You from the States?” He asked.

Anxiety reared its huge, ugly, monstrous head. You were nervous to just…abandon your friends. Let alone your drink. With your luck, you lived on complete opposite sides of the country. You nodded, to give him an answer about the States. But were too nervous to tell him where. To even hint at the possibility that you could occupy the same city and there wasn’t a national alert about it.

You were sure that he caused a storm of women wherever he went. You would have noticed if he lived around the Bay. You knew that you’d feel him in your blood, taste him in your veins if you lived in the same area. Certain that you would have bumped into each other already. Seen each other somewhere.

“I should probably get back to my friends. I’m sure your friends are missing you as well,” you said. You reluctantly withdrew your hold on him. Your small claim for the time being. Relinquishing that hold hurt.

He nodded. As you turned to leave, he swiftly caught your hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed your fingers. “Save a dance for me? I wanna see more of them moves.”

A nervous giggle pushed against your rib cage, threatening to spill over. You swallowed it back down and bit your lip. You didn’t want to keep turning him down but your stomach twisted and turned. Danger! Threat!

There was nothing threatening about the man so you figured that you needed away. You needed space to breathe and think. Time spent away from his spicy cologne that tickled your nose.

You nodded once more. What were the odds that he’d find you again in this club? If your friends weren’t at the bar, you wouldn’t know the first place to look for them.

Stunna let go of your hand and backed away, giving you a small wink before turning back to his friends. He was surrounded by a group of guys, all hot in some way or another? Damn. You checked out his back side as you walked back to your friends.

“The hell you doing back here?” Stella asked.

“What’s happening? Why aren’t you sitting in that man’s lap?” Angela asked.

“What are you talking about?” You asked. You grabbed your drink, the glass sweating from sitting so long. How long had you been talking to Stunna? And why did you feel like you wanted to run right back into his arms?

You took deep gulps of the fruity concoction, letting the alcohol seep through your system and chase away your anxiety. The cold from the drink burned away the lump in your throat. Being away from him helped. It helped in a way that was foreign to you to name or identify.

People didn’t have physical reactions to others right? Like that was a thing made up by romance movies to get people’s heads in the clouds and sell more candy in stores, right?

Your friends hounded you for answers to their questions, wondering what you spoke about and why you weren’t still talking to him.

“I didn’t want to abandon you for some guy. This is a girl’s trip. A relaxing trip,” you said.

“You better relax on that man’s dick! Like you saw him right? Like you saw the way he looked at you? Girl, please tell me she’s not that oblivious,” Stella said, leaning her head on her sister’s shoulder.

Angela tossed her hands up as if she were preaching to a congregation. “Father God, grant your child the gift of sight because she’s clearly blind,” Angela said.

You laughed, rubbing your forehead at their embarrassing shenanigans. “I’m not oblivious!”

“I pray that I’ll never do some dumb shit like her, Lord. Smite her and send the nigga my way, because damn,” Stella said. She looked behind you and you panicked, standing in her way to not bring attention to the fact that you were discussing Stunna. You risked a glance over your shoulder.

Stunna was sitting down at a table, faced in your direction. He lifted his glass to you and you smiled, turning around and immediately dropping it. The drink wasn’t helping. Butterflies flapped tiny wings in your stomach. He was killing you.

“What happened to new experiences?” Angela asked.

“Not that damn new,” you muttered, sipping more of your drink. At this rate, you’d need ten drinks to calm the wings in your stomach.

Stella groaned dramatically, throwing her arms across your shoulders. “As sweet as it is to worry about us, you see us every damn day. How often do you run across someone that damn fine in real life? In real life? He belongs in a magazine or on TV or some shit,” she said.

That was the fucking truth. “He probably lives on the East Coast or something,” you said, waving Stella off of you. You were too hot. There were too many people here. Too many clusters of hot breath, sweat, and body heat raising the temperature in the room to dangerous levels.

You sipped more of your drink. You tapped your foot against the hard floor, vibrating with energy that had nowhere to go. Nothing to do but zip up and down your body and twist your insides.

“So? You ain’t trynna marry the nigga. Just get down,” Angela said and bent low, shaking her hips. Stella joined her, sticking their tongues out. Stella turned around and bounced her booty against Angela. Angela mimed hitting Stella’s ass and you laughed, waving them away.

“You two are a hot fucking mess!” You screamed. They continued to dance and giggle, shaking their ass and proceeding to make you wish the floor swallowed you whole.

“Since our girl is romantically deficient, let’s get on the floor,” Stella said. You finished your drink and followed your friends to the dance floor.

You started out stiff, not wanting to bump up against anyone. You didn’t need a repeat from earlier. Your friends noticed your reluctance and each took one of your hands. They began to swing you around.

You smiled, falling for their obvious charm. You loosened up and relaxed. The drink finally did the trick and you surrendered to the music. You closed your eyes and felt the thumping beats, the instruments, and sultry crooning of the singer.

You danced and laughed with your friends, relishing the feeling of being young and carefree. This was what you had been chasing this entire trip. This feeling of being present and in the moment.

You began to twerk as the music changed, popping your ass to the beat of the song. Your friends cheered you on. You placed your hands on your knees and got lower. Someone sidled up behind you, not one of your friends you were sure.

You shrugged your shoulders and kept dancing. Now was the time to keep living in the moment. You could dance with someone that wasn’t in your immediate comfort circle. You couldn’t always hang onto your friends like a barnacle.

Large hands circled your waist and you leaned back into a lean but strong frame. The stranger felt like a man and a good dancer on top of it. Able to match your changing moves. The stranger grabbed your hands and spun you around to face him.

Stunna grinned at the surprise on your face. “I thought I told you to save me a dance,” he yelled to be heard over the music.

“What took you so long?” You asked.

“Like that?” He asked, exaggerating his words. You nodded. He matched your nod and then spun you back around. You giggled, breathless at being spun around like a doll. He pulled you around the dancefloor dancing to the fast-paced music with ease. Now it was you that was having trouble keeping up with him.

You faced him now and your hands were in each other’s, dancing with complicated turns and twirling limbs that made you feel like you were on Dancing With the Stars. The song finished and you waved your heads. “I need a break!”

Stunna grinned, flashing those damn grills. You stared at them, wondering if he took them out during sex. Was he the type to go down on a woman? Stunna winked as he if sensed the direction of your thoughts.

He placed his hand on your lower back and led you back to the bar. You ordered some water and he made you order a drink. “Since you don’t wanna give a nigga your phone number,” he said with a show-stopping smile.

You rolled your eyes. “Why do you want my number?” You asked. You drank the water bottle at his nudging.

“So I can hear that sexy ass voice in my ear,” he said.

You rolled your eyes playfully and played with the paper around the water bottle. “You’re so bad,” you said.

He shrugged his shoulders, calling your name like he was savoring the taste of it. “I’m still right though. I want to keep talking to you,” he said.

You could practically feel your friends on your shoulders like little devils pushing you to give him your number. What harm could it do? You held out your hand for his phone. He dug it out of his pocket and handed it to you.

His total focus on you while you entered your number was unnerving. You couldn’t help giggling as you put in your number. He reached out and trailed a finger down your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. You messed up on a number and giggled in his direction.

“You’re distracting me,” you said.

“Yeah? Good. But make sure that number right,” he said. He peeked across the screen as you backspaced and entered your number correctly.

He smelled like his cologne, sweat, and whatever drink he had throughout the night. You handed his phone back to him. You fanned yourself with your clutch while he looked at his phone.

He smiled and tapped a few times. “There, now you have my number,” he said.

The butterflies returned to your stomach the longer you spent in his presence. He liked that he could fluster you so easily and tried his damndest to keep doing so. Your cheeks ached from all the smiling you did.

You talked more about yourself and your friends and why you came to the D.R. He told you that he was out here celebrating for his friend’s wedding. The wedding had already passed, cheaper during the week, so they were spending the weekend celebrating with friends.

“It’s nice of you all to come out here and celebrate with them,” you said. Stunna turned his head to the side, he didn’t hear you. The music seemed to get louder and even though you yelled, he couldn’t hear you.

Stunna scooted closer to you and yelled in your ear. “Wanna go outside?”

You looked at him and nodded. You couldn’t hear shit, but you were pretty sure you could hear your friends whooping for joy as Stunna took your hand and led you outside of the club.

Your ears popped as you reached the quiet interior of the lobby. There was a stark contrast between the two rooms and your ears rung. You shook your head, trying to clear the ringing. Stunna did the same, shaking his shoulders too for good measure.

Being out in the lobby, the base temperature felt like frost at the top of a mountain. You shivered as it highlighted buckets of sweat rolling down your spine and between your breasts.

A drop of sweat rolled down Stunna’s arm and you followed the movement as it trailed down a prominent vein. Stunna still held your hand and you walked out of the resort, past the open pool that shimmered with light from nearby lamps.

You walked along the concrete pathways heading down to the beach. Before you stepped onto the sand, you leaned down and took off your wedges. Stunna took off his boots, and rolled up his pants legs.

“Looks like I was smart to wear a dress,” you said and giggled at him.

“Damn smart. I’m glad you did. Your body in that dress, hmm,’ he said and rolled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Stop,” you chuckled and shook your head. He was incorrigible.

“Naw, I can’t. Your ass looks amazing. Thighs I just wanna squeeze. Lips I wanna kiss,” he said. He stood up to his full height and you stared at him.

Soft moonlight fell over his features on one side of his face. The lamps gave a warm glow on the other side. He was light, soaking it all up and reflecting it back out to seem like he had an inner glow.

You sighed, staring at this work of art before you. You wanted to pinch yourself. You stepped closer but Stunna only smiled, grabbed your hand, and you took off down the beach. You spent time walking up and down, warm sand digging between your toes.

You talked more, learning about him and how much he loved to read. You shared that passion and spoke about books you’ve read and favorite authors. He took your recommendations seriously, pulling out his phone to add books to a list on his phone.

“Come back to my room,” he said.

You shook your head. “Won’t your friends be looking for you?”

“Naw. I got my own room. I ain’t sharing shit with them nasty niggas,” he said.

You laughed, moving away from him as the sand made you trip up. Stunna pulled you back to his side. “See, yo clumsy ass need somewhere to sit. Come sit in my room,” he said.

You were back in the same position from earlier when he rescued you from falling. He gripped your elbows, standing close enough to lick, and your hands were on his arms. He was too close, surrounding you with him. You couldn’t think past him. When you looked up, all you saw was him.

You waited to feel panicked and shaky. To warn you to step away and flee from him. It never came. “If I go back to your room, I doubt we’ll just be sitting,” you said.

“I never said that. That’s yo nasty mind,” he said. He licked his lips. “But I like the way you think. You wanna come sit in my lap?”

There were no reservations. No warning bells in your head. No screeches of noise or racing thoughts to prevent you from biting your lip and nodding. From grabbing his hand and watching each other as you left the beach and headed inside.

You didn’t talk as you leaned against one another in the elevator. He placed a kiss to your head and you melted even further into him. The elevator softly dinged and the doors opened to his floor. He stayed in the building next to your room. You were sort of relieved. Had he stayed in the same building or even on the same floor, it would have been too perfect. Too obviously a set up by God or whoever was out there listening.

Stunna swiped his keycard once he got to his room and opened the door. You walked inside the cool room and turned on lights.

He had a suitcase on the couch of his suite, open to reveal some clothes he packed. He had shoes strewn about but for the most part, he was a clean guest. He closed the door and you turned to look at him.

You placed your shoes on the ground next to his, marveling at the contrast between your sizes. It looked oddly perfect sitting side by side. You ignored that runaway thought as you quickly texted your friends that you would be late to the room. It was a good chance to not wait up for you at all if this night went how you were expecting.

Stunna watched you place your clutch on the TV stand. He moved about the room, cleaning up but it wasn’t necessary. Just bags and bottles of water that were on the nightstand.

“I’ll wash off this sand,” you told him.

“I’ll go after you. Take your time,” he said.

Take your time, yeah right. If you took long enough, you would summon your anxiety like an ancient deity out for your blood. You quickly went to the bathroom and freshened up a little, running the bath to clean off your feet. You didn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. If you did, you would chicken out.

You didn’t want to chicken out. You wanted a wild story. A story to tuck in your heart and bring out as the years passed and you lived your life. A story that you held on to when you got older and your partying days was nearing its end.

When you left the bathroom, Stunna had lowered the lights to make it more intimate and softer. He opened the curtains revealing a balcony that overlooked the ocean. He stood outside, twisting caps off of water bottles. He also had a bottle of Hennesy on the small table outside.

You approached and he smiled when you did. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

He went to the bathroom to clean off the sand. You stepped out fully and enjoyed the breeze kissing your skin. You sipped some of the Hennessy, enjoying that sweet burn. The ocean waves crashed against the shore but from this height, you saw further than you did in your room.

Few stars were able to wink in and out behind dark clouds in the sky. The half moon shone down onto the beach and over the resort. Stunna returned and wrapped his hands around your waist, leaning against you.

He grabbed the cup from your hands and finished the rest. He kissed his way along your exposed neck, sending shivers down your spine. You sighed and relaxed into him. He made no move to do anything else, no roaming hands or nasty words.

“You are so gorgeous,” he said.

You turned in his arms and faced him. “I’m done talking. Kiss me,” you said.

He grinned, flashing those damn golds that have been driving you crazy all night. “You sure?”

You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him closer before you lost your nerve. You finally tasted him, tasted the bite of Hennessy on his lips. His lips were warm and wet and his tongue dived into your mouth. You moaned as he explored, running his tongue along yours and along your teeth.

Stunna’s hands gripped your arms and moved lower, cupping your ass and squeezing tight. You growled from how good it felt. How wonderful it felt to be in his arms. Stunna hissed in between his kisses, like you were both on fire but he was willing to risk kissing you through the flames.

Your back was against the railing and he pushed into you, rubbing his erection against your tummy. You moaned.

“Keep moaning like that and I won’t be able to control myself,” he said against your lips. You opened your eyes to look at him.

“Don’t control yourself,” you said.

He laughed and licked his lips. He sat down in the closest chair and pulled you into his lap. You straddled him, wobbling a bit since his stance was so wide. Your legs draped on the outside of his and he spread his legs so that he could spread you wider.

His hands searched under your dress so that he could cup your ass directly. Dig those skillful fingers into the meat of your ass. He spanked one cheek and you jerked in his lap, your pussy rubbing against the fabric of his jeans.

He growled, fingers seeking your wet heat. When he found your clit, he had no mercy. He began to run his thumb around the sensitive nub. You scooted higher on his lap, needing the friction of his jeans to help speed your arousal along. Not that you really needed it. You were already dripping for him.

“Mm, so wet. You always sit your pretty ass on strangers and let them finger your pussy?” He asked around kissing you.

“N-No,” you moaned.

He suckled on your bottom lip and your pussy throbbed. He was working some type of magic between your legs. Some type of spell that threatened to rip you into pieces.

“No? You telling me that this is all for me?” He asked. “I get to be the one to play with you?”

“Yess,” you sighed against his lips.

“Then I should feel special that you’re soaking my fingers already and I’ve yet to feel you?”

“Shit,” you sighed. Your arms were wrapped completely around his neck, holding onto him and keeping him close.

He kissed your neck, licking it, while his fingers finally dipped into your entrance. You shook with a long moan, throwing your head back as pleasure rolled through you in cascading waves.

“Nasty little girl, aren’t you?” He asked.

“N-No,” you whined.

He chuckled. “You letting me play with your pussy. And it feels so good gripping my fingers. Bad little girl,” he growled against your throat.

His other hand snaked up your body until he gripped your throat. Your eyes rolled to the back as he squeezed with force. He brought your head closer so that your foreheads were touching.

His fingers increased in pressure and he drove them into you. Effectively fucking you with his fingers. “Say you’re a bad girl,” he said.

Your breathing was heavy and slow, not pumping enough oxygen into your brain. Or perhaps it was him. Perhaps he was some type of demon, stealing the oxygen from your lungs as your orgasm swam to the surface.

You couldn’t make your words work. The words stuck to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. Your mouth moved, working double time as he stuck two fingers inside and rolled your clit with his thumb.

“Say it if you wanna cum,” he said.

“I wanna,” you whined.

“You wanna what?” He asked. “Shit, you’re so fucking wet. Can’t wait to taste you. Do you taste as sweet as you look?”

You whined and gyrated your hips. Why couldn’t you say anything? Why couldn’t your mouth work to speak?

“I wanna cum,” you finally choked out. You leaned your head back. He allowed you to do so and he kissed your neck around his fingers, dipping low to kiss your chest and just above your breasts.

“Say you’re a bad girl if you wanna cum,” he demanded.

You were close. Incredibly close. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you moaned.

“I’m waiting,” he whispered against your skin. Blowing air across your chest, around the pools of saliva he left on your skin.

“I’m bad. I’m a bad girl,” you moaned.

“So bad,” he agreed.

“So bad. You make me feel so good,” you moaned.

His fingers never stopped pumping into you. Your legs squeezed his and your eyes shut as you cried with your orgasm. Stunna continued to pump his fingers as you came, cooing against your skin.

“So pretty when you cum,” he said. When you were done and slumped against him, he withdrew his fingers. Shivers still wracked your body. He moaned while he suckled on his fingers, licking up your essence.

You watched him as he closed his eyes and savored your taste. You licked your lips watching him. He cleaned his fingers and gave you a wink. “You okay?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I wanna taste you too,” you said.

He grinned. “Get on your knees,” he said. You slid off of his lap with a lopsided smile. The balcony floor wasn’t entirely comfortable, but you were too focused on him unzipping his pants. He released himself from his pants and briefs.

Your eyes widened. You couldn’t possibly fit the whole thing in your mouth?!

Stunna chuckled and moved to put his dick away but you gripped his thighs. “I said, I want to taste you too.” You glanced at him as you took him into your mouth. He gave you an impressed smirk, licking his lips at the look of you taking him deep within your mouth.

You couldn’t fit all of him like you thought. But you got enough of him down. You hoped that your inexperience didn’t show. You’ve sucked dicks before but he was probably used to throat goats. Used to women taking him down to the base, fondling his balls, or knowing what the fuck to do.

You only knew that you wanted to keep going. Wanted to please him. You drooled on him and released him to get some air. Using both hands, you twisted his long shaft and then suckled the head of his dick back into your mouth.

His eyes opened and closed, back bowing off of the chair, as he groaned. His hand palmed your head and pushed you down on his dick, pushing you past your limit until you choked. He eased up, but you took him how he wanted. Your saliva helped your hands twist around his dick and coat his tip.

“Gahh damn. Fuckin’ nasty,” he groaned. You made a pleased sound in the back of your throat and continued to take him deeper and faster. Your sloppy, wet suckling was loud in the quiet air.

You slurped him, drops of precum hitting your tongue. You suckled him all down, glancing at him periodically to see the ecstasy on his face. The pleasure you were bringing him.

“Gonna bust,” he groaned.

“Wanna taste,” you said around his dick.

His breathing turned choppy before he tensed. You felt his orgasm travel up his shaft before he moaned, releasing his cum in your mouth. You continued to milk him for every drop you could. You swallowed him all down.

He pushed at your shoulders to stop, sounds escaping him that you never heard from a man. “Too good,” he panted.

You grinned. You wiped at the corners of your mouth. “You’re dangerous,” he said.

You blinked up innocently at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

His eyebrows raised and he chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Remember you said that,” he said.

He scooted the chair back and stood up, helping you to your feet. He pushed you into the room and closed the balcony door, leaving behind a tiny crack to still let in the breeze from the ocean.

He unzipped your dress and dropped it to the floor, sighing at the look of your body. You never felt so cherished during sex. You weren’t expecting love and all that crap whenever you took someone to bed. It was more like an overwhelming itch that needed to be scratched.

After the deed, your anxiety returned with a vengeance and you were the first out of the door. No one wanted to deal with an anxious mess after getting off.

With Stunna, there was none of that usual nervousness or shyness holding you back. You just wanted him.

Your soaked panties went next. He knelt down, doing all the work of removing it. He kissed along your spine and back, the globes of your ass, and the back of your thighs. You shivered at the attention. The care with which he removed your panties.

He stood back up and unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts. He eagerly grabbed them from behind and rolled your nipples between his fingers. He pulled you until you leaned back against him.

“Can’t wait to get these in my mouth. I wanna be a gentleman, but fuck. I just want to break you,” he said.

A vicious tingle spread around your thighs. “I never asked you to be a gentleman,” you said.

He chuckled. “Fair, but I don’t wanna scare you away,” he said.

“I’m a big girl. I can use my words when I need to,” you said.

“Yeah? Get on the bed then. Hands and knees, bad girl,” he said. He smacked your ass, hard and you did as instructed. You climbed into his bed and got on your hands and knees.

You were too far away however. He grabbed your hips roughly and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He gripped himself and shoved into your inviting pussy with one savage thrust. His grip on your hip prevented you from escaping. You tried to lean forward, but he held you in place.

He pressed on your back until your chest was against the bed. Your ass was high in the air, giving him total access to you. He smacked your ass.

“You been talkin’ mad shit all night,” he said. He began to stroke, delivering hard and long thrusts that immediately found your G-spot.

“Oh shit!” You cried out.

“That’s my shit.” You heard the pleased grin in his tone. How did he find it so fast?

He continued to stroke, hitting your sweet spot over and over with military precision. He smacked your ass with one hand while the other kept a firm grip. “You ain’t so bold now. A little dick shuts you up?” He asked.

You couldn’t speak. He was slamming into you so hard, just the way you always dreamt of. It brought tears to your eyes. Most guys were afraid to be rough. Afraid of catching a case once you asked them to go a little deeper or stroke a little harder.

Not Stunna. He drove into you, seeking something you couldn’t name. It didn’t take long before you were convulsing, shaking on his dick.

“Talk to me, then. Say somethin’ else,” he said.

“Achgg,” you moaned, eyes rolling.

Stunna continued to work himself inside of you. His dick speared you. Nearly split you in half. You bounced back on his dick, giving as much as you got.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Don’t let me stand in your way. You take what you need from me,” he said.

Wet, smacking noises filled the room. The sound of your combined fucking pushed another orgasm to the surface. Your ass clapped on his thighs. Your screams were sure to draw the attention of his neighbors.

He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around your throat. “Fuuh,” you moaned.

Both of you matched each other’s intensity. He pulled you by your throat to swallow every long inch of him. Your desperate thrusts sounded like thunder against his skin.

“Goh, goh, fuh,” you chanted in rapid succession.

“So good, so good. Pussy feel so good. You were made to take this dick, weren’t you? You were made for it,” he groaned.

Your hands feebly held onto the bed in front of you but there was no use. This was so intense and passionate that your orgasm crushed you into a tiny ball and flung you into a tornado. You screamed until you were hoarse. Drool leaked out of your mouth with your whiny cries.

Stunna continued to hold your throat and pound, chasing his own climax. “Greedy ass. Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned.

You were shaking as you rode out your orgasm. As soon as you ended, he began. He flooded your pussy with his cum, roaring like an animal as he climaxed. Your body twitched and spasmed on his dick. His dick hit something deep inside, too deep to know what. But it hit a natural reset.

Stunna let go of your throat and held onto your hips to keep from falling on top of you. You both panted, harsh breaths filling the room. You sniffled as you recovered, brain quiet for once.

Stunna slipped out of you and he leaned back to watch his cum slip out. He panted and his breaths fell across your ass and pussy.

“Fuck,” he said.

You agreed. You never felt something like that before. Possessed. Owned. It was a feeling you would spend your entire life trying to find again. Would you be able to?

Both of you were too wobbly to move. As if with your dual climaxes, you had entered a new plane of existence. Being back in the real world sucked. It seemed foreign. You were changed by the experience so why hadn’t the world changed?

Stunna left to go to the bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth. You cried at the sensation. “Shh, shh, I got you,” he said.

The rough fucking was everything you needed but you were fucking sore. You ached. It felt too damn good for you to complain though. He gently cleaned you up, wiping you down and wiping off some of the sweat.

You curled up into a ball, trying to will yourself to move. To get dressed and make your escape. You felt like the sex police would descend from the ceiling and arrest you for upsetting the natural law of the universe.

You couldn’t move. You felt too raw, too exposed. You focused on your breathing, on drawing air in and then out. Stunna returned from the bathroom and you cringed at the picture you must make.

“I’ll leave just as soon as my legs work,” you mumbled.

Stunna chuckled. “Can you stay?” He sat on the bed in front of you. You were too afraid to look in his eyes. You didn’t know if you were over exaggerating the moment. You wouldn’t be able to bear it if you felt like your world tilted on its axis while it was just Friday night to him.

Stunna laid down on the bed and lifted your chin with his fingers. “Please, stay,” he whispered.

His eyes swirled with emotion. As if the moment you left, this would all disappear from memory. Until he wasn’t sure if he dreamt this or it was real. It only mirrored what you were feeling so you nodded and he grinned. “What you need?”

For your skin to feel like it wasn't going to slough off the moment you unfurled. You looked at him with wide eyes. He nodded as if he understood the turmoil inside of you. He stood up and then came around to lay behind you. His hands came around your arms and knees, pulling you into the heat of his body.

You sighed. Exactly what you needed. He pulled the covers over you, wrapping you in a tiny cocoon of heat. You drifted off to the sound of his quiet breathing. The last thing you felt was a tiny kiss behind your ear.

In the morning, you yawned and stretched. Stunna was asleep next to you. Somehow, you were laying properly in the bed, head on a pillow and his hand draped across your tummy. You watched him in the early morning light.

This was dangerous. Ludicrous. It was crazy to feel this type of connection with someone else. Someone so obviously built for you yet it couldn’t last. Tomorrow you were flying back home. On Monday, it was back to classes.

After taking a peek at the edge of the universe, how did you go back to normal? How did you carry on and keep this in your memory bank?

You had to get out. You lifted his hand to scoot away from him. Away from the oppressive heat that made sweat pool behind your knees.

Stunna groaned and sniffed, pulling you back against his side. “Where you think you going?” He asked.

You giggled. “Back to my suite,” you said.

“You was gonna sneak out? That’s cold,” he said. His deep voice was rough from sleep and it made your pussy flutter. Really? After all that last night, she was still ready to go?!

“Sneak is such an ugly word.” You sighed as he finally cracked one eye open and looked at you.

“At least let me get you breakfast. You can get changed and meet me right back here,” he said.

You laughed. “What if I have plans?” You asked.

“You do. With me,” he said.

You shook your head. “You’re crazy.”

He grabbed your hand and linked your fingers together. Your hands were perfect against each other, skin tones perfectly aligned.

“Please? Text your friends and tell them you’re safe. When do you leave?” He asked.

“Tomorrow,” you said.

“See? Give me one last day until we can figure out when we’ll see each other again.”

You sighed. You couldn’t say no to that face. Those eyes. You bit your lip and nodded. He grinned, peppering you with kisses all over your face.

He ordered room service and ate you out before it came up. He moaned and suckled while he did so, grinding his hips into the bed like he wanted to bury his face into your pussy forever.

When the food arrived, you talked and ate and laughed, sharing more details about yourself but not personal information like the fact that you were in school or where he was working. You talked through safe subjects but all the information you gathered about him, you held it close to your heart.

Each passing moment spent with him carved out a section of your heart and replaced it with a gorgeous, sexy man named Stunna. You did make it back to your room where your friends gushed over your night. You still had no words but you squealed while you showered and begged their forgiveness while you planned to spend the day with Stunna.

They encouraged you, admitting that in a move that surprised no one, they found their way to their own flavor of the day. They agreed to come back to the room at a decent hour to pack away their shit and figure out their flight.

You spent the rest of the day with Stunna, outside of his suite, walking around the resort. It had a small gambling area where he tried to show you how to play poker. He was a very sweet teacher, but you couldn’t make heads nor tails of the rules. You were more of a spades player, but good luck finding that shit here.

You shared desserts and walked along the beach, sitting in the sand in between his legs and talking some more. Stunna stole kisses throughout the day, unwilling to leave your lips for the second it took to breathe and join back together.

As night fell, you ate dinner with him and found your way back to his room where you slowly peeled each other’s clothes off. Where you feasted your eyes on his skin. Gasped as he entered you once more and you gave each other untold amounts of pleasure.

Where he held you like he loved you but fucked you like you stole something from him. You came, looking into his molten brown eyes, nuzzling your cheek against the stubble on his chin. He came with your legs pinned to the mattress and his dick threatening to fuck you into the mattress, the floor, and the next floor down.

You kissed and cuddled while you talked about talking to him every day. He entered you again while you were stubborn, saying you might be busy.

“Naw, this shit belong to me now,” he said while he thrusted into you for the…third time that night? Fourth? Who kept count while his delicious dick was inside you and you felt whole again? Complete.

“It belongs to me,” you said.

He grinned and bit your nipple, then licked away the sting. He continued to nibble across delicate skin, moaning when he found your other nipple and tugged with his teeth. You hissed and your back curved, giving him all the access he wanted.

“Do we have a problem?” He asked.

“Do we?” You countered.

He grinned and then slipped out of you, only to hike one of your legs up in the air. He reentered you from the side, slamming into you until you were crying and shaking on his dick, screaming out his name.

“Stay talkin’ shit,” he groaned as he filled you up once more.

Saying goodbye to him was the hardest shit you ever had to do. It was like you both knew that even with talking every day, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as lying next to him and feeling him take up space in the room, in your heart, in your pussy.

He kept tugging you back for one more kiss, asking if he could walk you to your room. You were blinking back tears. You didn’t want to leave him. But you couldn’t stay either. Both of you had places to be, lives to get back to.

He leaned in the doorframe, holding your hand and not letting you leave. You smiled. “Stunna, you have to let go.”

“I’on want to,” he said.

“It’s not forever,” you said, trying to sound hopeful. Your words only sounded sad. He sighed and rubbed his head on his arm.

“I know. I know.”

He pulled you close to him, capturing your lips with a devastating kiss. You licked his lips, committing the taste and smell of him to memory. “Not forever,” he said.

“Not forever.”

You turned and snatched your hand. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to leave. A cold numbness seeped into your bones as you made the trek to your suite. Stella and Angela commented on how melancholy you seemed.

How could you explain it? That you possibly found your soulmate in Punta Cana and had to leave him here? To be happy with texts and phone calls? Poor substitutes to hugging him, cuddling him, kissing him, fucking him?

You told them that you were all fucked out to explain it now. Ask you in a week. When your heart wasn’t broken and the pain was less intense. Less potent.

They left you alone to wallow while you all packed up your things and souvenirs. The ride back home was uneventful. You weren’t up to the usual plane shenanigans of talking and comparing in-flight meals. You didn’t feel like eating at all.

You texted Stunna that you arrived safely and even spoke to him on the phone. But it only hurt worse. “C’mon, we said not forever,” he said.

The bastard was right though. Hearing his voice in your ear helped but it wasn’t the same.

“Not forever. I just want you here,” you said.

“I know. We did a few things backward, but when we’re comfortable, we’ll arrange something,” he said.

You talked until you absolutely had to go to sleep to get ready for class. Luckily, your first class of the day was in the afternoon. You had a chance to recover from the plane ride and time difference.

Everything was dull. The California sun was dull. The campus was boring. Students felt like aliens to you, playing and existing in a world that ended for you back in Punta Cana in Stunna’s arms.

You sighed, not for the hundredth time, as you dragged your carcass across campus and to your class. Settling into your literature class, you didn’t share this with Stella and Angela. You were left to look out of the window, mind far, far away.

Your pen tapped on the desk, picturing that accidental bump into Stunna over and over again. Act of fate? Accident? How could you meet the love of your life only for you to be ripped away from him and planted back into your normal life like nothing was wrong?

The door opened and you assumed your teacher came through. Whatever.

“Sorry, I’m late. Not used to the campus yet.”

Your head whipped around and there he was. Stunna stood at the front of the class wearing a deep brown sweater over chocolate colored pants. The sleeves were rolled up revealing his smooth forearms.

He wrote his name on the whiteboard and your heart seized in your chest. Panic made your heart pound against your rib cage, practically screaming to be let out. You sunk in your seat. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

Stunna turned around and smiled at the class. When his eyes found yours, his jaw dropped and he stared. He stared and stared and you didn’t know what he was thinking or what he was going to do.

He cleared his throat and smiled at the class, introducing his real name. Not that you thought Stunna was his real name, but it was the name he usually went by. His eyes kept returning to yours.

You…slept with your college professor. Your life was over. Ruined. How the hell could you fall in love with your professor? And what the hell were you going to do now?

The Secret Big Stunna Files | Part 2 | Part 3

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Big Stunna Files #Big Stunna x Black!reader #Big Stunna x Black reader #x Black reader #Big Stunna x Fem!reader #Big Stunna x Fem reader #Big Stunna x reader #Big Stunna x you #yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya abdul mateen ii fanfiction #All Day and a Night fanfic #All Day and a Night fan fic #All Day and a Night fan fiction #All Day and a Night fanfiction #Yahya abdul mateen ii fan fiction

368 notes · View notes

astraystayyh · 1 year

Text

Bittersweet

Pairing : Bang Chan x reader, exes to lovers.

Summary : You broke up with Chan because of an once in a lifetime work opportunity. Four years later, you are back home and everything has changed.

Warnings : Some cursing, reader has a big fear of thunder, allusion to sex in the end but no smut.

A.N: I wrote this as part two of Beginning of the End, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Still, i HIGHLY recommend reading part 1 first, it will just be more impactful!! Please let me know if you enjoyed reading, it means a lot to me <333

(Part 1)

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

Four years later, you were back to where it all started.

It felt weird to return home after all this time; to stroll down the alleys you once memorized, to meet up with the friends you once couldn’t live without. To witness firsthand how small your existence is, in the sense that you were so attached to your city, yet it had moved on perfectly despite your absence.

Still, you couldn’t really blame the world for moving on because you changed a lot too.

You had grown happier and more secure in yourself. Your work was recognized and praised, and you made some unforgettable memories that wouldn't have been possible had you not left. You felt as if everything you fought hard for finally paid off.

But throughout the years, one thing did remain the same; your love for Chan. You never tried to forget him or make your feelings go away. You figured that loving him was like the skin that clung to your bones, an inseparable part of your being.

Still, you were human after all, and as the months passed, you began to forget the sound of his voice and the warmth of his body against yours. His giggles became a distant memory in your mind, and so did the feel of his hands on your skin. Loving Chan became like a photograph that you safely tucked away; it chipped at the edges and its colors faded, but it still lived on, just like your love for him did.

And now that you were finally back with a bigger promotion, you couldn’t help but think about Chan even more. Everywhere you went, you saw snippets of your past with him.

You were so young, so foolish, you realized.

But so utterly in love.

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

It was 11 pm, and you were suddenly craving ice cream. You knew it was a bit ridiculous because it was -3 degrees, and you were already freezing, but you had one fundamental rule in life: never say no to your heart's desires.

This is why, despite the cold, you quickly leave your new apartment and skip toward the convenience store near you.

You head inside and grab your favorite ice cream before strolling around in case something else caught your attention. You just loved the calm inside and wanted to bask in it a bit more.

You round the milk aisle and suddenly bumped into someone’s chest. You were about to apologize when the words got stuck in your throat.

Chan.

"Yn…?" he calls out, and you feel yourself grow weak in the knees.

There was something about the way your name rolled off the tip of his tongue that made you feel as if no one, besides him, had ever done it justice.

He was even more beautiful than when you last saw him four years ago. His brown curly hair was tousled and his warm eyes reminded you of galaxies. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest because you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe it was him.

Memories of your last time together came crashing down on you like a wave; how he hugged you and told you to pretend as if nothing was happening, how he wrote you the most heart-wrenching letter that you’ve since memorized by heart.

"How are you?" you ask, clearing your throat. It felt silly to ask such mundane questions. This wasn't what you wanted to know. You wanted to ask if he still hated the taste of alcohol, if he still cried during sad movies, if he still squealed when he laughed, if he still loved you as you loved him.

But you couldn't voice those thoughts, so you willed yourself to drown them in the storm that is your mind.

"I'm good, and you?" he replies, smiling a little. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"I'm great."

"You look like it," he says, and you meekly nod, "So do you."

"Are you... visiting?" he asks after a few silent beats, and you shake your head, "I'm back for good."

"That's great. It's nice seeing you again," he gives you a genuine smile this time, and you can't help but grin back. You missed him.

You both stare at each other for a while after that, taking each other in. Looking at him felt like looking at a mirror of your past self -you could clearly see yourself in him because he once was a part of you, just like you were a part of him.

"I'll... I'll get going," he points behind him, retracting back, and before you could think it through, you grab his wrist to stop him.

It wasn't butterflies you felt when you touched him, that would be an understatement, it was pure electricity shooting through you.

People had touched you while you were away - hugs, kisses, and intimate caresses - but none of them made you feel this way. You were like a prisoner who had just felt the sun's rays against their skin for the first time in years. And you were starving for that sunlight.

"Can we meet up? Catch up? If you want to, of course," you whisper. Your voice is quiet- a stark contrast to the chaos going on in your mind.

"Yeah... Yeah, I'd like that," he agrees, rubbing the spot where you had grabbed him. Did he feel the sparks too?

"Tomorrow, this time, in the park near our old apartment?" you suggest, and he nods, "Sure. I'll be there."

"Great. I'll wait for you."

----------

You are sitting on a swing, swaying back and forth gently. Your heart is beating erratically in your chest, and you bite your nails from how stressed you are. In the four years you were away, you had to give conferences in front of thousands and thousands of people, yet you weren't as nervous as you are now.

"You still do that?" a voice next to you reprimands and you turn around to find Chan.

"Old habits never die, I guess," you smile sheepishly, dropping your hand down, and he chuckles.

"How are you?" you ask again, and he shrugs, "I'm good."

"How are you, really?"

"I don't think you have the right to ask me that anymore." His words cut you deep, and you swallow forcefully. "I'm sorry, I didn't... I didn't mean to pry."

"I know, fuck, I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay," you reassure, looking up at the starry sky. He was right after all.

"Haven't been stargazing for a while," he whispers, and you smile sadly. That was one of your favorite activities together.

"Me too. But I love looking at the stars," you reply.

"I know. They remind you of how small you are in the grand scheme of things," he says nonchalantly as if he didn’t just knock the breath out of you. He remembered.

"Yeah, like how I've been away for four years, and everything moved on as if I've never been here."

"Your absence was felt, yn”, he pauses, “I used to miss you." Used to. Past tense.

"I still miss you." Your reply is instant; you don't feel the need to hide from him. You never did.

Chan holds your gaze for a while, and you wonder what he was thinking at that moment. You wanted to shout at him to tell you what was on his mind. To just say it. But you couldn't. You can no longer ask things from him; you knew that.

"I saw your name in news articles and TV shows. You had your big breakthrough," he suddenly smiles at you, changing the subject. You feel a blush creep up your neck; the fact that he kept up with you made you feel shy all of a sudden.

"I guess I did, I grew a lot. I... I think that I needed to get away and experience new things. It would have haunted me had I not," you smile, and he nods attentively. He still listened to you intently, as always.

"You were always destined for great things," he says seriously, and you feel your eyes well up with tears.

He spoke those words as if he wholeheartedly believed them, and nothing in the world could ever sway his mind.

"So are you. You've been doing amazing these past few years, getting all these awards and deals. I love your music," you gush, and he waves a hand in the air as if to dismiss your words.

"Don't do that," you chastise, "you should be proud of yourself. I know I am very proud of you."

"I suppose the years did us good," he sighs wistfully, and you hum in agreement. You are both quiet after that. You don’t dare to speak, afraid that your next words would break the bubble you are in. As selfish as it was, you didn’t want to face reality yet.

"Just say what’s on your mind," he suddenly speaks up, and you raise a brow at him inquisitively.

“You are scratching your throat as if to stop the words from coming out. Just tell me.” Chan, ever the perceptive.

You take in a deep breath, willing your voice to sound strong, "The only thing I regret is that... I had to lose you in the process. I know I'll never find someone as amazing as you."

Chan doesn’t reply and your words linger in the air, suffocating you. You hoped that a strong wind will come by and carry them away, somewhere they wouldn't hurt anymore.

"I did love you, yn." A pause, and you can feel a heartbreaking ‘but’ coming. "But I don't anymore. I found... I found someone else. They are good to me and I love them."

"Oh". You dreaded it, expected it even, you never wanted him to wait for you. Because you left, so he had every right to move on. Still, you were only human, an enamored human whose heart now broke in two.

You feel the bile rise in your throat and you shake your head as if to clear those stupid thoughts away. You left, for god’s sake, you weren’t allowed to feel this way. But still, it hurt, it hurt so bad all you wanted to do was to curl in a ball and weep.

"I hope that you are happy with them. That's all I ever wanted for you, happiness." Your voice wavers and he knows, Chan must know you are trying so hard not to break down. So he doesn’t comment, he only smiles at you, which makes your heart break even more, because he must smile at them like this all the time now.

"I will get going," you abruptly stand up, dusting your pants. "Let me walk you home," he offers and you shake your head no.

"It's nearly midnight, you are out of your mind if you think I'll let you walk alone."

"Okay," you simply reply. Truth is, you weren’t processing what he was saying anymore. 'I love them' kept repeating itself in your head like a broken mantra. He found someone else. He found someone else. He found someone else, and it isn’t you.

"This is me", you clear your throat when you arrive in front of your apartment, and Chan stops in his tracks.

“Come here”, he says and it’s all it takes for you to bury yourself in him. Just like four years ago, he was leaving you with a goodbye hug. Only this time, there was no hope left. Only a sense of finality. He knows that you still love him, you couldn't hide that from him. But he doesn't love you anymore and he can't hide that from you.

The hug only lasted a mere ten seconds, but you tried your best to take it all in, to memorize how it felt for Chan to hug you again. You desperately needed to patch up the broken memories you had left of him.

You finally lean away, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. Chan’s brows furrow looking at you, and you smile reassuringly. "I'm okay really. This is just bittersweet to me."

"It is to me too," he whispers and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from breaking down.

"You stay safe for me, yeah?" he tells you softly and you nod again, "you too."

"Goodbye, yn."

"Goodbye, Chan," and with that you turn around, entering your apartment block.

You've never hated goodbyes more than in that instant.

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

it's been 3 months since your talk with Chan. Admittedly, you've gone back to that convenience store where you've met him, for a month straight, just in case he went back there. He didn't. And now you had a large stock of snacks you didn't know what to do with.

After that, you went to all the places where you've gone to on your dates. You don't know what you were expecting. You've lost Chan, but still, you always found yourself back to where you shared memories with him. But he wasn't there.

In the third month, you've started accepting that you lost him for good. The love mingled with the ache and you found comfort in its everlasting presence. It served as a reminder that you did love him, and he did love you back at some point.

Thankfully, your work was going really well, and tonight, you were out with your superior to celebrate a successful deal you chaperoned and discuss some upcoming projects.

You enter the restaurant, your boss hot on your tracks, when you abruptly stop. Sat on a table right across from you is Chan with a girl you did not recognize. You would have bolted out had it not been for your boss who looked at you with worried eyes. You shake your head mouthing an "I'm fine" to him.

While your boss placed your order, you couldn’t help but stare at Chan. He looked so... happy with her. She said something and he laughed, tipping his head back. You felt jealousy gnaw at your heart because you were the one who used to make him laugh like that.

You left, you remind yourself, you are the one who left.

Against your own will, you look up at Chan once again, only this time he was looking at you too. You hold his gaze as if under a spell, and when the girl next to him touches his hand softly to bring him to her, you almost sob right there and then.

"... our partners will come from France and you will have to hold a meeting with them tomorrow."

"Sure. I already prepared the slides and sent them over to your mail," you nod. Work, forget about Chan, work.

"I will check them out. You'll have Clara with you?"

"Yes, she's the only one who can speak French besides me. I have been overlooking her for this past month and she's really competent."

"Should I challenge her?"

"Yeah, I think she's up to the task", you smile and he nods, satisfied.

You try to eat your dinner after that, keeping up with your boss’s chatter. But it felt like a punishment- sitting there when the man you still loved was on a date right across from you.

And as if your night couldn’t get any worse, you hear thunder rumble loudly. You clench your glass so tightly in your hand- you are surprised it didn’t break.

You had a really really big fear of thunder. It stemmed from when you were a child, playing hide and seek when a thunderstorm happened. You ended up being stuck in the closet for an hour because your cousins forgot about you, and you fainted from how afraid you were.

You look up at your boss apologetically, you couldn't tell him you had to leave because of a childhood phobia, so you quickly try to muster up an excuse. "I'm sorry to cut it short but can I go? I have a- a dentist appointment and I need to wake up very early tomorrow."

"Sure. I'll see you at work?". You have never been more grateful for his understanding.

"Yeah, thank you for dinner".

You quickly grab your things, leaving the restaurant. You hop in your car but you are shaking so badly, you can't even start the engine. Another thunder resounds and you drop your keys, forcefully shutting your eyes. You try to drown out the sound with your hands clasped on your ears but it didn’t help. It was too much- the pain, the fear, the ache. You needed everything around you to stop.

You hear the door next to you suddenly open and you snap your eyes toward it, to find a disheveled Chan standing there. He pulls you out of your seat, instantly bringing you to his body.

He knows how scared you are of thunder.

"Shhh, it's okay, I'm here. You're safe," he pats your head gently and you hug him tighter to you; as if he was your only mean of survival.

He tries to peel away but you only hold him closer, to which he rubs soothing circles on your back, “I’m not going anywhere, let me drive you home, okay?”

You nod against his chest and he lets go of you, holding your hand instead. He opens the passenger door for you then he quickly hops into the driver’s seat. He starts off your car, blasting the music so loud you no longer hear the thunder booming.

Your hand is still tightly clasped in his when you arrive home.

He silently opens the door for you once more, and you lead him to your apartment. You were mortified he had to leave the restaurant for you, but you were so grateful for him, because at the end of the day, he came to you.

Chan awkwardly stands in your living room and you figure the least you could do is apologize. "I’m sorry I cut your date short."

"You sound jealous", he points out.

"I am jealous, but mostly sorry."

"You shouldn't date someone who won't be with you in times like these," he dismisses your words, and you frown. Why did he sound angry all of the sudden?

"He didn't know."

"Still, he should have seen the signs. I was across the room but I saw you shaking for god's sake!” he almost shouts and you take a step toward him.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't," he is lying.

"Why does it bother you?” you insist. You needed to know.

"I said it doesn’t yn," he enunciates but you don’t back off.

“He’s my boss that’s why I was alone, but why? Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I fucking lied", he shouts, inching closer to you. "Because I lied yn, I never found someone else, it was you, it was always you."

"What... but the girl?".

"She's my coworker yn. I tried to forget you. I tried but you were always there. You were everywhere. And I had to carry on with the love I had for you but I didn't know where to put it anymore. Because you didn't tell me, you didn't tell me where the love was supposed to go now that you left!"

You stare at him unblinking, afraid that this was all just a figment of your imagination.

"And then... and then you came back and it was as if no time has gone by. It was as if you'd never left and I wanted to kiss you and hug you and I wanted you back. I needed you back", his hands are on your shoulders now, grasping you tightly as if to convince himself that you were here.

"But I couldn't, I couldn't allow you in because what if you left again? I wouldn't survive that, yn," his voice cracks at your name and it’s all it takes for you to bring his lips crashing down on yours.

You stagger back, your fingers grazing your lips in shock, "I'm so sorry, I didn't-", your words are cut off by his mouth on yours once again, "don't stop", he whispers and you kiss him, again and again. Your mouths moving in sync to the symphony that is your love.

When you finally pull away, he places his forehead on yours and you close your eyes. "Tell me this is real, that you're back to me."

"I'm here."

"You still feel like a dream."

"I'm here, I'm here", you reassure, your hand gently cradling his cheek, "I never stopped loving you Chan. I knew I was destined to love you, whether you loved me back or not."

"You are my soulmate", he leans back, kissing your forehead softly, "you and I are one."

"I've got a tattoo of your handwriting", you confess softly and his eyes snap open.

"What?"

"I tattooed a sentence from the letter you left me, with your handwriting, 'Our love will remain'."

"Where?"

"Here", you trace the outline of your breast and he chokes, "somewhere only I can see it."

"You are crazy", he chuckles, a bewildered smile on his face.

"In love, yes," you giggle and he blushes, hiding his head in your neck.

“Can I see you tomorrow? We have a lot to talk about," he asks, peppering the curve of your neck with kisses.

"Sure, I'm all yours after 5 pm."

"Works for me. I’ll see you tomorrow?", he smiles, and you beam at him, "I’ll see you."

Chan doesn't let you go and you laugh, kissing his cheek, "you are not leaving?"

"I'm not", he smiles cheekily.

"And why is that?"

"Because....", he drawls out, his lips brushing against your collarbone, "I need to see that tattoo."

----------

A lover’s body is like a land you discover over and over again. And tonight, as Chan made love to you, you drank it all in- the flexing of his muscles and the new sounds he made. But despite those changes, you found out that you never forgot the secret passages to his body, and the ways only you can make him unfold.

Still, it wasn’t when his naked body hovered over yours that you felt bare in front of him. It was when you both laid next to each other, talking in bed until the sun rose, that he undressed your mind.

It is there, behind those walls that you both built, that Chan and yn from four years ago lived on.

And you were still as in love.

1K notes · View notes

descendantsbigbang · 30 days

Text

Descendants Big Bang 2024-2025!

What's a fandom bang when it's at home?

A fandom bang is an event where authors are challenged to write a piece of at least 10,000 words over a seven month period. Artists will then claim the fic of their choosing, and collaborate with their author to create something special!

What do I need?

Authors: You’ll need an Ao3 account, a story to tell, and a Discord! Artists: Your tool of choice, and a Discord account!

Schedule:

August 26th: Sign-Ups Open

September 26th: Author Sign-Ups Close

October 20th: First Author Check-In

December 1st: Second Author Check-In

January 20th: Final Author Check-In

January 24th: Artist and Beta Sign-Ups Close

January 27th: Art Claims Round 1

January 30th: Art Claims Round 2

February 5th: Posting Dates Revealed

February 10th: Team Check-In #1

February 24th: Team Check-In #2

April 10th: Final Submissions Due

May 1st: Posting Begins

Rules | FAQ | In-Depth Schedule

#descendants #big bang #disney descendants #fic fest

103 notes · View notes

sickness-health-all-that-shit · 7 months

Text

When Lip brings home an advanced android in order to test it for the company he works for, Ian doesn't know what to make of him. MIK-940810, or Mickey, seems virtually indistinguishable from a human being, throwing Ian for a loop as he feels an undeniable connection to the android. Their relationship deepens when Ian finds out about something that Mickey has been keeping from Lip and the people who built him. --- There’s a faint blue light shining from the place where Lip’s thumb rests for about two seconds. Ian’s expecting some kind of whirring noise, like when you turn a computer on, but there’s just silence. And then suddenly the blue eyes come alive.

here's my fic for the Shameless Big Bang round 12!! 💖

huge thanks to @whaticameherefor for organising this event and keeping it going, to @too-schoolforcool for the precious beta work and encouragement and to the amazingly talented @cal-tastrophe for this spectacular art!!! 🤩🥰 so excited to finally share this story with everyone <33

#ian x mickey #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich fic #gallavich fanart #shameless fanfiction #shameless big bang #my fics #ian and mickey

214 notes · View notes

wipbigbang · 5 months

Text

WIP BIG BANG SIGN-UPS ARE LIVE!

The 2024 round of WIP Big Bang is now open for sign-ups! Any fandom is welcome, as long as the fic is 500 completed so far and will be at least 7,500 words upon its finishing. Signing up is easy: just fill out the form linked below after you read the FAQ and take a look at the schedule.

#wip big bang #signal boost #writing event #art event #multifandom event #young wizards #diane duane #nita callahan #kit rodriguez #dairine callahan #the lone power #tom swale #carl romero #ronan nolan #darryl mcallister #s'reee

175 notes · View notes

stuckybangs · 3 months

Text

Thank you to all the participants in this year's reverse bang! We're thrilled to present the incredible 34 collaborations in this round! From the artists, to authors, to betas, pinch hitters and cheerleaders, we thank you all for being a part of this year's bang!

Under the cut you'll find all the collaborations from this year. Enjoy!

Touch Me and You'll Never Be Alone [not rated, wip] art by @metalbvcky written by @hanitrash

Bucky is barely managing to get by on his own, but is proud of the small, safe life he's created for himself. He's even content to thirst in secret over the insanely hot older man that recently moved to the area. But when a popped tire and an early season winter storm combine to throw their paths together, Bucky's carefully constructed life is about to get flipped upside down.

hold my body (hold my breath) [Teen, 2/2, 16k] art by @alwaysabrighterdarkness written by @teenytabris

“You were born in a storm. On a rocking boat, too. Maybe that’s where all this started,” his ma had said, kissing his head and rocking him in her arms. “Demanded to come into the world in an in-between place. Couldn’t wait to get to America,” she joked. Steve didn’t know what that meant, but he did know that even imagining a boat out there, getting tossed by waves, made him feel ill enough that even looking at the rain made him retch weakly. His ma tutted, and pressed a hand to his forehead. -- Steve has always had an all-consuming fear of water, and nearly drowning twice only made it worse. One day, after just turning on a tap sends him spiraling, he has to consider what his breaking point is.

Runaway [Teen, 8/8, 20k] art by @alwaysabrighterdarkness written by @mandyyvibes

Steve still felt a little guilty that Bucky was willing to do all that for him. Did he really deserve his unconditional loyalty? He could’ve picked anyone at school to be best friends with, but he picked him, and Steve would never know how he got so lucky. The thought of running away was comforting, anyway, even if maybe they couldn’t actually leave for a while. Days, weeks, months. — In which Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes grow up together under circumstances that no child should have to face, and Bucky paints Steve daydreams of a better life together, if only they could run far enough.

Finding You With Open Arms [Gen, 1/1, 8.5k] art by @taybay14 written by LuxuryVelvetStudebaker

Coming home means the big things are the little things

Some legends are told [Explicit, 2/2, 26k] art by @rufferto9 and @chaosmanor (additional art) written by @chaosmanor

Twenty-eight billion kilometers. Four thousand years. That's how far Bucky has gone to get away from HYDRA, and that's how far Steve will have to go to bring him home.

The art of shadowboxing [Explicit, wip] art by @burnin-brighter written by @dharmasharks

In 1918, Bucky is forced to flee New York with his family. In 1923, he returns as a prize fighter, determined to send money to his sisters and stay far away from the gang violence that destroyed their home. And then Steve Rogers shows up. These days, Bucky’s childhood pal isn’t facing down neighborhood bullies. He’s taking on every factory owner in the Garment District—and every gangster they hire to intimidate union members. By joining the fray as Steve’s bodyguard, Bucky can finally stand up to the mobsters who took so much from him. And if that means spending a whole lot of time by Steve’s side…well, that’s just an added bonus.

In the Mood to Let You Know [Mature, wip] art by @burnin-brighter written by @voylitscope

Bucky's never liked keeping secrets from Steve, but there are a few things he hasn't told his best friend over the years. These days? There are three. The two new ones he begins keeping in the summer of 1925, and that one massive secret he's been holding onto since 1918. (Or: During the height of the 1918 flu outbreak in New York, a seveneteen-year-old Steve spends a month indoors. Steve and Bucky write letters to pass the time and keep in communication. By the time Steve is out and about again, they've said a few things they'll never say out loud.At least not until 1925, when Bucky can't seem to stop running into Steve in unexpected places. )

Desert Fires [Explicit, 1/1, 9.6k] art by @zanthems written by @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy

Bucky doesn’t plan to end up high and naked in the desert with stars shining in the heavens and his eyes with his dick deep inside a dainty, beautiful man with sparkling sapphire eyes and chapped, bitten lips that drive all coherent thoughts from his mind. He didn’t intend for any of it to happen, but that’s where he’s found himself, nonetheless.

Coffee, Sugar, and Pine [Mature, wip] art by @taybay14 written by @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy

There’s nothing Bucky loves more than his cat Alpine and an excellent cup of coffee. After three tours in the army, he’s probably earned a few breaks and an IV of caffeine. When he steps into a café in Brooklyn where a spunky redhead mans the cash register and a sassy blonde with sparkling blue eyes concocts delicious hot beverages, Bucky realizes he’s found his perfect drink and perhaps his ideal mate. Now, he can’t stop thinking about how to guarantee that he’ll have both for the rest of his life.

Let's Do It [Teen, wip] art by @skullfragments written by @trinitydaydabbles

Even before Steve drags him up before the crack of dawn to go running, Bucky is already plotting his revenge. If only Steve didn't know him so well, maybe the day wouldn't devolve into a game of one-upmanship.

Human Lens [Teen, wip] art by @taybay14 written by @chaossmagic

Torn from his old life and dumped unceremoniously in the 21st century, and then having to face an alien attack just months after coming out of the ice, Steve Rogers is struggling to come to terms with everything he's lost and isn't sure the title of Captain America is one he feels 100% comfortable with anymore. Alone, deeply lonely and desperate for anything to help him feel like his old self again, he stumbles across the work of fellow veteran and photographer Bucky Barnes, who specialises in helping wounded soldiers reclaim their bodily autonomy and sense of self after injury in combat. When he asks Bucky to take his own photograph, he finds the connection he's been looking for the entire time. And, as it just so happens, Bucky finds exactly the same thing.

Taking Pictures [Gen, wip] art by @taybay14 written by @leavinghopeao3

Reporter Steve Rogers and photojournalist Bucky Barnes stumble across a conspiracy at the heart of the United States government. Will they be able to stop it before it's too late? And will this fight bring them closer together?

lost to time [Mature, wip] art by @rufferto9 written by @burnin-brighter

As Steve returns the last Infinity Stone, he realizes there is nothing for him to return to in 2024. His friends, the ones who are still here, have families they want to be with or people they need to help. Steve has no one. Bucky died in 1944, Natasha died on Vormir, Tony perished in the fight with Thanos. What is he supposed to do? There are many options in front of him, though before he can make up his mind, a ghost from his past appears. Could it really be his Bucky?

A Game for Two [Mature, 1/1, 9.9k] art by einahpets written by @dontcallmebree

Steve will never forget the itch under his skin, the need to peel the world back until it finally felt right. He knows he would have gotten it then, would’ve finally latched his teeth around this amorphous, unnamable thing that had been haunting him if it weren’t for the Winter Soldier. If it weren’t for Bucky. And ain’t that a trip and a half—if not for Bucky. Story of his fucking life. The hands of fate are familiar, loving, and too cruel by half.

Til the End of the Line [Teen, 7/7, 14.7k] art by @taybay14 written by @xoxobuckybarnes

Back home after their first tour, the Avengers are getting ready to record their second album - they just have to write it first. Lead singer, Bucky Barnes, struggles to write a song that's not about his childhood best friend, the drummer of the band, Steve Rogers. The problem is, Steve has no idea how Bucky feels about him. When another childhood friend starts leaning on Steve, Bucky must decide if it's time to let his crush go, or to finally be brave and let Steve know how he feels.

Plan Bee [Gen, 1/1, 15k] art by britbrit99 written by @hkandiu

Steve is still getting used to the 21st century and begins to frequent farmers markets, where he becomes a regular customer of Shield Apiary, a small business selling all things honey. As he enters that sweet chapter of his life, Tony decides to take on a new project - finding someone for Steve! Steve lies to the team that he's already dating someone but before he can come clean, Tony reaches the wrong conclusion that Steve is dating one of the owners of Shield. Except, Steve's never met Bucky, much less gone on a date. Becca somehow talks the men into pretending to date to help Steve, and the month isn't what anyone expected...

The Beekeeper & The Gardener [Gen, 10/10, 13k] art by britbrit99 written by E_Greer

Every morning, Bucky likes to greet the dawn and watch morning runner guy. Every morning, Steve likes to sip his coffee and watch plant guy. One morning, runner guy and plant guy meet.

Let Us Partake in Summer’s Bounty [Teen, 1/1, 11.8k] art by britbrit99 written by @theflailing

Spring was one of Steve’s favourite seasons; it was a time of renewal and intention, a time to plant the seeds of things that will yet bear fruit, both literal and metaphorical. It was a time when the chilly grip of winter gave way to the lush green of new growth; it was when the world took its first deep breath and stretched its limbs after the long, somber solitude that preceded it. Although Steve was born in the height of summer, his mother always said that he did not belong there. “I did a reading, the day you were born,” she would tell him often, a soft and loving sparkle in her eyes. “Your heart belongs to the springtime; it is an omen that marks your soul.” -8- Steve is never one to turn down a request for help, and as he prepares to accept this call for aid, he reflects on his life, the friends he has made, and the community he serves.

I'll Use You (As A Focal Point) [Teen, wip] art by @taybay14 written by @lynlee494

The Soldier’s understanding of the world begins to unravel after he completes a mission and finds a helpless, shivering, and soaking wet kitten. Unable to leave, knowing the frail thing will die in the elements, the Soldier makes a choice... The Soldier can not risk contact, capture, and the inevitable return to Hydra and captivity would bring. He may remember Steve Rogers, but he also remembers Captain America. Similarly enhanced, the Captain would have the advantage, the Soldier’s movement would be limited with the kitten’s safety to consider.A surveillance approach is the safest angle to take. There had been notebooks at the museum exhibit, so there may be more memories to be dredged up if Steve Rogers still keeps journals, keepsakes, things that may stir up more memories - more pieces to fill in the expanse between Bucky and the Soldier.He’ll seek out Steve Rogers, who seems to feature in nearly every memory with Bucky, but he’ll be cautious. Can hopefully glean from the exposure more about the time before Bucky – before he – was presumed dead in a war. From before Steve’s Bucky became Hydra’s, time stuttering by till the Soldier was born.

5 Times Bucky Tricked Steve Into Washing His Hair +1 Time He Didn’t Have To Ask [Explicit, 8/8, 34.8k] art by @taybay14 written by @norelationtoatticus

During the worst of his recovery, Steve used to wash Bucky’s hair for him. Now, Bucky is a semi-stable hundred year old man who can bathe all by himself… but he misses Steve washing his hair for him. Asking for it? Out of the question. Lies, subterfuge, and expertly crafted machinations to manipulate Steve’s big, soapy hands right where he wants them? Much more Bucky’s style.

Piece By Piece [not rated, 10/10, 34.7k] art by @skullfragments written by @taybay14

Steve and Bucky are discovered on the bank of the Potomac & brought to Stark Tower. From the beginning, everyone has one thing on their mind: Help Bucky. It’s going to be hard, but they're ready to give it everything they’ve got - and they’re the Avengers, so they’ve got quite a lot. *** “Hey, Buck,” Steve says, his voice soft. Bucky lays on his side, pressing a cheek to the soft carpeting, wishing he hadn’t ruined all his blankets. He hates feeling cold and it’s a little cold in his room. “You don’t have to talk or come out or anything, but… I’m going to lay here, okay? All night. I’m going to stay right here so you don’t forget that it’s different now. So you don't forget that you’re safe. You’re not alone.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that. Even if he did know, his tongue is doing that heavy-sticky thing again. Instead, he slides his flesh fingers under the crack in the door, barely able to fit the tips, and waits. A moment passes. Then Steve’s fingers are pressing right back. And maybe Steve is right. Maybe things are different, maybe he is safe, maybe he’s not alone. Maybe - just maybe - he’ll be able to get himself back after all, piece by piece.

Now That I've Met You [Teen, 3/3, 11k] art by @louikazooie written by @megs-bee

First day back from vacation, not even inside the building yet and Bucky’s boss calls, telling him to head straight up to the executive suite. “The short version is that we’ve found ourselves with a VIP who needs a personal assistant immediately,” Pepper sighs. “The longer version is that we discovered the previous assistant was selling information on said VIP’s schedule and other high-security details which resulted in, among other issues, an attempted…let’s call it assault.” Pepper hands over the StarkPad open to what Bucky recognizes as a personnel file. Commander S. G. Rogers. If he’d been drinking his coffee at that moment, he’d have choked.

The Rest Are Stories To Tell [Teen, wip] art by @taybay14 written by @endlesstwanted

After he broke free from HYDRA with Steve and his new friends’ help, Bucky is working on reconnecting with himself living in the Avengers Tower with his cat Alpine. Soon, a dream brings back memories of his time as the Winter Soldier and one specific location in which he supervised experiments like the ones he went through. The team works together to figure out what’s real and puts the pieces together to prepare against a potential hidden thread by HYDRA before they run out of time —or the experiments run out of time. What would happen if, on top of this, Bucky discovered a secret related to Steve and me that would tie them together more than they have ever been?

out of the darkness, out into the light [Mature, wip] art by bergamotene written by @burnin-brighter

There were very few things Bucky disliked in life, although chaperoning his sister at every ball of the season was one of them. It was boring, long, and overall unpleasant. Or it used to be, until the day Bucky laid eyes on the most beautiful man he had ever seen at such an event. The man wasn’t familiar, Bucky would have remembered seeing him before. And after the first night, Bucky saw him everywhere. While he slept, while he daydreamed, while he walked around town. There was no escaping this stranger. And perhaps Bucky did not want to. What was the worst that could happen if Bucky were to let himself give in to his thoughts, to his urges?

Penumbra [not rated, 1/1, 12.7k] art by bergamotene written by @bonky-bornes

There was nothing more dangerous than having a soulmate. That’s what James had been taught his entire life. Being bound to another, life for life, got one killed just as surely as treason. Anyone with the mark of a binding was executed. Kings and peasants alike, it didn’t matter. There was nothing more dangerous than secondary loyalty to your Kingdom. James mastered the art of knives and silence, he learned to move like a shadow, unseen and inescapable. Bondeds were a disease, and he was a cure. He’d rather have his hands stained red than see his people suffer. Bondeds killed to protect one life. James killed to protect them all. - The Northern and Southern Kingdoms have been at war over Bonded Pairs for years. When a temporary armistice is proposed, and James is invited to the Southern Kingdom, it's one last chance to find a way towards peace.

No Better Version of Me [Teen, 3/3, 26.8k] art by @koreanrage written by @film-in-my-soul

Like Steve’s got a shooting star fused to his pulse (and hell, it just might be), he makes a wish. Thanos is stopped from making the snap. But just because Steve managed to save everyone else, it doesn't mean he can save himself.

no years of silence in the shadow of regret [Gen, 1/1, 9.7k] art by @koreanrage written by @hipsterdiva

“I’m fine,” Steve says again without looking at him. “You don’t have to stay.” It takes a while, and for a second, Steve thinks that perhaps Bucky will get up, pack his bag and his cat and leave. For a second, Steve hopes that’s what’s gonna happen. Then Bucky speaks. “I know,” he says. And stays. Or, Steve has baggage, communication is difficult, and (baby) steps are taken.

A Safe Place To Land [Explicit, wip] art by @kahey2804 written by @gloromeien

Bucky Barnes had it all—grease under his fingernails, dog fur behind the cushions of his couch, a cozy place to call his own. The house, the truck, the dogs, the works. A ride-or-die, close-knit community. A patch of land he could wander. A mountain view to inspire him. After six tours of duty and nine months in captivity, Bucky knew how bad things could get, so he didn't dare ask for anything else. Especially not someone to hold. Until a tall, blond super-soldier crash-landed into his quiet life and threatened to make all his dreams come true. For now.

Soul Mates and Circumstances [Explicit, wip] art by @kahey2804 written by @sunriserose1023

It’s a classic story. Boy meets boy, they share an instant connection. They have a night of pure heaven, and then life steps in. That’s the story for Bucky and Steve. They had one great night, then radio silence. Until they manage to cross paths again, but they seem destined to ghost each other. Maybe it’s just not meant to be. But what if it is?

All Along - It Was You [Explicit, 8/8, 34.k] art by @burnin-brighter written by @taybay14

It all started with a suggestion from Natasha - which should have been Steve's first clue that it'd end in trouble. She suggests a BDSM club that allows photostatic veils for anonymity, knowing Steve has growing desires he's been desperate to explore. Of course, she didn't bother to warn him of three very important facts: 1. Bucky Barnes is a member of this club 2. Bucky Barnes is apparently gay 3. Bucky Barnes is a dom Steve is stunned when he comes face to (veiled) face with Bucky Barnes himself his first night at the club. His brain malfunctions. Surely, that's the only reason why he does the incredibly idiotic thing of accepting Bucky's invitation to play with him. He knows he shouldn't - but what will one night of lies hurt? One night to scratch the itch, to get Bucky Barnes out of his system once and for all, and then Steve can move on. Except when Bucky keeps giving him chances for more, Steve finds himself unable to walk away. Like Steve said before... trouble. Unfortunately for him, he's always been a magnet for that kind of thing.

Complicate this world you've wrapped for me (I'm acquainted with your suffering) [Explicit, wip] art by LadyGigi written by @hanitrash

The Captain is sent on a mission to prove his ability to perform without the assistance of a STRIKE team. What he doesn’t know is that it’s more than his competence being tested…because if he passes, the face of HYDRA—and the fate of the world—will be forever changed.

Stephanos of the Glade [Explicit, 9/9, 22.6k] art by @murkycrush written by @wolfiefics

Escaped gladiator slave Iacomus discovers a new path in life as a guardian of a mysterious glade and it's equally godlike inhabitor, Stephanos, the river god of the Aneine River. With Stephanos' intercession, he learns to live a life outside of slavery with the help of Artemis, Ares, Demeter, and many other Greek/Roman gods. He finds his purpose in helping Stephanos protect the river from one who would cause it harm. Possibly to the death.

Covert Display [Explicit, 1/1, 8k] art by @murkycrush written by @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy

For decades, Bucky suffered, but he’s finally back with Steve, completing missions together, and going home to a shared apartment. Despite their past, nothing’s happened between them since waking up in the twenty-first century. Until it does. Bucky just never intended for anyone else to see.

I Wanna Break a Sweat, Eating Your Juicy Cake [Explicit, 1/1, 13.4k] art by @mxaether written by @theflailing

When Bucky finally has some time off work, he books a flight to DC to visit his best friend and old college roommate, Sam. While there, Bucky decides that he needs to blow off some steam, and a Grindr hookup is exactly the thing that will scratch that itch. When the hottest guy on the planet starts sexting him, Bucky can't believe his luck. But the universe has more in store for Bucky than he ever could have hoped for, and with the luck that he's about to have, maybe he should buy a lottery ticket, because it feels like all of his dreams are coming true.

Thank you again to all the participants this year!

#stuckybigbang2024 #masterlist #stevebucky #stucky big bang #stucky fic #steve x bucky

124 notes · View notes