#but because that was what finally broke him

[sixeyesonathiel]

you ever draw someone so hard you ride them?

pairing — star player satoru x broke artist reader

synopsis : after months of being your muse, satoru finally flips the table and makes you his canvas—reverent, hungry, and utterly devoted. you spent weeks capturing his form; now he worships yours, whispering that you are the masterpiece.

wc — 3.5k tags — smut, fluff, university au, pining, finally touching, soft dom satoru, service top satoru, hand worship, oral (f receiving), mirror sex, slow burn payoff, first time, established relationship, emotional smut, he loves you so much it’s sick, you lets yourself be loved, gentle filth, satoru is down so bad it’s pathetic

a/n: yes. this is the smut for free throws & figure drawings. i couldn’t add smut in the original oneshot, but these two never left me alone, the part two which includes their life after college is still in the making!

eight months in.

that’s how long it takes before satoru touches you like this.

not because you weren’t ready. not because he wasn’t. but because he’s a golden-retriever-faced menace who waited—waited—until your need outweighed your pride. he could tell. he always could. and he never pushed, never asked, never made you feel cornered. just circled closer every day like gravity, like fate. one teasing comment at a time. one lazy smirk, one thigh brush, one perfectly timed stretch of his jersey in your face. every moment so casual. calculated. loving. he gave you time to breathe, time to bloom.

he made it a game. but not one he ever planned to win fast.

he’d kiss you slow in the halls, hand in your back pocket, mouth curling into your neck just to feel you twitch. he’d crawl into your bed after practice, shirtless, smelling like sweat and mint gum and expensive laundry detergent. he’d grin like a devil and mouth at your collarbone like he was innocent. always stopping short. always leaving you throbbing, breathless, caught between a gasp and a growl. and he’d laugh when you shoved him away, cheeks pink, thighs pressed tight, muttering something vicious under your breath. and then he'd say something stupid like, "it's cute when you fluster," as if you weren't already melting inside.

satoru gojo is shameless. but he’s also patient. reverent. completely and utterly yours.

he never tried to touch what you weren’t ready to give. not once. not even when you straddled his lap in the studio, thighs framing his hips while you adjusted the light for your latest sketch. not when you fell asleep with your hand in his shirt and your face in his throat. not when your breath hitched the first time he kissed the base of your spine, or when your hips unconsciously pressed against him during a late-night cuddle. he’d grin, yes. he’d tease. but he’d always stop. always wait. because he wanted you to feel safe. he wanted you to choose.

because he knows how much you overthink. how long you spent folding your love into corners, how tightly you hold your own body together, like it’s a project you haven’t quite finished. you’re an artist—your hands are your pride, your purpose. and he knows that too. better than anyone.

he fell in love with them first.

long before you ever let him in, he was already watching the way you curled your fingers when you thought, the way you rubbed your thumb over your pencil before sketching, the way paint smudged the edges of your knuckles like a secret only he was meant to see. he watches them like a man starved. kisses them when you let him. cradles them like they might shatter. memorizes the little freckle on your index finger and the groove of your palm. calls them magic. says they saved him.

"you know you could ruin me with these," he’ll murmur sometimes, his lips brushing the heel of your palm. "all that talent, all that precision, and you use them to paint me?" his smile is crooked. adoring. "no one's ever been so lucky."

and when you look away, flustered, pretending not to care, he kisses the dip of your wrist and whispers, "i’d let you wreck me. just say the word."

but he waits.

days turn to weeks, then months. your sketchbooks fill with him. you pretend they don’t. he pretends not to notice. he starts bringing snacks to your sessions, then full meals. makes you take breaks. kisses the stress from your forehead. lays his head in your lap and lets you draw in peace. he runs errands for you. he fixes your squeaky cabinet. he folds your laundry, badly. he doodles in your margins when you aren't looking and gets scolded every time.

he never asks for more.

and still, he waits.

until one night, you pull him into your bed.

not like usual. not with the intent to sleep. not with your body curled toward the wall and his arm tossed carelessly around your waist.

no. this time, you kiss him first.

this time, your mouth is open and soft and wanting, your hands sliding under his shirt like you’re memorizing the ridges of his stomach. and for one suspended breath, he freezes. just to make sure you mean it. his lashes flutter. his breath stills. his hand hovers above your thigh, waiting.

and you do.

because for once, you aren’t overthinking. you aren’t afraid. you want him. you trust him. more than you’ve ever trusted anyone.

and the moment your back hits the sheets, he’s all over you.

knees planted wide between your legs, hands everywhere, mouth hot and eager as it trails kisses down your body. his eyes are bright and ravenous, that blue burned down to smoke, lips already slick from the kisses he's stolen. his hands shake, just barely. like he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch. like he doesn’t want to ruin anything by rushing.

"took you long enough," he breathes, voice shot to hell as he watches you peel your shirt off. his gaze drags over your chest, reverent. like you’re light. like you’re art. like you’re his. something in him breaks a little, seeing you like this. bare. willing. glowing.

"you’re so annoying," you mutter, breathless, smiling despite yourself.

"mmhm," he hums, nuzzling against your neck. "but you’re still letting me fuck you. can’t be that bad."

your glare doesn’t land. not when he’s pressing you into the mattress, nosing at your jaw, whispering, “been dreaming about this. you, under me, making all those noises you try so hard to hold in.”

he kisses your hands first. of course he does. each finger, with reverence. your palm, with warmth. your wrist, with devotion. he presses them to his chest like they’re sacred. says something about how they’ve built whole worlds. says he wants to earn every touch.

he doesn't just want you.

he cherishes you.

and fuck, you are noisy.

it drives him insane.

satoru hears it before his mouth even touches you. that soft, hitched breath when his hands slide beneath your thighs, calloused fingertips dragging slow and reverent like he wants to learn the shape of your tremble. the little gasp you try to swallow when he kisses the sensitive skin above your knee, letting his lips linger there too long, humming softly as if he's savoring something decadent. the sound that breaks from your throat when his thumb barely brushes over your folds and finds you soaked — it has him swearing under his breath, jaw going tight, shoulders tensing as though he’s barely keeping himself leashed.

his groan is guttural, lodged deep in his chest, like it takes effort to keep himself from diving in right then. his eyes are hooded, lashes clinging to sweat-slick skin, pupils blown wide beneath strands of silver hair that stick to his damp temple. his mouth is parted, a bead of spit catching on his bottom lip—already pink from where he's been biting it raw. his expression flickers, moment to moment: awe, hunger, something like devotion. he looks like a man seconds from prayer and sin all at once.

“mm,” he hums low, dragging a knuckle through your slick. his thumb ghosts over your clit but doesn’t linger yet. “you always get this messy when i just look at you?”

your thighs twitch. your jaw clenches. your hands fist into the sheets, trying not to give him the satisfaction. but your eyes flutter half-shut and your lips part around a breath that catches anyway.

“don’t narrate it,” you mumble, voice shaking, already unraveling.

he laughs into your skin, hot breath ghosting over the inside of your thigh, and his grin is all teeth and mischief.

“can’t help it,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth lower. “you’re too fuckin’ cute when you try to be mad at me.”

his palms slide behind your thighs, thumbs smoothing over your skin as he eases you apart, spreading you open like you’re something sacred—his. the air hits your wetness and your body jerks, but he’s already lowering himself, settling between your legs like it’s his home.

his eyes roam every inch of you before he even touches. he stares, quiet for once, like he wants to memorize the way you look right now, how flushed you are, how your chest rises with shaky breath.

“shit,” he whispers, licking his lips. “you’re unreal.”

you breathe his name again, soft, tentative. he glances up, and when your eyes meet, his smile softens into something molten.

“shhh,” he says, lips brushing your skin. “just lemme taste you, baby. wanna make you feel good.”

and then he devours you.

no teasing. no hesitance. just tongue, mouth, hunger.

he groans like he’s been starved, like every inch of his body is aching to have this. he buries his mouth in you and licks like he’s drowning and the only thing keeping him breathing is you. his tongue is hot and slow at first, dragging between your folds, mapping out every part of you. and then deeper, messier, hungrier.

his nose nudges the crease of your thigh and he exhales sharply through it, groaning as his tongue circles your clit and flicks just right. your hips jump and he grins, lips curved against your skin.

when you moan, broken and high-pitched, his lashes flutter and his eyes roll back, like the sound of you is enough to undo him. he tightens his grip on your thighs, keeping you still while he feasts. you feel his jaw flex, the sharp edge of his cheekbone brushing your thigh with every movement.

he pulls back just a moment, lips slick, breath ragged, eyes glazed.

“you make the prettiest sounds,” he breathes, voice thick, reverent. “c'mon, don’t hide them from me. wanna hear everything.”

his tongue returns, more focused now, lapping and sucking in rhythm. you twitch beneath him, thighs clenching, and he lets out a low, gravelly noise of satisfaction. his lashes flutter again, mouth working hungrily, jaw moving with purpose.

“mmm,” he hums against you, smirking. “tastes better than any fuckin’ sweet i’ve had. should’ve done this sooner.”

your hand flies to his hair, tugging without thinking, and he groans loud—vibrating straight through you. his shoulders shudder, like he wants to grind himself into the mattress just from your sounds alone.

“fuck,” he breathes, and the tip of his nose bumps your clit again as he speaks. “pull harder. make a mess of me.”

then—without warning, without mercy—he sinks two fingers inside you.

thick. slow. deep. curling like he knows exactly where you need him.

your back bows. your breath stutters. your body arches up into him, and you make a sound he’s never heard from you before—wrecked and raw. his free hand anchors you down, palm spread flat against your stomach like he’s holding you to the earth.

“look at you,” he groans, eyes flicking up to watch your face. “so fuckin’ tight. like you’re made to take me.”

his fingers work a slow, maddening rhythm inside you, knuckles dragging firm as his tongue flicks your clit in sync. the room is too hot. your vision swims. your thighs shake beneath his mouth.

he watches every twitch, every breath you catch, every expression you can’t hide. he looks wrecked—hair damp and curling against his temples, lips swollen and slick, jaw sharp with tension.

he pants against your cunt, voice breaking.

“close,” he murmurs. “i know. i can feel it. fuck, baby, gimme it. let me have all of it.”

you shatter.

legs trembling, voice cracking. your orgasm crashes through you like thunder, loud and bright and soaked, and he moans into it—desperate and unfiltered, mouth still moving, tongue still pressing through every wave. your body jolts with every aftershock, thighs shaking around his head, hands twitching against his shoulders. your fingers go slack in his hair, your voice frayed.

his fingers don’t leave you. they ease, slow, coaxing every tremor from your body with tenderness. his mouth lingers, placing soft kisses now, like he’s trying to soothe you through the comedown.

your hands push weakly at his shoulders, breathless, spent.

and he loves it.

he finally lifts his head, breath warm against your thigh, chest heaving like he just ran through a storm and found peace in you. his pupils are blown wide, nearly eclipsing the soft blue, hair disheveled and damp with sweat, strands sticking to his flushed forehead. his lips glisten, raw and parted, breath shaky as though your taste alone stole every last thread of his composure. his tongue drags across his lower lip slowly, like he’s still savoring the flavor of you, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smug, breathless grin.

he looks wrecked. and radiant. wild with need and dripping with adoration.

“you okay?”

you nod, barely. dazed. lips swollen, eyes glassy, pupils unfocused. your lashes flutter as he kisses up your body—delicate presses, reverent, like each inch of skin is something sacred, like he’s anchoring himself in the world by mapping every place he’s made you feel good. he doesn’t speak at first. just hums, low and satisfied, murmuring quiet praises into your skin like they’re instinct. like worship.

his mouth finds yours again, and he kisses you deep—wet and warm, a slow press that melts into something messier. he lets you taste yourself on his tongue, groaning into your mouth as your hips roll against him without meaning to. when you whimper, he exhales through his nose, kissing you deeper, his fingers slipping beneath your thighs to anchor you down.

“mm,” he exhales, voice syrup-thick as he shifts beneath you. “not done.”

his hands settle at your hips, palms steady, guiding you effortlessly into his lap like you’re weightless. your back meets his chest with a slick press, your sweat-slicked skin sliding against his. his arms coil around your waist, strong and grounding. his chest rises and falls behind you, a little too fast, like he’s barely managing to keep himself from dragging you under.

the mirror is in front of you.

angled just right. angled perfectly. and god, he made sure of that.

his cock, flushed dark and twitching, slides between your folds as he shifts his hips beneath you, letting the tip nudge against your clit before gliding through your slick. the friction alone makes your head tip back, a choked sound escaping you.

he watches your reaction in the mirror, that infuriating smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. you feel it—his amusement, his awe.

“look at that,” he purrs, voice heavy with affection and mischief. “haven’t even put it in yet, and you’re already fallin’ apart on me.”

he kisses the side of your head, nose brushing your temple.

“breathe, baby.”

his fingers dip down again, slow, teasing circles over your clit. featherlight, just enough to make your stomach tighten. your head tips back, body twitching in his lap. your nails scratch lightly down his arms, the only defense you can muster.

then—

he pushes in.

inch by inch.

thick, stretching you open like it’s the first time. because it is.

your breath shatters. your whole body jolts, hands flying to his forearms. your nails dig deep. your thighs strain to close, but his arms hold you open. you gasp—a helpless, breathy thing that breaks before it ever becomes a word.

“shh,” he coos, voice gentler now, lips grazing your ear. “s’okay. i got you. just breathe. you’re takin’ me so good already.”

he groans—low, shaky. your walls flutter around him with every inch he sinks in, the stretch making your whole body shiver. his hand doesn’t leave your clit, rubbing slow, steady circles to ease the burn.

“fuck,” he moans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “you’re squeezin’ me like a vice. gonna make me lose it before i even move.”

you try to speak, to say something biting—but the words collapse into a soft, keening sound as he bottoms out.

his hand finds your chin and tilts it forward.

“nuh-uh,” he murmurs. “don’t look away. wanna see how fuckin’ pretty you look like this.”

your eyes drag open, hazy and wet, and meet the mirror.

you barely recognize yourself—flushed and shining, lips parted in a stunned gasp, your skin glowing with sweat. your brows are drawn, mouth twitching as your walls flutter around the thick weight of him inside you.

he starts to move.

slow. dragging. deliberate.

your breath stutters. your knees twitch, thighs trembling.

“that’s it,” he hums, breath hot on your neck. “just like that. god, you’re makin’ the cutest faces. y’know that? fuckin’ adorable. you sure you’re not the one obsessed with me?”

he rolls his hips deeper. you cry out, barely a sound, just air and heat. your hands tremble where they grip his thighs, too overwhelmed to speak.

“what’s that? no smart little comment now?” he teases, kissing your shoulder, his voice drenched in adoration. “thought you were tough, angel.”

he grinds up into you again. your mouth falls open.

a whimper.

a moan.

and nothing else.

he laughs. delighted. wrecked.

“knew it,” he whispers. “knew i’d turn that sharp mouth of yours to mush.”

his thrusts quicken. deepen. his arms wrap tighter around your waist, locking you in place as he fucks up into you, smooth and controlled. the mirror shows everything. your body bouncing with every roll of his hips, his cock splitting you open again and again, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he moves.

“look at you, baby,” he growls, picking up the pace. “fuck—how’re you this gorgeous and still act like i’m the muse?”

his voice cracks with it. because you are—your expression undone, jaw slack, eyes lidded and wet. your thighs tremble with each thrust, every sound that escapes you more broken than the last.

“don’t hide from me,” he pants, breath sharp and quick. “keep watching. wanna see the exact moment you fall apart.”

you try.

but your eyes blur. your vision swims. your body rocks helplessly in his lap.

your orgasm coils tight in your belly, sharp and violent.

“satoru—please—i’m—”

“that’s it,” he whispers, mouth brushing your ear. “let go. let me feel you, baby. wanna watch you fall apart all over my cock.”

you break. again.

your body collapses against him, your scream breathless, voice cracking. every muscle pulls taut, trembling. your walls clench hard around him, and he groans—deep, raw, as he fucks you through it, chasing his own edge.

“that’s it. fuck, that’s it—”

he spills into you with a strangled cry, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside, thick and so much it spills out around the edges. his arms crush you to him. he moans again, low and broken, like he doesn’t know how else to react. he doesn’t thrust again. just stays buried. trembling. like finishing inside you knocked every last thought out of his head.

his arms wrap around you like he’s trying to anchor himself—like if he loosens his grip, he might float away. his palm is pressed flat against your belly, grounding you, fingers twitching like they still don’t know how to stop touching. his forehead rests against your shoulder, breath ragged and warm, strands of hair clinging to the sweat-damp skin of his temple.

your bodies breathe in tandem. chest to back, sticky with sweat and afterglow. his cock twitches again inside you—a slow, pulsing aftershock—and you feel the lazy, inevitable trickle of his release starting to slip out around him. your thighs twitch. your toes curl. your reflection in the mirror shifts, barely perceptible, trembling like the rest of you.

“you okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing the back of your shoulder.

“no thanks to you,” you mumble, your voice thick and flat with exhaustion. it lacks the bite you were aiming for.

he laughs—quiet and hoarse—and kisses your jaw. “so mean,” he croons, nuzzling against your cheek. “and here i was, giving you the best night of your life.”

“shut up,” you whisper. your eyes are half-lidded, unfocused. “i can’t even feel my knees.”

“that’s a good thing,” he says, smug now. “means i did it right.”

you groan, shifting just enough to smack his thigh with the back of your hand, weakly. “you’re insufferable.”

“you love it,” he replies, kissing your temple. he still sounds dazed, too satisfied to be cocky for real. “gonna run you a bath soon. hot. lavender oil. bubbles.”

“don’t make promises you’re too tired to keep.”

he exhales a breathy laugh, the sound low and melted. his hand trails up your stomach, then down again, soothing, thoughtless. his thumb traces just beneath the curve of your ribs.

“give me five minutes,” he murmurs. “then i’ll carry you. princess treatment.”

“mm. better.”

he adjusts his hold on you slightly, only so he can tuck his nose into the crook of your neck, exhale slow and deep like he’s trying to memorize the way you smell like skin and sweat and everything he just did to you.

“but not yet,” he says, the words nearly lost in your skin. “just let me stay like this. hold you a little longer.”

and he does. he stays wrapped around you like he was carved to fit there.

like if he lets go, the world might stop.

a/n : i missed writing them—missed how individual they are, and how their chemistry feels like a natural consequence of who they are, not just the romance. free throws & figure drawings is still the piece i’m proudest of, and this feels like a little love letter to that <3 also: i toned down the explicitness in this one—not because they aren’t filthy, but because i really wanted to center the intimacy over the porn teehee :3

[amoressb]

───── NOT THE SAME 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ after many efforts to bring back your old riki, for it to go back to how you two used to be, you walk away but he realizes it all too late..or is it? ｡｡ ɪᴅᴏʟ ʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

MINOR ANGST TO FLUFF & wc. 1900 / make sure to read part 1 !! ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

he doesn’t notice it at first. the silence.

he’s used to his phone buzzing constantly with notifications : rehearsal calls, staff messages, reminders. he doesn’t realize what’s missing until he opens his lunch one day and instinctively thinks to take a picture for you. to show you the mess of rice and eggs and the smiley face someone drew in ketchup on top, but when he opens your chat, there’s nothing new.

not even a heart emoji. not even a “have you eaten today, baby?”

it hits him then how quiet everything has become without you. his fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure. he types something. deletes it. types again.

hey.

can we talk?

it’s vague, useless and worst of all..late. still, he sends it. and when your reply doesn’t come, he doesn’t blame you.

it’s not that he stopped loving you. not ever.

he loved you when he was tired. he loved you when he didn’t have the words. he loved you through every missed good morning, every evening where he chose sleep over calling you, every time he told himself, “i’ll text her later,” and forgot.

but love without presence starts to feel like absence and you had felt it over and over again.

he thinks about that last night more than he’d admit.

the way your voice cracked. the way you looked down at the floor instead of him. the way you left. not angry, not screaming, just…defeated.

the truth is, that broke him more than any fight could have. because you were always the one who stayed. even when he made it hard. even when he didn’t deserve you. you stayed…until it was him you needed to be saved from.

“riki.”

he blinks up. it’s jake, crouched in front of him in the practice room. “you good?” jake asks. riki realizes his eyes are red. he rubs his sleeve across his face.

“i messed up.” jake tilts his head. “with y/n?”

riki doesn’t even need to answer. the guilt’s written all over him.

“i didn’t mean to push her away. i just…” he looks down. “i didn’t know how to hold everything. the schedules. the pressure. her. me.” jake’s voice is gentle. “then go remind her why she chose you in the first place.”

the next day, he goes to your campus.

he’s never been good at speeches. not the vulnerable kind at least, but this matters more than any performance he’s ever given. so he wears the hoodie you gave him, the one with the tiny “y/f/i” stitched on the cuff, and waits.

you appear like a breath he’s been holding. you look…tired. but you always do when you’re thinking hard. your brows drawn slightly together, hair falling into your eyes, thumb scrolling across your phone.

you don’t see him until he’s standing in front of you. your body goes still.

he lifts a hand, hesitant. “can i sit?” you nod slowly. no words yet. you don’t owe him those. the bench is cold beneath him. your silence colder.

he shifts a little, turning to face you more. “i’ve been thinking about what i said. or what i didn’t say.” you keep your gaze forward, expression unreadable.

“i think i convinced myself you’d always be there,” he admits. “that you’d wait. that i didn’t have to try.”

your fingers clutch your sleeve. he sees it. your knuckles white from holding yourself still.

“i was wrong,” he says. “and i’m sorry. not just for the words i didn’t say, but for every time i looked at my phone and didn’t answer. for every day you tried to love me while i was too scared to love you out loud.”

you finally look at him. he breaks a little when he sees your eyes, that familiar storm of hurt and hope behind them.

“i thought if i kept my distance, maybe i wouldn’t fall deeper,” he says. “but it just made me realize something worse : i’ve already fallen so deep into you, y/n. and pushing you away didn’t protect me. it only ruined the one good thing i had.”

you breathe out. “so why now?”

“because not having you is worse than anything I was afraid of.” he fumbles in his pocket and pulls something out. “and because i need you to see that i remember the little things, too.”

you look down at his hand.

a tiny lego minifigure sits in his palm.

it looks like him, down to the blonde hair, oversized pants and a tiny sign that says, “i love my girlfriend.”

your lip trembles. you cover your mouth, shaking your head with a breathy laugh. “you’re such a dork.”

he grins, hopeful. “you used to call me your ‘cutie patootie.’ i wanted to remind you that i’m still that guy.”

“i didn’t forget,” you say quietly. “i just thought maybe you did.”

his smile fades a little. he nods. “i did. for a while, but i remember now and i want to keep remembering. every day. every version of you, every small thing you love, and every hard thing you’re scared to say out loud.”

you’re quiet for a long time. he doesn’t push. he just watches you, gently, patiently, like he finally understands what it means to wait for someone with care.

you speak at last. “i don’t know if i’m ready to go back to how things were.”

“i don’t want to go back,” he says. “i want to start again. better. softer.”

your eyes meet his and for the first time in weeks, something in you starts to thaw. you reach over and take the lego from his hand. then, slowly, your fingers find his.

you lace them together. “i’ll give you a chance,” you whisper. “but you have to keep showing up. even when it’s hard. especially then.”

“i will,” he says, firm. “every day.”

you lean against his shoulder, just for a second. his hoodie smells like clean laundry and faint cologne. like comfort…like memory.

he turns his head, lips brushing your hair. “thank you,” he murmurs. “for not giving up on me. i’ll never make you feel alone again.”

and you believe him. because his time, he’s not saying it to fix things. he’s saying it to rebuild them.

that night, you lie next to each other again. not tangled up, not rushing. just close.

his pinky wraps around yours and when he finally drifts off to sleep with your name still on his lips, it feels like something is blooming again—slow and tender, but real. like love, the second time around.

bonus/extra

time skip : 3 weeks later

it’s different now. not perfect. not how it used to be. but that’s okay. because you’ve both stopped trying to go backward.

instead, you’re building something new, quietly, day by day.

riki shows up every time now. no matter how tired. no matter how long the rehearsals run. sometimes he just sits on facetime with you in silence, head drooping from exhaustion, but still there.

he sends you random updates again—a blurry photo of a ladybug on his shoe. a voice memo of sunghoon snoring on the couch. a video of him poking a lego keychain dangling from his bag that has your initial in your favorite color.

“i told the stylists i’m never taking it off,” he said in that clip, grinning. “so they’re just working around it now.”

you laughed when you saw it.

you haven’t said i love you again yet. neither has he but you’re getting close.

it’s a sunday when he asks if you want to come over.

“just for a little while,” he says. “the guys won’t be home. you hesitate..then nod.

when you arrive, he meets you downstairs. no one’s watching, but he still tucks you into his arms the moment you reach him—your face pressed into his hoodie, his arms wound tight around your waist like he’s afraid the wind might carry you away if he lets go.

“you okay?” he asks against your hair. you nod but when you whisper, “are you?” he pulls back enough to look at you.

his eyes are soft. no panic behind them anymore. just care. just you. “i am now,” he says.

the dorm is quiet. he makes you tea, the way you like it, with a little too much honey and no judgment.

you sit together on the couch, knees brushing. at some point, your head finds his shoulder. his hand finds your knee. it stays there, warm and gentle. it’s not rushed.

you talk about everything but the past. the cat that keeps showing up outside your apartment. the way jake cried watching a sad movie last night. a tiny crack in your phone screen that looks like a lightning bolt now.

you look at him. he’s watching you like you’re a painting.

“what?” you ask, self conscious. he shakes his head, smiling. “i just really missed your voice.” you blink slowly. “you’ve been hearing it every day.”

“yeah,” he says softly. “but today it sounds…happy.”

you don’t answer. instead, you reach for his hand. it’s such a simple gesture but his breath stutters. and then his fingers squeeze yours.

later, it’s raining. you curl up together under a blanket, legs tangled, his arm tucked under your neck. the television plays something mindless, but neither of you are really watching.

rikis hand is tracing slow, steady patterns on your arm. his pinky looping over and over a patch of skin just above your elbow. he’s been quiet for a while.

you shift slightly, look up at him.

“are you still scared?” you ask. his eyes meet yours. honest. a little vulnerable.

“yeah,” he admits. “every day but not the way i used to be.”

you wait. he exhales. “i’m not scared of losing you anymore. i’m scared of ever giving you a reason to feel that lonely again.”

you sit up, facing him. his eyes flick to your lips then back to your eyes.

you touch his cheek, brushing your thumb over the soft skin just under his eye. he leans into your palm—instinctive. needy.

“riki,” you whisper. “you’ve changed.”

“i’m still changing,” he says. “for you. for us.”

you stare at him a moment longer. he doesn’t rush you. he never does now. and then, slowly, you nod. “i trust you again.” he freezes.

his hand, still on your waist, tightens just slightly not possessive, just overwhelmed.

“say it again,” he murmurs, like he’s not sure he heard right.

you smile. “i trust you.” he breathes out shakily, eyes glassy. “that means more than i know how to say.”

“then don’t say anything,” you whisper.

he doesn’t. instead, he leans in, and this time…you meet him halfway.

the kiss is quiet, soft, reverent. it’s not rushed or hungry. it doesn’t taste like desperation. it tastes like peace.

like something broken being held carefully in two hands. not trying to erase the cracks, but tracing them gently, gratefully.

you both pull away slowly. his forehead rests against yours.

“i’m gonna keep earning that trust every day,” he whispers. “i know,” you say and this time, you believe it.

outside, the rain begins to let up. inside, you’re tangled up again. in warmth, in blankets, in each other.

he falls asleep before you do, breathing even and face buried in your neck. you just stay like that safe, loved…home again.

⋆｡°✩ @cheruphic @liwinly @chrrific @hyukabean @ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyluv4eva @veilstqr @soona-huh @jenjnk @maewphoria @arimmortel @hyeitsrim @jayshadoww @monniemons @intravnus @yuuuraaa @rikifever @skyearby @polyanka777 @nikismyprincesses @danlovestay @firstclassjaylee @rikislady @kirakun

[bullet-prooflove]

The Gruffalo: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fadeinsol @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @cowardlycandy

Summary: Pope finally lays eyes on you for the first time in months.

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.

The Skatepark - Pope reacts badly when you try to share your feelings.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Everything - Pope's family life clashes with your time together.

Positive - Pope didn't expect for it to happen sooner rather than later.

Four Bullets - Smurf finds out about you and Pope, leading to dire consquences.

Misery (feat: Baz Cody) - Baz starts to notice there’s something wrong with Pope.

It’s been two months since Pope last laid eyes on you.

Two months since you told him you were pregnant with his baby.

Two months since he broke your heart to save your life.

He’s been depressed since then, suicidal. He knows Baz sees that it’s getting worse, especially after the last job. He still has bruised ribs from where two bullets struck him in the chest, fracturing the plates in his Kevlar vest.

It’s why they’re sitting outside your house right now in Baz’s truck, watching you potter about through the open blinds.

You still look as beautiful as the day he left. Your hair shines in the sun that filters through the window, your palm resting on the baby bump that’s started to show through your clothing. Pope clutches the stuffed grey elephant he bought for the baby even harder, his fingers digging into the fabric as you tuck an errant strand of hair back behind your ear. He’s missed so much already. By now she’ll be starting to move, to respond to your voice. He wonders if she’d respond to his, if she'll understand what you've told her about him.

“What if she doesn’t want me?” He asks quietly, staring down at the elephant.

“She does want you Pope.” Baz reassures him, his arm coming to rest on the open window as he studies the street. “When I told Dylan about Smurf, about what she threatened to do… She understood that you were just trying to protect your family.”

“And Smurf… She doesn’t know we’re here?” Pope says, his voice hitching. “Because if she finds out…”

“She won’t.” Baz reinforces. “Our phones are at Deran’s bar, she’ll just think we’re having a drink with our brothers, that I’m trying to drown your sorrows, talk a little sense into you.”

“Alright.” Pope says shakily, nodding his head as he grips the door handle. “Thanks for doing this… You have no idea what it means-”

“I do.” Baz cuts him off. “She shouldn’t be able to use our children to control us, she shouldn’t be able to reach out and hurt them if we don’t do what she wants.”

There’s finality in his tone, one that Pope doesn’t pick up on as he opens the car door and climbs out of it.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” Baz tells him before he closes it. “I’ll call Dylan’s phone from the bar to let you know I’m coming.”

He drives away then, leaving Pope standing at the steps leading up to your porch. He takes them one at a time, his palm gliding over the rickety railing that he’s going to fix for you the next time he’s here.

When he reaches the door, his chest constricts because this is the moment of truth, the moment you tell him what he did was unredeemable and that you don’t want him in your child’s life.

He raises his hand to knock but the door it’s already opening and there you are standing in front of him with your pretty sun kissed features and hair that flows like a waterfall over your shoulders. He squeezes the elephant tighter before thrusting it at you.

“I got this for her-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because your arms wrap around him, drawing him close. The scent of the ocean floods his senses, the swell of the baby nestling between the both of you. He buries his face into the curve of your throat, his eyes stinging as he clings to you like a lifeline, like you are the only thing on this God forsaken earth worth living for.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, his chest heaving as he tries to hold back the sheer force of  emotion raising up in him. “She was going to hurt you, she was going to hurt Freya. I didn’t see a way...”

“I know.” You sooth him, your fingers running through his unruly curls. They’re wilder now, no longer cropped to his scalp the way he normally keeps them. “You were just protecting us.”

“I don’t know how to do that anymore. I don’t-”

It’s then the baby kicks, a swift hard punt that lands right in his navel.

“Oh.” He says looking down between the two of you, his hands coming to rest on the baby bump, cradling her beneath his palms.

“I think she wants to say hi.” You tell him, taking his hand and guiding it just a little lower towards where the next kick is. “She must like the sound of your voice.”

“Really?” He asks you, his chestnut brown eyes glistening as he looks up at you.

“You have a relaxing cadence.” You tell him as the baby kicks again. “It’s why I always  fall asleep to the sound of you reading.”

Always, not used to.

Those words aren’t lost on him, they’re a sign that he still has a presence in your life, a future with you, with Freya.

“Do you think that I could read to her?” His voice cracks as he asks the question. “So she can learn who I am.”

“I have a few baby books on the coffee table I’m sure she’d love to hear.” You tell him, your fingers threading through his as you lead him inside. “She loses her shit when I read The Gruffalo.”

“What’s a Gruffalo?” He asks, taking a seat on the couch.

You sort through the picture books on the coffee table, before pulling one out and handing it to him. “Read the book and find out.”

It turns into a literary discourse, one that has you laughing as he lays with his head in your lap, reading out loud to your daughter. When he’s done with that one, he picks up another and then another. It goes on until he drifts off, his body relaxing into you as his words falter.

He’s not been sleeping, you can tell from the dark circles staining his skin. The crows feet at the edge of his eyes are more pronounced, his features more weather worn. Your fingertips trail over his freckles as you listen to the steady sound of him breathing.

Your phone vibrates on the cushions next to you, Baz’s name flashing up on the screen. Your heart thuds faster in your chest as you pick it up, tucking it underneath your chin.

“You get it done?” You ask, your tone low.

“Yeah, it’ll look like she slipped in the shower, broke her neck. The same way Craig almost did the other day.” Baz tells you as he closes the door to the bathroom behind him. “I’m going to ‘find’ her along with Deran in a couple of minutes.”

“He’ll know.” You say gently as Pope stirs in your lap, his cheek coming to rest upon the place where his baby resides. “As soon as we tell him…”

“Then we’ll tell him the rest.” Baz reminds you with a voice like steel. “About how she was going to wait for the baby to be born to kill you, how she was going to adopt her because the state wouldn’t hand her over to someone with his record, how she would have used her like she did Julia-” He cuts himself and you can taste the bitterness in your mouth at the life your daughter almost had, the one that was almost identical to yours. If Baz hadn’t overheard that phone call between Smurf and her lawyer, asking her to draw up papers and date them for four months’ time… “-Pope will understand why it had to be me. He hates her but he doesn’t have it in him to hurt her. She made sure of that.”

And that’s the God’s honest truth, she spent years cultivating him into the perfect attack dog, training him not to turn around and bite his handler no matter how much horrible shit she put him through.

“Just promise me you’ll take care of him.” Baz says, his voice softening. “That you’ll love him the way that he deserves.”

“We will.” You promise Baz, your fingertips lightly combing through Pope's curls. “There is no one on this earth that could love him more than us.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[synity]

Hiiii can you please do fighting with seungcheol and he says a lot of hurtful things out of anger so you stop talking to him for weeks or months which drives him crazy so he decided to man up and apologise ? Maybe hugging him for hours while crying while he just stands there trying not to cry himself or letting your anger out on him then he apologises and kisses you . Sorry if it's too long , I hope you have a great day ❤️

Still Ours, Somehow

(Choi Seungcheol x FemReader)

*Heavy angst → emotional reconciliation → comfort*

Before the Silence

The fight had started with something stupid. It usually does.

It was one of those arguments that spiraled too fast, with no brakes, no mercy. He’d just come home from a brutal week of schedules, and you were tired of being last on his list again.

You didn’t mean for it to blow up. You only wanted him to see you. To see that you were hurting too. That being in love with someone as busy and distant as him was starting to feel like loving a ghost.

But he snapped.

And when Seungcheol snapped, he didn’t yell. He cut deep.

“You’re always so dramatic. Not everything is about you.”

Your breath had caught.

Then, as you stood in the hallway, trembling but trying to stay calm, he added the one thing he could never take back.

“Maybe I’m tired of having to fix you all the time.”

Silence.

Real, final silence.

The kind that doesn't ask for another word.

You had stared at him, your heart cracking like ice. “Is that really how you see me?”

He hadn’t answered.

And you walked away.

The Silence

You didn’t answer his calls.

Not the next day. Not the next week. Not even a month later.

Because you meant to, at first. You really did. But when you picked up your phone, your hands trembled too much. When you saw his name light up the screen, your throat would burn with the memory of what he said.

Every time you closed your eyes, you could still hear it. “Maybe I’m tired of fixing you.”

He didn’t just hurt you. He unmade something inside you.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol was unraveling.

He didn’t know what he hated more: the silence, or the fact that he caused it.

He tried everything.

Texted you daily. Called you at night. Left flowers outside your door when he thought you weren’t home. Asked Mingyu, Jihoon, Jeonghan anyone if you were okay.

They all told him the same thing:

“She’s not ready to talk to you.”

At first, he thought time would help. You both just needed space, right?

But weeks passed.

Then a month.

Then two.

And he still hadn't heard your voice.

He was losing it.

He had to record vocals one night a ballad, of course, the kind that reminded him of the way you used to hum around the apartment, always a bit off-key but full of feeling.

But that night, standing in the booth, the first lyric stuck in his throat. His voice cracked.

He stormed out, hands shaking, eyes red. He barely made it back to the car before he screamed into his hands.

That night, he realized something:

You weren't coming back on your own.

And if he wanted you back, he had to stop being a coward.

He had to face what he broke.

It was raining.

Because of course it was. His shoes were soaked, hair matted to his forehead, hoodie clinging to him from the walk across the city to your apartment.

He didn’t text. Didn’t call.

Just knocked.

You opened the door slower than usual. You looked different thinner, maybe. Tired. Eyes that held too many sleepless nights. You stared at him in the hallway as if he were a ghost.

Seungcheol didn’t say anything for a moment.

But when you tried to shut the door

“I’m sorry.”

You froze.

And he said it again, softer this time.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

Still no answer from you. But your fingers curled tighter around the doorknob.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. That night. I was angry. Tired. But that’s not an excuse. I should’ve never I shouldn’t have said any of those things.”

You stood silently, jaw clenched, breathing shallow. Every word was cutting you all over again. You hated how just hearing his voice still made your heart ache.

He took a shaky breath, eyes begging.

“I don’t see you as broken. God, you’ve held me together more times than I can count. I was just too stupid to realize you needed someone to hold you too.”

You were trembling now.

He saw it.

Saw the way you looked down, trying to hold it in, lips pressed tight as your chest rose and fell like you were standing on the edge of something.

“I’ll go if you want me to,” he said finally, voice cracking. “But I had to say it to your face. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You didn’t move.

And then

Something inside you snapped.

You stepped out and slammed your fists against his chest. Once. Then again.

“Do you know what you did to me?” you shouted, voice raw, broken. “Do you know what it felt like to hear that from you? After everything after everything, Cheol!”

He let you. He didn’t move. He just stood there and let you hit him until your hands collapsed into his soaked hoodie.

You sobbed.

And he caught you.

You both sank to your knees in the rain, in the middle of the hallway, your arms wrapped around his neck while your cries wrecked you. He held you tight, arms around your waist, his head buried in your shoulder, trembling from the effort of not crying.

But a tear fell anyway.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered again, brokenly, over and over, like a prayer. “I’m so sorry.”

You cried harder.

And then, in a voice smaller than he’d ever heard from you:

“Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“Never,” he swore, kissing your shoulder. “I’ll never say anything like that again.”

You pulled back just slightly to look him in the eyes.

“You’re not allowed to leave when things get hard. You promised me we’d face stuff together.”

His eyes were bloodshot. “I didn’t leave. I was just too selfish to stay in the moment. I swear, I’ll never be that blind again.”

“I needed you.”

“I know.”

“I still do.”

“I’m here.”

You both sat there, the rain starting to die down around you, hearts in your hands. And then, in one soft motion, he cupped your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips shaking.

“I love you,” he whispered, “even when I’m an idiot.”

You let out a small, broken laugh.

“I love you too,” you breathed. “Even when you’re a goddamn idiot.”

He pulled you into his chest again.

And you stayed there.

For hours.

Just holding each other like the world could end at any second and you wouldn’t even care because right now, the only thing that mattered was that you finally found your way back.

[seungcheorry]

happy burstday to you - cherry version 🍒⚡ | 02. yoon jeonghan - svt anniversary

yoon jeonghan as the boy who accidentally threw the basketball at you, broking your glasses in the process

"oh, shit-", jeonghan flinches, immediately running to you. "i'm so sorry, are you okay?!"

you still have your hands over your face. your friend next to you is half trying not to laugh, half worried about you.

"the ball just slipped out of my hand, it wasn't supposed to even come near you, i'm so sorry!", he apologizes again, and when you finally look up at him, jeonghan also tries not to laugh.

your face is a bit red - he's sure not only from the ball hitting you -, but your glasses is also parted in half, your hands holding the pieces together.

"you broke my glasses", you state, deadly staring at him.

"sorry, i…", what is there to say? why is jeonghan kinda scared of looking at you right now? "are you okay, though? did it hurt you?"

your nose stings a bit, but you're gonna survive… well, maybe not from the embarassment of being hit in the face by thee yoon jeonghan, everyone's crush on school and captain of the basketball team.

"i'm fine", you sigh, getting up from your place. "i just gotta wash my face."

"i'll go with you."

and you wanna say he doesn't need to, that he should go back to practice, that he should go back to his friends who are calling his name now; they need him. you wanna say your friend can go with you - even though she hasn't said anything so far -, but jeonghan grabs you by the arm, gently guiding you out of the court.

it's cute, but also a bit awkward, how he watches you washing your face so closely, broken glasses on the sink. his eyes don't leave your face, like he's waiting for something to happen, and he even looks worried when you groan while washing your nose.

"does it hurt?"

"a bit", you sigh again. "never thought you could miss a single throw, but here we are now."

"well, technically i didn't miss… it hit you perfectly on the face."

jeonghan bites back a chuckle, especially when you look at him with those deadly eyes again. he bows to you, silently apologizing once again, and takes a step back (just to be sure, you know?).

"are you… what are you gonna do about your glasses? do you have a spare one?"

"no, i'll have to buy new ones."

"shit", he rolls his eyes. "i'm gonna pay, don't worry."

"you don't have to-"

"yeah, my dad will never leave me alone if i don't step up to do the "right thing", you know?", he actually uses air quotes. "it's okay, it's only fair. let's go buy new ones tomorrow, is that okay? can you like… see in the meantime?"

you feel the itch to smack his arm, but something or someone holds you back, perhaps god.

"i'm not blind, yoon jeonghan."

"oh, so you know my name", jeonghan smirks at you, grabbing your broken glasses from the sink.

"everyone in this school does."

"yeah, and everyone in the whole world will know it too", jeonghan turns around. "taking your glasses with me so you won't try to mend them. see you tomorrow after class."

you roll your eyes, a deep sigh coming out of your lips, getting ready for the busy day you'll have tomorrow - because yoon jeonghan is always a handful, you know that much.

but the way he texts you later that night, just to know how you're doing (which you answer to after demanding to know how he got your number) is weird and also... nice. or how he says you should get your eyes checked up, just so you can make full new glasses, all on him - aka all on his parents.

or, i don't know, how you agree to his idea and your mom takes you to the "eye doctor", as jeonghan calls it; and how you're surprised to see him outside the building once you finish your appointment.

"still blind?", he asks, playful eyes turning serious the moment he sees your mom behind you. "oh, hello, miss! i didn't see you, i'm sorry."

"perhaps you should get checked too", you say, and jeonghan laughs out loud.

it's also nice how he sits beside you at the court the next day, helping you decide on which glasses you should buy. his friends are calling him, asking him to come play - but he just wave them off.

"shouldn't you be practicing?"

"i will, after school", jeonghan nods. "but not basketball."

"gave up on your career so soon? i was your only victim, you're good."

"no, that's not it. i just... i got into this company, kpop company. i will officially be a trainee soon, i guess. to be honest i wasn't thinking too much of it, just dreaming big, but i met the other boys last week and... they're really nice. i have a good feeling about this."

but jeonghan never mentions his new adventure again to you. he waves it off, focusing on you and finishing his mission with you. he tells you which glasses he liked from the site you're currently scrolling through on your simple phone, rolling his eyes when you say you didn't ask for his opinion.

it's also nice when, through his new busy schedule, jeonghan can finally accompany you to the store, carrying his mom's credit card in his pocket and acting like he owns it all - which he doesn't. he tries a few glasses too, mumbling about how good-looking he is and how a great idol he will be someday. you roll your eyes, pointing at the ones you chose so jeonghan can just pay and be done with it, both of you - but on your way out of the store, he sees this ice cream shop and pays you one too.

"for the whole glasses incident, you know", he shrugs. "my debt with you is paid."

"yeah, but your parent's debt with the bank is not."

jeonghan laughs, but you won't admit how nice that sound is too. you just thank him for your ice cream, turning around on your hills and going home.

he sees you at school the next morning, winking at you and mumbling a "it looks nice" for your new look. you just roll your eyes once again, ignoring the way your friend is trying not to freak out because you're suddenly close to yoon jeonghan. but, to be honest, that closeness doesn't last long...

he disappears for two days, everyone talking at the corridors about what could have happened. a third day goes by, and rumor has it that he's sick; but you know it's not that. on the fifth day, the teachers let everyone know that jeonghan moved out of the city, and will be attending a new school there.

you don't think too much of it, just silently wish the stars that he can succeed on his new adventure - and that's all you do, forgetting him and just moving on with your life.

but years after, as the big kpop group seventeen gives an interview and yoon jeonghan tells everyone about this time at school when he accidentally shot a basketball straight to someone's face, you roll your eyes again, but suddenly remembers that you still have the glasses he - his parents - paid for you, just like he still has the ones he broke.

have you considered tipping me? | ko-fi 🍒

taglist: @babycaratdeul @goodbyetwenty @seungcheolsblackcard @xxr0ck-stxrxx @hazeljisulatte @worldpeaceforyoongi @lixisoul99 @elieanana @supi-wupi @4shypotato @reiofsuns2001 @gohyemi @edwinawrites @dinossaurz @dy-kyeom @cristy-101 @karynnoona @sarabencze @princessjazzyjazz @matchawoozii

[writeriguess]

Can you write a cute Katsuki x fem reader fic where he finds her crying her eyes out after her best friend cut ties with her over some rumour that isn't true?

Not You Too

Katsuki Bakugo was halfway down the dorm hallway when he heard it.

A choked sob. Sharp. Raw. Like someone was being ripped apart from the inside.

His entire body froze.

That sound didn’t belong in this building, not now, not at this hour. Not when most of 1-A was either passed out or out on a late-night patrol. But he knew it wasn't just anyone.

It was you.

He turned so fast he nearly punched a hole through the wall in his urgency to find you. Your door wasn’t shut all the way — a crack of warm light cut across the dark floor, and when he pushed it open, the sight of you crushed something deep in his chest.

You were curled up on the floor by your bed, arms wrapped around your knees, face blotchy and red from crying so hard it looked like your lungs had given up. You didn’t even notice him at first. You were too far gone.

Katsuki stood there for a second, fists clenched at his sides, heart thundering like he’d just survived a villain ambush. The air felt too thin. Too tight.

“…The fuck happened?”

You jolted, eyes wide and watery. “K-Katsuki—”

“Don’t try to lie,” he snapped, voice low, but not angry. Not like he usually was. He moved to kneel in front of you, arms stiff. “Someone hurt you.”

You looked away, bottom lip trembling. And that alone damn near broke him.

“It’s—it’s stupid,” you whispered. “You don’t need to worry about it—”

“Try me.”

Your breathing hitched, and when you looked at him again, he saw it. Everything you’d been holding back. All of it poured out.

“It was Hana,” you said, voice shaking. “She… she told everyone she couldn’t be friends with me anymore. Said I was spreading shit about her behind her back. Said I was trying to turn people against her.” Your eyes filled again, spilling over. “But I didn’t, Katsuki. I swear to god, I didn’t say anything—”

“Of course you didn’t.”

You stared at him, shocked. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you.” His voice cracked at the edges, and that scared him more than he’d admit. “You’re honest. You’re too good to pull some petty bullshit like that. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a damn idiot.”

Your lips trembled. Your shoulders shook. And you finally let yourself fall forward.

He caught you instantly, wrapping you into his chest like it was second nature. His arms locked tight around you — strong, warm, grounding — and for once, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

He just held you while you cried into his shirt, while his heart beat wild behind his ribs, screaming all the words he couldn’t say.

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need her. That she didn’t deserve someone like you. That anyone who turned their back on you didn’t understand the worth of what they had.

But more than anything, he wanted to say he loved you.

Not in some vague, half-assed way. Not in passing. But real. Sharp. Bone-deep. The kind of love that made his chest feel too tight when you smiled. The kind that made him furious when you were hurt.

But you didn’t know that. And right now, you didn’t need that.

So he just held you tighter, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, thumb stroking gently through your hair.

“She’ll regret it,” he said eventually, voice like gravel and fire. “They all will.”

Your breath caught. “Why?”

“Because you’re the best fucking person in this whole damn place.” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “And if they’re too blind to see it, then they don’t deserve you.”

Your gaze dropped to his mouth. Then back up.

You blinked. “Katsuki…”

“What?”

“…You’ve always been this good to me.”

“‘Cause I care about you.”

Your breath hitched again, but it sounded different this time. Like the air wasn’t so sharp in your lungs anymore.

“…I care about you too.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking over your face. He was so close. So stupidly close. And he wasn’t sure who leaned in first — maybe it was both of you — but the kiss was soft. Brief. Barely there.

When you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, lips parted. But you weren’t crying anymore.

Katsuki exhaled slowly, voice rough when he said, “We’ll deal with the rest later. Right now, you’re staying right here. With me.”

You nodded.

And for the first time that night, you felt safe.

[ilyasorokinn]

expect the unexpected , michael robinavitch

note, i've hopped on the pitt train. someone send help because i now am in love with noah wyle and everything to do with him. that's my husband fr. also, if you have requests, please send them in!! pair, michael "robby" robinavitch x reader summary, y/n and robby were something so long ago that gray hair wasn’t even a worry in his head. now, with a head full of gray hair, y/n and robby, by some miracle, find each other again. this time, he isn’t letting go. warnings, probably medical inaccuracies, heartbreak word count, 3577 words

(gif not mine)

Robby felt the ache of exhaustion deep in his bones. It was a sort of feeling that never really went away, especially in his profession. He was lucky if he got a few hours of sleep, hell, even a half hour. Today wasn't one of those days.

As he approached the nurse's station, he plastered on a look that aimed to convince his co-workers everything was fine. Just his luck, Dana was someone who could see right through him and his fake smiles.

"You look awful," She commented as soon as she saw him.

"Gee, thanks." He spoke sarcastically.

"Maybe this'll wake you up. Kid with a stomach ache or woman with a broken foot." She held up both of the files, letting him decide. He wordlessly took the file in her right hand and walked off to the room where the woman was waiting.

"All right, let's see what we go." He pulled open the curtain and froze. The woman who was typing something on her phone also looked up and froze.

Both adults just stared at each other, not saying a word as they looked at each other. Words seemed to escape Robby as he stared back at the woman Years and years of memories flooded back like waves.

“Michael?” The woman asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Excuse me.” He spoke professionally, grabbing the edge of the curtain and gently pulling it shut. He walked away, ignoring the concerned looks of everyone around him.

He set the file of whatever was handed him and made his way away. The direction was still unclear, but his main goal was away. He ended up in a random storage closet somewhere in the furthest corner of the hospital, closing his eyes and catching his breath.

He felt like the walls were closing in on him and like everything around him was getting smaller. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe.

After a few minutes, he managed to gather himself and stop his racing heart. He stretched his back before he reached for the doorknob and stepped back out into the chaos of the hospital.

When he returned to your room, he found someone else already checking out your foot. When you saw him and locked eyes with him again, you tensed up.

"Dr. Robby." Whitaker greeted, a shaky smile on his face as he snapped on a pair of gloves, "I just started, but I've got everything."

"I can take it from here," Robby stated, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Are you sure? I'm almost-"

"I got it," Robby repeated, cutting the man off and offering him a smile, taking the tools from his hands, and taking over. They switched spots, and Whitaker gave you a smile and a brief wave before he was out of the room, leaving you and Robby in a thick, uncomfortable silence.

Robby worked in silence, and you watched him. You watched every cut, every stitch, everything. You analyzed his face, memorizing every line, every wrinkle, every crease, every gray hair.

"Are you gonna say anything?" You finally broke the silence, feeling like you were going to combust at any point.

"Was waiting for you to." He offered you a smile.

You took a breath, carefully thinking of your next move. You weren't expecting this, that's for sure. When you showed up at the urgent care earlier, you were expecting to be in and out. But they had referred you to the ER after your injury had proved to be more severe.

"This isn't how I was expecting my Friday night to go," You laughed nervously.

"I bet." Robby laughed, helping ease your nerves, "What'd you do? This is a pretty severe break." He commented.

"Was trying to put a light bulb in, fell down the ladder." You explained, wincing when he pressed into your foot.

"Sorry." He winced, "Well, my prognosis is it's definitely broken. Not enough to need surgery, but you'll be here for a few hours."

"For real?" Your eyes widened.

"Yeah, I'm sorry." He smiled sadly, "I know you hate hospitals, but it's protocol."

You tilted your head to the side. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything." He responded quickly, his eyes never leaving your face. The intensity in his eyes made you look away.

He could read you like a book; it was something you had learned early on. Every little thing you did, the faces you made, your movements, when you spoke, your tone.

"Can I get you anything while you wait?" He asked, looking down at the file in his hand, trying to find a distraction.

"I could go for some apple juice?" You admitted shyly.

"I should've known." He chuckled, grabbing the curtain again and leaving the room.

-

"All right, Mrs. Y/L/N, you're all ready to go." The nurse, whom you learned was named Princess, smiled at you. After waiting hours, someone bandaged up your leg (In a pink cast) you were given a pair of crutches.

It took another hour for your release papers to finally be given to you, and another half hour to finally be given the all clear.

"You're not kidding? I'm allowed to go home?" You were almost afraid she was gonna say no.

"I'm serious." She smiled again. "How are you getting home?"

"I'll probably just call an Uber or something." You shrugged, slipping your jacket on.

"We can call you a taxi, if you prefer." Princess offered.

"Are you sure? I don't want to bother anymore."

"No worries," She shook her head, opening the curtain and letting you exit first before making her way back over to the nurse's station and grabbing the phone.

You waited around, taking in the sights around you. Everything seemed hectic, but it seemed to be running on controlled chaos. Or maybe that's just how they wanted it to seem to patients.

"What are you still doing here?" Robby asked, approaching you, his bag slung over his shoulder as he stopped next to you.

"Was gonna call an Uber, but they offered to call a taxi for me." You explained, smiling over to Princess, who gave you a thumbs up, then set the phone back on the receiver.

"I could give you a ride." Robby offered. You quickly turned to look at him. "What?"

"No." You stated.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, no. Do you want to hear it in another language?" You joked, rolling your eyes.

"Don't waste your money on a taxi, I can give you a ride." He offered with a shrug.

"I'm good, thanks though." You brushed him off, making your way out to the front. of the hospital, the best you could with your new crutches.

"Y/N, I'm offering, come on." He was pleading with you at this point as he followed you out.

"Why?" You raised a brow, "You do this with your other patients?"

"Just the ones who break their legs putting lightbulbs in." He joked.

You stared at him, pursing your lips and weighing your options. After this hospital bill you were about to get, you knew things were going to be tight, and you knew that he was just being nice.

But another part of you wanted to ignore him, forget this ever happened, and go on with your life like you hadn't run into him at all.

Against your better judgment, "Fine."

-

Weeks later, Robby was still checking in on you. You wanted him to leave you alone; you had told him that on numerous occasions, but Robby, being Robby, he couldn't do that.

Being a healer was in his bones, and he couldn't, in good conscious, leave you to fend for yourself.

Every Friday morning, there would be a knock on your door, and on your doorstep, there would be a small to-go cup of your favorite tea and a blueberry bagel with cream cheese, your favorite.

There wasn't a note, but you knew who it was from. Of course you did, who else would remember you liked raspberry tea and blueberry bagels?

On Monday night, he would come over and drop off a few containers of food he had made. He brushed it off as "meal prepping", but you knew it was a lie. He barely had enough time in the day to find something to eat, let alone plan his meals.

There was a knock on your door, and you checked the time. "Right on time." You muttered, hobbling over to the front door.

You made your way over and opened the door. Before you could greet him, your cat Pepper greeted him. Snuggling his legs and weaving between his legs, purring when Robby bent down and scratched his ears.

Traitor, you thought in your head. Robby finally stood to his full height and looked at you, "You know, you don't have to keep doing this, right?" It had been well over a month now.

"I know." He nodded, moving around you and into your kitchen, grabbing silverware and a plate like he owned the place, "I want to. I have the time."

"No, you don't." You crossed your arms.

"Okay, well, I enjoy doing it." He shrugged, taking the containers of food out of the bag he had brought.

"No, you don't." You repeated, "You hate cooking."

"No, I don't." He stopped, raising a brow at you.

"Yes, you do, Robby." You rolled your eyes, "You could literally burn water, how that's possible if still a mystery."

"Okay, fine. I hate cooking, I don't have time to cook, anything else to add?" He asked, crossing his arms and pausing his plating of the food.

"No, I think that sounds about right." You smiled.

"Are you gonna sit there a taunt me? Or are you gonna eat?" He rolled his eyes at you, pushing a plate to the opposite side of the island, closer to where you were standing.

"I'll eat, I guess." You made your way over to the seat, carefully getting onto the stool and grabbing the fork. As you ate, Robby watched you. He ate too, but he watched you, examining your every movement.

He smiled. You ate. Life was good.

-

You and Robby were... something.

It had happened a long time ago, before all the stress and all the long nights, all the sleep deprivation, and long before the bags under his eyes became permanent.

It was the early days of medical school. Sleep was still something he could still get every night, and you were someone he could come home to and vent to about his hard day.

You heard him before you saw him. The walls of the apartment you called home were thin, and the hallway from the stairs to your apartment wasn't very long. He couldn't even put his key in the lock before you were ripping the door open and pulling him in for a hug.

It took him a few seconds to comprehend what was happening, but when his brain caught up with his arms, he wrapped his arms around you and exhaled a deep sigh of relief, one he hadn't known he had been holding in.

"How was your day?" You managed to ask, pulling away just to look him in the eyes. He simply shook his head, hugging you again.

You stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms in the entryway of your small apartment, neither of you saying anything, just basking in each other's presence.

You eventually pulled away, and Robby made his way into the bedroom, changing into more comfortable clothes while you warmed up a plate of dinner for him. He made his way back out, his shoulders hunched and a look on his face that had you raising a brow.

"What's wrong?" You asked, putting the plate in front of him.

"We need to talk." The tone of his voice made your heart stop, and you stood up a little straighter.

You gulped, "About what?"

He couldn't even look you in the eyes as he began speaking, "I think we should break up." You could already feel tears forming behind your eyes as you waited anxiously for him to continue.

"I just-I think you deserve someone better, someone who can make you happier. I can't, I know I can't, and I know I'm not. I'm barely here, I know I'm barely going to be here if I keep going down the road I'm going down. You deserve someone better." He finally looked you in the eyes.

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, and you could see that it went deeper than just his eyes. You could finally see it in his body. How you didn't notice it before was another story.

"Why are you saying this?" You finally asked.

"I can't make you happy, Y/N." He stated, tears in his own eyes.

"I can't say anything that'll change your mind?" You asked, swallowing harshly again when he shook his head. You nodded, "I'll grab some stuff, find somewhere else to stay tonight."

"Where are you gonna go?" He asked, suddenly aware of how late it was.

"That's not your problem anymore." You stated.

This was not how you expected your night to go.

-

You were twiddling your thumbs, trying not to think about the fact that you were in a hospital again. Although this time, you were there for a happier reason.

The pink cast on your leg was finally coming off, and while you had enjoyed it, you were excited to be able to shower without a bag over your leg and walk normally and not have to hobble.

"Mrs. Y/L/N," A woman you didn't recognize, walked into your room, "I am Dr. King."

"Nice to meet you." You smiled, shaking her hand.

"I'll be the one to remove your cast." She grabbed a pair of gloves. "I also heard you liked apple juice." You raised a brow, "Dr. Robby let it slip. I'll be sure to get you some."

"Thank you." You nodded, fiddling with your fingers again. She noticed that.

"So, how do you and Dr. Robby know each other?" She asked, breaking the silence as she slipped a pair of protective glasses on.

"Oh..." You blew out a breath, "We have some history, you could say." You nodded, not wanting to disclose too much.

"I understand." She nodded. She looked like she was thinking hard. "Have you always lived in Pittsburgh?"

You smiled. She was trying to distract you, "Moved here for school, loved it too much to leave." You answered.

"What do you do for work, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I work in real estate." You responded, "So if you ever need to sell a house or buy one, let me know." You winked.

"I'll let you know." She smiled.

After many distractions and a few bottles of apple juice, the cast was finally off, and a whole talk on safety from Dr. King, you were on your way home. Once again, you were signing more release papers and waiting for a taxi.

"Look at you. Back on two feet." Robby joked, making his way over to you again, his bag slung over his shoulder. It felt very familiar.

"Couldn't be happier." You nodded, handing the clipboard back to the nurse behind the desk and gathering your stuff up.

"You taking another taxi?" He straightened up, gripping the strap of his backpack.

"You know it." You nodded, turning on your heel and weaving through the people, making your way to the exit.

You finally made it outside, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. You didn't have to open them to know Robby had followed you and was standing right next to you.

"Can I take you out?" He blurted out.

"Out where?" Your eyes opened, and you stared at him.

"Lunch? Dinner? Brunch?" He suggested with a shrug.

"You asking me out, Robinavitch?" You raised a brow.

"I am." He nodded.

"Right." You nodded, laughing and looking away. "Oh, you were serious." You stopped laughing.

"I was." He nodded again.

"Why?' You asked curiously.

"Why not?" He shrugged.

You stared at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms, examining him, "If I say yes, I get to pick the place." You stated.

"Deal." He nodded.

"And I can drive myself home."

"We'll see about that." He made a face of disagreement.

"And lastly, I pay for myself."

"Absolutely not." He shook his head firmly.

You smiled, "You've got yourself a deal."

-

One date turned into two turned into four, and next thing you knew, you were seeing Robby more and more often. Things weren't official, but things were good, and that was that.

You were also scared.

You still hadn't talked about that night, the night that he had decided seemingly in five minutes that he wanted to end things. It wasn't something you liked to think about, but it was also something you needed answers for.

A knock on your door shook you from your thoughts. You got up slowly and unlocked the door. "Hey! I got your favorite." Robby smiled, holding up the bag. He leaned down and kissed your cheek before moving past you and into your kitchen.

You followed him, your movements slow, which he caught onto, "You okay?" He raised a brow at you.

"Can we talk?" He stopped, his hands freezing what they were doing, and his pulse quickening so fast and loud he could hear it in his ears.

"Of course." He nodded, wiping his hands on the towel on your oven, giving you his full attention, "What about?"

"That night." Was all you said, and he understood.

"Yeah." He nodded, "We can talk about it." He had been waiting for this moment.

He didn't want to bring it up. After all, he was the one who did the breaking up. So, he waited for you to bring it up. But just because he had been waiting, didn't mean he wanted it to happen.

It wasn't a moment he was proud of, nor was it a moment he enjoyed thinking about.

"I have so many questions, questions I've had for years that never got answered." You closed your eyes, running a hand down your face.

"I understand." He nodded again. In that moment, he didn't know what to say or how to say it.

"You broke up with me, you remember that?" You were angry now. His short answers were pissing you off, and his lack of emotion was making you mad.

"I do." He nodded, his eyes filling with tears.

"You said because you wanted me to be happier, and you knew you weren't making me happy." You repeated the very same words he had told you on that fateful night, words you had repeated in your head for years, words that were so ingrained in your brain, you could see them when you closed your eyes.

"I know." He nodded yet again, dropping his head shamefully.

"Well, you were wrong." You swallowed hard, "You're such a smart man, you're the smartest person I've ever known, yet you're so stupid!" He looked up at that, "You made me happy, you make me happy."

"You being back in my life these past few months has made me so unbelievably happy, the happiest I've been in years. Don't you see that? I don't need someone else, Michael, I need you." His eyes filled with tears as he took in what you were saying.

"I'm so angry at you, you know that? You left me because you-you thought you knew what was right. But you didn't. You didn't even ask me, come to me with your problems. That's what you're supposed to do. Come to me and talk to me. We could've talked it out, and we wouldn't be here, starting over." There were now tears streaming down both of your faces.

"I didn't need to be happier or to have someone else, I just wanted you. I wanted to have that life with you, and I didn't care if it meant losing. I just wanted to be with you." His feet finally started moving, and he walked over to you, hesitantly holding out his arms, wanting so badly to go in for a hug.

"I thought I was doing the right thing." He said, "I thought I knew what was best. You were successful, you were doing so good in school, and I was just some kid who didn't know what he was doing. Dreamed of being a doctor, but barely passed by. I thought you needed better." He admitted shamefully.

"I know now that I was wrong. I've spent so many years knowing I was wrong. Spent so much time thinking about you, thinking about how things could've been different. But I can't go back now. I can try my damndest to do better now, if you'll let me."

Instead of responding, you wrapped your arms around him, catching him by surprise. He let out a shaky breath as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you there. He didn't plan on letting go anytime soon. Neither did you.

You weren't done talking about it, but for now, things were good. You had no idea what was going to happen next, but you did know Robby wasn't letting go anytime soon.

One thing you did know was that this was not how you expected life to go.

-

tagging some friends: @kolsmikaelson @writingsforfandoms-multi @2manytabsopen @literaryslapshot @itsjuliak5

add yourself to my taglist!

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✵Under the hood.

✦ Pairing: Modern!Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: A beautiful day quickly turned into a very shitty one when your car broke down in the middle of a mountain road. Thank Goodness, a charming cowboy luckily crosses your way and talks you through fixing your fussy engine. ✦ Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI!! Not properly speaking sexual intercourse, but this contains sexual themes. "Talking you through it". Dirty talk. Mechanical sex metaphors if that's even a thing??? Sexual tension. Arthur is a smooth b*stard. ✦ Words: 2,3k (once again relying on @arthurmorgan-vp for this gorgeous pic of Arthur!)

Sooo! This was initially an ask for my mini prompt sprint from @cloudywithachanceofcrisis (awesome url btw), and it turned into this whole fic because I'm too deep into modern Arthur and I just couldn't stop writing. Basically, the ask was for Reader's car to break down and for Arthur to talk her through fixing it, "Megan Fox Transformers" style. 😏 I had too much fun writing it. Enjoy!

✧.*

A creaking sound of metallic agony rings out as you pull your car's hood up, quickly followed by a horrible smell of burnt pieces of metal and plastic.

Shit.

This really wasn't what you had planned for today. A barbecue party at your best friend's ranch, cold beers, the smell of grass mixing with seasoned steaks and hay. And laughter, and horses, and riding. The sun embracing your face as you and her would gallop through the fields, just like when you were kids. The real start of summer.

That's what you had planned this morning when waking up. Now the sun is roasting your neck, your car is stopped, front pitifully open as a wounded animal you would have just hurt, along one of Wyoming's lonely rocky mountain roads. Needless to say, you were in deep trouble; no network, traffic as low as the school's road on holidays.

Except for other locals, of course.

After long minutes of panic and desperate calls into the void of a connectionless dial tone from your phone, you finally heard your salvation from the other side of the road. A blue Chevrolet pickup truck, some Creedence Clearwater Revival bursting through the windows, sunrays gleaming on the immaculate bodywork.

The truck slows down and stops right next to you. Window down, its owner smiles at you with an unmistakable smirk and blue eyes shining almost as much as the perfectly polished metal of his vehicle.

"You alright there, sugar?"

Arthur Morgan. Another ranch owner from your valley. He's bending to your direction, turning down his music, and you notice the pile of country and rock albums on the countertop. You internally chuckle; it fits his character way too well. You knew him a little; all the breeders know each other in the valley. Most of them, as with your family and his, have beneficial relationships, like symbiosis in nature. Clownfish and anemones. Trees and lichen. Make yourself useful to the other party and you'll never fight again. Instead of destroying yourselves over a piece of land, you've learned to take advantage of each other and to prosper together. The Man is an animal, after all.

You had very good memories of the time you had spent at his ranch, usually for the breeding season. He owned one of the finest horses in the whole county and rode them like no one else could. And you would have lied if you had said you didn't find him handsome, in this typical cowboy rugged charm. Always wearing jeans, sometimes chaps. Tight, simple black or white shirts that were always stretched around his biceps or pectorals. Never without a pack of Marlboros that smelled like fresh nights, talking about life under the porch. A leather hat and jacket for riding, a cap when around his ranch. Today is a baseball cap type of day too, it seems.

"Of course not, Morgan! Do I look peachy?! My car broke down and I can't fix it." You explain, hands on your hips.

"A chance I was passin' by then." He smirks even more, readjusting his position in his seat. "Don't worry darlin', we'll get it in mint condition no time."

With a smooth move of the wheel with one hand, he pulls over just a few meters from you. Your hear the old truck turning down, the door opening; he grabs a toolbox and a bottle of water before joining you in front of the open hood of your poor suffering car.

"Here, first, drink a bit. Don't want ya droppin' dead in the middle o' nowhere."

You chuckle as you take the water he's handing to you, the coldness of it on your palms enough to make you feel at ease. "Would be hard to explain to the cops eh?"

"Sure would." He concedes with a snort, his left hand taking support on the hood as he bends towards the engine. After a few seconds of him probing the wound with an expert gaze in silence, he turns to you. "Ya know what? You're going to learn and fix it yaself. I'll teach ya. That way, you won't have to wait on a... dirty cowboy to save your ass next time you break down."

You smile, amused and somehow grateful for his proposition. You definitely should have known better in cars already, considering how life was demanding in those wild plains.

"Alright then, let's hear what the "grand master" of cars has to say." You joke, and just for the way his crinkles showed more in the corner of his eyes, the smile it brought to his face, it was worth it.

He takes a dirty piece of fabric and puts it in the back pocket of his jeans out of habit, before giving you a pair of gloves from the toolbox, greasy and used, and you put them on without complaint, hard, used cotton surrounding your skin.

Your eyes involuntarily notice how his neck is more tanned, compared to a part of his torso you can catch a glimpse of. His forearms, too. The veins that run through them are like great streams that sublimate his muscles. He really is cut out for the hard life on the ranch, even more than most people you know.

"First, you need t'find your brake cylinder. Check the fluid level in it." He points at the plastic reservoir and waits.

You bend towards the engine too, and touch the cylinder. It is one of the only things you knew about.

"That's right, that' thing. Does it look full?"

"Yes."

"Good. 'Could be leakin', though. Brush your hands under it..." He commands, one hand still on the hood and the other holding his belt. He looks so casual, as if he were giving mechanic lessons every day. "Come on, don't be shy, darlin'."

You do exactly as he tells. You don't know why, but there's something suddenly extremely intimate in this whole situation. The way you're both bent inward, bodies close, way closer than how you would stand next to someone. The way he speaks those orders, his voice even more gravelly, rasping, almost purring in your ears. Deep, so deep, and the way his accent is eating half the words in that southern drawl is doing things to you. Stomach fluttering, you try to keep your head cool and actually focus and fixing your damn car.

"So? S'it wet?"

Jeeeesus, he's not making things easy. Making violence to yourself not to answer yes on instinct, you force out a too casual "Nope."

"Alright, now do the same with the coolin' system. S'right next to it."

You bring your hand to the other plastic cylinder, wrapping your fingers under the round pipe coming out of it. Your muscle memory is stronger than your rational thinking. You can't help but imagine how it would feel to have them wrapped around something else, something just inches away from your own hips right now. Something you knew would be undoubtedly big considering the way that man is carrying himself, the way it shows when he's riding, big and heavy and obvious through his jeans. You close your eyes, unable to keep those unholy ideas away.

"No leaks, sir."

"Perfect. Oh, ya should always check up for leaks first, but never open this damn thing with your engine still runnin', ya hear? Could splash hot chemicals all over ya."

"Copy that."

"Good girl." He drawls in a satisfied praise, his left hand tapping on the hood in a satisfied way. As if he had just finished with you and would pat your ass contently. You shiver, his words and the fucking delicious way he said it igniting and unresistable fire between your thighs. "Now let's check the engine fluid. Pull out the dipstick from it."

You slowly remove the long and thin wand from your car motor, and to your surprise, you feel one of his big and rough palms on top of your glove to help you carry it, as his left one finally leaves its perch and grabs the top of the stick.

"See the fluid? If the thing looks like you have just shoved it in an oil fryer, you're good. But if you notice some other stuff like... somethin' that looks like thick water, or a creamy stuff right here, it ain't good."

Fluid. Shoving. Thick. Creamy. There's no way he isn't aware of what he's doing. The way his gigantic hands handle yours and the stick. The way you can smell his strong perfume, petrolic reek of the damaged engine long gone, replaced by heady notes of sweat from the scorching sun making him pearl, mixing with remnants of his cologne. Or was it woods? Cedar and pines, with hays, and faint traces of this so specific scent that farms and ranches have.

"Darlin'? Ya got it?"

"Y-yeah yeah. Oil good, creamy stuff isn't." Oh my god, you sound so dumb you're almost embarrassing yourself.

"That' right. Now the filter. See that big fan underneath? We have to make sure it's perfectly running and sealed, overwise your engine is pumping stuff from nowhere and ends up damn dirty."

He arcs himself completely, lying his side against your car to slip his hand under the piece of metal, and grabs a pipe you can't see from where you stand. He probably tests the solidity of the thing, but all you see is him wanking a fucking engine. Does he handles his cock like that? Does he jerk it slow and steady like he rides his horse in an elegant walk? Slow but deliberate, meticulous like he is with his own truck? Or is it all the contrary, does he treat it rough and quick? Like an urge he needs to get out, contrasting with his precise and conscientious work? Does his shaft fuck his fist, jerking off so fast he's almost done in a few minutes? Does his-

"Here, I need to show it to ya. Come."

Oh. You're dead on the inside, your pussy isn't even trying anymore, burning without any restriction and you're happy it's a hot day because at least you have an excuse to be sweating that much. He's still leaning his side against the car, arm folded, and he gestures for you to join him in the same position. Throat hoarse, legs mushy as if they were boneless, you get closer and lean on your side too, your back touching his chest. You two are basically spooning on your car right now. He removes his hand from the engine.

"See? S' that one, right there. Go on, grab' it."

Jesus all I want is to fucking grab it you complain in your head. He must realise this is extremely erotic, right? You couldn't be imagining it on your own. You hope not, or else it means that you're completely crazy. Your body is entirely tensed as an arched bow, you bring your own hand to the filter pipe.

"Now... shake it. T'make sure it's sealed."

His breath is almost brushing against your ear. His deep raspy tone, resonating through his chest when he speaks, scratching against his tongue, feels like honey and whiskey both at the same time. Languorous and coarse. It swirls and rolls all against you, coating you as if you were a candy waiting to be eaten whole. You shake the metal piece, trying at all costs to push away the sinful thoughts the gesture is bringing to you.

"Thaaat's it... How does it feel, girl?"

"F-feels good to me." You're blushing, you're sure you're blushing. You know you are, cheeks burning at the double meaning this whole conversation is holding. You hear and feel him humming a positive, deep sound in answer.

"Well, if it ain't mechanical, it's probably your electrical darlin'. Let's look at that battery o' yours."

He finally gets up, pushing on his arm. You're almost sad not to be turned the other way, you could have witnessed the way his biceps had flexed, veins popping for a few seconds, grease and oil now painting his skin and beautifully emphasizing his muscles, a perfectly shaped and shaded Greek statue.

You start to get back up too, and suddenly feel the weight of his gaze and you. You were bent, half folded just a few seconds ago, basically presenting your ass to him. Oh, you congratulate yourself for having chosen to wear these little shorts this morning. There was no way he could have looked at something else. Once fully up, you greet him with a not-so-innocent smile, fixing a strand of your hair behind your ear. A vein on his neck shows as he reciprocates your smirk, and his own body tenses. He's enjoying this whole situation.

"Mmh. I can already tell ya, she's the one causing trouble." He states, pulling his cap back in place with two hands. You're not even sure he's actually talking about the car anymore.

"H-how do you know?" You didn't want your voice to sound that weak. This man had the effect of disconnecting every basic function from your biology; except all the ones related to sex of course. Those, those they were on fire, on the verge of fucking overheating.

"Look, it's loose." He explains slowly, voice drawling, each word slurred in a husky rumble. He's saying it like that on fucking purpose. "Some bolts must have blown out. So, that littl' bitch bounces as you drive, and it ends up disconnected. All... messy, 'n overused..."

You religiously nod at his godly speech. Your eyes are fixated on his hands moving the battery in periodic movements, repetitive sharp snapping noise filling the air, fingers sliding in between the pieces of metal.. He could have well been thrusting his hips into it, it would have had the same effect on you.

"Now... let's get this bad girl to behave." He adds, devilish smirk on his face, a hand leaving the battery to pull a wrench and a few new bolts from his toolbox.

All your life you had prided yourself on being a strong and independent woman. The ranch chores? No problem. Riding? Easier and funnier, even barrel racing. Lassoing, helping a cow give birth? Done and done. Not that it was easy, but you could handle it yourself, and pretty damn well on top of that.

But right here, right now, this ego is crushed under the dirty boots of this Appolon of a cowboy, odd but unforgettable mix between a rough rancher and a mythological God, palming a car battery as if it was your ass. You could have done anything if he had ordered you to, you had never been weaker because of someone. You would have been on your knees, God, you wish he'd let you get on your knees for him.

With just a few turns of the wrench, the temperamental car is repaired. He tests the engine from the conductor seat, and it works perfectly fine. It's almost humiliating how easy it was. He gets out, pulls the hood down for you, and stands tall, satisfied with his little intervention.

"You're good t'go, darlin'."

"Thank you so much, Arthur." You don't know if you should be thanking him for the battery or for the litteral porn show he delivered you for free. It had been years since your hormones had gotten that wild.

And they weren't about to stop, considering how he had taken back his water bottle and drank straight from it, some of it beautifully streaming down his scarred chin, then his throat before getting soaked up by his already sweat-drenched shirt. He takes some of it in his right hand and wets his neck, and you have to contain a sigh. The base of his hair, all wet like this, makes you want to run your fingers through it more than ever.

"T'was nothin'. Am happy t'help a pretty girl in need."

There are a few seconds, just a few, hanging in the thick air between the two of you, where you both look at his other, his abyssal marine blue eyes sinking so deep into yours you're almost surprised he's not falling right into your soul. Maybe he is. But his gaze doesn't waver for a single second, not even by an inch, and you realize that only he maintains such intimate contact for so long without showing the slightest sign of nervousness. No one else does. For him, it doesn't have to be a source of discomfort like most people, and it becomes so intimate that you feel your legs weaken once again under the weight of that gaze. Just the two of you. Fucking with your eyes.

He gets closer to you, and you move back against the front of your car. You don't say a word. Neither is he. There's just his deep breaths and the deafening beating of your heart. He raises his arms around your waist, as if wanting to lean on the hood, trapping you. Your thighs and your aching core between them are just a few torturous inches from his jeans-covered crotch. You want to take a quick peek, burning to know if he's indeed painfully hard, if the blue pants are as tight as his shirt is on his bicep. But you can't, unable to break his eye contact, sucked into those blue seas. There's a small grease stain on his cheek you'd like to cover with your lipstick. You hold your breath. Your whole body freezes, which made no sense at all to you, considering how hot you were feeling, how ardent the atmosphere was with him almost bent on you. It's like those mind-numbing summer days, when the air is so hot and heavy and full of electricity that all you want is for the storm to finally break, never mind if the lightning strikes your whole body.

All the better if it does.

He grabs his wrench he had forgotten behind you, and pulls back. In an instant, it's winter. You don't want it to be. He looks at you with this knowing smirk, this hard jawline almost cheeky, this goddamn ballcap like a crown.

"H-hey uh -" You cough, unable to let things end like this. Searching for the thunderstorm. "I was... I was going to the Miller's Ranch for a barbecue. D'you wanna come?" You bite your lip at yet another double entendre. Shit. "I could... Offer you a beer, for all of that?"

Gently pulling the working gloves off your hands, he answers, taking his sweet time, his face holding this repressed mischievousness and desire, well hidden behind his smug expression.

"Well... I'd very much like to come. Thank you, sugar."

✧.*

Well, thank you for this amazing request that sparked this obsession in my brain I guess, Rhae! Also I won't lie to you guys, I was clearly inspired too by these amazing art pieces from @/altergoat02. Check out their blog, all of their art is prodigious.

And if Modern Arthur is your kind of boah just like me, I highly recommend you to check out Evie's Takin' care of business!! And yes I've completely looked for a tutorial on youtube about car motors. I'm just that ignorant.

tagging the sweeties who had shown interest in this/my work: @stottlemorgan, @moons-honies, @arthurmorganist, @redwritr, @cloudywithachanceofcrisis, @a-court-of-valkyries

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

Crossed Wires - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: Based on a couple of requests I’ve received. Hope you enjoy ☺️

At first, you couldn’t tell what had changed.

The Slytherin common room was its usual emerald-lit, velvet-chaired sanctuary of snark and secrets, but the moment you stepped through the portrait entrance behind Mattheo, a strange tension settled over the room like fog.

Theo looked away from you too quickly.

Enzo didn’t greet you with a smirk and a nickname.

Pansy was suddenly very invested in flipping through Witch Weekly, and Blaise didn’t even look up.

Even Draco, who usually shot you a teasing glare at the very least, offered nothing.

You hesitated by the couch. “Did I… do something?”

No one answered.

Mattheo slouched into a seat, tugging you down beside him. “What are you talking about?”

You looked around, heart starting to hammer. “They’re acting… weird. Like they’re mad.”

Pansy flipped a page loudly.

Theo muttered, “Maybe some people don’t like it when others snoop where they shouldn’t.”

You blinked. “What?”

Blaise huffed. “Forget it.”

“What the hell are you all talking about?” You stood, confused and instantly defensive. “I haven’t done anything.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you?”

The tone was joking, but cold. Cold enough to slice.

You looked at Mattheo, expecting the usual — the scoff, the snark, the “don’t talk to her like that, she’s mine” — but…

He just ran a hand through his curls and leaned back. “Just drop it.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“They’re obviously pissed,” you said, voice rising slightly, heart beginning to crack around the edges, “and you’re just going to let them treat me like that?”

Mattheo didn’t look at you. “They’re allowed to feel how they feel.”

You stared at him.

That wasn’t how this worked.

That wasn’t you and him.

Mattheo always stuck up for you. Always. Even when you were wrong. Especially then.

“What is going on?” Your voice trembled slightly. “Why are you all acting like this?”

Pansy sighed dramatically. “It’s not a big deal.”

Theo muttered, “Depends who you ask.”

Mattheo stood, frustrated now. “Can we not make this into some huge thing? Merlin.”

“No, Mattheo, we will make it into a huge thing,” you snapped, hurt tightening your throat. “Our friends are suddenly acting weird towards me and you’re acting like I’m overthinking it.”

“You’re being dramatic,” he snapped back, the edge in his voice sharp enough to sting. “Not everything’s about you.”

You recoiled like he’d slapped you.

Theo’s head shot up. Pansy froze mid-page flip.

Mattheo’s eyes widened — but too late.

The words were already in the air.

Your breath hitched, heart cracking clean down the middle.

“…wow,” you whispered. “I guess I was wrong about who’d stick by me.”

You turned to leave.

“No—darling—” Mattheo stepped forward, instantly reaching for you.

But you pulled away. “Don’t.”

And then—

You did something Mattheo Riddle had never seen you do.

You cried.

Right there in the middle of the common room, surrounded by the very people you trusted most, your voice broke, and a sob slipped out before you could stop it.

The room went dead silent.

You ran.

And the door slammed behind you.

Silence.

Mattheo hadn’t moved. He was still standing where you’d left him, chest rising and falling like he’d just finished running — like the air had been punched out of him.

Theo was the first to speak. Quiet. Cautious. “You said you could handle it.”

“I could,” Mattheo muttered. His voice was low. Fractured. “I was.”

Enzo stood, pacing now. “Well, clearly not, mate. She’s crying. She ran. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Mattheo snapped.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. “You knew this was all fake. You knew we were just acting off to keep her from catching on. So why the hell did you blow up on her like that?”

Mattheo finally turned to face them, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Because she looked at me like she believed it. Like I wasn’t on her side.”

He swallowed hard. “She thought I was just standing there and letting you all turn on her. And for a second—just a second—I thought maybe she really believed that I wouldn’t protect her. That I wouldn’t choose her.”

Theo frowned. “So you lashed out.”

Mattheo nodded slowly, jaw clenched. “I panicked. I got angry. I’ve never seen her look at me like that before.”

Enzo raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like I was just like everyone else.” His voice cracked. “Like I wasn’t hers anymore.”

Pansy winced. “So instead of playing it cool, you accused her of making it all about herself?”

“I was trying to snap her out of it,” Mattheo said hoarsely. “Make her realize it was nothing serious, just… a moment. That she was overthinking it. But then—” He paused, his face twisting with guilt. “She cried.”

No one spoke.

Not when Mattheo Riddle’s voice broke on the word cried like it shattered something in him.

“I’ve never seen her cry like that,” he whispered, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “And I caused it.”

Blaise finally sighed, voice low. “This was supposed to be fun. Just misdirection. Get her a little riled up, make the surprise sweeter.”

Theo nodded. “We thought the tension would distract her.”

Mattheo sat heavily on the arm of the sofa, staring at the door like he expected you to walk back through it. “I didn’t mind pretending to ignore her. I figured I’d make it up to her after the party — flowers, candles, the whole fucking castle if she wanted. But when she actually believed it… when she believed I could ever let people turn on her like that—”

He broke off, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek.

“She didn’t even yell,” Pansy said quietly.

“No,” Mattheo breathed, eyes dark. “She cried.”

Theo shook his head. “We messed this up.”

“No,” Mattheo corrected, standing again, already halfway to the door. “I did.”

Enzo raised a brow. “Where are you going?”

Mattheo looked over his shoulder, jaw clenched. “To find her.”

“And if she’s still mad?”

“I don’t care if she hexes me,” he said, already pulling on his jacket. “I’m not letting her think I’d ever choose anyone over her. Not even for a fucking surprise.”

Then he was gone, the common room door swinging shut behind him.

And this time, it was the group left behind in stunned silence — staring at the damage they hadn’t meant to cause.

————

Mattheo had searched the entire bloody castle.

From the Astronomy Tower to the boathouse, even the deserted old Transfiguration classroom where you sometimes liked to read when the common rooms got too loud — but you were nowhere.

And worse?

He couldn’t get into the Ravenclaw common room.

He stood outside the eagle knocker for the fourth time, fists clenched at his sides.

“To enter, solve this riddle:”

“I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind.”

He nearly growled. “An echo. Let me in, you stupid thing—”

“That is correct. But you are not welcome.”

“Try again tomorrow.”

The knocker went still. The door refused to open.

Inside, you lay curled up on one of the pale blue couches, face buried in your knees, heart cracked. You’d ignored the looks from your housemates. Ignored the way your dorm door clicked closed behind you when you came in, silent and shaking.

Mattheo had let them treat you like an outsider.

Worse — he joined in.

And then he hurt you.

On the day before your birthday.

————

You woke up with a hollow feeling in your chest.

You didn’t want to get out of bed.

No excited chatter from your roommates. No magical confetti exploding from your trunk. Just the memory of Mattheo’s voice, sharp and cold:

“Not everything’s about you.”

That had hurt more than anything.

Still, you got up. Brushed your hair. Pulled on your robe.

When you stepped out of the common room, the air was cool and quiet—and then—

He was there.

Mattheo Riddle.

Slouched against the stone wall just across the corridor, like he hadn’t slept. His curls were messy. His uniform tie was crooked. His hands stuffed deep in his pockets as if anchoring himself there, eyes lifting the second he sensed your presence.

He straightened. “Angel.”

You stopped.

He took a careful step forward. “Please don’t run.”

You didn’t.

You stood very still, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes guarded.

“I waited out here all night,” he said quietly. “The knocker wouldn’t let me in.”

You stared at him. “Good.”

Mattheo swallowed. “I never should’ve snapped. Not like that. Not when I knew—not when it was all fake. I panicked. I thought you—” he hesitated, voice cracking, “—I thought you were starting to doubt how much I love you.”

You didn’t answer.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he added quickly. “You are everything to me. You’re the only thing that matters. You know that, right?”

You looked at him, eyes rimmed with sleep and sadness. “Do I?”

His face crumpled.

That hurt him more than your silence ever could have.

“Please come with me,” he whispered. “Just—just to breakfast. That’s all. If you’re still mad after, I’ll leave you alone.”

You hesitated.

And then you sighed. “Fine. But I’m only going for toast.”

————

When you entered the Great Hall, it was early — not many students yet.

Mattheo hovered beside you like a nervous shadow as you walked toward the Slytherin table. You weren’t even sure why you were heading that way — force of habit, maybe. But then you saw them: Theo, Enzo, Pansy, Draco, Blaise.

All standing. All looking like they’d been waiting for you.

Theo stepped forward. “We were idiots.”

Enzo scratched the back of his neck. “The worst actors in Hogwarts.”

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Honestly, I hated pretending to be mad. You’re the only one I can tolerate.”

Draco smirked faintly. “You do make Ravenclaws tolerable.”

Blaise offered you a wrapped box and a sheepish glance. “Happy Birthday, Ravenclaw.”

You blinked.

Your eyes flicked to Mattheo.

“You planned this?” you asked.

He smiled, hesitant. “We all did. I just… didn’t expect it to go sideways. You weren’t supposed to cry. You were supposed to be…surprised.”

You stared at him.

And then—despite yourself—you laughed. Just once.

A watery, breathless sound that cracked the ice around your ribs.

They all sighed in relief.

You sat down, still a little unsure, but slowly, as the gifts were opened and the teasing resumed, you let yourself lean into it. You wanted to believe them. And more than anything, you missed your place with them.

You didn’t say the words “I forgive you” — but the smile you gave Mattheo when he poured you pumpkin juice said enough.

————

Later that morning, Mattheo led you by the hand to his dorm.

You curled up on his bed, legs tucked beneath you as he sat beside you, gazing at you like you were starlight.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“No,” you said honestly, “you don’t.”

He cracked a grin. “Still mad?”

You raised a brow. “Don’t push it, Riddle.”

He chuckled—and then reached into the drawer of his bedside table.

When he turned back, he was holding a small velvet box.

Your breath caught.

He opened it slowly to reveal a delicate emerald pendant strung on a thin gold chain, shimmering like forest fire in candlelight.

“Mattheo…”

“I wanted to give it to you this morning,” he said, “but after last night…I wasn’t sure you’d even look at me.”

Your fingers brushed the gemstone.

“Put it on,” he said softly, already leaning in to clasp it around your neck.

You did.

He lingered behind you, lips brushing the back of your shoulder. “Wear it tonight.”

“Why?”

He grinned. “You’ll see.”

————

That evening, he led you down the winding halls, through a shortcut behind the tapestry, past a moving staircase and into the dimly lit corridor outside the Slytherin common room.

The door opened before you could even answer the knocker.

And inside—

“SURPRISE!”

Lights. Floating decorations. Glittering stars enchanted to dance along the ceiling. Tables overflowing with sweets and butterbeer. Balloons charmed to spell your name. Music pumping low and steady.

The entire common room had been transformed into a dream.

Your yearmates — even some Ravenclaws — cheered. Pansy tossed fairy dust into the air. Enzo blew a kazoo. Theo was already dragging you toward a massive enchanted cake.

You stood frozen, stunned.

They’d all done this. For you.

And in the middle of it all, Mattheo wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I told them it had to be perfect,” he whispered. “Because you deserve perfect. Even if I’m not.”

You turned in his arms, smiling up at him through glossy eyes.

“You’re not perfect,” you agreed. “But you’re mine.”

He kissed you like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. Slow. Soft. Sincere.

Cheers erupted around you.

Draco muttered something about “pathetic lovebirds.”

Pansy threw a cupcake at him.

Mattheo didn’t care.

His forehead rested against yours, emeralds glinting against your skin.

“Happy Birthday, angel.”

You squeezed his hand.

And just like that — the sting of last night faded into the glittering glow of this one. Because in the end, the lesson was clear:

They all loved you.

But none of them loved you like Mattheo Riddle did.

Not even close.

Taglist: @hisonlyobsession

[luvismenu]

> motive — pt.19 (2/2) ,, jjk . index !

. . brother's bestfriend!jungkook au . .

note: ok. so. rushed chapter, messy writing,,, i was fully SICk when i wrote it and only edited it like, a few minutes ago — still kinda sick tbh (excuse me.. 😿) i just really want motive to end at this point pls im tired of all the sadness 💔 I AM SORRY i know i like drama but errrr hahaha. time to say your goodbyes bbgs — one more part left 😛

taehyung freezes at the door. bags in hand. mouth slightly parted. and then his eyes land on jungkook; his face buried in his hands, your hand on his shoulder like you’re holding him together.

then he sees jimin, head down, yumi’s hand over his. like he’s just said something that shattered the room.

taehyung doesn’t move. not a step forward, not a step back.

then he looks at you fully. and you give him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

taehyung’s expression shifts. because he knows.

he knows exactly what this is about.

he sets the bags down slowly. like rushing might make things worse.

jungkook finally looks up. jaw clenched. and when his eyes meet taehyung’s, something in him crumbles.

“when were you going to tell me?” jungkook asks.

his voice isn’t loud. it’s quiet. too quiet. but it cuts through the room like glass.

“i…” taehyung starts. his throat tightens.

“i couldn’t.”

everyone stands slowly. like something heavy just dropped and they all felt it. even jimin rises, sluggish, quiet, but on his feet.

taehyung steps forward.

just once.

“don’t,” jungkook says immediately. “don’t come closer.”

taehyung stops in place. his hands curl into fists by his sides.

“i never meant for it to happen like that,” he says. “i never wanted to hurt you.”

jungkook lets out a hollow laugh. “you didn’t want to hurt me, but you let me hate you.”

jungkook's voice isn’t raised. it’s too calm. like he’s past the point of yelling.

“you...” jungkook sighs, “you let it happen.”

taehyung swallows, eyes glassy. “i thought—” he stops, voice breaking. “i thought if you had her, you’d be happy.”

jungkook finally looks at taehyung.

“you gave up everything,” he says, and there’s something bitter in his tone. “you let me have her? are you serious? you let me have her like she was something to give?”

taehyung flinches.

“and ever since then..” jungkook shakes his head. “i thought you betrayed me. i thought you didn’t care. and you just... you didn't tell me.”

taehyung’s voice is quiet. “i was trying to protect you.”

“you didn’t protect me,” jungkook says, jaw tight. “that— whatever happened between us; destroyed us.”

and then, softer.

“you let it happen.”

jungkook turns to look at jimin, who’s startled; just a flicker of it in his eyes— like he didn’t expect to be pulled back into this.

“you let it happen too,” jungkook says. his voice isn’t loud, but it hits hard.

jimin doesn't speak. he just stands there, frozen, eyes meeting jungkook’s. and for a moment, he looks younger. like the scared kid who didn’t know what to do back then.

“you knew everything,” jungkook continues. “and you said nothing. not to me, not to anyone.”

jimin opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“i blamed him,” jungkook nods toward taehyung. “i blamed him for years. and you just watched.”

“i was trying to protect you,” jimin finally says, quietly.

jungkook snaps. “stop fucking saying that.”

jimin turns to taehyung then. the shift in the room is fast.

“you broke your promise,” he says. voice low but firm. “you said you’d stay away. you said you’d choose jungkook.”

taehyung swallows. eyes down. “i did.”

“you didn’t,” jimin snaps, raising his voice, stepping closer. “jungkook was—”

“for god's sake.” jungkook cuts in, eyes flashing. “don’t speak for me.”

the room gets heavier. taehyung lifts his gaze now, finally meeting jungkook’s eyes.

“i’m not a fucking child,” jungkook says, stepping back like the air is too thick. “you should’ve told me. both of you. you acted like you knew what was best for me. but all you did was leave me confused and angry for years.”

jimin and taehyung both go quiet.

then yumi speaks.

“enough.”

everyone looks at her.

“you’re all fighting,” she gives the boys a sharp look. “again.”

you step in too.

“you all keep talking over each other. yelling. blaming. that’s why it never got fixed in the first place. so please..” you exhale softly. “talk it out properly.” you’re shaking a little. but you mean every word.

silence stretches again.

but this time, something’s different.

because now they’re looking at each other.

and not with anger.

but with something closer to regret.

after some silence, taehyung exhales shakily. but he doesn’t look up right away.

“i’m sorry,” he says.

his voice is soft, like he’s scared to use it. like speaking too loud might break whatever fragile thread that's still holding the three of them together right now.

“i really thought i was doing the right thing,” he goes on. “back then, i thought… if you hated me, that would be better than being hurt by her. i didn’t expect everything to fall apart like this. i didn’t think—” he pauses, jaw tight, eyes flickering to jungkook, “....i didn’t think.”

he looks down. like he’s ashamed. like he knows it’s too late to fix anything, but he’s still hoping.

jimin shifts, then steps forward a little.

“no,” he says. “i’m sorry.”

taehyung looks at him, surprised.

“i should’ve said something. a long time ago. to both of you.” his throat bobs. “i thought i was protecting everyone by keeping quiet. i didn’t want to see you break, kook. i didn’t want tae to carry the blame. but i was just a fucking coward.”

kook.

tae.

his voice tightens. “and you’ve been carrying all this shit alone for years. blaming yourself, and i let it happen.”

your brother's finally speaking up. after years of keeping it buried. it shows on his face, the relief and the guilt all tangled together. like every word is lifting something off his chest and replacing it with something heavier.

jungkook doesn’t speak right away. his eyes flicker between them. and slowly, something in his expression begins to shift.

he swallows hard. his voice comes low, rough. “i’m sorry too.”

his eyes don’t lift. “for not seeing it. for believing in something that was never real.”

he means yeonha. and they all know it.

you glance at yumi. she looks at you, a little surprised. like she hadn’t expected any of them to actually say it. to actually get here.

but they did.

finally.

a/n: no i didn't forget abt oc and jks relationship .

💌 permanent taglist: @annyeongbitch7 @internetrando64 @jkvias @lovieku @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @onlyforyoukook @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @jaytheatiny @iswearimover5feetall @kooverses @134340-kr @mar-lo-pap @fluttershypoo @kyuupii @https-mei @elinaki92 @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @hoseokteardrop @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @jaykay-world @jmscaffeine @libra04 @beigerin @nikidream24 @svnbangtansworld @mimi1097 @kookoo-kachoo @junecat18 @dollyunjinz @rrosiitas @jjeonjjk7 @remgeolli @ty-moy-ya-tvoy @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya

[lazysoulwriter]

it's not silly. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: angst with comfort, jealousy/insecurity, touchiness with others, emotional honesty, gentle reassurance, crying, established relationship, happy ending

---

you always knew how touchy he was.

he was warm. kind. affectionate. the kind of man who touched arms when he laughed, who wrapped people in bear hugs, who kissed cheeks like it was instinct.

you saw it on red carpets. in behind-the-scenes clips. in interviews where his hands would rest gently on a co-star’s back, or he’d lean in close to whisper something that made her laugh.

and the thing is… you knew it was innocent.

you knew pedro. he was all softness and good intentions. he made people feel safe. seen.

but knowing that didn’t make the jealousy sting any less.

and that’s what made it worse.

you never told him.

how sometimes your stomach dropped watching videos of him laughing with other actresses, his hand on their shoulder like he’d done with you in the early days.

how sometimes you scrolled through tagged photos on twitter and saw comments like “the chemistry???” or “she better be careful omg” and had to shut your phone off.

how sometimes you caught yourself wondering, am i just not built for this?

you weren’t proud of those thoughts. you hated feeling that way. it wasn’t who you were. and you never wanted to make him feel like he had to change — not for you. not for anyone.

so instead, you just… pulled away.

a little at a time.

he noticed. of course he did.

you stopped reaching for him when he got home. stopped sending good luck texts before press events. stopped sitting close to him on the couch. said you were tired. said you had work. said nothing at all.

and he tried to give you space. until he couldn’t anymore.

you didn’t hear him come in that night — the door opening quietly, his voice calling out soft and hopeful, “baby? i’m home.”

you were curled up on the edge of the bed, his hoodie pulled over your knees, chest tight. you weren’t sobbing. just crying in that quiet, exhausted way, where everything feels full and fragile.

“oh, baby—” his voice dropped when he saw you. “what happened?”

you shook your head. tried to wipe your face.

he crossed the room in seconds, kneeling beside you. “talk to me.”

“it’s stupid.”

“it’s not.”

a beat.

and then, finally, it cracked out of you.

“i just… i see how affectionate you are with them. your costars. and i know it’s innocent, pedro, i do. but it still hurts. and it makes me feel like i’m being crazy or insecure or not strong enough to handle dating someone like you. and i don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend, i hate that person, and—” your voice broke, “i don’t want you to change. i just… i don’t know if i can change either.”

his face fell.

not angry. not hurt. just heartbroken that you’d been carrying this alone.

“sweetheart,” he whispered, climbing onto the bed to hold you, “why didn’t you tell me?”

you shook your head against his chest. “because it’s not fair. you’re just being you. and i love who you are, i really do. i just don’t know if i’m enough for that kind of life.”

his arms tightened around you. “hey. hey—look at me.”

you did, reluctantly.

his voice was steady. low. honest.

“i love you. you. not the public version of me. not the charming guy everyone sees. i come home to you. i want to come home to you. you’re not weak for feeling this way. you’re not dramatic. and i never, never want you to feel like you have to shrink your feelings to keep me happy.”

you exhaled, shaky and still unsure. “but… you’re so used to giving people that warmth. what if i can’t keep up?”

“then we adjust,” he said simply. “we talk. we make space for both of us. i’ll be more aware, baby. i’ll check in more. i don’t want to accidentally make you feel like you’re not enough, because you are. you’re everything.”

you blinked back fresh tears. “so… you’re not mad?”

he smiled softly. “for what? you told me the truth. you trusted me. that’s the bravest thing you could’ve done.”

you melted into his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne and warmth.

“and for the record,” he murmured into your hair, “none of them get this part of me. this.”

“the emotional mess?”

“the man who holds you this close when you cry.”

you laughed, watery and small. “you’re annoying.”

“you love me.”

“i do.”

“then let’s talk more. and love harder.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[verricherri]

If you still have slots available for req I would love a little sequel to "yours officially" about like a public date at a dinner or bar or smth (sfw)💋💋

(P.s. I'm the one who requested that one!!)

Yours, Out Loud

A/N: This one’s a follow-up to “Yours, Officially” — written from an ask that absolutely demanded a proper date night 🍒 consider it a sequel, but yes, it can totally be read as a standalone if you're just here for soft, flustered Rhett. Warnings: Prepare to cut your chest open and let soft Rhett stomp all over your heart. you will not emotionally recover. you will crave more, Rhett saying things he means. Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

It started with a knock on your door. A real one. Three short raps and a deep breath on the other side like whoever was doing it had spent the last half hour talking themselves into it.

You opened it.

There stood Rhett Abbott — thumbs hooked in his belt loops, a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in one hand like it might bite him. He looked clean, like too clean, shirt tucked in properly for once, hair doing that slightly-too-perfect swoop like he’d combed it more than once and hated himself for it.

You blinked. “Well, hey.” He nodded. “Hey.” You eyed the bouquet. “I see someone raided a garden.” He glanced down at the wild mess of daisies, dandelions, and something vaguely purple. “Amy said I needed somethin’ rustic. This count?”

You reached out, taking them from his hands. “Very rustic. Especially the dandelion with half its fluff missing.” “I was gonna swap it out,” he muttered. You smirked. “But you didn’t.” “Nope.”

He cleared his throat. Looked at the flowers. Looked at you. And then, a little too fast:

“Would you wanna go to dinner with me? Like… a proper one. In town. Just us.” You tilted your head. “Like a date-date?” He nodded. Then quickly added, “If you want.” You tapped a finger against the stems. “Well, since you brought emotional support flowers…”

His brow furrowed.

“I’m saying yes,” you laughed. “Pick me up at seven?”

The smile that broke across his face — you wished you could bottle it.

---

You got ready at your place — alone, thank God — because the way you were fussing with your hair and second-guessing every outfit would’ve sent even the most patient man running. You’d cycled through at least four different options, each one rejected for crimes like too casual, too desperate, too “oops-I’m-just-hot-and-here”, or worst of all: too obvious you’re trying to impress a man who still wears shirts with pearl snaps.

Eventually, you landed on something soft. A little flowy. Not too tight, not too loud, but enough that if someone saw you with him — with Rhett — they’d know: this wasn’t a maybe. This was real.

Meanwhile, back at the Abbott ranch, Rhett was losing a very quiet, very personal battle with his reflection.

“I swear to God, if you change shirts again, I’m takin’ the truck and leavin’ you behind,” Perry grunted as he passed by, chewing on a carrot stick like it was a cigar. “It don’t look right,” Rhett muttered, frowning at his collar in the hallway mirror. “This one’s got a wrinkle.” “You’re the only one who sees it,” Perry deadpanned. “You’ve already ironed that shirt twice.”

From down the hall, Amy’s voice rang out:

“He’s tryin’ to impress her! Let him panic!”

Cecilia peeked out from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel.

“You bringing her flowers again, honey?” Rhett rubbed the back of his neck. “Already did.” She smiled, soft and sure. “Then you’re doin’ just fine.”

He finally decided on a shirt. The same damn one he started with. Changed his hat once. Then again. Then put the original one back on because apparently the second one was his “stupid hat,” according to Amy, and now he was emotionally compromised.

By the time he made it to your place, he’d practiced what he wanted to say six times in the truck. Changed the station. Turned it off. Turned it back on. Took his hat off. Put it back on. Then decided he was being ridiculous and climbed out before he could talk himself out of knocking.

He raised his fist to your door — and you opened it before he got the chance.

Your hair. Your smile. That dress.

Rhett stared. Actually stared. And then forgot how to breathe.

“You alright there, Abbott?” you teased, leaning against the doorframe like you weren’t trying to survive his flustered little half-smile. He blinked. Twice. “Yeah. I just—” He exhaled like the air had knocked him. “You look real good.” You smirked. “You say that like you’re surprised.” “I am,” he said, voice low. “Every time I look at you.” You locked your door behind you, tucking your keys in your purse. “So… was that your official ask?” He looked confused. “What?” You tilted your head. “Are we going out, or am I just admiring your truck from the porch?” Rhett flushed. “Right. Yes. I mean—” He held the passenger door open like a damn gentleman. “Can I take you out tonight?” You raised a brow. “On a real date?” He nodded. “Real as it gets.” You slid into the seat, the scent of leather and cedar filling your lungs. “Then get in before I change my mind.”

He ducked his head, that crooked grin slipping back onto his face as he shut your door and jogged around to the driver’s side.

Once he started the truck and pulled onto the road, you gave it about three seconds of quiet before letting the grin take over your face.

“You know,” you said casually, “Amy told me you changed shirts three times and nearly forgot your wallet.”

He groaned like a man who’d just been shot.

“She wasn’t even supposed to be watchin’—” “She also said you combed your hair twice. And that you threatened to fight Perry for laughing.”

Rhett muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “traitor,” then sank lower in his seat.

“Remind me to ground her.” “You can’t. She’s not yours.” “Still. I’ll find a way.”

You reached over, brushed his knuckles lightly where they gripped the gearshift.

“You nervous, cowboy?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just glanced at you with that quiet kind of intensity, the kind that always made your heart trip a little.

“Not ‘cause of you,” he said finally. “’Cause I don’t want to mess this up.”

Outside, the sky was turning sherbet gold, the quiet hum of the tires filling the space between words.

---

The diner Rhett picked wasn’t fancy — far from it — but it was the kind of place with a cracked leather booth, a jukebox in the corner that only played country from before 2001, and a waitress who knew your name before you even introduced yourself.

“You’re the one sittin’ with an Abbott tonight, huh?” she said with a wink, refilling your water without asking. “Bout time.”

Rhett flushed so deep you thought he might actually melt through the floor.

He’d originally slid into the booth opposite you, hat low, hands on the table like he was bracing for a test.

“You nervous?” you asked, propping your chin on your hand. He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Not nervous. Just… aware.” “Of what?” He hesitated. “That we’re not hiding anymore.” You smiled. “And you don’t like that?” “I didn’t say that,” he murmured, gaze lingering on your mouth a second too long.

You reached across the table and brushed your fingers over his wrist — lightly, deliberately.

He froze. Blinked. Then stood up so fast his knee hit the edge of the table.

“What are you doing?” you laughed as he rounded the booth. “Doesn’t feel right sittin’ across from you,” he muttered, sliding in beside you. “Feels like you’re too far.”

You blinked, startled by how earnest it sounded.

“So now you’re gonna sit next to me in public,” you teased, “like some kind of boyfriend or something?” Rhett turned slightly, resting one arm along the back of the booth. “Ain’t that what I am?”

You looked up at him — really looked — and caught the flicker of anxiety behind his grin. Like he still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to want this out loud.

So you nudged his leg under the table, just lightly, and said, “Took you long enough.”

The food came not long after — burgers and fries, nothing fancy — and Rhett tried to act like he wasn’t watching your every move as you drizzled ketchup in a perfect swirl.

“You do that every time?” he asked. “What?” “Make ketchup look like it belongs in a damn art gallery.” You raised a brow. “You planning to start a sketchbook of my condiment habits, or…?” He laughed under his breath, eyes soft. “I might.”

And for a while, it was easy.

The kind of easy that you didn’t realize you were missing until it settled in your bones.

You talked about little things — Amy’s obsession with ghost stories, how Perry once burned cornbread so bad the smoke alarm shorted out, and the time Royal got locked out of the house wearing nothing but a towel and a whole lot of pride.

Then it happened.

A man at the next booth leaned over, greasy baseball cap low on his brow.

“Didn’t think Rhett Abbott was the dating type,” he said, like he was trying to be funny. “Figured you’d die single and grumpy like your dad.”

You went still.

Rhett didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

Just… clenched his jaw, fingers curling slightly at your waist where they’d been resting.

But instead of tension, something steadier came out of you.

“Well,” you said brightly, “good thing we’re not asking you to join us.”

The man blinked. Rhett… chuckled.

Just once.

Then he pressed his lips to the side of your temple.

“You handled that better than I would’ve,” he said. You grinned. “That’s why you keep me around.”

He let the kiss linger for a beat longer than necessary — not performative, not possessive. Just his way of saying he heard you. And that he wasn’t going anywhere.

---

The walk back to your place wasn’t long — ten minutes, tops — but Rhett insisted on parking the truck at the far end of Main, claiming it was “easier to get outta town that way.”

You didn’t call him out on it. Not when you both knew damn well it was just an excuse to stretch the night out longer.

The air had that post-rain coolness to it, ground still damp, the stars pricking the sky like they were strung up just for you. And Rhett — well, he kept bumping into your shoulder like his limbs forgot how to coordinate.

“You okay there, cowboy?” you teased, brushing your hand against his. He looked down, ears pink in the porchlight glow. “Yeah. Jus’—can’t believe we did it. Like, real date and all.”

You stopped walking. Turned to face him.

“Did you not want to?” His head shot up. “No—no, I did. I do. Hell, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Just didn’t know how to ask without messin’ it up.” “You didn’t mess it up.”

He smiled, just slightly. Then his brows pulled together, like there was still something heavy stuck behind his ribs.

“I ain’t used to this,” he admitted, voice low. “Feelin’ proud about somethin’. Wantin’ to show it off.”

You leaned into him, slow and steady, until your foreheads touched. His hands came to your waist like instinct.

“You can show me off whenever you want,” you whispered. “I’m yours. Out loud.”

He kissed you then.

Not rushed. Not uncertain.

Just sure.

Like he finally understood this was something he could have — not just want.

And when the kiss broke, he murmured it against your lips:

“You wanna do it again? Like next Friday?” Then a beat. “Or tomorrow?” You laughed, fingers curling in his jacket. “How about both?”

His grin softened, proud and a little stunned, like he still wasn’t used to this kind of happiness.

“Maybe next time,” you added, tipping your head with a smirk, “I can shout your name out loud at your next bull riding comp. Let everyone know I’m yours.”

Rhett blinked. Went bright red. Groaned into your neck.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me.” “You like it.” “Too damn much.”

[hannahsturniolo]

ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ

Warnings: female masturbation, kissing, p in v, f receiving, gentle love, praise (i think that’s it??)

summary: you were close friends with Chris, and he caught you masturbating, and decided to join you leading to you guys having sex.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

You and Chris were always more than just friends, but not quite official. There were real feelings, just neither of you ever said it out loud.

You were staying at the sturniolo house in LA for a place to stay, since you were friends with the three of them.

You and Chris have never done anything sexual, since you were both scared to say anything.

The mornings were starting to feel familiar. You were still wrapped up in him, half asleep in the quiet intimacy of his bed, when he pulled away slowly and disappeared into the shower in the connecting bathroom to his room.

Desire lingered under your skin, but the nerves kept your lips sealed as he headed to the shower. Left alone with your thoughts, you gave in to the ache in his empty bed.

The second the shower turned on, you knew it was now or never, finally a few minutes alone to deal with how turned on you were.

With slow, deliberate movements, you slid your hand under your little pyjama shorts, fingertips brushing over your clit as you gave in to the tension that had been building all morning.

You circled your clit, slow and steady, picturing Chris in your head, and it only made you needier.

Your lips parted with a gentle moan, his name slipping out so softly you prayed it wouldn’t reach his ears. You were hoping the shower was loud enough.

You heard the door slam open, and Chris standing there, about to speak, the water still running, but then his eyes caught your hand between your legs, and everything froze.

You immediately took your hand out of your shorts.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice catching slightly. His flushed cheeks and the way his eyes roamed made it clear he was turned on.

You saw the growing bulge in his pyjama pants, and it was impossible to ignore.

He shuffled toward the bed, cheeks flushed, fumbling with his words as he tried to figure out what to say or do.

He sat down, nervous, heart beating out of his chest, wondering if he should make a move, or ask what she was thinking about.

He glanced down, fidgeting with his hands. “So um, what were you thinking about?” He asked, his eyes avoiding your eyes.

“It’s embarrassing, but um.. I was thinking about you” you said shyly, also avoiding eye contact.

He shifted closer, his movements careful and unsure, and then he closed the gap between you, lips brushing against his, soft and nervous. Your heart was pounding out of your chest.

His fingers tangled in your hair as he cupped the back of your head, deepening the kiss with a hunger he could no longer hide.

He broke the kiss slowly, his voice low and rough. He breathed out “let me finish what you started.”

He gently slipped his fingers down to the waist band of your pyjama shorts, and removing them with one swift motion, and throwing them on the floor.

He moved himself so he was sat in between your legs now, softly spreading them apart.

“You’re so beautiful” he whispered, looking at you in awe, his eyes never leaving yours.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles as he leaned down to capture your mouth in a series of deep, hungry kisses.

You moaned softly against his lips, the sound slipping out between kisses as pleasure overtook your ability to stay quiet.

Moving his fingers away from your clit, he slid the two fingers inside, thrusting slowly and carefully.

You let out a small whine of pleasure.

“Chris” you whined. “I’m almost there.”

He pulled his fingers out smoothly, and you were left breathless, desperate for his touch again.

“Why’d you pull them out?” You asked Chris, “I was so close”, you whispered, voice trembling.

He gave you a slow teasing smile, and looked in your eyes and said “because I want you to cum on me instead.”

He laid down beside you, slowly peeling off his shirt and shorts while you slid your own shirt off.

“Damn, Chris. You’re huge” you mumbled out, eyes wide open.

He let out a playful giggle at your reaction.

He pulled you on top of him, guiding you to straddle him.

You reached between you, touching him gently, giving his dick a few pumps before lining him up with your entrance.

“I trust you Chris, I’m just scared it’s going to hurt”, you said as you looked down at him, your nerves written clearly across your face. He noticed immediately, reaching out to gently reassure you with a calming touch and soft words, rubbing your hips with his thumbs.

“You mean too much to me. I’d never rush you, okay? I’ll go slow, I don’t want to hurt you baby” he said giving you a reassuring smile.

He guided himself to your entrance, eyes flicking up to yours to make sure you were okay. With a soft touch and steady hands, he helped you ease down onto him slowly.

You winced, and he stopped immediately, concern written all over his face.

“I’m so sorry baby, are you okay? We can stop, It’s okay. I only want this if you feel good too.”

“I don’t want to stop” you said, eyebrows furrowed together, trying to adjust yourself, “I just needed a second to adjust.”

Chris nodded, brushing a piece of hair from your face and putting it behind your ear.

You eased yourself down onto him, slow and careful, trying to avoid the sting of pain. One of his hands slipped between your thighs, rubbing gentle circles over your clit to keep you relaxed, while the other rested on your hip, grounding you with slow, soothing touches.

He looked up at you, “are you okay?” He said worry crossing his face.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready” you reassured him.

His hands stayed exactly where they were. His one hand steady on your hip, and the other teasing your clit to help the pleasure build and over power the ache.

He whispered “you’re doing amazing baby, take your time.”

You started to move up and down slowly. The ache slowly turning into pleasure.

He let out a breathy moan below you, trying to keep still.

“That’s it baby, you got this. You’re doing amazing.”

He kept whispering praises in your ear as you leaned down to wrap your arms around his neck.

He kissed your neck, “just like that.”

“I’ve wanted this for so long, not just the physical, just all of you” he said cupping your cheek smiling at you.

Your heart fluttered at his words. You felt so emotionally connected to Chris.

“Me too” you whispered smiling back at him.

He sped up his movements on your clit as you bounced up and down slowly, coaxing a soft sigh from you.

Your lips met his with increasing hunger, kisses growing more frantic and needy. You could feel your climax building fast beneath his touch.

“Let me take care of you” he whispered, his hands exploring every curve with urgency.

Your body responded to those words. You felt his breath growing heavy against your skin, and you whispered “I’m so close.”

He was making sure every touch was filled with care and love, bringing you to the edge.

Suddenly, a warm wave of pleasure rolled through your body. Your breath hitched, and your hands clenched gently on his chest as the sensation built rapidly.

A rush of heat flooding every nerve ending, soft moans escaping your lips as your body shook above him.

He felt the way your body tightened around him, heard the soft, breathless moans that slipped from your lips, and he knew, you were unraveling in his arms.

“You’re so beautiful” he reassured you again.

As your body slowly came down from your high, you felt his grip tighten slightly, his hand leaving your clit, and both hands on your hip, guiding you up and down.

He looked at you like he was memorizing every detail, and enjoying the moment.

With each slow gentle movement, his breathing grew heavier, moans catching in his throat.

“You feel so good, I’m not gonna last much longer” he breathed out.

You leaned down to kiss him softly, and that’s all it took. His body tensed beneath you, a groan leaving his lips, as you felt warm ropes of cum fill you.

You stayed on top for a minute, leaning down to hug him. Chris wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you in tighter.

You pulled off of him, curling into his side, pulling the blankets over the both of you, your head laying on his chest listening to his heart beat fast and loud.

“I hope you know that wasn’t just physical to me, it was more than that” he said smiling at you, pulling you in for a gentle kiss full of meaning.

You reached up and cupped his face with one hand, “I know, and it wasn’t just physical for me either” you smiled.

Being wrapped in his arms felt like the safest place in the world, it felt like home. It just felt so right.

“You make me feel so safe” you whispered as you traced lazy patterns on his chest.

“Good, because I don’t want you to feel anything else with me” he whispered back, pulling you in closer.

His hand finding yours under the covers, fingers intertwined.

Your eyes started to flutter closed, as he reached over and gently played with your hair, as you drifted off to sleep.

“Sweet dreams, baby” he whispered kissing your cheek gently.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Taglist❤︎:

@courta13 @riggysworld @heartsonlyforchris @mattssidepiece @matthewsangel @whore4chris @mattsturniolofuckingsexy @sturkneeohloww @leila-marie4 @sturniolo-szn2 @tezzzzzzzz @fictionalboysstuff @sturnixblogger @vall67 @chrissbxby @sturniolobananas1 @sophand4n4 @stvvrn1olo @xxxxxxlovesstuff @mattspillowprincess @moond0llie @emely9274 @briizysturn @sturniolooluvv @kenziesturniolo54

[ttjisung]

haechan as your ex boyfriend

cw: angst, suggestive themes, alcohol

ex!haechan who tries to act unbothered when you both hang out with your mutual friends, joking around and being annoying, yet the look in his eyes shows how distraught he actually is every time he looks at you longer than he should. you’re the only one who knows him enough to understand how he’s feeling, but you don’t say anything, seeing as it’s not your responsibility anymore.

ex!haechan who was the one that ended your relationship, saying he’s looking for something more casual and fun rather than what you two had for years. he acts the part the night after the break up, when you saw he was at the club surrounded by people you don’t know. women you don’t know. you ignored the way he pressed you about unfollowing his instagram account the next time you saw him. “we agreed we’d stay friendly, n/n.” you’d shrug and try to find a way to avoid the conversation, but he wouldn’t let you, bringing it up a concerning amount of time considering he’s not your boyfriend anymore.

ex!haechan who wishes you’d let him follow you online again, because his favorite activity before bed was looking at your account and seeing you happy. letting go of his cocky facade now that he was alone in his empty, cold bed, a tear or two run down his cheek at the thought of not being what made you happy anymore. 

ex!haechan who hasn’t actually had sex with anyone since you two broke up three months ago. he wants to know if you’ve seen someone, or if you’ve been like him. miserable, not able to even get aroused at the thought of anyone but you. he knows he shouldn’t be upset at the thought of you on your knees for someone else, your back on the bed as someone else thrusts into you, your lips on anybody else’s body. he shouldn’t be sad at all, i mean he broke up with you. but he still feels agonizingly anxious wondering when you’ll finally find someone new. 

ex!haechan who finally lets his jealousy show when you bring a man to a small party hosted by a mutual friend. you’re laughing with him, not being particularly touchy though which brings a proud smirk to haechan’s face – you were only like that with him. the smirk fades quickly as you lead the man up the stairs of the house. without thinking, he follows you, cornering you in a hallway as you wait outside a bathroom for the man he doesn’t know. 

ex!haechan who ends up dragging you into a random room, closing the door behind him quickly and immediately throwing himself at you after. his lips are everywhere, kissing you with desperation, and at first you let it happen. you hum, moving yourself closer to him, making him smile, yet you pull away just as quickly. “i’m sorry, but i can’t do casual. i can’t do fun, donghyuck. you know this.”

ex!haechan who’s on his knees, begging you to stay and swearing that he doesn’t want any of that with you. swearing that he’d give up his life if it meant you two could go back to what you had before. 

ex!haechan who can’t see through his tears, breath hitching when you tell him you don’t believe him anymore. he hates the fact that you’re obviously upset too, trying to hold you close yet you shake your head, leaving the room instead. 

ex!haechan who hates himself for ever letting you go. he mourns what could have been, had he not been immature and ruined the only thing that was good for him.

ex!haechan who gets wasted after your interaction, seeing as you’ve left alongside the man you brought with you. there’s no relief in his chest when mark mentions the fact that you had introduced the guy as your cousin, because he blew his chance with you anyway and another man wouldn’t have changed that regardless. 

ex!haechan who acts normal the next time you see him the day after at a gathering, trying to ignore the fact that he sent you fifty messages when he was drunk, each begging you to come back to him. 

ex!haechan who would’ve sent you the messages sober too, because he has no shame when it comes to you.

a/n: omaigod i made it to 600 followers! i'm so grateful for all of you <3 i never thought people would actually enjoy my writing, and moving to tumblr (from wattpad lol) was probably the best choice i could have made!!! this is a little draft bc i haven't posted in a while :p kinda a teaser for a longer fic i want to write so let me know if you guys would like this as an actual story! ^_^ men yearning is my fave

[liminalmemories21]

“You believe me, don’t you?” - @apollabarnes

Still slowly working our way through the list - not sure if it's solved our plot problem, but @cecilyv and I have had fun with all the prompts. So, thank you to everyone!

***************

“You believe me, don’t you?”

He understands why Athena buried Bobby in Minnesota.  Appreciates it even. That Bobby finally gets to be with his kids again.

But he wishes there was somewhere in LA he could go to talk to Bobby. The place that feels most like Bobby is the firehouse, but there’s always someone there.  He wants somewhere he can go that’s private, where he can talk to Bobby one-on-one.  Somewhere that he can go and tell Bobby that he’s failing.  That he can’t do the one thing Bobby asked him to do, what Bobby told him he could do.  That Chim’s doing it instead. And, he’s proud of Chim. Is honored to work with him, for Chim to be his Captain.  But that doesn’t make him feel less alone, less on the outside, less like he’s falling farther and farther behind as everyone else moves on.

He ends up at the diner he used to go to with Bobby sometimes after shift.  Is surprised when he walks in and sees Athena there too. He hesitates in the doorway, doesn’t want to intrude on her.  But he leaves it too long, and he takes up too much space, and she sees him, waves him over.

He sits awkwardly in the booth across from her, gives his order when the waitress comes back, fiddles with fixing his coffee. Looks up to see Athena watching him, face sharp and evaluating.

“How’re you doing, Buckaroo?”

He shrugs. “You know.”

She tilts her head. “No. That’s why I asked.”

He sits up a little straighter. “Right. Sorry.”  Resists the urge to say ma’am, if only because she’d give him shit about it. He tries to think of what he can say that’s honest, but won’t make her ask him anything else.  He’s not sure how far he can get in a conversation with Athena that doesn’t end up with him metaphorically bleeding all over the table in front of her, and she doesn’t need that. “Getting by,” is what he comes up with.

She makes a skeptical noise, but seems to take him at his word. They make small talk, about the station, about baby Bobby, how Maddie’s doing, how Chim’s doing as captain, about Eddie coming back. They don’t talk about the elephant in the room – about how none of these questions would need to be asked if Bobby was still here.

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurts out. “If I could have traded places with him I would have.” She doesn’t say anything, and he says a little desperately, “You believe me, don’t you? That I’d give him back to you if I could.”

Her face twists. “Honey, I believe you. I also know that Bobby wouldn’t want that. That he’d smack you upside the head for even thinking that. He wouldn’t have traded places with you in a million years, so don’t wish that for him.”

He swallows hard and wishes he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Baby,” she says, “how you really doing?”

He shakes his head. Can’t answer that honestly. Not to Athena.

She takes a sip of her coffee and considers him. “You talking to anyone?”

He shrugs, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.  She shouldn’t be trying to solve his problems. “Everyone’s busy. Maddie and Chim have a new baby. Hen’s got her family.  Eddie–” well the less said about Eddie the better. “He’s busy too,” he says lamely.

“Hmm.  What about Tommy?  I seem to recall Bobby talking about you and him once or twice.”

“We broke up.”

Her eyebrows rise.  “Buck, honey, people who are over you don’t answer when you call and definitely don’t steal helicopters and take on the military.  I don’t know what went on between you, but whatever it is, it ain’t over yet.”

[n3ptoonz]

'Political Animals' III

y'all ask, YALL SHALL RECEIVE!! this is the third and final chapter, i hope you all enjoy this work half as much as I enjoyed writing it 🤭

new tags/warnings: DURING THUNDERBOLTS; i tried to mix this story with the events in thunderbolts, y'all are like rabbits, cckwarming, DOG TAGS. you're on birth control cause you still got shit to do, alright!?...creampie :p, i hope this is not ass cause i had to stop procrastinating this LOL i don't normally write multiple chapters, be mad at him more often, barely proofread

Word count: 3.2k+

One, long, year later.

It was rough, but you got through it. The divorce went surprisingly smooth. He intended to run off with someone else anyway. Who cares! This is now. You got the house and were able to keep your things, and nothing was better than the day you redecorated the place. Especially the bedroom. It was more...you. It was always more yours than his anyway.

Nothing was more refreshing, more freeing than the first time you actually had good sex in that bed too, with the one and only Congressman that changed your life. I'm talking every position possible in the span of one year, and it was all worth.

Sure, the media speculated who you possibly had on your arm now that you're divorced, not to mention that journalist interviewed you a year ago. But nobody could figure it out. Your relationship was sealed tight and out of sight.

Enough about that though. There was no time to think about the past when Bucky softly smiled up at you like that. Your hands in his hair while washing it, you sitting in his lap stuffed full of him, and the occasional appreciative groan that left his lips every time your nails glided past a sweet spot on his scalp. This was the life he didn't know he fought so hard to have; to keep.

"You're really good at that, you know?" he murmured softly as his eyes stayed closed. The sound in the bathroom mainly being the shampoo being put in his hair and his hands coming out the water to glide against your back. He had to keep his eyes closed, otherwise this wholesome intimacy would not last another second with you looking down at him and your tits literally being right there if he looked a centimeter lower.

It's not like the feeling wasn't mutual. He insisted that he kept on his dog tags while you two bathed together. So it was only natural you stared appreciatively as they comfortably dipped between his chest.

You hummed and very subtly rolled your hips. Now, while that did earn a playful warning grip from his flesh hand on your hip, the very second after was met with a twitch inside you. Why? Well, because your nails hit that spot again. He opened his eyes a bit so he could just stare.

"Careful." he said softly and licked his lips. "I won't be able to continue like this if you keep-"

His words were interrupted by his own moan, a shuddering exhale escaping him. He was way more alert now that you were purposely trying to get a rise out of him. Bucky narrowed his eyes at you skeptically, letting your name fall from his lips.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a low, gravelly tone. You slowly removed your fingers from his hair and rinsed them in the water. Bringing your hands back up and cupping his face before leaning in close, your noses brushing against each other's.

"I'm on birth control." you whispered and watched him close his eyes again with his eyebrows furrowed. He shook his head and inhaled sharply. You could feel him twitch inside you once more.

"Don't say that." he said and gripped your hips tighter and sighed heavily through his nose. "How long?"

You took a dramatic pause to see his eyes flutter open.

"Two weeks." you said, your smile never faltered. He nearly broke right here as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder.

"The night I had you bent over my desk?" he asked in disbelief, rather cockily too. He remembered it like it just happened. One thing led to another, blah blah blah, and he had you gripping his desk like you'd fall through the floor. He even had you bite down on your own panties, you know, to stay quiet of course. That was a long, boring day for you both. And the head you gave him afterwards? Just filthy. He'll never get the image of your puffy lips wrapped around him and that dazed look in your eyes out of his head. Nastiest thing he ever did was lick up the cum that dripped onto your cleavage.

You've been planning this, huh? Oh, he could just-

"Get up." he said suddenly and lifted his head to look at you. It was a little hard to take him seriously when he had a head full of suds, but the way his pupils blew so wide let you know he wasn't joking.

"But your hair-"

"I'll rinse it." he said and lifted you up off his lap, his heart fluttered at the way your chest bounced in his face. "Wait for me, please?" he asked with pleading eyes. He squeezed your thigh like it was the only thing keeping him on Earth. You looked at him and couldn't help but laugh. You leaned down and gave him a tender kiss before standing up and pushing the shower curtain aside, deliberately getting out slowly so he could watch the water dripping down nearly every inch of your body. Grabbing your towel from the rack, you didn't look back at him,

"Don't keep me waiting." you said and sauntered on out.

It was comical, really. Because you barely had time to hang your towel back up before you felt his strong arms wrapping around your waist from behind. He wasted no time peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulder, making you giggle at the prickly stubble he was so stubborn about.

He spun you around and carried you to your bed, yet he was inside you before your back even met the blanket. You gasped as he hovered over you, his dog tags dangling in your face. He was well aware how much you loved when he kept them on during intimate moments, it's why he was fine with them being on in the bath.

Just in case.

Bucky grabbed the lower one and swiped it between your lips. "Open," he whispered. When you opened your mouth, he let it dangle between your teeth. "Bite." he added, nodding along as you obeyed. He smiled and hooked your legs around his waist, making sure to stay close so the tag didn't slip.

Your thighs tightened around him as he fucked you like you'd disappear. He panted like he ran a marathon in your ear while you still struggled to keep the tag between your teeth. Any noise you made was muffled by that little piece of metal, but that's what made the whole situation better. The most that could be heard in the room was skin slapping and your soft whimpers.

Bucky would purposely not drive too much into you just to preserve this as long as he could, because he knows if he went full throttle, he'd find the right spot and send you to the moon in just a few thrusts. His metal hand softly caressing your cheekbone juxtaposed the harsh connection of his hips down south.

"You're sure you're on birth control?" he asked breathlessly and buried his face in your shoulder. You nodded with a lazy smile on your face.

"You'll make me a mother when I say you can." you said, your words only slightly obscured but he quickly put it all together. You spat the tag out your mouth and forced him to look at you with those drunken, hazy blue eyes. He made a noise you're not even sure you've heard before. It was like a pathetic and desperate groan. Gods, he was utterly smitten with you.

His pace stuttered when your intense gaze met his, causing him to stop for a moment. Everybody knows super soldier's have stamina for days, probably literally, but he was feeling so many things at the same time that it was hard to keep up.

"I want you to look me in the eyes when you do it." you said, locking your ankles around him. He almost collapsed right then and there. "You know what to do." you whispered.

Nothing else had to be said as he followed your orders. He picked up the pace again, this time with the right amount of speed and force that instantly made you squirm. The determination on your face didn't last very long, but you didn't have time to be embarrassed. He quickly pressed his lips against yours at the exact moment he knew you'd cum, holding you tighter just to make sure he was hitting that spot repeatedly.

Your body tensed beneath him as you came, and he soon followed after. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pressed himself fully inside and pumped you full. So much so that it started to spill out. Your lips moved out of sync and intensely before he pulled away, staring into your eyes while he completely drained himself in and outside. He smiled lazily at the sight of you, the sight only he gets to see.

"Oh, Madam President," he groaned and grabbed one of your hands to kiss your palm twice. He slowly pulled out and reveled in the lewd sounds from you and your body that came with it, looking proudly between your legs. "You spoil me." he added with a soft kiss on your forehead.

After cleaning up, which he so naturally generously offered to do for both of you, you were now cuddled up in bed. His arms safe and secure around you as you listened to his heartbeat.

"Anything important planned for tomorrow?" you asked while tracing along the ridges of his metal arm. He let out a sigh and shook his head in growing irritation.

"Attending a hearing tomorrow." he said, "Valentina's in deep shit and I need to find out if there's any glaring evidence."

Bucky kept it vague intentionally. He didn't want you to get involved or worry about anything. He also didn't want to make it obvious that it was the sole reason he became Congressman in the first place. It'd probably make him sound crazy.

"I heard about that. I won't be able to go because I have to fly out and campaign up north for a bit. But I'll be at the gala." you paused your idle tracing and looked up at him. "How come you need to know if there's glaring evidence?" you asked curiously. It was innocent, simple, but he froze.

"I just...want to keep up with what's going on around here."

Not entirely a lie, not entirely the truth. It's the first time he wasn't completely honest with you. However he was relieved when you let it go and finally went to fall asleep in his arms.

-

The campaigning went great! The hearing, not so much. Talk about stressed the fuck out. He was fed up with this whole charade. It started to feel like everyone was in on it except for him.

There were a million things on his mind, but then it kept circling back to you. It soothed him. His jaw unclenched and his shoulders slumped whenever he thought of you. He kept thinking about how you'd look, dressed to the nines for the gala tonight. It brought a very slight smile to his face, even while he was glaring at Val and figuring out a way to get Mel on his side.

-

The gala was buzzing tonight, just as he thought. Just a bunch of fake, snobby men and women schmoozing around. His eyes darted around for you from the balcony, but there was no sign. Just a sea of fake smiles and champagne.

Some time had passed and Bucky had just got finished talking with Congressman Gary when he walked over to the balcony and searched again. He watched Val talking with someone with a big smile on her face, a huff leaving his lips.

"This case must be that serious." a voice said from behind him. He stopped tapping the banister and turned around to see you standing there, a skinny glass half full of champagne between your fingers. You looked...amazing. All noise from the gala faded the second his eyes locked on you. You took a few steps closer until you were in front of him.

"You've been staring at her all night." you added, finishing the drink in one go. Bucky's train of thought was shot to hell but he did remind himself a million times that if you showed up, he couldn't just act the way he does behind closed doors with you. Instead, he took the glass from your hand to put it on a nearby table, looked over his shoulder for any cameras pointing in this direction, and then took your hand to lead you somewhere; a blind spot, if you will.

Next thing you know, you weren't expecting to end your night with the back of your dress bunched up in his fist and his metal hand cupped around your neck as he took you from behind in a dark corner, but hey, who's complaining? There was a low chance of getting caught and he got to relieve the stress from the day. Everybody wins!

"You've been waiting all day, huh?" you teased. He exhaled stopped abruptly, brushing against that spot he's sure he didn't miss.

"Madam-"

-

"-Secretary?"

You blinked and quickly looked up from your desk to see your assistant standing in front of you, a panicked look on his face.

"You might want to see this..." he said as he handed you the tablet. Your brows furrowed as you took it from him.

"What is it? Numbers decreasing?" you asked as you scrolled upwards.

"Worse." he said. "The title of the article..."

Once you reached the top of the page, your eyes widened and the tablet dropped from your hands.

'Secretary of State and Presidential Candidate Needs Votes That Bad?' in bold lettering, a clear and candid picture of you and Bucky leaving your house early in the morning from yesterday. You could almost feel your heart stop in your chest as you met your assistant's eyes again.

"How long has this been up?"

"...An hour." he answered quietly. You came to your feet and started pacing around the room. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. "And...Congressman Barnes resigned this morning."

You stopped pacing and turned to face him fully. Was it the article? By choice? For you? For him?

"I need to make a call." you said and pulled your phone from your pocket. "Privately."

"Yes ma'am." he said, grabbing the tablet and hurrying out.

Your shaking hands quickly dialed Bucky's number, "Pick up, pick up," you pleaded and started pacing again, but no answer.

No answer?

You called three more times and still...nothing.

-

A few hours passed and still no response. You'd gone home early to figure out how you're going to deal with this and still have the people on your side. You didn't even dare to open any social media and the press nearly followed you home, your phone was blowing up with calls and texts. You couldn't believe it. During a crucial time like this, he was MIA. Nowhere to be found.

Turning on the TV, of course the news channel was on. You were about to change it when you saw them talking about some figure floating in the sky and causing destruction to the city. You were about to look up what people were saying in the internet then suddenly... everything went dark.

-

You woke up on the floor of your living room when you heard a knock at the door. Your eyes flickered to the news on the TV flashing "New Avengers!" on the bottom of the screen.

You had a mild headache as you stood up slowly, looking around confused when the knock came again. The second you opened the door your expression dropped to a scowl.

"Why are you here?" you asked him. Bucky just looked at you like a wounded dog. He knows he fucked up big time. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out so brushed past you and walked further into your house.

"Listen... I'm sorr-"

A loud smack connected to his face before he could finish his sentence. He sighed softly and nodded.

"I deserve that." he said in a soft tone.

"Where the hell were you?" you bit.

"It's...a lot to explain-"

"The fuck it is." you scoffed and walked away from him. He ran his hands over his face and followed after you. This time ending up in your personal space when you stopped in the kitchen.

"Can you just listen to me?"

"Bucky." you warned, not looking at him but you could see how close he was in your peripheral. You felt him trying to grab your hand and you swatted him off. But you weren't quick enough before he caught it and pulled you towards him. You glared at him and attempted to pull away.

"Let go-" you almost gritted out, but he pulled you so close, your mouths clashed together. You tried to fight, you really did, but that familiar strong hold of his always had the same effect on you at the end of the day. It was almost laughable.

Your free hand bunched his shirt up by the collar to show you were still mad at him and all he had to do was slide his hand down to the small of your back to make your grip loosen. He pulled away and began kissing down your jaw, muttering softly in your ear.

"I'm really sorry for not answering you," he said as he reached your neck. "I will explain everything. I promise. I won't ask for forgiveness either." he added. You honestly checked out before he even reached your neck, clutching onto his shoulders.

"It's okay," you finally said. "Cause you're going to make it up to me."

He hummed and slipped his hands under your blouse, kissing your shoulder.

"What'd you have in mind?"

-

"Look at me." you gritted, not even minding the cold counter against your back. His blinked a few times to stay anchored while your thighs wrapped around his head. His hands happily gripped the plush flesh keeping him from breathing normally. You had a grip on his hair and he just kept on licking you up like candy. Just like that night you first ever got intimate.

He was home.

You let up a little bit so he could breathe but your grip remained. "I'm almost there." you whispered like a prayer, which only drove him to knead your thighs and eat you out more efficiently. He was going to make it up to you and he was going to do it right.

Your thighs tightened around him as your climax washed over you. It left you gasping and twitching. You moaned out Bucky's name as your grip on his hair loosened and he just took it all. Every last bit of your essence coating his beared was just another reason to smile everyday for the rest of his life.

Bucky peeled your legs apart and stood up with a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. "I think I'm okay with the media knowing this is what you come home to." he said before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Oh, and by the way, the media was in fact on your side. #IGetIt trended nationwide for a month and undoubtedly pushed the popularity vote towards you!

Congratulations, Madam President!