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copper-16 · 1 day ago

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Remind Me That There’s A Room To Grow Part 3

Broken, rueful, and mended as it should have been.

(a/n: Part 3, here we come! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on these, I'm so grateful! Reminder for anyone who likes a musical touch that you can find the Spotify playlist here, if you would like. Please enjoy this part, and I would love to hear your feedback about the note at the end!)

Alexia sat on that damn park bench for God knows how long.

She didn’t care if she got no sleep or looked absolutely insane sitting there for hours on end. The things you had told her rattled around in her brain disconcertedly, unending every single thought that attempted to interrupt. The brunette had gone from feeling like she was the most stable and vindicated person on the planet to a feeling as though she were a shell of herself.

This whole time, there had been so much more to the story than she ever could have imagined. And though she knew it really wasn’t their fault, resentment flared within her at how quick Eli and Alba were to blame you for everything.

Everything in Alexia felt anguished. Just thinking about looking at your face made the Catalan feel nauseous, stuck on how distraught you had been. It wasn’t as though she could blame you either, not when she had been so irate.

She had allowed herself to be influenced by every single person around her instead of trusting you, as she always had. She should have trusted herself, should have trusted the fact that she knew something was wrong. The last nine years had been spent giving you the benefit of the doubt, but when it came to it, she had treated you with such animosity.

Never in a million years had she expected the reasoning behind all of this.

Cancer. It seemed impossible for someone who was only eighteen years old, but it wasn’t as though stranger things hadn’t occurred. Now all Alexia managed to think of was how scared and alone you must have felt. She had lost you, but she did so when she was chasing her dreams. You had to watch her leave you behind because of a situation entirely out of your hands.

All this time where she had felt abandoned, and in reality it was the other way around.

What an absolutely fucked up situation.

When the footballer finally stood, a chill wrapped around her and caused her to shiver violently. She didn’t remember it getting cold, but it wasn’t as though she cared about the temperature when her mind was a ruction of emotions.

She booked it back to her car, driving herself toward her Mami’s house in what would have been considered a fury. The brunette knew that her sister was there as well, so she could kill two birds with one stone.

When she arrived, the brunette barged through the door with no care at all for the hinges, her inner turmoil gathering and growing with each and every step she took. She found her family in the kitchen, enjoying some dessert with a glass of wine in each of their hands.

“You were wrong,” Alexia seethed, almost heady with the amount of wrath she felt within her. Eli and Alba both turned to her in an instant, instantly confused at the animosity in her tone. It was so rare to hear the brunette truly upset in the way she was right now, and they glanced at each other for a second before they turned to Alexia fully.

“What happened?” Alba asked, very confused as to what her sister was talking about. They had no idea that the pair of you had talked, but Alexia didn’t care to give them context.

“You both blamed her for leaving me behind, you made her out to be the villain and she never was! This was all of your fault, how could you do this to me? How could you twist my mind in such a way?” Alexia snapped, her whole body tense with rage.

“Alexia, what the hell are you talking about?” Alba demanded, understanding dawning on the subject her sister spoke about but still confused as to the circumstances.

“She was fucking sick, you two. She let me go alone because she had cancer, and she didn’t want me to have to live through it when I was moving away. She broke up with me so I could go chase my dreams and build my career without being bogged down. She gave up her own happiness so that I could have my own,” the brunette spat, her face red with exertion. Whether it was to keep her anger inwards or to stop the tears that burned in the back of her eyes, the Catalan was unsure.

“She did it to protect me, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt for her decision for a decade before you two got so defensive and twisted my mind. She was never the selfish person you made her out to be, she was always the most selfless, empathetic, compassionate of all of us!” Alexia argued, and she seemed only to be growing more and more in her anger.

“Alexia–” Eli tried to interrupt, but she was quickly cut off.

“No! I don’t even want to hear you two attempt to explain yourselves. I don’t want to hear it. I loved her, I love her now, and I’ve fucked it all up with your words in my mouth! She left the conversation in tears, she told me to leave her alone. If you two hadn’t been so horrible about the whole thing, I never would have been so skeptical in the first place!” Alexia was ready to burst at the seams, and she couldn’t handle it.

“Now Ale, we only did that because we wanted to protect y–” Alba attempted to interject, failing just as her mother had.

“I don’t even want to hear it! I am so angry at the two of you, especially considering that you hardly let me get a word in edgewise about her character. She grew up with us, she loves us, and she trusted you with her heart just as much as you trusted her with mine. So don’t sit there and say anything, but maybe think about your own actions!” Alexia finally demanded, her words fervent in manner.

When her mother and sister said nothing but looked at her in shock, the brunette shook her head and chuckled austerely, not a trace of humor in her tone.

“God, and now you don’t even have anything to say for yourselves,” she looked around at her mother’s kitchen as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The midfielder was aware she was only redirecting her anger onto two people whose blame was minimal, but the affliction in her heart needed somewhere to go.

“I have to go, I will talk to you two later,” Alexia said after a second, defeat heavy in her expression as the anger began to drain out of her. It was replaced by an excruciating misery that weighed on her shoulders exactingly, as though it knew that she was really the one to blame in all of this.

She felt as though she had lead in her shoes as she walked out to her car. The drive back to her apartment was done in complete silence, the Catalan unable to deal with anything other than the chaos in her mind.

She barely made it one step in the door before the first sob bubbled up her throat. She finally allowed herself to succumb to it, sobbing so hard that her ribs ached and her eyes swelled, and she had nobody to blame for everything except for herself.

—

Every single person on the team could immediately tell something was wrong with Alexia when she showed up at training the next day.

Alexia had always been the most dedicated of them all, relentless in her pursuit to be better. She was endlessly pushing herself and those around her to be their best selves, and it paid off. The team worked hard, and they looked better than ever. The Catalan had helped to lift them from relative obscurity into a team that people feared to play, and as much as Vicky was their fearless leader, every single player would tell you that the Catalan was their beating heart.

But today? Well, today the brunette looked about two steps away from death as she walked into the changing room.

Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Her hair was mildly unkempt, her skin sullen, the bags under her eyes endlessly listless. She kept her head down, and changed as though she wished she could curl up into a ball and never be seen again. The midfielder was usually a quiet person, but today she seemed…unobservant.

Somehow, that made all of it seem worse.

Jenni and Mariona were instantly alarmed because they knew what had happened, while the other girls were both confused and in a state of shock. Nobody had ever seen Alexia this clearly upset, considering the fact that she typically kept things close to her chest.

To be this outwardly downtrodden was incomprehensible, to the point where the rest of the team wasn’t sure how to act toward her. They all seemed to avoid her as though she was radioactive, and she made no attempt to engage with any of them.

Jenni, Mariona, and Vicky, however, had no problem marching over to the Catalan as they created a concerned cocoon around her.

“What happened Alexia?” Vicky questioned gently, only to receive nothing short of the death glare back from Jenni and Mariona in response.

“How did it go?” Mariona amended quietly, hopeful that they might have been able to draw out some sort of reaction from the midfielder. It was clear the conversation had not gone well, but they did not know why.

And sure enough, Alexia’s entire face flashed into something nearly venomous, and she shook her head with what looked to be a clearly concerted effort to remain in control.

“Nothing. I would appreciate it if everyone left me alone and we could conduct training as normal, like we are supposed to be doing,” she managed to grit out pointedly, her voice bolstered with hostility and malice. The three women looked around at each other, none of them in the least bit convinced, but the mutually agreed upon decision seemed to be that they clearly weren’t going to get anything out of the brunette right now.

The midfielder was a monster at training that day, and not in a good way.

Every single ball was launched with a lethal ferocity. Every single pass was too hard, every single first touch sloppy and heavy.

None of the movements were reminiscent of the Alexia that everyone had come to know. It wasn’t great football, it wasn’t even good football. The midfielder was clearly angry at something, and the longer practice went on, the worse it got. The Catalan was frustrated with herself, bitter and enraged at how she seemed unable to play with any ounce of grace.

It felt ironically similar to how she seemed unable to converse with you without accusation, a thought she was ruefully reminded of.

It was when she sent a ball flying angled toward Caro’s head that Vicky and Marta finally pulled the midfielder aside brashly. The captain of the team had taken one look at their manager, whose expression agreed with her own, to know what needed to be done.

“You’re done for the day,” Vicky stated without an ounce of discussion left in the conversation. Alexia certainly wasn’t in the mood to be ordered around as she decisively brushed them off.

“I’m fine, we still have another half hou–” The brunette was cut off without even managing to finish her sentence.

“No. You are done, you’re going to go back to the changing room and take a long shower. You’re going to get dressed and go home and process whatever you’re trying to avoid right now by almost murdering your teammates,” the Barcelona captain dictated with even greater finality, her eyebrow raised as though she dared the younger woman to argue with her.

Alexia looked posed to respond, but when she caught Marta looking back at the Norwegian with worried eyes, she felt the fight drain out of her. The older Spaniard had always had a sweet spot for the nervous Wolfsburg transfer, and seeing it right in front of her eyes made her deflate like a balloon.

She knew that look.

She had lived that look before, when she hadn’t fucked all of this up seven ways to Sunday.

With a reluctant, apologetic glance at Marta, the midfielder nodded her head. She turned on her heels, much to the surprise of her co-captains, who were honestly expecting more of a pushback.

As they watched the midfielder walk off the pitch, they stared at the way her body seemed to curl in on herself, almost as though the brunette couldn’t bear to stand up straight as she stared down at her feet.

“What the hell happened?” Marta asked Vicky as she looked over at her captain. But the Barcelona captain was unable to tear her eyes away from Alexia’s retreating form until it disappeared into the building. It was only then that she looked over at Jenni, who hovered a short distance away from them with a look of unease on her face.

Vicky shook her head before she turned back to the pitch.

“I honestly have no idea,” she replied curtly as she made direct eye contact with Jenni, who seemed to understand the silent request of her captain as she turned back toward practice.

When the team filed in after training was done, Alexia and all of her stuff were gone, nowhere to be seen.

—

Nine years.

You had lived with the grief of losing her for nine years. You would never change your mind on the decision, but God did it feel as though you were sucking the blood out of your body. Even all of these years later, it still stung to think about how much you had lost in that moment.

Alexia took every ounce of happiness and peace with her when she left. While you still had other friends, you were by no means alone, it was never the same without her there. You hardly had to speak a single word for the brunette to understand where your mind was at. There was a closeness to the two of you that was impossible to replace. It hadn’t been the same after she had left, no longer having a confidant who held space for you.

Your father, while a lovely man, was never terribly involved in your life. He loved you, but having children was never his dream, and with how much he worked, you rarely saw him. It was a loss that you didn’t feel rather acutely, especially not when Jaume had swept you into his orbit through your friendship with Alexia. He had loved you like a daughter, and you cherished him for it in a way you had never managed with your own father.

Your two younger brothers, Leo and Adan, had struggled when you had gotten sick. They always looked up to you as their protector and ring leader. Seeing you unable to help, organize, and work as you usually did was strange for them, especially considering the fact that they were only fifteen and fourteen at the time. And while you spent much of your childhood watching over them with a loving gaze, it was your mother who stepped up to take care of them more.

Your mother Paula was a lovely, exuberant woman, if not a touch frazzled. She was a better entertainer than she was a mother, but there was no question she loved the three of you. The two of you had been a team in helping to raise the boys, because while your mother had wisdom you were steadfast in your ability to calm. You had been a significant help in raising the two boys, and your mother had come to rely on you as a result. It had all gotten thrown out of place when you had gotten sick. Your mother tried to pick up the slack, bless her, but she struggled. She did as best as she could until you were declared cancer free, and able to help pick up some of the slack that had been created. It helped that your brothers were compassionate and kind, never one to try and cause too much trouble.

Your mother passed away just a few years ago because of a brain aneurysm, much to the devastation of your father. While you missed her terribly, you never needed her for stability and strength. That was found on your own.

Chemo treatments were mostly done on your own, a book and a sick bag in hand. It was a tough three months, but you made it through with as big of a smile as you could muster. A friend would accompany you occasionally, but they never quite knew what to do when they were there with you. Not that you faulted them for it, but it only made you more exhausted having to entertain on top of feeling ill.

After a grueling few months, the tumor had shrunk enough to be surgically removed, and a few rounds of radiation killed off the last of it. It had been less than a year to get rid of everything, though in your mind it had felt much longer.

Overall, the treatment had gone well from a medical perspective. You had responded well and were declared to be in remission swiftly. You were young and otherwise healthy, making you the perfect candidate to respond to treatment.

That didn’t seem to account for the ache that persisted deep in your chest, but it wasn’t as a result of your sickness. The sense of loss that pervaded your mind for years afterward was impossible to banish. You had not made a mistake, and yet your mind and body betrayed you with a wanton amount of unearned yearning.

There was a restlessness that existed within you, a restlessness that needed to be solved and yet had nowhere to go.

You had begun university toward the end of your treatments and sped through a track in finance, turning heads each and every way you went. There was always a level of intelligence to you that you were aware of, but investment analysis and management came naturally to you it seemed.

Though you had the opportunity to go earlier, you waited dutifully for your brothers to finish school and go off to university before you left your hometown. Leo ended up in Valencia for school, and a year later Adan made the decision to stay in Madrid for his degree.

Once you were certain your brothers were settled, you began to dig for opportunities in your own career. The work you had put in paid off, and you had offers not only in Spain but France, Italy, the United States as well.

You didn’t care about any of that, though. You took the one job that put you directly in Barcelona and decided to figure it out from there.

There was a safety and security to being in the same city as Alexia, even if she had no clue you were there. You were thankful for the move, honestly, thankful for the opportunity to meet new friends and build your own life. The sun forever shined and the city was exciting and vibrant, devoid of the reminders that face you everywhere in Madrid.

Both of your brothers ended up staying in or returning to Madrid, living near your mother until her death and trying to stay vaguely connected to your father. He had struggled immensely in the wake of her passing, but both Leo and Adan never seemed to mind stepping in to keep him on the right path.

By all logical standards, you had a wonderful life. An amazing group of friends, a job you really enjoyed, hobbies you found interesting. It felt like the whole package of what someone would want in their life.

But you found in the morning after your talk with Alexia, there was nothing you wanted to do with this life. You simply wanted to be left alone to rot, and you found that you didn’t care who disagreed. The longing in your heart threatened to swallow you whole, your hatred for your decisions every single day of the last nine years.

You had finally been honest with Alexia, you had told her the truth…but was it worth it?

Based on the feeling inside of you right now, it wasn’t worth it.

You would have taken anger over devastation on her face any day.

You loved her too much to care about your own peace of mind.

And yet…

—

Alexia nearly jumped out of her skin when she unlocked the door of her apartment, only to find that Jenni was sitting on her couch with a glass of lemonade and a raised brow. The midfielder did a complete double take, confounded when she reminded herself that the door had in fact been locked before she came in here.

“How the hell did you get in here?” The Catalan asked with confusion as her heart rate struggled to return to an acceptable level. She looked around her apartment with a perplexed glint to her expression, as though she expected to find the answer laying in front of her in the form of a crowbar or something.

“Oh please, we’ve been friends for many years. We are both allowed to have our little secrets, no?” Jenni diverted, and Alexia shook her head instantly, looking toward the striker with a lost expression.

“What – no?! That doesn’t mean you get to break into my apartment! How did you even get in her–”

“This is not the point of this conversation, Alexia,” Jenni cut her friend off easily, ignoring how bewildered the brunette was as a result of her surprise appearance. The striker settled, a concerned look flashing across her features. “You fucked up that conversation, didn’t you?”

“You’re not allowed to just barge in here whenever you want!” Alexia spat, a sudden rush of anger coursing through her at Jenni’s words. Defensiveness coursed through her veins with a fury, and nobody had managed to pin her down for long enough to have a real conversation with her.

Until now, apparently.

When the raven-haired woman leveled her with a disbelieving stare, the Catalan’s shoulders collapsed just slightly. When Jenni wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone. She would stop at absolutely nothing to get it, and the midfielder knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation with anger or deflections. She sighed forcefully, settling her keys down on her kitchen counter and pressing her head into her hands.

“I did,” she conceded after a moment, her voice shaky and impossibly quiet. When she finally looked up, the torment inside her entire body seemed to reflect in her expression. Jenni felt horrible, seeing how torn up her friend was.

“I fucked everything up Jenni, everything. I came into it with so much aggression and fear, and made all these accusations I don’t even really think I meant,” she admitted with a humorless chuckle, an echo of agony in her words.

Silence cascaded around them, the air thick with regret and despondency.

“She was sick,” Alexia revealed after a moment. She glanced up at Jenni, struggling to control herself. “She was sick, and so she broke things off because she couldn’t leave, but she wanted me to. She saved my career, made a sacrifice for my own happiness, and in return I screamed horrible things at her. What kind of person does that make me?” Alexia pleaded, her voice cracking over the last sentence.

Jenni thought about the question for a moment before she shook her head and looked back at Alexia. There was a compassion in her expression, and the Catalan forced herself to look away in the face of it. She didn’t deserve it.

“It makes you human, Alexia,” the raven-haired woman countered, her words soft and sympathetic, almost saccharine in their amount of sweetness.

“No it doesn’t,” Alexia grumbled under her breath, but Jenni was quick to continue.

“Yes it does. You did not have all the information at the time. And okay, you said some things you regret? Go apologize for them then! You made a mistake, and you feel remorse, Alexia. That in and of itself means that there is love and compassion in your heart.”

“And if she doesn’t accept that apology?” Alexia shot back, fighting to be kind as she was gripped with fear. She looked over at Jenni with a flame in her eyes, anything to hide how upset she truly was. It was easier to mask it than it was to face it, after all.

“Then she doesn’t accept the apology, and life moves on. But you won’t know if you don’t even bother to try,” Jenni offered as she walked over and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder comfortingly.

“Forgive yourself enough to give her the opportunity to forgive you. If she was in your spot, you would do the same. If she cares as much about you as you say she does, I think you have a fighting chance,” the striker suggested, her voice gentle. The brunette remained deep in thought, thinking hard about Jenni’s words. The raven-haired woman let herself out before Alexia could even formulate a response.

And while there were a lot of thoughts swirling around in Alexia’s mind, perhaps the top of the list was that she really, really needed to get a locksmith to her apartment.

—

It was a thought that often consumed the brunette as her career began to take off. It had been a question, something that weighed on her mind in the dark of night when she lay alone.

Was it worth it?

The duty to herself, to her career pulled at her endlessly. Everyone around her was dedicated to their career, putting it above their family at nearly all cost. And she understood, she wanted to be the best. The pull to change the sport, to leave a legacy behind that made women’s football better than where she had started.

But what was the cost?

How many family dinners had she missed? How many birthdays? How many celebrations?

How many moments had she missed, even just the mundane, small things in life. How many inside jokes and how much late night laughter had evaded her because of this choice?

And she knew that her family loved her, and that they understood how important her career was to her. But it never took away from the fact that she was gone often. That unlike her teammates and peers, she spent the least amount of time with her family as the years had passed. Whereas many of her friends grew more committed to their families, getting married and even having children, football had become her sole focus in life.

Other than you, she had never been in a committed relationship with anyone. Her friendships were from football, everything in her life had revolved around football. Protecting her image, embracing the game, doing whatever she could to advance the team and herself to perfection.

It wasn’t until you had stumbled back into her life that suddenly she remembered what it had been like to live a life. And sure, she knew that her career was different now, much more intense. But the Catalan also knew that you never would have allowed her to become so overwhelmingly immersed into her career.

It was less the time commitment and more the mindset she approached her career with that had changed in your absence. Alexia had always assumed that in order to be the best, she had to be so devoted to football in every aspect of her entire life. That there was no room outside of it for distractions.

Her friends hadn’t become worse because they had loved ones, because they took a step back. They were still dedicated, but also well rested and prepared.

The two of you had been together for so many years, and then football had been the thing to divide you. It was Alexia’s career that had been prioritized above you, a decision that you had made and believed in.

Had you really ever thought you were more important than football?

Had she done that? Had she felt that you were more important than football?

All she could think of was how you were sick and alone, a burden to bear alone when you should have been loved and supported.

Alexia was not angry that you hadn’t told her, not by a long shot. But she was furious with the circumstances, with her own choices, with everything else in the situation besides you.

You had meant so much to her, and she had let you go without any recourse. She never even considered that there was so much depth to the decision you had made.

And now here she stood, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had gone from broken to shattered entirely.

Alexia knew that she loved you.

That she still loves you, even after all this time. There were parts of a person that never changed, and she saw it in your expression.

Even after all this time.

Her career came first in every aspect of her life, but maybe just this once it didn’t have to. Maybe some personal happiness was deserved, maybe it could be her choice to try and fix this.

Maybe she deserved a break, or some peace, or to undo all of the mistakes she had made in the last decade. Maybe the choice she made here would make her better, and not worse.

The brunette had no idea if you still loved her anymore, not after the appalling things she had said, but she couldn’t let it go without at least trying to get you back.

She had lost you once, and she wasn’t prepared to let it happen again without a fight.

—

Alexia can’t bring herself to pick up the phone and dial, so she took the coward's way out and texted you to ask for your address.

Much to her surprise, you answered her. It’s nothing more than the address rattled off, but it’s there. The brunette felt her heart constrict for a moment at the thought that it wasn’t really your address, that you had sent her a fake location.

But at the same time, even if that were the case, a part of her would understand. For all the years that she had been hurt and alone and yearning desperately for you, it had been the same for you.

The choice you had made was impossible, indescribable even, and Alexia knows in her heart that her career wouldn’t be where it was without your sacrifice. You had sacrificed your own dream so that she could live hers, and when it all came back to the two of you all these years later, she had completely desecrated that sacrifice without a second thought.

She continued to be appalled with herself over that entire conversation. It was all she saw every time she closed her eyes, the words she had said rattling around in her brain all night long.

The look on your face as she dug herself into a deeper hole, filled with disregard for how much care you had tried to give the situation. It was never going to be perfect, but you had tried to be perfect. And in that moment, she had acted as though it wasn’t enough.

It was.

You had always been more than enough for her, regardless of whether you two were together or not.

Every single time she had laid in bed since, memories both good and bad of the two of you had pooled in her eyes, rolling down her cheek and escaping onto the pillow beneath her.

She had lost her curiosity inside the ferocity of her own judgement, and she regretted it with every molecule inside of her. She regretted it so much that it made her feel physically ill, to the point where she no longer cared about being appropriate or saving face.

It was late in the evening when she drove over to your apartment. She had a plan to go on Sunday morning, but it was Friday night and her self restraint had ground away until it no longer existed.

The Catalan took the steps two at a time up to the third floor, knowing that each moment likely brought her closer to you. She hoped it did, at least. It was highly possible that you were out with friends or doing something fun, as you should be.

But still hope gripped her with a strength she was unaware she ever had. Loving you was never the detractor she had spent the last decade convincing herself it was, but was where she got her strength.

Loving you had breathed life into her and she was silly to have ever thought differently.

She knocked on the door to your apartment before she could stop herself from overthinking every single one of her life choices. Her knuckles struck against the wooden door exactly three times, each one more forceful than the lost.

The brunette waited with everything in her for the sound of anything in the wake of knocking. Any movement, any sign of life, anything. The seconds felt like hours and years as her heart rammed its way into her throat.

And then she heard it, the softness of your voice as you called out that you were coming.

Alexia was known for being a stoic person, never one to overly show emotion. She kept everything close to her chest, and rarely did she express how she was feeling. It took hours of knowing her, and even then she was still hesitant to show weakness.

But the tears were pooling in her eyes even before you opened the door.

And there you were.

Standing in your pajamas, a book in your hand and an expression of mild surprise at the sight of Alexia nearly in tears at your door. It certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, though you knew the footballer had your address.

“Ale?” You questioned softly, your voice barely there. The brunette swallowed thickly, trying and failing to conjure an apologetic smile.

“I am sorry…I meant to come later but I couldn’t…wait,” she finished lamely, rather breathless as she fought to keep the pressure in her throat from turning into full blown sobs. You stared at her for a second, at how tense she was, at the anxiety written across her face. After you had tucked some of the hair away from your face, you stepped back into your apartment and widened the opening of the door.

“Would you like to come in?” You proposed, and the footballer took your offer up with a shaky nod of her head.

The brunette trailed after you further into the apartment. It was a large apartment, but it felt cozy and lived in. Half-burned candles and ear-marked books were strewn around the space, and a throw blanket could be found on every surface.

She remembered that you had always run cold. When the two of you were young and in love, she would whisper to you about the warmth Barcelona would offer, even as she provided you plenty of her own body heat as she laid curled around you.

“Alexia?” You probed lightly, and she shook her head as she glanced up, realizing that she had let her mind wander. Concern and compassion stared right back at her.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she replied harshly, trying and failing to be discreet as she wiped at her eyes.

“You don’t have to be,” you said delicately, gesturing toward the couch. “Why don’t we sit down?”

You couldn’t help but realize that right now with just one look at Alexia, you already forgave her. Every line etched into her skin was written with devastation and contrition. Somewhere deep within you knew how she felt, and knew that she did not mean the things she had said.

There was so much information to process, so much confusion and chaos, that you had both lost yourselves.

Maybe there was an opportunity to be found again.

You weren’t going to let the weakness of one moment detract from the opportunity that lay in front of you.

You led her over to the couch, and the pair of you settled down across from one another. You sat with your back against one arm of the couch, while Alexia was across from you, her hands on her knees. Her knuckles were nearly white, and you wished in that moment to reach out and soothe the ache in her heart, even if you knew that you couldn’t. When the midfielder turned toward you, all you found facing you was suppliance.

“I cannot explain to you how sorry I am,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I had no idea the sacrifice you had made for me, I had no idea that there was so much more behind all of this. I was foolish to believe that you broke up with me over something selfish or petty.”

She seemed to bite her words back, as though her self-loathing was simply too great of a burden to contain for a moment. When she settled, the Catalan continued.

“I never should have spoken to you that way. The truth is that I’ve spent the last nine years missing you, thinking about you, unable to get myself over the years we spent together. It feels as though you’ve been out of my life as long as you were in it, and I hate that. I hate that I haven’t been able to grow with you. I hate that when I lay awake at night I miss you with an ache I cannot even begin to describe to you. I hate that I wasn’t able to be there for you when you needed me. I hate that your sacrifice probably saved my career, even though I wish with everything in me that I was there for you when you needed me,” Alexia finally admitted, deciding to be nothing but brutally honest.

“And I won’t lie to you and say there haven’t been other women in the years without you, but God it never compared to you. I didn’t give a shit about any of them, and I never really expected to. You’re intertwined within my soul in a way I don’t even fully understand, and living without you feels like walking around missing a limb. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over you, and I tried to force football down my throat because if it was the reason I lost you, it had to be worth it.”

“I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way you roll your eyes at me when I do something ridiculous, or how patient you are with me when I get frustrated. I still find myself looking for you in every crowd, at every family gathering, everywhere. When I finally did see you again, it felt like a fever dream. The one thing I’ve wanted for the last nine years was granted to me, and there you were.”

“You were standing there so perfectly and in one piece, and inexplicably, you seem to care about me still. I never could have imagined that happening, even if I dreamt about it every single night of my life that you haven’t been in,” Alexia continued, allowing herself to take a deep breath and center herself. Frustration passed over her face for a moment, entirely

“I fucked this up royally, I know. I let the fear in my heart and the fear that those around me held get in the way of seeing the truth, and I need you to know how sorry I am. I never should have treated you that way. I never should have acted toward you with such hostility. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that everything I said, I don’t believe. You are brave and wonderful and empathetic, and so, so, extraordinary. Please do not let anyone else ever say that you are not,” Alexia urged, looking at you with such clear intent you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“I still love you, Flori. I think that I always will. My heart knows what it means to love and be loved by you, and nothing will ever compare to that feeling. My heart was always yours to break, and I don’t care if you do it once or twice or a million times. All I know is that even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know that I love you,” Alexia said with finality, barely able to see against the blur of tears that swarmed in her eyes.

You stood up from your end of the couch slowly while her eyes tracked every single one of your movements. You walked closer to her, settling down next to her as closely as you could while you reached over to place your shaking hands against the frame of her face.

“You big, blithering idiot, of course I still love you,” you whispered fiercely, your face scrunched up somewhere between disbelief and teasing. Alexia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was even holding, the entire upper half of her body collapsing into you.

It was easy for you to catch the brunette, cradling her against you as she sobbed without restraint against you. It was easy to rock her back and forth softly, while you whispered sweet nothings into her ears. And it was just as easy to pull her away from you and utter the words she never thought she would hear.

“I forgive you, and of course I still love you Ale. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and you still are. I’m right here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere, if you’ll have me. We might have lost our chance when we were young, but maybe we can have another one?” You proposed hopefully, almost with disbelief. Neither of you ever expected for this to be anywhere near possible, but here you both were.

The Catalan’s expression broke entirely, silent tears rolling down her cheeks in defiance as she placed a hand on your arm and held it tightly.

“I’m here,” was all she could manage, but it was enough.

You leaned into her slowly as you glanced down at her lips, giving her time to pull away. It was a concern you needn't be worried about when she met you halfway, the feeling one of muscle memory even after all this time. You could taste the salt from her tears and yours as you kissed her.

“Please stay,” you murmured through the ball in your throat as you pulled away just a touch, and Alexia gripped you impossibly tighter as she pulled you into a hug.

For the first time in nine years, you fell asleep that night with the footballer’s body curled around your own, the feel of her chest breathing steadily against your back as she held you in her arms with content.

It was the first time in a long while that you had felt warm enough when going to sleep, and hope ballooned inside you fervently.

(a/n: So…anyone up for parts 4-10?)

#alexia putellas x reader #Alexia Putellas #barcelona femeni #jenni hermoso #mariona caldentey #woso x reader #Woso

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chxnsgirl · 1 day ago

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방찬 ─── right there

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] daddy!chan x afab!reader . praise kink , daddy kink , fingering , reader is just obsessed with chans hands dhjfhdjk

a/n ๑ now hear me out. i have been reading @hyunjins-orange-slice-too fics about daddy channie and oh my lord it activated my daddy issues so hard. i wanted to write something that appeared in my mind not too long ago before work hehe

♡ masterlist

you lay, cuddled up next to your boyfriend, chan, while watching a movie together in bed. he had his arm wrapped around you tightly, lightly rubbing your side, his eyes still transfixed on the screen in front of you two.

you and chan had been dating for a few months. it was still new, and you two had just established a new relationship dynamic, one that was mostly your idea. you trusted him, with all your being, but you’d be lying if you said he didn’t still make you shy.

chan was easily the most attractive guy you had ever been with. he radiated sex appeal without even trying, and he so naturally led the relationship. he took care of you and your needs, always pampering you, spoiling you. but it wasn’t just the fact that he did everything for you–he was beautiful, too.

you loved everything about his appearance. his plump, soft lips, his pretty, sculpted nose, the pretty little moles on his face, his big, broad shoulders. everything.

but there were some parts that made your thighs press together and slick coat your panties..

you made a mental list about those favorite parts of chan, and you lived for sneaking glances at them whenever you could. you were so thankful he liked being practically naked at home, so you could always sneak little peeks at his waist, which you adored. it was so toned, and so kissable, your mind always wandered to naughty places when you saw it.

his biceps and forearms also turned you on. you loved the days when chan would come home from the gym and his veins would be on display after an intense workout.

but your favorite things to look at.. the things you looked at more than anything else?

his hands. god, his hands. they always made you all blushy and squirmy. his fingers were long and knobby, the outside of his hands were so veiny and pretty. his skin was pale, and gorgeous, and his nails were always manicured and well taken care of.

they were so masculine, but something about them.. seemed delicate. when he’d braid your hair for you, or help you into your pajamas for the night, those hands took care of you. and somehow, that turned you on even more.

and that’s why, as you watched his hands rub your side, so softly, so tenderly, you felt your tummy twist and your core get tingly.

you pressed your thighs together and curled up, trying your hardest to ease the tingling sensation between your thighs. you needed friction, bad, because for some reason all the thoughts you had about chan–and his hands– just would not go away.

he noticed your squirming, and finally his attention was on you. “are you okay, baby? are you cold?” he asked you, his voice oh so soft. you shook your head, heat creeping onto your cheeks. “i’m okay..” your voice was even softer, just barely over a whisper.

he watched as you fidgeted with your sweater sleeves, tucking your hands inside them and trying to make yourself smaller somehow. he could tell something was up, he knew you all too well, despite the short time you two had been together.

it was obvious something was bothering you. “are you sure? you wanna change into something more comfy?” he turned to face you, his hand retreating from around you only to be replaced by his other one, which was now resting on your hip.

you shook your head no, looking up at him with your pretty, twinkly eyes.

his fingers flexed against your hip, warm and grounding, but the slight pressure only made the ache between your legs more unbearable. you swallowed, feeling small under his gaze as he studied you carefully, his brows knitting together.

"baby," he murmured, tilting his head, "i know something’s up." his voice was patient, coaxing, like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to open up. "tell me what’s on your mind."

your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. you felt so silly—so needy—but chan had a way of making you feel safe, even when you were drowning in embarrassment.

you shook your head quickly. "it’s nothing," you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

chan hummed, unconvinced. his thumb started rubbing slow, lazy circles into your hip, making your skin feel hot beneath the fabric of your sweater. "nothing?" he echoed, the tiniest smirk ghosting over his lips. "sweetheart, you’ve been squirming for the past ten minutes, and i don’t think it’s because you’re uncomfortable."

your breath hitched. he was right, of course, but saying it—admitting it—felt impossible. you squeezed your thighs together instinctively, and that was all it took for chan’s smirk to grow, his fingers giving your hip the gentlest squeeze.

"that’s what i thought," he murmured. he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low rasp. "use your words, baby. tell daddy what you need."

heat flooded your cheeks. your fingers curled into the hem of your sweater, twisting the fabric as you tried to find the courage to say it out loud. but every time you opened your mouth, the words dissolved on your tongue.

chan, ever patient, pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something unreadable—something that made your stomach flutter. "sweetheart," he murmured, his other hand sliding up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing over the heat there. "you don’t have to be shy with me."

you exhaled shakily, lashes fluttering as you tore your gaze from his. "i just… i…" the words clung to your throat, refusing to come out.

chan didn’t push—he never did—but he didn’t let up, either. his hand slid from your cheek to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him. "you want my hands on you, don’t you?"

a small whimper left your lips before you could stop it. you nodded eagerly.

chan chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement and something darker. "that’s my good girl," he praised, brushing his lips over your forehead. "all you had to do was ask." his hand trailed lower, rubbing under your ass and squeezing your thigh. you let out a soft, tiny whine, scooting closer to him subconsciously.

you and chan had been taking things slow, but he read you so well. he was very attentive to you and your body language, and he knew. he knew you wanted him. “tell me, baby,” he began, rubbing your thigh gently.

“where do you want my hands?” he asked, his voice smooth and coaxing.

you blushed even darker, looking down at his hand. you pointed to your skirt, between your legs. “here,” you finally said, your voice no louder than a whisper.

chan’s expression softened at your cute confession, but his eyes darkened even more. you watched as his hand slid up your thigh, lightly rubbing the fabric of your panties. he could feel how slick you were, and it even coated his fingertips through them. he let out a soft groan, looking down at his fingers.

“baby,” he started, going back to rubbing the outside of your panties. “you’re so wet for daddy.. how long have you been wanting me?” he asked softly.

your breath hitched as chan continued to rub slow, deliberate circles over the damp fabric, his fingers pressing just enough to send shivers rippling through your body but not nearly enough to satisfy the ache that had been building inside you for so long.

how long had you been wanting this? too long.

you blushed even darker. “too long, daddy.”

your mind had been consumed by thoughts of his hands since the very first time he touched you. the way they wrapped around his water bottle at the gym, veins prominent and flexing with each squeeze. the way they skimmed over your back when he pulled you close, warm and strong, fingers splaying out possessively against your skin. the way they cradled your face when he kissed you, firm yet gentle, making you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

but this—this was what you had fantasized about most.

the feeling of his fingers between your thighs, his touch slow and teasing, unraveling you without even trying. you could barely breathe as he traced along the soaked fabric, a soft hum vibrating through his chest as he took in the way your body trembled beneath him.

"that long, huh?" he mused, his voice filled with something dark and knowing. he pressed his fingers against you a little more firmly, his touch still unbearably slow. "my poor baby… waiting all this time for daddy to take care of her."

a needy whimper left your lips before you could stop it, your hips instinctively shifting toward his touch.

chan chuckled, his other hand coming up to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. his fingers, those beautiful, skilled fingers, moved with the lightest pressure, barely enough to satisfy the craving that had been burning inside you for months.

"you love it, don’t you?" his voice was smooth, teasing. "you love my hands on you."

you nodded quickly, your breath coming out in soft, shaky pants.

he smirked, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before dragging down to your chin. "show me, then," he murmured. "show me how much you love them, baby."

overcome with a sense of boldness, you looked down and pushed your panties down, along with your skirt. chan helped you, of course, tugging them all the way down and tossing them toward the end of the bed. he leaned back against the headboard again, pulling you onto his lap. “let’s see this pretty pussy, hm?” he hummed, kissing your cheek.

chan’s hand was warm and steady as he guided your thigh apart, his fingers pressing firmly against your soft skin. he used his other to splay out on your tummy, holding you steady against him. his touch alone sent a shiver up your spine, anticipation coiling deep in your belly.

“there we go,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. “that’s my good girl.”

your breath hitched as his hand trailed down, fingertips barely skimming over your inner thigh. the contrast between the strength in his grip and the delicate way he touched you made your head spin. his hands had always been like that—firm, controlling, yet unbelievably gentle when they wanted to be. it was intoxicating.

you watched, mesmerized, as his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your skin, his touch setting fire to every nerve in your body. the veins along the back of his hand flexed with every movement, the ridges of his knuckles shifting as his fingers explored, teasing and unhurried.

“i think about this all the time,” you confessed suddenly, your voice barely above a breath.

chan’s hand stilled for a brief moment, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. “oh?” he tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “tell me, baby. what do you think about?”

you swallowed, cheeks burning, but there was no turning back now. “your hands,” you admitted, breathless. “i think about them all the time… how they touch me, how they feel…i think about your fingers, too…” your voice faltered as he flexed his fingers slightly, reminding you just how close he was to giving you what you craved.

chan let out a low chuckle, clearly pleased by your confession. “you love them that much, huh?” his thumb brushed against your thigh, slow and deliberate. “i see the way you watch them, sweetheart. you think i don’t notice?”

your heart pounded. he had noticed?

chan leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “every time i touch you… every time i hold you… you get all shy and squirmy.” his fingers traced teasingly close to where you ached for him most. “you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

you nodded quickly, unable to deny it. “yes…”

chan grinned against your cheek, his hands tightening around you possessively. “then let me give you what you’ve been dreaming about, baby.”

he nuzzled your hair, holding you against him as his fingers were reunited with your wet heat. he gently rubbed a finger up your slit, gathering wetness before pulling away, showing off the string of arousal connecting his finger to your wet lips. the sight alone made your cunt clench.

his fingers returned, rubbing circles on your clit, making your thighs tremble and your head spin. “mmm..” you moaned quietly, leaning back against his chest. a proud smile spread onto chan’s face as he listened to the combination of your moans and the slick movements of his fingers working on you. “does that feel good, baby?” he hummed, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

you frantically nodded, squirming even more on his lap. he chuckled, his fingers leaving your clit to circle your entrance. “can daddy feel inside, sweetheart?” he asked, rubbing your tummy with his other hand softly. you nodded, opening your thighs more for him. he kissed your cheek before slowly sliding a finger inside you.

he let out a soft groan. “baby,” he pumped it in and out of you gently, listening to the beautiful, lewd sounds of your pussy. “you’re still so tight,” he muttered, moving his finger faster. you whined, pushing your hips down and against his hand. he chuckled, slowly adding another finger. “whiny baby.” he teased you, pumping his fingers nice and moderately, rubbing the gummy spot inside you.

it felt so good you nearly cursed, but you didn’t, saving yourself a scolding from your daddy later. you let out a mewl as his fingers worked you over and over, making a pit form in your tummy and your thighs get all tense. “daddy,” you whimpered, turning your head to look up at him. “hm?” he responded, not fingers not stopping. “it feels so good,” you moaned softly, your brows knitted together and your lips swollen from biting them.

he leaned down and kissed your lips, pressing his thumb to your clit at the same time. you gasped into the kiss, and he used the opening of your mouth to swipe his tongue inside, dancing with your own. he could feel your cunt clenching around his fingers, and your legs were squirming so much more, he had to hold you down firmer.

“daddy..” you broke the kiss to whimper. “i think i’m.. i think i'm gonna cum..” you panted, looking down at his hand once again.

chan’s grip tightened as he held you in place, his fingers working you with expert precision. the way he moved—slow, deliberate, teasing yet firm—made your head spin. your entire body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ignited by his touch.

“yeah?” chan murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “you’re gonna come for me, baby?”

you nodded frantically, your breath coming in soft, desperate pants. your fingers clutched at his wrist, not to stop him, but to ground yourself, to feel the strength in his hands that had been driving you crazy for so long. the veins along his forearm flexed beneath your grip, a beautiful contrast of power and control.

“look at you,” he cooed, his tone full of praise. “so worked up just from my hands… you love this, don’t you?”

your whimper was all the confirmation he needed. he smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as his fingers kept moving, relentless and intoxicating.

the tension in your body coiled impossibly tight, every muscle trembling as the overwhelming sensation built inside you. your mind was hazy, filled with nothing but the feeling of him—his hands, his touch, his voice guiding you to the edge.

“that’s it, baby,” chan whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “let go. let me feel it.”

with one final flick of his fingers, the pressure inside you snapped, sending waves of bliss crashing over you. your breath hitched, your body shuddering against him as the pleasure washed through you, leaving you boneless in his arms.

chan held you through it, his hands never leaving you, rubbing slow, soothing circles along your skin as he murmured soft praises against your temple.

“you did so good, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips curling into a satisfied smile.

as you came down from your high, you curled into his chest, still breathless and dazed. chan chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @nickgurl4life

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

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nachrosas · 1 day ago

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WHENEVER, WHEREVER | s.reid x reader

summary: in which Spencer misses you and your daughters. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: fluff, just pure fluff word count: 546 a/n: inspired by the song of the same name, from shakira! hope you like it!

The cell phone screen flashed 3:32 a.m., casting a bright light against the walls of the hotel room. Spencer wiped his hands across his face in an unsuccessful attempt to reduce the tiredness that was taking over his body. The team had been in Los Angeles for a week trying to capture a killer who was attacking families; the investigation was exhausting and the lack of answers was causing the whole team to feel uneasy.

He picked up his cell phone and, without thinking much about the fact that it was still early in the morning, dialed your number. He knew it was late, he knew he had to wait until dawn, but something inside him cried out for your voice.

The phone rang once, twice, three times until a sleepy sigh answered.

“Honey?” your voice came out light, slightly hoarse from sleep, but full of affection.

He closed his eyes, feeling relief rise in his chest.

“Did I wake you?”

“No… I mean, yes, but it's okay. Are you all right?”

He hesitated for a moment, watching the city through the huge window. The signs shone like artificial constellations, distant and cold; but when he heard her voice, the solution seemed to dissipate a little.

“I am now.”

The soft sound of your laughter warmed something inside Spencer's heart, even though he was on the other side of the country. He leaned back against the hotel pillows, holding his cell phone as close to his ear as possible, as if that would reduce the distance between them.

“You should have seen Olivia today,” you commented, and he could imagine the size of your smile just by hearing your voice. “She thought Matilda needed a lesson on dinosaurs. She spent the whole afternoon holding the book Morgan gave her close to my belly and explaining the difference between a stegosaurus and a triceratops.

Spencer smiled, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Technically, Matilda doesn't have the capacity to process this information yet, but I love the fact that Olivia wants to teach her.”

“I know,” you laughed. “You would have been proud.”

Spencer's smile diminished in size as the silence settled for a millisecond. He sighed, running his hand through his messy hair.

“I miss you.”

You sighed on the other end of the phone, understanding the situation without him having to say anything else.

“I know, love… but you always come back to me, to the three of us.”

He smiled, a little wistfully.

“Did you know that the success rate for long-distance relationships is around 58%? There are several factors that increase the longevity of a relationship, such as frequent communication, alignment of expectations, and…”

“And a love that defies all statistics,” you interrupted him softly.

Spencer let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Yes. And a love that defies statistics.”

A comfortable silence hung over you, and then, like a whisper, he heard a soft melody coming from the hotel corridor:

Whenever, wherever, we're meant to be together.

Spencer felt the tiredness of the day dissipate, replaced by a deep tranquility.

“Good night, my love,” you murmured.

He closed his eyes, holding that moment as a shelter against the loneliness he felt.

“Good night. I'll always come back to you.”

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you

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strangersteddierthings · 1 day ago

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Jealousy Looks Different On You

[Part One] ✨ [You Are Here] ✨ [Part Three]

Steve can be a jealous man. He can be.

Just not in the same way that Eddie seems to thrive on it. Steve doesn't have a right to jealousy outside a relationship, so even if he feels jealous, he'll never act on it.

He thought it was just one of the many ways Eddie and he were incompatible romantically.

It was the same song and dance when they'd go out. Eddie would drag someone onto the dance floor and spend most of the dance making eyes at Steve until his catch of the night got jealous enough to pull Eddie out of eyesight.

Steve is used to that. That's the routine.

Except.

Well, except Eddie's broken the routine now, hasn't he?

Flipped the entire script by saying the things Steve has wanted to hear for years. I wouldn’t have rejected you and Jesus, Steve, you’re the only one I’ve really wanted.

Steve knows Eddie well enough to know that Eddie believes he's telling the truth or believes he really does want what he's saying to be the truth.

And now, sitting in silence in the back of a taxi that Eddie's gotten them, Steve can't bring himself to hope about it. Eddie's not a liar, as far as Steve knows, but that doesn't mean he actually wants Steve. Not for real. Not in the long run.

Steve can't give Eddie all the things Eddie seems to enjoy most. He's heard enough about Eddie's sex life to know they aren't super compatible in that department. And as far as he knows, Eddie's never even had a relationship. Just one-night stands and friends with benefits situations, which, y'know, Steve's not judging him about because Steve had all that once, too.

And maybe it's shitty of him to think but because Eddie's never been in a long-term monogamous relationship, Steve's not sure that one between them will work.

Okay. It's a lot shitty for him to think.

There's no real basis for Steve to think this other than that everything Steve wants out of a relationship, Eddie's shown him he wants the exact opposite.

Maybe Steve's just thinking shitty thoughts because it's easier than hoping that this might work.

The ride to the apartment is awkward only for Steve. They can't exactly talk about liking each other romantically in the back of a taxi where a stranger can clearly hear them, so they don't. Instead, Eddie chats up the cabbie about everything and anything that comes to his mind and Steve sits with just his thoughts.

Which are not being kind.

God, he's kind of a shitty person, isn't he?

Steve lets them both into the apartment and it feels different now. It's not like Eddie's never been in Steve's apartment. Hell, he's been sleeping in his old room for this whole 'break from the LA stress' he's taken. Has been here three days already, so this isn't even the first time this week that Steve's let them both into the apartment.

It's just different now that Eddie knows. Steve's been living his life with the assumption that Eddie knew but now he knows and everything is different.

"You, uh, want a beer?" Steve asks as he toes off his shoes, stalling because he doesn't know how to start this conversation. Isn't even sure he wants to because having this conversation means there is no going back. He won't be able to unsay these things, Eddie won't be able to unhear them. It'll be out there. All his hurt and love and fear and hope.

"Steve," is all Eddie says, in a tone that says 'we need to talk'.

So, Steve swallows thickly, nods, and heads for the living room. It's so stupid but he suddenly feels exposed, so he picks up a throw pillow from the couch before he plops onto it. He turns completely sideways, back to the armrest of the couch and legs crossed, pillow in his lap to act as a barrier of some sort. Something to feel less exposed.

Eddie takes longer to join him because, unlike Steve, he'd gotten completely done up for the bar and that includes full lace up combat boots that he can't easily slip out of.

Eddie finally joins him in the living room, pausing when he sees Steve before he moves to sit on the couch, one leg folded under him and the other on the floor. He leaves a respectable foot of distance between them and Steve's not sure if he's disappointed by that or not.

There is a tense silence that falls on them, neither brave enough to really begin the conversation that could be the end of everything.

"Steve, I- I don't even know where to start, man," Eddie finally says, running a hand through his hair.

"Me either," Steve says, looking down and picking at the pillow. "You were the one who said we needed to talk."

"Because we do?" Eddie sounds confused. "I, fuck man, I basically accused you of being in love with me and you confirmed it. We gotta talk about that."

Steve frowns because he doesn't agree. They don't have to talk about it. As far as Steve was concerned, they've been successfully not talking about it for years. Nothing has really changed from Steve's perspective. "What's there to talk about?"

"That you love me! And that I was, am, in love with you, too! That feels like a big deal!" Eddie cries, voice not loud enough to bother the neighbors yet but he can easily get that way. "You- why don't you seem as happy about this as I am?"

"Because I'm not," Steve says, stern and biting as he finally looks up from the pillow. "How am I supposed to be happy about this? This is going to change everything between us. Everything! And I've been- I've made peace with how this wasn't- with how things were between us."

Eddie stares back at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in his shock. It takes him a moment to recover. "I don't... understand. Why, why aren't you happy? Of course this will change things between us, but you make it sound like it'll be for the worse? I thought-"

"What? You thought you'd tell me you love me too and I'd jump into your arms?"

"Well, kinda," Eddie starts, but Steve doesn't want to hear it.

"I can't! Eddie, I can't. I'm not- I-I get that you, that you've just realized I loved you, but I've been living with the assumption that you already knew. I thought you knew for years. And now you're sitting here, telling me that you've felt the same. What, this whole time?"

"Yes! For longer, probably!" Eddie argues back, anger and hurt mixing on his face. "I've never known you to not go after the person you want, so why did you say anything sooner?"

"Why didn't you!?" Steve shouts, feeling the heat of tears in his eyes. He throws the pillow at Eddie and jumps from the couch to pace the living room. "We lived together for years! And I watched as you brought home guy after guy after guy. I listened as you waxed poetry about the perfect man for you; a fellow metalhead who would want to go to concerts with you, someone who'd play DnD with you and enjoyed your other nerd things, and-and-and," Steve stutters over the word, fighting back making a sobbing sound because it's one thing to let Eddie see his tears; it's an entirely different thing to let him hear the whole sob-fest Steve's fight back. "And a laundry list of all the kinks they have to b-be into so you don't get bored. I- God, you'd laid out your incredibly long list of standards that I didn't fit before I'd even realized I liked men. That I liked you! Why would I even try when I already knew I'd never measure up?"

He's pacing still. Movement helps him push the urge to cry down and makes the tears dry up. It takes him a while to realize that there's been no answer from Eddie. So, Steve finally gets his emotions under control and turns to look at the couch, to see Eddie's response.

He's not expecting to see tears falling down Eddie's own cheeks and wearing a face of heartbreak and regret.

#steddie #my fic #part three eventually?#what do y'all think? does eddie react with anger or understanding or guilt?#im thinking guilt #also i cant name things so if anyone's got a suggestion for a title for this lil thing im open

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1d1195 · 14 hours ago

Text

Pucking Rookie V

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~5.9k words

From me: this is almost entirely a filler episode.

Warnings: fluff. nauseating fluff. Jealous MC. Cute vulnerable moments.

Summary: Harry is determined to break her walls down even if he has to do it slowly.

Harry didn’t force her to move out (yet) even though he wanted her to. But he spent a lot more time on the bad side of town now that he beat up Kael. Michael ogled over the pretty car he left with her. “If you don’t sleep with him, I will,” he muttered around a drag of his cigarette when she first parked it in front of their building.

“Get in line!” Marc shouted from the doorway waiting for her to enter.

She rolled her eyes. Fortunately, Harry was a few minutes behind her, so he didn’t hear their crass thoughts. “Great game, man,” Michael nodded.

“Yeah! You were close to getting a shirt-trick!”

Harry chuckled, putting his hand on her lower back as she covered her eyes. “You’re embarrassing me, Marc. It’s a hat-trick.”

“Close enough,” he shrugged.

“It’s not—”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry laughed and nudged her forward cutting her off from rebuking Marc. Harry liked the guys in her apartment well enough, but he wanted her to himself in the privacy of the apartment that smelled just like her. In whatever way he could have her, which meant just being friends.

When they got to her place, she went to her dresser and pulled out a set of clothes and headed for the bathroom without another word. Harry looked through the photos spread on her counter. The same ones from her series that she was already insisting on would never be.

He looked through the other photos too. The ones on the fridge and wall (his still centered right above the water and ice dispenser) her talent was incredible. He heard the shower turn on and then the door opened immediately. “Do you want to shower?” She asked tossing her clothes in the hamper. Instead of her normal rink outfit, she was wearing a pair of leggings and T-shirt.

“With you? Of course, Rookie,” he didn’t look up because he knew that line of thinking was dangerous, and he didn’t want her to get mad at him. She snorted.

“Go,” she rolled her eyes with a sigh. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek sloppily. “Gross you’re all sweaty!” She shoved him.

“Manly,” he tugged his sweatshirt off and tossed it at her.

While Harry showered, she busied herself making tea and organizing items for tomorrow. She knocked on the door to give Harry a set of sweats he left the last time he was over. “Y’joining me?” He asked excitedly.

“Leaving clothes for you to change in to,” she opened the door briefly and set them on the sink counter without looking inside.

“Break m’heart, Rookie,” he sighed and continued showering.

She shook her head with a smirk. Harry was funny, adorable, sexy, and sweet in a way that should have been illegal because it was just not fighting fair. She wasn’t going to fall in love with another hockey player. Not one that was one of the top names in the league. Instead, she admired the pictures she took of him. How handsome he looked, the defined jawline, the way his hair curled with sweat. His smile, the dimples. “Hey Rookie, do y’have deodorant in here?”

Oh God, this was too domestic. She should have suggested driving to his place. At least there she had her own guest room to create a boundary. Albeit an arbitrary, dumb boundary that did next to nothing. “In the drawer beneath the sink,” she answered.

She shivered slightly in her freezing apartment but refused to turn the heat on. She grabbed the sweatshirt on the back of the couch to put on over her T-shirt. The tea was almost ready, and Harry exited the bathroom. He came around silently and tugged the hem of the sweatshirt. “Looks nice on you,” he mumbled and smoothed his hand down her back. She didn’t realize she had grabbed the very sweatshirt Harry had tossed at her. She shivered again and stepped away from him.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” His smile was anything but innocent.

She shook her head and elbowed him out of her way, before heading to the couch with her cup of tea. Harry followed her with his own cup of tea. He pulled her legs into his lap, placed a blanket on top of them, and then ran his hand up and down her shin. “Y’know, Rookie, y’don’t have t’make all these boundaries. M’not going t’push you.”

“They’re for me,” she reminded him and focused on finding a show to watch before she inevitably fell asleep on the sofa.

“I know,” he sighed and sipped his own drink. His hair was still damp, and his soft curls fell a little awkwardly around his pretty face. “But m’not gonna hurt you... Would rather die than hurt you,” he gave her leg a squeeze.

“I know,” she mumbled.

He grinned. “Good. M’glad y’know that. That makes me happy.”

With the show selected, she set her tea on the coffee table and shifted in her spot. “I think the Wolves might be the most chauvinistic, most terrible team in the league,” she reached for a throw pillow, rotated until her head laid in his lap. He put one hand on her side and rubbed it gently.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She yawned and sighed. “You smell good.”

“S’your deodorant,” he reminded her.

“I know, that’s why you smell good.”

He chuckled, shook his head, and sipped his tea again.

The team took up the entire airport bar. Or at least most of the team. Callie and Asher were among the hungover from the night before, so that group stayed at the gate with their eyes closed. They were within view of the bar so at least there wouldn’t be any issues, and the rest of the team could jump at a moment’s notice to help them out. She was seated beside Lang and showing him the pictures she took of last night's game. They were heading back home after a three-day stint going through a series of away games in the same vicinity the first. The guys were exhausted from traveling and only getting to a hotel for no more than one night at a time. All that travel, with all their stuff, was exhausting. She was exhausted too. A lot of the media posts needed to be out each night by a certain time. Submissions for the news outlets had to be in by midnight for the following morning. She felt tired and hadn’t even strained her body the way they had. As such, she didn’t have a drink at the bar, merely some coffee to try and get her mind to work a little faster for the plane trip home.

She sat on one leg to lean over Lang while looking at the photos on her camera screen.

“Hey Sweetheart, do you want a drink?” Niall called a ways down the bar. She shook her head.

“Thank you, though.”

“Are you sure? Harry’s buying!”

“Oh yeah?” She smiled and looked at number eleven with a grin. “Lose a bet?”

He rolled his eyes. “If y’want a drink m’paying,” he shrugged. She wondered if he would pay for her just because (even if he didn't lose a bet)

“I’ll take you up on that.”

Her head snapped up unwillingly. A pretty girl stood beside Harry’s seat. She had long hair that didn’t have a single strand popping off her scalp in a mess of frizz. Her smile was stunning, practically blindingly beautiful. Her makeup was flawless and expertly applied. She didn’t look exhausted from days of travel. She garnered the attention of every pair of eyes on the team.

Including hers.

“Oh... hi,” Harry said standing quickly. “Do y’want t’sit?” He asked.

Her chest flamed with jealousy. She looked back at her camera and sat on the seat hoping to make herself smaller beside Lang. Thankful for the big hockey player beside her and he blocked most of the visual of their interaction. If only Callie and Asher were sitting beside her too so she wouldn’t have to hear them talk. Although she imagined even if they were around her making their jokes, they too would have been stunned to silence by the beautiful woman sitting by Harry.

“He doesn’t like her,” Lang murmured quietly in her ear. She felt a flare of hope warm her body. Then the doubt took over, she shook her head.

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugged hoping her voice didn’t betray her with how shitty it felt. In an attempt to distract herself further, she put her camera back in the bag. “He’s not mine.”

Lang snorted, then chuckled under his breath. “Sure Sweetheart, sure.”

At that moment her phone vibrated, which supplied her with the distraction she needed from feeling like shit watching Harry. Do you want me to boot and rally to flirt with you? Make Harry jealous?

No thank you, Callie. That seems like a bad idea. For a lot of reasons.

I do nt meed to rhrrow uyp. I c sann f;lirt. with yoou righht n ow. I kjust ca nt open m. y eeyes m. uch.

Thank you Asher, that’s alright. It’s not a big deal. He can flirt with whoever he wants.

You know he WANTS to flirt with you, right?

She didn’t respond to Callie because it was just making her grumpy to think about it. “Hey Sweetheart, are you still going to the little convenience store? Can you grab me something to read for the flight?” Niall asked. She was too tired to think about moving but she was grateful for another attempted distraction. Harry was clearly engrossed in his conversation with the pretty woman. At least he was kind to speak quietly.

“Yeah, I was just going,” she stood up and reached in her purse to pay for her coffee. “It’s all set, Sweetheart,” Lang assured her. He took her camera bag off her shoulder. “I’ll watch this with my life. Just go,” he winked.

“Thanks Cap,” she smiled.

“Ugh, Styles is a lucky man,” he grumbled as he hoisted the bag on his shoulder.

She scurried away feeling infinitely better as she walked further away from the pretty woman and the equally pretty hockey player. There was no right to feel jealous. Harry wasn’t her boyfriend. He didn’t owe her anything. He could talk to any woman he wanted, and it didn’t have to affect her.

But it didn’t mean that it didn’t affect her.

She was looking at books for Niall hoping to find something she would want to read in case he didn’t like her fake selection. Then she moved onto the snacks looking for a way to eat the emotions she was feeling. Stupid Harry and his stupid pretty face. She couldn’t even blame the woman because Harry was so pretty it seemed inhumane to not flirt with him. She was the weird one. Not letting him in and not letting him be her boyfriend because why? She was stubborn. Didn’t want to get hurt again.

Harry wouldn’t hurt her, right? Not intentionally. Granted she never really imagined Kael hurting her either. Not cheating on her, anyway.

The exhaustion was getting to her. Her mind spinning aimlessly trying to make sense of her own thoughts seemed next to impossible. Harry was handsome, charming, talented, and overall perfect. Of course, a woman he knew would flirt with him because he was in town. They didn’t have a game the next day, maybe he would stay.

“Rookie.”

She continued looking at snacks, picking up the chocolate covered pretzels that were so overpriced she wouldn’t have gotten them even if she was starving. But her jealous heart wanted chocolate. “Oh hi,” she mumbled. “Do you want something?”

“No, Rookie,” he came over to her and put a hand on her back. It felt warm and safe, and she practically melted into his touch instantly. “Are y’alright?”

She nodded. “Course. I’m just tired.”

“Are y’sure?”

“Why would anything be wrong, Harry?”

He pressed his lips together and shrugged. “Y’got up in a hurry.”

“Mm... well, the flight’s going to be boarding soon. We should probably get back actually,” she turned for the register.

“Rookie,” his voice was gentle.

“Anything else?” The cashier asked.

“That’s it,” she tapped her phone to the payment kiosk, but it declined. Of course. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the ceiling. Pain behind her eyes started to ensue. From unshed tears or a coming headache, she wasn’t sure. Either way she sighed deeply, hoping the ground would swallow her whole.

“Here, I have it—”

“Harry, stop it.”

“Rookie, just let me pay for it so we can go back—”

“Forget it,” she abandoned all her items and headed back for the gate.

“Rookie, Jesus!” He shouted. She was already half way back to the gate before he caught up to her (the bag of items she left behind surely paid for by him in hand). Some of the team was already boarding. She grabbed her camera from Lang without so much as pausing and cut the front of the line (not that anyone minded), and headed down the tunnel to the plane. “Rookie, stop it,” he grumbled.

Callie had a seat open next to him, his head resting against the wall beside the closed window and she flopped into the seat beside him. He opened one eye briefly and smiled. “Hi, Sweetheart.”

“Get out of this row,” Harry snapped. His voice was closer but slightly out of breath. He must have been hustling down the boarding bridge and she felt bad because sure, she was mad (not even at him) but he was tired too.

“Harry, I’m not—”

“Not you. Callie, get up.”

“Harry, he’s not feeling wel—”

“He’s fine. Calloway.”

“Styles, I’m going to throw up,” he moaned.

“And she’s not taking care of y’the whole flight. Get up.”

Callie groaned and hauled himself out of the seat into another empty row a couple seats behind. Almost instantly, she tried to get out of the row but once Callie passed, Harry blocked her. “Sit down, Rookie,” he ordered.

“Quit being so bossy—”

He didn’t move. Eventually she sighed, and Harry waited until she was seated in Callie’s now empty seat. Harry sat beside her almost triumphantly. She fiddled with her seat settings and air settings all while ignoring Harry. “Rookie,” he said sweetly. “C’mon Rookie, talk t’me.”

“About what, Harry?” she rubbed her eyes. “I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. Just let me sleep on your hard, uncomfortable shoulder so I can complain more when we land.”

Harry sighed, shook his head. “Here’s your bag of stuff,” he plopped it on her tray table.

“Thank you,” she mumbled and sorted it quickly. She tucked the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels that she knew she put back before Harry got there into the back of the seat in front of her. “Niall,” she called quietly.

“Yeah, Sweetheart?” His voice came from in front of her and she tapped on the shoulder of the person in front of her.

“I think you’ll like that one,” she told him as the book was passed forward.

“Sounds good, Sweetheart, thank you!”

She had no idea why he was thanking her when he was the one that had her go get the book as a distraction from the jealousy she was feeling. She ignored Harry’s stare, warm on the side of her face while she got settled. Harry put the neck pillow around him and pulled a blanket from his carry-on before clipping himself into his seat.

The pair of them sat in silence during the safety demonstration and the takeoff information. She gripped the arm rest tight as they took off and Harry gently pried her fingers from the plastic and cupped her hand in his. Softly he squeezed it and brought it to his lips to give the back of her knuckles a kiss. Her heart softened and she felt idiotic for feeling so jealous. Tears pricked her eyes overwhelmed with too many emotions that didn’t make sense, all exacerbated by how tired she was.

Quietly, she sniffled. So softly that she didn’t think Harry had heard it even though her head now rested on his muscular shoulder that wasn’t like a pillow at all. The hum of the plane’s engines surely drowned out any emotion she was feeling and therefore any noise she was making. But after a moment, Harry carefully coaxed her head down until her ear rested against his heart. The arm near her draped around her and his lips brushed softly against her earlobe. With the other hand he pulled the neck pillow from him and dropped it to his lap to keep her propped up.

“Rookie,” he hummed quietly into her ear. “I don’t like her. I would never want t’make y’jealous. Y’know that. I cut all that stuff off,” he reminded her. “M’sorry you were upset. I was only being polite and nothing more. M’sorry we’re both tired,” his voice was so quiet and warm. It ached her in a way couldn’t describe all over her tired body. “You’re the only woman I think ‘bout, Rookie. Y’have nothing t’be jealous of whether we’re a couple or not,” he promised. “M’gonna wait as long as y’need,” tears spilled from her eyes because his reassurance was so sweet and so unnecessary. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve some hot hockey player to denounce all women for her. They weren’t a couple, and he shouldn’t have to worry about making her jealous. She sniffled a little louder. “Don’t cry, Rookie. Y’breaking m’heart,” his other hand found her cheek and brushed his thumb along her skin until it wiped away a tear or two.

“She was so pretty, Harry.”

“You’re beautiful, Bunny.”

“She doesn’t look poor.”

“Money isn't anything.”

“She looked like she belonged with you.”

“You are the one I want.”

Her lip trembled and she tried to keep the tears from breaking out further into a loud, noisy sob that would make the whole team wonder what was happening to her. “Go to sleep, Bunny. I got you,” he promised quietly. His fingers combed softly at her hair and not even the thought of her uncle seeing her snuggled in Harry’s lap was enough to move her from her comfy spot.

“I won’t have anything to complain about if I don’t lay on your shoulder,” she whispered, covering the small sniffle with her words.

Harry chuckled. “M’sure you’ll find something t’complain ‘bout, Rookie.”

It was a rare weekend that the team didn’t have any games. It was the perfect weekend for working a double at Louis’ on Friday and Saturday. Friday went off without a hitch, she made great tips, the guys kept her entertained, and she didn’t feel utterly exhausted when she got home at two in the morning.

Harry came in on Saturday right around four when the second half of her shift was starting. “What are you doing here? I thought you guys were having a watch party of the games or something.” She quirked an eyebrow at him and scanned him briefly as he was dressed much too nicely for The Locker Room.

“Come with me,” he smiled and tilted his head toward the exit.

She snorted. “Very kidnappy of you, Styles. I’m working,” she rolled her eyes delivering drinks to the table in front of her. “Not all of us have a talent that makes millions of dollars a year.”

“Harry Styles,” the man at the table gaped as she set the drink down.

Harry waved and nodded at the fan but continued following her. Harry chuckled. “I already told Louis m’taking you.”

“But the tips tonight, Harry. I won’t—”

“I will pay you myself, Rookie. Let’s go,” he ordered.

“Why are you dressed like that? It’s not game day.” He glanced down at his all-black outfit. Button down, suit coat, slacks, and shoes. “I’m not going on a date with you,” she said.

“I’ll go!” A woman called from nearby. She huffed out and rolled her eyes. Harry chuckled at his favorite jealous lady.

“Don’t remind me, but s’not a date, Rookie. Jus’ come with me. S’a surprise.”

“I can’t go in this uniform.”

“If y’make more of a fuss y’won’t have time t’change. M’trying t’get y’home with enough time t’put on something more upscale.”

“I don’t have upscale clothes, Harry. Not anymore. I had to sell most of them.”

Harry figured as much. When the team had fancier events, she had one dress that she wore, it was stunning and made her look like a princess. It was a royal blue that made the flush of her skin look utterly intoxicating, but as such it didn’t take long for Harry to notice it might be the only dress she had for fancy events. “I bought you something.”

“Well, now I really don’t want to go.”

“You’re a piece of work, Rookie,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Can y’jus come with me?”

She paused slightly at the bar as she got a tray of water situated for the next table. “Is it super expensive?” She asked, leaning against the bar.

“I got it on sale—almost killed me. I was told I could return it even if y’wear it,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“What color?”

“Black, so we match. And everyone will know you’re with me.”

“You’re possessive,” she shook her head. But her cheeks felt warm knowing how much she liked the idea.

“Only ‘bout you, Rookie,” he winked. “C’mon.”

Harry hurried to her side of the car and helped her out of the seat. The dress fit her perfectly. It didn’t quite touch the floor and hugged her like a second skin. She was gorgeous before she put on the dress. There wasn’t a word to describe how she looked with it on. Harry was nearly speechless as he handed his keys to the valet, and they approached the building. “Styles,” he told the man at the door. He checked them off a list and were ushered inside.

“What is this?” She asked.

Harry shrugged and held his arm out for her to take. Fortunately, she did. “Jus’ something I saw, thought y’would want t’see,” he steered her toward the entrance to the room on the right of the entry way. A line of people meandered as they walked into the spacious venue. A man at the threshold offered them each a glass of wine, Harry handed one to her and then held his own.

“Is this... a gallery?” She blinked.

“Yes,” he smiled. “I saw an event for it on Instagram. I figured we had the night off,” he shrugged.

She smiled. “That’s really sweet, thank you Harry. This is nice,” she admitted and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Harry was grateful that she liked his surprise. “I think I’m not quite up to snuff. My hair and makeup should have been a little bit... more done up for this place.”

“Y’look perfect, Rookie. Seriously. Prettier than all the art on the walls,” he winked at her. She laughed softly and shook her head at him. “Tell me ‘bout the stuff y’see. I like art, but m’not sure what m’supposed to be seeing,” he murmured to her.

Harry could feel her grinning beside him. She was so pretty in her element. She was gorgeous all dolled up, but Harry really did prefer her in his jersey. Or even her regular rink outfit. That’s where he thought she was prettier than anything else. “Another lesson?” She asked.

“Think y’owe me one for the skating lessons, yeah? I know how t’make hot chocolate now.”

“You can see whatever you want to see, Harry. That’s the beauty of art. It’s individualized.”

“Yeah... but I know there’s supposed t’be a purpose—artist intent or whatever, right?” He may have Googled some lingo over the last couple days in anticipation of taking her. She smirked.

“Yes...” she smiled. “Alright, but you have to tell me what you see before I give you the lowdown,” she shrugged.

The place was filled with beautiful art. Photos, paintings, sculptures. There was a multitude of media and an abundance of people. There was a quiet humming from people milling about. If Harry received any stares from being recognized, he didn’t acknowledge them. For a while it was just the two of them, eating small yummy hors d’oeuvres, sipping wine, and giggling quietly about the artwork.

“What’s your favorite so far?” She asked.

As the night wore on, Harry continued to fall harder and harder for how passionate she was about all things art. The way she spoke about photos, color, angles, and perspective had him in awe. She was so interesting. Undeniably knowledgeable. The way she viewed a painting in multiple ways at once was fascinating.

“Oh, I don’t know, Rookie. There’s so much talent here. M’not sure I could choose. What’s yours?”

“I loved the beachscapes over there,” she tilted her head toward the other side of the room where a series of photos capturing the same spot of a beach over the course of a year lined a section of the wall. “The beach is so pretty.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Are you hungry for more than these little bites?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Always, Rookie. Y’don’t have t’kid ‘bout that.”

She smirked. “We could stop and get takeout on the way home?” She offered.

He nodded with a smile. “Are you having fun?” He asked.

“Tons, thank you. This is really lovely.”

Harry smiled proudly. “Y’know, Rookie, love, y’should work in a museum giving tours.”

She smirked sadly. “It doesn’t pay well, but that would be the dream. Or to own a studio,” she shrugged.

“A studio,” he repeated.

“Yeah. Something for people to create. Host gallery nights like this,” she sighed dreamily. “My family was a little skeptical of my art degree. I’m in my suffering artist phase right now,” she explained.

Harry opened his mouth to speak again but before he could respond his name was shouted from across the room. “Harry Styles!”

“Even at an art gallery with people who mostly know next to nothing about hockey, there are people who know you,” she shook her head in disbelief and sipped her wine. Harry chuckled, took her hand in place of it remaining on his arm and tugged her alongside him.

“Mr. Howard,” Harry nodded. “Pleasure to see you,” he used his freehand to shake. “This is my friend, Charlie’s niece,” he gestured introducing her and she was surprised to hear him say friend. She figured Harry was apt to make a girlfriend joke. But she didn’t recognize the man so perhaps he wouldn’t have taken kindly to Harry’s antics. “Mr. Howard owns the Polar Bears team,” Harry explained.

“Nice to meet you. You’re having a great season. I thought it was a shame Ray and Charlie didn’t steal Damon Winters before you got him in the draft. He's going to do extremely well over the next few years,” she said sweetly, releasing Harry’s hand to shake as well. However, the second she let go of his hand it felt twenty times colder than the ice rink and she regretted it. Harry couldn’t help it, he smiled with pride of his cute crush who knew so much about hockey and looked like a model. She was the entire package and Harry was lucky to be standing beside her.

The older man chuckled his eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’ll be sure to tell Charlie all about how he should have you on the scouting team the next time I see him... I figured you must be the star of the show,” the older man smiled sweetly. “We were just discussing who was going to go home with your work.”

She tilted her head and blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, Mr. Howard, you must have me mistaken with someone else. I don’t have work in this show.”

“So modest,” he smirked. “Harry, you saw it, right?”

“Uh... yeah,” he chuckled awkwardly and put a hand on her lower back, the warmth returning instantly. “We hadn’t made it over t’that side of the show yet,” he smirked. She turned to look at Harry, in utter surprise.

“What are you—”

“Oh, I won’t spoil the fun, then. Nice to meet you, love. Harry, try not to take out my whole team next week,” he smiled and sauntered the other way.

“What’s he talking about?”

“Oh, who knows,” Harry shrugged.

“Harry, stop it. Seriously.”

“S’not a big deal, Rookie.”

“What did he mean my stuff was in the show?”

Harry sighed and sipped the last of his drink. “I may have... submitted your hockey series.”

“You what?!” She pulled away from him and turned so they were looking at one another head on. Her eyes were wild but beautiful. Her face froze in surprise. “Why—how did—when...? Harry! What did you do?”

“Well, I did see this gallery on Instagram. I reached out and asked if they were taking submissions. They said it depended on the quality, to be honest. It’s not exactly amateur hour here.”

“Harry my stuff is amat—”

He ignored her and interrupted before she could finish her incorrect thought. “I sent a couple from the series and they immediately wanted to put it up,” Harry continued. “S’no big deal. Y’had it all numbered, I jus’ needed t’print it and put it in frames. I brought some of your extras too because they liked the idea so much. Then I jus’ invited some people I know in the league.”

She put a hand to her mouth. “Harry...”

“Are you mad?” He asked in shock. “Rookie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean t’upset you. I jus’ wanted t’show y’how talented you are. But y’won’t take m’word for it. Thought if y’saw how much people loved it that didn’t know you, y’would believe me. Believe in yourself.”

“Where is it?” She whispered. Her eyes turned glossy, and Harry felt like shit for making her upset.

“Rookie, I’m sor—”

“Where?”

“It’s right over—” He gestured vaguely to the left of the room. She marched over in her pretty shoes. Harry followed after her feeling like a dick for doing it without her permission. In his head, she was going to be overjoyed. Happy. Harry sucked at predicting her emotions. This was almost as bad as making her unintentionally jealous.

“Charlie is lucky to have a talented niece like you on the team to take pictures like this,” was the first thing he heard as he approached.

“Are you selling this? It would look great in the entrance of the rink.”

“The Chargers should pay you more.”

“Do you want to come work for The Titans? We’ll pay you more.”

Behind the Bench from Behind the Lens was typed neatly in bold and on the frame to the left of the group of photos that constituted as her series. The eye followed it naturally, from the locker room to the empty rink, to the pile of ice. The scoreboard. All of it flowing beautifully like it was a dance.

She thanked everyone for their compliments. She gave out her number, happy to sell her pictures. Each person barely noticed Harry’s presence as she networked and looked at her photos in awe. “Charlie couldn’t make it?” Mr. Howard asked.

“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Harry shrugged finally reminding the people he knew from work of his presence.

“Oh Harry, I forgot you were here,” he chuckled. “She’s talented, hmm?”

“Extremely,” Harry put his hand on her back again as he gushed proudly over her. Not that it was his job to do so or his right, but it wasn’t going to stop him from doing so. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m not really an art gallery kind of man, but my wife happened to see the pictures you sent and said they were stunning,” he smiled. “You’ve got quite the eye, love.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice full of gratitude.

As soon as Mr. Howard left, Harry caught the arm of a caterer. Before she could ask him more questions about how he got her work in the show. “Excuse me, Miss,” Harry asked the waitress carrying a tray around. “Would y‘mind taking a couple of pictures for us?”

“Of course!” The woman smiled taking Harry’s phone. “These photos are stunning. Did you do them?” She asked.

“She did,” Harry wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her toward him. “Smile, Rookie. I know y’don’t get in front of the camera much,” he smirked. The waitress was kind to take several shots of the pair of them. It felt nice to hold her like she was all hers. He enjoyed making her feel like she was a star because she was.

After several photos and more praise from onlookers, the gallery was finishing up. As everyone started to leave, other artists were taking their items off the wall. Harry stood beside her, gazing at her work as they had looked at everyone else’s. “Tell me, Rookie,” he whispered softly. “What are we looking at?”

She swallowed. “Um... You first.”

“I see love in a sport that’s violent.”

“Love is pretty violent sometimes,” she whispered back.

Harry turned to look at her as she gazed at her own photos. The awe on her face was priceless. Harry wished he had his own fancy camera to capture how perfect she looked. “Love isn’t violent, Bunny. Maybe the way it feels inside is violent. But love isn’t supposed to be violent.”

“You put pictures in an art gallery for me,” her eyes filled with tears. She put a hand to her chest. Her pretty elegant chest draped in a black fabric from a dress that Harry bought for her (on sale) so they could match and because he knew she would hate an expensive one.

“I think you’re incredible, Rookie. Should be earning millions for your talent,” he was certain he could watch her for the rest of time. “Look how talented you are,” he put a hand on her shoulder.

She turned into his chest, sniffling and crying into her hands against his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she croaked.

“Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “Aw, Bunny, this is a good thing!”

“Harry it’s so sweet,” she wiped her eyes. “So supportive. I never—” her voice cut off and she sucked her breath in shakily.

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Harry knew what she meant. She never had the support Harry was offering. The frames had to have cost hundreds of dollars. The time to put them all up had to have taken up some of his precious time from hanging out with the guys along with who knew how many emails he sent to get the owners of hockey teams and media specialists out to this small showing.

Harry cupped the back of her head and leaned forward to press his lips to her ear. “Rookie, I believe in you. Always,” this was easily one of his favorite ways to hold her. Even though it only happened while she cried. And she had only cried on the plane where he got to hold her like this as well. She didn’t cry often, but his strong girl letting the tears flow every now and again made him feel happy she was willing to be vulnerable with him. “Did I do okay, Bunny?” He asked, she could hear the smile in his voice.

She nodded and smiled sadly. “Pucking perfect.”

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eclipixels · 2 days ago

Text

Payback

Sylus x reader

Content: You don't like Sylus allowing other girls to flirt with him, so you take matters into your own hands to get back at him

A/N: pt.1 pt.2

[2,911 words]

You sat with Sylus at the bar, your head resting against his shoulder, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air around you. The two of you had arrived earlier than most, and now, as you watched the slow trickle of people filtering in, you couldn’t help but think that maybe Sylus had been right, you should have waited a little longer before coming.

With a soft sigh, you sat up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m gonna go use the bathroom, okay?" you murmured, your fingers lightly squeezing his arm before you slipped away toward the restroom.

The momentary break was meant to be nothing, just a quick trip before returning to his side. But when you emerged, your heart nearly stopped.

A woman stood dangerously close to him, tilting her head in that familiar, flirtatious way as she batted her lashes. The dim lighting of the bar only made the moment more intimate, more insufferable. Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, she leaned in, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you weren’t meant to hear, something that sent a searing pang of jealousy straight through you.

Did you really believe him when he told you that you were the only woman he wanted? That he never entertained temptation? That he never strayed, even when countless women threw themselves at him?

You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But watching this unfold, watching him stand there and allow her to linger, to bask in his presence without a single sign of dismissal—it gnawed at you. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t flirting back or even paying her much attention. The fact that he didn’t push her away, that he allowed these moments to exist at all, was what truly got under your skin.

And who could blame her for being drawn to him? Sylus looked effortlessly breathtaking in his tailored black Versace suit, the sleek fabric clinging to him in all the right ways. He exuded confidence, mystery, an untouchable charm that made heads turn the moment he stepped into a room. If you were in her position, wouldn’t you want a man like him to look at you the way you wished he only looked at you?

But why? Why couldn’t he make it clear that he was unavailable, that there was no room for anyone else in his orbit? The questions burned in your mind, threatening to spill over into words you weren’t sure you were ready to say aloud.

Because no matter how much you trusted him, doubt had a way of creeping in like a shadow in the night. And right now, standing there, watching her linger in his space… that shadow felt all-consuming.

"You okay?" a voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to find yourself looking at some guy. Tall, effortlessly good-looking, with a broody, mysterious air that made him stand out.

"I'm completely awesome. Just having the time of my life," you replied with a smirk, the sarcasm practically dripping from your words. "I mean, you agree, right? I am awesome. You know what? Don't even answer that."

He gave you a small smile, the kind that was just barely there but still managed to be annoyingly charming. "As much as I’ve heard about you, you're more than just awesome."

Your drunken mind barely registered the comment or who exactly had been talking about you. But if he had heard things, well, hopefully, they were good things. He had this whole mysterious, darkly intriguing vibe, and if you weren’t so hopelessly in love with Sylus, maybe—just maybe—something could have happened.

"Do you wanna dance?" you asked impulsively, tilting your head at him.

His eyes widened slightly, as if the question had caught him off guard. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said, his voice polite yet firm.

Seriously, what was it with men not wanting to dance with you today? You were an amazing dancer.

"And why exactly wouldn't it be appropriate?" you teased, grabbing his arm before he could protest and pulling him toward the dance floor. Not that you were trying to make Sylus jealous or anything. But, you know, if it happened organically, you wouldn’t be opposed.

"Just relax. It's just a dance," you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him a little closer. You giggled as he let out a small breath, clearly debating whether to just go with it or keep resisting.

Then, as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, the music shifted into something slow and romantic, one of those songs you'd never heard before but could already tell was meant for lovers lost in each other’s arms.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see if that woman was still talking to Sylus.

"You know," your dance partner said after a moment, "I learned how to waltz once. It’s been a few years, though."

You chuckled, tilting your head at him. "Oh yeah? Think you still got it?"

He smirked slightly. "Guess we’re about to find out."

For a fleeting second, you felt Sylus’s gaze burning into you from across the room. You could almost hear the unspoken words in his stare. But you ignored it. To hell with him.

The two of you danced so flawlessly, so effortlessly, that the energy in the room shifted. People took notice. Whispers spread, eyes turned. But you didn’t care. For the first time tonight, you were simply having fun.

Then, with a fluid motion, he twirled you around, sending a rush of exhilaration through your veins before pulling you back into his arms. And finally, the grand finish—a dip, deep and dramatic. The moment lingered as you locked eyes with him, your breath slightly ragged from the movement.

A slow smile spread across your face as you straightened up. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” you admitted, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

"I'm glad I could make that happen," he replied, his own smile warm and genuine.

Before you could say anything else, the sound of clapping caught your attention. You turned to see Wanda and Tara grinning at you, their faces full of approval and amusement.

“You were amazing!” Tara cheered, her excitement practically radiating off her.

Your dance partner chuckled, then took a small step back. “You should go join your friends,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Besides, I wouldn’t want any trouble for you.”

And just like that, he turned to leave.

A frown crept onto your face. His words confused you. What kind of trouble? He was fun to be around, easy to talk to. You had a feeling that if nothing else, the two of you could have been good friends. But he was gone before you could ask.

The thrill of dancing, the lightness of the moment—it all started to fade as the weight of reality crashed back down. For a little while, the music, the movement, the laughter had made you forget. Forget about Sylus. Forget about the ache in your chest.

But now? Now, it all came rushing back.

You forced a smile as you said goodnight to Tara and your other hunter friends. They wanted you to stay, to shake off the sadness, but you were drained. Completely and utterly exhausted.

All you wanted was to be alone. To cry in peace.

And you didn’t care how you got home.

Stepping outside, the cool night air did little to soothe the fire burning inside you. But as if the universe hadn’t tormented you enough tonight, there he was—Sylus, leaning against his motorcycle, waiting.

The last person you wanted to see right now.

At least he wasn’t with her.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, voice sharper than intended.

At the sound of your voice, he turned his head, his expression unreadable—until his eyes met yours. Then, just like that, his gaze hardened.

"The real question is, what the hell were you doing in there? With that guy?" His tone was sharp, laced with something that almost sounded like jealousy.

God. The sheer audacity.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "It's called dancing, Sylus. You know, that thing people do when they're having fun?" You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. "And honestly? The hypocrisy is commendable. Really."

His brows furrowed. "The hypocrisy? What’s gotten into you, Y/N?"

Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the adrenaline crashing. Maybe it was the way your heart still ached from watching him with her. But something inside you cracked.

"You know what? You’re right. I knew what I was getting into with you," you admitted, voice shaking, "but I can’t do it anymore."

His expression faltered for the first time, but you didn’t let him speak.

"Is this even a relationship to you, Sylus? Or am I just someone you’re fooling around with until you get bored?" The words came out harsher than you expected, but you didn’t care.

For a moment, silence hung between you like a storm waiting to break.

Then, something in his face changed. The sharpness faded, replaced with something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

Hurt?

"Is that what you really think of me?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. "Of us?"

You swallowed hard, but he didn’t stop.

"Is that what you think I’m doing?" He took a step forward, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere to be seen. "Just stringing you along until I get bored?"

The way he said it made your chest tighten, but you wouldn’t let him turn this around on you.

You stepped back, refusing to let your resolve waver.

"That’s how you made me feel today, Sylus," you snapped, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you had held in. "You made me feel used. You made me feel small—like I was nothing compared to her. Like she mattered to you, and I didn’t."

Your lips quivered as you tried to hold back the lump forming in your throat, but the words wouldn’t stop now.

"You can’t let the most gorgeous woman in the room flirt with you, throw it in my face, and then expect me to just stand there and not care," you choked out, barely recognizing your own voice—raw, broken, angry.

Sylus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. You knew that. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. And maybe he hadn’t been ready for this confrontation, but neither were you—you hadn’t asked for this heartbreak.

"She means nothing to me, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "And she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman in the room."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah? That’s funny, considering how easily you let her hang all over you."

His jaw tightened. "Don’t use that tone with me, Y/N."

And that—that—set you off completely.

"Fuck off, Sylus," you spat, stepping back, fire burning behind your eyes. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act jealous then get mad when I get the same way."

As soon as the words left your mouth, Sylus closed the distance between you in an instant, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was rough, desperate, and possessive. He had heard enough. He couldn’t lose you like this. He wouldn’t let it happen.

You wanted to fight back, wanted to push him away, wanted to scream at him for how much he had hurt you tonight—but you didn’t. Instead, you gave in. You kissed him back with just as much fire, all the jealousy, anger, and pain pouring into the way your lips moved against his. You wanted to rip his hair out, but at the same time, you wanted to fuck him senseless.

His hands gripped your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him. He walked forward until your back hit the wall, trapping you between the cool surface and the warmth of his body. A sharp gasp left your lips as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him. His mouth was on you in an instant, lips and teeth marking you, sucking deep enough to leave bruises. His marks.

He wasn’t the only jealous one tonight.

Watching you dance, hearing you laugh so freely with that guy—it had made something primal snap inside him. He wanted to be the one spinning you around, holding you in his arms, making you smile like that. He wanted to be the man who made you happy.

His hands slid under your dress, gripping your ass roughly as he pressed his hips forward, grinding against you. You gasped at the friction, a moan slipping from your lips as you felt how hard he was through his jeans. You wrapped your legs around him tighter, rolling your hips against his, desperate for something to ease the ache between your legs. You were frustrated, upset, and so fucking turned on all at once.

Then, before you could stop it, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

Sylus stilled.

He heard the soft, broken sob escape your lips, and his chest tightened. His hands, which had been gripping you so possessively just moments ago, suddenly softened their hold. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing evened out.

His thumb brushed the tear from your cheek before he pressed a tender kiss there, his lips lingering. And then, slowly, he set you back down onto your feet.

The loss of contact made you shiver, but you weren’t ready for this moment to end—not like this.

“I'm so absolutely sorry for how I made you feel tonight.”

“I just wish you would push those women away, why don’t you do that?” Your lips quivered. His heart broke, how could he make you feel this way? He was mad at himself.

“I didn’t think it mattered. I thought you already knew I loved you.” He admits, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner how much it hurt you.

“Still, it hurts seeing them flirt with you and you do nothing.”

“I am sincerely sorry my love, I promise, I won’t let it happen anymore.” He closes the distance between you two. He wraps his arms around you tightly "you're my weakness y/n, I never wanted to have one but then you came along.”

“You’re mine, okay?” You say firmly.

"I am yours. So beautiful you are, the prettiest. I love the dress princess" he kisses your forehead

"Thank you love, I got it in your color" you smile.

"I know but It would look better on the floor” He grins wickedly. Oh my god, you really are stuck with him now.

“Don’t think I’m forgiving you that easily, though,” you said, your voice firm, your expression stern.

Sylus paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, but he masked it quickly. “What do I have to do?”

You took a step closer to him, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Beg.”

His brows furrowed, and he blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What? You can’t be serious.”

You leaned in, your gaze locking with his, a challenge in your eyes. “You heard me. On your knees. Beg me to forgive you.”

His lips parted, but he didn’t immediately comply. “Y/n–”

Before he could say anything else, you shoved him gently but firmly, guiding him to the ground. The sudden action had his breath hitching, but he quickly found his footing, settling on his knees in front of you. He looked up at you, his gaze filled with something between defiance and desperation.

His thighs flexed as he kneaded his jaw, eyes narrowing in thought. Then, he finally spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Please forgive me, darling. I am so fucking sorry.”

You raised an eyebrow, not satisfied with the apology.

Sylus let out a soft groan, his hands resting on his thighs, looking up at you with a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. “I’m so, so sorry.” His voice dropped an octave, heavy with regret.

And still, something in you wanted more.

The sincerity in his eyes pulled at something deep inside you, but you weren’t ready to let him off that easy. "I want to hear you say it. I want to hear how much I mean to you. I want to know that you won't let this happen again."

His breath hitched as his hands moved to the floor for support, his body leaning slightly toward you as if instinctively reaching for you, aching for you. “I won’t let it happen again, I swear to you. I won’t make the same mistake. Please, Y/n, forgive me. I can’t lose you. You mean everything to me.”

You could see the desperation in his eyes now, the plea for you to believe him.

"That’s better," you said, nodding slowly. "But words are just that. Show me."

He lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked back up at you, his posture shifting as if he was preparing to give you all of him. And he did just that, all night long. You drained the life out of him, not stopping until you were satisfied.

#sylus #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x mc #sylus love and deepspace #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus qin #love and deepspace #lnds #l&ds

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whor3ing · 22 hours ago

Text

𝑺𝒂𝒚 𝑰𝒕 𝑨𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 2 | 𝑪.𝑺

Chris Sturniolo! x f!reader

WARNINGS : part two of three, build-up for part three!, lots of dirty talk and degradation, sexting, guiding you through touching yourself, edging, on camera, usage of slut & good girl, “not gonna let you come until i fuck you in every position you wrote about”

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

IN WHICH.. You meet Chris Sturniolo at a meet-and-greet, where a seemingly innocent interaction quickly turns into something more backstage. Later that evening, you post about the experience on your Tumblr blog, never expecting that Chris would find it.

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

part one -

word count : 4.2k ♡

03 : The Lines We Cross

Chris loved to watch. He always had.

There was something about seeing people’s reactions, their faces when they saw him, how their eyes lit up or how they’d nervously glance away when they thought he wasn’t paying attention.

But it wasn’t just that. It was hearing what people thought, the things they whispered to their friends when they thought no one else was listening, the conversations they had always thought were private. He loved finding those stray comments left in corners of the internet, the ones meant to be secret, buried in obscure threads or hidden behind quiet profiles.

Those were the ones that had always turned him on the most.

The raw, unfiltered thoughts. The fantasies that people felt safe sharing in the quiet anonymity of a post or a comment. The way they imagined him, how they saw him, how they wanted him.

It was a kind of power, knowing how much he affected people without even trying. And it turned him on like nothing else, feeding into a part of him that thrived on attention, even if it was just the private thoughts of strangers.

It was late, and Chris had just finished editing a new video they’d posted. He always liked to check what people thought, maybe it was simply just part of his curiosity, but to him, there was something about seeing how others reacted to him that got under his skin in the best possible way.

He leaned back in his chair, phone in hand, his messy brown hair falling loosely around his face, eyes still bright from hours of work.

His dark hoodie was pulled over his head, the sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos creeping down his arms. His jawline was sharp, barely shadowed from a day’s worth of stubble, and he ran a hand over his face, rubbing the exhaustion away.

Chris sighed, his thumb already drifting through the familiar apps. He knew these platforms like the back of his hand—each one a rabbit hole he could fall into without thinking twice.

Maybe that was the excitement of it all, the root of the exhibitionist streak he had, the way he could get lost in the endless scroll and always find something new that pulled him even deeper, that exposed parts of him even further.

As he scrolled through Tumblr, he was looking for the usual conversation about the triplets—reactions, gifs, the fiction that people always posted after something new dropped.

He loved that feeling. the way his name popped up all over the place, the way people shared their thoughts with each other in their own little world. It was all intoxicating to Chris, knowing that people were thinking about him, imagining him, even when he wasn’t around.

But what he craved the most was the raw, unfiltered content. The things people didn’t say to his face, the fantasies they kept hidden behind screens.

That was the real goldmine.

His thumb moved lazily as he skimmed through the posts, eyes flicking over the familiar reactions, the endless stream of comments. He’d seen it all before—people gushing about him and his brothers, the usual fanfics filling up the tags.

But then, something caught his eye.

A post buried among the rest, a fanfiction published just last night.

“Say It Again | C.S”

It wasn’t the title that stopped him, though. It was the synopsis :

“A moment backstage. A conversation that wasn’t supposed to happen. But once it did, it didn’t stop. Not when he had her alone. Not when he begged her to say it again.”

He leaned forward slightly in his chair, running his fingers through his tousled brown hair, his breath catching as his eyes darted over the post.

His fingers twitched, itching to scroll, but something made him hesitate, his eyes flicked back to the screen, the words sinking in.

He’d read the post over twice, and it still felt too real. Too familiar.

The way the writer had described it—the setting, the way he touched her, the words he whispered against her skin—it wasn’t just fantasy. It was a memory.

This wasn’t just some random fanfiction.

It was about him.

And it was about you, backstage with him that day.

His chest tightened as his mind replayed those moments: the look in your eyes when you followed him, the way your body had responded when he had leaned in just a little too close.

The feeling of you against his fingers and the taste of you on his tongue, the words he had whispered in your ear, the way your breath had caught in your throat when the voices of both Matt and Nick had gotten too close behind the closed door.

The post was an exact reflection of that energy, only this time, it was laid bare for anyone to see. The casual mention of everything that wasn’t supposed to happen—it was a perfect summary of how it felt to be backstage with him, how

But it wasn’t just the words that were affecting him. It was the way the whole thing had been written, the details that only someone who had been there could know.

And damn, it turned him on. The way you had captured it all, the tension, the rawness, the way you made it sound like he was desperate, wanting more from you than he would ever admit.

Rereading everything, he could practically feel the heat of your body next to his, it felt like he was with you all over again, his fingers buried deep inside of you.

Every word pulled him further into the scene. And the thought of you putting it all out there, writing it for the world to see, it made him ache for you all over again.

His grip on his phone tightened, his breath coming quicker. He shouldn’t be this turned on by it, but he was. The way you wrote about him, about that night, about what he had done to you, it was overwhelming.

Chris licked his lips, shifting slightly in his chair, he could feel his erection growing with every word, every piece of dialogue you had written.

His mind raced with the possibilities—had you written this for yourself? For your followers?

Or had you known, deep down, that he would find it?

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he exhaled sharply, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. He could ignore it, pretend he never saw it. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Instead, he clicked your profile. And started reading more.

Your blog was a mix of reblogs, random thoughts, and text posts that made him smirk. But beneath all that, there were more. More fiction. More posts. More words that you had written—about him.

Some posts were vague, little snippets of thoughts, things you wanted, things you imagined.

Others? They were just like the first one. Detailed. Explicit. And all about him.

Fuck.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

The way you described him, the things you wanted him to do to you—it was like you had cracked open his skull and pulled the thoughts straight from his own head. It was addicting to him, the way you saw him, the way you wrote about him like he was something to be devoured.

Chris dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he felt his body fill with absolute heat. His chest was tight, his jaw locked.

The worst part, or the best part—was that you had no idea he was reading this. That he was sitting here, taking in every filthy word you had written with his name on your tongue.

And he wasn’t just reading. He was remembering everything about you.

Chris let out a low breath, his pulse hammering in his ears as he scrolled further, devouring every little piece of you that you had left behind.

Did you have any idea what you were doing to him?

Did you know how badly he wanted to ruin you all over again?

His cock throbbed at the thought, pressing hard against the fabric of his sweats, his other hand drifting to hold the outline of his bulge with his hand.

Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to get to him like this, but it did.

His grip on his phone tightened, fingers flexing against the cool metal as he exhaled sharply. He could keep scrolling, keep reading, keep getting lost in the way you saw him, how you imagined him. But that wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Chris wasn’t just some idea in your head. He wasn’t just a fantasy to be written about and reblogged.

He was real, and you had already felt that once.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, jaw tightening as his free hand dragged over his thigh, a slow exhale leaving him.

He needed more.

His thumb hovered over the message button, pulse roaring in his ears.

This was a line he shouldn’t cross. He knew that.

But he had already crossed it, hadn’t he? That day, backstage, the moment he had slipped his fingers inside of you. Besides, he wasn't done with you—not even close.

And now, after reading all of this—seeing how much you wanted him, how much you still thought about him—how the fuck was he supposed to stop himself?

04: Anonymous Desire

You were lying in bed, the soft hum of traffic outside the window blending with the distant sounds of the city night. The warmth of your comforter cocooned you, and your body felt heavy, unwinding after the long, tiring day.

You were in an oversized T-shirt, the fabric soft against your skin, and a pair of cotton shorts that barely brushed the tops of your thighs. It was comfortable, casual—exactly what you needed to relax. Your feet were bare, the cool sheets brushing against your skin.

Your phone rested in your hand, the screen lighting up briefly as you scrolled through your Tumblr feed. A few reblogs, some random posts, the usual stuff.

The low sound of a car engine echoed through the window, mingling with the distant beeps of a passing horn. You were half-zoning out when your phone buzzed with a notification.

You didn’t expect much. Probably just a random follower or an anonymous ask.But then you saw the message.

No name, no profile picture—just a strange, anonymous account.

You almost didn’t open it, figuring it was a bot. But your curiosity got the better of you, and you swiped to reveal the message.

Anonymous: I can’t believe you fucking shared this with the world. Couldn’t get me off your mind, could you?

Anonymous: Guess you just had to tell everyone how bad you wanted me.

Your stomach dropped as your eyes flew over the words, your heart skipping a beat. You couldn’t believe what you were reading. For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your fingers frozen.

What the hell?

Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of it. The words were rough, almost familiar, but that was impossible.

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine.

There was no way.

No fucking way he would have seen it.

You took a breath, almost too afraid to reply; but your fingers moved before you could think it through.

Who is this? you typed, your heart hammering in your chest.

You: "Is this some kind of joke?"

You stared at your phone, waiting for a response. Each second felt like an eternity, your pulse quickening with the uncertainty of it all.

You thought about ignoring it, maybe blocking the account, but something in the back of your mind stopped you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this message, rough and degrading as it was, meant something more.

Finally, the screen lit up again.

Anonymous: You really don’t recognize me? Been thinking about me so much and still can’t figure it out? Fuckin' pathetic.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, reading the words over and over, trying to make sense of them. The message felt so real. Too real. Your stomach churned as the pieces started to fall into place.

No. It couldn’t be.

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the racing thoughts in your head. This is insane, you told yourself. It’s not him. It can’t be. But the more you read, the more familiar it felt. The way the words twisted, the tone, no one else had known that this was real. No one but Chris.

Chris: Couldn’t stop thinking about me, could you? Had to share it, let everyone know how bad you wanted me, huh?

Your mind was racing now, his touch, the way he had tasted you on his tongue, the way he’d made you feel. It wasn’t that you hadn’t already thought about it before—it was just that now, with his words hanging in the air, everything felt different.

You: Chris?

You typed the name quickly, pressing send before you can even second guess yourself.

It felt almost like a whisper, though you were alone in your room.

You stared at the screen, waiting. Your heart racing in your chest, each second feeling like it stretched on forever. The silence in the room was suffocating, the hum of the traffic outside almost drowned out by the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

Your phone lit up again.

Chris: Took you long enough to figure it out. Thought you’d be smarter than that.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, a wave of heat rushing over you as the realization settled in. It was him. Chris.

He had somehow found your post, found you.

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream or just throw your phone across the room. Your fingers hovered over the screen, unsure of what to type next.

What do you even say to this?

But before you could stop yourself, another message popped up.

Chris: You think I wouldn’t see it? You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted me to see how badly you were thinking about me.

Your fingers hovered above the screen, your heart still hammering in your chest. You knew now.

It was Chris.

The way he spoke, the words he used, the way he knew exactly what had happened, there was no denying it.

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself.

You: How did you find it?

The question left your fingers without thinking, the curiosity mixed with fear and something else you didn’t want to admit.

You waited, staring at the screen, unsure of what to expect next. The seconds stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity. Then, finally, his reply came through.

Chris: How? You really didn’t think I’d find it? Thought you’d be smarter than that, huh? You’re not the only one who knows how to look around.

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could process his words, the next message hit you like a wave.

Chris: You have no fuckin' idea how turned on I am right now. God, you’re still fucking mine, my fucking slut

Chris: I bet you're soaked right now, aren't you? You can’t stop thinking about me, can you?

Chris: Well, if it’s eating at you that much, I think I should help you with that, shouldn't I?

His words dripped with a dangerous kind of confidence, making you even more soaked. He knew exactly how to make your heart race and your thoughts scatter.

There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just him, giving you a choice he knew you couldn't say no to. Chris' next messages came through quick, each one more demanding than the last.

Chris: I want you to tell me what you’re wearing right now. I need to know.

You: I’m wearing a shirt and shorts...

Chris: A shirt and shorts? That’s cute, baby

Chris: I want you to take them off. Now, do it for me and tell me when you have.

You feel your heart race as you pull your long, over-sized shirt over your head, letting it fall onto the floor over the edge of your bed, doing just as he asked. You sigh leaning back into your pillows and resting your phone onto your tits as your fingers trail down against your body, your fingertips finding the waistband of your cotton shorts,slowly pulling them down to your ankles.

You slide them off of your body, leaving them at the edge of your bed as you reach your hand back up to your phone, texting him to let him know that you have.

Chris: Good girl. Take off your panties.

You bite your lip, a rush of excitement flooding your body as your hand slides down to your panties. You slide your fingers along the elastic waistband, slowly pulling them down your legs. As they hit the floor, you quickly text Chris to let him know you've done as he asked.

Chris: Now, show me. Send me a picture of yourself, just like that.

You feel a thrill run through you as you grab your phone again, your fingers trembling slightly with excitement as you open the camera app.

Laying back down, you position the phone just right, your legs parted slightly as you trace your fingers over your bare skin, your soaked pussy on full display for him. You make sure the shot captures just enough, from your hips, to your breasts, to your slick folds, the soft glow of the light accentuating your exposed body.

Your breath is shallow as you press send, waiting for his response.

It's been less than a minute when your phone buzzes with a notification. You hesitate for a moment before opening the message, your pussy completely soaked with anticipation and desire, all for him.

Chris: That’s what I like to see. You’re such a good fuckin' slut for me, always listening so good..

Chris : Fuck..ma, that sloppy pretty pussy—god I should've just filled you up with them right outside that stupid fuckin' door.

Chris: You're such a slutty tease. Now play with those pretty tits for me.

It's almost like you can hear him groaning in your ears again, like you can hear him whispering all of this filth straight in your ears all over again. The memory alone has heat pooling in your stomach, has your breath coming out uneven as you reach for your phone with shaky fingers.

You prop it up in front of you, angling the camera just right—just enough to put your body on display for him for when you send this to him.

Your skin is flushed, your lips slightly parted as you hesitate for only a second before pressing record. The red light blinks back at you, and it feels dangerous, feels dirty, but you don’t stop, you've wanted him for so long now, that you can't.

You reach up, slowly pulling down your shirt, revealing your perfect breasts to the camera. You cup them both in your hands, gently squeezing and massaging them as you watch yourself on the screen, pretending he's watching you, live.

The texts on the other end of the phone fall silent for a moment, Chris' words coming to a halt, probably because his hands are occupied, rubbing against his bulge as he closes his eyes, imagining you.

You can't help but let out a small moan as you continue to play with your own tits, your fingers slick with your own saliva tracing circles around your hardened nipples.

You know if Chris was there he would massage them too, his hands pulling at your skin, rubbing against their shape as he looked up at you.

The thought sends shivers down your spine. You can almost feel his breath on your neck, his other hand roaming lower, cupping your ass, maybe gliding along your hips all while his tongue twirls around your nipples.

Your fingers continue to tease your nipples, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers as you imagine Chris' touch, while you watch yourself in the reflection of the camera.

Your phone buzzes with a notification, the sound making you glance up to the top of your screen.

Chris: Are you fuckin' doing it for me..? hmm... my pretty writer?

Chris: Rub that pretty pussy for me baby, cmon show me how needy you are, all for me, think about how it felt when it was my hands on that clit.. when it was my touch driving you insane instead of your own.

Your heart races as you obey his command, sliding your fingers down your stomach slowly, feeling every inch of your own body.

Whimpering, your hands move down your body, gliding against your inner thighs, skimming along the skin of your abdomen.

You gasp as your hands dip lower, feel the wetness of your pussy against your fingertips. You start to rub your clit, circling it gently at first, then harder and faster as your hands explore your slick folds.

You moan loudly, your back arching as you push your hips forward, seeking more contact with your fingers as you watch yourself on the screen.

Chris: God I wish I could hear you ma.. slip those fuckin' fingers in there and rub that slutty pussy at the same time for me..

You feel yourself whimper as your fingers push into your cunt, the walls of your soaking wet pussy convulsing around them, squeezing your fingers tight.

The slick sounds fill your quiet room, mixing with your ragged breaths, the camera catching it all.

Your free hand grips the sheets, knuckles turning white as you slowly fuck yourself open to his instructions, curling your fingers just right to skim along your g-spot, just the way you imagine he would.

Your eyes flutter shut, and in your mind, it’s not your fingers—it’s his. His long, thick vein-covered fingers stretching you open, his voice low and taunting in your ear, just as it was when he fucked you with his fingers backstage that day.

Your fingers continue to fill up your cunt when your phone vibrates again, Chris' anonymous profile filling the top of the screen with his next message.

You close out of the camera app, ending the video as your eyes scan over his messages.

Chris: So fucking desperate for me, huh?

Chris: I should've fuckin' made you suck this cock when I had you, could've left all of my come on your tongue, on your tits.. I fuckin' need you again, I need to fuck open that sweet pussy of yours ..

Your phone buzzes beside you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You don’t stop—can’t stop—your fingers still buried deep inside yourself as you reach for it with your free hand. The second you open it, a sharp gasp slips past your lips.

Chris fucking Sturniolo.

The picture loads slowly, teasingly, and when it finally appears, your breath catches in your throat. His hand—those hands—are the first thing you notice.

Big, veiny, the tendons flexing as he holds his phone, his fingers curled just enough to remind you of how they’d feel wrapped around your throat, gripping your hips, stretching you open.

Your eyes drift lower, taking in the his chest—bare, toned, his skin smooth except for the faintest dusting of hair trailing down his stomach. His abs are sharp, defined, every muscle visible under the dim lighting.

Chris: This what you wanted?

Your fingers falter, slowing inside your dripping cunt as you stare at the message, at the picture. Your breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, but you can’t look away. His hands, his chest, his abs—he looks so fucking good, and he knows it.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, mind racing for something to say, something that won’t make you sound as desperate as you feel. But before you can type a response, another message pops up.

Chris: Fucking slut

A shaky breath leaves you, thighs instinctively pressing together, your hand inside of your pussy slowing, barely moving inside of you.

He’s right. He has to know he’s right. Because you are—dripping, your fingers slick and sticky from how turned on you are.

Your free hand tightens in the sheets, frustration and need burning under your skin. He’s teasing you, making you squirm uncontrollably, and you hate how easily he does it, how easily he gets under your skin, makes you fall apart with just a picture and a few words.

But two can play at that game.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you scroll through your camera roll, your thumb hesitating for only a second before tapping on the video—the one you’d recorded earlier, the one where you had put yourself on full display, fucking yourself to his directions.

The read receipt pops up almost instantly.

And then—

Chris: Fuck.

A smirk tugs at your lips, satisfaction curling in your stomach. You type back, fingers still trembling.

You: This what you wanted?

Your body is on fire, as your fingers move inside of you faster, your walls tightening around them as you fuck yourself to the thought of him, to the way you know he’s watching that video over and over, stroking himself to the sight of you falling apart.

Your phone vibrates again, another message from him lighting up your screen.

Chris: Bet you're close..huh? my naughty fuckin' girl.

Your fingers slow, your body trembling on the edge, so fucking close it hurts. You’re right there, so close to falling apart when your phone buzzes again.

Another message.

Chris: Don’t fucking cum.

Your breath hitches, a frustrated whimper slipping from your lips. Your body protests, thighs clenching, every muscle screaming for release.

Chris: Unless you wanna do it alone.

Fuck.

Your fingers freeze inside yourself, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

He’s toying with you, toying with your soaking pussy, dragging this out, making you suffer—and you hate how much you love it.

Chris: Be a good girl and stop touching that pretty pussy unless you want me to make you wait even longer, unless you never want me to help you recreate all of those fucking stories, baby.

Another buzz.

Chris: And if you keep touching yourself like you don’t belong to me, I'll know and i'll never let you fuckin' come.

Chris: That would be such a fuckin’ shame, that sweet pussy all pent up and i won’t let you come until we live out all of those posts—until i fuck you in every scenario you wrote about while i read them to you.

Your blurry vision shifts to your phone, your fingers sliding out of your clenched pussy, your stomach flipping as a new message appears. But it’s not words this time.

It’s a location, an invitation.

An address.

I'm so sorry for adding another part but I got another idea & wanted to incorporate more smut in the next part

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

thank you for reading ! ♡

lowkey might rewrite, feeling emo asf rn & rushed this

taglist - @chriss-slutt @55sturn @chrysiie @il0vey0um0st @trustinsturniolos @v4lsturn @shitttttypoet @mattsplaything @emely9274 @pip4444chris @whore4mattsturniolo @sweetshuga @courta13

@lilyloveschris @kat-m-syd @sturniolo101 @iwantchristopherowensturniolo @starzinasblog @weron1ka @ellssturn @ifilwtmfc @sturnispider @matts-girlfriend @spinninnn @urfavvbilliemunch

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miscmeanderings · 3 days ago

Text

I saw some posts talking about how it was narratively obvious Benitez would be pope but I really dismissed it around Act 2 because of how compelling Lawrence's arc was. Exactly the things that OP talks about! The doubt that keeps him humble and penitent, the fluctuating between keeping and breaking rules, the gossiping yet not wanting to gossip. He is a man perpetually torn between naive virtue and necessary vice and through it all in service of a higher ideal and a damn fine circus ringleader to boot. And to me the moment he admits he has thought of his name is, yes, an admission of pride but it is also a cathartic moment of honesty (virtue!) and acceptance of a new, possibly god-ordanined responsibility. What I am lord but a tool to do your bidding. Him becoming Pope felt like the natural climax of his story and the tensions between earthly temple and divine inspiration that the whole movie had fought with. Here is a man who wrestles with one and earnestly seeks (albeit not successfully he feels) the other. Who better to be Pope?!?

And then of course it turns out there is one better, one who has lived that tension as deeply, but, perhaps unlike Lawrence, turned the focus of their pain to service of the least and the most lost in the hardest of places. Someone who has loved deeper and more selflessly than Lawrence is able even though perhaps they may lack other... administrative skills.

It does raise an interesting question about what matters most is a pope's skill or their heart. The answer (perhaps) in the Christian faith is the heart of course, because it is the heart that will turn to God and ultimately he will provide the skills (or skilled people) you need. But of course God can sometimes change he heart in the man with the skills so who can tell?

Either way the ending was, for me, a surprise and yet deeply satisfying. It also doesn't obviate Lawrence's arc because I think he found a degree of hope in and for the church in his journey that he had lost. I think, he got to hear the small still voice of God/see his hand at work in the course of the Conclave and for him that was a great redemption. Becoming Pope or not was really... Secondary.

You know, one of the things I really liked about Thomas Cardinal Lawrence from Conclave is that he is that extremely rare character type in which his hypocrisy is actually a positive trait instead of a negative one.

Like throughout the whole movie he decries his flaws and the reasons why he shouldn't get the job, while propping up friends and candidates with the same vibes as him. Benitez even points it out, Lawrence has his vote because he doesn't want it, and wins for similar reasons. Lawrence gives a speech about having an imperfect Pope, one with doubts, thinking of Bellini of course and completely missing how it all applies to him. He's amazed that it was taken as a campaign speech, since he will vote for an imperfect candidate but thinks that as HE is imperfect he should not be a candidate, but why wouldn't he be to others?

He even cops to, as Bellini accused, having thought of a papal name. The script even says:

He takes the Pope's "you're a manager" comment to heart as a bad thing, but is it? The farm does need a manager, in fact the Holy Father IS an Administrator. The fact that it is a Church doesn't really change that. And like Lawrence *is* a good admin/manager, he steers the Conclave, he is a solid candidate, he gets people, he keeps his morals...

It's just. Normally hypocrite characters are that way because they are blind, willfully or not, to their flaws. Lawrence is the rare one that is a hypocrite because he is *all too aware* of his own flaws, even if he can see how they might be an asset in others, because of or despite.

#Conclave #meta

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fairestwriting · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! Hope you're doing well! I love your writing, I got so excited when I saw you're rqs were open!!!

Could i request dorm leaders w/reader who sang a break-up song while they're dating w/a happy ending? not for a performance or anything, just listening to music and singing along and a mob character passing by heard it. then suddenly there's rumors around the school saying their relationship is falling apart. the reader doesn't know. the boys don't realize that it a big misunderstanding and think that the reader might not be happy with their relationship and they desperately try to make it up to the reader.

Kind of like this one including malleus and azul https://www.tumblr.com/coralinnii/697097733985730560/singing-a-break-up-song-while-dating-feat

sry for rambling, i really love the way you write the characters, if it's too much, don't worry about! thank you!

fjfejf thank you i hope you enjoy your rq too <3 this one takes me back…. throwback sunday

(Also happy (late) valentines day everybody! i wanted to post that that on time for it but it got. so long

𐙚 Riddle Rosehearts

Ironically, you might have even shown him that song before. Riddle is pretty out of the loop, so he’s always curious about what you’re listening to. He never thought that your enjoyment of the song had anything to do with your relationship. It’s just a song, right? And at first, he thinks the exact same when the rumor arrives at him through Cater, chastising him for spreading such baseless claims.

…But it doesn’t take too long for it to get to him. And wasn’t that one of your most listened songs too? He can never remember the titles very well. His uncertainty feeds on the words of others until they make complete sense to him. If you were really happy, why would you be so obsessed with that specific song, after all? Riddle starts to pick apart his own actions, trying to find what could have made you so unhappy… And the truth is, everything is not only going well, but he probably mixed up the song from the rumor with an unrelated song you’re actually obsessed with. His entire issue is built around an impression that you’ve been secretly wallowing all this time, all due to some awful thing he’s supposedly done— Without even noticing how much he hurt you, no less.

Suddenly, when you spend time together, he’s awkwardly asking if you’re really sure that this or that is really okay, like he did when you just started dating. You ask him what’s wrong, and he quickly, awkwardly, blurts out that he heard the rumors, and he was trying to make up for his actions… And you’re just standing there, confused.

Luckily, Riddle has just enough common sense that saying his worries out loud makes him realize how frankly insane he sounds. And when he hears that he was, in fact, thinking of the wrong song, his whole face is as red as his hair. You might have to hold back some laughter as you comfort him… Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, it does feel sweet that he’s so eager to make you happy. Even if it means having to fix a huge problem he doesn’t quite understand.

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

There’s probably no shortage of rumors about your relationship. Good ones, bad ones, and a good few that were just weird— Leona says with his full chest that he thinks they’re all a waste of time, that it was just people being bored, or jealous, or both. He does wholly believe his own words. He also remembers every single thing he hears about you two.

Similar to Riddle, his initial reaction is that the rumor is just stupid. You listening to a song meant that you wanted to break up with him? Really? People must be running out of things to say, if they’re fixating on something so meaningless… And yet, he can’t keep himself from getting the urge to watch you more closely when you’re together.

Leona will die before he actually admits this rumor ever got to him, really. Even the people he overheard talking about it said it kind of seemed like a reach. He’s not about to start a conversation about it, or even openly express that some stupid bit of gossip had him so worried— But he still feels the need to watch. Do you get bored when you’re just sitting nearby while he’s supposedly sleeping? Do you look uncomfortable when he comes closer? Questions like that come up in his mind.

The answer, of course, is that you don’t. And that’s the end of it… or at least he wants to believe that. The rumor won’t come up unless you mention it, he just randomly comes off just a little softer than usual. It’d be hard for anyone to make the connection, surely Leona wouldn’t get that affected by something so silly, he said it was stupid himself. And yet, it’s still hard to miss how he visibly relaxes when you confirm that’s how you thought.

𐙚 Azul Ashengrotto

There’s all sorts of rumors going around about Azul himself, but they’re mostly just long debates on whether it’s worth getting involved with his deals or not. That’s easy enough to ignore when he has people coming in and out of the Lounge everyday. People who complain were just mad about the consequences they faced due to not reading the fineprint and all that.

This self awareness doesn’t help that much when the rumor comes to his attention, though. He’ll comment about how childish the people gossiping about you were to whoever tells him the news, but his words are hollow. Logic is already in the process of leaving his brain, entirely skipping over how ridiculous the whole thing was. It’s sudden enough to hit him with every mistake he might have made like a truck. The office door is slammed shut and locked so he go insane in peace. The thought of rumors themselves are what stands out the most. That had to be what drove you over the edge, right? Someone must have told you terrible things about him, and now you were miserable and confused and— And then he’s calling you, urgently asking for you to give him a chance to explain himself.

The whole “song” part of the rumor might as well not exist anymore. You ask him what this was all about, and he’s going on and on about how he swears whatever you heard about him wasn’t actually that bad and how he’s sorry that you’re getting caught up in all of this mess. You have no idea what it’s all about. It takes a bit of a back and forth for him to realize this. Then he’s just silent. And on instinct, as the realization hits him, he just hangs up, mortified.

You leave to go see him in person, worried or confused or amused or all of the above. You knock on his door, asking him what was up, what rumors he was talking about, he’s too embarrassed to answer for a bit. When he finally does, he looks at you so guiltily, you might even expect he’s about to make a serious confession— It does take a little effort not to giggle when he actually explains it. Insists to get you two some fancy dinner afterwards to make up for the “trouble”, no matter how much you insist you’re glad that it was just a misunderstanding.

𐙚 Kalim Al-Asim

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Kalim is actually quite used to people gossiping about him too. It doesn’t mean he’s the best at handling it, but even before deciding to work on becoming a more capable person, he was already a couple steps ahead from quite a few other people. Even compared to the other dorm leaders — or maybe, especially compared to them — he usually doesn’t have a very hard time ignoring what others say about him.

The first time he hears the rumor, it’s from a few Scarabia students whispering to each other in the corners of the dorm lounge. His first concern is calling out how rude it is to spread rumors about other people, and while he doesn’t have much of an aura of authority, people like him too much to not back off. He thought that was the end of it, and was almost succesful at fully ignoring the rumor, but he’s unlucky enough a particularly nasty someone catches on that it did bother him, despite it technically not showing on the outside.

And then it’s not just a problem, but a long running one. Because he doesn’t want to listen to people saying all those mean things about you! You’re always happy when you’re around him, there’s no way you’d be secretly holding a grudge over… what, really? You two don’t even fight! …That’s the sort of thing he’ll be telling himself, as time passes, and without him even fully processing the building anxiety, you start to wake up to… random gifts from your boyfriend, piled up at the door of your dorm room. How long had it been since you forgot about the song, when you reach the point of deciding to ask him what this was all about? Who knows. The gifts didn’t feel that odd at first, he just does that sometimes, but you were starting to run out of space, and Kalim was starting to act weird around you. So you bring it up… And he actually bursts into tears.

Poor guy, honestly. He’s a mess, saying he’s sorry, he didn’t know what else to do to make your not want to break up with him, all that. He’s saying he’ll let you go if that’s what you truly want when you interrupt him and ask what he’s even talking about, and he tearfully mentions he heard those rumors— That at this point might have even died down. You have to assure him it’s all just rumors for a while, and he tears up again, this time out of happiness. He’s not even going to think about how crazy it was that he got so deep into something that had no depth at all. He’s just too glad that you’re not upset.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s initial reaction mostly depends on what sort of day he’s had. It’s harder to not overthink things when he’s already stressed — Not that he believes it in any case, it’s just unpleasant to hear either way. The whole thing sounds, frankly, just too shallow to truly hit him. How could anyone claim to know how you were feeling just because you liked this one specific song? How could they even confirm you actually liked that song at all, really… But people still talk about it, and that’s how it sticks to his thoughts.

He’s already dismissed the rumor itself, the question is whether it really came up out of nowhere or not. Maybe someone had noticed you were looking down, or you confided in a friend about relationship issues, and that’s what’s really behind all those flashy claims about the song — The idea makes him anxious. You two usually just talk it out if there’s an issue, so what could have happened? You’re caught off guard when he asks you out for lunch, just the two of you, right in the middle of the week because it’s the only time slot he has available.

You think maybe he just felt like doing something nice but still easygoing. So it definitely feels strange when he starts to speak up about how he’s aware he’s not perfect, but he’s willing to work on anything that might bother you, you realize he looks oddly serious for the situation—

You blink, telling him you knew that, but everything was fine. If anything was wrong, you would’ve just talked to him, like you always do. He stops on his tracks, suddenly feeling kind of silly. If it was anyone else, maybe he’d question if you really meant that, but you say it so easily it couldn’t not be the truth— Then you ask him if something is wrong, and he does his very best efforts to circumvent the topic, something about being told you were unhappy… You recall a friend bringing up the rumor to you, before that, and it feels hard to believe something so silly would get to him. It turns out to be a nice date anyway, though. Maybe something you could do more often?

𐙚 Idia Shroud

Honestly, even before he registers that all of this is over you enjoying a song, his brain is already going haywire. When it does hit that this was all over a song, though, he stops, and not because it’s all over a song. But instead because the gossip itself implied that you weren’t listening to it while wallowing by yourself— Then, right after, he wonders if that means things were even worse than they seemed. Did people know because you were telling your friends about it or something? The questions keep coming up, the logic getting more and more complicated inside his head…

Would it be better to check up on you? Straightforwardly ask if anything is wrong? There’s no way he could just do that, what would he do if it all turned out to be right, if you’ve been silently despising him this whole time? In the end, you don’t hear from Idia that day at all. Then Ortho calls you out of concer, not knowing what’s happening beyond the fact his brother is losing his mind. You can even hear him in the background, telling him to hang up.

…And after a day without any texts, and a call from Ortho that sounded like Idia might as well have been stabbed in his room, you rush over to his dorm. You hurry to check up on him, expecting something bad, and he’s actually shocked you’re worried about him. That you don’t outright hate him. Hearing that, you’re understandably confused.

Your reaction brings him back to reality a bit, prompting him to ask if he’s done anything wrong. You ask him what made him think that. He mentions something about a song. Music, of course, is the furthest thing from your mind right now, so you ask him which song— It soon becomes clear there’s been an insane misunderstanding. After relief hits, it’s a little awkward, and he’s apologizing for how crazy he must have looked. You’re just glad your boyfriend didn’t get jumped or anything like that. Details can be discussed later.

𐙚 Malleus Draconia

Malleus takes it all pretty seriously. You probably showed him the song yourself, since he gets curious about the music you like, and it did stand out to him that it’s breakup music— But he doesn’t consider that, by itself, a reason to worry. He’ll always believe your word over others, which is why it’s so confusing to him to hear that you were supposedly unhappy. And people were considering your taste in music as proof on top of it all? Would that mean that showing him the song was some sort of indirect message, then…?

It doesn’t feel in character for you, he thinks, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He does consider doing something to make up for his supposed mistakes, but since the topic of breaking up is on the table, he decides nothing could really be enough. And you were really so upset you were about to give up on him, he doesn’t know what he could do to make you feel better. In the end, he just decided to ask — right at the very next time he sees you, before saying anything else — why you wanted to break up with him.

”What”,you echo, and for a moment he wonders if you were really so resentful you were making fun of him, but that definitely doesn’t sound like something you’d do. He explains he heard people talk about it, saying he wanted to “hear your thoughts on the matter before believing anyone else”, that he was hoping to solve whatever the problem was. He’s so serious it stuns you, you tell him there aren’t any problems.

That confuses him. What did you mean when you showed him the song, then? Nothing, it turns out. You just liked the music. His worries dissipate soon after that, if you say it was all well, of course he’ll believe you. He does remind you to tell him if it’s not, because he doesn’t want that imagined scenario to become true at all, but he’s ready to just (very) gratefully set it all aside. Simple as that. Won’t get it if you seem to find the situation amusing, but won’t stop you from finding humor in it either.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

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eightmakesonebraincell · 1 day ago

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and if it stops snowing? then count the stars in the sky (teaser)

genre: poly doctors!ateez x doctor fem!reader, hospital romance, established relationship, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 1.6k (teaser) + approx. 37k (full fic)

c/w: slightly aged-up characters, slow burn except it's burning in reverse, lots of medical themes, remaining tags to be revealed with full fic

synopsis: after transferring during the last year of your residency program, you work alongside your eight boyfriends at kq hospital. it becomes harder to keep your relationship the same as it used to be as you all navigate the respective challenges of being doctors and nurses. you come to experience love and loss in both warmth and coldness, but only one of them will keep your relationship alive.

a/n: not my titles becoming increasingly longer with each oneshot i write 💀 but this is probably my fave one yet and i hope it slaps when the full fic drops

your feet drag against the floor as you trudge listlessly back to your locker, body heavy as if you are caught in the very midst of a snowstorm. your shoulders cave even further in on themselves when you check your phone to see no reply from hongjoong.

you want nothing more than to bury yourself in your boyfriend’s arms, nose pressed against the soothing rumble of his chest as he listens to you complain about your day. it will not change anything about the situation with dr. lim and dr. nam but at least you will be able to release the hot steam that has built up from the bubbling pit of lava in your chest.

if hongjoong is still working, perhaps you can sit in his office and wait on his couch. his presence will be enough to keep you grounded.

some of the nurses in the neurology ward greet you cordially as you exit the elevator and you return their smile before sitting on a bench further down the corridor to avoid being in anybody’s way. you test your chances and call hongjoong’s number, only to hear the line ring until it sends you to his voicemail. when another attempt ten minutes later yields the same result, you send a text telling him to call you when he is finished.

you resign yourself to the bench with a passive sigh and wait, all the while a tempest swirling inside of you. eventually, one of the junior residents tilts her head at the sight of you still sitting on the bench, having passed by you almost twenty minutes ago in the same position. she calls out, “doctor l/n?”

you jerk up from where you are fiddling with your phone. recognising her as hongjoong’s colleague, you ask, “i’m just waiting for doctor kim. do you happen to know where he is?”

“doctor kim?” she furrows her brows, “he left already. he actually left early today.”

“oh.”

the heat in your chest suddenly dissipates, immediately replaced by a frigid hollowness that makes your mind go blank instead. horrified, you feel your eyes involuntarily start to prickle with tears no matter how hard you will for them to disappear.

“do you want me to pass a message on for you?” the resident looks at you with a twinge of concern, but mostly curiosity.

you shake your head and mumble, “no, that’s okay, thanks,” then rush away to avoid embarrassing yourself any further. deciding against asking one of your other boyfriends to drive you home, you forgo catching the bus too in favour of walking through the streets.

it’s not even a big deal. we’ve all forgotten about dates before and hongjoong would never deliberately blow you off.

you know that. you know this is not something you need to be upset over and you know that your boyfriend must have a reason. yet knowing does nothing to stop the trembling of your lips as you swipe furiously at your dripping tears with the back of your hand. on top of everything that has piled up today, hongjoong forgetting about your date is enough to topple it over completely.

the light snowfall from earlier has already stopped but the temperature remains just as low. as you tread through the chalky streets home, thoughts creeping through your mind like the fractal branches of a snowflake–fragile and delicate–you welcome the numbing chill around you instead and let it paralyse your emotions like an anaesthetic.

by the time you reach the front door, you have collected yourself enough. the rims of your eyes and the tip of your nose still have a slight redness to them but your appearance can easily be dismissed by the biting cold outside. you unlock the door and walk in.

you are met with immediate warmth; from the residual heat of shared dinner, from the streaming glow of lights, from the peals of low laughter. walking through the corridor almost feels like walking through a warped tunnel of dissociation–so familiar yet so foreign at the same time.

san sits on the couch, languidly scrolling on his phone with an arm wrapped around yeosang’s shoulders, who is flicking through a thin booklet of paper. sitting cross-legged at the coffee table in front of them in a stark contrast of mess is hongjoong–hongjoong who is hunched over his own booklet with a newly-made carpet and tablecloth of thesis and journal articles, textbooks and tablets.

you are so caught up by the hurricane of a scene that you do not realise you are about to step on the corner of a textbook until hongjoong’s head snaps up to look at you.

“be careful!” his warning cry is sharp with alarm.

your body jolts and you step backwards. “sorry.”

despite san and yeosang’s chirpy greetings, you remain frozen to the spot. the two of them clamber up to pull you into an excited hug, only to pause when they realise there is no way to navigate the landmine of paper scattered around the room, so they settle back into the cushions instead.

“don’t mind the mess,” yeosang giggles, unaware of the sudden onset of unease that courses through your body. “even seonghwa has given the okay for him to do this.”

your words come out thick and sticky as you ask, “what is hongjoong doing?”

san’s voice is sympathetic, “there was a last-minute change to his presentation that he’s doing at that annual neurological association meeting. his department head wants him to do a different topic.”

“he could’ve told me, i don’t know, five fucking months ago,” hongjoong curses fiercely at his tablet, “but he just had to wait until my presentation was basically done to let me know.”

you have had a bad day…but so has hongjoong.

the door opens behind you. fumbling for a moment, you try to make yourself smaller against the wall to make room for whoever of your boyfriends has returned. it is mingi back from his shift which tells you just how long you had waited for hongjoong, considering mingi’s shift ended almost two hours after yours did.

“y/n?” mingi’s eyes widen slightly as he smiles, the sight of you a pleasant surprise. he asks, “did you and hongjoong come back from your date already?”

you wince at the bomb he has unwittingly dropped; the very one you yourself were still unsure how to navigate.

“shit,” hongjoong’s head snaps towards you again but for an entirely different reason this time. “holy fuck. oh my fucking god.” his hands flutter as he upturns the scattered notes around him in search of his phone, face draining of all colour as it dawns on him he had silenced his notifications. “the date–i forgot. fuck, i am so fucking sorry, y/n.”

your boyfriends on the couch watch with darting eyes and mingi glances at you cautiously. in some twisted reality, you almost feel immobilised by guilt as hongjoong stumbles to his feet, grasping the phone he has finally found from where it had been tossed under the table.

nothing changes the fact that he forgot nor the fact that you have had a rough day. but just as you had realised, hongjoong has also had a rough day, if not worse than yours. and as with any relationship, one will always have to yield under pressure lest both people break.

swallowing thickly, you manage to force out, “that’s okay. i forgot too.”

a white lie, but a white lie has never hurt anybody.

mingi catches the slight twist of your fingers in the side of your jacket. he murmurs, “let’s go inside,” then tugs you by the elbow. he steps you carefully through the landmines further into the living room, gingerly toeing papers inches aside to reveal the floorboards underneath for the both of you to step on. hongjoong is still looking at you remorsefully as you near, his hands itching to reach out but afraid they will not be met with forgiving ones.

“it’s okay, joong, really,” you extend your fingers in his direction and gently squeeze his hand. “sorry to hear about your presentation. i know how hard you’ve worked on it the past few months.”

sadness still lingers in your boyfriend’s eyes at having made such a careless mistake despite the grateful smile he gives you. “i’ll make it up to you after the presentation is finished,” he vows. “i’ll take you out for a nice dinner and i promise i won’t forget this time.”

you chuckle softly with a reassuring nod, “okay.”

“what about you? how was your day?” hongjoong asks.

an hour ago you wanted nothing more than the comfort he could offer while you vented about your day and you are almost certain fatigue and frustration are smeared across your face right now. yet you simply answer, “it was a long day but it was good.”

another white lie.

before your boyfriends can probe any further, you state, “i’m going to take a shower first. might head to sleep early today.” you lean forward to give hongjoong a chaste kiss, who easily relaxes into it with relief. you turn to rise onto your tiptoes to give mingi one too before meeting yeosang and san halfway from where they kneel on the couch to also kiss you goodnight.

then you turn and retreat to your room. it is not all too bad, you reconcile with yourself. alone time would be good after today’s events.

a third white lie.

but again, that is fine, because a white lie never hurt anybody…nobody except for yourself.

taglist pt. one | apply | comment to be tagged for this fic only

@thecarnivaloflies @ilovekimhongjoong @ifykyunho @ppprimary @hwas-housewife

@itza-meee @lavishloving @okshu @mizumigi @everythingboutkpop

@ayytease @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hongjoongsprincess @booyoungie @green-agent

@darkmentalitystarfish-blog @taytayy178 @babymbbatinygirl @oddracha @sourkimchi

@mimilia1801 @kibs-and-bits @mlysalt @jjoongstar @aaa-sia

@nollamuumialaaksossa @skz1-4-3 @minkilicious @joongscheese @ddeonghwva

@delulu18 @teenyfinds @shakalakaboomboo @hxpelesscxven @fureastel

@seomisaho @levishun @lesyeuxdeanna @readerofallthingss @potatos-on-clouds

@apriecotte @hhoneylix @kyeos4ng @smally97 @savluvsmingi

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dumbgoondog · 2 days ago

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Baby and Baby(Part 1)

MDNI +18 NSFW

Cw/Tw - pregnancy/breeding, degradation, stomach bulge, rough sex

Ft. Gojo, Nanami, Megumi, and Yuji

You ask your lover to get you pregnant! GN!Reader, AFAB!Reader

SATORU GOJO

“H-huh?” Gojo stutters, caught off guard his hips slowing and pulling down onto his lap, “Take the condom off? Did you start the pill?”

You smile and shake your head, a blush creeping onto your face as you pat at your stomach, “Satoru I wanna baby… with you.”

Gojo stares, those bright blues staring through white lashes as he tries to think, but god you squeeze around him and he’s thinking about getting to take paternity leave and just rest at home taking care of you. Bouncing a baby and seeing himself and you in this bundle of joy, the next generation, HIS next generation! You and him had talked some about kids, how he’d like some and you were open, but now he knew that his life would always be with you.

Sitting up he’s kissing you sweetly, giving little noises into the kiss as he pulls you up off his dick, hand moving to the condom and off with the blue rubber. You’d both always used condoms so this was going to be nice, going in raw, getting to fill you. The choked stutter that left him when you started slipping him back in though, was desperate and euphoric.

He wraps his arms around you tight, your walls wrapped around him tight too. He’s kissing along your neck and easing himself into the wet warmth of you, twitching as every bump and squeeze. The tip pushes and presses to your cervix with a slick kiss, and he kisses you before smiling to you, “Well sweetheart, time to start pumping you until we’ve got a bundle of joy in our arms!”

KENTO NANAMI

Nanami nearly spit out his drink, stiffening hearing you speak and ask if he wanted you to make him a dad. A warm dinner sat between you two, and you were pretty set this was the perfect time to ask, since he’d be relaxed enough for it! Now though you’re a little worried with how slowly he puts down his cup, a hand coming up around his jaw as he looks to the side.

“It’s okay if not! I just thought- I wanted to be a bit sexy about asking and- I’m sorry!” You stumble for words fiddling with your hands gazing down to your lap, embarrassed. Was this a bad idea? Did you go about it wrong or was he just against the thought of kids so much it was a deal breaker?!

“Take them off,” You’re startled quickly from your thoughts looking up with big eyes and confusion to see that Nanami is by your chair unbuttoning his pants, “You’re going to make me a proud dad, alright? Don’t apologize, I want you. I want us, I want to have kids with you.”

“Kids?!”

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

“A Baby huh?” He pants, hips still smacking into yours a hand in your hair pulling it back so you’re looking at him. His other hand moves from holding the wall to resting over your stomach where his tip can be seen with every thrust in pushing at your walls, “a baby and you can hardly fit all my cock, damn you love this dick huh? Love it so much your cunt wants my seed planted in your womb.”

You’re stammering again, brain all mushy from his thick cock stretching you, the veins like textured ridges drawing out all of your slick and creating creamy rings at his base. He can’t help but chuckle seeing you trying so hard to mouth for him to please give you his kids, “damn, who can say no to such a messy slut? You cunt’s trying to milk me every time already, pussy so hungry for my cum shit’s got you cryin.”

And he’s right, you can feel the tears filling up your eyes and dripping down your flush cheeks. His hand slides from your tummy to your puffy lips feeling as he slips in out a few more times before he slows and slides to just the tip. His fingers pushing and pulling off the condom as he hums smacking at your cunt with his now exposed tip leaking and sticking pre between your folds.

You can feel the bump of his Prince Albert piercing prying at your entrance to sneak his leaking in before he’s even in. You whimper trying to push back, to push down onto him and he’s teasing you fingers opening your folds for him as you drip onto his cock. He moves the hand from your hair to hold your cheeks having you to kiss him, “Yeah let’s get you knocked up so everyone knows you’re taking my bone like a good dog.”

YUJI ITADORI

“Cuffs, collar, AND the muzzle..? Lover what are you gonna do huh? Can I know?” He’s getting hard quick, anticipation gnawing at him and you’re watching his tip Bob and dribble already, “No condom? What if I can’t pull out in time though? I mean I can afford the doctor visit but it’s invasive of you!”

“Well don’t pull out th-“

The chnk! Of the chains makes you snap your head up quick, and Yuji’s got that stare. He hasn’t broken them, yet, but he’s straining them and his muscles are flexed tight. You give him a quirked brow grabbing the lube and slipping back onto the bed starting to stroke him getting a rasped gasp, you smile and continue to speak, “As I was saying, well don’t pull out. Yuji I want you to give me a baby.”

You can see his brain clicking the switch flipping, the way he holds himself shifting, the way he licks at his scar and teeth, “uh… baby? Want baby?” He asks trying to stay focused eyes eating you up and you can feel the heat between your legs increase, “my baby? In you?”

You nod, kissing at his chest, one hand stroking and squeezing his throbbing cock the other languid between your folds and circling your entrance. Again he jerks on the chains and to his dismay he realizes they’re reinforced with cursed energy so that they wouldn’t break so easily. Yuji gives a low grumbling noise hips thrusting into your hand as he huffs at you, you give a small laugh and kiss his neck, “yes, I want your babies, Yuji.”

From the corner of your eye you see it, the dotted lines on the chains and scissors leading the lines. The cuffs cleave with the chains like a hot knife on snow, and he just jerks his head to break the collar’s chain. You swallow knowing tonight was about to be LONG.

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ramp-it-up · 2 days ago

Text

Answer Love’s Call

Summary: James Bucky Barnes WAS an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. You came along and he fell in love. He is about to propose. But something is off. You need time to come to terms about what this love will mean in the future. And how in the world you will deal with it.

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Okay, we're at Christmas. 😅 Hey guys. This one is close to my heart. Some of this is very personal to me, as a high functioning person who might be a little bit different. I hope you enjoy this.

This fic is in the Knock You Down AU, and comes immediately after both Worth the Fall and the Steve Rogers fic Peach VII. Also this ask is referenced.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! LOTS of angst, Frumoasa is spiraling, y'all, running away, a sexy ex, jealous, spiraling Bucky, a doctor's visit surprise, Frumoasa realizes she is not nero-typical, a beautiful mountain chalet Christmas, Steve x Peach, extended family, an icicle surprise, and Bucky helps Frumoasa relax, hard. Dom/sub elements, references to bdsm, use of 'Daddy,' oral (m receiving) spanking, anal play, attempted edging, raw p in v, praise kink, breeding kink, yeah. :)

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

The day after the gala, you woke up with your head pounding. You were over warm, and your heart was beating fast, although you could hear Bucky’s steady breathing beside you.

You turned and watched him for a moment, his handsome face relaxed and also, strangely, confident.

He looked so sure, so steady.

But the day before proved that you didn’t necessarily know what was coming next and that made your stomach rumble and twist in knots.

It might have been too much champagne, or it might have been the rollercoaster of emotions from the entire day before.

Your thoughts were all over the place about you and Bucky. Next week, you would be at the cabin in Vermont for the holidays, and he was planning to propose there.

Maybe? Maybe not?

The uncertainty was eating at you. Your mind was swirling.

Bucky stirred, his hand instinctively reaching for you. You let him pull you close, and you kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Your body, as always, responded to him. Hell, the day before you’d practically attacked him. Something about the way he looked lately was making you feral.

“Morning,” you responded.

He opened those beautiful eyes still heavy with sleep and peered at you through his eyelashes.

“You good?”

You hesitated. You could tell him, you thought. You could spill every crazy thought running through your mind. But you didn’t

So you gave him the easy answer.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He smiled, content with your answer, and closed his eyes again.

You two had tumbled into bed after the gala, very much under the influence. If Bucky had been fully awake, he would have noticed that you were not, in fact, good.

You kissed his forehead and whispered that you were getting up to pee, which earned a grunt, a nod, and side smile.

You went to the kitchen and some tea to soothe your headache and some eggs for your stomach and then sat at the bar and ate, staring out onto the landscape of New York City at Christmastime.

You had time to really sit with your thoughts. You hadn’t lied to Peach. She and Steve were perfect together; and they’d done what felt right, what made sense for them.

But what they did made you spiral, because in your head you had more time to get used to them really being together. You’d give a million dollars to harness what Peach had, that spontaneity.

Bucky Barnes pulled that out of you, but right now you were feeling unsafe, out of control.

You were wrapped up in too many feelings: the drug of loving Bucky, the extreme high of sex with him, and then your own anxiety and intrusive thoughts.

Steve and Peach were headed to Atlanta today and then on to Vermont to spend a few days on a mini-moon before everyone arrived on the 23rd.

Your phone, which had been plugged up on the bar, started to vibrate, and you saw that it was your mother. You also saw that she had called twice before.

You knew she was calling about Steve and Peach and you just couldn’t do it at the moment.

You silenced the call and then walked through the bedroom into the closet and grabbed one of the expensive luggage pieces that Bucky’d bought you.

Maybe a few days at your place would help you sort things out.

—---

In the middle of packing, you turned to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression pure frustration.

Your eyes skimmed down his bare chest, following the trail of happiness between his pecs and down those abs that you ended up licking the day before, down his delicious belly button to disappear under the waistband of the grey sweats slung low on his hips.

There was more deliciousness in there, of that you were certain.

Suddenly, you wanted to fuck him stupid again, and you wiped the corners of your mouth to make sure you weren’t drooling.

“Frumoasa, what’s going on?”

His voice was tight, controlled, but barely.

You shook your head, feeling crazy. You gripped the t-shirt (of his) you’d been packing in your hands.

“I just... I need some time,” you admitted. “Before Vermont.”

His jaw clenched and those eyes blazed.

“Time for what?”

“To think,” you said simply, not looking him in the eye.

Bucky exhaled sharply, stepping forward, crowding you.

“If something’s wrong, just tell me. We’ve got to communicate.”

You swallowed, finally meeting his blue, blue eyes.

“I just need to figure some things out first.”

His frustration emanated from him for a minute, and then, suddenly, he reached for you, pulling you against him. You melted against his hard body, like always.

“Do you want to go to Connecticut? Right now?… Because if so…”

His voice was softer now, his fingers carding through your curls. But what he said made you panic.

“No! It’s not that, Bucky…”

“If you’re doubting us….”

His voice was plaintive now and your breath caught as his scent and his warmth surrounded you. You wanted to fall into him, to let him chase away every uncertainty.

But you needed to stand on your own two feet.

“I just need space,” you whispered, even as your hands reached up and clasped around his neck, unwilling to let go.

Bucky’s forehead rested against yours.

“You say that, but I can tell that you don’t want to leave,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

Your heart thundered.

“Bucky. I need to. Please.”

His grip tightened for just a moment before he released you, stepping back.

“Then go,” he said, voice emotional.

He turned and walked out of the door, giving you a wide berth as you finished packing.

You cried as Nico drove you to your brownstone, and went straight to bed when you got there. You were emotionally exhausted.

—-

Bucky sat in his living room, spiraling, not knowing what to think.

Bucky agreed to you leaving, because what else could he do?

It didn’t make sense. The day before had been so much fun. You’d had great sex, and you looked amazing for the gala. Then there was the happy surprise about Steve and Peach.

He knew that you were over the moon for those two, but something was going on.

Had he taken too much time to propose?

But you’d only been together for a little over three months. He couldn’t help that Steve and Peach were crazy people who did crazy things.

Bucky was surer than sure that he and you belonged together.

Now you just needed to come to the same realization.

And he wasn’t going to force you.

—--

You stayed inside the entire next day, Sunday, feeling lethargic. Normally you’d be brunching or cooking with Bucky, relaxing and doing something fun.

You missed him and wondered why you weren’t with him.

At that moment, your phone rang. It was Bucky.

“Hey,” you said softly, tucking a knee up to your chest as you curled up on the couch.

“Hey,” he echoed. Damn, his voice did things to you.

“How are you?”

A lump formed in your throat at the longing in his voice.

“I’m okay...”

Silence.

Then he asked, “Are you eating?” You blinked, surprised.

“What?”

“You get caught up in your head when you’re stressed,” he said, his voice quiet. “I don’t want you forgetting to take care of yourself.”

Damn you loved this man. He knew you so well.

“I’m fine, Bucky.”

“I sent something over.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Nico with a delivery bag, the scent of thai food in the air. Your chest tightened as you looked up at Nico.

“Bucky...” you whispered into the phone.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “Just eat. And call me anytime. I love you, Frumoasă. I miss you. I’ll see you on Friday.”

He hung up and tears slipped down your cheeks as you took the food from Nico. You gave him a hug and said goodbye and then held the warm container in your hands behind a closed door.

One thing was for sure, James Buchanan Barnes still knew exactly how to love you, even when you were running from him.

—-

The next few days were busy. You had to tie up year end things at the Center to prepare for the three week holiday shut down. You threw yourself into it and tried not to miss Bucky too much even though you two shared brief check-ins.

But your thoughts were scattered, your headache wouldn’t go away, and your stomach was unsettled. Plus, your emotions were on a rollercoaster.

You made a doctor’s appointment for Thursday. You didn’t want to bring a bug to the cabin to spread to everyone.

On Wednesday you got a visit from an old friend.

Around noon, you turned around to a different version of blue-eyed and tall, dark, and handsome.

“Terry!”

Your last ex-boyfriend was standing in your place of work.

“Hey girl. You looking good.”

You flushed at that smile and the way he eyed you was reminiscent of times gone by. And that voice. That was a thing once upon a time.

“Terry, What are you doing here?”

He sucked his teeth and shook his head at you.

“I can’t get a hug?”

You swatted at his arm and obliged, as Nico pulled out his phone to call Bucky outside.

—--

As soon as you walked in your door that afternoon your phone rang.

“Is that why you’re pulling away from me? You have another man?”

You pulled back and stared at your phone. Then you realized. Fucking Nico.

“Bucky, what the hell–”

Bucky interrupted you.

“I had to know you were safe, and then I’m told that you had a date with this guy Richmond.I wavered between coming to kill him immediately and letting you make your choice and tell me yourself, but I couldn’t wait.”

“Bucky…”

“Just tell me the truth, Y/N!”

“You gonna let me talk?”

Bucky was silent.

“The truth is I had lunch with an ex who also was a good friend to talk about his upcoming wedding.”

There was silence on the line. Bucky cleared his throat.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

You sucked your teeth.

“Anything else you wanna know, James?”

“Frumoasa, I’m sorry, I–”

“Don’t Bucky. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Bye.”

You hung up and cried, yet again.

You didn’t know what was happening.

—---

The next day, you sat on the crinkly paper in your Doctor Phillips’ office in complete shock.

She reached out and shut your mouth for you because it was hanging open.

“But….I’m on birth control.”

You looked at her as if she had three heads. She smiled indulgently at you.

“You know that’s not 100%. Have you had unprotected sex with anyone?”

You giggled, thinking just how much unprotected sex you’d had with Bucky. Then you started crying. She handed you a tissue, used to emotions with things like this.

It all made sense now.

The nausea you’d brushed off, the exhaustion, the moods, the uncertainty, the fear knotting in your stomach. You should have known.

It wasn’t just about you and Bucky.

It was about this.

A baby.

“Well, speaking of sex, I have a kind of... A delicate question.”

When you asked, you’d managed to shock doctor Phillips, but she soon recovered.

—-

Your mother was silent for a long time before whispering, “Oh, sweetheart...”

“Please don’t tell Peach,” you added quickly. “I don’t want to interrupt her honeymoon.”

You also knew that she would tell Steve and he would tell…

“Bucky doesn’t know yet.”

Another long pause.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him?”

You swallowed.

“I don’t know how. We argued the last time we spoke. And I don’t want him to marry me just because I’m pregnant.”

“Honey, he’s gonna marry you no matter what. And you’re never going to get away from that man now that you’re carrying his child.”

You chewed your lip, still unsure.

“You think so, Ma?”

“Baby, I know so.”

As you spoke, you received pics of Steve and Peach looking deliriously happy in Vermont, glowing with happiness. They’d sent it to both of you. You cried on the phone with your mother and came to a decision.

When you hung up, you started packing.

—--

On Friday afternoon, you landed in Stowe and Nico was there to pick you up.

You were glad to see him despite the drama with Terry. The 30 minute drive was quiet and serene, beautiful on snow plowed roads.

When the chalet came into view, you gasped.

It was picture-perfect, nestled deep in the Vermont mountains, blanketed in fresh snow. Twinkling lights lined the porch railings and they made Bucky, who was standing on the front porch waiting for you, look mysterious.

It was idyllic.

As you exited the SUV, Bucky came down and extended his hand to help you up the snow covered stairs. You looked up at him and he was staring at you with those ice blue eyes.

—-

You stood there, looking up at him, and and Bucky thought, fuck, she’s gorgeous. It was like he was seeing you for the first time again. His eyes traced the thick curves that made his blood run hot, and those eyes that are wide and still uncertain made him a little weak.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from you and it felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

He didn’t know why you ran from him earlier in the week, but damn, he was certain that he would run through any wall for you.

Bucky bit his lip and his hands instinctively balled into fists as he took you in.

Your sweater accented your full breasts and he swore he saw the thick, stiff peaks of your nipples through it, making him thirsty. Your jeans molded thick thighs and wide hips that make his cock throb.

There was something about you today that made him want to take you down, but he was going to follow your lead. He needed to see where your head was at.

—

Bucky’s breath made vapors in the cold air and his eyes locked onto yours as he grabbed you, pulling you into his arms.

“You came back to me,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough. “I’m sorry about the other day, Frumoasă. I’ve been crazy since you left.”

You pressed your face to his chest, a lump forming in your throat.

“Yeah, that was crazy, but I get it, Bucky.”

You pulled back and looked up into his eyes.

“I had to come. I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

His hands cupped your face, his lips brushing yours, slow and searching.

“Then don’t leave me. Ever again, Frumoasă.”

You nodded and clung to him, sniffling.

He pulled back and looked down at you.

“Let’s get you out of this cold.”

Inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon filled the air, and the chalet was decorated for the holidays with a huge tree with a massive stone fireplace. The view in the waning afternoon sunlight was of the mountains, and it was gorgeous.

“Wow, Bucky.”

He was taking your coat as you took in the sights. Of course the place was top notch.

“Where are the happy couple?”

Bucky chuckled.

“Their chalet is down the road. Rebirth owns this property and there are three other chalets just like this.”

You thought you were used to how rich Bucky was, but this rocked you. This was quite a world you might be committing to.

“Yeah, they need privacy. Probably fucking each other on every available surface.”

Bucky laughed. And then raised his eyebrow at you, eyes dark.

“It seems the thing to do.”

You grew warm and cleared your throat as he licked his lips.

“Where is my room?”

Bucky gave you an ominous look and moved closer.

“Oh, we have more than enough rooms for everyone, Frumoasă. But I’m not spending one more night away from you.”

Your body reacted despite you, causing you to stutter.

“B-but my mother–”

“--Almost insisted on it when I spoke to her earlier this week. She told me she spoke to you the other day. They are only here for one night, it will be fine.”

You followed him into the master suite, your wheels turning.

“What all did Karen have to say?”

Did Bucky know? He couldn’t know. Your mom wouldn’t do that.

“She just told me you’ve always had a habit of pushing people away when you feel like you’re losing control.”

You sighed in relief. She hadn’t told him.

“I wasn’t trying to go behind your back,” he murmured. “I’m just trying to understand. Because I love you. And I want to fix it.”

You sighed and relaxed a little. Bucky still wanted you. You took his hand.

“Nothing is broken, Bucky. I’m sorry I ran from you. I was questioning myself. Not you.”

“Okay.”

But he looked uncertain. Could you have decided that you didn’t need him after all? That you didn’t want him?

You started to walk away to find the bedroom and Bucky pulled you back to him by catching one of your hands. He pressed himself against you and looked down into your eyes.

“Frumoasă,” he said, his voice almost pleading.

“Tell me you still want us.”

“I still want us. I need us, Bucky. You’re right. I was feeling out of control, but yesterday I realized that what may be coming for us is some beautiful chaos. And if you’ll help me, I’m ready for it.”

You looked into his beautiful eyes, and then your fingers pulled on his sweater and your lips met his.

The kiss was almost brand new, the tension between you arcing like electricity. He kissed you back with everything he had, his hands roaming all over your body.

It was heated. It was urgent as a motherfucker.

And it was everything you two hadn’t been able to say.

“Later, we will talk about control.”

Bucky ran his thumb over your lips as he looked like he had delicious sensual plans for you later. He let you go just as your panties got ruined.

—--

That afternoon, your mother and Ray arrived just after Steve and Peach came over to make pizzas in the custom pizza oven for dinner. After that, you all decorated the Christmas tree around the fireplace.

It was picture perfect, with you and Peach drooling over Bucky and Steve in their fair isle sweaters. You had a lot of fun, and you drank water all night long. You caught up with Peach, warm in the glow of the love of everyone most important to you.

Bucky watched you, curious about what was different about you, but didn’t say anything.

By the time the night was over, you crashed, sleep overtaking you almost before your head hit the pillow. Bucky didn’t complain, he just held you close, thankful that you were back in his arms.

On Christmas Eve morning, some ventured out to ski and snowboard. You pleaded a headache and Bucky didn’t question you, but he filed that away for later. You and your mom stayed inside as you warned everyone else to be careful. You shook your head at Peach’s daredevil antics, but Peach was gonna Peach.

Nico was celebrating the holidays in another chalet with his family and had the week off.

You and your mom talked about a lot. And a lightbulb went off in your head. Your mom was teary and you were amazed that it took over 30 years for you both to realize. But it was going to be okay.

That night snow blanketed the trees outside, and the fireplace crackled as everyone gathered around the fireplace after dinner. Bucky stayed close, touching you almost always, even if it was just his hand on yours. The proximity to him was what you needed, and you wanted to just burrow yourself in his chest. But you had to tell him.

Steve and Peach were in their own world, stealing kisses by the fireplace, by the tree, lost in their honeymoon bliss. You watched them, their happiness so effortless, so light, and you knew that you could be there too, with Bucky.

Every time his hand brushed against yours, you felt the pull. Every time he looked at you like you were his whole world, you wanted to close the distance.

For the first time in days, you felt like maybe you were exactly where you needed to be.

After Christmas Eve brunch, you curled up with your hot cocoa and a book by the window by which Bucky and Steve built a snowman earlier.

Peach wouldn’t let you live your life in peace, because she insisted on recounting the time you two got into a fight over homework when you were eleven. Your mother was joining in, supplying details to Ray and Steve and to Bucky, who was paying attention, stealing glances at you and absentmindedly fiddling with his phone.

“And then she says, ‘How dare you ask me if I need help, I don’t need your help—’”

A loud CRACK interrupted Peach’s story, and a resounding thunk echoed from the eaves of the cabin.

Everyone jumped, looking toward the porch as a massive icicle snapped from the roof, crashing into the snow.

“Whoa,” Peach said, blinking. “That thing could’ve killed someone.”

You looked at Bucky. And he looked pleased with himself. You were instantly suspicious.

“Oh, wow,” he said, standing up and walking toward the door.

“That’s crazy. Totally random.”

Steve scoffed and Peach shot him a look. They knew something.

“Bucky…”

He ignored you, opening the door and crouching down in the snow, picking up the icicle like it was some priceless artifact.

He brought it inside and placed it, dripping wet on the table. Everyone gathered around to see that there was something inside that looked like a lump of coal.

Bucky looked at you gaping at it, and then: he broke it in half.

You gasped. Because inside, tucked into the hollowed-out core, was a small black velvet box. Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Bucky turned to you, his eyes soft, full of something so deep and certain that it stole the air from your lungs. Your entire body went still. And it was just you and Bucky.

His warm smile and the way the love in his eyes as he popped the box open to reveal a breathtaking and huge emerald cut diamond ring that looked like a block of ice and sparkled like the snow.

Everybody went silent.

Bucky exhaled, then spoke, his voice steady but thick.

“For years, I thought I had everything I needed,” he said, the words warm despite the crisp night outside.

“But then you came along. And suddenly, nothing felt full unless you were in it. Not my house, not my days, not my arms.”

Everyone leaned in, watching and waiting.

Bucky took a deep breath, then, finally, sank to one knee.

Your heart stopped.

“You are… “ Bucky stopped, choked up. “…The love of my life,” he said, pulling out the ring and looking up at you with that devastating certainty.

“And I want forever with you.”

You let out a choked laugh, “You hid my ring in an icicle?,” you whispered.

Bucky grinned up at you. “Damn right I did.”

“Y/N/L/N, Will you marry me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob escaped you. And then, without thinking, you threw yourself at him, knocking you both back onto the floor.

“YES!” you shouted, kissing him senseless as the entire family erupted into cheers.

“That was the most ridiculous, perfect Christmas proposal ever!” Peach was full on sobbing with joy as she said it.

Steve clapped Bucky on the back and gave him a hug as he helped him up.

You and Peach and your mom were cooing over the ring as the men watched.

“You better take care of that little girl, James. She’s special.”

Bucky looked at him, emotional.

“Yes, Sir. That’s my mission in life.”

——

After Bucky and Steve drove your parents to the airport to be in Brooklyn for Ray’s grandkids’ Christmas morning, you and Peach had a good long talk about everything but the baby. You had to tell Bucky next.

But you did tell her about your other realization.

“I always knew you thought differently. It is just so cool the way you can see things from different angles. But yeah, you don’t do surprises well.”

“It just feels so freeing to finally be able to name what I was feeling sometimes. Being labeled as gifted didn’t help anyone from noticing that my mind probably is atypical.”

“Girl, none of us is typical, but yeah. Being labeled as gifted sucked sometimes. But sometimes it’s kinda hot. Tell me about your praise kink and I’ll tell you about mine.”

Peach grinned at you as you laughed. Bucky and Steve walked in right at that moment.

“Oh shit, Steve. Seems like we came back just in time.”

You shook your head as Bucky came and sat on the couch between you two and reached into the bowl of popcorn you’d been sharing. Steve just reached for Peach and she floated up into his arms.

“On second thought I think I’ll let Steve tell me about it in our chalet. Oh!”

Peach was up and over Steve’s shoulder as he hauled her out of the door. You giggled and waved at her as she swatted his ass with one hand and waved back at you.

Bucky was looking at you with a scorching hot gaze, and you leaned over to kiss him, licking the butter off of his lips.

“What were we saying about a praise kink, my beautiful good girl?”

You shivered and bit your lip, but scooted away from him on the sofa. You couldn’t be distracted.

“Can we talk about that later? I’ve got something to tell you.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped, then did somersaults. Had you been too embarrassed to tell him no earlier? Were you going to dump him? He nodded and took your hand, twisting the huge rock on your finger. He was unable to form coherent words, he was so worried.

“Bucky…I’m pregnant.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He pulled back slightly, mind spinning as the room seemed to shift around him.

Pregnant. Buck stared at you, unable to process.

“I didn’t know until yesterday,” you whispered, your eyes filled with emotion.

“It explains a lot about what I’ve been feeling. And I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Bucky dreamed of getting you pregnant, but this was a detour from his plans. And he knew how you felt about surprises.

“My sweet, sweet angel Frumoasă. I’m sorry I didn’t realize…”

Bucky took your hand again and pulled you toward him so that you rested in his arms. He kissed you on the top of your head. He knew one thing: it was you and he and your family for the rest of his life. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“You okay with this? I know this wasn’t in your plans–”

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. And he smiled. That’s when you knew everything would be alright.

“Okay? I’m over the moon, Baby. I love you. Nothing changes that. We’re starting something new. A family. And I’ll be by your side for every step.”

He looked into your eyes and saw relief, but anxiety was still there.

“Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. And this time, I’m not going to let you go anywhere.”

“Are you sure?” you were breathless at his certainty.

He leaned in, kissing you softly but passionately.

“I’m sure,” He whispered against your lips. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“There’s something else, Bucky…”

You told him your suspicions and Bucky was unmoved.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. But you have a beautiful mind, Love. I told you that I love the way you think the first time I met you.”

The way Bucky beamed at you with acceptance was so fucky sexy. You need him inside you like your next breath. Your kiss told him that.

“I see.”

Bucky stood up, you in his arms.

“Let’s go to bed.”

He walked into the beautiful bedroom with the huge picture window looking out onto the winter night. There was lots of moonlight reflected into the room from the snow, even with the lights off.

He laid you on the bed and you rolled away from him, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. He gave you an incredulous look as you fiddled with it.

“What are you doing?”

You bit your lip, a little bit afraid. God you needed that feeling. To turn your brain off.

“I asked Dr. Phillips a few specific questions about sex during pregnancy.”

Bucky stared at you.

“About rougher sex…” You gulped as he raised his eyebrow. “I forwarded an article.”

Bucky walked around the bed and took his phone in hand, glancing at it, and then at you, a smirk on his face. You scrambled backward and scurried into the bathroom.

“Gonna take a shower, be right back.”

You tried to turn your brain off as you went under the hot water jets. But what you truly needed was in the next room.

You came back in and Bucky was standing by the bed, in just his jeans, shirtless. The fire was roaring and he looked cold. You shuddered as he pointed to the furry rug by the bed.

You obeyed, shedding your robe and kneeling, eyes cast down. You saw his bare feet come to stand in front of you.

“You are trying to control things again, Frumoasă, sending me an article about BDSM during pregnancy. You need to learn that there are times that I’m in control in the bedroom. And I decide what happens and when.”

He reached down and tipped your chin up, looking at you with narrowed steel blue eyes.

“Now, I will teach you that lesson so that you should remember it. And although this room is sound proofed, and we are alone in this house, you need to keep quiet.”

You just stared at him, mind going almost completely blank.

He tapped you on your jaw lightly.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Bucky smiled at that, but then the sunshine went away. His smile dropped.

“And you don’t cum until I tell you to.”

Holy fuck.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Bucky’s eyes shuttered at your hoarse tone, but he stayed strong. His hands went for his zipper and you wiggled, your wetness seeping down your naked thighs. He smacked you in the face with his cock and you suppressed a giggle.

“Stay still.”

You looked up at him, eyes twinkling now.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Now be a good girl and open your mouth. Let me see that throat.”

You do as you’re told, opening wide and saying, ‘ahhhhh.’

Bucky stroked himself right there in front of you as you drooled for him.

“That’s a sweet little slut. Suck me just a little bit, baby. That mouth last week was heaven.”

He rubbed the tip of his flared head along your lips and then groaned as those lips closed around him. You sucked it like it’s the best lollipop you’d ever had.

“Fuck!”

His voice was deeper now, and it made you even wetter.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you hummed around his cock because you were in heaven. There was just this.

Just now.

You tried to take him deeper, but he didn’t let you, dragging you up gently by your arm. You stood as he sat on the edge of the bed, and then reached for you, gracefully depositing you across his lap due to his strength. Your breasts just happened to end up atop his hard cock as his large hand caressed your ass.

“You deserve a spanking for leaving me, Frumoasa. Three on each side. Count. And that is the only sound I should hear.”

You were disappointed at so few, but you knew he was going easy on you. Yet you didn’t try to push him. Not tonight.

Bucky spanked you hard, three times on each cheek, and you counted dutifully, your voice growing more ragged with each crack on your ass.

“Goood fucking girl. You took those so well.”

He reached down into your wetness with two as you squirmed on his lap because of his teasing. You wanted him inside you so bad.

“Fuck, you’re soooo wet.”

His voice was full of lust and you felt his cock pulse pre cum onto your nipples. You pussy was clenching and pulsing like crazy.

Bucky smeared your juices up and around your anus, careful not to penetrate, but driving you mad as the rough pad of his fingers played outside. You wantonly tried to push back on him, but he didn’t let you.

Bucky tsked.

“Remember, you are not in control right now. I am. That is what you need, my Love.”

His words hit you like a mack truck and your orgasm came without warning, crashing over you as your sensitive cunt clenched down around nothing.

“Damn, Frumoasă,” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I barely touched you. But I told you to ask permission. You’ll answer for that later.”

You shivered as Bucky shifted, picking you up and depositing you on your back, spreading your legs and looking at your glistening center. A thin web of his precum connected his cock to your tis, and he took himself in one hand as he smeared his fluid around your nipples.

You shuddered and bit back a moan. You were so sensitive.

His eyes were glued to your wet center as you watched his hand almost blur on his cock. You arched your back.

He tilted his head as that tongue snaked out against his lips.

“…Are you…?” His eyes slid down your body and back up to your eyes.

“Cum for me again, Frumoasă.”

You did are you were told, arching as he rubbed your nipples and twisted them gently.

“Damn. So responsive. For me. So good.”

He was climbing on the bed, kneeling between your open legs now. Then he was on top of you, kissing you, his tongue twining with yours as his cock rubbed against your cunt. Finally, he plunged inside you.

“Yesssss,” you hissed. Every thrust made you writhe beneath him. Bucky’s cock was perfect, filling you just right.

Your eyes sought his.

“Can I make noise now?”

Bucky covered your mouth in another deep kiss.

“Yes, Frumoasă. Let me hear you.”

His hands slid down to cup your ass, holding you close as he increased his pace.

“Tighter,” you whimpered. “Harder.”

“All for you,” Bucky promised. Your pussy fluttered around him.

“Don’t let me go,” you pleaded.

“Never,” Bucky soothed, stroking your thighs. “I’ll never let you go.”

You writhed as he held you down firmly, driving faster.

“Bucky!”

You grew more frantic beneath him, and he lengthened his strokes, anchoring your arms to the pillow. His cock throbbed inside you, causing you to cry out.

He leaned down and blew on your nipples and you keened, then he captured your lips, and you kissed him back like you were starving.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You deserve everything I give you. I’m going to tell you again and again how good you are.”

You squirmed, thrashing beneath him, and his grip tightened on your wrists.

“You’re my favorite girl. You’re beautiful and perfect. You’re so good that I’m going to give you all my cum.”

“Say it again,” you begged.

“My good, good girl,” he whispered

“I’m going to come inside you, because that’s where I belong. We’re going to make lots of beautiful babies, Frumoasă. Now cum around my cock.”

You let out a wail. Your mind went blank as Bucky thrust deep inside you, pouring all his cum into you.

All you could see and feel was him.

Finally, he pulled out, looking utterly dazed, and kissed you on the forehead.

“I fucking love you, Bucky.”

His arms came up around you.

“I love you too. I love everything about you. You’re going to make a wonderful mother.” You were sated, excited and calm now.

“We should tell Peach and Steve.”

“Later,” you said at the same time, and burst out laughing.

“But let’s not wait too long,” you said.

“Tomorrow,” Bucky murmured.

“After I make you breakfast?”

He kissed you on the nose.

“Yes, that’s perfect. Daddy.”

You climbed on top of him, resting your head on his chest. He stroked your back as you felt his cock perk up again.

“Daddy…”

You sat up on him, rolling your hips. Bucky looked at you, his eyes on your swaying, and yes bigger breasts.

“You’re gonna be the death of me…”

You moved to get off of him.

“You’re right, you can’t have a heart attack now, we’ve got a child to think of.”

Bucky grabbed you and hauled your leg over his so that you were straddling him again. His grin was wide.

“Get that ass back here…”

It was almost Christmas morning, and you had every gift you wanted, right there in that bed.

#kyd asks #ask dj #knock you down fic #peach fic #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes #knock you down verse #art dealer! bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #mob boss! bucky barnes #sebastian stan #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #mob boss! steve rogers #chris evans #terry richmond

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