#does that count as space therapy?

[akkivee]

made a bingo card the day we got the anime japan announcement so some spaces wound up announced beforehand lol but i would have had a bingo!!!!!!!

[pucksandpower]

Never? Never.

Day 14 → Innocence Play 💋 Lewis Hamilton

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The office feels charged. There’s a weight in the air, one that sits low on Lewis’ chest as he waits. His arms are crossed, and he leans back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the armrest.

He’s not impatient, exactly. More … curious. A steady line of candidates has been moving in and out all morning, but none of them have made much of an impression.

Then the door opens.

You step in, and for a second, the world seems to shift. Lewis sits up straighter, the tapping on the armrest stops as his hand stills. It’s subtle, but something inside him clicks.

You’re standing there, blinking up at him with wide, innocent eyes, dressed in a way that shouldn’t catch his attention but does. There’s something about you — something that feels out of place, but in a way that demands his attention.

You look young. Too young, maybe. But your resume … he remembers it well. It was strong, impressive even, especially for someone your age.

That’s why you’re here, why you got the interview. But now that he sees you — sees the way your lips press together nervously, the way your hands fidget at your sides — he knows. He’s already decided.

You’re the one.

He clears his throat, motions toward the chair opposite him. “You can sit.”

You hesitate for half a second, then move quickly to take a seat. Your movements are precise but careful, like you’re hyper-aware of the space around you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice almost a whisper. Lewis has to resist the urge to lean in closer, as if proximity could make you louder.

For a moment, there’s silence. It hangs in the air between you, but it isn’t uncomfortable. He watches you, studies the way your fingers lace together in your lap, the way your gaze flickers between him and the floor.

“So,” Lewis finally says, his voice deep, smooth, breaking the stillness. “You’re younger than I expected.”

You look up sharply, and there it is — that nervous energy he noticed the moment you walked in. “Is that … a problem?”

Lewis leans back in his chair, watching you carefully. “Not necessarily.” He lets the words hang, lets you sit with them for a moment. Then he adds, “Your resume says enough. But you know, experience counts too.”

You nod quickly, like you’ve rehearsed this. “I’ve worked hard to gain as much experience as possible, despite my age. I did an accelerated program, internships, and I’ve had hands-on experience in sports therapy.”

He smirks a little, not unkindly. “That’s what the resume says. But I want to know if you can keep up. My schedule is … demanding.”

“I can handle demanding.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow, intrigued. There’s a quiet strength in your voice now, something steady beneath the nerves. It draws him in. “You sure?”

You nod again, a little more confidently this time. “I’m sure.”

For a moment, he just looks at you. There’s something about your determination, your innocence wrapped in a quiet kind of fierceness, that makes him want to test you. Push a little further. See how far you’ll go.

“You know what I do, right?” he asks, voice low, almost teasing. “How intense it gets?”

Your lips part slightly, eyes wide again, but you don’t look away. “I know.”

“And you think you can keep up with that? With me?”

You hesitate, but only for a fraction of a second. “I do.”

Lewis lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and there’s a flicker of something — something he can’t quite name — that runs through him. Maybe it’s the way you sit there, unwavering under his scrutiny. Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re still so young, so innocent, yet there’s an undeniable strength beneath it all.

“You don’t look like you belong here,” he says suddenly, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Your cheeks flush, but you don’t back down. “Maybe I don’t. But I can do the job.”

That makes him smile, really smile this time. “Confident.”

You don’t respond, just look at him with those wide, innocent eyes that make something inside him twist. He’s always liked control, liked knowing where everything stands, and right now, he’s trying to figure out where you fit into that. Because you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t affect him like this. But you do.

“Okay,” he says finally, breaking the silence again. “Let’s say I believe you. What makes you think you can handle me?”

You blink, clearly caught off guard. “I-I mean, I’ve worked with athletes before. High pressure, fast-paced environments.”

Lewis shakes his head, leaning forward now, arms resting on the table between you. “No. What makes you think you can handle me? It’s not just about keeping up with the physical demands. It’s about knowing what I need, sometimes before I even know it myself.”

You swallow hard, and he watches as you process the question. It’s not fair, not really, because how could you possibly know what he’s asking for? But he wants to see how you’ll respond, how far you’ll go to prove yourself.

“I … I think I’m good at reading people,” you say slowly, carefully. “I can pick up on what they need, even when they don’t say it out loud. I don’t know everything about you yet, but I’m confident I can learn.”

There it is again — that quiet strength. The determination that makes something inside him tighten. He likes it. He likes you.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer now.

You blink, unsure how to respond. “Is that … bad?”

Lewis shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “No. It’s not bad at all.”

There’s a beat of silence, then he adds, “You’ve got the job.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “But … you didn’t ask me any real questions. You haven’t seen what I can do.”

“I don’t need to,” he says simply, standing up from his chair. He walks around the table, stopping just in front of you. “I already know.”

You stand too, a little more slowly, still looking at him like you can’t quite believe what’s happening. “But … why?”

Lewis steps closer, close enough now that he can see the way your breath hitches just slightly. He lowers his voice, eyes locked on yours. “Because you’re the only one who walked in here and made me feel something.”

Your breath catches, and for a second, neither of you move. There’s something electric in the air, something that crackles between you, and Lewis feels it in his chest, in the way his pulse quickens.

“You’re going to learn a lot,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper now. “About me. About what I need. And I’m going to push you, test you, see how far you can go. But I think you’re ready for that.”

You swallow hard, and he watches as you try to steady yourself, try to keep up with the intensity of his gaze. “I … I am.”

Lewis nods, satisfied. “Good. We start tomorrow.”

With that, he steps back, giving you a little space, though the air between you still feels charged, thick with something unspoken. You seem unsure of what to say, how to respond, but Lewis doesn’t need words right now.

He turns, walking toward the door, but pauses just before opening it. Without looking back, he says, “See you at 6 AM sharp. Don’t be late.”

Then he’s gone, leaving you standing there, breathless and wide-eyed, already wrapped up in something you can’t quite name yet.

But Lewis knows.

He knew the moment you walked in.

You were always meant to be his.

***

The penthouse feels warm, alive in the afterglow of celebration. Outside, the city hums in the late hours, but inside, it’s just the two of you. The clink of glasses and quiet laughter fills the space as you sit on the plush couch, facing each other.

The race earlier had been electric — Lewis on top of the podium again, his smile wide and genuine, the energy of the crowd still buzzing in his veins. Now, it’s quieter. The adrenaline has faded to something softer, and there’s a comfortable ease between you that hadn’t been there in those early days. It’s been months of working together, and you’ve found your rhythm.

Lewis leans back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one arm resting lazily on the back of the couch. His other hand holds a glass of Almave and he swirls the liquid idly, watching the way the light catches in the amber liquid.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, his voice low, cutting through the comfortable silence.

You look up at him, blinking a little as if pulled from your thoughts. “Just … taking it all in.”

Lewis smiles, a slow, crooked thing that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good night, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “It was … perfect.”

He watches you for a moment, studying the way you say it, the way your eyes seem to sparkle just a little more tonight. You’re both a little tipsy on the high of the win and the celebratory toasts that followed. The Almave is smooth, the evening smooth, and everything feels just a little softer around the edges.

“You’re getting better at this,” he says, leaning forward slightly, eyes still locked on you. “The whole celebration thing.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be the one celebrating.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Why not? You’re part of this. Part of me.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, heavier than you expected, and you don’t know what to say. Lewis is always like this — direct, confident, never afraid to make you think, to push just a little further than you’re comfortable. It’s why you’ve grown so much since you started working with him. He makes you better, challenges you in ways no one ever has.

“You don’t have to keep quiet when things go well,” he continues, his voice soft but firm. “You’re allowed to enjoy it.”

You nod, but there’s something in your eyes, something guarded. He notices it right away, the way you pull back just a little, and he doesn’t like it. He wants to break through that wall you still keep up sometimes, even after all these months.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, leaning in a little closer now, his voice low and gentle. “You look like you’re holding something back.”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes darting away for a second before you force yourself to look at him again. “Nothing. I’m just … tired.”

“Liar.” He says it with a teasing smile, but his eyes are sharp, focused on you in that way he has, like he can see straight through the layers you try to put up. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

You nod, but there’s a hesitation, a flicker of something that passes over your face. Lewis doesn’t miss it. He never misses anything when it comes to you.

“You don’t believe me,” he says, voice softer now, almost coaxing.

“I do,” you protest, but it’s weak, unconvincing.

Lewis sets his glass down on the coffee table, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Tell me something,” he says quietly, his eyes holding yours. “Something you’ve never told anyone before.”

You blink, the request catching you off guard. Your eyes widen slightly, and Lewis can see the panic flash across your face, just for a second.

“I don’t know if-” you start, but Lewis cuts you off.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No deflecting. You can trust me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and he watches as you wrestle with yourself, weighing whether or not to let him in. He’s patient, though. He knows you need time. And he knows you’ll tell him, eventually. You always do.

“I don’t …” you start, then stop, biting your lip as you look down at your hands. “It’s … personal.”

Lewis leans back again, but his eyes stay fixed on you. “That’s the point. I’m asking you to let me in.”

You fidget in your seat, your fingers twisting in your lap as you avoid his gaze. “I’m just not sure if it’s … the right time.”

Lewis lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “If not now, when? We’ve been doing this — whatever this is — for months now. I think we’re past the point of secrets, don’t you?”

You stay quiet, your eyes darting to the side, and Lewis can see the internal battle you’re fighting. He can almost feel it, the way you’re teetering on the edge of letting something out that you’ve kept hidden for a long time.

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to place a hand on your knee, his touch light but grounding. “It’s just me. You know that, right?”

You finally look up at him, your eyes searching his for something — reassurance, maybe, or understanding. And Lewis holds your gaze, steady and unwavering, waiting for you to decide.

“I don’t know if you really want to hear this,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis tilts his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Try me.”

There’s a long pause, the air between you thick with tension. Then, finally, you take a deep breath, your shoulders rising and falling with the weight of whatever it is you’re about to say.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” you start, your voice shaky but determined. “Because it’s … it’s embarrassing. And I don’t really know how to-”

Lewis cuts you off, his voice gentle but firm. “Don’t overthink it. Just say it.”

You swallow hard, your eyes dropping to your hands again as you fidget with the hem of your shirt. There’s a long pause, and Lewis can see how hard this is for you, how much you’re struggling to get the words out. But he stays quiet, giving you the space you need, his hand still resting on your knee, a steady presence.

Then, in a voice so soft he almost doesn’t hear it, you finally speak.

“I’ve never had an orgasm.”

***

There’s a stillness in the room after your words hang in the air. Lewis watches you, his eyes sharp, but his expression softens — careful. He wasn’t expecting that. Of all the things you could’ve said, this isn’t what crossed his mind. But there it is. Laid bare between you both.

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” His voice is quiet, but there’s something darker beneath it, something that makes the air feel heavier, charged.

You don’t look at him, your face flushed with embarrassment, your hands still fidgeting in your lap. “I don’t … I don’t really know why,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just never happened.”

Lewis leans back against the couch, his arm sliding across the backrest, fingers just brushing the top of your shoulder. He’s processing this, taking his time. He’s no stranger to intimacy, but this is different. This is you.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, sees the way you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice low, pulling you back from wherever your mind is racing to. “Look at me.”

You hesitate, but finally, your eyes meet his. There’s vulnerability there, a kind of rawness that makes his chest tighten. He’s used to seeing you composed, in control of yourself, even when you’re nervous. But now? Now you look small, like you’re afraid of being judged.

Lewis doesn’t judge. Not you. Not ever.

“First of all,” he says, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “there’s nothing embarrassing about that. Understand?”

You nod, but you don’t look convinced. He can tell this is something you’ve been carrying around for a while, something that’s weighed on you.

“And second,” he continues, his smile widening just a little, “I may be vegan, but I’d be more than happy to devour you.”

Your eyes widen in shock, your mouth parting slightly as his words sink in. “What?” You whisper, like you didn’t hear him right.

Lewis chuckles, low and deep, leaning in closer. “You heard me.”

He can see the confusion in your eyes, the way your mind is working overtime to process what he’s offering. He likes seeing you like this — unsure, but curious. There’s something about the innocence in your gaze that stirs something primal in him, something possessive.

“I-” you start, but you cut yourself off, clearly unsure of how to respond.

Lewis tilts his head slightly, watching you carefully, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to do anything. Let me take the lead.”

Your breath hitches, and he watches as your lips part again, eyes darting away from his. You’re nervous, he knows that. But there’s something else too, something that feels like anticipation. You’re intrigued, curious, maybe even a little excited by the prospect of letting go.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers now twisting the fabric of your shirt again.

Lewis shifts, closing the space between you, his hand moving to cup your chin gently, turning your face so that you’re looking at him. “You don’t have to know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “All you need to do is trust me. Can you do that?”

You hesitate, your eyes searching his, trying to find something, some kind of reassurance. But there’s only certainty in his gaze, the kind that comes with confidence, with control. He knows what he’s doing, knows how to read you, and he wants to show you just how good it can be.

“Yes,” you finally breathe, the word barely audible but enough for Lewis to hear.

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your bottom lip now. He watches as your breath catches, your lips parting just slightly under his touch. There’s a shift in the air between you, something electric, and Lewis feels it deep in his chest. He’s been patient with you, kept things professional, but there’s always been this undercurrent, this tension.

He’s not interested in waiting any longer.

His hand drops from your chin, trailing down your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone. He watches the way your chest rises and falls, how your breath quickens just from the lightest touch. It’s intoxicating, watching you respond to him like this, and he knows you’re feeling it too — the pull, the anticipation.

“Let me show you,” he whispers, his voice low, almost a growl. “I want you to feel everything.”

You bite your lip, clearly still nervous, but you don’t pull away. You’re trusting him, even though you’re unsure of where this is going.

Lewis leans in, his lips just inches from your ear as he whispers, “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your body stiffens for a moment, but then he feels you melt into his touch as his hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer. It’s slow, deliberate, the way he moves, as if he’s savoring each moment, each small reaction from you. And that’s exactly what he’s doing.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face, gauging how you’re feeling. There’s still that uncertainty in your gaze, but there’s something else too — desire. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and Lewis can feel it in the way your body leans into his, the way your breath hitches whenever he touches you.

“Don’t think,” he murmurs, his lips just brushing against yours, teasing. “Just feel.”

You nod slightly, and that’s all the permission he needs. He closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first, almost testing the waters. But as soon as he feels you respond — feels the way your lips part under his, the way you sigh into the kiss — it deepens. His hand moves to your waist, gripping you tighter, pulling you even closer as he takes control, guiding the pace, the rhythm.

You’re tentative, unsure, but you’re following his lead. And that’s all he needs.

Lewis pulls away just slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and he can feel the warmth radiating from your skin, the way your body is buzzing with something new, something unfamiliar.

“How are you feeling?” He asks softly, his voice rough but tender, his hand sliding down to your hip, holding you steady.

Your eyes flutter open, and you look at him with a kind of awe, like you can’t quite believe what’s happening. “I … I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “I feel … different.”

Lewis smiles, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip again. “Good different?”

You nod, biting your lip again, and he can see the way your body is responding, even if you’re not fully aware of it yet. You’re relaxing into him, letting go of that initial hesitation, and he loves seeing it — the way you’re starting to trust him, to trust yourself.

“Let me keep going,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear again, sending a shiver down your spine. “I want to make you feel good. Just … let me lead.”

You hesitate for a second, your breath catching in your throat, but then you nod. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

Lewis doesn’t waste another second. His hand slides down your side, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, while his other hand cradles the back of your neck, pulling you closer for another kiss. This one is deeper, hungrier, and he can feel you responding, your body leaning into his touch, your lips parting for him.

He’s in control. And you’re letting him be.

And as the night stretches on, Lewis knows one thing for sure — he’s going to show you everything you’ve been missing.

Lewis deepens the kiss, feeling the way you respond, how you melt into his touch. He moves with a slow, deliberate intensity, his hand exploring the curves of your body, memorizing every line and contour. There’s a purpose to his movements — he wants to show you what you’ve been missing, and he’s determined to do it right.

“Just relax,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod slightly, your breath hitching as his hand slips under your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and Lewis feels it, the way your body reacts to his touch. He smiles, a dark, satisfied smile, knowing he’s already starting to break through the walls you’ve built up.

His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin lightly. He can feel your pulse quicken, the way your breath comes in shallow gasps, and it only fuels his desire. He wants to hear you, to feel you lose control, to know that he’s the one making you feel this way.

“Do you trust me?” He whispers, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Yes,” you breathe, the word barely audible, but it’s enough for Lewis.

“Good,” he replies, his hand moving lower, tracing the waistband of your jeans. “Just let go. Let me show you what it’s like.”

You nod again, and Lewis feels a surge of satisfaction. He wants to take his time with you, to savor every moment, every reaction. His fingers deftly undo the button of your jeans, and he feels you tense slightly.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing purr. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

You take a shaky breath, and he can feel you trying to relax, to trust him. He slides your jeans down, his hands trailing over your thighs, his touch light but firm. He wants you to feel every sensation, to be completely aware of what he’s doing.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, but there’s a softness there too, a tenderness that surprises even him. He wants this to be good for you, wants to show you how it should feel.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says softly, his hands moving back up, caressing your skin. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

You bite your lip, your eyes locked on his, and Lewis can see the mix of emotions there — nervousness, anticipation, desire. It’s intoxicating.

He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss, his hand slipping between your thighs, finding the soft fabric of your underwear. He can feel the heat radiating from you, the way your body is already responding to his touch.

“Just let me lead,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers teasing you through the fabric. “I promise you’re going to love this.”

You nod, and Lewis takes it as his cue. He slips his fingers under the waistband, finding the soft, wet heat of you. You gasp, your body arching into his touch, and he smiles against your skin.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. “Just feel.”

You’re breathing harder now, your hands gripping his shoulders, and Lewis can feel the way your body is trembling. He watches your face, the way your eyes flutter closed, your lips parted as you try to catch your breath.

“You’re so responsive,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I love how you’re reacting to me.”

He increases the pressure slightly, his fingers finding a rhythm that has you gasping, your body arching off the couch. He can feel you getting wetter, your arousal slick against his fingers, and it drives him wild.

“Do you like that?” He asks, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice breathless. “Oh God, yes.”

“Good,” he replies, his fingers moving faster now, the pace increasing. “Because I’m not stopping until you come for me.”

You moan, your body trembling as the pleasure builds, and Lewis can feel you getting closer, your muscles tensing, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He wants to push you over the edge, to see you lose control completely.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his voice a rough command. “I want to feel you come.”

You’re close, he can feel it, and he moves his fingers faster, his thumb finding just the right spot. You cry out, your body arching off the couch, and Lewis can feel you clenching around his fingers as the orgasm crashes over you.

“That’s it,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Let it out.”

You’re trembling, gasping for breath, and Lewis doesn’t stop, his fingers still moving, drawing out every last bit of pleasure. He wants you to feel it completely, to know what it’s like to lose yourself in the sensation.

As the waves of pleasure finally start to subside, he slows his movements, his touch gentle now, soothing. He watches you, the way your chest rises and falls, your eyes still closed, a look of bliss on your face.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping out, his hand moving to rest on your thigh. “Absolutely incredible.”

You open your eyes, looking at him with a mix of amazement and exhaustion. “I … I can’t believe that just happened,” you whisper.

Lewis smiles, a slow, satisfied smile. “Believe it. And trust me, it’s only the beginning.”

He leans in, kissing you deeply, his hand still resting on your thigh, grounding you. He can feel the way your body is still trembling slightly, the aftershocks of your orgasm making you shiver.

“How do you feel?” He asks softly, his lips brushing against yours.

“Amazing,” you reply, your voice shaky but filled with wonder. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

Lewis chuckles, a low, satisfied sound. “Oh, it can be even better. I promise you.”

You bite your lip, looking at him with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. “Really?”

“Really,” he says, his hand moving up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “I want to show you everything, make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

You blush, the color rising in your cheeks, and Lewis feels a surge of affection for you. You’re still so shy, so unsure, but you’re trusting him, and that means everything to him.

“I want that,” you say softly, your eyes locked on his.

“Good,” he replies, his voice filled with determination. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

He kisses you again, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away. His hand slips back down, finding the heat of you once more, and he can feel the way your body responds, the way you’re already getting aroused again.

“I want to taste you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire. “I want to make you come with my mouth.”

You gasp, your eyes wide with surprise and anticipation. “I … I’ve never …”

Lewis cuts you off with a kiss, his hand moving to gently push you back against the couch. “Trust me,” he says, his voice a low growl. “You’re going to love this.”

He moves down your body, his lips trailing over your skin, leaving a path of fire in their wake. He takes his time, savoring each moment, each reaction, until he’s settled between your thighs, his hands gently spreading you open.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with desire. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

You’re trembling, your breath coming in short gasps, and Lewis can feel the anticipation radiating off you. He leans in, his tongue flicking out to taste you, and the sound you make — the soft, desperate moan — drives him wild.

He starts slow, teasing, his tongue moving in gentle, deliberate strokes, wanting to savor the taste of you, the way you respond to his touch. He can feel your body tensing, your hips arching towards him, and he holds you steady, his hands gripping your thighs.

“Just let go,” he murmurs against your skin, his tongue finding a rhythm that has you gasping, your fingers tangling in his braids. “Let me make you feel good.”

You’re moaning now, your body trembling as the pleasure builds, and Lewis can feel the way you’re getting closer, the way your muscles are tensing, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Oh God,” you gasp, your voice high and breathless. “Lewis, please …”

He smiles against your skin, increasing the pressure, his tongue moving faster, more insistent. He wants to push you over the edge again, to feel you lose control completely.

“Come for me,” he growls, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. “I want to taste you.”

You cry out, your body arching off the couch as the orgasm crashes over you, and Lewis doesn’t stop, his tongue still moving, drawing out every last bit of pleasure. He wants you to feel it completely, to know what it’s like to lose yourself in the sensation.

As the waves of pleasure finally start to subside, he slows his movements, his touch gentle now, soothing. Lewis pulls back slightly, watching you as you lay there, your chest still rising and falling from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

The look on your face — blissful, flushed, and so vulnerable — makes something twist deep in his chest. You’ve just experienced something new, something he’s given you, and the knowledge of that fills him with an intense satisfaction.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his smile slow and full of heat. “You taste incredible,” he murmurs again, voice rough, letting the words hang between you. “I’ve never tasted anything better.”

You’re still catching your breath, but your eyes find his, and there’s a spark of something there — nervous, but … curious.

Lewis can see the way you hesitate, the way you’re trying to form words but don’t quite know how. He leans in, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “What is it, love?” He asks, his voice soft, coaxing. He’s patient, not wanting to rush you.

You bite your lip, your cheeks flushed with both the intensity of what’s just happened and the thought clearly forming in your mind. “I … I want to …” You hesitate, glancing away briefly, embarrassed. “I want to do the same to you.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow, intrigued, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits, watching the way your gaze drops to his chest, avoiding eye contact.

“I just don’t know … how,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

His heart stirs at your shyness, the vulnerability of your admission. There’s something so genuine about you, so unaffected. He can see the innocence still lingering in your eyes, even after everything that’s just happened. It makes him want to be gentle, to guide you, to show you that there’s no pressure here — just a shared experience between the two of you.

Lewis shifts his weight, sitting up and leaning back against the cushions. He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing across your skin. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You shake your head quickly, your hand reaching out to touch his chest, your fingers splayed against his skin. “I want to,” you say, the words coming out more firmly now, but still tinged with uncertainty. “I just … I don’t want to mess it up.”

Lewis chuckles, the sound low and warm, easing the tension in the room. “You won’t mess it up,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Trust me, you can’t mess this up.”

You glance up at him, your eyes searching his face, and he can see the resolve settling in. Slowly, you shift, moving closer to him, your hands tentatively sliding down his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle. Lewis watches you carefully, his breath slowing as your touch grows more confident.

Your fingers dip lower, brushing the waistband of his sweatpants, and you pause, glancing up at him again. “What do I … do first?” You ask, your voice small but filled with curiosity.

Lewis reaches down, his hand gently covering yours, guiding it to the drawstring of his pants. “You start by taking these off,” he says, his voice deep, steady. “Just go slow.”

You swallow hard, but you nod, your fingers trembling slightly as you untie the knot and slowly pull his pants down. Lewis helps you, lifting his hips slightly to ease them off, and soon, they’re discarded on the floor. He’s left in just his boxers, his arousal evident beneath the thin fabric.

You bite your lip again, your eyes widening slightly as you take in the sight of him. “I don’t … I don’t know if I’ll be good at this,” you admit, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

Lewis reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch soft, reassuring. “You don’t have to be perfect,” he says gently. “Just listen to me, and I’ll tell you what feels good. Okay?”

You nod, your nerves still there, but there’s a determination in your gaze now, a desire to learn, to please him the way he pleased you. Slowly, you reach for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down carefully, and Lewis lets out a low breath as he’s freed from the confines of the fabric.

For a moment, you just stare, your hand hovering uncertainly above him. “It’s … bigger than I thought,” you murmur, and Lewis can’t help but grin at your honesty.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice laced with amusement. “You’ll get used to it.”

You look up at him, biting your lip nervously, and Lewis reaches down, taking your hand in his. He guides it to him, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers wrap around him, tentative but curious.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice small, unsure.

Lewis closes his eyes briefly, feeling the warmth of your hand around him, the softness of your touch. “Yeah,” he breathes, his voice rougher now. “Just like that.”

You start slow, your hand moving tentatively at first, feeling your way through the unfamiliar motions. Lewis watches you, his breath deepening as you grow more confident, your movements becoming more fluid. He can see the concentration on your face, the way you’re so focused on getting it right, and it only makes him want you more.

“Am I doing it okay?” You ask, glancing up at him, your eyes wide, seeking approval.

Lewis groans softly, his hand moving to rest on the back of your neck. “You’re doing perfect,” he says, his voice thick with desire. “Just keep going.”

You bite your lip again, nodding slightly as your hand moves faster, finding a rhythm. Lewis’ breath hitches, his body tensing slightly as the pleasure starts to build. He’s trying to stay in control, to guide you, but you’re learning quickly, and the way your touch feels — tentative yet eager — is driving him wild.

“You’re so good at this,” he murmurs, his hand tightening slightly on the back of your neck, encouraging you. “Just like that.”

Your cheeks flush at his praise, and you seem to grow even more confident, your movements more sure. Lewis can feel his control slipping, the pleasure coiling tight in his gut, but he doesn’t want to rush this. He wants you to feel how much he’s enjoying it, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to use your mouth?” He asks, his voice low, rough with desire. “I can show you how.”

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes widening slightly at the suggestion, but then you nod. “Yes,” you whisper. “Show me.”

Lewis shifts, adjusting himself so that you have better access, and he cups your cheek gently, guiding you closer. “Just start slow,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your lips. “Don’t worry about being perfect. Just take your time.”

You nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you lean in, your lips brushing against him tentatively at first. Lewis groans softly, his hand tightening on the back of your neck, but he’s careful not to push you too hard. He wants you to move at your own pace, to find your own rhythm.

You open your mouth, taking him in slowly, and Lewis’ breath hitches, his body tensing as the warmth of your mouth surrounds him. “Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so good.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide, and he can see the uncertainty there, but also the desire to please him. He groans, his hand guiding you gently, showing you how to move, how to take him deeper, how to use your tongue.

“Just like that,” he breathes, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re doing so good, love.”

You follow his lead, your movements slow and tentative at first, but you’re learning quickly, finding a rhythm that has Lewis’ breath coming in shallow gasps. He can feel his control slipping, the pleasure coiling tighter with each passing moment.

He’s never felt anything like this — the combination of your innocence, your eagerness to learn, and the way you look up at him, eyes wide and full of curiosity — it’s intoxicating.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hand tightening on the back of your neck as you take him deeper, your mouth moving in perfect rhythm with his guidance. “You’re gonna make me come if you continue doing that.”

You pause for a moment, looking up at him with wide eyes, and Lewis chuckles softly, his hand brushing through your hair. “Keep going,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I want you to finish me off.”

You nod slightly, your lips sliding back down over him, and Lewis can’t hold back the groan that escapes his lips. The pleasure is building fast, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer, not with the way you’re moving, the way you’re looking at him like you’re determined to please him.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his hand tightening in your hair as the pleasure coils tight in his gut. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

You take him deeper, your mouth working in perfect rhythm, and Lewis can feel the tension building, the pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. He groans loudly, his body tensing as he reaches the edge.

“God, I’m gonna come,” he gasps, his hand tightening in your hair. “You should stop if you don’t want to swallow-”

But you don’t stop. Instead, you push even further, taking him deeper into your mouth, your movements growing more confident, more determined. Your tongue swirls around him, your hand stroking in time with your lips, and Lewis feels his control shatter.

He’s never felt anything like this — your eagerness, your willingness to please him, the way you’re pushing yourself to learn and to give him everything he needs. It’s overwhelming, and it sends him spiraling over the edge.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head falling back, his eyes closing as the pleasure crashes over him in waves. His body tenses, his muscles locking up as he comes, the intensity of it almost too much to handle.

You don’t pull away. You keep going, your mouth and hand working together to draw out every last bit of his orgasm, your movements steady and sure. He can feel the way you’re trying to take everything, the way you’re pushing yourself, and it drives him wild.

He’s gasping for breath, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his release, and he forces himself to open his eyes, to look down at you. You’re still there, your eyes locked on his, a mixture of determination and curiosity in your gaze.

“God, you’re amazing,” he breathes, his voice rough and unsteady. He gently pulls you away, his hands cupping your cheeks, guiding you up to his level. “You didn’t have to do all that, you know.”

You bite your lip, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I wanted to,” you say softly. “I wanted to make you feel good.”

Lewis’s heart swells at your words, the sincerity in your voice. He leans in, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your lips, and it only makes him want you more. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close.

“You did,” he murmurs against your lips. “You made me feel incredible. You’re incredible.”

You blush, the color rising in your cheeks, and Lewis can’t help but smile. There’s something so genuine about you, so unaffected by everything that’s happened. It makes him want to protect you, to show you that you’re safe with him, that you can trust him.

He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes, his expression softening. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For trusting me. For letting me be the one to show you this.”

You smile shyly, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “Thank you for being so patient,” you reply. “For making me feel … good.”

Lewis chuckles softly, his hand brushing through your hair. “I’d say we both came out of this feeling pretty good,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye.

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, and it’s like music to his ears. He kisses you again, slow and tender, savoring the moment. There’s a warmth between you now, a connection that wasn’t there before, and it feels like the start of something new, something real.

As the night wears on, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, talking and laughing, the intimacy of the moment lingering between you. In the back of his mind, Lewis knows that this is just the beginning, that there’s so much more to explore, so much more to learn about each other. And he can’t wait to do so.

[pure-smut]

iron wall.

featuring: Takanobu Aone x f!reader

contains: some angst to fluff to smut, happy ending!!, tattoo artist!Aone, social anxiety!reader, thigh riding, fingering(ish), missionary, NOT an accurate representation of getting a tattoo (call it creative liberties)

word count: 3.7k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

Masterlist

a/n: I'm sorry, I love Aone so much, he's so babygirl!! I'm a sucker for a gentle giant so I needed to get this story down I love him

You’re so excited for your first tattoo. So excited you could throw up, in fact. Oh wait, no, you’re terrified.

The tattoo studio does nothing to soothe your nerves. It’s a small space, seeming all the more cramped for artwork covering every inch of wall and shelf space. You try your hardest not to shrink into yourself.

And then your tattoo artist steps out and a year of social aversion therapy dwindles into nothing.

Takanobu Aone is one of the best artists in the country and you’ve been so, so lucky to get a spot with him. You researched hard, not trusting your first tattoo in the hands of anyone less than perfect. When you saw Aone’s portfolio online, you knew he was the one. Beautiful linework and sweeping designs that seemed to mould to the person’s body. You fell in love with his art.

But his portfolio didn’t have any pictures of him. So when he steps out and greets you with a silent nod, you nearly shrivel up on the spot.

Aone is scary. He’s tall, broad, and – unsurprisingly – coated in tattoos. A seemingly permanent frown is etched on his face, his ice blonde hair cut short. But it’s his eyes – it’s like he’s glaring at you.

“Sorry,” you squeak out before internally scolding yourself.

Sorry?? What are you apologising for? No one’s said anything yet!

If Aone’s confused, he doesn’t show it. He only gestures to an intimidating-looking chair, fitted with an overhead lamp.

Your hands shake so you clench them into fists. You can do this, you tell yourself. This was the whole point of your tattoo. On wobbly legs, you make your way over to the chair and sit down.

Aone looks down at you. You look back up at him. When neither of you says anything, he twirls his finger in the air.

“Oh!”

Idiot, you think to yourself. It’s a back tattoo – he needs to see my back.

You turn around, your chest pressed against the back of the chair, as Aone sits behind you. Even without seeing him, his presence is so large that you feel it. You take a shuddering breath as you hear the buzz of the needle and squeeze your eyes shut.

The tattoo hurts, like a relentless, stinging scratch against your skin. But honestly? You thought it would be worse. Still, the nerves haven’t dissipated yet, and nausea swirls in your stomach. Especially when you feel Aone’s hands on your skin, resting against your back as he works.

“You’re doing well.”

Aone’s voice is so sudden and unexpected that you nearly jump. It takes a second for you to register what he’s said but when you do, warmth rushes to your cheeks.

“Th-thanks,” you stammer out.

“Will music help you to relax?”

His voice is deep and smooth. You’re glad you’re facing away from him because you don’t want him to see the blush in your cheeks just from listening to him speak.

You tell him your favourite songs and he sets up a playlist. By the time he starts up the tattoo again, you are feeling more relaxed. It helps that you don’t need to look him in the face, that you don’t need to mould your reactions to what you think is right. Every so often, Aone will let you know how well you’re sitting for him and each time, it makes your body feel like it’s on fire.

By the time he’s finished, you’re nearly dizzy.

Aone must notice because he offers his hand to help you stand. You take it, gratefully, but keep your eyes averted, too embarrassed to look him in the face.

“First tattoos are hard,” he says solemnly and you’re glad he thinks it’s the tattoo that’s had an effect on you and not him.

Aone hands you his card as you pay up. It has a list of tattoo care instructions as well as his phone number and socials.

“Any problems, contact me,” he says.

You finally look up at him. What you had thought had been a glare before now looks completely different. Aone’s eyes are sharp but they’re kind, his face serious but concerned. Under the intensity of his gaze, you find it suddenly hard to breathe.

You want to thank him, to tell him you’ll be happy to contact him if anything comes up. To say anything normal at all.

But an iron wall wraps around your chest. You don’t want to say anything stupid or embarrassing. So you give a short nod and leave without saying anything at all.

*

It’s only a few days before your tattoo starts to itch. You diligently cream it as Aone’s card instructed you but the position of the tattoo means you can’t reach all of it. There’s a patch in the middle that’s neglected and so, so goddamn itchy.

After all the research, effort and money spent, you desperately don’t want your new tattoo to heal badly. But you have no one to ask for help. It’s your own fault, you know. You’ve spent the years since you left home for college isolating yourself from everyone. Too worried about saying the wrong thing or doing something embarrassing. Too concerned over whether people are laughing at you instead of with you.

And now you’re stuck with an itchy tattoo that you can’t fully reach.

Aone’s card sits innocently on your desk, almost taunting you. It takes another two days before you gather up the courage to tap out a message to Aone.

He responds within minutes with instructions to come to the studio.

That’s how you end up back in the chair, your favourite songs playing again, too embarrassed to look behind you at Aone.

“The itch is worse than the pain,” he says, rubbing cool, soothing cream gently over your tattoo.

Despite yourself, you smile. Maybe it’s your favourite music in the background, maybe it’s the fact you don’t need to look at him. Maybe it’s the feel of his gloved fingers being so gentle on your skin. For once, you don’t overthink before you speak.

“The pain wasn’t so bad after a while,” you say quietly. “But the itching goes on forever.”

Aone chuckles. It catches you off guard – you wonder what he looks like when he’s smiling.

You sit in comfortable silence for a while.

“This is so embarrassing…” you mumble to yourself.

“What is?”

You startle, not realising he heard you. Your cheeks burn.

“O-oh… just… y’know, all of this,” you say clumsily.

“All of what?”

“I-” A lump appears in your throat. You realise how stupid you sound. “I can’t reach my tattoo.”

A puff of air escapes Aone’s nose.

“Not embarrassing,” he says. “I fainted during my first tattoo. That is embarrassing.”

The image of Aone – broad, muscled, serious-faced Aone – fainting during a tattoo is so unexpected you snort with laughter.

“You didn’t!”

“I did,” he says gravely. “I was too nervous to eat breakfast so my blood sugar was low.”

Aone withdraws his hands to lean in close. You can feel the warmth radiating off him on the back of your neck and shoulder. When he speaks, his breath tickles your cheek.

“They had to give me a lollipop.”

You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth. Aone chuckles and stands, snapping his gloves off. You rise with him, still giggling, and get a glimpse of his smile for the first time.

It’s small, just an uptick at the corner of his mouth, but you can’t stop looking.

“Next time you feel embarrassed, remember the lollipop,” Aone says with a firm nod.

You grin, meeting his eyes. Inside you, a small chip skitters down the iron wall.

A crack.

*

Aone tells you to come back every day at the same time for a week, until your tattoo heals. You find yourself looking forward to it and you end up chatting long after he’s finishing creaming your back. You wonder if this is it – you’ve beaten the insecure demon inside your head.

Until one day you don’t.

It’s the last day you’re scheduled to visit Aone’s studio. Maybe that’s the reason why a stab of icy fear lodges itself in your heart every time you try and open the door to leave.

You stand at your front door, key in the lock, but your hand is frozen. Your breathing turns ragged and your vision swims. You can’t turn the key. You can’t leave your home. Your sanctuary. The only safe space you know.

Except Aone’s studio.

Except Aone.

You know you’re going to be late but still, you can’t bring yourself to leave. With shaking hands, you message Aone, apologising and saying you won’t make it. He messages back instantly.

Are you okay?

You don’t know what prompts you to respond honestly. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from fighting the anxiety in your head. Maybe it’s because Aone has always been sincere with you. Maybe it’s because you don’t have to look at him when you respond.

Maybe the iron wall is breaking.

No, you type back.

He asks for your address, saying he’ll come to you. After chewing your thumbnail down to the quick, you give it and throw your phone onto the other side of the bed.

You barely have the energy to drag yourself from your bed when the doorbell rings. You know you should feel embarrassed opening the door in your pyjamas, hair unbrushed and eyes puffy with no sleep. But when Aone steps in, face serious, and pulls out a lollipop, the only thing you feel is relief.

You burst into tears as Aone pulls you into his arms, pressing you against his chest. He’s firm and warm and holds you tight. He doesn’t say anything. He lets you soak the front of his shirt with your tears.

When you’ve cried yourself dry, your sobs dwindling into sniffles, Aone pulls back to peer down at you.

“Food?”

You spend the day with takeout, watching movies together on your laptop in bed. You sneak glances at him every so often, admiring his profile, and have to quickly look away every time he notices. It should be embarrassing… but you know he’s looking at you too. You can feel his intense gaze when you’re watching the movie, can feel him watching you when you get up to go to the bathroom.

When you return, instead of lying side-by-side, you turn your back to him, pulling the laptop in front of you. Aone turns to spoon you, wrapping one large arm around your stomach. You melt into him, immediately relaxed.

It reminds you of being in his chair, faced away from him but knowing he’s there.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, your voice nearly drowned out by the movie. “I know I get too nervous and say weird stuff.”

“What weird stuff?” You can’t see him but you can hear the frown in his voice.

“Like…” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Like when I first met you, I didn’t even say hi. I said sorry, for some weird reason.”

Your mouth goes dry as you recall your first embarrassing memory with Aone. The one that still keeps you up at night as you replay it, thinking about how awkward you looked and how weird he must think you are.

“That wasn’t weird,” Aone says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “People think I’m scary. They don’t sit next to me on the train and they apologise when they meet me.”

You blink at the laptop, twisting slightly so you can look at Aone. He looks back at you.

“They do?”

He nods.

“You’re not weird. You’re normal.”

Aone says it with absolute sincerity. You think on this for a moment before fully turning, facing him. Aone settles his hand on your waist, his sharp eyes locked on yours.

You’re normal.

A rush of relief floods through you and your eyes water, nearly bursting into tears again. Aone notices because he tightens his grip on you, his hand on standby to brush away any tears.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “I’m okay.”

And it’s true. It’s the most okay you’ve felt in a long time. A flood of affection clouds your mind and you look up at him to smile.

“Thank you for rescuing me today,” you tell him.

“Always,” Aone says seriously.

It’s only one word but it steals your breath. You feel like you’re falling. You grip onto the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself.

One word and your iron wall crumbles.

You tilt your head up until Aone’s face is only inches from yours. You’re offering yourself up, offering your heart on a platter, open and vulnerable. You close your eyes and wait, blood rushing in your ears.

Aone moves his hand up from your waist to cup your face. His skin is hot against yours and you can feel his heart beating through his chest.

“Always,” he whispers once more before he closes the gap between you.

Aone presses his lips softly against yours. Your hands snake around his torso, feeling the hard muscle of his back. His lips part yours gently, cautiously, wary not to pressure you too much. You let him, meeting his tongue with your own and melting into him.

Aone uses one arm to wrap around your back, pulling your body flush to him as his other hand grips your thigh. He tugs your leg over his, nestling his thick thigh between your legs, and pressing against your mound. You gasp lightly into his mouth.

Aone pulls back, eyes opening.

“Is this okay?” he asks, searching your face for any sign you’re uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “It’s… it feels good.”

You try hard not to grind against his thigh but when he leans down to kiss you again, you find your hips moving on their own. His firm muscle pressed against your clothed pussy makes your clit throb with need. You haven’t felt this turned on by anyone in a long time, your sex drive long since evaporated. But Aone is awakening something inside you, a heat in your stomach unfurling.

You hold onto his shoulder, solid as a rock, and grind against his thigh.

Aone trails his hand down to your hip, his grip gentle but firm.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs against your lips, reluctant to break the kiss.

“Mhmm.” You catch his bottom lip lightly between your teeth. “I’m sure.”

Aone hardens his grip on your hip, guiding you as you rub your clothed pussy against his thigh. The friction is delicious, sending little sparks up through your body and soaking the crotch of your panties and pyjama shorts. You’re forced to break the kiss to bury your face in his chest, whimpering.

He’s bringing you close to the edge, so, so close. But it’s not enough.

“More,” you practically beg him. “I need more. Please.”

Aone grunts and rolls you onto your back, slotting himself between your legs. He’s large enough that you’re spread lewdly beneath him, thighs open. It would normally make you flustered – embarrassed – but it doesn’t.

Because it’s okay. It’s Aone.

He looks at your with stars in his eyes as his hand reaches down, sliding under the waistband of your shorts and panties. Your hips buck as his fingers find your swollen clit, slippery with your arousal. He traces small, featherlight touches around your sensitive bud. Aone knows his own strength and he’s always cautious of being too rough. He watches your face carefully to see your reaction, applying slightly more pressure until your nails sink into his biceps.

“There!” you gasp. “Fuck, right there. I’m so close.”

Aone listens, his cock straining against his jeans. You would normally feel your cheeks burn under the intensity of anyone’s gaze, let alone Aone’s, but you’re too caught up in the pleasure he’s giving you to care. His fingers are relentless, keeping up a steady pace, no faster or slower than exactly what you need.

When your back arches and your mouth falls open, Aone dips his head to swallow your moan, kissing you deeply through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping. It’s only when you pull away, too sensitive to continue, that he withdraws his hand.

But he can’t stop kissing you. Your soft lips and the taste of the lollipop he brought you still on your tongue. Aone knows you’ve opened yourself to him, he knows you’ve summoned every ounce of courage you have. He feels like he has a baby bird in his hands and he’s scared to hold you too tight. To crush the precious thing you’ve given him.

So when you come down from your high, he makes to roll off you, not thinking of himself or his throbbing cock.

You stop him, hands on his biceps and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“I want you,” you whisper, voice hoarse from moaning. “All of you.”

Aone searches your face for any uncertainty. He only sees your eyes alight, holding his gaze firmly. He thinks back to your first arrival in his studio, when he couldn’t even tell what your face really looked like, you kept your eyes so averted. The corner of his mouth upticks with pride.

You reach up to wrap one hand around the nape of his neck, carding your fingers through his short, white-blonde hair as your other hand reaches down to his jeans. He helps you unbutton them, tugging them down along with his boxers and throwing them both off the side of the bed. Aone straightens to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. Tattoos decorate his thick torso, artwork following the curves and dips of his body. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, not even hiding how absolutely, completely attracted to him you are.

Aone’s expression doesn’t change much but his eyes glint and you know he’s pleased by your reaction. He reaches down, hooking his thumbs under the hem of your pyjama top and tugging it off. He gazes down at you, face soft, his eyes tracing over your body.

You’d normally be fighting the urge to cover yourself but you don’t feel the need to do that with Aone. You want him to look at you.

Aone leans down to pepper soft kisses down your neck, to your breasts. One large hand massages your tit, tweaking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It’s like your nipple is directly connected to your clit, making it throb with every touch. Aone sucks your other nipple, mouth hot against your skin as his teeth lightly graze you. It’s electrifying. You can feel yourself getting wetter, a scorching heat between your legs.

You need him inside you.

You tug on the roots of his hair gently, pulling his face back up to yours. Aone kisses you deep and slow, one hand reaching down to line his cock up with your entrance. You can feel the fat mushroom tip nudging between your folds. You pull your knees up, wrapping your legs around his hips to give him better access.

Aone pulls back from the kiss. You chase his lips with your own but he cups your cheek, holding you away.

“I want to see your face,” he says.

 He locks eyes with you and pushes himself inside.

Your mouth falls open and your brows scrunch in the middle as Aone slides his cock into your tight hole. You’re more than wet enough for him but his cock is as thick as the rest of him, stretching you with a burn that’s half pleasure, half pain. You whimper, eyes squeezing shut as Aone shallowly pumps himself inside you, going a little deeper each time. Each stroke of his cock sets your nerves on fire, sparks running through your whole body to the tips of your fingers and toes.

“Holy shit,” you grit out. “You’re – ah! – You’re so b-big.”

“Are you okay?” Aone stops still. “Are you in pain?”

You shake your head, wrapping your legs tighter around him.

“Don’t stop,” you beg him.

He gives a short nod and keeps going, slowly working himself deeper until he’s bottomed out. Aone waits there for a while, letting you adjust to the size of him. You’re desperate for more friction, your pussy clenching him tight.

“You…” He collapses onto his forearms, burying his face in your neck.

His hand tangles in your hair at the back of your head, holding you to him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes. “You’re doing so well.”

Aone’s praise sends a thrill up your spine, so reminiscent of the first time you met. He presses his mouth against the shell of your ear.

“I’m going to move, okay?” His voice is hoarse.

You nod and he starts to pull back, keeping his body pressed against yours. It should feel smothering, his large body covering yours, but instead it feels safe. Secure.

Aone keeps a steady pace, not pulling out all the way before thrusting back into you. Your greedy pussy pulling him back in every time, your plush walls squeezing him, not wanting to let him go. His cock rubs against the sensitive spot inside you, the trimmed hair at the base stroking delicious friction against your clit. The combination is indescribable. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to roll back again, your orgasm building faster than you can register.

Aone can feel it. The way your tight pussy gets even tighter, the whimpers you make from the back of your throat, the way your thighs squeeze his hips. He can’t get enough of it. He wants to last as long as possible so he can stay here forever. Stay with you, like this, forever. But the way you’re gripping him, milking his cock, makes it impossible.

“I’m gonna cum, angel,” he groans. “Cum with me.”

His words are enough to tip you over the edge. Stars burst behind your eyes. You cry out his name as your thighs tremble and your toes curl, creaming on his cock. Aone grunts, half-moaning, as buries his cock inside you, thick ropes of cum coating your walls.

You hold him close, not wanting him to leave even as his cock softens inside you. Aone stays where he is, wanting to prolong this moment as long as he can. He presses gentle kisses against your neck, hugging you close to him.

“You’re perfect,” he mumbles in between kisses. “Thank you.”

You smile and catch his lips with your own.

“Always,” you whisper back.

masterlist

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[tuiccim]

We're Gonna Burn (Part 4-Final)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most. Now, dealing with the aftermath makes you question everything.

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

As fate would have it, you get notification of a mission briefing the next morning. You are slightly relieved when you see this one involves the full team. Your emotions from the day before had kept you awake most of the night and you were glad you had another therapy session planned in a few days. You needed to process everything that had happened last night. Especially that almost kiss. It had disturbed the calm you felt. You had gone from hating the man to nearly kissing him in the space of an hour. You tried to shake it off as merely a reaction to all of the emotions but you knew you were fooling yourself in part. You had been attracted to him in the beginning, but it had faded with his surly attitude. It was as if the vulnerability he had shown had brought all of that back in force and you were glad that this mission was with everyone. Some time with the team and space where Bucky is present but not the center of your attention may help you sort some of these feelings.

But fate always had a sense of humor when it came to you. As soon as the plan had been gone over in the briefing, you were paired up with Bucky for your part of it. You cursed silently but returned his nod of acknowledgement. You should have guessed this would happen. Your skills complemented Bucky’s in a way that would make tactical sense to put the two of you together and they had begun to pair you off more in the weeks before the cabin incident. You calm yourself, Bucky was a professional and you were as well. You can put your emotions aside and handle anything that comes your way. You weren’t leaving until the next day so you had time to prepare yourself. When the meeting concluded, you gathered your things and made for the door but stopped short when Bucky called your name. It seemed like time froze for you and that everyone still in the room eyed you both discreetly. Your aversion to each other was well known and they were used to seeing fireworks between the two of you. They all moved in slow motion as you made your way back to Bucky.

“What’s up?” You ask.

“Uh,” Bucky glares at the others moving slowly until they all tuck tail and skulk off. When you were alone, he said,”I wanted to say thank you again for last night. I’m glad we were able to clear the air between us.”

“Me, too. Was Alpine angry about her delayed dinner?" You attempted to keep the mood light. 

"Furious. She started knocking everything off the counter until her food was delivered," Bucky shakes his head. 

"Oh, so she really does wear the pants in your household?" You laugh. 

"Absolutely, I just wear the apron," Bucky laughs with a shrug. 

You chuckle with him but, unbidden, an image of him in just an apron popped into your mind. With a quirk of your eyebrow, you say, “I see.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, “Uh-huh. Alpine took a liking to you. You should come back and visit her sometime.”

Your mouth goes dry at the inference he was making. You manage to choke out some sass, “She probably enjoyed having some feminine energy around. Uh, anyway, I gotta go. See you tomorrow… Bucky.” You scurried away quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed the awkward pause before saying his name. You were fine. You were just fine, you reassured yourself. The energy shift between the two of you was giving you a multitude of ambivalent feelings. Maybe you were reading too much into it. It was all the emotions surrounding what happened. You had to calm down. Taking a deep breath, you recognize the feelings coursing through you and allow yourself to feel them. You and Bucky had finally found common ground. You’re happy about that but it brought on some confusion as well. Was Bucky trying to build a friendship? Part of you was happy at that thought but other parts felt fear that this only a short reprieve and you will find yourselves at odds again. Would the feelings brought on from the experience fade and you'd end up back where you were? Were you reading too much into this? What if you had misinterpreted that almost kiss?

Stop this! You check yourself. While the almost kiss may have been misinterpreted, his reports and reviews couldn’t be. He had learned a grudging respect for you before you cleared the air. So, while you may be overthinking the situation, you didn’t really believe things would go back to the way they were. 

Was Bucky attracted to you? That’s the thing that was throwing you off so much. You had always thought he was but was he feeling this only because of what happened in that cabin? Or was he feeling that at all? You wanted to bang your head into a wall to silence the thoughts running through your mind. Instead, you settled into a chair and reviewed the mission briefing again and again. You committed that map to memory, checked through the profile of known combatants and any skills they possess. You make notes and work through any tactical possibilities. You review the plans for infiltration and make a list of what you wanted in your tool belt. It helps you pull yourself together. 

When the time to load up came the next day, you were able to compartmentalize to allow yourself to be in the right state of mind for a mission. You boarded the quinjet to find Bucky already there. Sitting beside him, you pulled out your tablet and motioned to the map included in the file, “Hey. Can I ask your opinion on this?”

“Yeah. Whatcha got?”  He leans close to see the tablet. 

“The tactical plan has us coming from this angle and entering here,” you indicate the proposed entry point. 

“Right,” Bucky nods. 

“What do you think of coming this way and entering here next to what looks to be a utility room? We can lay a charge on the gas line there before making way to the original entry point for secondaries. The gas line will give us more bang for the buck and it keeps us from having to double back.” You watch his expression as he studies the map and thinks over your proposal. 

“Yeah, that makes sense. We just have to watch for any patrols coming through here or here,” he points. 

“If they’re following the timings that surveillance has seen, we should be good. But there is always that saying about best laid plans,” you murmur the last parts. 

“After last time, that’s an understatement,” Bucky shakes his head.

“Of the century,” you agree with a scoff. 

“Are you okay doing this so soon?” he whispers. 

“Honestly, getting back out and the chance to kick ass is the best therapy I can think of,” you whisper back. 

“Damn right. I knew I liked you,” Bucky grins. 

“Took you long enough,” you quip. 

“I can make the time up,” he winks. 

He’s flirting, your brain screams at you as alarm bells ring. You weren’t sure how to feel but you need to get the focus back on the mission, “Ass kicking first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he sasses playfully. 

You hold yourself back from saying something- ah, fuck it. You give him a smirk, “good boy.”

The look that crosses his face is priceless. You keep your face impassive as you look over the map again. You could have kissed the pilot for calling you over just then. It allowed you to separate from Bucky without losing the upper hand you had just established. 

The mission wasn’t as easy as you had anticipated. It was fine. The plan went well with only a little bit of improvisation needed but it was difficult for you. You had a harder time compartmentalizing than you normally did. At one point Bucky had pulled you into a closet to miss a patrol and standing close to him with his hand on your waist made it hard to hold on to your professionalism. You were fairly certain he felt the same, if his breathing was any indication. It caused you to have a moment of panic. Would you ever be able to work with him again without feeling like this? You were hyper-aware and tied up in knots over your ambivalent reaction. You were never sure if you were excited or terrified by the contact. You try to convince yourself it would lessen in time. It was just the emotions. Eventually, it would become old hat again. This flirtatious side of Bucky was new and different and enjoyable. Even if the darker side of your brain warned that he was just playing games. If he bagged you for real and not as the result of a pollen induced fever, he’d be able to lord it over you. You silence it quickly but the acrid taste of fear lingers in your mouth. 

You stayed busy for most of the ride back by resetting equipment, updating files, filling out your report, and any other activity you could think of. When there was nothing left for you to distract yourself with, you make your way to where the rest of the team sat. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Bucky brighten at your presence and motion to the open seat beside him. Like a magnet, you were drawn to him without a second thought and sat. 

“Did you finish everything?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” you nod. It felt like he was acutely aware of your avoidance.

“How was it being back out?” He offers you the bag of chips he is munching on. 

“No, thanks. Not bad,” you demure, “You?”

“Not as cathartic as I hoped,” he says quietly. 

“What?” You are shocked at his comment. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. 

“No, I feel the same. It was… I don’t know. Tenser, somehow,” you look at him nervously.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says pensively. 

“What’s that thought?”

“I hesitated,” he says quietly. 

“When?” You ask, thinking back. 

“During the op.”

“You never missed a beat,” you object. 

“When I pulled you into the closet, I hesitated. I think part of me was scared you’d flinch but then I didn’t have a choice. I had to get us hidden.”

“Did I flinch?” You ask with a small smile. 

“No, but your breathing changed,” he looks at you curiously. 

“So did yours.”

“Yeah?”

”Yeah, I think we’re, I mean, I know I’m still a little reactionary to being touched. I’m still finding it a little… I don’t know the word. Charged, maybe?” You attempt to explain.

“Fraught?” He supplies. 

“Yes! Thank you. That’s a very good word for it.”

“Because it’s me or…?” He trails off but the question is clear.

You take a few seconds to compose a reply knowing your relationship hangs in the balance. “Touch in general is still a little difficult for me. I can’t feel it without flashes of- what happened. Of the loss of control.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s voice sounds thick.

“It wasn’t your fault, Bucky. You don’t deserve any blame for what happened. But, there is another part of this situation that disconcerts me. This complete one-eighty with us. We went from hating each other, to that, to whatever this is.”

“The start of a friendship?” Bucky says, his face full of hope. 

“Is that what you want?”

“I thought that’s what we both want. After our talk, I thought we were going to build a better relationship to make us better teammates.”

“I wanted to build some mutual respect but that doesn’t require us to be friends,” you say nervously, “So, why? Why do you want to be friends all of a sudden?” You were pushing him, partly to see if his current demeanor was a facade that would fall but mostly because you were scared that none of this was real. You had one view of Bucky for so long and your suspicions of his motives for this new leaf remained. 

“It’s not all of a sudden. I’ve been wanting to for a while. I just didn’t know how to go about it. Anytime I approach you, you get uptight and defensive, rightfully so from my past behaviour, and I didn’t think you’d give me a chance. And then, after what happened, I didn't think you’d ever want to be in the same room with me but then we talked and… when you touched my cheek, it gave me hope that I could turn this around. I understand why you’re apprehensive. I've been a complete jerk to you and you have every right to hate me. But, if you’ll give me a shot, I’d like to be friends.”

It touched your heart. You wanted to lean in, to kiss him, and that terrified you in another way. Fear started to well up in you and you pushed it down. You had control over this situation and you would handle it. “Okay,” you say quietly. 

“Okay?” Bucky asks. 

“Okay, we can give it a shot,” you give a small smile. 

“Okay. That’s, yeah, that’s great. Uh, what are your plans after we get back?” Bucky asks, fidgeting with his fingers nervously. 

“I don’t,” you shake your head, “I don’t have any. Probably just find some food and veg out in front of the tv.”

“Would you like to come visit Alpine? We could order a pizza and watch a movie or something.”

You pause, licking your lips as you consider, “Uh-”

“You can pick the movie,” Bucky sweetens the deal.

A smile slowly spreads across your face, “Yeah, okay.”

A few hours later you were comfortably lounging on Bucky's couch with Alpine happily purring in your lap. Bucky sat on the opposite end watching the goofy movie you had chosen. When it ended, you talked for a while and then left. There was little awkwardness and you appreciated Bucky respecting your boundaries. 

The following week, you had movie night together again and then it fell into a routine. Movie nights, meals, errands, and missions were done together more often than not. When paired together for missions, your skills had always complimented each other but with new understanding and familiarity, your abilities as a team became technically perfect. You could anticipate each other's moves and needs and that translated to your personal life as well. 

One movie night, you shifted closer to him on the couch to show him a video on your phone and Alpine chose that moment to make camp on your lap, so you stayed next to Bucky. You were comfortable there and following movie nights found you in that same spot. Little touches became more common and less fraught each time. It was comforting for your mind and body rather than triggering. Dr. Montesi was impressed with your progress. 

Bucky was kind and funny and full of stories. The more you got to know each other, the more you found you had in common. You both lamented at some point that you had wasted so much time hating each other. You opened up new interests together, discovered new places to visit, and became confidantes. You were basically inseparable. The team had noticed the change in your relationship but kept their comments and observations to themselves. 

The one thing that haunts you, a spectre always in the back of your mind is the memories of the explosive, unparalleled sex in that cabin. During the day, you were able to (mostly) keep those thoughts at bay, but sometimes at night, you dreamed of it and awoke with an intense longing you felt to your bones. At times, Bucky flirts but you both laugh it off. The truth is, as casual as your touches are every time you’re together, your body screams out for him. You were fighting it and you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but you’re falling in love with Bucky Barnes. You want to believe he feels the same but he hasn't given you any indication. It was eating at you. What if it was all in your head?

–

Bucky answers the door for your weekly movie night with a frantic face, “I can’t find Alpine!” He immediately turns away to search and you follow, swiftly closing the door. “I’ve looked everywhere since I got back and she’s not here. I’ve shaken treats and called for her. I don’t think she got out. Unless she slipped past me when I came back. I-”

“Bucky, hey, stop for a second,” you pull him up from where he’s looking under the couch. “Look at me, okay? I doubt she disappeared. She’s probably hiding. Did anything happen today?” You hold his biceps to keep him still and try to ground him. 

“We went to the vet this afternoon. It was time for her shots.”

“Has she reacted to shots badly in the past?”

“It’s the first time I’ve taken her. She had them all when I adopted her a year ago,” he glances around the room searching for her. 

“A lot of cats tend to hide when they don’t feel well. What did you do when you got home with her?” You ask calmly. 

“I took her to my bedroom and let her out of her carrier. I went to the bathroom and then went to the store for some groceries. When I came back, she was gone,” Bucky shrugs. 

“Is it okay if I help you look?” You asked as an idea formed in your mind. 

“Please,” Bucky nods. 

You stoop down to look under the living room furniture and don’t see anything suspicious. “Is it okay if I go into your bedroom?” You ask over your shoulder as you stick your head in his kitchen. 

“Yeah. I don’t care as long as we find her.”

You head to the bedroom and flip on the lights, getting down on the floor, you look under the bed. There are a few cat toys and a pair of rolled up socks but no cat… at least, not on the floor. 

“I checked under the bed. She’s not there,” Bucky states as he watches you.

“Mm-hm,” you reply as you scooch around to a particular spot. You had noticed that the box spring was drooping slightly in one place and had a suspicion. When you got close enough, you saw where the cover had about a six inch rip. Running your hand over the indentation next to it, you are met with a small mewl. “Hey Alpine. Poor baby, you don’t feel good?” You look through the hole and see the cat curled up. She looks at you with her big blue eyes and seems fine. After giving you a slow blink, she curls back into herself. You look up to see Bucky standing over you and you smile, “She’s fine.” 

Bucky holds out his hand, helps you up and wraps his arms around you in a hug, “Thank you. I thought I’d lost her.”

“Of course. Cats hide when they don’t feel good and they can find the craziest places,” you reassure him as you relax into his arms. Your eyes slowly slipped shut and it seemed you both exhaled the stress of the last few minutes. Peace and comfort envelopes you and with each passing moment you sink further into it. 

It was strange. Usually in a situation like this, your brain would be running amok with thoughts of what you should be doing, if you were touching him too much, some remnant fear would crop up but your mind was quiet for a rare moment. It felt good to just be held by someone you trusted. 

You stay, basking in the warmth and peace that his arms being around you brings. Your mind is quiet until he murmurs something indiscernible. Reluctantly, you lift your head, “What?”

He pauses for a moment and then asks, “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” you reluctantly separate from him. “Do you have anything particular in mind?” When he hadn’t spoken after a moment, you look at him. He stands frozen in the same spot while staring at you. You tilt your head in confusion, “Bucky?”

He meets your eyes and says quietly, “That’s not what I said.”

“Wha-”

“I love you,” he steps closer and gently touches your neck. “I love you. I know you may never be able to feel that way about me after what happ-”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you grin as you pull him to you. His lips touching yours is pure bliss. You wrap your arms around him, living for this moment that ignited every happy emotion you possessed. There was not a dark spot in your mind. No negative thought or triggered memory crowded you. It was just joy. And heat. Your body shifted from the comfort of your earlier embrace to a wave of passion as the kiss continued. Keeping your lips connected you pulled Bucky to the living room couch and pushed him down on it. You removed your shirt as you straddled his lap. 

Bucky watches in awe and manages to whisper, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” you smile. “I mean, I’d prefer the bed but Alpine’s been traumatised enough today.”

He throws his head back in a laugh and after a moment, his gaze returns to you. A question was clear in his eyes. You swipe your thumb over his lower lip and whisper, “Say it again.”

Bucky’s eyes look into yours deeply, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you kiss him, putting everything into it. You made love on the couch. And then somehow ended up on the floor for round two. Starved, you found some food in the kitchen and christened the counter. Later, as you lay in his arms on the couch again, you can’t help but chuckle at a stray thought. 

“What’s that about?” Bucky asks, cuddling you closer. 

“I, um, I remember wondering if the pollen had made the sex seem so good when we were in that cabin. Now, I know for sure.”

“Oh?” He queries.

“It wasn’t the pollen. It was just you,” you smile. 

His soft laugh warms you, “I knew it was you all along.”

You could hear the double meaning in his words. He really had cared for you before all this happened. You kiss him before whispering earnestly, “I love you.”

“I love you, doll,” Bucky gently stands and pulls you with him to the bedroom. “Now, I think Alpine has had the bed to herself long enough, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” you grin as you follow him. 

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Five.

Chapter Four. Chapter Six. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - Does absence make the heart grow fonder, or does it just make everything ten times more difficult?

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption. angst. mention of illness.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5.7k

Author's Note - it's here!! as always, I can't thank you enough for your love, support and patience with this fic. us writers lead busy lives, and i've been trying my hardest to find the time to write whenever I can, so it means so much that you guys stick with me - even when things take longer than expected. love you all. you're angels. please feel free to spam my inbox with thoughts and suggestions - it always makes my day when you're all so passionate. mwah.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

The sand is warm beneath your feet, cooling breeze cascading across your skin. The waves caress the shore in repetitive motions, lulling you into calm.

Sunlight beaming down, you shield your eyes and look up, sighing in contentment at the shades of blue that paint the sky.

A shriek and a laugh come from somewhere on your right. You look over and see a couple and their toddler running after each other, sprinting down the beach and into the ocean. The little girl can't stop giggling, tripping over her own feet as she chases her parents. Something tugs at your heart, deep and visceral.

It's been three months since you left home.

It's been three months since you saw Bucky.

He calls every few days, trying to give you the space you need while also keeping in touch. You have to resist the urge to call him every ten minutes. It's an improvement, at least. It was five minutes when you first moved.

He texts you good morning and goodnight everyday without fail, just to let you know he's there. You can't sleep until you get his text. It's like a lullaby, reassuring and soothing. Like a chamomile tea, warming and calming you from the inside out.

You think about him the most at night time. Your days are spent running around preparing for the bakery. Testing, retesting, writing up recipes, measuring out quantities. You want it to be perfect.

The baking is taking your mind off Bucky, for the moment at least. You've thrown yourself into your new role, eager and excited. Stella's ecstatic to have you around. You love that you're still just as close as you were, despite the time apart. Friendships like that are rare.

Lacie calls you most nights. She demands to know what you did that day, who you spoke to, what you made. It's like therapy, sitting and decompressing together over videochat. She's a lifeline, whether she knows it or not.

And of course, the most supportive people in your life - your parents. Your Mom is desperate to come and visit, begging that you let her know when you're less busy so you can show her around. She loves the sunshine just as much as you. A woman after your own heart.

On the nights when the doubt creeps in, unwelcome and dark, you remind yourself how lucky you are. Surrounded by people who adore you, support you, love you unconditionally. And then the night doesn't seem so dark. The light pours through the cracks.

You walk home from the beach, warmed and carried by the knowledge of love.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"This is ridiculous."

Stella's perched on the edge of your countertop, blush pink macaron in her hand.

"Good ridiculous?"

She scoffs, looking at you incredulously.

"Where did your confidence go? You never doubted yourself in school. Yes, good ridiculous. It shouldn't work, but it does."

Shouldn't work, but it does. Seems to be the story of your life at the moment.

"I need these on the menu."

"You don't think they're a little... pretentious? My best seller is a chocolate chip cookie. A honey and rosewater macaron isn't exactly a childhood favourite."

"Babe. That's the beauty of this. You can put whatever the hell you want out in your bakery. So what if they're unconventional? They're delicious. That's all that matters."

"Okay. Fine."

You relent, thinking about her earlier question. Where did your confidence go? When you graduated culinary school, you never doubted your abilities. Your technique, your flavours, your presentation - you had full faith in all of it. Now, you seem to be second guessing yourself.

You know it's because of your Tethering.

Before, you understood how the world worked. Good, bad, in between. Love, lust, the very clear difference between the two. You watched as other people found their forever person, and acknowledged their new journey.

And then you found Bucky. Or, Bucky found you.

Suddenly, the world you'd lived in before no longer made sense. The people, the places, the relationships, all impacted by the way you feel about your soulmate. Everything, everyone, everywhere, reminds you of Bucky. You're experiencing emotions you've never felt before. It's disorientating, confusing, complex. Your understanding of the world has changed completely.

It takes time to adjust.

No one ever talks about the way your Tethering turns your life upside down.

For some, it's completely positive. They enjoy the uprooting, revel in the change.

For others, it's a huge adaptation. One filled with tears, and confusion, and doubts.

Both are valid. Both are understandable.

You remind yourself of this every day.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"There's someone in the café that wants to speak to you."

The youngest waitress, Isabel, stands in the kitchen doorway, looking at you hopefully. You set down your piping bag and wash your hands, talking to her over your shoulder.

"Who is it?"

"No idea. Some guy. He's kinda hot. Brown hair, tall, beard."

Your heart skips a beat, breath caught in your lungs. Bucky jokes sometimes about coming to see you, but would he just show up announced? Do you want him to?

You can't feel it in your chest, you realise suddenly. You can't feel the ease, the relief, the knowing. Maybe being apart for so long has weakened your connection. The thought makes you strangely emotional.

You inhale carefully and thank her, before making your way out. It's almost closing time, and there's no one around other than the man stood with his back to you.

He turns around, and you realise quickly that your hope was misplaced. You've never seen this person before. He is handsome, admittedly. But he's not your soulmate.

"Hi."

"Hey. Are you the baker here?"

"I am."

He holds out his hand for you to shake, stepping closer.

"I'm Rafael."

You tell him your name, and he smiles, nodding.

"Forgive me if this is weird, but I had to meet you. To thank you properly, in person."

You don't say anything, so he continues.

"Let me, uh, explain. Sorry, should have started with that. My sister is sick. She's going through treatment currently, and it's been super hard on her. She's had no appetite whatsoever, and she's losing weight rapidly."

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

"A couple of weeks ago, I picked up a load of stuff from this place because my Mom was coming to visit. My sister tried your earl grey and lavender cookie, and ate the entire thing. It was the first time I've seen her eat for weeks. So, I came back and bought basically all of them every day."

You laugh, coming to a realisation. You wondered why those cookies were selling so well all of a sudden.

"I just wanted to say thank you. It might not seem like a big deal, but it's really huge for us. I also wanted to explain why all of those cookies were suddenly going missing at like ten in the morning."

You gesture at him to sit, the both of you taking a seat at one of the tables nearby.

You talk for almost an hour, listening intently to Rafael as he tells you about his family. He moved to California to be with his sister Maria when she got sick, no one else around to care for her. He asks about yours, and you tell him about your parents and their constant encouragement. He's also interested in how you got into baking, so you tell him all about culinary school, and the dreams your Grandma gave you when you were a kid.

"You're really talented, you know."

"I bet you say that to all of the bakers around here. But thank you."

His fingers brush yours where they're resting on the table, making you shiver.

"I'll make Maria her own box, if you like. I'll leave them behind the counter, just tell Isabel who you are."

"You'd do that for her?"

"Of course," you smile. "The idea that I'm helping someone with my silly little creations makes me really happy. We can work out a schedule, and I'll make sure I bake Maria some extras when I do my usual batch."

"You're incredible. Seriously. Thank you."

He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. The two of you are sat in the café as the sun sets, orange glow illuminating the room. You didn't expect to make a friend today. You're glad you have.

"Well, I should probably go and clean up the kitchen. You know where to find me, if you need anything. It was lovely to meet you, Rafael."

He rises when you do, smiling at you earnestly.

"You too. Nice to finally put a face to the cookie, so to speak."

You chuckle and show him out of the door, waving as he walks down the street. Suddenly, he turns around, striding back towards you.

"I'm so sorry if this is forward, and please feel free to say no, but... are you single? If you are, I'd love to ask you to dinner sometime."

The answer to that question is much more complicated than Rafael could ever imagine. So instead, you say,

"I'm not. I'm Tethered, actually."

His brows raise in surprise, but he's smiling.

"You are?"

"Yeah, I am. He doesn't live here, though. He lives back home, where my parents are."

"You guys are married?"

"No! Not yet. It's, uh... a complex... situation."

"Ah," he says, gentle, knowing look on his face. "I thought Tetherings weren't meant to be complex. Isn't that the whole point? That they're easy?"

You laugh, but it's not malicious. You're thinking about how sweetly naive he is, how he's got a huge storm coming his way one day.

"He's my Dad's best friend."

You're not sure why you're admitting this to a man you met an hour and a half ago, but you are. It's almost a relief, to get it off your chest again - to tell someone who's completely neutral, who doesn't know either of you.

"Woah."

"Yeah."

"That... is complicated."

"Yeah," you chuckle. "Understatement of the century."

Rafael leans against the wall, watching you intently. He's curious.

"How did your parents react?"

"They don't know yet."

His eyebrows raise almost comically high.

"Wait, what? How did you hide that? I thought it was supposed to be impossible to hide that you're Tethered. Although, I guess I had no idea, seeing as I asked you out."

"We wanted to figure it out for ourselves first, before telling anyone. And then I moved out here, so we're doing long distance. Like I said, complex."

"Understatement of the century," he laughs.

You look at each other for a moment, before he smiles.

"I'm sorry I asked you out. I wouldn't have, if I'd known."

"Please, don't apologise. I admire your... courage?" you grin. "And I appreciate you coming to see me today. I have like two friends here in Cali, so it's nice to feel like I've made another."

He smiles again, wider this time. Someone's going to be lucky to be Tethered to him one day, you think.

"I know it might surprise you, given my good looks and... courage," he chuckles, "but I don't have many friends out here either. I've been so focused on Maria, I haven't had time to socialise."

"The Universe works in funny ways, huh?"

"Sure does."

You wander back through the door, ready to close up for good this time.

"I'll see you tomorrow, for the cookies. And I'd love to meet Maria one day, if she's up for it."

"I'm sure she'd love to meet you. I'll bring her by."

"Thanks, Rafael."

"Of course. Thank you."

"Of course."

That night, when your Mom calls, you get to tell her you've made a new friend. That makes the both of you very happy.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're testing out a recipe in the kitchen of your new apartment when your phone rings.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, kiddo. You doing okay?"

"Yeah, I am, actually. I'm settling in."

"Good, I'm glad. I don't wanna keep you on the phone for too long, but I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead, Dad. Anything."

"How would you feel about surprising your Mom for her birthday?"

"What kind of surprise?"

"I know you haven't been gone all that long, and I know it's kind of last minute, but, I was thinking you could come back to... be her gift? She really misses you, you know."

"I miss her too," you say softly, trying to keep your voice even. "I'll talk to Stella, see if we can figure something out. I'd really love to see you guys."

"We'd really love to see you too, sweetheart."

"I'll call you back later, when I've organised everything. Love you, Dad. See you soon, hopefully."

"Love you, kiddo. Proud of you, you know."

"I know," you smile. "I know."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The journey always seems shorter when you know you're going home.

You make it back in record time, salty ocean breeze whipping through your hair as you cruise along the roads. You take a deep breath and sigh it out, relief filling your lungs. It's good to be back.

You can't let your Mom see you, so you head straight back to your apartment. Your Dad told you they're in the process of renting it out, but they haven't made much progress yet. For now, it's still yours.

You inhale the familiar scent, smiling gently. There's something so particular about the way a place smells when you feel like you belong there. It's like home and comfort and ease all rolled into one.

You unpack a little, folding your clothes and tucking them into the dresser. You told Stella you'd probably stay a few days, wanting to spend as much time with your family as possible. You're rifling through the refrigerator and thinking about a grocery list when there's a knock at your door.

You know who it is.

A feeling of relief washes over your body, tension melting from your shoulders. Your lungs fill easier, your breath falls deeper, everything is a little brighter, a little more colourful.

You open the door to be met with the sight of Bucky Barnes.

He's in work pants and a white t shirt that's stained with grease and oil, heavy boots on his feet. He must have come straight from the Garage.

He looks at you carefully, as if he isn't sure that you're real. You rake your eyes over his form, trying to drink him in. All the pictures you've taken and saved don't do him justice.

He exhales, beaming grin appearing on his face.

"You're here."

You can't help but smile back, his happiness spreading through you.

"I'm here."

Bucky rushes forward and scoops you into his arms, enveloping you completely. He wraps himself around you as he tucks you into his chest, his grip tight and unrelenting. You breathe him in, overwhelmed with emotion and sensation. You didn't realise how much you needed this. Three months is too long.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, slight shake in his voice. He's holding off tears. So are you.

"My Dad wanted me to surprise my Mom for her birthday. It's all a secret."

He smiles, before leaning down to capture your lips in a knee buckling kiss. A kiss that says I missed you. A kiss that says I need you. A kiss that says please don't leave me again.

"How did you know?" you whisper when you pull away for air.

"I felt it. I think I knew the moment you arrived back in town. Thought my mind was playing tricks on me, for a second. But there's no mistaking that feeling. I had to come and see for myself."

"We're getting pretty good at this whole soulmate thing, huh?" you laugh, unaware of the tears running down your face. "I missed you, Buck. So much."

"I missed you too," he murmurs, kissing you again. "Didn't think I was going to survive, some days."

"Me too. Do you know how many times I stood with my car keys in my hand, ready to drive back to you?"

He chuckles and then sniffles, emotion dripping down his cheeks.

"I did exactly the same thing. So many times."

You wrap your arms around his middle, reveling in the way he smells like gasoline and home.

"How long are you here for?" he murmurs, worried he'll disturb the peace.

"I'm not sure. A good few days, at least."

"Okay," he breathes. "I can do a few days. We can do a few days."

"Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't know, to be honest. It was all kinda last minute."

"It's okay, pretty thing," he mutters into your hair. "It was a nice surprise."

"You're coming tonight, right? To my Mom's party?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

You stay wrapped up in each other for a little while longer, savouring his warmth. He rubs absentminded patterns across the skin of your back, committing the softness of it to his memory.

"I should probably get back to work. I took off with no warning."

"You're the boss. You're allowed," you chuckle.

He laughs with you, and the sound lights up your nerves, illuminates your bones. It settles itself in the hollows of your ribcage, tangles itself in your heartstrings. It's like medicine.

"Can't wait to see you tonight," you whisper. "Wear something cute."

"I always do," he winks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Miss you already."

"Miss you more."

He looks at you, smiling.

"Man, we're the worst."

"Truly."

He kisses you once, twice, three times before finally leaving, reluctant to let you go. You spend the rest of the afternoon floating on air, relaxed and at ease. You haven't felt like this in a while.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your Dad sneaks you into the house through the side door, hiding you in the kitchen as he ushers your Mom through to the back yard.

It's decorated with floral garlands and streamers, flowers in vases covering the table he's set up. The golden, warm fairy lights illuminate the space, keeping it soft and intimate. He's been watching, carefully observing the way that she does things. He's recreated her party style perfectly.

There's a few of her closest friends waiting for her, gifts littering the spare chairs. Your Dad walks her outside, hands covering her eyes.

"Surprise!"

You watch through the door as your Mom gasps, grin on her face.

"Oh my God! You guys!"

She runs into your Dad, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I can't believe you managed to pull this off," she says in disbelief.

He sets her back down on the ground and kisses her gently.

"I got you something. I hope you like it."

That's your cue. You sneak out as quietly as possible, standing behind her.

"Happy Birthday, Mama."

She whips around to face you, shock written across her face. Her eyes well up, tears threatening to spill. Yours do the same, bottom lip quivering.

She throws her arms around you, tugging you into her.

"I'm so happy you're here, baby girl. I missed you so much."

"Missed you. You look beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you! Look at you, all sun kissed and glowy. You look so pretty, sweetheart."

You grin at her and she does the same back, your Dad beaming at your identical smiles.

"You're the best gift I've ever received. Then and now."

You're overwhelmed, suddenly, by the realisation that no matter what happens, no matter what life throws at you, no matter how many miles are between you - your Mom will always be in your corner. Your Dad will always be in your corner. Bucky will always be in your corner.

You think, for a moment, that despite everything, you might just be okay.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The night goes off without a hitch.

You drink, you laugh, you sing. You and your Mom dance to ABBA, Bowie, Donna Summer. Your Dad joins in, and can't help but grin every time he watches his girls together.

What a life, he thinks. I'm the luckiest man in the world.

When everyone gets a little past tipsy, your Mom changes the music to something slower, jazzier, richer. Your Dad pulls her into his chest, holding her close as they move to the melody. You're sat at the table taking off your heels when Bucky slides into the seat next to you. He pulls your foot into his lap and undoes the strap, sliding the shoe off gently. He rubs his thumb into your sole, smirking when you groan.

"Have you been avoiding me tonight, pretty baby?"

His cheeks are flushed slightly, top few buttons of his shirt open. He's been drinking a little, his walls lowered more than usual.

"I have to."

"Oh yeah?"

"I feel like I'm gonna burst into flames every time you look at me," you whisper. "I kinda want to rip your clothes off, baby."

He groans at the nickname. You know exactly what you're doing.

"It only takes one look for a minute too long to figure out how I feel about you, Buck. They'll work it all out instantly."

"Dance with me," he murmurs suddenly. "Your parents are too busy staring into each others eyes. Come on, honey. One dance."

His big blue eyes bore into yours, and you know you're fucked. You're never going to be able to say no to him.

"One dance," you whisper.

He takes your hand and leads you to the decked area, brightened by the golden lights. Bucky slides a hand over your back, resting there carefully. You intertwine your fingers with his and step into him, embracing the warmth that rolls off his body.

I'll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday begins to play, and the two of you start to sway gently, eyes never leaving each others. Bucky pulls you in closer, and you melt into him. You don't care about the repercussions anymore.

Maybe it's the wine talking. Maybe it's something else.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"That was close!"

Your Mom's giggling as your Dad holds her, having just saved her from tripping down the front steps. Everyone's giddy, both from drinking and from laughing.

"Sweetheart. Bucky. Come back for lunch tomorrow. Your Dad ordered too much catering, and we need help eating it."

"Mama, are you sure?"

"I want to see you as much as possible before you go, babygirl. You too, Buck. I feel like we don't see you as much as we used to."

"He'll be there," you reply before he can protest. "We'll carpool, and I'll bring a strawberry and cream tart that I made for you."

She kisses you on the cheek, your Dad leaning in to kiss the other side.

"Love you both."

"Love you," they say in unison, laughing and yelling jinx. "Get home safe, you two!"

"I'll take care of her," Bucky chuckles. "Always."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Why don't you see my parents much anymore?"

You and Buck are walking home along the sandy coastal path, fingers intertwined and sides pressed together. You look up at him, frowning slightly when he hesitates.

"Don't lie to me, James. I can feel it, remember."

You place a hand on your chest to remind him, and he nods.

"It's not the same here without you."

You weren't expecting the sincerity. It knocks you off balance a little.

You stop when you reach a wooden bench, sitting down and pulling him with you.

"So you're isolating yourself from the people who love you?"

He smiles, sadness rife in his eyes. Your tough guy act is crumbling.

"Not on purpose. It just kinda happened."

"You promised you'd talk to me, Buck. Especially if it got too hard. You need to accept support from people, or everything is going to come crashing down."

"I know. I know. But every time I go to their house, I'm expecting you to be there. Every time I go to the beach, I'm expecting you to be there. Every time I walk past your building, I'm expecting you to be there, waiting for me to pick you up. Even when I'm sailing, I can't stop thinking about that day we spent on the boat."

"The other day I had to make three batches of buttercream, because I messed up the first two. I was so distracted thinking about you that I split them both."

He laughs, then, wholehearted and genuine. You can't help but join him, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

"Bucky, you have to promise that you'll keep going, even without me. You have to see my Mom and Dad like you used to, you have to still sail and go to the beach. You can't put your life on hold for me."

He takes a deep breath, sliding an arm around your shoulders to pull you in closer.

"Okay. I promise."

You whip your head around to look at him.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that, honey. You're right. I've been waiting for you to come back, so I can start living again. But life is still happening, whether you're here or not."

"Wise words, wise man," you smile. "Not a minute goes by where I don't think of you. You know that, don't you?"

"I know. I feel it."

You watch as he brings your linked hands to his chest, placing them there. You rest your head on his shoulder, lulled into calm by the steady melody of his heart. You swear it beats to the rhythm of your name.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you can't bear the idea of separating, so Buck comes home with you.

"Have you got a blanket?" he asks as he's kicking off his shoes.

"I have. What for?"

"The couch."

You process for a moment before it clicks.

"You're not sleeping on the couch, Buck."

"No?"

"No. I want your ridiculous, radiator-like body heat in bed with me."

He smiles, all giddy and lopsided, before striding across the room to you. Cradling your face in his rough hands, he kisses you with fervour. He's making up for lost time.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging and pulling, smirking when he groans. He retaliates by grabbing your ass and picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He carries you through to your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.

Throwing you down onto the bed, he pulls his shirt over his head, watching you hungrily as you do the same with your dress. You're left in your underwear, leaving little to the imagination.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "Makes me want to cry."

You reach for him as he settles on top of you, your hand sliding along his stubbled cheek.

"I'm so glad you're feeling what I'm feeling," you whisper. "I'd think I was going insane otherwise."

Bucky kisses you again, before trailing his lips across your jaw, your ear, your neck. He's careful not to leave any marks, as much as he wants to. You glide your hands along the expanse of his shoulders, his back, his biceps. He's so strong, so broad. It makes you ache.

"So fuckin' pretty," he mumbles against your chest. "Like a goddamn dream."

You throw your head back as he attaches his mouth to your tits, nipping and sucking as he goes. Your hands are in his hair again, reveling in the way his groans vibrate through you.

Bucky slots his knee in between your legs as he kisses across your chest, smirking when you grind your hips into it. You chase the friction as best you can, moaning when it hits you just right.

"Needy baby. You don't want my fingers? My mouth? No? Just my knee?"

You nod, then shake your head. You're not sure what you're asking for, drunk on him already.

"Please, Buck. Anything."

"I'll give you whatever you want if you keep saying my name like that."

He makes quick work of pulling your underwear down your legs, swiping his fingers through your wet heat.

"Oh, fuck," he chokes. "Fuck, honey. Is this all for me? Hmm?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Yeah?"

"It's yours, Buck. I'm yours."

Bucky drops his head forward, bumping your nose with his.

"I think that's my favourite thing you've ever said," he mumbles against your mouth.

You reach up to kiss him, sucking his tongue before biting at his lips. You can't get close enough. Every inch of your skin is pressed to his, and you still want more.

Bucky crawls down the bed, situating himself between your legs. He nudges at you with his nose before diving in, lapping at you like a man starved.

You'd forgotten what people said about sex when you're Tethered, but it all comes back to you now. Everything is heightened, your senses on overdrive. It's like Bucky has the handbook to your body, and all he has to do is read the instructions the Universe has given him.

He's got you teetering on the edge in no time, right on the precipice. No ones ever made you feel like this. It feels like some sort of small miracle is happening, an otherworldly connection.

"Give it to me, honey baby," he murmurs into you. "Let me see how pretty you look when you come."

You tug at his hair as you reach your climax, the vibrations of his groan only prolonging your release. Bucky helps you ride it out, only ceasing his action when he's satisfied you're satisfied.

He rests his head against your thigh and looks up at you as you come down, breathing heavily.

"You good?"

"So good," you grin. "Never better."

"Me neither," he whispers, crawling up your body to kiss you again. You taste yourself and whine, desperate to feel closer to him.

"Need you," you demand against his lips. "Need you more than anything."

"I know, baby," he soothes as he smooths the hair back from your face. "Gonna give you everything you want. Anything in the world."

You're on the verge of tears again, completely overwhelmed. He's looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky just for him. You think maybe you would, if he asked you to.

Bucky slides home in one gentle thrust, easy as breathing. The both of you exhale, savouring the moment. It's like nothing either of you have ever felt before.

You pull his face down to you, resting your foreheads against each other.

"Buck, I-"

"I know," he breathes. "Fuck, I know."

"Need you to move, baby."

He nods and kisses you sweetly, before pulling his hips back and gliding forward. The angle is just right, both of you keening.

"Fuck, honey. So pretty. So tight. Fuck."

Bucky sets a steady rhythm, not too fast, not too slow. It's like he can read your mind, knowing exactly what you need. All you can say is his name as stars cloud your vision.

He slides his hand down your front, rubbing perfect circles on your clit with his fingers. You clamp down on him and he groans, low and gutteral.

"Need you to come, pretty baby," he whispers hoarsely. "Please. Waited so long for this. Please."

The desperation in his tone is what throws you into your release, muscles tensing and back arched. You grip his biceps, scratching your nails into his sun kissed skin.

Bucky can't hold on any longer, falling over the edge with you. The way he says your name as he does will be ingrained in your mind forever.

He drops his weight onto you entirely, no longer able to hold himself up. You wrap your arms around him, drawing absent minded patterns across his back. You're both sweating and panting. You're both completely content.

"Holy shit," he whispers after a while.

"You think it's gonna be like that every time?" you ask, grinning.

Bucky rolls off you and lands on the bed beside you, pulling you into his chest.

"Honey, just you wait. I've got moves you've never seen."

You snort, unable to hold in your laughter. You're floating on cloud nine, satiated and warm.

"You're the worst," you giggle, running your fingers over his abs gently.

The two of you stay intertwined for hours, enjoying the way your bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. You both drift in and out of sleep, conversing in the gaps. At some points, you just lay in silence, completely comfortable. No one needs to say anything. You both know what the other person is thinking.

Eventually, the sun rises, casting the room in a golden orange glow. Bucky looks like an angel, illuminated by the morning light. You wonder for a second if he is, sent down as a gift to you.

Suddenly, you feel an intense sadness in your chest. You look up at Bucky from where you lay across him, and see a single tear drip down his cheek.

"I don't want you to go."

The only sound that can be heard is his sorrow hitting the pillow.

"I don't think I want to go."

He strokes your hair softly, taking a deep breath to try and get a handle on his emotions.

"You have to, baby. It's your dream."

Your bottom lip wobbles for a second, before the words come spilling out.

"You're my dream."

Bucky sniffles, and you continue.

"I could have nothing, but I have everything if I have you."

You sit up and Bucky does too, capturing your lips in a tear stained kiss.

"We'll be okay, my honey girl."

You crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, letting his warmth bleed into your bones.

"I know," you say, unsure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.

You know you'll be okay. It just doesn't feel like it right now.

You wonder how many times you can keep leaving and coming back before one of your hearts breaks for good.

tag list part one

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[sloanesallow]

Sebastian Sallow Headcanons

So I've seen some of my moots do one of these and decided it was my turn, even if nobody asked. 🤣

These are all ideas that are present in stories I’ve already published, or ones that are forthcoming in Void. A lot of this is word-vomit LOL. I’ve credited anyone that I’ve been inspired by, but otherwise, similar head-canons to other creators are coincidental.

Disclaimer: My opinions are mine. They might also be yours! They might also be somebody else’s. Or not. That’s the fun thing about fandom. We can all have our own thoughts! Disagree? Cool! Just don’t be mean about it. :)

Sebastian is left-handed.

Actually, ambidextrous. So while it’s probably an error in-game, if you take Sebastian with you to Hogsmeade, in the Three-Broomsticks he stands up to defend you with his wand in his left hand. I’ve just decided to run with it and think his left is more dominant than his right, but he can use both.

Sebastian is on the spectrum.

Because I am on the spectrum, it’s hard not to write this nerdy little boy as somebody who obsesses over data and information. Sebastian is a numbers guy. Counts stuff in his head; keeps lists. Obsessive about his note-taking and will throw away a page if he thinks his penmanship isn’t perfect enough. I put in a previous post that he’d be the type to stare at a jar of jelly beans and know how many are inside with one glance.

Sebastian is very intelligent but oh so stupid (affectionately)

For some reason, the only comparison I can think of right now is a weird combination of Abed and Troy from Community. You know the friend that seems to always be in weird, preventable situations and says the most out-of-pocket things but will turn around and quote Shakespeare. He probably is the smartest person in the room but isn’t humble about it. Sebastian is book-smart and thinks he’s street-smart (insert John Mullaney here) but his life experience is actually quite limited. Yes, his parents died (and he may have witnessed it to some degree), but I do think he might have been sheltered in some capacity. Which brings me to my next point:

Sebastian’s feelings are intense, and sometimes misguided

Sebastian would benefit from therapy, no joke. He likely wasn’t given the space to process his parent’s death, so it’s no wonder he SPIRALS when Anne gets sick. His desperation comes from a place of fear, but his inability to cope leads to some very unfortunate circumstances. And yes, Sebastian can be deceptive and manipulative, but I don’t think he acts this way on purpose, but because he doesn’t know any better. He acts first, thinks later, and this can lead to tension in his friendships (MC/Ominis). It’s also why so many authors write him as somewhat possessive when pairing him romantically with MC (or anyone, really). I tend to write him as being disinterested in romance (too busy) until it smacks him in the face and he chases that high obsessively. However, I think it takes a long time for Sebastian to recognize what real, healthy love is.

Sebastian would never be an Auror

I’ll die on this hill. Sebastian would probably not ever want to work for the Ministry, and distrusts authority, even as he ages and matures. Regardless if you think he acted in self-defense or not, he still killed his uncle with an unforgivable. That’s scary. And dangerous. A kid knowing and practicing Dark Magic? Even if he never does it again, he wouldn’t risk his life by flaunting himself in front of the Ministry. Also, Solomon was an Auror. Now, I’ll admit I have him working with the Ministry in some capacity in my fics (curse breaker), but for the most part, he is a free agent and does what he wants (in true Sebastian fashion).

Pocket cookies

Always has some kind of snack in his pockets for emergencies. I’ve had this come up several times now in my fics (see below) and it’s a running joke. I just love the idea of him pulling out a cookie to offer somebody in their time of need.

Other little things:

Triple Scorpio??? I did this on accident when making a birthday (November 8 1873) for him and CoStar said based on my made-up birth chart he was Scorpio Sun/Moon/Ascending which according to my astrology babes, is uhhhhh insane.  

Allergic to lavender???? Don’t ask.

He's just a silly, goofy guy, okay?

[buddierecs]

outsider pov buddie fics

these fics have a mixture of outsider pov, most from the 118 family tho all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

paralytic narcolepsy guy hates buckley & diaz by: eightpackdiaz "paralytic narcolepsy guy is forced to listen to buckley and diaz talk to and about each other in his unconscious presence over the years. he insists he fucking hates them. but then he also accidentally helps them get engaged." word count: 5.4k important tags: 5+1 things, idiots in love, getting together good luck, babe by: hattalove "sometimes, when you've had a bad week, all you want is a romantic evening out with your wife over terrible pizza, and what you get instead is some kind of intricate gay ritual happening two tables away from you." word count: 2.1k important tags: crack, social media, jealous!eddie diaz jeep talking by: daisies_and_briars "a ride in the backseat of buck's Jeep with buck and eddie in the front gives chim new perspective on his brother-in-law's strange dynamic with his so-called "best friend.' and chim is sick of them being so oblivious." word count: 2.2k important tags: chimney han pov, oblivious!chimney han the sincerest form of flattery by: canadadry "in which brad torrence only almost passes out, and observes the aftermath." word count: 1.7k important tags: brad torrence pov, bobby nash is evan buckley's parent, 8.03 fic

actually, truly by: milenadaniels "helena (and ramon) tries to find a way back into eddie's life and doesn't know what to make of finding buck around every corner she turns." word count: 14k important tags: helena diaz pov, post season 4, homophobia, pre-relationship, hurt!eddie diaz, therapy i'll call you mine by: coupe_de_foudre "5 times ravi witnesses eddie and buck fake a relationship, and the one time he realises they were married all along" word count: 9.1k important tags: 5+1 things, ravi panikkar pov, fake dating, fluff, misunderstandings, idiots in love does your firehouse know? by: allyasavedtheday "after chimney accidentally discovers buck and eddie are together they ask him to keep it a secret for a few weeks while they settle into their relationship. It goes about as well as expected." word count: 7.5k important tags: chimney han pov, secret relationship, crack a simple kind of love by: woodchoc_magnum "in which christopher watches as eddie and buck slowly fall in love." word count: 15k important tags: christopher diaz pov, pre-relationship, getting together, buckley-diaz family maybe it's the way you lean on his shoulder by: allyasavedtheday "in which naddie realises there might be more to buck and eddie's relationship than she'd originally thought." word count: 4.1k important tags: maddie han pov, feelings realisation, domestic fluff another man's child by: georges1982_96 "a 5+1 fic of chim realizing buck is chris's dad and buck gradually stumbling on the same realization" word count: 18k important tags: chimney han pov, 5+1 things, ptsd, medial trauma, homophobia, ableism, soft!buddie, protective!evan buckley don't need to be related to relate (don't need to share genes or a surname) by: champagne_for_breakfast "the one where bobby realizes he is somehow buck's father, eddie's father-in-law and christopher's grandfather all at the same time. and he may just be one conversation away from calling eddie out and making him kiss buck." word count: 10k important tags: bobby nash pov, idiots in love, getting together, bobby nash is evan buckley's parent shapes and spaces by: prettyunhinged "five times christopher calls buck his dad to other people, and the one time he finally gets to say it to buck." word count: 14k important tags: 5+1 things, christopher diaz has two dads, oblivious!buddie, getting together, team as family, fluff

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 13.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter sort of contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: curses, anxiety attacks, mentions of jungkook trying to unalive himself during the summer, mentions of therapy, explicit content: implied sex

☆word count: 4k

☆a/n: my baby jungkook realizing he was dumb not to tell OC about gabrielle :((( hope you guys enjoy this one!!

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook has been sitting in his car for thirty minutes, looking at the apartment where his love for you grew and died. 

Though he’s been making progress with his therapist, seeing it feels like maybe he’s drowning, and he hasn’t been able to get out of the car despite the fact that he needs to go to the bathroom. He pulls at his piercings, thinking about you. Are you at home, or are you out and about? He thinks you’re probably working, as Taehyung mentioned in passing that you finish work late on Fridays, yet Jungkook isn’t able to move.

Especially not as every treacherous emotion he has for you comes back to haunt him, squeezing his heart in his chest.

He’s been doing better. He’s been trying to cut himself some slack, and to build a healthy distance between him and his family. Though it’s hard, Lisa has helped, and Jungkook will forever be thankful for her friendship.

For her being there on that July night when he almost ended things.

Jungkook sighs, running a hand through his hair. He knows he has to go in - he’d rather not stay in his car and let the engine run while being parked for any longer. Not that he can’t afford the gas - he just thinks it’s a waste and bad for the environment, so he forces himself to turn off the engine.

It takes him a few more minutes to gather the courage to go in, and he waits until he’s literally starting to sweat his ass off before finally opening the door and stepping out of the car. A warm breeze welcomes him, ruffling his hair, and he shuts the door behind him, locking the car over his shoulder as he walks towards the apartment. 

He stops at the bottom of the stairs, taking a deep breath to calm down the anxiety that’s threatening to overtake him. He reminds himself that it’s just you - no matter the distance between the two of you, you’re the only person that he’s ever felt understood him like you did.

Not even Lisa gets him like you do.

Yet he doesn’t want the ache and the pain again, not when he’s barely made it out this summer. So climbing the stairs takes everything in him, as does opening the door. But then it’s like the apartment is a quiet haven, and he steps in, the cool air a stark relief from the summer heat outside. He shuts the door, cutting off the scream of a cicada in the distance, and then he’s back in the space where you fell in love, remembering every little moment he spent with you without knowing he was about to lose you.

He feels at peace. He doesn’t know why, or how, but he feels at peace for probably the first time this summer.

“Hello!”

The peace threatens to crumble, your voice echoing in Jungkook’s mind as a short silence follows. He holds on to the peace, refuses to let it go, and then you speak again.

“Do you need any help?”

He does. He needs you, again, always, yet he knows it’s over. Knows he has to prepare himself for your presence in his line of vision - you appear a few seconds later, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen.

You’re beautiful. Your hair is longer, your skin sun-kissed, and your cheeks have a slight pink dust to them that reminds him of how much he used to love teasing you, just so that he can see that blush. Your eyes widen, yet they aren’t as pained as they’d been the last time he’d seen you.

Like maybe the time apart has healed you, too.

Jungkook takes in the sight of you, lets his heart try to rise to panic in his chest. But he doesn’t listen to the panic, only breathes in and out until the wave has passed. 

“Y/n,” he says, murmurs, and he hates that he wanted to call you peach, like your real name feels wrong in his mouth somehow.

“Jungkook,” you reply.

Your voice… His memory did not do it justice at all, and the pain comes crashing back, a tsunami that almost makes Jungkook stumble back. But he holds on strong, a rock against the wave.

He nods once, taking off his shoes if only so that you can’t see the pain in his eyes anymore. You don’t move, and he feels your gaze on him the whole time, so much so that, when he straightens, he can’t help but ask, “How are you?”

Your gaze widens a little more, if that’s possible. “I’m okay.” You nod once. “How are you?”

Good. Bad. Horrible. I’ve missed you. I’m so sorry.

All answers he can’t give you, so he settles on, “I’m chill.”

He needs to go. Needs to not be looking at you anymore lest he does something stupid, like run up to you and hold on to you. He’d never let you go, and the sadness that slowly invades your gaze breaks him too much, like suddenly the ending came back to your mind.

Came back to his too, and the guilt chokes his lungs, so much so that he starts walking to his room.

But then he stops, catching sight of something familiar on the kitchen table, and the pain recedes, replaced by the peace that welcomed him home. 

You’re eating Buldak noodles. You, who couldn’t stand heat last semester, are eating the noodles he used to make for you. It warms his chest, reminds him that not everything ended then, and he smiles softly.

“Want something to eat?” you ask.

It hurts. Far more than it should - he doesn’t deserve your kindness. And even though he wants to, even though he wishes he could pick up the pieces of you and him, he forces himself to say, “Thanks, but I gotta unpack.”

And then he walks the rest of the way to his room, his heart rate skyrocketing in his chest - he thinks he might go into cardiac arrest. He turns the knob, pushes the door open, yet he can’t move. He’s frozen there, feeling your eyes on him, wishing he could turn around and tell you that he spent every day this summer wishing he could rewind time and save you both the heartbreak. But he’s a coward, and he can’t say it, so he finishes walking into his room and closes the door behind himself.

He leans against it as panic wins once again, and he slowly slides to the ground, trying to focus on his breathing. On the grounding techniques his therapist taught him, and a few minutes later, he’s able to dampen his panic, his anxiety, until he’s able to breathe normally again.

If that’s how this semester is going to be, he has no clue how he’ll survive.

*****

Jungkook is nervous. He doesn’t know why he suggested to hang out with Lisa while everyone is going to a party at some frat he does not care about.

Actually, he does know why. His therapist suggested that he should try talking to other people, and he hasn’t been able to approach anyone, his feelings for you still as strong as ever, so Lisa it is.

She’s sweet. She’s been there for him through hell this summer, and some part of him feels like he owes her something. So when she asked if that was a date, Jungkook said they could try this one time and see where it goes. Lisa seemed unsure - she’s started talking to Mingyu more, and though they haven’t hung out just the two of them yet, Jungkook thinks it might be coming soon.

So maybe that, more than anything, is the reason why he asked Lisa, and not someone else. Because he knows that, despite the fact that she used to have feelings for him, it’s been morphing into friendship more than anything now, so he doesn’t have to worry about it.

Still, he worries. Still, he’s nervous. Because it’s not you, and though Lisa is a good friend, he doesn’t feel like he can fully be himself when it comes to her. Not like he could be with you, and though his therapist said he shouldn’t compare, he can’t help himself.

No one is ever going to compare to you.

Jungkook breathes in and out, wipes his hands on his pants, and then Lisa is arriving, and he remembers that she’s just a friend. That he has nothing to worry about when it comes to her.

When she asks him if she can kiss him, Jungkook doesn’t find it in him to say no. She kisses him all wrong, yet it’s been months. It’s been months and he should be moving on - you clearly have been. Your absence in the apartment, in his life, is proof of it. So he kisses Lisa back, tries to tell himself that it makes his heart race in his chest like kissing you does.

He hasn’t had sex since you, and it shows. He’s messy, unpracticed, and halfway through he realizes that he wants you. He wants to be with you, wants to hold you. Lisa notices his unease, notices he can’t stay hard, and she cups his cheeks and says, “We can stop, JK.”

He could cry. He could cry as he pulls out, and says, “I’m sorry.”

She smiles gently. “It’s okay, Jungkook. Don’t apologize, I get it.”

She gets up, throws his t-shirt on and Jungkook hates the way that it looks on her - it looked a lot better on you. While she goes to the bathroom, he tries to keep his panic at bay, to remind himself that he did nothing wrong tonight.

That no matter how much he loves you, he has to at least try and move on.

But then the impossible happens. The front door opens, and before you even speak, Jungkook knows it’s you. He hates it - hates that you had to come here tonight, to witness his weakness, and he quickly puts a pair of grey sweatpants on before walking out of his room.

You’re out of breath, yet you’re as beautiful as ever. Even more so, if only because you’re here, in the apartment where you belong, so close to him he could touch you with just a few steps forward.

“Y/n?” Jungkook lets out.

You were bent over, and you straighten, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes are shining with emotion, and Jungkook breaks. He breaks again, always - he doesn’t deserve you looking at him like this right now.

“Jungkook,” you say in between two heaving breaths.

Frowning, Jungkook scans your features. He tries to understand why you’re here tonight, why you’re looking at him like maybe he hung the stars in your night sky. You’re smiling, and he looks at that too, lets it remind him of why he fell in love with you in the first place.

“Shit,” you let out. “Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

You start laughing, and Jungkook is far too confused. It’s like he stepped in an absurd movie, and he’s not in on the joke. Especially not as he knows Lisa is bound to step out of the bathroom eventually.

“She told me,” you say.

He cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Gabrielle told me everything.” 

You’re blinking back tears, and Jungkook keeps on shattering. Because now that the truth is out you’re back, and he realizes maybe he should have listened to Gabrielle. Maybe he should have told you, if only for you not to be here tonight.

“Kook?”

It’s the heartbreak in the nickname. Jungkook’s heart stops beating in his chest, and he feels like someone’s banging on his skull, telling him how stupid he is.

“Y/n, I…” he trails off. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

He sees the moment you realize. You look down, see Lisa’s shoes, and you freeze. You fully freeze, and it looks like you’re not even breathing anymore. Lisa chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom, and it takes you a few seconds before glancing at her.

“Oh.”

There is so much pain in that word alone that Jungkook wants to die. He reckons, he should have died that night just so that he could avoid this heartbreak for you. And he hates himself so, so much for inviting Lisa over tonight. For not waiting just a little longer.

What would have happened if Lisa wasn’t here tonight?

“Hey, Y/n,” Lisa says awkwardly, her eyes darting to Jungkook. “I didn’t know you were here.”

For a moment, Jungkook wants to scream at her. To tell her that she should have just stayed in the bathroom, should have just climbed out the window. But he’s mute, unable to form a single syllable.

“I live here,” you reply.

Lisa senses the pain in your voice. She clearly does, because she looks uncomfortable as all hell, like she wants to disappear through the floor. 

“I’m sorry, I…” she trails off. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.”

There’s an awkward silence - Jungkook is convinced he can hear your heart breaking, though that might just be his. Then you say, “No worries.”

You take a deep breath, and Jungkook looks at your profile. Tries to commit you to memory, because he knows you’re going to leave again. He still can’t speak - he wants to beg you to stay, but there’s a lump in his throat and water in his lungs, and all he can do is watch you.

You pat your pockets, tears pooling in your gaze. “I think I forgot my keys at the party.”

When you meet Jungkook’s gaze, he sees a mirror in your eyes. Sees himself breaking, sees you breaking, and he wants it all to stop. He wants to forget the pain, wants to be able to tell you he loves you and that he’s sorry. But he feels like words wouldn’t be enough, not right now, and he remains silent.

Not that he could speak anyway.

“How did you…” Lisa trails off, but she doesn’t finish.

You turn around then, walking back outside and shutting the door carefully behind you. Jungkook just stays there, unable to move, not when he’s breaking all over again. He wants to run after you, but all he can do is take a shuddering breath in, right as a tear rolls down his cheek.

“Shit.”

Lisa crosses the space between the two of them. “Go sit on your bed.”

Jungkook tries to breathe, but his throat constricts, and black dots flash in his vision.

“Fuck.”

“Jungkook, deep breaths,” Lisa says, and she tugs on his hand to pull him to his bed. 

“I can’t…” he trails, trying to breathe, but it’s like he’s breathing pure nitrogen. “I can’t breathe.”

He sits on his bed, and Lisa stands next to him. “What colour is the light?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know - did he truly lose you again? He’s dumb, stupid, foolish. An asshole and everything in between.

He’s a fucking coward.

“Jungkook, what colour is the light?” Lisa says again.

“I don’t know…”

“You do,” she insists, and the firm inflection of her tone makes Jungkook look up at her. “You do, Jungkook, just tell me.”

He glances at the ceiling. “Red.”

Lisa nods encouragingly. “Now, tell me one thing you can touch.”

He frowns, though his hands drop to the cover of his bed. “My bed.”

“Yes.” She glances around. “Something you can smell?”

The frown deepens. “I can’t really smell anything, my nose is blocked.”

She offers him a small smile, and Jungkook looks at it curiously. And then he realizes he can breathe again, and oxygen rushes to his lungs.

“Holy shit,” he curses. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lisa says. “I got you.”

She sits next to him, and there’s a silence while Jungkook contemplates his throbbing heart. He wonders if you’re aching too - he hopes you don’t have anxiety attacks like he does. Though, to be fair, this is the first he’s had in a few weeks.

He takes a deep breath, and then he glances at Lisa. “What am I supposed to do?”

Though the anxiety has passed, his eyes fill with tears, and Lisa watches him carefully for a few seconds. There’s a flash of hurt in her gaze, but Jungkook thinks he might have imagined it.

“Talk to her,” she says. “Text her that you want to talk to her.”

“She saw you…” Jungkook whispers.

Lisa sighs. “She did.”

“How am I supposed to justify that?”

Lisa doesn’t reply right away, and Jungkook holds her gaze. He sees it - the hurt flashes so bright he can’t say he imagines it, and he gulps.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“Listen, Jungkook,” Lisa carefully says. “I… I’m happy I’ve been there for you in the last few months. But tonight… I think we both agree it was a mistake. And I wish I could help you still, but I think right now I also need to think about myself.” She looks away, and silver lines her gaze. “I’ve always known we weren’t going to happen. You just took me by surprise by asking to hang out tonight. But I think it’s best if I take my distance from you.”

Guilt - new guilt - crushes Jungkook, and all he can do is nod his head. And he agrees with her anyway.

He wouldn’t be able to hang out with her anymore.

“So I don’t know how you can justify that to Y/n,” she adds. “I really don’t know, but I think you guys need to talk.” She meets Jungkook’s gaze, smiling sadly. “And I really hope things go well for the two of you.”

“Liz…” 

She offers him a single, small nod. “It’s okay, JK. I just want you to be happy.” She chuckles, and then she wipes at her eyes. “I’m sorry I’m telling you this now.”

“No, don’t be,” Jungkook immediately reassures her. “I…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, not really knowing what he was going to say.

“We can still be friends,” she says. “I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

Jungkook nods. “Okay. Yes, of course we can still be friends.”

Lisa smiles again before looking down at herself. “Well, I better get dressed.”

All Jungkook can do is nod again, and he watches as she picks up her clothes and then heads to the bathroom. 

In the meantime, Jungkook grabs his phone and goes to the messages. He finds your conversation, clicks on it, and prepares to type a message.

But he can’t figure out what to say. He just stares at his phone, panic threatening to overcome his senses again, and then he shuts it off, tossing it to the side as Lisa walks out of the bathroom.

Even a little later, when Lisa has left to head home, Jungkook still doesn’t know what to say. So he texts his therapist, asks if they can have an appointment tomorrow, and then he puts some anime on, hoping that it’ll chase the heartbreak from his chest.

It doesn’t, and he falls asleep to the sound of Tanjiro fighting a demon, only to be woken up when Ariane and Taehyung come back home in the middle of the night.

Read chapter 13 here!

☆☆☆☆☆

:((((( i promise the angst is slowly getting resolved! even if it doesn't seem like it rn :')

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

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Masterlist

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER SIX ━━ Shattered Glass

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 3.8K

☆ ━ warnings: mentions of conversion therapy

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: finally bro

DANI STANDS in the dimly lit darkroom, watching the chemicals slowly bring her latest batch of photos to life. The soft red glow of the safelights fill the room, casting long shadows across the black-and-white prints hanging on the drying line. The hum of the machines and the faint smell of chemicals are oddly calming, giving her a momentary escape from the chaotic mess her life has become. She likes it here. The darkroom is one of the few places that still feels like her own—maybe her safe space.

She adjusts the print in the developer tray, her hands moving automatically as her mind wanders. It’s hard not to think about the other night, about Paige’s basket. The note stays with her, a flicker of warmth that she hasn’t felt in a long time. She wishes Paige hadn’t done it. She wishes she could’ve just stewed in her misery, in the mess she’s made. It would be easier that way.

Now, Dani can’t stop thinking about it. Paige is always there, lurking at the edges of her thoughts, no matter how much Dani tries to push her away.

It’s frustrating and comforting at the same time.

The door to the darkroom swings open, flooding the room with harsh light from the hallway. Dani blinks against it, silently cursing as Serena Corren struts in. The blonde cheerleader makes no effort to close the door softly, the bang of it slamming shut making Dani wince. Serena isn’t supposed to be here, at least not right now, but here she is anyway, crashing into Dani’s quiet space like she always seems to do.

“Hey, Dani.” Serena drops her yearbook materials on the counter with a loud thunk, her sharp voice cutting through the low hum of the room.

“Hey,” Dani mutters, her eyes fixed on the developing photo, hoping Serena will take the hint and keep her distance. But that isn’t how Serena works. She never really does subtle.

Serena leans over, peering at the picture. “You’re still working on that football game? Don’t you have, like, a thousand of those already?”

Dani shrugs, her jaw tight. “I’m trying to be thorough.”

Serena scoffs. “No, I think you’re trying to be alone in here, avoiding everyone.” She straightens, fixing Dani with a pointed look pursing her lips into a line. “You’ve been weird lately, you know that?”

Dani’s shoulders tense. She knows where this is going and she doesn’t want to deal with it. “I’m fine, Serena.”

“Yeah, sure,” the blonde drawls, pulling up a stool and plopping down on it without asking. “That’s why Beau’s been bitching to everyone about you. Says you’ve been acting all ‘distant.’”

Dani doesn’t say anything, keeping her eyes locked on her work. Beau. Of course, it’s about Beau. Everything is always about him—her boyfriend, her obligation. The person she’s supposed to care about. Except she doesn’t. Not really.

Serena crosses her arms, eyeing Dani with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “You’re lucky, you know that? Beau’s, like, the hottest guy in school, and you’ve been treating him like shit recently. So, spill, and tell me what your deal is.”

Dani’s grip tightens on the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white. “I���ve just been dealing with stuff,” she mumbles.

“Right, ‘stuff.’” Serena’s tone drips with sarcasm, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve got everyone worried, Dani. Not just Beau—though, let’s be real, he’s the only one actually trying. The rest of us? We don’t know why you even bother hanging out anymore if you’re gonna be so… ugh.”

Dani’s stomach twists, but she keeps her mouth shut. Of course, Beau’s trying. That’s the narrative. That’s always the narrative. But neither him or Serena or any of their other friends are ever actually trying to help. The blonde isn’t even asking if Dani was okay. She’s here to make a point, to make sure Dani knows she’s out of line for daring to withdraw from the group.

Serena’s lips curl in a half-smile, her eyes sharp. “Look, I get it. Maybe you’re going through something or whatever, but seriously? You’re not the only one with problems, Dani. Beau’s been putting up with a lot from you.”

Dani lets out a short, bitter laugh before she can stop herself. “Putting up with me? Are you serious?”

Serena’s smile falters for a second before she narrows her eyes. “Yeah, I am. You’ve been flaking on him for weeks, acting all moody, and he’s still there. Most guys wouldn’t stick around if their girlfriend was being such a—” Serena throws her hands up in the air, searching for a word, “—headcase!”

Dani’s vision blurs with irritation, but she swallows it down. It isn’t worth it, arguing with Serena. Sure, the girl was nice and welcoming at first, but it didn’t take Dani much time to realize just how fake Sersna can be. By now, Dani can hardly stand her, but she’s inevitable—Serena’s a part of Beau’s circle, part of this whole sick, suffocating dynamic Dani’s been shoved into. At this point, she has to hang out with them, even though Serena and the others have no idea what’s really going on, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care. They’d probably just mock her even more.

She can’t explain why she’s acting “weird.” She can’t explain why the thought of being around Beau makes her feel like her skin is crawling. She can’t explain how much she hates who she’s become since she got back from camp. She can’t explain that the more she’s sucked into this straight girl, quarterback’s girlfriend, Catholic princess persona, the more she feels the girl underneath it slipping away, caught in between two worlds that don’t meet.

Serena’s still watching her, waiting for a response, her lips frowning in faux concern. “You’re lucky he hasn’t dumped you yet.”

Dani grits her teeth. Lucky. She’s not lucky; she’d be much more lucky if he dumped her. Beau’s controlling, selfish, and she knows he’s never given a damn about what she wants or how she might feel. He’s only gotten worse lately too, like a few nights ago—leaving her stranded, making her walk home alone in the dark while he drove off, doing who-knows-what.

But none of that matters, because in Serena’s world, Beau can do no wrong. In fact, Dani wouldn’t even be surprised if the two of them have fucked by now. “Maybe I don’t care if he dumps me,” the brunette mutters under her breath.

Serena snorts, “Yeah, right. Please. You’d be miserable without him, Dani. You wouldn’t have anyone left.”

That is what hits Dani hard, the words sinking into her like ice. She wants to that Serena’s wrong, but the fear is there, gnawing at her. Because who will she have without Beau, without this group she’s been forced into? She’s already lost her real friends, the ones who actually matter. Paige, Thaliah, Jalen.

“Look,” Serena continues, her voice smug, “just stop acting like this. Whatever this moody, weird thing you’ve got going on? It’s not cute. We’re all getting tired of it.”

Dani feels the anger bubbling up again, sharp and hot in her chest. She can’t do this anymore—can’t sit here and listen to Serena drone on about something that doesn’t even really fucking involve her. “I don’t care if you’re tired of it, Serena. You know what? Maybe I’m the one tired of it, tired of hanging around all of you, tired of hearing you bitching, and tired of the fact that none of you have a nice fucking bone in your body!”

Serena’s eyes flash with surprise, but she quickly covers it with a smirk. “Wow, okay. You’ve been one of ‘us’ for months now. So what the fuck does that say about you then, hmm?” She pauses, letting the words sink in, before continuing, “You’re just like the rest of us. And if you’re really gonna throw away everything just because you’re in one of your moods, then I guess I thought you were smarter than you really are.”

Dani’s heart pounds in her chest, her hands shaking slightly as she turns back to her photos. She doesn’t respond. She refuses. Because if she does, she isn’t sure what will come out—whether it would be anger or something worse. She doesn’t want to cry in front of Serena. She refuses to give her that satisfaction.

After a long, tense silence, Serena stands, brushing invisible dust off her skirt. “Whatever, Dani. Keep being weird if that’s what you want. Just don’t be surprised when Beau gets tired of your shit and moves on. You’re replaceable, you know.”

Dani bites the inside of her lip at the venom in Serena’s words, but she doesn’t look up. She doesn’t let herself react, no matter how badly she wants to lash out.

The door to the darkroom creaks open again as Serena leaves, slamming it shut behind her.

PAIGE HASN’T heard a single word her financial algebra teacher has said the entire class period. Her foot taps against the floor incessantly, the low thud thud thud filling her head. She’s restless—scratch that, obsessed. Her is was stuck in one place, on one person.

Dani.

Dani, Dani, Dani, Dani, Dani, Dani, Dani.

Paige has been like this since Halloween, unable to focus on anything except the basket she left on the girl’s porch, hoping it would be some kind of olive branch. She’s spent the last few days replaying every interaction in her mind, trying to decipher Dani’s walls, to figure out what exactly is going on inside her head.

For how well and how long Paige has known the brunette, she simply can’t tell. She’s tried—but she has no idea what’s swirling in her ex-best friend’s mind that prompted her to create this entire situation. But what Paige does know is that she can’t keep sitting in this classroom pretending to care about math when all she wants to do is get Dani to talk to her. Really talk to her.

She lets out a sigh, barely noticing the way the teacher glances up from her notes. Paige bites her lip, her foot tapping even faster now, her knee bouncing. She can’t take it anymore.

Shooting her hand up, Paige catches the teacher’s attention. “Ms. Greene?” she asks, her voice a little shaky.

Ms. Greene, who’s in the middle of explaining some equation Paige can’t even begin to follow, stops mid-sentence, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, Paige?”

Paige swallows, feigning discomfort. “I don’t feel well. Can I go to the nurse?”

Ms. Greene studies her for a moment, clearly weighing how bad Paige looks. Then, she nods. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Paige quickly packs up her stuff, barely caring about leaving her things behind, and bolts out of the classroom. She isn’t going to the nurse. She has somewhere else to be—somewhere Dani would be.

She hates to admit it, but she knows Dani’s schedule like the back of her hand. It isn’t like she meant to memorize it; it just kind of happened over time. Call her a stalker—maybe she is—but she’s always paid attention to Dani, even now when they aren’t even friends anymore.

And she knows exactly where Dani is during this period: the darkroom. Paige has seen her slip into it on more than one occasion during this period. Paige has been in there herself several times, all with Dani, all last year. She’d sit on one of the stools and watch Dani work, infatuated like she always seems to be by the brunette. She misses it. She misses everything.

And she can’t stand it anymore. She has to get through to Dani. Today.

The hallways are mostly empty as Paige strides down them, her heartbeat quickening with every step. She isn’t sure what she’s planning to say, but she knows she has to say something. If she can just get Dani to open up—to explain why she’s shutting everyone out, why she’s pushed Paige away so violently—then maybe, just maybe, things can go back to how they used to be.

As Paige turns the corner, she slows her pace, watching someone step out of the darkroom. Serena Corren struts out, her face twisted in an annoyed scowl. The cheerleader’s blonde hair whips behind her as she slams the door with enough force to make Paige raise her eyebrows.  Serena’s eyes flick up as she passes the basketball player, and for a brief moment, their gazes meet. Paige can see the disdain in Serena’s eyes—she looks irritated, almost as if she’s blaming Paige for something, but neither of them say anything. The silent exchange is fleeting and Paige thinks it’s a little odd, too.

Paige reaches the door of the darkroom, her heart thudding in her chest. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t knock. She just pushes the door open. The low red light of the darkroom washes over her like a wave of unease, the smell of developing chemicals hangs in the air, and the soft hum of the machines fill the silence.

Before Paige can even step fully inside, Dani’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and biting. “God, if you’re gonna keep berating me about this—” Dani snaps, her tone dripping with irritation, clearly mistaking Paige for Serena.

But when Dani spins around, her words die on her lips. The fiery annoyance in her eyes quickly evaporates, replaced with shock. “Paige,” she breathes, like the wind has been knocked out of her. She blinks, her body stiffening. “What are you doing here?”

Paige steps further into the room, letting the door click shut behind her. She swallows, her heart racing as she locks eyes with Dani. “I’m here because we need to talk,” she says steadily.

Dani’s face hardens. She turns back to her photos, ignoring Paige like she isn’t even there. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Dani mutters, flat and dismissive.

“Yes, there is,” Paige responds firmly. She refuses to let Dani shut this down again. “You know there is.”

Dani quickly turns back toward Paige, a faux smile on her face. “You’re so right, Paige, we do need to talk,” she says, her tone sickly sweet. “Thank you for the basket, I appreciated it.” And then she turns right back to the photos.

Paige clenches her fists, frustration boiling up inside her. She’s spent months tiptoeing around Dani’s moods, giving her space, hoping she’ll come around on her own. But that isn’t working. She isn’t going to stand by while Dani pushes her further away, destroying herself in the process.

“Stop it,” Paige replies, shaking her head. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong, what exactly has been going on with you.”

Dani scoffs, shaking her head as she continues to work, refusing to look at Paige. “What, you’re just going to barge in here and demand I spill my guts?” she asks incredulously. “That’s not how this works, Paige.”

Paige steps closer, her voice firm but pleading. “I’m not trying to make demands. I just… I need to understand why you’ve been acting like this. Why you’ve been pushing me away. You don’t even look at me anymore, Dani. And I—” Paige’s voice cracks, and she swallows hard, fighting the emotion rising in her throat. “I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

Dani’s hands still over the photo paper, her fingers trembling slightly, though she quickly balls them into fists to hide it. She doesn’t respond, but Paige can see the tension radiating from her.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Dani finally mutters under her breath, her voice barely audible.

Paige’s heart clenches. “Then why are you pushing me away?”

“I’m not,” Dani rebuttals, though both of them know she’s lying. “I just—I can’t do this right now, okay? You should go.”

“No,” Paige says, shaking her head, her voice ready to rise at any second because she’s tired of this. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to shut me out like this after everything we’ve been through, and then lie and say that you aren’t. I care about you, Dan. I always have. And I know you care about me, too. So, why are you doing this?”

Dani shakes her head profusely, almost like she’s trying to shake something out of her brain. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me,” Paige shoots back, her frustration rising. She can feel the walls between them, the weight of everything Dani isn’t saying, and it’s suffocating. “I’ve been your best friend since we were kids. You can’t just cut me out of your life without an explanation. I know something happened over the summer. Something had to have happened, because I know you wouldn’t do this without reason I know it. But I don’t know why you won’t let me in. Why you won’t even talk to me.”

“No!” Dani responds, her voice rising slightly to meet Paige’s. She stays stubborn, not breaking. “You won’t understand.”

“Then make me understand!” Paige bursts out, her frustration finally spilling over. She throws her hands up in the air in disbelief. “God, Dani, I’m trying so hard to be here for you, but you’re making it impossible. Why won’t you just talk to me?”

Dani slams her hand down on the counter, making Paige jump. “Because talking won’t fix anything!” she snaps, turning to face Paige. The blonde can see the tears glistening in Dani’s eyes. “You think this is all about you, don’t you? That I’m pushing you away because of something you did. But it’s not about you. It’s about me. It’s about everything I’ve been through, everything I’m still going through. And you can’t fix that.”

Paige’s heart clenches at the sight of Dani’s tear-filled eyes, but she doesn’t stop. She steps closer once more, her voice soft but firm. “Maybe I can’t fix it. But I can be there for you. I can help you if you just let me. Please, Dani. Just tell me what’s going on.”

Dani shakes her head, her hands trembling. She averts her eyes, looking at the corner of the wall, refusing to meet Paige’s gaze. “I—I can’t,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “You don’t know what it was like…”

Paige’s breath hitches. Dani’s breaking, right in front of her, and Paige can feel it—the dam about to burst.

“What what was like?” Paige asks gently, her heart pounding in her chest. Her voice drops to a low murmur. “What happened, Dani?”

Dani stares at the ground, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Paige watches as Dani digs her nails into her thigh and she fights the urge to take the brunette’s hand in her own. “My dad…” the Callan girl starts, hardly a whisper. “He—on the Ring doorbell—he saw us kiss. You know how he is. You know what he believes in. He couldn’t accept the fact that his daughter liked other girls. So, he sent me to camp. And—and it wasn’t just any camp…” she pauses, finally meeting eyes with Paige. The blonde watches as her tears begin to spill, and she feels her own heart break with every word that comes out of Dani’s mouth. Dani shrugs, “It was conversion therapy.”

Paige freezes. “What?” Her mind reels, the words not fully sinking in at first. “You… you went to—”

“Yeah,” Dani laughs bitterly, her voice thick with tears. “All summer. While you were at basketball camps, traveling, I was stuck in that place. Being told every day that who I am is wrong. That what I feel is… is disgusting. That I was disgusting.”

Paige feels like the ground has been ripped out from under her. She stumbles forward, her hand reaching out to touch Dani’s arm, but Dani flinches away.

“Dani…” Paige’s voice is shaky, her heart aching. “I—I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” Dani whispers, and her voice breaks with a sob. “I couldn’t tell you, Paige. I wanted to. You don’t know how much I wanted to. But—y’know, I felt ashamed of the fact that I loved you just as much when I left camp as I did when I got there, even after everything they put me through. And I—I wanted to protect you from all my problems.” She pauses, sniffling slightly, trying to wipe her tears with the back of her hand. It doesn’t matter; they keep coming. “My dad, too. He’s friends with Beau’s parents. They started it—the thing with Beau and I. It made my dad happy; that’s all I really wanted. I’ve never wanted or liked Beau, Paige.”

Paige stares at her, eyes flitting across her face. She wants so badly to reach out and touch Dani, hold her. But she doesn’t want to scare her away. So, instead, she asks, “You never did? Not at all?” She thinks she already knows the answer, and she feels almost guilty for being relieved at it.

“Never,” Dani confirms, her arms wrapping around herself, probably trying to stem the sobs. “I wanted someone else.”

Paige’s heart skips a beat.

“But my dad,” the brunette chokes out, “he told me that if he ever saw us together again, that he’d send me back.” Dani looks up at Paige once more, her eyes bloodshot and filled with more fear than Paige has ever seen. Dani shakes her head, sobbing as she says, “Paige, I don’t wanna go back.”

Paige feels her heart shatter at the sight of Dani’s pain finally laid out before her. The blonde takes the final step forward, her hands going to cup Dani’s cheeks, making Dani look at her. Paige says firmly, feeling more protective of the girl before her than anything else in her entire life, “You’re not gonna go back, okay? He can’t you send you back. I won’t let him.”

Dani sobs again, and Paige pulls her in closer, was wrapping her arms around Dani into a tight hug. She holds her so tightly that it feels like they might both stop breathing, but Paige doesn’t care. She isn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m so sorry,” Dani whispers through her tears, clinging to Paige like she’s the only thing keeping her grounded. “I’m so sorry, P. I—I didn’t want to push you away, but I was so scared. I still am.”

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” Paige murmurs, her own tears slipping down her cheeks as she holds Dani even tighter. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

They stay like that, locked in each other’s arms, both of them crying, both of them holding on like the world is falling apart around them.

Because maybe it is.

But for the first time in months, they aren’t facing it alone.

[delicrieux]

—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.1: things of present and future importance

pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—trauma, anxiety, swearing, and sum depression as dessert word count—2k

uh-oh, carmen is losing it again, this time in front of his new employee, too. 

author’s note: give me this wet dog of a man and give him to me NOWWWWWWWW

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | read on ao3 . next >

important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3

there’s a lot of things wrong with this situation, but carmen does not have it in him to care. maybe he never will, and that’s okay, because it’s his fucking restaurant and he knows he could be kinder, could be gentler, could, maybe, keep all of those splinters in his gut from hurting too bad if he took a few deep breaths just how they say in therapy. deep breaths, slow breaths, and then they look at you like you’re a toddler having a meltdown in the middle of the street and suddenly, suddenly, it’s all go fuck yourself and the door slamming shut.

carmen’s an abandoned puppy – disheveled hair and round eyes that have been unloved (by him, most of all), with his head bent and shoulders tense, not sure whether to flee or attack, but offense is the best defense and just like a bad dog he bites when frightened. it’s all teeth and anger and desperation; jaws lock and teeth sink and he doesn’t let go because he’s starving, even if what he’s fighting for is nothing but a cadaver of a place, space, body – brother? no, don’t think of mikey. he’s starving, has been for ages – approval? don’t say that – and that hunger bubbles to the surface when confronted by a minuscule imperfection, like sauce on the stove left to simmer for too long.

it’s a bad first impression, second impression, third, what the fuck, he’s good at food and not very good at math, unless math comes to food and then, maybe, he can sort it out. still bad, still fucking terrible, to be honest, and somewhere in the frying tangles of his mind he knows that yelling doesn’t help, and that yelling in front of the new hire doesn’t bode well for retention. the last enzymes of his sanity warn him – calm down, just, just calm down, carmen, you’re making it worse, you’re making it fucking worse – but the to-go machine keeps beeping, and the kitchen is too hot, and his staff is too anxious, and everything is amplified tenfold by his brother’s looming shadow that exists to him only. don’t think of mikey.

“can someone please turn that fucking thing off?” it’s his voice, laced by such scorn and a barely contained anger that makes him tremble by the pans. he’s losing his mind. sweat collects on his temple and his eyes sting from the fumes billowing onto his face, “sydney!”

“yes, chef.”

sydney’s a trooper, doesn’t bend under pressure like steel, and he sees her maneuvering in his peripherals, quick and agile to not get into anyone’s way, least of all his. briefly, he thinks about burning this place down. he blinks. the beeping stops – she ripped the cord out of the socked, dropped it onto the floor that sent an echo.

the new hire watches this shitshow unfold by her station, eyes wide and weary, ears perked for orders. her hands move – strong hands, swift hands, long fingers and rough palms that cradle a knife the way a mother would cradle a child. she doesn’t look at what she cuts, but she chops and slices and it’s all automatic – trained response? – and if carmen were to take a ruler and inspect the pieces, he’d be impressed to find that most are even and none are crooked. he’d hum, then, skim through the folders of his mind to re-check her experience, re-check the college she went to. he’d say something like, “good work, chef,” and maybe she’d smile at the bare bones of the compliment he’d given her, and when he’d be alone in his dingy office he’d pull out her resume and examine it with more interest because he’d be too embarrassed to ask.

he’ll grow familiar with those hands, with the dips and curves of knuckles and the tiger stripes of scars running down their expanse; he’ll grow familiar with the touch, too, soft despite the callouses, but only to him. not yet, though, not for another few months till a completely expected storm will halt the trains and he’ll have to drive her home. it’ll be weeks after that awkward silence in the car and stolen glances at soaked t-shirt-clad skin.

her form is unfamiliar to him – he hadn’t any interest to look, nor would he find anything curious when all is covered in oversized fabric and a blue apron. at present, she’s his colleague, nothing more, and a young one at that, too young and too talented to be stuck in such a place and with him running it.

but he will look. sooner than expected, and not for any devout reason, unless loneliness can be considered holy.

he’ll feel bad about it, too, and he’ll feel worse when everything escalates, because it always does.

for now, he cooks by the open flame, letting hot oil sizzle on his hands and the fire lick his fingers, and maybe, just maybe, he likes the pain because he knows nothing else. it’s become empirical to him. an indication that he’s still alive. that he’s still in control of something, even if he isn’t.

richie, richie, good fucking god, richie always picks the worst moments to bitch about.

“are you fucking with me?” carmen’s voice, again, a bit higher this time and just a gruff. doe eyes narrow at the bell-tower named richard jerimovich that has the audacity to look clueless, “do not fucking fuck with me right now.”

richie: shove that stick outta [fuck you] your ass, cousin carmen: are you deaf? richie: boutta go deaf if you keep yapping [don’t got time for this]; listen, i just [you just?] came to talk [talk? now? talk?] yes, to talk, look carmen: now you wanna talk? now? you wanna [jesus] fucking talk right now?

the tension in the air is sharp enough to slice through skin. everyone pointedly pretends not to hear this conversation. carmen doesn’t want to hear this conversation, either. there’s a line of people waiting. he reminds richie of that, and richie reminds that oh, he knows, and –

“richie!” it’s sydney, cheeks glowing with sweat and bandana crooked, “not now.”

richie huffs, looks at carmen with a certain exasperation, a wordless question of ‘really? really? you’re letting her run the show, now?’, and carmen needn’t be a genius to know that richie’s gonna bring this up later. he’ll never hear the end of it, he scarcely does now. it’s a headache in the making. his heart skips, or maybe stops, and for a moment he feels white-hot panic shoot through his veins. it passes with a shiver he doesn’t show. he breathes just a tad quicker – not enough air, not enough fucking air, jesus.

richie retreats with his arms raised in surrender, amused and annoyed simultaneously. a quiet follows his departure, and carmen looks at the staff, gaze jumping from one to the other before settling on her. she’s unperturbed by the chaos, working, watching, assessing, and later he’ll learn she wears that face the same way he wears his anger – as armor.

eyes meet and there’s a certain understanding that glimmers in the depths of her iris. but what could she understand? three weeks from now, he’ll come to learn that she’s used to rough edges and loud voices: he’ll learn that she’s the daughter of the chef that made his life hell back in new york, he’ll learn that she took up cooking because she wanted to appease her father, he’ll learn that her parents have split and her mother is sick and that she’s not calm but disconnected and that she tends to live in her head just like him.

but he doesn’t know that now, so he blames the shitty lighting that blinks and buzzes and, “fak, for the love of fucking god, please fix it.”

he said please this time, and it means he’s cooling off. he thankfully misses the quick look the staff shares – a mixture of relief and pity. either would have been devastating to recognize.

the only upside is that the day goes by fast. too much to do, too much to stress about, and carmen’s used to running on nothing but nicotine and adrenaline and an odd spout of desolation, and he manages everything, keeps the pieces glued together until eventually everything becomes too much and then he crumbles. still picks them up gently, like handling broken glass. he visits the storage often. closes the door for a moment and just lets himself breathe, reminds himself how to. doesn’t calm, only collects, reigns in the anger that coats loneliness. don’t think about mikey.

the staff cleans in a similar silence that douses after a storm.

the night's clear, crisp air compounded with cigarette smoke. he leans on the wall of the restaurant, staring into space, listening to the white noise of a restless city. by now, sydney has flipped the CLOSED sign; by now, his new hire is probably thinking about quitting, elbows deep in cleaning detergent as she scrubs the floor. he’ll have to go over her work and double-check. just in case there’s something more to do for hands that are always restless.

he tries to think but his head is scrambled. too many thoughts rushing in and out, loud, obnoxious, too quick to leave a lasting impact. he’s tired. he’s always tired. he wants lay on his bed and let sleep swallow him whole, but he knows that won’t happen. if he sleeps, he dreams of new york, he dreams of fire, he dreams of voices coming from the other room. one, in particular, holds a familiar rasp and drawl, punctuated by laugher, weaving a tale and stop it, don’t think about it anymore, just stop it, don’t think about –

he tosses the cigarette, watching the embers burn.

don’t think about mikey.

he enters through the back exit, stalks through the restaurant like he's haunting the place. briefly stops to stare at the mirror behind the bar. doesn't really recognize the man staring back.

the clock reads 00:30 am.

marcus was the last to leave, or so carmen assumed by the silence that shrouds the place, but as he makes his way to his office, he hears a locker shutting, and the sound rattles him so much his heart beats in his throat. all of that previous exhaustion ignites into anxiety that makes his limbs lock up.

she halts by the mouth of the kitchen, hair matted from sweat and lower lip marked where her teeth sunk, drooped eyes widening a fraction as she regards him. he can only stare at her in return, at her messy hair and pinched eyebrows and the slight downward curl of her lips.

“you could use a coffee,” she utters, and her voice is jarring – not for any unpleasant reason, but for the fact that he didn’t expect to hear it. he’ll grow to like it, crave it, even, because it’s a lovely cadence and it’ll sound even lovelier when she says his name.

he’s frightened by it now, if one can be scared of such a thing. so he bites.

“it’s almost 1 am.”

“right,” she mutters dryly.

“why are you still here?” he questions, and it almost sounds like an accusation, because he thought he was alone, only to suddenly be proved wrong. feels like an invasion of privacy, to be fucking honest, “your shift ended like an hour ago.”

“oh, I, uh, had some things to finish, so…” she trails off, but she still looks at him, and it’s unnerving, really, how she doesn’t budge under the weight of his stare. he bends under hers, though; the floor is spotless, he has nothing left to do. he misses the visible tension in her face, misses the quick swipe of her tongue on her lower lip as she opens and closes her mouth. it’ll take two whole weeks to grow entranced by the sight. misses the polite smile, too, but hears it in her voice anyway, “night.”

her sneakers squeak and echo and the door shuts. silence settles heavy on his shoulders. he’s not sure if he’s more distraught by her sudden appearance or abrupt departure. both somehow feel bad. in less than half a year, he’ll come to realize that the latter is worse.

ch.2: thank you, love you

[thought--bubble]

All of your senses

Ettore X (Riding Ettore Reader)

Word Count: 2,082

All of your senses Masterlist

Ettore Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners & Dividers by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Ettore, Dubcon, smut (PinV unprotected). Male whimpering because I wanted it, and I can! Hehehe

Therapy! Ettore scoffs at the thought. As if therapy could ever help him. As far as he understood himself, he didn't need therapy.

Therapy is something to help a person sort through their emotions. Ettore simply doesn't have any. He does not feel things in his head or his heart. The only feelings he recognizes are physical.

You can't hurt his feelings, but you can break his nose. You can't send his heart a flutter, but you can get him off.

In order to be cleared for that damn space mission in which he would be made part of a co-ed population of inmates, he had to go through therapy and nothing was going to stop him from getting on that ship and once again having access to women.

So, with full fledged irritation and annoyance, he drudged his way down to the prison shrink. A guard flanked him on either side.

He thinks it's a bit dramatic. Yes, he can be violent, but it's actually pretty rare. Only when it serves a purpose and beating down the person who could clear him would be counterproductive to his plans.

When you open the door and beckon him inside, he becomes painfully aware of why the guards are necessary. You're his preferred victim type. A young voluptuous woman, long silky hair, skin-tight pencil skirt, and button-up top. The only thing that can make him lose control.

Ettore walks into the room, the chains connecting his hands to his feet scraping across the floor.

"Hello, Ettore." Your voice makes a shiver run down his spine. He doesn't answer you. Instead, he steps closer and sniffs before one of the guards grabs him and pulls him back, shoving him into a cold metal chair before proceeding to strap his arms and legs down.

Once Ettore is securely fastened to the chair one of the guards turns to you with concern.

" We really should stay. This inmate can not be trusted...... around women"

You chuckle at this. " therapy doesn't work well with an audience. I trust that you have fully secured him?"

"Yes, but-" you stop him with wave of your hand.

"I have full faith that he will stay right where you put him. You can wait outside the room."

The guard mumbles under his breath as he motions for the other guard to follow him out into the hallway. He gives Ettore a final stern look before closing the door, leaving the two of you alone.

You sit down in a plush chair directly across from Ettore with his file in your hand. You had been reading everything the prison had on him for the last week in preparation for this evaluation, and you had a pretty good idea of how he ticked.

"So Ettore. How are you feeling today?" You knew this approach most likely wouldn't work with Ettore. Making him comfortable didn't matter. He wouldn't open up to you just because of some pleasantries. He doesn't know how to open up, and if he did. He still wouldn't.

Ettore stares back at you blankly, his eyes endlessly scrolling the length of your form, yet never looking into your eyes.

It's carnal, the ache he feels inside at the sight of your soft skin. His fingers twitching around the arm of the chair. He wants to touch you. He needs to touch you.

"Why don't we start with your childhood. Your file says your mother died when you were young and you were left with your father, who may have had a bit of a drinking problem." If your words were affecting Ettore, you would never know by looking at him.

His eyes continued to ravish you from your neck to your knees. His heart pounding in his ears. What he needs is right there in front of him, yet just out of reach. He once again fights subtly against his restraints. The inability to move suffocating and controlling his every thought.

"Losing your mother so young, coupled with the nature of your crimes. It's my belief that you are in need of a gentle touch." Ettore finally lifts his eyes to meet yours, and you smile back at him.

Touch? His favorite word. Not care, support, or love, as all the other therapists have deamed. No. You used the word touch, the simple phrase having the desired effect.

You stand from your chair and step toward him slowly, his eyes darting down to your legs watching each step.

"Something ....... soft. " You walk up to the side of Ettore's chair and gently graze his cheek with your finger. You can see his arms and wrists fighting against his restraints, and you chuckle.

Ettore's eyes darken at the sound. How lucky you are that he is strapped down to this chair. If he were not, chuckles would not be the sound to come from that pretty little throat.

"Oh, no need to worry." You lean down and bring your mouth right up next to his ear and whisper, "I'll be gentle."

"I won't be." He growls in response, his patience waning. This challenge to his dominance is not something he likes or is willing to accept.

From this angle, you couldn't see his face only the back of his neck where the hairs stood on end, his breathing controlled and heavy.

"You will." You coo in his ear.

You place your hands on the back of the chair, one over each of his shoulders, and bring your mouth close to the nape of his neck. Just gently breathing, letting him feel the ghost of a touch across his skin.

"I'll teach you"

You enjoy watching his response. The tightening of his shoulders the flex in his bicep as he pulls and pulls against his restraints with no hope of getting loose.

"You need some tenderness. That's all. " You walk back around to the front of his chair, Ettore looks up at you, rage clearly written across his face.

A caged animal. Face to face with his prey and unable to act upon his most primal desires.

You hike your pencil skirt up to your mid thighs, and Ettore's eyes instantly drop. The look of anger quickly replaced with hunger, his arms again pulling against his restraints.

"Tsk tsk." You gently rub at his wrists. "Stop that silly boy, you're going to hurt yourself."

His eyes flit about your body wildly, and you smile before placing yourself in his lap, your legs straddling either side of his hips.

Automatically, Ettore thrusts his hips up toward you. "No," you gently scold and hold him down by the hips. "Gentle"

Ettore closes his eyes and breathes deep. A predatory grumble rattling in his chest.

"Now, sweet boy." You bring your cheek up to his, the stubble on his face a little coarse against your skin and the tightness in his jaw apparent.

"Relax," You roll your hips against him slowly, his thin prison pants giving away his excitement.

Ettore again desperately pulls against his restraints. You can't have the power here. He can't let you have the power here.

"Stop," you say, voice firm. You bring your hand up to his chin and gently message it with your thumb. You gently tug on his bottom lip before leaning in and placing a soft kiss against his lips. He doesn't reciprocate. The feeling so foreign, so strange.

"Doesn't that feel nice, sweet boy?"You move your hands so that you are cradling his strong jaw. Holding his face so he has no choice but to look at you.

"Just what the doctor ordered, hmm?" You bring your lips down to him again. Slowly pushing your tongue into his mouth. Not aggressive, not passionate.

You move your tongue in his mouth, and you feel him start to kiss back, aggressively at first, but you keep your pace steady and soft.

You bring your hands to the back of his head, tugging briefly on the hair there. You control his movement this way. Too aggressive, you tug him back.

You roll your hips against him again, falling into a steady rhythm.

With his head pulled back and his neck craned completely powerless as you grind yourself against him, he whimpers.

"What was that sweet boy?" You grind yourself harder against his erection and he whimpers louder.

"Tell me" you demand as you again increase the speed and pressure of your movements.

"Please." He finally croaks out, followed by another whimper. "God please"

"Oh, poor thing." You keep his head pulled back and lick a stripe up his neck. "Am I teasing you?"

Ettore groans, and you slightly lift yourself from his lap.

"I don't want to drive you mad." You release his hair, and he looks at you, panic in his eyes.

"No, wait," Ettore tries to reach for you but is trapped by those damn restraints.

"Oh. Don't worry, sweet boy. " You grab his cheeks and squeeze them briefly. "We aren't done"

You reach beneath you and shimmy his pants down just enough to free his cock. His mouth opens slightly at the feeling his eyes glazing over.

"Slow and gentle." You nuzzle your nose to him as he holds his breath.

He looks so desperate. So pathetic. It's so satisfying.

You press the head of his cock to your entrance and sink down just enough so the tip breeches your walls and nothing else.

Ettore instinctually bucks his hips once before you again grab him and hold him in place.

"Tsk tsk," you scold him as you hold him down and slide up and down over just the tip of his throbbing cock.

His body starts shaking so harshly that it's nearly convulsing. It takes your full strength to hold him in place, his hips desperate to move.

"Fuck fuck fuck" He whimpers loudly. "I need it. More. Fuck more!"

"More?" You sink down just a smidge further and watch as Ettore's head lulled, and his eyes started to roll back.

"Ahh!" He clenches his jaw and moves his hips subtly, getting himself just a tiny bit further.

You slide down further, now halfway down his shaft.

"Kiss me nice and gentle like I taught ya" He lifts his head and looks at you with confusion.

"Not moving another inch till ya do," Ettore quickly brings his face to yours. He tentatively kisses you with slow unsure movements.

As the kiss continues, you slide slowly down the rest of his shaft until your ass rests on his thighs and he moans into your mouth.

You smirk, you have an apex predator beneath you, whimpering, moaning, and begging for relief.

"See? So gentle you are. " You softly blow into his ear as you roll your hips slowly.

Ettore gasps at the sensation, his entire body vibrating. He's been in this prison for two years already, with no one but his hand to keep him company.

The pressure builds up in the base of his spine quickly, but he fights the urge to buck his hips, knowing you would stop if he did.

"You wanna cum sweet boy?" He nods a pained expression on his face.

You lean back in and kiss him again, this time with more urgency as you bring your fingers to your clit. The perfect mixture of his soft kisses, your nimble fingers, and his thick cock scraping against your walls bring you over the edge quickly.

As your cunt pulses around him you grip his hair again exposing his neck to you.

"Cum sweet boy. Right now, " He has no choice but to comply he bucks his hips twice and then spills himself inside of you, his mouth wide open and eyes closed.

You kiss him once more, but he is spent, mouth just hanging open lazily. You hop off of him and fix his pants as he smiles up at you, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

You fix yourself and, without another word, to him open your office door telling the guards to take him back to his cell.

On his way out the door, he keeps his eyes on you, tripping over his shackles and being caught by a guard.

You pay him no mind and quickly close the door behind him and sit down at your desk.

You fill out the sheet you were given approving him for the mission, and of course, suggest a few more therapy sessions before he goes.

Part 2

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[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Charlie: "You know what your traumatic backstory calls for?"

Vaggie: "Hugs?"

Charlie: "THERAPY!"

Vaggie: "Charlie, I don't need-"

Charlie: "Oh YOU don't need therapy? Really? Really."

Vaggie: "..... I'm perfectly functional. Also, it's my trauma."

Charlie: "And is this OUR loving relationship?"

Vaggie: "Of course it-"

Charlie: "The one I'm planning on spending the rest of my life in? Trauma included?"

Vaggie: "I- if, if you want to-?"

Charlie: "Just like how YOU'VE spent three years helping ME with the whole 'wow my family fell apart soooo fast let me cope by latching onto the dream of my disappeared mom while pretending it's totally fine I somehow feel even MORE distant from my dad who lives only a ten minute walk across town' thing? Making 'help charlie!' into your whole Reason for Being?!"

Vaggie: "Hold on, I wasn't in the best headspace when that slipped out-"

Charlie: "OBJECTION! Clear admission of truth!"

Vaggie: "-fuck."

Charlie: "And did you let me be there for you then, when your head was in a bad place? Or did you pull a 'I want to be alone' card?"

Vaggie: "I just needed- I didn't want to say anything else stupid."

Charlie: "Oh so you didn't wanna be dramatic about it, huh?"

Vaggie: "Yes- NO!"

Charlie: "Like how I can be dramatic?"

Vaggie: "It's not the same-"

Charlie: "Do YOU like being there for ME when I'M in a really bad no good and sad headspace?"

Vaggie: "You know I do."

Charlie: "Even when I go sit in a corner my own because I still can't believe there's someone in my life who'll want to come looking for me- who I don't need to apologize for being sad or 'dramatic' around- and who says she's HAPPY to be worrying about me?"

Vaggie: "Sweetie I am happy to worry about you."

Charlie: "Ah-HA! But I don't get to do that for you! YOU want me to be sad around YOU-"

Charlie: "Wait that sounds weird, uhh- oh whatever-"

Charlie: "Point is, I don't get to see YOU being sad around ME! And no, anger don't count! You like being grumpy! Grumpy is active! It feels productive and that's why you hate feeling SAD!"

Vaggie: "You just said you hide it from me too. Even after three years of being together."

Charlie: "Oh no really? Does that bother you???"

Vaggie: "It worries me!"

Charlie: "Okay then!!! EXACTLY! We both need therapy."

Vaggie: "...."

Vaggie: "That's fair."

Charlie: (preening) "Thank you."

Vaggie: “How the fuck did you not win that case up in Heaven.”

Charlie: "Angels are jerks and their minds are hard to change. Not my angel though. Mine is great~"

Vaggie: "Hold that thought until after I've asked this one question, sweetie."

Charlie: "Ask away!"

Vaggie: "How do we do therapy."

Charlie: "....."

Charlie: "H-"

Vaggie: "Without using Husk and alcohol. We are not paying him enough to deal with my angelic shit."

Charlie: "We could give him a raise- how much do you think-?"

Vaggie: "Not even if we gave him the hotel, babe."

Charlie: "Oh."

Vaggie: "So. What does sober therapy look like?"

Charlie: "Hmm....."

Charlie: "......."

Charlie: "Next question."

Vaggie: "Do you wanna just start off with a hug."

Charlie: "I want to pat myself on the back for having such a smart, supportive girlfriend- but you'll have do to it for me instead. While we hug."

-phone call time-

Carmilla: "You have five seconds before I hang up. Talk.

Charlie: "Carmilla, hi!!! It's about Vaggie-"

Carmilla: "No."

Charlie: "Oh ok! I just thought-"

Carmilla: "No."

Charlie: "-you seemed to really care about her, and maybe see a bit of yourself in her, maaaaybe you'd have some tips on-"

Carmilla: "No. Take her to Rosie's. Go with her and STAY with her."

Charlie: "Rosie- OF COURSE Rosie's! Right! I will!!"

Carmilla: "Don't take it personally when she tries to escape."

Charlie: "When she whats?

Carmilla: "The brooding silently in a chair and refusing to talk will also pass. Give her space. But don't leave her."

Charlie: "No no I won't, but why would she try esc-"

Charlie: "Oh Vaggie! No, I'm just on the phone with Carmilla-"

Vaggie: "WHAT."

Charlie: "-we're talking therapy ideas for you! And-"

Vaggie: (muffled swearing)

Charlie: "-she says Rosie's might be a good idea! You know, like how Alastor took there so I could talk everything out with someone finally, well I guess and also to get a cannibal army, but Rosie helping me with the you issue by laying my heart bare to her was the main good thing from all that, so-"

Charlie: "-VAGGIE GET BACK HERE!"

Carmilla: "Condolences on her having wings again. Good luck"

Carmilla: (hangs up to the sound of frantic flapping and yelling)

Zestial: "...."

Zestial: "...toss'ed to the very wolves... truly, that was wretched of thee."

Carmilla: "I owe them nothing."

Zestial: "And what of thyself?"

Carmilla: "Why, were my disinterested actions of a moment ago not self-serving enough for you?"

Zestial: "Thou art denying much in thine distance from her."

Carmilla: "I already have two daughters-"

Zestial: "As thou sayst."

Carmilla: "You are not my therapist, Zestial."

Zestial: "Nay- would that thou should'st yet find one, old friend."

Carmilla: "Be quiet."

Zestial: "Shan't~"

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: Jameson's album is released to much celebration while Imani & Isaiah's relationship evolves. EJ prepares for a major life change and Genie's father, Kendrick, worries about his daughter while Camille does battle from two fronts.

Warnings: 18+ (MINORS DNI), smut!!!, oral sex (female receiving), daddy kink (male characters being referred to as that), p in v sex, dom/sub kink (if you squint -- shout out to dusanya), toxic relationship (intentional jealousy, deception, lying), usage of the n word -- if you white and read it, you owe us $20, mentions of therapy, emotional breakdowns, mentions of depression, deception in relationships -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 10.1k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

The hotel lobby buzzed with energy as Jameson’s promo team flitted around, coordinating schedules and prepping for the next interview. Camille lingered by the grand piano, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, but her focus kept drifting to Jameson. He stood across the room, deep in conversation with his publicist, his easy smile and confident presence commanding the space. Everywhere he went, people stopped to look. Even if they didn’t recognize him — he was a beautiful man, it was hard not to look.

Her heart swelled, and a giddy grin tugged at her lips when she realized that he was all hers. I’m his girlfriend. The thought still felt surreal, like she’d stepped into a dream she hadn’t dared to hope for. She wasn’t just part of his world—she was his.

“Hey,” Jameson called, breaking her reverie. He crossed the room toward her, his grin softening into something just for her. “You good?”

“Better now,” Camille said, her voice light but sincere. She reached for his hand, relishing the way his fingers laced through hers.

“Sorry it’s been nonstop,” he said, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Once this wraps, we’ll grab dinner. Just us.” His publicist damn near followed them everywhere since the album promo began. She kept a tight lid on the news surrounding Jameson — even refusing to let Camille do an interview mentioning Jameson. Suffice it to say, the two weren’t overly fond of each other. She’d be glad to get the other man out of their everyday lives.

She nodded, pleased that it was almost over. The day had been a whirlwind and while it was hectic being by his side — she loved it. Even when the lingering shadow of doubt kept creeping in.

Imani’s name had come up more than once during interviews, reporters keen to dig into the inspiration behind Jameson’s album. Camille had smiled through it, remaining unblinking in the face of his past but each mention chipped away at her confidence. She knew they were friends—Jameson had been upfront about that—but it didn’t make it easier.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her attention. She glanced at the screen and froze.

[ +33123456789 ]: Enjoy him while you can. I helped you get him but I can’t help you keep him. If that album’s anything to go by, he’s not over Imani. He’ll go running back to her eventually.

Camille’s chest tightened. She locked the screen quickly, shoving the phone back into her pocket as Jameson’s hand gave hers a reassuring squeeze.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. “No, it’s fine,” she lied, forcing a smile. “Just a work thing.”

Jameson studied her for a moment, his gaze searching, but before he could press further, his publicist called him back. “Hold that thought,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

As he walked away, Camille’s smile faltered. The room felt suddenly too loud, too bright. She wanted to believe in Jameson, in them, but Sloane’s words lingered, feeding into her worst fears.

She tried to push Sloane’s words out of her head, but they kept resurfacing like a never-ending loop. It had all started at Paris Fashion Week when she and Sloane had been introduced by a mutual friend. They had hit it off immediately, bonding over their shared love for fashion. But as the night went on, the reasons for her move to Paris became clearer.

It was a classic tale of unrequited love – Sloane confessed to Camille that she was in love with a man who didn’t feel the same way about her. The man had chosen another woman and their relationship was chaotic on its best day, destructive on its worst. And it didn’t take long for Camille to realize who this man was – James Lucas.

At first, Camille dismissed it as just a silly crush. After all, Jameson was a famous musician and many women were drawn to him. But as Sloane continued to talk about him – praising his talent and charisma – Camille couldn’t help but feel sad for her. When the news came that Imani and James were over, it had been Camille’s suggestion that she spend time with Jameson to see if would accept Sloane back into his life.

Her job was simple: Talk to him, befriend him, put in a good word for Sloane. Things quickly escalated after she met him. He was just as magnetic as Sloane said…but there was a sadness within him. All she wanted to do was make him smile. Before she knew what was happening, they were in bed together and she was falling head over heels just as Sloane did.

Despite knowing her feelings for him were getting serious, she continued pretending to nudge him in Sloane’s direction – pumping her friend for information. Things he liked, things he hated. With every bit of info, she found herself closer and closer to him. It didn’t take ten years to get close. Sloane had already provided her with the cheat codes. And so she used them until Jameson was visiting her penthouse several times a week for more than just sex.

Guilt ridden but determined to keep him for herself, she began to slowly distance herself from Sloane. She erased everything, hoping not to get caught up. Sloane’s repeated texts and calls for updates went unanswered. What had been an amiable friendship quickly spiraled. Gone was the sweet but obviously love-stricken woman. In her place was a woman scorned — and Camille had earned her ire.

She glanced at Jameson again, watching the way he moved through the crowd with effortless charm. He was hers, but for how long? And if he still cared about Imani—if there was even a chance—could she handle being second best? For all the brave things she uttered to EJ at the party, she was terrified of losing Jameson. And Sloane reminded her that she had good reason to be.

Well, fuck that. Camille took her phone from her pocket and returned a text for the first time in months.

He and I just happened, Sloane. I didn’t intend it. But we’ve made a commitment to each other and nothing is going to undermine that. Not you, not Imani. Nothing. Leave me alone.

She took a steadying breath, trying to shake off the unease. She wasn’t going to let Sloane’s words ruin this moment. Not when she was here, with Jameson, living a reality she’d once only dreamed of. Still, the doubts lingered, heavy and unwelcome.

A month passed and she still only knew him as James Lucas. She hadn’t contacted him, and he hadn’t contacted her. It was bittersweet. It meant that she never had to hear about how great he and Camille were doing, but it also meant that she never got to see or hear him as Jameson. She had come to terms with this…until a few weeks ago when he seemed to be everywhere again. 

His highly anticipated album, Midnight & Dawn, had finally dropped and in the week leading up to it, James Lucas made appearances on every late-night television show, radio segment, and podcast she could think of. His hit single, “Burn,” dominated the airways. He was damn near inescapable. Usually, Imani could handle his public blitz. Every time she saw his name or heard his song, she simply scrolled past it or changed the station. But during an interview on the popular Rhythm & Tea podcast, the damn bastard had to mention her name.

"Okay, let’s get into the details. It’s called Rhythm and Tea. Where’s the tea?” She teased him. “We love your new single, Burn. We have to know, James, is it about anyone in particular? Because we have our theories." "Let me hear the theories." "One of our producers think it's about your latest break up with our girl, Imani. Is that true?" He hesitated before offering a chuckle in response, "Yes, we wrote it a year or so ago. Around the time we broke up." Lea’s eyes went wide and she said “Ooooh.” Much to the amusement of her co-host but Jameson continued. “But I mean — it's Mani. She's a phenomenal woman. You lose someone like her, you feel it. For a long time. But I'm lucky. She and I have managed to be friends. I respect that so that's all I'll be saying.”

Imani watched the clip at least five times now, still reeling from the fact that he mentioned her name on the podcast. But her initial shock has since turned into annoyance. Why would he bring her up now? And friends? They hadn’t spoken in a whole month! And why was he still wearing that stupid watch? In every video she’s seen of him lately, he’s wearing the watch that she had given him. It didn’t make sense. If he moved on with someone else, why was he still wearing a physical reminder of their past relationship? Was he playing some kind of twisted game? 

Imani let out an exasperated sigh as the video began to auto-play yet again. She quickly tapped the pause button, halting the incessant sounds. She hadn’t even heard the song yet. Imani had been diligently avoiding all texts and Instagram comments about his new album, but this interview was the final straw. She couldn’t resist it any longer. 

She reached for her remote from her coffee table and turned on her speakers. A few swift taps on her phone and his voice filled the quietness of her house. She started with Midnight, immediately recognizing each lyric that referenced their tumultuous relationship. 

As she listened to each track, some stood out more than others, but each one hit her harder than the last. The smooth, soulful beats of “Roll Some Mo” reminded her of the first time they met, their love still fresh and innocent. She could almost feel the warmth of her hand in hers and the pure bliss that consumed them.

But when she got deeper into the album and “Confessions” played, Imani’s heart ached with pain as she remembered Jameson’s infidelity and how deeply hurt she was. The lyrics cut her like shards of glass. 

By the time she reached one of the final tracks, “Used to Be”,  tears were streaming down her cheeks. It transported her to the dark space of their breakup, reliving that painful conversation they had and how much she regretted it the next day. His somber voice, accompanied by haunting strings, left her in a state of emotional turmoil. She huddled on her couch, pulling her knees to her chest as sobs wracked through her body. It was as if he had written those songs just for her, ripping open old wounds and pouring salt on them. 

How long will it take me to remember? I'm afraid what we had is already faded We left it frozen in December Who's makin' the rules to make you stay? Ooh

They broke up last December. It couldn’t be anyone but her.

A dying rose in the winter I'm holdin' on every way I can Tell me, is this only just me By my lonely? Ooh

The sorrow in his voice cut through Imani’s heart like a knife. As he sang, memories flooded back, as if their breakup was happening all over again. She couldn’t hold back the tears that were steadily streaming down her face, her body trembled with each sob. In the year since they parted ways, Imani never once reached out to him or checked in with Genie to see how he was doing. Instead, she pushed away any reminders of Jameson, thinking it would make moving on easier. But now, as she listened to him mourn the death of their relationship, Imani was consumed with regret. She should have been there for him, even if they weren’t together anymore.

Imani inhaled deeply as the album came to a close, wiping her face dry. “Shit.” She said. Every song on Midnight had the power to transport her back in time to a different moment in her relationship with Jameson. Each track unlocked a new memory and stirred up a whirlwind of emotions for her. Each song reminded her of what they had lost, it was emotionally exhausting. She didn’t know if she could handle it all over again with the companion album – Dawn. But something compelled her to keep listening, so she pressed play. 

Fightin' fuckin', fuckin' fightin' That's the way we love it, damn, I love you Playin' games just to get a reaction, pushin' buttons

Imani’s mind was flooded with more memories, each one hitting her like a wrecking ball. The fights, the passionate sex, and using other men to make him jealous – she knew all the cheat codes to get under his skin. Their love was complicated, turbulent, and consuming – but it was their own special kind of chaos. So why did it feel like he didn’t love their chaotic relationship anymore? She had been the one to walk away, to choose a different path, but she always thought she could come back to him. Now as she listened to Dawn, she wasn’t so sure. 

Then came the songs that she knew were about someone else – Camille. Her tears turned into furrowed brows and heated skin as the realization hit her. Imani felt a surge of annoyance towards Camille – how dare she be the subject of his love songs? How dare she be the reason he sounded happy? They had only known each other for six months. In a fit of frustration, Imani unlocked her phone and quickly typed out a message to Jameson.

[ Imani ]: The album sounds amazing, friend. Congrats on the success, xoxo. [ 323-555-0198 ]: Thank you, Mani. For everything. I’m glad to see you’re well too, friend.

Furrowing her brow, Imani squinted at the message, her eyes scanning over it repeatedly as if she was searching for a hidden meaning. She couldn’t help but scoff and roll her eyes in frustration. The entire foundation of their friendship felt hollow and insincere. He hadn’t contacted her in weeks, but now his hands were free to type some bullshit ass text? Her fingers flew across the screen, furiously typing out a lengthy response. She read over it as her thumb hovered over pressing send. 

But would he even care what she had to say? He was so wrapped up in Camille. He wouldn’t give a damn about her anger. It wouldn’t ignite him like the Jameson she knew. She huffed, closing out of his messages. It wasn’t worth the time or the energy. Frustrated and fed up with Jameson, Imani turned to someone she knew would take her mind off him and his dumb ass double album. 

[ Imani ]: hey, i miss u. come see me. the gate code is 4592. 

Isaiah Ellis was renowned as the highest-paid and most sought-after athlete in basketball. Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him. Isaiah was idolized and respected by many for his contributions to basketball. He wielded power on and off the court. People dropped to their knees to get him what he wanted. However, when it came to Imani, he was putty in her hands. She held all the power in their relationship and she knew it. 

Since they met in New York, he’s stayed in contact with her. Isaiah checked in while he was away in different cities playing with his team. He showered Imani with expensive and lavish gifts. And whenever he was in Los Angeles, he dedicated his time to her. Now, Imani wasn’t a dummy. She knew he had other women in his life. She’d seen the tabloids and how Isaiah angled his phone away from her whenever she was near. Imani didn’t care, because he was simply a placeholder for a spot she needed to fill. His company brought her comfort, as he had a way of making her forget about Jameson, even if it was only for a few hours. It was a much-needed relief for Imani.

With Isaiah’s tongue and fingers working tirelessly to please her, Imani couldn’t help but moan and writhe beneath him. He had been going at it for hours – eating her pussy and bringing her to multiple orgasms before allowing her to rest and then starting again. Just when she thought he had gotten his fill, he proved his insatiable appetite by returning for more. 

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” she moaned as his warm breath sent shivers down her spine. His tongue expertly flicked against her clit while his fingers plunged deep inside her with each stroke. She gripped his head as she matched his rhythm with her hips. “You gon’ make me cum again.”

“That’s what I want, mama. Give it to me.” He mumbled against her clit. Isaiah picked up the pace, his tongue joined in on the action. He was greedy, practically begging for her release with his fingers searching for that right spot. 

His tongue pressed harder against her causing Imani to spiral towards yet another orgasm. “I’m…I’m…” she gasped loudly before succumbing to pleasure once again. He slowly stroked her through her release before tenderly cleaning the wetness around her pussy with his tongue and lips. 

“Mmm,” he groaned against her sensitive flesh. “I can’t get enough of your pretty pussy.” He kissed her clit, making her shudder one last time. Isaiah released her from his embrace. Then he stood and made his way to the bathroom, giving Imani time to slip into her thong and return to the comfort of her king-size bed. He soon joined her, settling in by her side. 

“You sure everything alright, baby? You seem off tonight,” Isaiah asked, his hands roaming over her smooth skin. Imani forced a smile and replied, “Yeah, I’m fine. I promise.” But she was lying. She couldn’t shake Midnight & Dawn, specifically the songs she heard about Camille. Despite Isaiah’s best efforts, even he couldn’t make her forget about Jameson and how he felt about Imani. Was he really happy with her? Did Camille make him happier than she did? She was tired of wondering and feeling jealous of another woman. Imani hated him because of the power he had over her. No man could make her insane like he could. 

She reached for her phone on the nightstand and unlocked it. Imani didn’t know this Jameson, but she knew exactly what to do to drive the old Jameson insane. She just hoped that side of him wasn’t gone too. He needed to feel what she had been feeling since this morning: jealousy. Opening up Instagram, she tapped to post as Isaiah adjusted himself, resting his head on her stomach. He said something, but Imani didn’t hear him. She was focused on finding the perfect picture of Isaiah to post. After finally selecting one, she thought of a caption and hit post. Hopefully, this would be enough to make Jameson suffer.

Jameson stood in the middle of Camille's bedroom, thumb frozen over the picture that he hadn’t been expecting to see.

In the weeks since his lunch with Imani, he had wanted to reach out but he didn’t know quite what to say. Being friends with a woman you were in love with but trying not to be in love with was…weird. It was difficult. He didn’t know how to talk to her but he held on to the positive side of things: they wished one another well.

He didn’t know he’d regret those words. He had just opened Instagram, more out of habit than intention, but he had searched her name purposely. He could hear Camille her in her walk in closet, going through clothes to decide what to wear for dinner but he couldn't quite contain himself.

It wasn’t even a picture of Imani. He had spent more time than he liked simply going to her page, staring at pictures of her, and then closing out of the app when he realized how pathetic it was. But this one, he knew he never wanted to see again.

A man sat on a couch, surrounded by dogs. Her mother’s dogs. This nigga met her mama? He wasn’t looking at the camera but he obviously knew the picture was being taken while he played around with the dogs. It wasn’t just the fact that she had taken it and posted it to her account that incensed him. Or the fact that he seemed to already meet her family. It was also the caption. That was the worst part. 

One word: Daddy 🥰

Before he could stop himself, he felt the anger well in his chest — making him tighten his grip on the phone. He’d seen her with other people. Grainy photos taken from a distance but she had never posted them herself. He could console himself with the delusion that if she didn't claim them, it didn't matter. But this man was on her page. This man was claimed by her. And she was calling him things she had only ever called Jameson.

His thumb hovered over the screen, tempted to click on the comments, but he stopped himself. He didn’t need to see the flood of people gushing over how happy they were for her. Fuck him. And fuck her right in that moment.

When did she meet him? How long had they been together? Was this why she had so easily accepted his offer of friendship? A million questions raced through his mind as he tried to make sense of it all.

He couldn’t understand why she would post something like that on social media. Was she trying to hurt him? They played games like this often when they were together — seeing who could and would react first. It was part of the allure of being with Imani. Part of the excitement. But they weren't together now so...what was the point? He had no hope for a romantic one but he hadn't wanted to lose her. But now — he wasn't sure if he could even stand talking to her without frustration bubbling over. 

As soon as that thought occurred to him, Jameson knew he was being unreasonable. How could he be jealous? He told her he wanted to be friends. He really did want the best for her. So why did this affect him so much? The answer was right there — lurking in the recesses of his brain: You wanted to be the only man for her. You wanted to be the only man to know what it felt like to bring her to the brink of bliss — to get her so out of control that she called you that one word.

He was a piece of shit.

“Babe, what do you think?” Camille’s voice floated in from the closet. Jameson didn’t bother looking up from his phone as he responded. “Huh?”

“The dress,” Camille said, walking in and doing a twirl. She looked beautiful in a gold gown, shimmering every time she swayed her hips. It was a walk people paid millions for but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. “Do you think they look okay here?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” he said quickly, his voice tight.

Camille tilted her head, studying him. “What happened?”

Jameson forced himself to stop looking, peering up at his girlfriend and trying to school his features into something that didn’t resemble anger. “Nothing, baby. I’m good. I’m sorry. I’m just uh—scheduling an appointment with my therapist.”

She didn’t look convinced but she didn’t push. Instead, she blew him a kiss as she walked back into the closet for shoes.

Jameson exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into fists. Images of Imani fucking another man filled his mind. The worst part was the way he heard an echo of her in his head. Instead of making him happy that she had found someone, he felt a fresh rush of anger.

But there was no time for it. Camille didn’t deserve his misplaced frustration. He had made the decision to move forward in their relationship. And he was going to follow through on it. Jameson took one last look down at the image, a scoff leaving his mouth. He clicked her name, scrolled her profile, and went through the process of blocking her.

It made him feel better for all of two minutes. Two minutes that he used to remind himself that he was a taken man now. He told himself to let it go, to focus on what he had with Camille. She was kind, patient, and everything he should want. She knew him so well that it was like they had been together most of his life. She didn’t play games. She didn’t take pride or pleasure in sending him reeling. All she wanted to do was be with him. He should cherish that. 

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of Imani. The caption echoed in his mind, and a bitter thought followed: He ain’t me and I hope she hates it. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. He had to get over her. He had to.

Just then, his phone beeped – alerting him to a text message.

[ ej dupree ]: everything’s set [ ej dupree ]: just left kendrick’s house. he officially allowed me to take genie’s hand in marriage 🎉 [ jameson ]: congratulations 👏 ken don’t play about his baby so if he says yes, you must have impressed him [ ej dupree ]: you know me. i’m a impressive muhfucka [ jameson ]: shut up nigga 😂 [ ej dupree ]: you and camille still coming? [ jameson ]: of course, man. wouldn’t miss it for the world. i’m happy for y’all.

“Baby?” Camille’s voice called softly.

He looked up, feeling better after the text from EJ but still annoyed at Imani. It took effort but he managed to school his expression into something calm and collected. “Mhm?”

“I'm ready.” she said with a small smile.

He gave her a small smile, moving toward her in the doorway as he shoved his phone into his back pocket. “I'm ready too.” He saw a genuine smile on her face then and felt guilt hit him in the gut. She was worried about him. Jameson framed her face, leaning in to kiss her softly. “Thank you for taking me to dinner. Thank you for wanting to celebrate me. I’m sorry for being so inattentive. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” 

Kendrick leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass of iced tea. The lounge room in his Beverly Hills home was quiet, the kind of quiet he liked—just enough jazz in the background to keep the silence from feeling too heavy. Across from him, Anaïs Lucas sat with her usual grace, her sharp eyes watching him like she could see right through him.

Even now, years removed from his days on the court, Kendrick still had the presence of a man who once ruled arenas. The framed photos on the lounge walls—him in a Lakers jersey, mid-dunk, or holding the championship trophy—were a constant reminder of his legacy. People still whispered his name when they saw him, still asked for photos and autographs when he stepped out in public. But here, with Anaïs, he wasn’t the legendary Kendrick Adesanya. He was just a man trying to find his footing.

“You’ve been staring at that glass for five minutes,” Anaïs said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “That means you’re overthinking.”

“Am I that predictable?” Kendrick asked, a small smile breaking through. “To me? Always,” she teased, her voice softening.

Kendrick exhaled, leaning forward slightly. “It’s Genie. And Jamie.”

Anaïs tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Go on.” “I’m worried about our kids.” He admitted softly. “…I may or may not also be worried about Jamie.” Anaïs confessed. “But about Imogen? Never.” “She’s getting married.”

Anaïs’s eyes went wide but she said nothing, waiting for him to finish.

“I like the boy,” Kendrick began, his tone measured. “He’s solid. Respectful. Loves her, I can tell. He came to the house. Asked for permission to propose. I know it’s just a courtesy but it was good he asked. I just…”

“You can’t let your baby go.” Anaïs finished, her smirk turning into a knowing smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It's not just that. But she’s my only one, Anaïs. My baby girl. I want her to be happy and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders,” Anaïs reassured him. “I know EJ. He’s a good man. Says what he means, driven, loyal. They’ll be okay.”

Deep down, Kendrick knew that. Genie had a good head on her shoulders but he was afraid for her. EJ was a man who seemed to know what he wanted. Genie had many friends — was known as the Princess of the Staples Center — but he worried she was too impressionable. Even at the age of twenty eight.

Her mother died when she was a child and it left Kendrick struggling to raise her. She was a lonely kid, surrounded by mostly adults, but blossomed. By some miracle, she turned out to be a remarkable human being. Kind, considerate, loving. He juggled a professional career at a level that men half his age would have fumbled but raising Genie was his pride and joy. For all her virtues, his baby was whimsical. She couldn’t make a decision to save her life. One week, she wanted to be an actress. The next, she wanted to be an actress and a lawyer.

By the time she was eighteen, none of those dreams had mattered. She settled on fashion design. Went to college for it. Did tons of internships. He would know. He paid for it all. The degrees, the pied-à-terre in Paris, the apartment in Rome that turned into a house in Umbria, the manufacturing of a test line of clothing, and now...he was working on building her a brick and mortar store. If she ever debuted the fashion line she'd been working on for half a decade. Kendrick watched as his daughter did her best to find her place in the world. He wanted more for her than to be someone’s wife.

“I wanted her to find herself before she had a family. I want all those dreams she has to come to fruition. She’s just...so young.”

Anaïs tilted her head, her expression softening. “She’s not a little girl anymore, Kendrick. She’s not lost—she’s just carving her own path.”

Kendrick exhaled, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. “I know that. I do. But when I see her with EJ, I can’t help but think she’s gonna rush into something she doesn’t fully understand yet because she loves him. Marriage, kids—it’s a lot.”

Anaïs studied him for a moment, her gaze sharp but kind. “You’re projecting.”

Kendrick blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’re projecting,” she repeated, her voice steady. “You didn’t marry me because you weren’t ready. You achieved everything there was to achieve and still...you hesitated. You see marriage as the end and not the beginning. Which means you’re still not ready. But Genie isn’t you. She’s got a different story to write.”

He frowned, his jaw tightening. “That’s not why we didn’t get married.” “It isn’t?” she questioned with a laugh, knowing she was right.

Kendrick didn’t answer right away. He stared at the ice melting in his glass, his thoughts tangled. “This isn’t about us. I just don’t want her to wake up one day and wonder what could’ve been.”

Anaïs reached out, placing a hand over his. “She won’t. Because she knows who she is, and she knows what she wants. You raised her to be strong, Kendrick. Trust her.”

He looked at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

Anaïs chuckled softly, withdrawing her hand. “I’ve had years of practice.”

Kendrick hesitated, the weight of their shared history pressing against his chest. “What about Jamie?” he asked, steering the conversation away from his daughter. “You think he knows what he wants?”

Anaïs sighed, shaking her head. “Jameson’s…complicated. The album’s been a reflection of everything he’s going through. And Imani—”

“Imani,” Kendrick interrupted, his brow furrowing. “You’ve mentioned her before. I haven’t met her, but it sounds like she’s a big part of his life. Genie loves her to pieces.”

“She is,” Anaïs admitted. “They’re not together anymore, but she’s still important to him. They’ve been through a lot together. I don’t know. I thought bringing them together would help but I think I’ve made it worse. He seems so conflicted now.”

Kendrick frowned. “Doesn’t sound like he’s fully moved on.”

“Maybe he hasn’t,” Anaïs said, her voice quiet. “But moving on isn’t always linear. Sometimes, the people from our past shape us in ways we don’t expect.”

Kendrick’s gaze lingered on her, the unspoken weight of their own past hanging between them. “Well…,” he said softly. “Now who’s projecting?”

Anaïs met his eyes, her expression unreadable. “I am not.” She said firmly. Kendrick returned her the smug laughter she’d given him only moments before. “We walked away from each other. You want him to figure it out with Imani…because we didn’t.”

For a moment, the years melted away, and it was just the two of them again—two people who had loved deeply but had never made it work. Despite ten years and an engagement, they never could quite make each other fit into their worlds.

He wanted to say more, to tell her that he still thought about her, about them. But the words caught in his throat, and all he could do was hold onto the moment, hoping it wouldn’t slip away too quickly.

Instead, Kendrick cleared his throat, his voice steady but quiet. “You know, I’ve never wanted to overstep with Jamie but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’d want to give him good fatherly advice even though I know I’m not his father. I’d tell him not to let the good ones slip away. Not because of fear or pride or anything else that gets in the way. If Imani’s that person for him, he needs to figure it out before it’s too late.”

Anaïs’s gaze softened, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You’ve known him since he was ten. You may not be his father biologically, Kendrick, but he looks at you and sees one. So you are.”

Kendrick blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. He shifted in his seat, his broad shoulders straightening as he processed what she’d just said. “He’s never said but…I wouldn’t mind if that’s the way he felt,” he said after a beat, his voice gruff. “That boy’s got a lot of heart. He’s always gone after what he wanted. If he’s got something special with Imani, then maybe he needs to remember what he stands to lose.”

Anaïs tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve tried. But Jameson’s stubborn, and he’s still figuring it out.”

Kendrick leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “I said he needs to remember. Our babies are grown now. We have to step back. Let them fumble through it. You were right earlier. Genie is carving her own path. I have to let her. Just like you have to let Jameson be.”

She studied him for a long moment, her sharp eyes softening with something close to gratitude. “You always know how to put things into perspective.” she said quietly.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Not always. But I’ve learned a thing or two along the way.”

Anaïs smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. “Thank you, Kendrick. For caring. About me. About Jamie.”

His gaze lingered on her, the words he wanted to say still caught in his throat. Instead, he nodded, his voice steady. “Always. You know that.”

The jazz in the background shifted to a slow, soulful tune, filling the quiet between them. For a moment, Kendrick let himself imagine what it might have been like if things had turned out differently—if they’d found a way to make it work all those years ago. But as Anaïs’s smile lingered, he knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be, even if it wasn’t the way he’d once hoped.

Genie hummed softly to herself as she rearranged the clothes in her suitcase. Her little family vacation was set. They left in two days and Genie was ready. Her father promised to drop in for a couple of days — he had a business meeting at the end of the week so he wouldn’t be with them the full week but Friday and Saturday was good enough for Genie. It had been a while since she got to spend completely uninterrupted time with him and she was excited.

It was even better that EJ’s mother and sister agreed to come. When EJ suggested they get their families together, Genie immediately considered inviting Imani. Just as soon as the thought came, it left. They were slowly getting back to where they used to be. Inviting her to be on a snowy mountain with her, EJ, and other people she didn’t know seemed…excessive. But Genie couldn’t help but wonder if they should invite more people.

Namely...Jameson. He was her family. But inviting Jameson meant he would probably bring Camille and Genie felt like that was taking a side against Imani. She didn't want to do that so she made due with her father and EJ's family.

As she tugged the sleeve of some fabric from her closet, she realized that it wasn’t hers. It had to be EJ's. They were getting down to the wire. Their flight left tomorrow and waiting til the last minute to pack hadn't been her brightest idea but she was getting it done. She should have just thrown it back into the closet but it was one of his favorites. She decided to be a good, mindful girlfriend and pack it for him. His suitcase was already prepared but she dragged it out of the closet, unzipped it, and flipped the heavy case open. Humming to herself, she unzipped one section and began folding the jacket. Her hand hit something hard when she wedged it inside. A box?

Genie pulled the jacket out and tossed it aside, reaching back into the section and grasping the box. It was small, made out of black velvet, and heavy.

Her heart stopped.

She didn’t mean to open it, not really, but her hands moved on their own, trembling as she flipped the top. Inside was a stunning diamond ring, its facets catching the sunlight streaming through the window. A gorgeous two stone ring. One of the large pear shaped diamonds was pink. The other was a brilliant white. The band ensured the diamonds would circle the finger of anyone who put it on. It wasn't the usual ring but it was perfect. For her. She gasped so loud that she started to choke on her own spit.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her breath hitching.

This wasn’t just any ring. It was the ring. EJ was going to propose.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she snapped the box shut and set it on top of his suitcase like it was a live grenade. She stared at it for a long moment, her thoughts swirling. Was it too soon? Were they ready for this? Did he even know what he was doing? Her panic only grew as the minutes ticked by. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and opened her messages. There was only one person she could think to text.

[ Genie ]: imani, i need you.[ Genie ]: i think ej is going to propose.[ Genie ]: i found the ring. i’m losing my shit

The dots indicating Imani was typing appeared almost immediately.

[ Mani Mani ❤️]: breathe, genie. where did you find it? [ Genie ]: in his suitcase. we're going on a trip. but i wasn’t snooping, i swear![ Mani Mani ❤️]: i know you weren’t. just…what do you want to do?

Genie stared at the ring again, her chest tightening. She didn’t know what she wanted to do. She loved EJ. He was the kindest, most supportive man she’d ever been with. He was loving, he was protective. He took care of her emotionally and physically. Nobody had ever made her toes curl and her face hurt from smiling. Nobody but him. But marriage? That was a big step. They had only been together for a year and hadn't even moved in together. 

What if he proposed and realized it was a mistake? How would she recover from losing him? What if they got engaged and he changed? It was terrifying. Her thumbs flew across the screen.

[ Genie ]: i need you to come to aspen with us. [ Mani Mani ❤️]: what? [ Genie ]: please, mani! i think he’s going to ask me there, and i need you. i can’t do this alone.

The dots appeared again, then disappeared. Genie held her breath, waiting. Finally, Imani’s response came.

[ Mani Mani ❤️]: i'll be there

Relief flooded through Genie but she didn’t even have time to text a response – she heard EJ calling for her from the living room. Her eyes went wide as she immediately dropped her phone and grabbed the box, shoving it back where she got it from and hastily tried to close up his suitcase. “I’m up here, love!”

She heard him come her way and barely had enough time to shove the heavy case back into the closet before he entered the bedroom. Genie played off her breathlessness by stretching her arms over her head and then to the left.

“...What you doing?” he asked her, humor evident in his tone. “...Yoga.” she replied nervously. “You acting weird,” he said bluntly. “What happen?” “Nothing!” Genie replied quickly, waving her hands in front of him. “Where you been?”

EJ raised an eyebrow at her abrupt change in conversation but he walked further into the room and lifted his head. Genie knew exactly what it meant. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. He grinned at her, pleased that they seemed to have their very own shorthand.

“That yoga stuff works?” he asked curiously. She noticed that he didn’t answer her question but Genie didn’t press. Instead, she decided to distract. “Yes, sir.” Genie replied, pressing a kiss to his nose. EJ immediately knew where things were going. “Do you want to try it out?” She smirked when EJ’s eyes went wide and he nodded his head slowly.

"What's this position called?" he asked her gruffly, holding on tightly to Genie as she twisted her hips. Her suitcase was left halfway pulled together, all thoughts of the ring stuffed in his bag was lost. Genie was lost. Her jaw dropped as she clung to EJ, her hand tightly against the back of her head as she ground down onto him.

"You don't hear me talking to you?" He asked her and her breathing hitched. "Um...It's--It's called the Lotus." She whispered, leaning in for a kiss. EJ reared back, depriving her of it.

"Focus, Genie. This is important," he said, his gaze intense but lips quirking into a teasing grin. Even when they weren't playing, EJ was perpetually in control. Genie's heart raced, wondering how to get what she wanted from him.

Instead of kissing her, he stared at where they were joined, a blissful expression on his face. His eyes were teasing but hooded. Without hesitation, he wedged his hand between them. Genie tensed and cried out, her back arching.

"You want to know something?" EJ asked her and Genie started nodding, not even cognizant of the fact that he was asking her something. "I believe you." He placed his hands against her hips, halting her movements and Genie's eyes went wide with panic. It felt so fucking good. Why was he stopping her?

The two struggle for control. EJ keeping her still with strong hands and Genie whimpering and begging lowly. He pressed his full lips to her ear, talking lowly as he controlled the pace and sank into her slowly. "You take this shit so good." He praised her. Pride raced through Genie's body as she stopped struggling, willing to do anything to get his approval. "You so wet for me."

The words sank into her bones and filled her body with warm satisfaction. Each time his pelvis ground against hers, she felt heat filtering in and spreading straight to her clit. A moan escaped her lips with every thrust -- as if he pushed it out of her. She was nothing but putty in his hands.

Her breathy little whimpers doing more to drive him crazy than anything. "Baby, you gotta be quiet or I swear it's gonna be over before I'm ready."

Genie really did try to stop but she couldn't. The sounds came from her with ease. It was like he had asked her to stop breathing -- she would if she could for him...but she couldn't.

EJ lifted a hand from her hips, covering her mouth with his palm. Another came up, pressing to the nape of her neck as he began to thrust into her with earnest. Each glide in brought a grunt from him and a gasp from her. She was entirely in his control and it was addictive.

Her orgasm was immediate and so visceral that it sent a shudder through Genie. Heat blossomed in her stomach before spreading out all over her body. She screamed behind his hand, tingles spreading out all over her body. Even as she flew into the clouds, EJ kept her grounded. He wasn't done yet.

"I love you." he growled.

Genie mumbled something behind his hand, her eyes drifting closed as she clung tightly to him. EJ lifted his hand just in time to hear her mumble it again.

"I love you more."

A rumble of satisfaction came from his chest and he rested his forehead against hers. "I'm gonna come inside you and then I'm going to make love to you again." He promised her, his lips hovering against her own. They grazed one another and Genie panted against his. Finally -- he let her kiss him. It started slow, building the more she realized that he wouldn't pull away. Soft and timid turned into wet and messy. The wilder she got, the harder he thrust into her.

He didn't pick up the pace. He kept it deep and slow -- with an intimacy that made her feel glorious...and guilty. She had doubted their love for each other in a brief moment. Sex didn't make a marriage but in that moment...Genie knew that she could trust EJ to take care of her. Always.

When he came, he kept his promise. It was inside her. And within ten minutes, he had flipped over and they were starting all over again.

Aspen was gorgeous. White snow everywhere, a large expansive house in the hills. EJ had gone all out for Genie and Jameson was glad. He couldn’t wait to watch them get engaged. He and Camille arrived the day after his friends but they were greeted almost immediately. Genie seemed flustered but was polite to Camille and it pleased Jameson. He had told Cami everything about his family. About how he considered Genie his sister and Kendrick, Genie’s father, better than his own father. She knew it was major that she was meeting either of them.

It was shaping up to be a perfect trip even before he and Camille finished packing their bags…before EJ burst into their room. He didn’t knock and Jameson immediately knew something was wrong. “What is it? What happened?”

“Jamie,” EJ said, slightly out of breath. “Let me talk to you in the hall.” “What?” “The hall, nigga!”

Jameson reluctantly followed, closing the door tightly behind him. He didn’t even get to ask again. EJ told him bluntly. “Imani is here.”

Jameson stiffened. “What do you mean, she’s here?”

“She’s staying here. Genie asked her to come.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His mind raced with questions—Why would she come?—but he forced himself to stay calm. EJ launched into an explanation about it all being a mixup but Jameson didn’t care. All he could focus on was the fact that he couldn’t fuck this trip up.

“It’s fine,” he said after a moment, though his voice was tight. “We can get along for a few days.”

EJ gave him a skeptical look. “You sure? Because this can’t get messy. This is important, Jamie.”

“I know, man. I’m not gonna fuck this up for y’all.” Jameson promised, “I’m gonna ask Cami what she wants to do. If she wants to stay, we’ll stay and everything will be cool. I swear.”

EJ hesitated, then nodded. “I’ma trust you to mean that.” “I do. It’s alright, man.”

He did his best reassuring EJ, noticing that even though he agreed — he didn’t relax. He was nervous and Jameson’s shit with Imani was making it worse. When he returned to the room, Camille immediately pounced on him.

“Everything okay?,” she asked.

Jameson took her hand, sighing softly. He couldn't break it to her gently. The best way was to put it out there. “Imani’s here,” he said carefully. “She’s staying. Genie called and invited her.”

Camille’s expression didn’t change much, but her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “Oh.”

“She didn’t know we were coming, baby. EJ didn’t tell her. Genie wouldn’t do something like that on purpose.” He said softly, rushing to reassure her that Genie wasn’t on some mean girl shit. Sure, he and Imani had agreed to be friends but anyone would know that this would be an awkward situation for them. “I didn’t know she was coming,” Jameson added quickly. “So it’s up to you. If you want to go, we’ll go. If you’re okay with staying, we’ll stay.”

Camille lifted her gaze to him, giving him a soft smile. “It’s okay. I don’t want you to miss a family trip.” She rose to the tips of her toes, kissing his lips softly. “We’re staying.”

Relief washed over him, but it was tinged with guilt. She trusted him and he was still struggling with his feelings for Imani. It made him want to be better for her. He didn’t want to give her any reason to regret believing in him.

“Thank you,” he said, kissing her back. “Let’s go down and say hi to her. Get this over with.”

She agreed and the two of them finished unpacking. Jameson took her hand in his own and they walked downstairs together. He was doing his best to prepare and in his head, he ran through everything he needed to do. Don’t stare at her. Don’t hug her. Don’t smile at her too long. Shake her hand, give her a nod, and welcome her. Then leave.

It didn’t take long until he saw her. Once they hit the bottom of the stairs, there she was. Strutting through the living room, not holding a damn thing in her hands. All her bags were with the tall man that Jameson immediately recognized — and his stomach dropped into his feet. Every bit of the pep talk he had given himself faded. He felt annoyance filter through his body as his stomach twisted. Why the fuck would she bring this new ass nigga on a family trip?

She looked up from her phone to see him and froze in her tracks. Jameson had to remind himself not to let Camille’s hand go. “Hey.” he muttered, doing his best to seem friendly and not pissed the fuck off. “EJ told us you were here. We wanted to say hi.”

Imani blinked at him before easily giving him a smile. He hated it almost immediately. “Nobody told me you guys were here but hi.”

“Hi, Imani,” Camille said warmly, her grip on Jameson’s hand steady. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Imani turned to give her a smile. “Nice to see you again too,” she mumbled. She turned to the man behind her and beckoned him forward. “This is Isaiah.”

Jameson lifted his free hand, offering it to the man even as he had several bags in his hands. Never let it be said he couldn’t play nice. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Isaiah replied, putting a bag down to grasp Jameson’s hand tightly. His tone was polite but distant, his handshake strong but not insistent. He didn’t seem to think he had anything to prove to Jameson and even the thought of that pissed him off. At least Camille knew Imani was competition.

Jameson glanced at Imani, his heart pounding despite himself. Everyone had lapsed into silence and he knew there wasn’t much more to be said. “We won’t hold you. Just wanted to say hi. Looking forward to the rest of the weekend.” Isaiah gave him a nod, picking up the bag again, and then he did something that pissed Jameson off. It was small, a quick gesture that probably wouldn’t have made him feel a way if he didn’t have feelings for Imani.

Isaiah urged her forward with a pat against her ass. “Let’s get settled in, baby.” He told her. And she listened. She did what he asked, moving forward and giving Jameson and Camille a quick wave. He bit down on his tongue so hard that he could swear he tasted blood. The urge to curse the stranger out so strong that he didn’t know what the fuck was coming over him.

He watched the two start to go up the stairs and a terrible idea occurred to him. One he was ashamed of…but he didn’t stop himself. He peered down at Camille, noticing she seemed a lot more relaxed to see that Imani had brought someone. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.” She said softly. “Mm.” Jameson said noncommittal. He didn’t want to admit that he knew. Instead, he focused on her. He brought both his hands around her waist, pressing to the small of her back. “Let’s go find the hot tub.”

Her eyes went wide. “We just got here. We need to find something to eat.” “I know what I want to eat.” He said softly, making her giggle.

Jameson moved to kiss the side of her head, moving down to her neck. He placed a few kisses there as Camille’s hands came to press to his shoulders…but that wasn’t getting the job done. He dragged his tongue along her skin, pride hitting him when she gave an involuntary whimper. Jackpot.

He peered up towards the stairs. Imani and Isaiah didn’t turn back but he saw her steps falter.

Good. Seeing Imani with someone else stirred something deep and unpleasant in him and part of him wanted her to know she had pissed him off.

Imani didn’t think to ask Genie if Jameson was coming to Aspen. All she wanted to do was be there for Genie. She had failed her so much during the year they had been apart. She knew there was a possibility. He and EJ were thick as thieves. Why wouldn’t he support his best friend as he took that next step with Genie? She needed to be prepared, so she took drastic measures by inviting Isaiah. It may have seemed foolish to invite someone she had only known for a month on a family trip, but she couldn’t bear the thought of facing Jameson and Camille alone. She still didn’t know how Jameson felt about her. Her latest Instagram post generated no response. He didn’t call or text her. There was nothing.

She was starting to think that he moved on for real this time. That he was done with her…until she spotted the glare on his face when he saw Isaiah. He was uncomfortable. Everyone else didn’t see it, but she did. She knew that exact look because it was familiar to her. Jameson further confirmed her suspicion when she spotted his glare at Isaiah after he patted her ass. He was jealous, just like she wanted him to be. It took everything in her not to smirk.

Imani took her victory in stride, trying not to appear too happy as she ascended the steps. She heard the kissing noises, but she paid them no mind. It wasn’t until she heard Camille whimpering that she nearly tripped over her feet. Like clockwork, her temper flared. Imani almost stomped a hole into the stairs with every step she took. Oh, this was how he wanted to play? Well, she could play that game too.

Once she reached the top step, she peered over her shoulder to see if Jameson was still there. He was. Without hesitation, her finger hooked into Isaiah’s belt loop. “Come here, daddy. I packed something special just for you.” She said softly, pulling him towards one of the bedrooms.

Isaiah’s intense gaze locked onto Imani, his dark eyes tracing every curve and contour of her body. He couldn’t help but to bite his lip in anticipation. “Well, what you waiting on, mama? Show me.” She laughed, probably a little too loud. Imani couldn’t see it but she could feel Jameson’s icy glare, it was cold enough to give her frostbite. She reveled in the feeling of power it gave her - she refused to let him have the upper hand over her, not now, not ever. 

Nina Dupree stood in the kitchen, peeking around the corner as she sipped from a mug of coffee. She heard company arriving but before she could go out and greet them -- she heard Jameson's striking voice come down. One look around the corner and she saw the exes come face to face. Her eyes went wide but she didn't say anything. Their voices didn’t carry, but their body language spoke volumes. Jameson was standing with another woman but his gaze consistently strayed to Imani. There was a tension between them that she was confused about how anybody could miss it. Seemed like messy unfinished business.

“Imani is here?!” Ella whispered, peering around the corner and leaning against her mother. Nina jumped, forgetting her daughter was in the kitchen with her. Her phone was in hand, the screen lighting up with a stream of notifications, but her attention was fixed on Jameson and Imani.

“Yes. Did your brother mention that to you?" Ella shook her head, her gaze bouncing back and forth between Jameson and Imani. She gave a low whistle. “Awkward. She's here with someone else?” “Seems like it,” Nina replied.

Ella tilted her head, studying the scene like it was a reality show. “Oh, that's gonna be a mess.”

Nina sighed, her gaze following her daughter’s. She saw the way Jameson’s arm tightened around Camille but his brows furrowed as he looked at the man next to Imani. It was subtle, but Nina caught it. She always did.

Ella leaned back, crossing her arms. “Bet you ten dollars we'll see hella drama this weekend.”

Nina shot her a look. “Ella.”

“What?” Ella grinned. “I’m just saying. You can’t put two people with that much history in the same house and not expect fireworks.”

“This is EJ’s trip,” Nina reminded her firmly. “Let them sort out their mess, but we’re staying out of it.”

Ella shrugged, her thumbs flying across her phone screen. “Fine. But if it gets messy, I’m tweeting it.”

“Little girl,” Nina warned, though her voice was more exasperated than angry.

“I'm playing, Mama.” She paused, then added with a smirk, “Mostly.”

Nina shook her head, but her attention drifted back to Jameson and Imani. The couples were starting to part and she watched Imani head up the stairs with a man in tow. She watched Jameson eyes follow her up even though he was pulling another woman closer and laughing. And then she saw Imani turned around. She saw the look on her face and knew it was going to be some shit with those two for the weekend.

Ella asked her softly, sensing that the tense scene in front of them was already over. “So, what’s the plan? We selling our story to TMZ or what? What about This Just In?”

“Ella Dinah Dupree,” Nina said reprimanded her, turning to face her youngest child, “Our job is to focus on EJ and Genie. This is their trip. Let the others figure out their own problems.”

Ella tsked, already typing something on her phone. “Aight but I already told you what I'm gonna do if they squabble up."

[rileyslibrary]

Aggressive mimicry

Synopsis: A power blackout hits your base, plunging you into darkness. As fear grips you, Ghost tries to calm you down. Little did he know you had other things in mind.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,085

Notes:

Aggressive mimicry: a tactic in which a predator acts harmless to lure its prey.

Fluff. A little suggestive, but SFW.

No, there’s no part 2.

Want more?

———————————————————————

Looks like you’ll both be working until late this evening. New recruits are constantly arriving, and the base is rapidly filling up.

The two of you take comfort in the silence of your office, a small space with two desks next to each other and a bookshelf full of records lining the opposite wall. It’s a little tight, especially with the new chairs you brought for the interviews. However, you cannot conduct them anywhere else since they’re confidential and private. Your job is to assess the recruits’ mental health, look into any past traumas that may have affected them, and determine their trustworthiness with firearms. Ghost, on the other hand, interviews them about their battlefield abilities and skills.

Under normal circumstances, he does not wear his mask when in the room with you. But these aren’t normal circumstances; People are constantly coming in and out of the office, and he feels uneasy without it.

“He was good, that last one,” he says, his attention still fixed on the paperwork. “Don’t mark him.”

“He suffered three concussions in his last deployment and reeks of alcohol,” you explain, baffled. “How can you trust him?”

“These are the best,” he shrugs, “they’ve got nothing to lose.”

You shake your head, stunned, as you look at him. You two come from different worlds.

“Have you considered therapy, Lt. Riley?” you ask sarcastically.

“Have you considered minding your own business, Dr Y/N?” he snaps back. You knew what he was going to say even before you asked. But you enjoyed teasing him every now and then.

“It’s ‘Professor Y/N,’ please.”

Instead of responding, he mockingly repeats your statement, imitating you and pushing invisible glasses up his nose bridge.

You chuckle, and he turns to look at you, slightly proud that he made you laugh. Your opposing personalities complement each other well, with your order and his chaos balancing each other out. It was like mixing black and white to get some form of grey. And that’s the state you’ve been in for years—in a grey area. You two have never been romantic. Still, the flirting was definitely there, even if it came in the form of playful jabs and teasing.

Ghost shuffles through his papers before turning to face you. “Where are the next ones’ files?” he wonders.

You look over your desk and move your gaze to the bookshelf. “I must have left them on the shelf,” you say as you stand up. “Let me go get them.”

But as you approach the bookshelf, everything goes dark—pitch black.

“What just happened?” you yell in a high-pitched voice.

“The lights went off,” he says calmly. “The base has too many people to handle all that power cons-”

“Shut the fuck up, Lieutenant!”

“You just asked me-”

“I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING!”

You freeze in place, with your back against the bookshelf like a trapped animal. You try to see through the impenetrable darkness, but nothing is visible. Fear grips you and paralyses you.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Ghost says through the darkness, and you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Despite his words, the panic rises. As your fight-or-flight instincts kick in, you get ready to defend yourself. You lash out, grabbing the first thing you can get your hands on and swing right at the source of the touch.

“What the hell, woman!” Ghost curses in pain.

“G-Ghost?” you stammer, “is that you, Lieutenant?”

“How could it be anyone else?” He says and rubs his forehead. “Christ, professor, no wonder you know so much about concussions.”

“Did I get you good?” you ask, worried, “I-I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve had worse,” he assures you, taking your hand and placing it on his chest while muttering soothing words.

As you touch the coarse texture of his uniform, you apply a bit of pressure to get a better feel of him. And just like that, the fear fades gradually, giving way to a more... playful mood. You slide your hand up to his shoulder, then back to his chest. You can feel his heart rate increasing as it desperately pumps the blood it requires for him to stay sane. But he doesn’t need sanity right now; he must lose it completely. So you do it again. He lets out a sigh.

“These are dangerous games you’re playing, Professor,” he warns, trying to sound like his usual self and failing miserably.

“I like taking risks, Lieutenant,” you smirk, tracing circles on his chest with your finger.

He takes your hand off him and steps closer, bridging your gap. Seems like the blood is pumping elsewhere now.

“Fuck, professor,” he murmurs, “I need to go check if they need my help.”

“No,” you command, “what you need to do is stay right here.”

“Like this?” he asks huskily, his breath warm on your forehead.

“Yes, exactly like this.”

But, as he tilts your head towards him and begins to remove his balaclava, the door bursts open, and a blinding light shines in, threatening to expose you.

Your reflexes kick back again. You instinctively push him away and begin screaming, grabbing files from the bookshelf and hurling them at the light source.

“Damn it, Professor!” Ghost yells at you, “You’re hitting the engineers with box files!”

You pause midair and focus on your target; two figures squatted on the ground, their hands protecting their heads.

“Motherf—can’t you knock first?” You yell at them while holding the box file in front of your face. “Should we include basic etiquette in the manual, too?”

They all look at you, puzzled. Unable to comprehend your absurd request, they turn to Ghost.

“Sir, we need help with the generator.” One of them explains, and Ghost nods.

They hand him a flashlight and return to the power junction box, leaving you alone again.

He turns to look at you one last time.

“I’m curious,” he says, leaning in close, “did you plan this all along?”

You raise an eyebrow, acting innocent. “What, the power outage?”

“Are you acting all daft now?” he asks, his eyes forming two thin lines. “The whole screaming and acting vulnerable thing so I could come to your rescue and fall into your trap.”

“Oh, come on, Lieutenant,” you playfully roll your eyes, “don’t pretend like you didn’t want it.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “So you’re okay with staying alone then?”

“Of course I am,” you say seductively, “as long as you come back and let me finish what I started.”

———————————————————————

[estapa-edwards]

MAKE A MOVE - A. FANTILLI

paring: Adam Fantilli x reader

word count: 2.4k

requested? yes - adam meeting the physical therapist at the blue jackets and totally being in love right away, happens they are also neighbors so they become really good friends. eventually they start dating but keep it pretty private she’s the one who helps him back with his injury… gavin had his debut the other day and maybe the whole group notice adam looking in love and like tease him telling him to make a move but he alreadlt has

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

It all begins with a seemingly innocuous event – a small injury during a routine practice session. As Adam skates off the ice, wincing slightly, he's directed towards the team's physical therapist for assessment and treatment. Little does he know that this encounter will change the course of his life.

As Adam enters the treatment room, Y/N's smile widens, though she tries to maintain her professional demeanor. "Hey there, Adam," she greets him warmly, gesturing for him to take a seat on the treatment table. "What seems to be the issue today?"

Adam winces slightly as he eases himself onto the table, his eyes scanning the room curiously. "Just a little tweak in my shoulder," he replies, trying to downplay the discomfort he's feeling. "Nothing too serious, I hope."

Y/N nods, her gaze focused as she begins to assess his injury. As she palpates his shoulder, her brow furrows in concentration, and then suddenly, her eyes widen in recognition. "Wait a minute," she says, her voice tinged with surprise. "You're Adam Fantilli, aren't you?"

Adam chuckles sheepishly, nodding in confirmation. "Guilty as charged," he admits, offering her a rueful smile. "I guess my cover's blown, huh?"

Y/N laughs softly, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe it," she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You're my neighbor! I've seen you around the building before."

Adam's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "No way," he replies, a grin spreading across his face. "Small world, huh?"

Their conversation flows easily from there, as they trade stories about their experiences living in the same building. Adam finds himself captivated by Y/N's easygoing nature and genuine warmth, while Y/N is struck by Adam's humility and down-to-earth charm.

--

As Adam continues his therapy sessions with Y/N, their interactions extend beyond the confines of his injury. One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, Adam finds himself lingering in the therapy room, reluctant to leave the comfort of Y/N's presence.

Y/N notices his hesitation and offers him a sympathetic smile. "You did great today, Adam," she says, her voice gentle and encouraging. "Your progress has been impressive."

Adam nods, grateful for her words of encouragement. "Thanks, Y/N," he replies, his expression softening. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Their eyes meet, and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passes between them. Without a word, Y/N gestures for Adam to take a seat on the nearby couch, and he gratefully accepts.

What begins as a casual conversation soon evolves into a heart-to-heart discussion, as Adam opens up to Y/N about the pressures of life in the NHL and the constant scrutiny he faces as a professional athlete. Y/N listens attentively, offering him words of comfort and support.

As they talk, Adam can't help but marvel at the depth of their connection. Despite the differences in their backgrounds and experiences, he feels a sense of kinship with Y/N that he's never felt with anyone else before.

Before he knows it, the therapy session has turned into an impromptu therapy of a different kind – a safe space where Adam can be vulnerable and honest without fear of judgment. And as they sit together in the quiet intimacy of the therapy room, Adam realizes that he's beginning to fall for Y/N in a way he never thought possible.

-- 

One evening, after a long day of practice and training, Adam finds himself craving the comfort of home. As he steps into the elevator of his apartment building, he's surprised to find Y/N waiting inside, a basket of groceries in her arms.

"Hey, Adam," she greets him with a warm smile. "Heading home?"

Adam nods, returning her smile. "Yeah, just finished up at the rink," he replies, shifting his gym bag on his shoulder. "What about you? Stocking up on essentials?"

Y/N chuckles, nodding in affirmation. "Something like that," she says cryptically, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Curiosity piqued, Adam follows Y/N as she steps out of the elevator and heads towards her apartment. To his surprise, she invites him inside, gesturing for him to make himself at home while she puts away the groceries. 

As Adam steps into Y/N's apartment, he's enveloped by a sense of warmth and coziness. The soft glow of lamps illuminates the space, casting a gentle ambiance that immediately puts him at ease. He watches as Y/N bustles around the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she unpacks the groceries.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, Adam?" Y/N asks, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "I was planning on making a simple pasta dish."

Adam's stomach rumbles at the mention of food, and he can't help but smile at Y/N's offer. "That sounds amazing, Y/N," he replies, his voice tinged with gratitude. "I'd love to stay."

As Y/N sets to work preparing their meal, Adam takes a seat at the kitchen island, content to watch her work. He's struck by the ease with which she moves around the kitchen, the way she effortlessly balances multiple tasks at once.

"So, Adam," Y/N says, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between them. "How's the season been treating you so far?"

Adam sighs, his expression momentarily clouding over with fatigue. "It's been intense, to say the least," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything. This is what I've been working towards my whole life."

Y/N nods in understanding, her eyes filled with empathy. "I can imagine it must be tough, balancing the demands of the game with everything else," she says softly. "But just know that I'm here for you, whenever you need someone to talk to."

Adam's heart swells with gratitude at Y/N's words, and he finds himself opening up to her in a way he rarely does with others. 

--

As the weeks pass, Adam finds himself increasingly drawn to Y/N, his feelings for her growing stronger with each passing day. He can't shake the image of her warm smile and kind eyes, nor the way she makes him feel at ease with just a simple glance.

One evening, after another grueling practice session, Adam finds himself standing outside Y/N's apartment door, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows that he wants to take their relationship to the next level, but he's unsure of how to broach the subject.

Summoning up his courage, Adam knocks on the door, his hand trembling slightly with nerves. When Y/N answers, a bright smile lights up her face, and Adam feels his resolve strengthen.

"Hey, Adam," Y/N greets him warmly, stepping aside to let him in. "What brings you by?"

Adam takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner with me," he says, his voice steady despite the butterflies in his stomach. "Just the two of us."

Y/N's eyes widen in surprise, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "I'd love to, Adam," she replies, her smile widening into a grin. "I've been hoping you'd ask."

Relief floods through Adam as he realizes that Y/N feels the same way he does. With a sense of excitement coursing through his veins, he suggests a nearby restaurant that he's been wanting to try, and Y/N eagerly agrees.

As they make plans for their dinner date, Adam can't help but feel a surge of anticipation. He knows that this could be the beginning of something truly special between them, and he can't wait to see where their newfound romance will take them.

And as he bids Y/N goodnight and heads back to his own apartment, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

-- 

After their first dinner date, Adam and Y/N find themselves falling into a comfortable rhythm of spending time together. They go on more dates, exploring new restaurants, taking walks in the park, and even enjoying quiet evenings at home cooking dinner together.

Despite the growing intensity of their feelings for each other, Adam and Y/N decide to keep their budding relationship private for the time being. With Adam's high-profile career in the NHL and Y/N's own professional responsibilities, they both understand the importance of maintaining a sense of privacy and discretion.

They enjoy the simplicity and intimacy of their relationship, relishing in the moments they share away from the prying eyes of the public. Whether it's stealing kisses in the elevator of their apartment building or cuddling up on the couch to watch a movie, Adam and Y/N cherish every moment they spend together.

As they navigate the ups and downs of life in the fast-paced world of professional sports, Adam and Y/N find solace in each other's arms. Their relationship becomes a sanctuary from the pressures and expectations of the outside world, a place where they can be themselves without fear of judgment or scrutiny.

-- 

As the second period of the intense matchup between the Columbus Blue Jackets and the Seattle Kraken unfolded, the tension on the ice was palpable. Adam Fantilli, known for his speed and agility, was weaving through the opposing team's defense with finesse, determined to lead his team to victory.

But fate had other plans.

In a split second, the course of the game – and Adam's life – changed dramatically. As he battled for possession of the puck along the boards, he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jared McCann, a forward for the Seattle Kraken, swung his skate blade in an attempt to dislodge the puck, but instead, it made contact with Adam's left leg.

The arena fell silent as Adam crumpled to the ice in agony, clutching his injured leg. The sight of blood staining the pristine white ice sent a shiver down the spines of everyone in attendance.

Y/N, ever vigilant on the sidelines, sprang into action. With a sense of urgency, she rushed onto the ice, her heart pounding in her chest as she assessed the extent of Adam's injury. The gravity of the situation was clear – Adam needed immediate medical attention.

With the help of the team's medical staff, Y/N carefully helped Adam to his feet, supporting him as he hobbled off the ice and down the tunnel. Every step was excruciating, but Adam gritted his teeth and soldiered on, determined not to show any sign of weakness in front of his teammates and fans.

As they reached the relative safety of the locker room, Y/N's heart ached at the sight of Adam's pain. She did her best to provide comfort and reassurance, but she knew that his road to recovery would be long and challenging.

In the aftermath of the game, as the news of Adam's injury spread like wildfire, the hockey world held its breath, praying for his swift recovery.

--

In the days following Adam's injury, Y/N's dual roles as both his physical therapist and his girlfriend became more intertwined than ever before. As Adam began his rehabilitation journey, Y/N was there every step of the way, providing not only expert medical care but also unwavering emotional support.

Their apartment became a makeshift clinic, with Y/N transforming their living room into a makeshift therapy space equipped with exercise bands, foam rollers, and other rehabilitation tools. Under Y/N's watchful eye, Adam diligently followed his prescribed exercises, determined to regain strength and mobility in his injured leg.

Despite the pain and frustration of his injury, Adam found solace in Y/N's presence. Her gentle encouragement and reassuring words helped to ease his anxieties and lift his spirits during the darkest moments of his recovery.

As the weeks passed, Adam's progress was slow but steady. With Y/N's guidance, he slowly began to regain strength and mobility in his injured leg, surpassing even the most optimistic expectations of his medical team.

But it wasn't just Adam who benefited from Y/N's care and attention. As they worked together day in and day out, their bond deepened, evolving into something even more profound and meaningful than before.

In the quiet moments between therapy sessions, Adam and Y/N found themselves falling more deeply in love with each other. Whether it was sharing a meal together, cuddling on the couch, or simply holding hands as they watched the sunset from their balcony, every moment spent together was a precious gift.

-- 

As the NHL season continued without Adam, his absence was keenly felt by both his teammates and fans alike. But amidst the disappointment of his injury, there was a glimmer of excitement in the air as another familiar face stepped onto the ice for his NHL debut – Gavin Brindley, Adam's former college teammate.

The Blue Jackets' arena buzzed with anticipation as Gavin took to the ice, his teammates cheering him on from the sidelines. Among them, a group of Adam's college teammates – Seamus Casey, Luca Fantilli, Rutger Mcgroarty, Nick Moldenhauer, Ethan Edwards, and of course, Adam himself – watched with pride and excitement, their cheers ringing out in unison.

But as the game progressed, it became clear to Adam's friends that there was something different about him. Gone was the usual intensity and focus that defined him on the ice – instead, there was a softness to his gaze, a warmth in his smile that hadn't been there before.

"Hey, Adam," Seamus whispered, nudging him playfully with his elbow. "You've been awfully distracted tonight. Got something on your mind?"

Adam's cheeks flushed pink as he glanced over at Y/N, who was sitting a few rows away, her eyes glued to the action on the ice. "Um, yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "I guess you could say that."

His friends exchanged knowing looks, grins spreading across their faces. "Ah, I see how it is," Luca teased, winking at Adam. "Looks like someone's got a crush."

Adam rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "Okay, okay, you caught me," he conceded, his voice tinged with amusement. "But trust me, I've already made my move."

His friends erupted into cheers and applause, their laughter filling the air as they congratulated Adam on finally taking the plunge. And as they watched Gavin Brindley's NHL debut unfold before their eyes, Adam couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude and contentment wash over him.

For in that moment, surrounded by his closest friends and the woman he loved, Adam Fantilli knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be – both on and off the ice.