#every line I make something up in my head but I feel like I will be surprised when the secrets will be revealed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cipheress-to-k-pop · 3 days ago

Text

beauty and the beast (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: Mattheo Riddle, the infamous heartbreaker, gets his heart broken.

A/N: this is my first fic ever for matty but basically what happened was i read @redeemingvillains's amazing amazing fic called 'Dove' and it made me feral and i wrote this when i was supposed to be studying for my finals

im not so sure abt it lol because i feel like it's all over the place but this is what happens when i get depressed and get inspired at the same time

so, i hope you enjoy the product of my academic burnout and procrastination

also vee i hope you like the fic cuz ur most definitely my celebrity crush hehe 👉👈

Mattheo Riddle and you made an odd couple—at least, that’s what everyone said.

He was the son of the Dark Lord, Slytherin’s crowned king. All sharp edges and smoldering glances, more beast than boy. Mattheo solved problems with fists long before he used his brain, and even then, he was more likely to headbutt the issue than think it through. Fights, bruises, bleeding knuckles—he was practically the poster child for them.

You, on the other hand, were his opposite in every imaginable way.

Hufflepuff’s sweetheart. A sunbeam in human form. You were always wrapped in soft pastels with flower crowns tucked into your hair, hands sticky with sugar from baking treats or speckled with soil from planting herbs. You loved baby animals and warm tea, and your hands only ever got dirty in the name of creation or care.

So when Mattheo Riddle—the dark moon to your warm, gentle sun—started showing interest in you, your friends were quick to intervene.

Mattheo loved flustering you. Whether it was a cocky compliment or a teasing nickname, he’d always say something just to catch that bashful blush on your cheeks. He’d lean in too close, grinning like a devil as you tried to hide your smile.

“Ah! You’re just so cute. Muah!” You giggled one afternoon, pressing a kiss to the head of a tiny kitten. You’d found a litter of them near the castle grounds and built a makeshift shelter, lining it with soft blankets. To your delight, your friends had fallen in love with them too, helping feed and cuddle the kittens when they could. You came today for the usual dose of kitten therapy.

“Wow, where’s mine?”

The deep voice startled you so much you nearly toppled over from the crouch you were in, silently praying to Helga that your arse wouldn’t land on a defenseless kitten.

“Woah there!”

Luckily, someone caught you—one hand steadying your back, the other gripping your elbow just enough to stop your fall. The kitten in your arms squirmed and you realized you might’ve squeezed it in your surprise. Loosening your grip, you gently pet between its ears with a single finger, smothering it with kisses as an apology.

“You really know how to make a bloke jealous, sunshine,” Mattheo said, his voice a low purr near your ear, “I save you, and you’re still more invested in the kitten.”

You turned, only to find him inches from your face. You squeaked again, your blush rising fast as you looked away, tucking your face into your shoulder. Mattheo grinned.

You cleared your throat, trying to gather yourself, “Well, if you recall, you’re the reason I almost fell in the first place.”

His smirk widened, one brow arching—the same brow with the notch he’d gotten in a fight just a few days ago. You’d heard about it in passing, less concerned about the fight and more about whether anyone had been seriously hurt. Your friends had smiled gently at your concern, telling you you were too sweet for this world.

“I didn’t realize I distracted you, princess.”

The nickname was your undoing. Again.

You turned away, hiding behind another kitten as your cheeks burned. You couldn’t understand how someone like Mattheo Riddle found so much joy in tormenting your poor, flustered heart.

You cleared your throat, flustered, “So… you came to see the kittens too? Don’t they just cheer you up after a long day?”

Mattheo gave you a look—something between a smirk and a genuine smile, an expression that made your heart stumble over itself before he even opened his mouth.

“I am cheered up now,” He said, his voice low and warm, “But I must say, it’s not because of the kittens, Sunshine.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your friends had immediately tried to intervene—purely out of concern for you, as you came to realize that night in the cozy safety of your dorm room, when Mattheo Riddle’s name was brought up.

“We just want you to be careful,” Lila said gently, her dark curls falling into her eyes as she spoke, “Mattheo isn’t exactly a stranger to other girls’ beds, (Y/N). He’s gone all the way with them—four bases, easily. Hell, with him, there’s probably an extra base we don’t even know about.”

Imani winced, “And well… we know you aren’t as experienced.”

You felt your cheeks flush. They weren’t wrong.

They were referring to the fact that you were a virgin. You’d never dated anyone. Never even had a boyfriend.

“…Is that bad?” You asked softly.

The girls’ eyes widened and they immediately jumped to reassure you.

“No! Not at all!” Lila said quickly.

“Of course not!” Imani added, shaking her head.

“That’s not what we meant,” Daisy chimed in, reaching over to squeeze your hand, “You just… you deserve someone who’s patient with you.”

“Mattheo’s part of a rough crowd,” Evangeline said, hesitating. She always chose her words carefully, “I don’t want to sound mean or make you feel like we’re judging him, but… I’ve been overthinking this whole thing. And you really can’t be sure he’s not doing this as some kind of cruel joke. Or a dare. Or something equally awful. I wouldn't put it past some of his friends.”

She looked you right in the eye, her voice softening.

“I feel bad assuming the worst, I really do. But I also don’t want to trust just anyone with someone as precious as you.”

That made you smile despite yourself.

Evangeline. The mother of the group. Always looking out for everyone. Always making sure you were safe, happy, and loved. She deserved something in return for how diligently she cared for you all.

You made a mental note to bake her favorite strawberry jelly pastries as a thank-you.

“I understand what you’re all saying,” You said, voice warm, “Thank you… for looking out for me.”

Thus began the excruciating process of trying to remind yourself of everything your friends had said—every time Mattheo began to flirt with you.

You returned his charm with a polite smile. You laughed at his silly jokes. You reminded yourself, this probably isn’t that serious to him.

He could have any girl on his arm—any girl who actually knew what she was doing. What business would Mattheo Riddle, famed Slytherin heartbreaker and rumored womanizer, have with someone like you? Someone who wasn’t experienced. Someone who needed emotional connection to feel safe. Someone who couldn’t even tell whether this was real or just another one of his games.

It all came to a halt the day Mattheo—so casually it could have been mistaken for a joke—suggested you two actually go out.

It happened in passing, half-directed at someone else in the conversation. But you noticed the way he paused. The way he looked at you afterward, as if waiting—hoping—for an answer.

You stared at the hand he extended toward you, palm open.

Then your gaze lifted, meeting his eyes. Wide. Hesitant. Innocent.

He laughed, trying to play it off, “What? Don’t you trust me?”

You froze.

The corner of your mouth dipped downward, a subtle but telling movement. And Mattheo noticed instantly. The playful spark in his expression faded, replaced by a chill that settled into his shoulders like dread.

“Oh.”

“Mattheo, I—” You stopped, unsure what to say as you tugged anxiously at the edge of the shrug you’d crocheted, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t, princess,” He said quietly, shaking his head, “Truth is… I’ve never given you a reason to trust me.”

You paused, chewing your bottom lip nervously. The sight of it made something sharp and aching stir in Mattheo—an urge to pull your lip from your teeth with his thumb and press his own mouth to yours, just to stop you from doubting yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Mattheo gave you a gentle smile.

It was a sad kind of smile—soft, genuine, and far too forlorn for someone who was always so cocky and sure. Seeing it on his face made something twist in your chest.

“Don’t be, princess.” He said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The next couple of days were filled with a Mattheo-shaped hole in your life—and it left a heavier ache than you expected. You tried not to dwell on it, but it was hard not to overthink. Had he only wanted one thing from you? Had your rejection truly been enough for him to discard the little friendship you’d built?

Was that all he ever wanted? Was that all anyone wanted?

Still, the thoughts didn’t consume you completely. You had your friends. You had your kittens. You had the little chaos garden you were growing with Professor Sprout’s permission just beyond the greenhouses, where wildflowers grew beside pumpkins and honeybees lazily floated between blooms.

That was enough… mostly.

At least until Mattheo found you in the library.

You were seated near the back, flipping through your Herbology notes, when he strolled up and set a small vial down on the table in front of you. The clear liquid inside shimmered faintly, catching the candlelight. You looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

Mattheo’s chest was puffed out in obvious pride. He looked like he expected you to gasp or leap into his arms or start clapping.

But you just stared between him and the vial.

His posture deflated slightly, “Come on, princess. At least pretend to be interested. I spent days trying to get my hands on this.”

You bit back a smile, secretly amused by the way he still spoke to you like nothing had changed. Like you hadn't broken his heart—or at least bruised it. The fact that he was here at all made something flutter in your chest.

You gave in with a curious tilt of your head, “Alright, Mattheo. I’ll bite. What’s in the vial?”

“Veritaserum.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could even think to stop him, Mattheo uncorked the tiny bottle and downed it in one go like it was a shot of Firewhisky. He slammed the empty vial back onto the table and leaned forward, smirking.

“I’m completely at your mercy now, sunshine. Ask me anything. I’ll prove I’m not messing with you.”

You blinked, taken aback by his dramatic display. Then you pouted a little, your lips tugging downward as your eyes softened.

“How do I know that was actually Veritaserum?”

He laughed, grinning at you, “Trust issues much, princess? I respect it. Go on—ask me something I wouldn’t answer unless I was under the influence.”

Your eyes flicked over him, unconvinced. That was when you noticed the fresh cut across his nose—no doubt from yet another fight. It should have made you concerned, should have made you check him over for any other bumps and bruises. Instead, you had the completely embarrassing thought that it looked… sort of adorable.

You cleared your throat and hummed, thinking, “Your best friend is Theodore, right?”

He smirked, already cocky again, “Of course. Come on, angel. Give me a tough one.”

You tilted your head, pretending to ponder. Then, as sweetly as ever: “Have you ever thought about kissing Theodore?”

Mattheo froze.

His entire face lit up in a furious blush, red blooming across his cheeks and ears, “I—I mean, yes—but I wasn’t fantasizing about it or anything!” He sputtered, “It was just… a random thought that popped into my head once, I swear!”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, giggling uncontrollably. “Well,” You managed through your laughter, “I guess it really was Veritaserum.”

He covered his face with one hand, groaning into his palm, “That was embarrassing. I am embarrassed.”

You paused, your laughter fading into a soft frown as concern overtook your expression, “Mattheo… if you regret it, it’s okay. I won’t ask you anything else until the serum wears off, you don't have to answer anything else.”

He peeked at you through his fingers and smiled, slow and sincere. “You really are too good for this world, princess.” He let his hand fall and leaned forward, eyes never leaving yours, “No—I don’t regret it. I want you to trust me. And this was the only way I could think of doing it.”

You let out a breathy laugh. Of course it was. Of course the way Mattheo Riddle tried to earn your trust was something absurd, reckless… and somehow incredibly endearing. Just like him.

You hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting on your chest for weeks, “All those compliments you give me… when you say I look beautiful… do you really mean that?”

His expression softened so much it almost hurt to look at. “Without a doubt,” he said without missing a beat.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. A blush crept up your neck, spreading across your cheeks like warm sunlight, “…Do you really want to date me?”

“More than anything.”

You swallowed hard, “Is this possibly part of a joke? Or a dare? Or something else I should be scared of?”

Mattheo didn’t even flinch, “Believe me, princess, I would rather fall twelve stories from the Astronomy Tower than ever do something like that to you.”

Your breath caught. You’d been cold earlier, the drafty corners of the library nipping at your sleeves—but now you felt hot all over, your skin tingling like you’d been dropped into sunlight.

You blinked, “…Are you using me as a beard to hide your true feelings for Theodore?”

“(Y/N!)” He exclaimed, utterly scandalized, your name leaving his lips for the first time ever instead of a teasing nickname. The outrage on his face was so genuine that you couldn’t hold back anymore—you burst into a fit of laughter, face falling against his bicep as you tried to muffle your giggles.

Mattheo was still huffing beside you when you finally peeked up from his arm, and the expression he wore—soft, amused, fond—made your breath hitch all over again.

You shifted nervously, “Do you… like me?”

“More than you realize.” He said, quiet but certain.

You lowered your head, flustered, heart pounding as you fidgeted with the sleeves of your jumper. You weren’t usually so forward. Asking him all those questions had taken a surprising amount of courage. And now that you had your answers, you didn’t know what to do with them.

Mattheo tilted your chin up with a featherlight touch, catching your eyes. He glanced at your lips, then back into your gaze with so much reverence it almost made you dizzy.

“Will you go out with me, sunshine?”

Your lips curled into a shy smile, “I’d love to, Mattheo.”

His smile widened, something boyish and sweet in it that you hadn’t seen before. But before you could let yourself fully sink into the glow of that moment, the nagging voice of self-doubt tugged at your courage.

“I… don’t know if you know this about me,” You started hesitantly, “but I’ve never really done this before. Dated, I mean. So… I might need to take things slower than what you’re used to. Is that okay with you?”

There was a beat of silence where your heart was convinced it might just split in two from the pressure. But then Mattheo leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

When he pulled back, his eyes were soft with something so genuine it made your throat tighten, “We’ll go as slow as you need to, princess.”

You smiled, chest loosening as you leaned slightly into his side, your hand brushing his.

It wasn’t until later—when you were curled up in bed, running back through every detail—that you realized something.

He had never actually clarified if that pace—slow, careful, uncertain—was okay with him.

He had said you could go slow.

But you didn’t know if he wanted to.

***

It had been about three weeks since you and Mattheo started dating, and even now, it sometimes didn’t feel quite real. Not because he didn’t show it—if anything, Mattheo Riddle was a surprisingly attentive boyfriend. He brought you little things he thought you’d like (a flower he saw outside Greenhouse Three, a charm that reminded him of your favorite animal, a quill in your favorite color just because you said yours was running out). He always waited for you outside class, always carried your books if your bag looked even slightly heavy, and never let a day pass without calling you by some new sweet nickname.

But more than that, he never pushed.

On your first date, you'd gone to the edge of the Forbidden Forest—somewhere quiet and peaceful with just enough sunlight trickling through the trees to give the illusion of safety and magic. You’d spread out a blanket, shared pumpkin pastries and pumpkin juice, and talked about anything and everything. Mattheo hadn’t even tried to hold your hand until you'd gently brushed your pinky against his, and even then, he’d waited for you to fully intertwine your fingers.

Since then, it had been a slow rhythm of delicate moments: shoulders brushing in the corridor, pinkies linked under the table, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with careful reverence. He never took more than you offered. Never asked for what you weren’t ready to give.

Even now.

Now, it was late—past curfew—and you stood with him in a shadowed alcove near the Astronomy Tower, where moonlight pooled like spilled silver. The castle was hushed, and your heartbeat was the loudest thing in the world.

Your hand touches his cheek, featherlight, like you’re still unsure if you’re allowed to touch him this way. Your voice trembled at the edges when you spoke—

“Can I kiss you?”

Mattheo’s heart stops.

“You—you wanna…?” His voice catches, and he mentally curses himself because he’s Mattheo Riddle, for fuck’s sake, and now he’s stammering like a schoolboy.

“I want to kiss you,” You admitted, voice soft and just a little shaky, “But… I’ve never really done this before. I mean—not really.”

Mattheo’s expression softened immediately. He reached out, his fingers ghosting along your cheek before curling gently around your hand, “Me either.”

You blinked, “You’re kidding, right?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head, “No. I mean—I know what people say. I know what you’ve heard. And yeah, I’ve kissed girls before. But those… they didn’t matter. They didn’t mean anything.”

You stared at him, skeptical, “But you’ve done things, Mattheo. With other girls.”

He didn't deny it. Instead, he took your hand in both of his and guided it to his chest, just over his heart. The steady thud was frantic beneath your palm.

“You’re the first one,” He said, voice quiet and steady, “who’s made me feel like this… from just being around me.”

Your breath caught. And then, slowly, you rose onto your toes, brushing your lips against his.

It was tentative, uncertain—but real. So real it made your knees wobble and your heart race.

Mattheo barely moved, just kissed you back softly, reverently, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he wasn’t careful. When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling like you’d just handed him the stars.

“Still nervous?” He whispered.

“Only a little.” You replied, cheeks warm.

And then he leaned in again like you were sacred.

Not like a boy kissing a girl. Like a sinner kissing a prayer.

He didn’t grab. Didn’t take. He just kissed you like it was all he ever wanted to do, like your kindness was the only thing that had ever made him feel clean.

When you finally parted, your breath was uneven, your hands still trembling faintly in his.

For the first time, you understood what people meant when they talked about wanting. The way your heart kept whispering more in the stillness. The way you leaned closer without even realizing.

“I think,” You said, barely louder than a breath, “I might need some more practice.”

Mattheo grinned, brushing his nose against yours, “Good thing we’ve got time, then.”

And he kissed you again—just once more, until you asked him for more—like you were the only thing that had ever made his heart beat like that.

***

The morning sun poured lazily through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting golden light over half-finished bowls of oatmeal and drifting owl feathers.

You slid into your usual spot at the Slytherin table beside Mattheo, nudging his side lightly with your shoulder, “Good morning, Matty.”

His lips quirked up immediately, voice still raspy with sleep, “Good morning, baby.”

A chorus of greetings chimed around the table.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Theodore greeted, already mid-sip of pumpkin juice.

“Morning,” Lorenzo added with a grin, elbow-deep in toast and marmalade.

Draco gave you a nod, lifting his chin. “(Y/N).”

You smiled sweetly. “Hi, Theodore, Lorenzo, Draco.”

Mattheo tried to hide the way he preened, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. His hand casually slid onto your thigh under the table, his thumb brushing tiny circles there. You weren’t one for PDA-heavy nicknames in front of the boys, so the fact that he got a "Matty" while everyone else got their usual names? That was better than syrup on pancakes. And he was smug about it.

“What are you guys talking about?” You asked, pouring yourself some tea.

“We’re just messing with Draco,” Lorenzo said with a snort, “Apparently Pansy invited him to go flower picking in the Far East Forest.”

Your eyes lit up, “That sounds like fun!”

The table went silent for a moment—and then all three boys burst into laughter.

“You’re so precious,” Lorenzo wailed, wiping a tear.

Theodore leaned in, “Oh, it is fun. Just not in the way you’re thinking.”

Your brows furrowed, “Huh?”

Mattheo snorted, clearly amused, “Flower picking in the East Forest is a very hands-on activity, sunshine.”

Draco looked smug, “It's basically a date with, uh, extra-curriculars.”

You gasped, “Ew! Draco!”

Mattheo leaned closer to you with a smirk, his voice dropping suggestively, “If you’re that interested, I could take you flower picking sometime…”

Your head whipped toward him, scandalized, "There’s a whole brood of sweet little ducklings that nest there! Don’t you dare snatch their innocence!”

The boys lost it.

Draco buried his face in his hands, laughing helplessly, “You sound like a disappointed forest fairy.”

“I am!” You declared, scandalized, “Honestly, I hope that every time you try to do anything with Pansy out there, you open your eyes and see a baby duckling staring right at your soul. Judging you. Silently.”

Lorenzo practically choked on his juice, “Even her threats are innocent!”

Mattheo couldn’t stop grinning. He looked at you like you’d personally hung the moon, brushing his knuckles against your cheek affectionately.

Just as the laughter around the table began to settle, a familiar voice called out from the entrance of the Great Hall.

“(Y/N)! Come on, we’re gonna be late!”

You turned to see Evangeline waving you over, with Lila and Imari flanking her, each holding an enchanted picnic basket floating obediently beside them.

Mattheo let out a quiet groan beside you, letting his head drop gently onto your shoulder. “Where are you going? It’s not even time for class yet. It’s so early…”

You giggled, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “I know, but we haven’t played with the kittens in days thanks to that Charms essay. I promised the girls we’d have breakfast outside with them.”

He sighed like it was the worst tragedy known to man, looking up at you with tired eyes and a pout. “So you're ditching me... for a bunch of furballs.”

“They’re our furballs,” you said with a soft smile, standing and brushing off your skirt.

Mattheo looked up at you—his hair a mess, his expression still sleepy, but his eyes so warm and full of something you couldn’t name. You leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss to his cheek. It was barely anything, just a brush of your lips, but it had heat blooming across your cheeks.

“Bye,” You said quickly, “Save me a seat in Charms?”

He nodded, watching you trot off toward your friends with a smile so dazed it made him look a little lovesick.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Theo let out a low whistle, “Mate. You’re gone.”

Lorenzo leaned in with a grin, “Did you just blush? Over a cheek kiss?”

Draco raised a brow, amused, “You’ve had girls snog you senseless behind greenhouses. 'The Hufflepuff Sweetheart' kisses you on the cheek and you look like you're ready to write her a sonnet.”

Mattheo blinked slowly, still smiling like a right fool, “It was a very good kiss.”

Draco smirked, “She barely touched you and you look like you’ve been hit with a Confundus charm.”

None of them noticed the two girls lingering near the entrance—eyes narrowed, arms crossed—who’d heard every single word.

***

You weren’t supposed to hear them.

Their voices were just a low hum at first—giggling, whispering—coming from around the corner as you walked the quiet corridor. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop. You weren’t looking for trouble.

But the words found you anyway.

“Mattheo Riddle? Merlin, he’s such a fuckboy,” One of the girls said, her voice dripping with judgment, “He’s probably seen more girls naked than he can remember. And now he’s with her? Sweet, innocent little thing? She doesn’t stand a chance. I mean, how could someone like her—so sweet, so innocent—keep up with him?”

Another girl snickered, her tone mocking. “It's probably just a corruption kink. He’ll get bored as soon as he realizes she can’t give him what he really wants.”

You paused mid-step, your heart sinking into your stomach. The words struck you harder than you could have imagined.

“She doesn’t have what it takes, though. Look at her—so naive. You think she even knows what to do with a guy like that?” One of them continued, “You really think she knows how to keep someone like him satisfied?” The rest of their words faded, but they’d already done their damage. The words had been carved straight through your chest.

You hadn’t meant to listen. But now you couldn’t unhear it.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel the sting of tears burning behind your eyes, the cruel weight of their words crushing your chest.

You wanted to shake it off. You wanted to tell yourself it didn’t matter. But their voices stuck to your skin like smoke. You weren’t enough. You never would be.

You felt stupid.

You’d been so blind to think someone like Mattheo, with all his past, could ever truly want someone like you. You weren’t like the other girls. You were soft, innocent—too innocent, it seemed. You knew it, deep down, but hearing them confirm your worst fear was unbearable.

You didn’t even know how you managed to make it to your dorm. Everything blurred—walls, portraits, passing students—until finally you reached your bed and collapsed onto it, curling in on yourself like you could disappear. The tears came hard and fast, soaking into your pillow no matter how tightly you shut your eyes.

You couldn’t shake the image of Mattheo and his past. Of all the things he’d done, of all the girls who had been in his life. And here you were—so different from them. You were certain he deserved someone who could keep up with him, someone more experienced, more capable of handling whatever it was that he needed.

What if Mattheo needed someone more experienced—someone who could match the fire in his veins, not melt under it?

Could he really be happy with someone like you?

The ache in your chest tightened. You tried to brush it off, to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that Mattheo wouldn’t care what those girls said. But the words kept echoing, louder with every breath: He’ll get bored. She’s not enough. She can’t keep up.

You’d always known you were different than the girls he'd usually chased. You thought he liked that about you. But… maybe you’d been delusional to think he could feel the same way. Really feel it.

The sadness settled over you like fog—thick, inescapable. You tried to reason with yourself, tried to dismiss the ache as insecurity, paranoia, nothing real. He told you he didn’t mind. He’d said it plainly, truthfully—Veritaserum coursing through his veins, no way to lie. You could take all the time you needed. He liked you, chose you, in spite of your hesitation.

And still, the doubt crept in.

Maybe he had meant it at the time.

But maybe he’d change his mind.

Maybe one day he’d wake up and realize what he was missing. Maybe he’d grow tired of your softness, your innocence, your quiet kind of love.

The ache deepened, dull and steady, like something inside you had cracked and wasn’t going to heal quickly. You curled tighter under the blanket, trying to shut it all out—the voices, the doubt, the image of Mattheo with someone who could give him more than you ever could.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

You told yourself to stop.

But the feeling wouldn’t leave.

***

The next morning, when Mattheo met you in the corridor, he noticed it instantly.

There was a weariness in your eyes that hadn’t been there before—an invisible weight pressing down on your shoulders. The usual lightness in your step, the spark in your smile, your warmth—all dimmed, like someone had drawn a curtain over you overnight.

“Hey,” He said softly, tilting his head to meet your gaze, “You okay?”

You forced a smile, but it felt brittle—like glass about to crack. “Didn’t sleep well,” You murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear as you looked anywhere but at him. The floor suddenly seemed very interesting.

Mattheo’s brows pulled together. He didn’t press, not yet, but the shift in your energy felt like a punch to the ribs. You were always open with him. Bright, effervescent—sunlight in human form. Seeing you closed off like this, hiding behind half-smiles and lowered eyes, made something twist deep in his chest.

He leaned in for your usual morning kiss—your quiet tradition, simple and grounding. Mattheo loved giving affection, and you adored receiving it, but he’d always let you close the gap. Let you decide. Whether it was a quick kiss, a lingering one, or just a soft touch on the cheek—he followed your lead, always careful not to push your boundaries.

It was something that had always made your heart flutter. His patience. His gentleness with you.

But this morning, all you could think about was Fifth Year—when he’d grabbed the girl he was dating at the time and snogged her senseless in front of half the Great Hall. No hesitation. No care for who was watching. His hand had been tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist like he needed her closer, and when she’d giggled against his mouth, clinging to him like he was gravity itself, he’d laughed—carefree, cocky, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It had been effortless for him then. Confident. Public.

Your heart seized.

How much did he have to restrain himself now? How many times had he accepted your fleeting pecks, when he might have wanted more? How often had he pretended it was enough?

A wave of guilt washed over you. You wanted to reach out, to grab him by the tie and kiss him breathless. Maybe then the whispers wouldn’t matter. Maybe then he wouldn’t get bored. Wouldn’t leave.

But even with that desperate thought flickering in your mind, your body didn’t move. There was ice in your veins. Fear anchoring your limbs. So instead, you leaned up just enough to brush your lips against his, featherlight. Barely there.

Mattheo froze.

You always smiled after your kisses—grinned and scrunched your nose, sometimes added a ridiculous muah sound that made him roll his eyes but secretly love you more. But now…

Now, you didn’t even look at him.

“Sunshine,” he said gently, “are you sure you’re okay?”

You sighed, and this time the smile didn’t even try to reach your eyes. “Just feeling… tired,” you murmured, the words barely above a whisper.

He didn’t believe you. Not for a second.

***

The next few days felt like a slow drift—like two ships caught in different tides.

You weren’t as quick to meet him between classes anymore, often ducking into the crowd or lingering behind with classmates until he was gone. You still spoke when you ran into him, but only when he spoke first. Your voice lacked its usual lilt, and the pauses between your words were longer. Heavier. When he asked to see you, you hesitated. “I’ve got homework,” you’d murmur, “I think I’m getting sick.” Excuses—flimsy, transparent.

You didn’t even show up for breakfast.

Your absence was glaring, something his friends immediately picked up on.

“Where’s your sweet little princess, Matty?” Theodore teased around a mouthful of toast, “Too busy with the mice and birds baking a pie?”

Mattheo didn’t answer.

Because in all honesty… he didn’t know where you were. Just like he hadn’t known yesterday. You’d slipped through the day like a ghost, nowhere to be found, avoiding every place he’d looked for you.

He’d even sent an owl that morning. A soft, simple note: Missed you at breakfast. Meet me after class? I miss you.

All he got back was a short reply scribbled hastily on parchment: Sorry, slept in. Was up late. Just really tired. Maybe later.

There was no little kiss-mark of your lip gloss. No sweet spritz of your perfume clinging to the paper. Not even a heart at the end of your sentence.

And it hurt him—visibly, deeply. More than he could ever admit.

Mattheo wasn’t stupid. If anything, he was painfully perceptive when it came to you. He noticed the way your eyes didn’t light up when you saw him anymore. The way you flinched—subtly, but undeniably—when he reached for your hand. How your laughter came less often. How your smile no longer reached your eyes.

You were pulling away.

At first, he tried to play it cool. Maybe you were stressed, maybe you just needed space. He’d seen you have bad days before. But the quiet between you kept growing louder, stretching taut with everything unsaid. Every time he reached out, you slipped further from his grasp—like sand slipping through his fingers, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.

And it scared him.

Because this time… you weren’t just hesitant. You weren’t just unsure, or overwhelmed, or waiting for him to take the lead.

You were running away.

And he didn’t know why.

***

It had been nearly two weeks.

Two weeks of avoiding his eyes, his touch, his voice. Two weeks of skipping dinners and brushing past him in corridors like he was a stranger. Two weeks of burying the ache in your chest and pretending like you didn’t feel the pull of his absence every second of every day.

And now… you were here.

Standing outside the boys’ dorm, your fist hovering just inches from the door.

You hesitated—long enough to wonder if this was a mistake, long enough to feel the lump rise in your throat again—but then you knocked. Once. Twice.

It creaked open immediately.

“Oh—hey,” Theodore said, surprised but smiling, “Uh… Mattheo’s inside.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

Around the room, the other boys lifted their heads. Recognition dawned quickly—followed by an awkward shuffle of movement. They exchanged glances, and then, wordlessly, began to file out.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Lorenzo said with a wink, nudging Blaise toward the door.

Draco gave you a small, kind smile as he passed, brushing your shoulder gently, “Good to see you again, (Y/N).”

And that made it so much worse.

You swallowed hard. Guilt pooled in your stomach like lead.

When you finally stepped inside, Mattheo was sitting on the edge of his bed, a book abandoned in his lap. His head snapped up the moment he saw you.

“(Y/N),” He breathed, standing quickly, his eyes searching your face, “You—you’re here. Are you okay? Are you finally gonna talk to me?”

He looked so hopeful. So relieved. Like your silence had just been a bad dream he was waking up from.

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I wanted to talk,” You said softly, “Can we sit?”

He nodded quickly, motioning for you to sit beside him on the bed. You did, folding your hands tightly in your lap.

He sat close—close enough to touch, to reach for you—but you shifted slightly away, just enough for him to notice.

His smile faltered. “(Y/N)…?”

You forced yourself to breathe, to speak the words that had been lodged in your throat for days. To finally speak the words that had been festering inside your chest like poison.

“I think we should break up.”

Silence.

You couldn’t look at him.

It took him a moment to react—like the words had hit, but the meaning hadn’t quite registered yet.

“What?”

Your heart cracked in your chest.

“I don’t think we’re right for each other, Mattheo.”

He flinched—actually flinched—like you’d slapped him, “What are you talking about?”

“I just…” You struggled to keep your voice steady, “I think we’re too different. You and me. It’s not working. I don’t want to waste your time.”

He was staring at you now—like you’d just confessed something absurd, “You don’t want to waste my—(Y/N), what are you saying? You’re everything to me.”

“Mattheo—”

“No.” He stood suddenly, running a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps like the motion might help him make sense of the spiral, “You’re lying. This isn’t you. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it. Is it something I did? I can change. I will change. I’ll do anything. Just—don’t do this.”

You stood, too, voice quieter now, “That’s the thing. Even if you change…it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Because I’m the reason everything is falling apart—but you couldn’t say it.

And Mattheo was standing there like the wind had been knocked out of him.

He opened his mouth—but no words came.

So you left.

You turned on your heel, walked out the door, down the stairs—your legs trembling the entire way. You were halfway across the common room before—

“(Y/N)!” His voice tore through the air like lightning.

You froze.

Then you felt it—his hand wrapping around your wrist, desperate and trembling, pulling you gently back around.

His friends were there, scattered around the couches, watching with wide eyes.

“Can you just please tell me what’s going on?” He asked, breathless and hurting, “I’m not mad—I just… I don’t understand. You don’t even look at me anymore, you’re avoiding me, and now this? If you want space, I’ll give you space. If you need time, I’ll wait. Just… please. Tell me the truth. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I broke.”

You looked up at him then. His eyes were shining, lips parted, pain carved into every inch of his expression.

And it shattered you.

You shook your head slowly, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“You didn’t break anything,” You whispered, “But some things just…can’t be fixed.”

And that was all you gave him before you slipped your wrist out of his hold and walked away—this time, for real.

He didn’t chase you again.

Mattheo stood there, unmoving, eyes locked on the spot where you’d stood.

“What the hell was that?” Blaise asked quietly.

Mattheo didn’t respond.

He just stared at the door, still trying to catch his breath.

“We just broke up,” He said hollowly. Then he sank into the nearest armchair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His fingers threaded through his hair, trembling as he blinked rapidly—like the world was spinning too fast, and he couldn’t keep up.

***

It had been nearly a month since the breakup. And every second of it had been hell.

Mattheo wasn’t just off—he was unrecognizable.

He stopped showing up to class unless someone physically dragged him. On the rare occasions he did, he’d sit slouched in the back, hood up, glowering at the floor, snapping at anyone who dared speak to him. He skipped practice. Ignored meals. Picked fights for no reason.

And when Quidditch rolled around? It was brutal.

He played like he had nothing to lose—like every match was a battlefield, every tackle a personal vendetta, every swing of his bat a desperate attempt to release something festering inside. Players left the pitch bruised, limping, bleeding. Referees issued warnings. Professors whispered behind closed doors. Students started walking on eggshells whenever he passed, careful not to catch his eye.

But still… even through all of that, he searched for you.

Every time he walked into a room, his gaze found you. Across the Great Hall, surrounded by your friends. In the courtyard, hunched over your journal. In the corridors, where you kept your head down and your footsteps quick—where you avoided him like it physically hurt to meet his eyes.

Because it did.

Once—just once—you ran into each other between classes.

You turned a corner and there he was.

His steps halted. Your breath caught.

“(Y/N)—” He breathed, his voice low and hopeful, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming.

But you couldn’t look at him. You ducked your head and brushed past, your heart hammering in your chest.

You kept walking, fast, willing yourself not to cry.

And just before you rounded the corner, you paused.

Just for a second.

You glanced back, hoping—aching—for even the smallest sign that he was looking back.

Mattheo didn’t see your heartbroken gaze.

But Evangeline certainly did.

***

“This is ridiculous.” Theo muttered one night, slamming his book shut.

Blaise didn't look up from his game of exploding snap with Enzo, “He didn’t even show up to practice today.”

“He was out back,” Enzo said quietly, “Feeding her cats at the shelter again."

The tension in the Slytherin common room was already thick when the door opened and four girls stepped inside.

Evangeline, Lila, Daisy, and Imari strode in with a kind of urgent determination that made every conversation falter mid-sentence. Heads turned. Even Draco glanced up from where he sat lounging by the fireplace.

When him and the others saw the girls heading straight for them, their expressions shifted from curiosity to mild alarm.

“You lot,” Evangeline said firmly, folding her arms as they approached, “We need to talk.”

“Uh…” Theo blinked, “Hi?”

Lila didn’t waste time, “It’s about (Y/N).”

That got their attention.

Blaise sighed and put down the Exploding Snap cards.

“She’s not eating,” Daisy said quietly, “I’ve been sitting with her at meals, and she hardly touches anything. She’s barely there. Her eyes are dead, and I know she’s been crying herself to sleep every night. I can't watch it anymore."

Imari added sharply, “And she won’t tell us what happened. All we know is that she broke up with Mattheo, and ever since then, it’s like we’re living with a ghost.”

The boys exchanged glances—uneasy, guilt-ridden glances.

“Well,” Theodore exhaled, running a hand through his curls, “if it makes you feel any better, Mattheo’s not exactly thriving either.”

Draco snorted, “Thriving? He’s on the verge of a full mental collapse.”

“He’s stopped going to class,” Blaise muttered, “He’s smoking like a chimney again. Got detention twice last week for fighting.”

Lorenzo chimed in, “He damn near took someone’s head off at Quidditch. We’re this close to him being benched for the rest of the season—or expelled.”

Evangeline’s expression softened slightly, “So… they’re both miserable.”

“Clearly,” Theo muttered, leaning against the arm of the couch, “But what are we supposed to do about it?”

That’s when Imari stepped forward, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She fixed the boys with a hard look, “You all know Mattheo better than anyone. What the hell is he doing to fix this?”

Theo’s eyebrows shot up, “Why does Mattheo have to fix anything? (Y/N) dumped him out of nowhere and shattered his heart! Some Hufflepuff sweetheart she turned out to be!”

Lila stepped forward defensively, “She must’ve had a good reason! Mattheo must’ve done something—he’s obviously in the wrong!”

“You shut your Hufflepuff mouth,” Draco snapped, standing up as the tension in the room heightened.

“Enough,” Evangeline snapped, eyes flashing, “This isn’t about blame. We’re not here to fight—we’re here to help them. Or did you all miss the part where they’re both completely wrecked without each other?”

Theo blinked, “…Damn. I like an assertive woman.”

Evangeline didn’t even look at him, instead turning her attention back to the boys, "We need to help them. They’re both falling apart, and if we don’t do something now, it’s only going to get worse."

Imari glanced at the guys, her eyes narrowing as she thought for a moment. Then, a smirk tugged at her lips. She stood up straight, crossing her arms as she looked them over, "I’ve got an idea."

***

It was just past sunset when you heard a stampede of frantic footsteps charging up the stairs to your dorm room. You barely stirred from bed, buried deep in a cocoon of blankets and silence.

Then the door burst open.

“Does anyone have gauze? Or a healing salve? Lila, where’s the bloody first aid kit?!”

The chaos jolted you upright.

Imari was digging through drawers like her life depended on it. Daisy was pacing, hair a mess, muttering under her breath. Lila had inexplicably opened your wardrobe and was rifling through your jumpers. Evangeline was trying—and failing—to look composed.

You blinked, “What’s going on?”

“We found a baby owl,” Daisy rushed out, breathless, scrambling to your bedside, “Abandoned on the Astronomy Tower. Its wing’s all bent—it can’t fly.”

“—and it was crying,” Lila added dramatically, dabbing at imaginary tears, “Little squeaky hoots, like it was calling for help.”

Your heart lurched, “Wait—what? Is it still up there?”

“Yeah, we didn’t want to risk hurting it more by moving it,” Imari said, voice sharp with urgency, “We were grabbing supplies, but honestly, you’re the best with animals, (Y/N). Could you go? Please?”

You were already tossing off your blanket, “Of course. Where?”

“Astronomy Tower,” Evangeline said, “By the west-facing window.”

“We’ll be right behind you with the kit,” Lila added, pushing the nearly empty first aid box into Imari’s arms.

“Go on,” Daisy said gently, “Poor thing’s probably terrified.”

Without another word, you slipped on your shoes and bolted for the door.

The second you were gone, the girls sagged in relief.

“We’ve been trying to get her out of bed for weeks and all it took was a fake injured animal?” Lila muttered.

“She’s too pure for this world,” Daisy sighed.

“I love her for it,” Evangeline said softly.

“Right?” Imari smirked, “Now we just need the guys to hold up their end of the bargain.”

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dorm…

“Oi, Mattheo,” Blaise called casually, leaning against the doorframe, “Fancy a smoke?”

Mattheo didn’t even glance up. He was slouched in his desk chair, hood up, fingers twitching idly. But after a pause, he sighed and stood, “Sure.”

They walked in silence, the kind that made everything feel heavier. No jokes. No jabs. Just thick, uncomfortable quiet.

Halfway to the courtyard, Theo suddenly froze, smacking his pockets, “Shit.”

Mattheo frowned, “What?”

“My lighter. Left it in the dorm.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, “Use your wand?”

Theo blinked, “Uh… right. That would make sense.”

Mattheo stared at him.

Draco stepped in, cool as ever, “Ignore him. Dropped on his head too many times as a child. Just head up to the Astronomy Tower—we’ll catch up.”

Mattheo’s expression tightened, “Why the Astronomy Tower?”

“Best view. Less wind. Good vibes,” Blaise said, waving him off, “Go on. We’ll be right there.”

Mattheo looked at them for a long second. Suspicious. Then he turned and headed toward the tower alone.

As soon as he was gone, the boys broke formation.

“Do you think he’s going to punch someone if this goes wrong?” Lorenzo asked.

“Definitely,” Draco muttered, “I’m blaming that halfwit Imari. This plan is ridiculous.”

“I don’t know,” Theo said thoughtfully, “Evangeline seems like she knows what she’s doing.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, “Theo’s kink is women telling him he’s stupid.”

Theo shrugged, “Not denying it.”

***

You ran up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, lungs burning, trying to quiet your breathing so you could listen for the pained hoots of an injured owl.

But then you saw him.

“Mattheo?” You breathed, freezing in the doorway.

He leaned against the far wall, bathed in the fading light of sunset, his posture tense, eyes sharp with disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

“I—I didn’t know you’d be—”

The door slammed shut behind you with a heavy clang.

You both spun around, “What the hell?!”

“YOU’RE WELCOME!” Came Theo’s smug voice, muffled through the thick wood, “Not unlocking this ‘til you two sort your shit out!”

“DON’T BOTHER SCREAMING!” Imari added cheerfully, “It’s soundproofed!”

Mattheo stormed to the door, yanking at the handle and pounding his fist against the wood, “This isn’t fucking funny, Theo! Open the door!”

You stood frozen, caught between panic and the overwhelming urge to melt into the floor.

“Mattheo—”

“Honestly, what the fuck were they thinking?” He snapped, pacing now, furious, “Let’s just trap us in a room together, yeah? Brilliant. Force her to spend time with the monster she couldn’t wait to get away from.”

Your chest clenched, “You’re not a monster.”

He laughed bitterly, “Right. That’s why you couldn’t even look at me when you ended things.”

You flinched.

“You didn’t even say anything real,” He continued, voice rising, “Just some vague crap about how we weren’t compatible—like that wasn’t a complete lie.”

You stared at the floor, throat tight, “It wasn’t about you, Mattheo.”

“Oh, no?” His voice cracked, “Could’ve fooled me.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, “It wasn’t you. It’s me, okay?!”

He froze, “What?”

You couldn’t stop the words now, even as your voice wavered, “It was me. I’m the problem. I can’t give you what you need. I’m inexperienced and clumsy and it was only a matter of time before you realized you deserved better—someone who could give you the kind of relationship you actually want.”

He looked like you’d just struck him.

“I didn’t want it to get to my head,” You whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks, “But I couldn’t stop thinking about how I wasn’t making you as happy as you made me. I wasn’t enough. And every time I saw you, it hurt… and I just didn’t want it to hurt anymore.”

“(Y/N)…” He breathed, shaking his head, “I told you so many times. I promised you—we wouldn’t go faster than what you wanted. What you needed.”

“But what about your needs?” You cried, voice cracking, “Why should you have to restrain yourself and ignore what you want just because I’m too scared to give it? What makes me worth that sacrifice?”

Mattheo was stunned silent.

Then, in the quiet, his voice broke through like a prayer, “Because I’m in love with you, (Y/N).”

You froze.

“I love you for who you are. There isn’t another girl in this bloody castle—or the world—who’s as kind and selfless as you. I told you before—I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. And I don’t want to. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stepped closer, voice softer but no less intense.

“I don’t love you in spite of your caution—I love you because of it. Because every time you trust me, even just a little, I know I’m getting a part of you no one else has. That means something to me. That connects me to you in a way I’ve never felt with anyone else.”

His eyes searched yours, earnest and unwavering.

“So if you want to take things slow? That’s fine. If you want to join a convent and die a virgin—I’ll turn into a priest.”

That startled a teary laugh out of you.

“All I need is you, (Y/N). In whatever way you can give me.”

And then, in a blur of movement, he crossed the room and wrapped you in his arms so tightly it knocked the air from your lungs.

“You stupid, beautiful idiot,” He whispered into your hair, voice shaking, “You think I’d ever stop loving you?”

You sobbed into his chest, gripping the back of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” He murmured, “I don’t care if you’re scared, or shy, or awkward—I. Don’t. Care. You’re mine, (Y/N). That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I just didn’t want to disappoint you.” You hiccuped.

“You couldn’t,” He said fiercely, “You never could.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face��his eyes were glassy, rimmed red, but so, so soft.

He cupped your cheek, kissed your forehead. Then your temple. Your cheek. Every inch he could reach without letting go.

“I love you,” He whispered, like a vow, “And I’m gonna keep loving you—no matter how long it takes you to believe me.”

“I—I love you too,” you whispered back, trembling.

And this time, you kissed him first—wrapping your arms around his neck and molding your lips to his, harder than ever before. Not because you felt like you had to, but because you missed him.

You missed him so much.

The stars above bore witness—not to an ending, but a return.

***

Bonus:

You stirred your cup of hot cocoa lazily, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you watched both groups of your friends awkwardly glance at one another. The kitchens were warm and buzzing with laughter, but a hint of tension from earlier still lingered in the air.

“Unbelievable,” You said, looking more upset than you were considering your eyes were still red and your cheeks were still blotchy, “Lying about a poor injured baby animal like that.”

Lila, ever the spokesperson, threw her hands up with an exasperated groan, “We’re sorry, (Y/N). But you were so depressed! It was horrible. We didn’t know what else to do.”

You raised a brow, grin deepening, “So you told the depressed girl to go to the only place in the castle with a balcony?”

The room went dead silent. Everyone exchanged panicked looks as the weight of that unintended implication sunk in.

Then—your laughter broke the silence, bright and sudden, echoing off the stone walls. The sound was so unexpected that they all visibly relaxed, joining in with nervous chuckles.

Mattheo, seated beside you, leaned in and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his voice quiet and steady. “Don’t talk like that,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin, “I don’t like hearing it.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard by the tenderness in his tone. His gaze was soft but serious, full of something fiercely protective.

A quiet warmth spread in your chest, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Okay,” You whispered, your smile softer now.

Across the table, Theo let out an exaggerated groan, “And now we have the pleasure of witnessing the tooth-rotting fluff. Again.”

“They’re adorable. Stop being mean,” Evangeline shot back, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

Theo perked up, undeterred, “Maybe I wouldn’t be so mean if I had some teeth-rotting sugar of my own.”

Evangeline looked genuinely disturbed, “I’d rather third-wheel their disgustingly cheesy romance, thanks.”

“Alright, alright,” Daisy cut in, raising her mug in a faux-toasting motion, “How about we all agree to be mildly happy for them and get back to celebrating the fact that they’re no longer moody shells of human beings.”

“Agreed,” Blaise added, lifting his own cup with mock solemnity, “For the greater good of us all.”

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo riddle fanfic

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alohajix · 2 days ago

Text

𝐍𝐨 𝐆𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

Description: friends don’t kiss like that… and they definitely don’t spend the night tangled up in each other, learning what it sounds like when years of tension finally snap. But here you are. In his bed. Breathless. Wrecked. His hands shaking on your skin like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And you both know—there’s no going back now.

Warnings: smut, pining, begging, creampie mention, friends to lovers, feelings finally surfacing.

Word count: 6,090.

author note: hopefully you’ll love this one; I had a writer’s block trying to finish this one up 🥺

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

***

It's the same Friday night ritual you've fallen into for years now—predictable in a way that should feel boring by now, but somehow never does. You don't remember when exactly it became your thing, but you know it started sometime after his last relationship went up in flames. Somewhere between his dry, sarcastic text—"bring snacks or don't bother showing up"—and the way he always leaves the door unlocked when he knows it's you coming over. You don't knock anymore. Haven't in ages. You just toe off your shoes by muscle memory, drop your bag on the little hook by the door he hung there for you a year ago, and slip into your usual spot on his couch like it's second nature. It is, really.

Tonight's no different. The air smells like leftover pizza and the two cheap beers you grabbed from his fridge on your way in. You're half-curled under one of his worn-out throw blankets, your legs stretched long across the couch, your bare feet pressing into his thigh like they always do. He doesn't even flinch when you do it anymore. Just rests his warm palm on your shin absentmindedly like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's reckless, really, how easy this all is. How dangerous it feels sometimes when he doesn't pull away.

The TV's playing something you've both seen a thousand times—something neither of you are really paying attention to. The real entertainment, like always, is the stupid conversation unraveling between sips of cheap beer and leftover takeout. He makes a joke about your taste in men, you roll your eyes and throw one right back at him. The back-and-forth feels sharper tonight though, like you're both playing closer to some invisible line neither of you have dared to cross. Not really.

You don't know what makes you say it. Maybe it's the second beer loosening your tongue, or maybe it's the way his laugh curls in your stomach when you throw your head back against the cushion and groan dramatically. You mock the high-pitched whine one of his exes once made you promise not to bring up again. You pitch your voice higher on purpose, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead in the most ridiculous overacting you can manage.

"Oh, Harry... oh my God... you're so—so loud—" you gasp, drawing the word out, clutching your chest like you're seconds away from fainting.

You expect him to laugh. That's how it always goes. You take the piss, he rolls his eyes, throws something back, and you both move on. But tonight... tonight he doesn't laugh.

Instead, he goes still. His palm on your shin tightens just a little—barely noticeable, really, if you weren't suddenly hyperaware of every inch of his skin touching yours.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, and for the first time all night, you swear the air between you crackles like something you shouldn't touch.

"You really wanna keep pushing, sweetheart?"

The words come out low. Thicker. Not playful like they should be.

And your mouth goes dry.

Because that's not the kind of thing he says to you. Not like that.

You blink, heart stuttering, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too tight. "What? I'm kidding. Relax."

But he doesn't.

He leans back a little, his arm curling casually along the back of the sofa like he's suddenly aware of how close you are, how easy it would be to pull you closer. His jaw flexes as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, like he's thinking too hard about something he shouldn't say.

And then he does.

"Maybe you should find out for yourself before you start laughing."

You freeze.

So does he.

The silence that falls between you isn't the usual kind—the one you fill with easy shrugs or dumb jokes. This one feels loaded. Heavy. Like you've both been balancing on this stupid little edge for so long you didn't even realize how close you'd gotten until you both looked down.

He swallows hard, flicking his gaze to your mouth and back up again so fast you almost think you imagined it.

You could laugh. You should laugh. That's how you survive this. You let it roll off your back, you change the subject, you make another joke and pretend you didn't hear it like that.

But you did. God, you did.

And something in your stomach twists.

Your voice comes out quieter than you mean for it to. Barely above a whisper. "What if I did?"

Harry's breath catches. You feel it more than hear it—right there where his palm is still pressed to your leg, fingers curling in slow motion like he's grounding himself. His mouth opens and closes again, like he's trying to figure out if you're fucking with him, if this is just another game.

You're not sure what kind of answer you're expecting—some dumb, cocky retort, maybe, or worse, a nervous laugh to remind you this is all one big misunderstanding. But when he finally speaks, it's nothing like that.

"Then you're gonna have to come over here and show me."

It knocks the air clean out of your lungs.

Because that's not a dare. Not a joke. Not something he can walk back if you say yes.

His hand slides a little higher on your shin, thumb dragging slow and steady like he's making sure you feel it. His gaze doesn't drop this time. Doesn't waver.

"C'mon, love. What's stoppin' you?"

You've never moved so slowly in your life. Shifting your weight, setting your half-finished beer down on the coffee table like you're moving underwater. Your heart's thundering so hard you're half-convinced he can hear it. You swing one leg over his lap, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of his hips until you're straddling him, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

And he's just... looking at you. Like you're the fucking answer to a question he didn't know he was allowed to ask.

"Hi," you whisper, suddenly breathless, nerves crashing over you in one dizzy wave.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh, but he doesn't. His hands find your waist, curling slow and careful, as if he's terrified you'll shift back and realize this is a mistake.

"Hey."

It's the softest thing you've ever heard from him. No edge, no teasing, just quiet and wrecked and right there between you like you've already passed the point of no return.

His thumb drags along your waist, and you swear you feel his hands tremble just a little.

"You gonna kiss me or what?" he whispers, voice cracking on the last word like it's killing him to hold back.

There's a second—just one—where the fear kicks in. Not the bad kind, not really. It's more the holy-shit-what-are-we-doing kind, the one that flickers right behind your ribs like a warning bell that's come a little too late. Because this is Harry. Your Harry. The one who steals your fries without asking and makes you playlists when you're having a bad day. The one who's held your hair back when you've had too much to drink, who's let you crash in his bed more times than you can count without ever once making it weird. He's always been safe. Uncomplicated. Yours in every way that didn't require you to risk everything by leaning in and closing the gap.

But now? Now his breath fans across your cheek, his hands tense on your waist like he's waiting for you to change your mind, and you know there's no coming back from this if you do it. No pressing rewind. No laugh-it-off in the morning.

And still—you lean in.

You don't even really kiss him at first. It's slower than that. Softer. Like you're both testing the weight of the moment, hovering close enough that you could pull back if you had to. You feel his breath catch when your nose brushes his, feel the tiniest tremor run through him when your fingers curl tighter in the worn fabric of his t-shirt. His lashes flutter against your cheekbone when you tilt your head, nudging your mouth toward his. And just when you start to wonder if he's going to make you do all of it—if he's going to sit there and let you chase the whole thing all the way down—he meets you halfway.

It starts careful. Almost clumsy with how long you've both tiptoed around this. His lips part slow, brushing yours once, twice, barely there. You almost pull back to say something stupid like "was that okay?" but then—God—he makes that sound.

Low in his throat, wrecked and quiet and so fucking real it short-circuits every rational thought you have left.

You melt.

The second time you kiss him, it isn't careful at all. You tilt your head, fingers sliding up into his curls like they've always wanted to, pulling him closer, chasing that sound like it's oxygen. He groans again, louder this time, and you feel him sink under you like his whole body's giving out.

"Fuck," he breathes, muffled between kisses, hands flexing tighter on your waist. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna ruin me."

The word baby snaps something loose in your chest, like you've just unlocked a part of him you never knew you were allowed to touch.

Your breath stumbles out in a shaky laugh, your lips brushing his as you gasp, "You really are loud."

He freezes for half a second like he's about to pull back, but you barely give him the chance. You roll your hips over his, testing the friction, chasing the heat, and it punches another groan right out of him—louder, needier this time.

"Yeah?" he pants, teeth scraping your jaw as he pulls you closer, rougher, like he's trying to fuse you to him. "You like that? Huh? Wanna keep mocking me, baby? Gonna let you hear it all fuckin' night if you let me."

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in his hair.

And God, you should stop. You should slow down, give yourself half a second to think this through, to figure out what the hell this means. But his mouth finds that spot under your ear that makes your whole body jolt, and suddenly you don't care about what tomorrow's going to feel like.

You rock against him again, chasing the pressure, the heat curling low in your belly. He hisses, dragging his hands up under your t-shirt like he's starving to touch you.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, voice cracking like he already knows you won't. "Tell me right fuckin' now if this isn't what you want."

But you don't. You can't. Not when you're already dizzy with it. Not when you've wanted this longer than you've let yourself admit.

So instead, you lean in again, brushing your mouth against his ear until you feel him shudder under you.

"I don't want you to stop."

His breath hitches, hands curling tighter like he's barely holding himself back.

"You sure?" he rasps, nose brushing along your jaw, voice so wrecked it makes your chest ache. "Tell me you mean it. Tell me this isn't just the fuckin' beer talking, baby, 'cause I swear to God—"

You pull back just enough to look at him. Really look at him.

He looks wrecked already. Like this is costing him. Like this has been sitting on the tip of his tongue for longer than you've even dared to hope.

And you swear something inside you snaps.

"It's not," you breathe, shaking your head as you cup his jaw in your hands. "Swear it's not."

He curses under his breath, dragging his hands down to your thighs like he's grounding himself, like he's trying to keep himself from breaking.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes screwed shut like it physically hurts to keep his hands from sliding under your shorts. "Need you to tell me what you want, baby. Please."

And it's there, on the tip of your tongue.

The thing you swore you'd never risk saying.

But it's too late now, isn't it? You've already crossed the line.

So you whisper it like a secret, like it's been sitting there in your chest for years.

"I want you."

It happens fast after that. Like the air finally snaps between you and there's no holding it back. One second you're still hovering, trembling with it, your hands on his jaw like you're terrified he's going to pull away—and the next, you feel him exhale the most broken sound you've ever heard from him, his grip tightening on your thighs like he's lost the battle with himself.

"Come here," he groans, breath hitching, voice barely holding together, and before you can even blink, he's dragging you closer—sitting up straighter, chest pressed to yours, his mouth finding yours again like he's starving.

This time, it's different. Hotter. Desperate. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no careful second-guessing. It's messy, frantic, like you've both finally stopped pretending this wasn't inevitable. His hands are everywhere—sliding up under your shirt, fingers dragging across your skin like he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You gasp into his mouth, shivering when his palms flatten against your back, pulling you flush to him, your thighs tightening around his waist instinctively like you can't stand even an inch of space between you.

You swear you feel him shudder under you, like you've knocked the breath clean out of him.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, dragging his mouth across your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck that make your whole body jolt. "Feel that? Feel what you fuckin' do to me?"

You do feel it—hard and hot between your legs, pressing up through your thin shorts—and the realization knocks every ounce of breath from your lungs. You roll your hips without thinking, grinding down with more pressure this time, and you feel him stiffen, hear the sharp curse tear from his throat.

His head falls back, curls brushing the back of the sofa, and you watch the muscles in his throat work as he swallows hard, jaw so tight you can see the effort it's taking him not to lose control right there.

"Jesus Christ, you're killin' me," he groans, one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "Tell me what you want, baby. Say it. Please."

You don't even hesitate. You can't. You're already shaking with it. Already soaked in it. Your voice comes out as more of a gasp than a whisper, breathless and messy against his jaw.

"Want you to touch me. Want you so bad it hurts."

The groan he lets out sounds like it physically knocks the breath out of him.

Before you can process it, he's moving. One strong arm sweeps under your thighs, the other curls tight around your back, and you let out a squeak of surprise when he stands, lifting you off the couch like you weigh nothing.

"Harry!" you gasp, clinging to him, laughing breathlessly as he stumbles toward the hallway.

"Shut up," he breathes against your neck, mouth dragging hot along your skin, "Not lettin' you go. Not now. Not ever."

You swear you feel your heart split in two right there.

By the time your back hits his mattress, you're trembling with it—skin buzzing, breath catching, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.

He doesn't move for a second, just hovers over you, curls falling into his eyes, his chest heaving like he's trying to memorize every inch of you before he ruins it.

"Tell me again," he rasps, voice cracking. "Please. Need to hear you say it's not just the beer talkin', baby."

You sit up on your elbows, heart swelling so painfully full it feels like it might burst, and reach for the hem of your shirt.

"It's not," you whisper as you pull it over your head and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed. You're trembling a little now, but you don't stop. You meet his eyes—wide, glassy, hungry—and you nod, slow and certain. "It's me. I swear."

His eyes drop to your bare skin, and he drags his hand through his curls like he can't fucking believe this is happening.

"Jesus," he breathes, crawling over you again on his forearms like he's scared to crush you. "You're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

You barely recognize the sound you make when he kisses you again—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, like your body is short-circuiting under his hands. You've kissed him before—drunken pecks on the cheek, playful lips pressed to his jaw when he made you laugh too hard—but never like this. Never with the weight of every line you've tiptoed around collapsing all at once between your bodies.

His hands are greedy now, trembling just slightly as they trail along your sides, slipping under the curve of your ribs like he's afraid to rush, like he wants to memorize every inch of skin he's never dared to touch. He dips his head, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, sucking softly at the base of your neck, and you swear your back arches off the bed all on its own.

"So fuckin' soft," he murmurs under his breath, voice low and rough and right against your skin like it's a prayer you weren't meant to hear. His hands slide higher, fingertips brushing the underside of your bra, hesitating just barely like he's giving you that last out.

You nod before he even asks.

"Please," you whisper, breath catching, "I want you to touch me."

He groans like you've wrecked him completely, leaning up just enough to tug the fabric over your head and toss it aside with your shirt. The moment your chest is bare to him, he just... stops. Stares. Like you're the first thing in his life that's ever left him speechless.

His palms come up slowly, reverently, cupping you like he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks too long. His thumbs brush over your nipples and your whole body jerks with the heat of it, breath spilling out in something dangerously close to a moan.

"Fuck me," he whispers, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, like he's trying to keep himself from coming undone too fast. "You're... fuck, you're unreal."

You can't stop yourself—you hook your legs tighter around his waist, grinding up into him again, desperate to feel all of him. His breath stutters, hips jerking like he can't help himself.

And then he's moving again, dragging his mouth down your body—slow, lingering kisses pressed to every inch of skin he can reach. Down your ribs, over your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts.

He looks up at you from there, lips pink and swollen, curls a mess, chest still heaving.

"Can I take these off, baby?" he asks, voice so thick and wrecked it makes your stomach clench. "Wanna see all of you. Need to."

You nod so fast it almost embarrasses you, lifting your hips for him without a second thought. He drags your shorts and underwear down slow, eyes never leaving yours as he bares you completely.

The air feels electric on your skin. Too much and not enough at the same time. You feel exposed, trembling, but the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters—makes you feel like you could fall apart right there and he'd hold every single piece.

He sucks in a sharp breath, dragging his hand through his hair again like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he whispers, voice cracking, like it's physically painful to hold back. "Can't believe I get to touch you."

You reach for him again, curling your fingers into his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he gets the message. He peels it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, and when his bare chest presses to yours, skin to skin, you swear you could die from how right it feels.

"Please, Harry," you breathe, burying your face in his neck, rocking your hips up again without thinking. "Need you so bad it hurts."

He shudders, dragging his mouth back to yours, kissing you slower this time—deeper, like he's trying to pour every unspoken word into you.

"Gonna take care of you, baby," he whispers between kisses. "Promise. Gonna make you feel so good."

And you believe him. God, you believe him with every shaking breath you take.

You barely register the way your breath shudders in your throat when his mouth finds yours again. It's slower now. Deeper. Less frantic, more certain—like every kiss is meant to make you feel it. Like he knows you already do. His weight settles a little heavier on top of you, hips sinking between your thighs, skin hot and slick where his chest presses to yours.

You can feel him—all of him—hard and thick, pressing right where you need him, just separated by the thin fabric of his boxers. The pressure makes your breath catch, makes your hips tilt up instinctively like you're chasing something you're both too far gone to slow down for.

He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding down your side to grip your thigh, pulling it higher up his waist like he needs to feel closer, needs to make sure you know how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice cracking as he drops his forehead to yours, hips rocking forward once—slow, steady—grinding into you just enough to make your whole body jolt. "Baby... I—"

He doesn't finish. Doesn't have to. You already feel him shaking above you, like he's holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

"Harry..." You can't even hear your own voice, breathless and wrecked, but you know he hears it by the way his grip tightens on your skin. "Need you. Please."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, wide green eyes flicking between yours like he's trying to memorize every single thing about you in this exact second.

"You sure?" he whispers, voice barely steady. "I don't—fuck—I don't wanna do this if you're not sure, baby."

You almost sob. "I've never been more sure of anything."

His face crumples like you've broken him, lips crashing onto yours again with so much force it steals every bit of air from your lungs. You feel his hand slide between you, pressing low over your stomach, slipping down until his fingers brush over the slick heat of you.

You let out a noise that sounds nothing like you—high and desperate, something you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't already too far gone to care.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, voice shaking like he's seconds from losing control. "You're so wet, baby. All for me, yeah?"

You nod frantically, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you roll your hips into his touch.

"All for you," you whisper back, voice cracking, "Please, Harry, just—please."

He shudders so hard you feel it in your bones, his breath spilling hot and shaky over your skin as his fingers slide through the mess between your legs, circling your clit so slow you could scream.

"Gonna take my time with you," he whispers, "Wanna feel you come on my fingers first. Wanna feel you fall apart for me."

And God, the way he says it—wrecked and hungry and like it's the only thing he's ever wanted—you don't think you've ever wanted anything more in your life.

You try to brace yourself. You know you should. But it's useless the second his fingers slip lower, dragging through your folds like he's already memorized every part of you. He's so gentle at first, so fucking careful, like he's afraid to hurt you or rush it. Like he's determined to make this the best thing you've ever felt.

Your body arches off the bed before you even realize you're moving, a broken moan catching in your throat when his fingers find that perfect spot again and again. It's slow, torturous, the way he circles your clit—light at first, just a tease, until your hips are chasing his touch, until you're gasping his name like you've forgotten how to say anything else.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, breath hot against your jaw as he keeps moving, building you higher with every slow stroke. "You're doin' so good for me. Sound so fuckin' pretty when you fall apart, you know that?"

You dig your nails into his shoulder, gripping him like he's the only thing keeping you from slipping under. You've never been this sensitive, never been this wound up, like every nerve in your body is buzzing under his touch.

You try to warn him—you really do. But the words die in your throat when he adds just a little more pressure, a little more speed, his mouth pressing hot kisses down your neck while his fingers work you open.

"C'mon, baby," he breathes, "Wanna feel you let go for me. Been dreamin' about this for fuckin' years, swear to God—"

You cry out, hips stuttering, body shaking as the pressure coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, crashing over you so hard it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

You feel yourself clench around his fingers, feel him groan right against your ear like he feels it too, like he's just as wrecked by it as you are.

You're still gasping, still trying to catch your breath, when he pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands. His lips are pink, swollen, his hair a complete mess. But it's his eyes that leave you breathless.

Wide. Shiny. Like you've just torn him to pieces and he doesn't know how to put himself back together.

"Baby," he whispers, voice breaking like it's too much, "Need to be inside you. Please. Please tell me you want that too."

You don't even hesitate. You reach for him, curling your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down until you feel him bare and hot and thick against your thigh.

You look up at him, heart in your throat, and whisper the only thing that's been sitting on your tongue since the moment this started: "I've always wanted you."

And you swear, in that split second before he sinks into you, he breaks all over again.

You feel him hesitate just for a breath—just long enough to make sure you don't change your mind. His forehead presses to yours, his nose brushing yours softly, like he's checking again without needing to ask out loud.

You slide your hands up his back, nails scraping lightly across his skin, and whisper the only thing you know will tip him over the edge.

"Please, Harry... I need you inside me."

The groan that rips out of him sounds almost pained. His fingers curl tighter around your waist, pulling your body up to meet him, and when you feel the thick head of him nudging at your entrance, you nearly stop breathing altogether.

He moves slow. So slow it's almost unbearable—like he's savoring every inch, dragging it out just to make you feel it. You gasp, clawing at his shoulders, your body stretching around him inch by inch until you're completely full, until there's no part of you that isn't pressed to him, surrounded by him.

"Fuck—" his voice cracks, shaking like he's seconds from losing it. "So fuckin' tight... Jesus Christ, baby, you feel... you feel like heaven."

You're trembling beneath him, breath stuttering out in little gasps you can't control. You feel stretched, full, claimed in a way that makes your head spin. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, grounding yourself against the overwhelming ache and pressure that feels like it's going to swallow you whole.

"Move," you gasp, hips tilting up to meet his, "Harry, please— need you to move."*

He groans again, low and wrecked, and finally—finally—he starts to move.

Slow at first. Barely pulling back before pressing right back in, hips rocking steady, grinding deep like he's tasting you from the inside. You cry out, biting your lip to muffle the sound, but he shakes his head, catching your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

"No," he pants, voice thick and ruined, "Let me hear you. Don't fuckin' hold back, baby. Want everyone to know how good I'm makin' you feel."

You let go of the breath you've been holding, head tipping back as a moan rips from your throat, loud and broken and real. His hips snap a little harder, a little faster, and the sound of it—skin on skin, your name falling from his lips like it's the only thing he knows how to say—makes you feel like you're coming undone all over again.

He presses his mouth to your ear, breath hot and shaking as he fucks into you harder, deeper, each stroke dragging a wrecked little whimper from your lips.

"Tell me this is mine now," he growls, voice pure filth in your ear. "Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this, baby. Ever again."

You can't think, can't breathe, can barely get the words out between gasps.

"It's yours," you choke out, clinging to him like your life depends on it. "Only you, Harry. Fuck—only you."

You don't know how he manages to keep it together. You're falling apart with every slow, deep thrust—clutching at him like you'll float away if you don't anchor yourself to his body. He's everywhere. Filling you, surrounding you, breathing you in like you're the only thing keeping him alive.

His hands frame your face like he needs to feel all of you to believe this is real. His thumbs swipe at the damp skin under your eyes, like he's trying to catch the little gasps and wrecked sounds falling from your lips. His mouth finds your jaw, your throat, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your skin as he groans, low and breathless.

"You feel so fuckin' good," he pants, hips rocking harder now, the bed creaking with every deep push. "Could stay right here all fuckin' night, baby. Stuffed full of me... takin' every inch so good... fuck— look at you."*

His voice hits something deep in you—something raw and helpless—and your back arches off the bed like your body's chasing every word.

"You're killin' me," you gasp, barely able to hold yourself together. "Harry— please—* harder, I—fuck, I need—"*

You don't even finish. He growls, actually growls into your neck, like you've snapped whatever restraint he had left. He pulls back, grabs your hips, and slams back into you, so deep and rough you choke on a cry you can't hold in.

"Like that?" he rasps, voice shaking as his hips piston faster now, driving into you like he's making up for every second you both wasted pretending you didn't want this. "S'that what you fuckin' need, baby? You need me to ruin you properly, huh?"

You nod, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes—not from pain, not even from pleasure—but from the way he's looking at you like you're his entire fucking world.

"Yes," you whimper, breath catching on a sob you didn't know was there. "Please— ruin me—* all yours—* always—"

He groans again, shaking above you, forehead pressed to yours like he's trying to climb inside your skin. His breath fans hot across your mouth as he slows just a little, grinding deep again, hips rocking in filthy little circles that make your whole body lock up.

"That's it," he pants, "Let me feel you again, baby. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Can you do that for me? Huh? Wanna hear you fall apart one more time."

You can barely nod, already so close you could taste it. You grab at his back, wrapping your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, faster, until you can't even think anymore.

"Harry— I—* fuck—* I'm gonna—"*

He doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He keeps fucking you steady and deep, his hand sliding between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing fast messy circles that destroy you.

You come hard, stars bursting behind your eyes, your whole body locking up under him as you cry out his name loud enough to echo through the room.

You hear him groan so deep it's almost a snarl, feel him jerk, hips snapping faster now, losing his rhythm like he's chasing his own release.

"Where— fuck—* where do you want me, baby? Tell me—* fuck—"

Your head spins. Your body's still shaking, still buzzing, but you manage to drag him down, mouth at his ear, whispering the filthiest thing you've ever said in your life.

"Want you inside me... fill me up, Harry... please— want all of you."

He loses it. Full-body shuddering, hands gripping your hips so tight you'll probably bruise, burying himself deep with a wrecked cry as he comes inside you, hips rocking through every last pulse of it until he finally collapses on top of you, shaking and breathless.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

His body is heavy on top of you, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around him tighter, as if letting go might shatter whatever spell has just woven itself between your ribs. His breath fans hot and uneven across your neck, every exhale trembling like he's still coming down from it—like he doesn't quite know how to land.

You feel him shift slightly, just enough to brace his weight on his elbows again, careful not to crush you. His nose brushes yours as he pulls back to look at you, curls sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. You've never seen him like this before. Wrecked. Fragile. Wide-eyed and terrified in the best possible way.

He blinks, searching your face like he's waiting for you to wake up and realize this was a mistake.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, so quiet you almost don't hear it.

Your throat tightens. You reach up, cupping his jaw with both hands, pulling him closer until your lips brush softly over his.

"I've never been better," you breathe. "Promise."

You feel him sigh, like you've just cut every string holding him together. His forehead presses to yours again, eyes squeezing shut like he doesn't know how to say what he needs to say without falling apart.

"I—" His voice cracks. He pulls in a shaking breath. "I don't wanna ruin this. Don't wanna fuck this up."

Your heart breaks a little at how scared he sounds. Like you could somehow forget what just happened. Like you haven't already fallen so far there's no way back.

You trace your thumb along his jaw, tilting his face until he's looking at you again.

"You couldn't ruin this if you tried," you whisper. "I'm yours, Harry. I've been yours for so fucking long."

He lets out the softest sound—somewhere between a breath and a laugh—and leans in to kiss you again. This one's slower, softer. No heat, no urgency. Just yours. Just his.

You don't know how long you lie there tangled together, skin sticky, hearts pounding in sync. Long enough for the air to shift. Long enough for the weight of it all to settle over you both in the best kind of way.

When he finally rolls to his side, pulling you with him, tucking you into his chest like you belong there, you hear him murmur against your hair:

"You're not leavin' me after this, yeah?"

You smile, nose brushing his throat as you snuggle closer.

"Not a chance."

And you swear you feel him smile against your skin, arms tightening around you like he's never letting go.

Not tonight. Not ever.

***

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sophrosyncc · 3 days ago

Text

— can't stop thinking of you !

warnings/tags : SFW, yearning, gender-neutral reader, 3.2 exploration spoilers (memory fragment)

author's note : was feeling very romantic so I quickly whipped up something for our amphoreus professor. huge thanks to my pillow who helped me imagine the scenes better

art credits : official commission from honkai: star rail by the artist luminos!

word count : 652

when you called anaxa dear for the first time, you didn't even notice how naturally it slipped out of your tongue.

it was another night of lounging in his private laboratory, relaxing on the couch he recently moved there to host guests, a weak excuse to hide that it was only for you. the two of you were far too used to this routine, staying in each other's personal spaces like it was second nature, drawn to his presence like he was with you.

magnets. a word hyacine often used to describe the two of you.

you think it fits well.

"so, who was chasing you this time?" you question, threading your fingers through his hair. it brought a feeling of contentment to see anaxa relax on your lap. a rare moment of peace in his hectic and fast-paced life, a direct contrast to yours. "fools? guards from the council of elders?"

the sage and founder of the nousporists wasn't someone the majority would consider normal. a heretic, fool, blasphemous scholar— these were all variations of multiple titles the public call him. even his most dedicated students couldn't keep up with every bad mouthed nickname bestowed upon their professor.

ten? fifty? one hundred?

none of you knew the answer to that, including the man himself. someone who didn't even care about such trivial matters in the first place.

anaxa sighs. "fools," he dryly replies, tilting his head to further lean into your touch. you resist the urge to coo or compare him to a cat silently asking for more affection. "they wanted to publicly execute me this time. I had to bring my lecture to dawncloud instead."

"dawncloud?" your eyebrows raise in surprise.

that was very far from the grove of epiphany. too far. it would take a day to get there on foot.

the place was all the way in okhema where aglaea and castorice were stationed, constantly monitored by the golden threads he disliked so much. not to mention, a good amount of people there openly shared their distaste about him. how much of a disturbance were they that even his 'teaching tool' couldn't scare them off?

without knowing it, you stop rubbing his scalp, lost in thought.

anaxa opens his eye. he peers up at you questioningly, wondering why you suddenly stopped. until he sees that familiar dip between your eyebrows, lips pursed into a thin line, a tinge of barely hidden concern written all over your face.

he nudges your hand with his head.

you don't budge.

he tries it again.

nothing happens.

a quiet grumble leaves his lips.

"why did you stop?" he finally asks, snapping you out of your own bubble of thought. "there's no need to worry about me. the chances of ica reaching apotheosis are far more greater than the success of their threats."

you blink.

hyacine's pegasus turning into a titan?

with a soft laugh, you continue combing his hair. "...that's ridiculous."

"it worked, didn't it?" anaxa smoothly responds. he inclines his head back, sighing as your fingers make their way down to his nape, lightly scratching his skin. even with his eyepatch covering half of his face, you could see the slightest of smiles from the corner of his lip.

for all the nonchalance he seemed to carry with him in front of other people, he didn't hesitate to lower his guard around you.

the same feeling of warmth settled in your chest again, content to stay like this forever.

you lean down. pressing your forehead against his, breathing in the familiar smell that belonged to him, you whisper. "thank you, dear."

he pauses, followed by a sharp exhale. "...it's nothing."

pulling away, you take the time in the peaceful moment to admire him. when you brush the strands of hair away from his forehead to get a clearer view, your heart skips a beat at the sight.

his ears were red.

#sophrosyncc's writing !#anaxa x reader #anaxagoras x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #gender-neutral reader

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c4shm0neyxxx · 2 days ago

Text

“The Quiet Between Us”

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, slow-burn comfort

⸻

The wind was crisp today—cool enough to make you shiver despite the faint sunlight filtering through the trees in Yeongdeungpo Park. You tugged your sleeves over your hands and glanced beside you.

Yeon Si-eun was sitting on the park bench, back straight, hands resting neatly on his knees. His expression was neutral as always—guarded, distant—but you could tell he was relaxed in his own way. The gentle sway of his leg and the way he let out a soft breath every now and then told you more than his face ever did.

“You’re cold,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You blinked. “What gave it away? My chattering teeth?”

His gaze flickered to you—dry, deadpan.

“You’re not that subtle,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “You could offer me your jacket, you know. Like a proper gentleman.”

“I would,” he said without missing a beat, “but you’d probably drown in it.”

That made you laugh, and you didn’t miss the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. You loved that—you loved the way he didn’t smile often, but when he did, it felt like you’d uncovered something rare. You didn’t need big gestures with Si-eun. His presence, his quiet concern, was enough.

“You always come out here when you’re thinking,” you said, watching the small pond across from the bench. Ducks floated lazily, undisturbed by the cold.

“It’s quiet here.”

“You don’t like quiet?”

“No, I like it,” he said, turning his head slightly to look at you. “But when I’m with you, the quiet feels different.”

Your heart stuttered.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to say things like that. He wasn’t the type to offer compliments or be affectionate without reason. But every now and then, he dropped these quiet, thoughtful lines that left you breathless.

“Different how?” you asked softly.

Si-eun looked away, watching the leaves dance in the breeze. His brows drew together—not in irritation, just contemplation. You’d come to recognize the subtle shifts in his expressions.

“It’s not heavy,” he finally said. “Silence is usually… pressure. But with you, it’s not.”

You didn’t speak for a while, afraid that anything you said might shatter the moment. You simply leaned your shoulder into his, your touch light but intentional. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move away.

He let you stay there.

That was enough.

⸻

You and Si-eun weren’t dating—at least, not officially. You weren’t even sure what you were. Friends, maybe. Companions. Something suspended in that space between understanding and unspoken affection.

But days like this made you feel like you didn’t need a label.

“You know,” you said after a while, watching a kid try to feed bread to a pigeon twice his size, “most people wouldn’t pick a cold bench over their warm beds on a weekend.”

He shrugged. “Most people aren’t me.”

“Mm, true. But most people aren’t this pretty, either.”

That made him pause.

“Pretty?”

“You know you are,” you teased. “If you ever wanted to stop beating people up, you could just model for skincare brands. You’ve got that ‘stone-cold beauty�� thing going for you.”

He gave you a flat look, but his ears were pink. That was enough for you to claim victory.

“You’re weird,” he said quietly.

“So are you.”

There was a pause. He was still looking at you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long to be casual.

“That’s why I don’t mind being around you,” he murmured.

You were pretty sure your heart forgot how to beat for a second.

⸻

Later, the two of you wandered the nearby streets, your footsteps naturally falling in rhythm. Si-eun didn’t talk much, but his presence filled the space in other ways. You always noticed the little things—how he walked on the side closest to the road, how his eyes subtly scanned your surroundings, how he slowed his steps if you fell behind.

There was comfort in that. In knowing that he cared in ways that didn’t need to be said aloud.

You stopped in front of a small convenience store.

“Want hot chocolate?” you asked.

He nodded once. You ducked inside, grabbing two cans of warm cocoa from the heated shelf. When you came back out, he was leaning against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, face turned up slightly to the sky like he was trying to read something in the clouds.

You handed him one can.

“Thanks,” he said, fingers brushing yours as he took it.

The contact made you warm in a way the drink couldn’t.

You both stood there for a moment, sipping cocoa in silence.

“I used to do this alone,” he said suddenly.

You looked at him.

“Come out on weekends. Watch people. Drink hot chocolate.”

You smiled. “Sounds lonely.”

“It was.”

His eyes met yours. There was something unguarded in his gaze, a softness that didn’t come often.

“It’s not anymore,” he said.

#weak hero class 1 x reader #fluff #yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #weak hero class two #weak hero class 1

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lolxdswag123 · 2 days ago

Text

Talk it Out.

Bucky Barnes x ex-avengers!Reader & Bob Reynolds x platonic!reader

a/n: had to make my contribution

Warnings: mature themes, suggestive language, mentions of grief, John Walker, slight angst, fluffyyy

I finished my jog around the track, concluding my morning training. I took a towel to wipe the sweat off my face before standing to exit the gym.

"Done already?" Walker calls out from the other side of the gym.

"Shut up, Walker," I call back, rolling my eyes. As if I need more training.

I've been living with the 'New Avengers' group now for a couple months. Before, I had vowed to work alone for the rest of my life after Thanos... and yet within seconds of my old friend Bucky Barnes calling me, I was in the car and heading to live in this tower again. It didn't feel the same as when it was the Avengers tower. I knew it never would.

Bucky has been my best friend and confidant ever since we turned into dust together, then immediately after- lost our friends together. It had been a miserable period of time, and I thought that he would never come back to the Avengers life after what we had been through. The day I saw him on the news with this group of misfits, calling themselves the 'New Avengers', I nearly threw up on my shoes.

It was a couple weeks after that when he to ask me to live with them. He knew how hard it would be for me- for both of us- to move back into that tower and call it home again. It had too many memories, too many ghosts. And yet, he was still my safe place after all this time.

That's how I ended up dealing with the outrageous flirting and taunting from John Walker every. single. day.

"Walker, worry about your own training. Your form is sloppy," I heard a voice approaching from behind me, interrupting my glaring match with Walker.

I turned to lock eyes with Bucky, who wore an irritated look on his face. He wore a tight fitting black t-shirt and sweatpants. I nearly had to catch my breath as he entered the room. His hair hung over his face and he smelled like a dream. He nodded to me, then shot a look back at Walker as he entered the gym.

"You heading out, doll?" Bucky asked quietly in my direction.

I immediately felt a swarm of butterflies attacking the lining of my stomach, as I always did when he addressed me by this name. I swore sometimes he said it just to mess with my head. He knew exactly how it made me feel.

I nodded hastily, "Yeah, I'm tired today."

He sighed, scanning my face with skepticism, "Alright, I think someone was making breakfast. You should eat."

I pursed my lips, turning back to the exit and starting to leave, "Got it, thanks."

I knew better now than to mistake his concern for any feelings beyond friendship. I had been very forward with the man on multiple occasions- and he has shown no reciprocation of feelings. It was my mistake to think that our bond was anything other than shared trauma and a casual friendship, but to him, that was all it seemed to be.

As I headed up to the kitchen, I could smell a faint scent of something burning. Bob must have been cooking again. I shook my head and laughed, wondering why nobody has taught him to cook by now.

"Bob?" I called as soon as I stepped into the kitchen, searching for my other teammates.

"H-hi," he stuttered, scrambling to rinse a smoking pan in the sink.

I walked over to the counter, seeing a plate of burnt eggs and bacon sitting next to the stove. "Everything okay?" I asked, walking around the counter to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

"Just b-burnt the food again," Bob said shyly, red slowly creeping up his neck. I shrugged, closing the fridge and turning to face him. He gave up on the smoking pan and shrugged bashfully.

"Is that for everyone?" I asked, pointing at the plate of burnt food.

He nodded dejectedly.

"I like it better burnt anyway," I shrugged, walking over to grab a piece of bacon. I could see his eyes brighten just a fraction of the way out of the side of my vision as I ate the bacon.

When I first met Bob, I had no idea that he was the one responsible for the whole 'New York City Void Incident.' He was too soft, too gentle- always trying to help everyone as much as he could.

I had been living in the tower again for three days, and had already met the rest of the team. After a particularly rough nightmare, I had awoken and decided to head to the living room to get a glass of water. My nightmares had started getting worse again after the Void Incident. They hadn't been that bad since after everything went down with Thanos.

After we lost Tony, Steve, and Nat, I struggled a lot. So did Bucky. We stayed together at Sam's for a few weeks, trying to put the pieces of our lives back together. Every night I woke up from a nightmare, I ended up in Bucky's room. He would hold my hand and tell me happy stories until I fell asleep. At that time, I realized that I would do anything for him, and that I wanted to always be around him. It hurt when we moved back to our respective homes and stopped spending this time together, and it hurt even more when I found out from Sam that he was on dating apps just days after.

I was confused, and so lost. Since then, nothing has been the same.

I startled when I heard movement from behind me, and was one millisecond away from throwing a kitchen knife at the intruder before I heard Bob speak.

"W-wait, it's just me," I heard the voice say and quickly turned to face him. He looked sweet, and innocent. The man in front of me was dressed in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and an oversized long sleeved shirt. He looked adorable.

I kept the knife in my hand, but instantly knew that he would be no threat, "Who are you?" I asked, still observing him.

"Um, I'm Bob," The man said, tugging at the end of one of his sleeves. "Ar-are you Bucky's girl?" he asked, looking nervously at the knife.

"You're Bob?" I asked, subconsciously allowing my shock to seep into my words as I gently set the knife down on the counter. He nodded quickly, avoiding eye contact.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Bob," I said, extending a hand for him to shake. He looked nervously at it- like I might change my mind and punch him instead.

"I'm Y/N," I said, still holding my hand out for him, "And no... Not Bucky's girl, but he did ask me to come live here with everyone..."

Bob reached out, taking my hand and shaking it gently. He sighed quietly when he pulled away- almost as if he was relieved that I had ultimately decided not to punch him. I took a step back, grabbing my water again, taking a sip before speaking again.

"What are you doing up so late?"

He shrugged, looking away, "This is th-the only time I get any peace and quiet..."

I nodded, "I understand, it seems chaotic around here."

He takes a shake breath in, but nods in silent agreement. "What about you?" he asks quietly, before quickly adding, "I-I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just haven't seen you up this late before."

I let a breath escape my lips, shaking my head, "It's okay... I just get nightmares sometimes. Didn't want to go back to sleep."

Bob nodded, seeming to understand. "Well... I wouldn't mind some company. I-I mean, if you feel like staying out here with me. If not, that's okay too."

I let a smile trace my lips, and began walking over to the couch. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Since that night, Bob has been nothing but a shy ball of sunshine in my life. When I get nightmares, we spend the nights sitting in the living room, talking about anything and everything until the sun starts to rise. I help him with training, and he makes sure I don't fall asleep in team meetings. None of the team knew how we got so close, but they didn't ask. They seem to respect Bob's boundaries more than anyone else's. Well, everyone except for Walker.

After breakfast, I headed back to my room to take a long shower and call Pepper. It was early afternoon before I ended up in the living room again.

"Well look who decided to join us," I heard as soon as I entered the room. I looked up and meet eyes with Walker, of course. Dude doesn't know how to mind his own business.

I rolled my eyes, taking my seat on the couch next to Bob. He nodded shyly at me, and gave a gentle smile which I returned.

"You okay?" I asked quietly enough so that nobody else would hear.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, looking at me with concern, "Are you? I know you didn't s-sleep much last night."

I smiled gently at him, appreciating his care for me, and patted the back of his hand with mine, "I'm okay," I whispered.

We sat there, studying each other with a careful affection, before an agitating voice broke our peace.

"Wow, didn't see that coming," Walker announced, a pointed gaze resting over Bob and myself.

"Wh-what?" Bob asks defensively.

"You two," Walker shrugged like it was common sense.

"What do you mean?" I asked sharply, wanting to protect Bob from any taunts I suspected Walker was preparing to throw at us.

Walker opened his mouth with an antagonizing smirk, but was hastily cut off by a voice in the kitchen.

"Lay off, Walker."

I whipped my head around to see if it was really him who spoke, but quickly turned back again as I felt a blush cover my cheeks. Bucky was grabbing food from the pantry, not even looking in our direction when he chimed in, but I still felt a twist in my gut at the situation. His hair was wet– he must’ve just showered– and he was in a red long sleeve shirt and grey sweatpants. My face was steaming. It wasn't that I was embarrassed– because I definitely wasn't embarrassed. He was the one who distanced from me. I wasn't doing anything wrong by finding comfort in another person.

What bothered me was how he was defending the fact that I might be with someone else. Not bothered by it in the slightest, but defending it. Bob seemed to sense my discomfort and took my hand in his gently, squeezing to let me know that he could tell something was bothering me. My heart swelled.

"But- see- this is what I'm talking about," Walker continued, now pointing to our hands.

I could see Bucky approaching the living room out of the corner of my eye and tensed. He made quick eye contact with me, trying to read my expression before glancing quickly down at our hands. I wasn't sure, but I swore I could almost see his right eyebrow raise just a tiny bit.

He pursed his lips and turned back to Walker, "I said. Lay. Off."

Walker rolled his eyes, but was clearly intimidated by Bucky's tone as he decided to shut up after that.

I had never outwardly mentioned my feelings for Bucky to Bob before, but I had a feeling he might’ve figured it out on his own. After getting so close with him, I quickly learned that he is always analyzing the people around him. He knows a lot more about the team than probably anyone else– except for me. I get the honor of listening to all of his observations in the late hours we spend together.

With the look Bob gave me as Bucky sat on the couch opposite to us, I immediately could tell that he had it figured out. He gave me a questioning look– almost imperceptible– if I hadn’t been paying close attention. I nodded in response, to which he gave me a shy smile back. He knew. Of course he did.

Bucky’s gaze returned to us, and I could see his eyes flicker again between us, then down to our joined hands. He turned his head away from us and began watching some old movie that Alexei put on. I don’t know why I thought he would care after all this time. I should have gotten used to the fact that he had been keeping me at an arm’s distance for months now, but my heart must not have gotten the memo. I shook my head, attempting to clear my mind of the disappointment before it started to show.

Alexei laughed at a scene in the movie, then announced, “We should do a movie night tonight. Team bonding or whatever the Winter Soldier is always talking to us about. Yes?”

Yelena sighed from the opposite side of the living room, rolling her eyes, “Dad, no one wants to have a movie night. Especially if you make us watch with Russian subtitles again.”

“I’m with Alexei on this one,” Bucky said, “We need to continue to learn how to coexist together– as a team. It’ll make it easier for us to coexist on the battlefield.”

“The battlefield?” Walker says with a scoff, “Dude thinks he’s still in World War II.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shooting a sharp look at Walker before saying, “You know what I meant, dipshit.”

I decided to pitch into the conversation, having a brief memory of a similar conversation years ago. “No, no. He’s right. We used to do these stupid team bonding exercises back in the day with the team–” I paused for a second, trying to void my voice of the thick emotions I felt as I spoke. The memories of the special time we spent together before our fight with Thanos never failed to choke me up. I missed them. I missed the old me.

Before I could continue, Bucky took over, “See? And that helped us coordinate better together when we fought– right doll?”

I nodded, and felt a light squeeze on my hand as Bob looked at me encouragingly. “Right,” I managed to get out, “Right. It helped a lot.”

Bucky met my eyes briefly with an understanding expression, then glanced back at Bob and raised his eyebrows at me, asking a silent question. I turned my head.

Yelena stood, stretching her arms out and announced, “I will go get Ava to tell her we are watching a movie.” Everyone nodded or grumbled in acknowledgment as she exited the room.

After Yelena returned with Ava, it was a quiet, relaxing night. We watched ‘Red Dawn’ by suggestion of Alexei, of course, but it wasn’t too bad. I started nodding off about halfway through, feeling the weight of my lack of sleep starting to push through the surface. I leaned onto Bob’s shoulder and closed my eyes.

“You okay?” I heard him whisper in my ear a couple minutes later.

I nodded, too tired to speak.

“H-he keeps looking over here,” he whispered, and I blinked my eyes open to see what he was talking about. Straight in front of me, Bucky was staring right at us. When we made eye contact he pursed his lips, and I could see his eyebrows pinching together in the light from the TV. He shook his head lightly and turned back his attention to the movie.

I dozed off again, and when I woke up the credits were rolling. The only people left in the living room were myself, Bob— who looked like he could fall asleep himself— Alexei, and Bucky.

I sat up from where I had been leaning on Bob and stretched, getting ready to head to bed myself.

“Y-you going to bed?” Bob asked, sitting up to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

I reached out to his hand, gave it a squeeze and nodded, “Might be back out here in a few hours, though.”

Bob smiled gently, nodding and waved goodnight to me.

“Goodnight, Bucky.” I said, “Night Alexei, see you both tomorrow,” I waved to them, starting to exit the room.

As soon as I entered the elevator my heart stopped as I heard a, “Hey, wait up,” coming from outside. Of course. A metal hand stopped the doors from closing as Bucky entered the elevator with me.

“I’m turning in, too,” he said, yawning.

I nodded, not letting myself speak.

“You like the movie?” He asked casually, turning to face me. I stayed facing the elevator doors.

I shrugged, “I kind of fell asleep… so I missed most of it.”

I could see him nodding in the corner of my eye. “Yeah…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

The elevator dinged, the doors opening as we reached our floor. I was the first to exit.

“Well, goodnight, Bucky.” I said, already walking toward my room.

I felt a cold grip on my hand, and was pulled back from my quick steps.

“Hang on,” he said softly, looking down at me, running his flesh hand over his face. He said nothing.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to ignore the feelings that were overtaking me from the moment he stepped into the elevator.

He shuffled, letting go of my hand, and nodded to my door, “Can we talk?”

I sighed, considering what it would feel like to have him in my room, at this hour, talking alone. I shuddered, but nodded, opening the door to my bedroom. He followed me in.

I closed the door behind us, staring up at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

“Let’s sit down,” he said, strolling over to my bedroom and taking a seat. I joined him.

“What’s up?” I asked again, kicking off my shoes and avoiding eye contact. I knew as soon as I looked into those steel blue eyes that I would be a goner.

He sighed, and took my hand in his, instantly rubbing circles on the back of it. “Look at me,” he breathed. I hesitated, taking a deep breath to compose myself.

“Doll…” he said. I looked up.

As soon as we made eye contact I could see a sadness behind his eyes. One that made me feel guilty, for some reason. Guilty that I hadn’t noticed before— guilty that I hadn’t taken care of him. But then I remembered— we don’t do that anymore.

“Hey,” he said, sensing that I’d started to lose focus, “Are you okay?” He asked gently, still rubbing circles on the back of my hand.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, “I’m fine. Sorry, just tired.”

He nodded, taking a breath and running his metal hand through his hair. “I know, you haven’t slept much at all lately. But that’s not what I meant.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, completely taken aback by his statement. I didn’t think anyone in the tower was aware of my arrangement with Bob, especially not him.

He ignored my question. “What I meant was— are you okay after tonight? I know you were thinking of them. I was too. I just had to check on you, doll.”

There it was again. His tender words and actions had me falling deeply— madly— but I pushed those feelings down. I couldn’t deal with them tonight. Not again.

“I’m fine. Thanks for checking,” I said, almost believing my own lie. I seemed to be the only one.

Bucky sighed again, scooting closer to me. He slowly reached up with his metal hand, brushing a hair out of my face as he examined my expression. I shivered at the cold touch, but held eye contact.

“Okay,” he resigned, “Okay…” he pulled his hand out of mine, moving further away from me and I instantly felt more on edge. I frowned, looking back down at his hands. The hands that I used to hold to fall asleep, as he whispered happy thoughts in my ear. The hands that I always wished would do more than just hold my own, but never did.

He shifted, and I could sense a change in his demeanor before he spoke again, “I wasn’t going to ask… but after today, I just want to know. I can keep Walker off your back, I just want you to tell me the truth. Are you and Bob together?”

His voice sounded tight when he said it. It warmed my heart that he is still looking out for me, but for all of the wrong reasons.

I shrugged, already on edge, “That isn’t any of your business.”

He rolled his eyes, visibly getting irritated, “Come on, doll. You know you can tell me. What happened? It’s like you put a wall up and you won’t let me through anymore.”

I felt something snap inside me, “You put the wall up, Buck. You moved away. You are the one who stopped answering my calls. You are the one who left. Not me. So yeah, it’s none of your business who I might be seeing.”

He sighed, standing up from the bed and throwing his arms to his sides, “So you are seeing him?”

I stood up in front of him, raising my voice slightly, but keeping it low enough to not wake the others. “No, Bucky. I’m not seeing him. He’s just been the only person who’s been there for me. That should’ve been you, but you left.”

Bucky’s face fell, his eyes reflecting that deep sadness that they held earlier. “Sweetheart, will you just relax?”

I shook my head, looking away, trying to blink away the hot tears that were burning in my eyes. He took a step toward me, slowly extending an arm. His hand met my cheek, gently, and he turned my face to look at his own. When he saw the tears in my eyes his shoulders sagged. He took a step back and sat on the bed with his shoulders on his knees, and his palms rubbing his head.

“I’m sorry, doll. I didn’t know.” He said, looking at the floor. I didn’t trust myself to speak, so instead just shook my head.

“Sweetheart, please. Will you come here so I can apologize properly?” He asked softly, extending one of his hands to me. I hesitantly took it and sat on the bed, a few feet away from him.

He held my hand and looked into my eyes. “I’m sorry, doll. I had no idea. All this time— all this time I thought you had moved on. I saw you with Bob one of your first nights here. I thought you and him were… well— it doesn’t matter. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

I stared at him, unsure of what to say. It was weird— having a conversation like this with him after so long. It felt nice. It felt refreshing, like I’d been away for months and I was finally coming home— but I didn’t say that.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky said, taking my other hand in his metal one, looking down at them sadly, “When I was distant… I wasn’t trying to be. It was such a weird time. I was so caught up with the Valentina bullshit… then I had to save all of their asses,” he cocked his head to the side, gesturing to the other bedrooms. I let out a small laugh, and I saw his eyes soften for just a millisecond.

He squeezed my hands, looking deeply into my eyes, “Doll, you know I would’ve been with you every day if I could’ve… that’s why I asked you to move in here with me. I thought things were going to be—“ he paused, looking back down at our hands, before starting again, “I thought we were going to be like how we were. Then I saw you with Bob… and gosh, sweetheart, I just wanted you to be happy. It broke my heart but I just wanted you to be happy…”

I closed my eyes, feeling incredibly stupid. I breathed out a long breath, before I trusted myself to speak.

“Buck…” my voice came out small, but steady, “I didn’t know. I wish you would’ve came to me after you saw that…” I paused, getting my thoughts together as I shifted my weight on the mattress.

“But…” I continued, “You could’ve called. You could’ve just filled me in on your life— instead of shutting me out— instead of making me feel so alone.”

He inched forward, reaching out to cup my face so that I looked right into his eyes. He looked so devastated and I was starting to crack— slowly— one piece of me falling right back into his arms at a time.

“Doll, I wish you knew how much I wanted to. Really…” he shook his head, “After I left, I started focusing on work. I was trying to save up— I wanted to—“ he stopped, sighing out, “Oh, doll, I was trying to get us a place… then I found out we were moving into the tower… you were the first call I made.”

I was speechless. I was standing there like a fish, opening and closing my mouth— a million things that I wanted to say— but none of them seeming right.

“So…” I said, unsure of what would come out of my mouth next. “You… you wanted…” I trailed off, too overwhelmed with this information.

“I wanted you to move in with me,” Bucky finished for me, “When I asked you to move into the tower— of course I wanted you to join the team— but most importantly I wanted you to move in with me. To be…”

He looked straight into my eyes when he said the last part. “To be mine, doll. That’s what I wanted.”

I melted in his hands, completely wrecked by his confession. Finally, after all of this time, I allowed my gaze to flicker between his eyes and his lips. Without saying a word out loud he nodded, pulling me in.

Our lips met softly, but I quickly pulled away, shaking my head again. “N-no,” I choked out, “but… but what about the dating apps? Sam told me you joined them right after you moved out. Right after everything happened with us.”

Bucky leaned back, sighing and rolling his eyes. He looked at me and said, “Sam orchestrated all of that. I didn’t— I didn’t know if you wanted me to tell him about us— Doll, I didn’t even know if there was an us yet,” he sighed again, rubbing a palm to his forehead, “I never used them, just downloaded them to shut him up. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know you knew about that.”

I nodded, breathing out shakily. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Bucky breathed, reaching out to my hand with his own, “So what are you thinking?”

I paused for a second, before letting out a breathy laugh, “That I need to talk to Bob.”

His expression turned confused, then hurt, so I quickly said, “He is the only one who knew about my feelings for you. And— he’s kind of my best friend. I need to fill him in on everything.”

Bucky nodded, sighing again and stood up from my bed, letting go of my hand. “I’m glad we had that talk. It was long overdue.”

“I agree, very long overdue,” I replied, nodding.

He smiled down at me, pausing for a moment, then shifted, “Alright, I’ll let you get to bed, doll. You need the sleep.”

I nodded, looking back up at him. He slowly leaned down, carefully taking my face in his hands and placed a soft kiss on my forehead, before standing and turning to leave.

“Wait—“ I called out before I could stop myself. He turned back, looking at me expectantly. “I will,” I said with no further explanation.

He paused, a confused look crossing his face, “You will, what?”

“I’ll move in with you. To your room,” I said, nodding— feeling confident in my words.

A smile instantly covered his face, reaching his eyes. He looked away, like we was afraid I might take it back.

“And I want you. I want to be yours,” I nodded, feeling a smile overtaking my own face.

He crouched down, immediately taking my face in his hands, giving me a slow, gentle kiss that I’ve been longing for forever. His cold hand on my face made me shiver. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, drawing him closer to me and deepening the kiss. He moved to sit on the bed next to me, pulling away for just a moment and searching my eyes desperately.

He reached out again, and hastily took my face in his hands and kissed me hard. I felt every nerve in my body ignite, responding to every move he made. I reciprocated, running my fingers through his hair.

He tugged me closer, drawing me to throw one leg over his own, our chests aligning. I gasped, but didn’t break the kiss. He gripped the back of my legs, pulling me impossibly close until there was no more room between us. He broke the kiss, traveling down to my neck, tilting my jaw up gently with his metal hand. I shivered at the cold metal pressing against me.

“You don’t— know how— long I’ve— wanted to have you— like this,” he said between kisses, trailing down to my collarbone.

I gripped his hair, tilting my head back even further to allow access. “I’ve wanted it since the first time we shared a bed,” I breathlessly confessed in the heat of the moment.

He pulled away for a moment, resting his hand on my chin, running his thumb over my bottom lip. “Oh, doll,” he breathed, looking at me intensely, “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you.”

My heart fluttered at his words, and I had to fight back the tears burning in my eyes at his confession.

“Buck…” I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “You mean everything to me.”

“Will you come stay tonight? In my room?” He asked, suddenly sounded shy.

I nodded fiercely, “I’ll come stay every night. Always.”

He breathed a sigh of happiness, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, doll.”

“Wait,” I said, pulling away abruptly, “I have one condition.”

He smiled at me lovingly, “Anything.”

“I still have to go see Bob. At least some nights.”

“Deal.” He leaned in, giving me a quick kiss before lifting me up and carrying me to his room for the night.

The next morning, we walked to training together. Everyone’s heads turned when we entered the gym, but nobody said a word. Bob waved at me from the bench he was sitting on, giving me a small thumbs up when Bucky wasn’t looking.

“Okay, so we’re all going to just pretend the walls here aren’t paper thin?” Walker finally spoke.

This time, instead of glaring daggers at him, Bucky just smiled and looked at me lovingly.

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bucketsorbueckers · 2 days ago

Text

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 3

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, alcohol, toxic and vindictive P (sry)

Dual POV - 9K words

A/N: annnd were back. thanks for all the love on the previous chapters. your messages and comments make me so excited for where this is going so pls, if you feel inclined, continue to let me know what you think <3 with that said, this entire chapter was inspired by "low" by SZA. listen to it for ultimate vibes. good luck

Azzi’s POV

The first time Azzi Fudd saw Paige Bueckers, she couldn’t stand her.

The skinny blonde was loud. Her voice bounced off the gym walls like it owned the place, impossible to ignore. She filled every inch of space in the already too-crowded arena, like silence was something she’d never learned to leave room for.

Still, Azzi struggled to look away. Struggled not to follow her the way a moth chases a flickering flame, drawn in spite of the burn. And when Paige’s blue eyes caught hers across the gym, she did the worst thing imaginable.

She smirked. Like she knew Azzi had been watching. Knew she’d already taken up too much space in Azzi’s head, like it was something she was entitled to.

They ended up on opposite ends of the ball not long after, and Azzi made it her personal mission to knock the girl down a few notches. Her ego—not her, physically. But somewhere along the way, those lines got a little blurry. And before she knew it, Azzi was lowering her shoulder and plowing straight through Paige Bueckers.

Paige hit the hardwood hard. Bone-rattling hard.

For a second, Azzi just froze, staring down at her like her brain couldn’t quite catch up to what her body had just done. And then the panic surged. She rushed forward, sneakers squeaking across the court, heart thudding in her throat. Paige was still on the ground, watching her. Eyes sharp. Following Azzi’s every move.

Azzi dropped to a crouch, breath unsteady as she reached out a hand.

“Sorry,” she blurted. “I—I didn’t mean to. I just—”

She couldn’t finish. Paige took her hand and used it to pull herself up, only she didn’t let go right away. Instead, she tugged Azzi in. Just a little. Just enough to tilt the world. Close enough that Azzi’s breath hitched audibly but not close enough for anyone else to notice.

“If you wanted my attention, Fudd, you could’ve just said something.”

Azzi’s fingers twitched in her grip. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Paige didn’t wait for her to recover. She just turned and walked away—like the world hadn’t tilted, like Azzi’s bones weren’t still echoing from the touch.Like nothing had changed.

Behind her, someone called for the ball. Sneakers squeaked across the court. Normal sounds. Familiar, grounding. But everything felt off-kilter. Tilted just enough to make her feel like the floor had moved beneath her. Like Paige had shifted something fundamental, and Azzi wasn’t sure it could ever be put back.

She’d been sixteen then. And still, years later, she sometimes wonders if that was the moment it all went to hell. The exact second she was wholly, irreversibly fucked.

Like some butterfly effect of emotion—one glance, one smirk across a gym floor—and now she’s twenty-one, riding shotgun in a guy’s car, pretending to care about a story she’ll forget in five minutes.

Because Paige Bueckers is still sitting somewhere in the center of her brain, loud as ever.

Like gravity. Like a scar. Like every almost that ever mattered.

“Az?” Cam says gently. “You okay?”

Azzi stiffens but forces a smile as she reaches for his hand.

“Yeah. Sorry,” she says, voice light. “Long practice. Just… thinking about everything. You know how it is.”

Cam squeezes her hand, reassuring. Steady. “For sure. Just hang in there. We’ll go out this weekend. Clear your head, hit reset.”

She nods, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Yeah,” she says. “Sounds good.”

She turns her attention to the blur outside the window—the streetlights stretching into smears, the world rushing past like it’s trying to outrun something. She leans her head against the cold glass. Feels it bite at her temple. Tries to let it numb her.

Tries to shut it off. The echo of Paige’s voice. The feel of her hand. The way everything inside her still felt tilted, like the world had shifted beneath her feet and hadn’t righted itself since that day.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

Because maybe it really did start back then—sixteen years old, Paige smirking across the gym like she already knew the ending. Like she was the ending. And maybe that was the moment Azzi changed.

Irrevocably. Quietly. All at once.

Paige Bueckers etched into her marrow. Stamped onto the soft, unseen parts of her. The kind of imprint you don’t notice until it hurts to breathe. And maybe that was the point. Maybe it was always meant to end like this—Azzi trying to forget someone who lived in her like a second pulse. One glimpse. One smirk. And she’d been damned ever since.

Truthfully, she’d spent years trying to cauterize the feeling. Buried it beneath new routines, new teams, new people who said all the right things but never felt like fire.

And then, eventually, she gave in. Took the leap. Let herself open to the girl who felt less like a person and more like a north star. And for a while, it was good.

The kind of good that sinks into your bones. The intimacy of being known—truly known. The beautiful and the brutal. The ugly parts too. Someone who didn’t just accept who you were, but understood. And stayed.

Late nights curled into each other like habit. Mornings with coffee and tangled legs and private conversations. Fingers intertwined. Laughter echoing in the hollow places she’d once called irreparable.

It was good because Paige was good. Loving Paige was easy. Inevitable. As inevitable as death, and breathing, and everything in between.

It was everything else that ruined it. The lights. The cameras. The way people said Paige’s name like it was holy.

All of it chipped away at Azzi—small, relentless fractures. Pieces of Paige broken off and passed around. Her light stretched too thin for Azzi to reach. And Azzi hadn’t known how to exist in that kind of orbit. Hadn’t known how to share someone she loved more than anything.

So she left. Told herself it was the right thing. That Paige deserved someone who could meet the spotlight without flinching, someone who didn’t shrink beneath the weight of the world chanting her name.

That walking away wasn’t just for herself. :t was for Paige too.

Because how could you love someone like that and still ask them to dim for you?

So she stepped back. Quietly. Cleanly. Told herself it was mercy. Told herself it was love.

But the truth was, nothing inside her really changed. She still ached for Paige in every room she wasn’t in. Still looked for her in crowds. In highlight reels. In dreams that slipped away too fast. In echoes. In silences. In the quiet parts of herself that no one else had ever learned how to hold.

And even to this day, when Paige would look at her like she had tonight, every wall would collapse and she would be left spiraling just like this.

Because it was Paige. It had always been Paige.

And some part of her—some stubborn, unkillable part—would always bend toward her.The way branches lean toward light they’ll never touch. The way wildflowers twist their necks to chase the sun. Even now. Even here. Sitting beside a boy who was kind and warm and saying everything right.

Even with her whole body present, her mind was already halfway back.

To a girl with a smirk like prophecy. To the moment she mistook inevitability for devotion. To the truth she’s been trying to outrun ever since.

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Miraculously, Azzi survived the rest of the week without (much of) a mental breakdown.

She went to class. Showed up to practice. Let Caroline talk her ear off most nights and even managed to study with Cam in the library once, pretending her brain wasn’t static the entire time.

She kept moving. Kept breathing. Kept it together. And, against all odds, she didn’t think about Paige too much. She kept her mind busy. Her hands busy. Anything to keep from going down that road—the one lined with memories she hadn’t figured out how to grieve properly.

Paige, for her part, seemed just as committed to the avoidance. They worked hard at practice. Timed their exits like professionals. Carefully sidestepped places they both used to claim as theirs. Which is how Azzi found herself five days pastry-free. And somehow, that felt like a small price to pay for keeping her sanity intact.

But it was Friday, and Azzi knew the streak was ending. Their carefully choreographed avoidance had been impressive—honestly, almost admirable—but it was only a matter of time.

The team was attending a pregame before heading to Ted’s, and there was no good excuse. No last-minute injury, no fake study group, no convenient flu.

Neither of them could disappear this time. Not without raising questions. Not without unraveling the whole illusion. So they’d show up. Which is why Azzi’s floor was currently a graveyard of outfit options—jeans, tanks, hoodies, even a dress she hadn’t worn in years.

Everything was either too much or not enough. Too casual. Too eager. Too Paige might think I’m trying.

She tugged on a top, then pulled it off a second later, muttering under her breath like that might keep her from setting the whole pile on fire. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t dressing for Paige. She wasn’t. But still—nothing felt right.

In a rush of frustration, she grabbed a T-shirt off the floor and tugged it on without thinking. It was soft, oversized, worn in the way her favorite things always were.

Then she caught her reflection. And froze. The color drained from her face as the realization hit her.

It was Paige’s.

A baggy black Nike tee Paige had once tossed at her after practice, smiling as Azzi pulled it over her head like it belonged there.

“You always look better in my stuff than I do,” Paige had murmured, stepping behind her in the mirror.

She’d rested her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, arms looping around her waist like they’d always known the way.

“I don’t know how much more my ego can take.”

Azzi had laughed, leaning into her.

“Get used to it, Bueckers.”

Azzi swallowed hard. The shirt suddenly felt suffocating. Too familiar. Too soft. Too much. She yanked it off like it burned.

Finally, she gave up. Pulled the first thing she’d tried on from the heap on her bed—a textured black crop top and her off-black jeans, the ones that didn’t quite match anything but felt safe enough to wear. It was fine. Not perfect. Not Paige-proof. But fine.

She didn’t bother with jewelry. Just shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the door before she could think too hard and undo it all again.

When they pulled up to the pregame—a too-small off-campus house already vibrating with music—Azzi tried to keep her breathing steady.

She could feel it building in her chest, that nervous hum she couldn’t quite name. Caroline stepped out beside her, adjusting the strap of her bag. She looked over at Azzi as they reached the porch, smile soft, knowing.

“You look pretty.”

“Thanks,” Azzi said quietly.

They exchanged a small smile, something quiet and mutual, before pushing open the front door and the volume hit them like a wave, three decibels loud and already pulsing with bodies.

And in a strange twist of fate, Azzi felt… relieved.

She wasn’t usually one for packed rooms and too-loud music. But tonight? The more people crammed into the house, the better. Because the more bodies between her and Paige Bueckers, the easier it would be.

She hardly had time to blink before Jana threw her arms around her neck.

“AZZZIII FUDDD,” she shrieked, already half a drink in. “Let’s get you a drink!”

Azzi didn’t argue. A drink sounded like exactly what she needed—something to steady her hands, slow her thoughts. So when Jana shoved a red cup into her hand, Azzi didn’t ask what was in it. She just drank. The liquid burned a little, sweet and sour and oddly fizzy. But not bad enough to turn down. Not tonight.

“The team’s kinda spread out,” Jana said, tipping her cup toward the crowd. “But they’re here.”

Azzi nodded, her eyes sweeping the room catching on a few familiar faces, but not the familiar face. The tension in her shoulders loosened a notch.

She was just tipsy enough to stop overthinking when an arm slipped around her waist. Her body stiffened on instinct, and she turned sharply— only to find Cam smiling down at her.

“Cam?” she said, startled. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

His smile wavered for a second but then it settled.

“Some of the team came, so I figured I’d tag along,” he said, letting his hand rest lightly at her hip. “Hope that’s okay.”

She licked her lips, the words hitting a little too hard.

God, how much of a dick did she have to be for the guy she was hanging out with to ask if it was okay he showed up to a pregame she wasn’t even hosting? She needed to get her shit together.

So she leaned into him, closed the distance like it might fix something.

“Of course it’s okay,” she murmured against his neck. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Cam’s hand slid lower, fingers splaying at her waist, tugging her in just a little closer. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t move when his lips brushed her jaw. Didn’t flinch when his other hand settled at the curve of her lower back, too familiar, too fast.

She just let herself sink. Into the noise, into the press of bodies, into the warmth of someone who wasn’t Paige.

If she focused hard enough—on the rhythm of the music, on the burn of cheap liquor still lingering in her throat—maybe she could stay here.

“You look so damn good, Azzi,” Cam muttered and she let the words wash over her. Let them pull herself all the way under. Let the alcohol sink into her brain and turn off logic.

She looked up at him through her lashes.

“You think so?”

Cam nodded, pressing his body closer into his.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” He muttered.

He leaned forward and Azzi turned her brain off. She was going to have a fucking good time even if it killed her. But right when their lips were about to touch, a sudden roar erupted from the back of the house.

Loud. Immediate. Electric.

Azzi stumbled back surprised.

“BUECKERS! BUECKERS! BUECKERS!” The crowd chanted.

The crowd chanted her name like a hymn, drunk and euphoric, the center of gravity shifting once again.

Of course. Of course Paige had just won something.

Azzi stood frozen, her pulse crashing in her ears, Cam’s hands still on her waist but suddenly distant—like she’d fallen out of her own body. And there it was again.

The pull.

Against her better judgment, Azzi looked. Eyes scanning the crowd until they landed where the chants had begun. And there she was.

At the center of it all. Paige Bueckers.

A ping pong ball pinched between her long fingers. A smile tugging at her mouth as she shook her head at the attention—like she always did. Like it didn’t still belong to her.

The crowd roared around her, but she looked untouched by it. Lit from within. And Azzi felt something in her chest crack open. Because that was the problem with Paige.

She never had to try to take up space. She just did.

Suddenly, Azzi felt sixteen again. Small and breathless, watching from the edges. An onlooker to the strange, impossible brightness of Paige Bueckers. The kind that didn’t ask to be seen, only was. Like a star collapsing quietly in on itself—too beautiful to look at directly, too dangerous to turn away from.

Except it hurt now.

Because when Azzi was sixteen, she hadn’t known the way Paige looked in the soft blue light before sunrise. Hadn’t known the quiet intimacy of her. The way her hands traced shapes across bare skin like they were memorizing it. The way she said Azzi’s name when I love you didn’t feel like enough.

“Azzi?” She blinked, slow and startled, turning back to Cam. “You okay? You kinda zoned out.”

She swallowed hard, then forced a shaky laugh.

“Just tipsy,” she said, brushing it off like it wasn’t the truth cracking at the edges of her voice. “Can you get me another drink?”

“Yeah. Of course, babe.”

He turned without question, disappearing into the crowd, and Azzi watched him go, grateful for the excuse to look away. But as soon as he vanished, her gaze snapped back to where Paige had been. The space was empty now.

The crowd had thinned, the energy shifted, like they'd followed her to wherever she turned her attention next.

Azzi scanned the room, heartbeat thudding in her throat. Desperate. Ridiculous. Desperate anyway. But Paige was gone. And across the room was Nika instead.

Watching her. Eyes narrowed. And Azzi froze—caught mid-search, like a thief in someone else’s memory.

She and Nika were friends.

Still, when the older girl started making her way across the room, Azzi felt her stomach twist. Because Nika had been Paige’s friend first. And that kind of loyalty didn’t just vanish.

When she reached her, Nika tilted her head, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You alright, Fudd?”

Azzi nodded quickly, raising her empty cup to her lips just to have something to do with her hands.

“Yeah,” she said. “Totally fine.”

Nika gave her a long look.

“You look stressed.”

“I’m fine, Nik. No worries.”

Nika rolled her eyes. “You’re both fucking impossible,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone. But Azzi caught it. Or thought she did.

“What—”

“Here you go.”

Cam appeared beside her, holding out a fresh drink. Azzi reached for it, grateful and flustered all at once. Nika arched a brow, shifting her weight.

“And who’s this?”

Her tone was casual. Too casual.

Azzi didn’t answer right away because suddenly, she wasn’t sure what the answer was. Cam, sensing the pause, stepped in.

“Cam,” he said, offering a polite nod. “Azzi and I’ve been hanging out recently.”

Nika tipped her head slightly. Eyes sharp, expression unreadable.

“Have you?” she said. “Didn’t know you were dating someone, Az.”

“I—” Azzi’s eyes flicked to Cam. “We—”

“We’re new,” Cam said quickly, voice steady but eyes darting between them. “Figuring it out as we go. I consider myself lucky for any time she gives me.”

At that, Nika gave a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah,” she said, gaze lingering a second too long. “Our Az is a catch. Has that effect on people.”

She didn’t say it unkindly. But it still landed like a slap.

“Are you both coming to Ted’s?” Nika asked. Layers behind the question that couldn’t be deciphered.

Azzi opened her mouth to say no. To call it a night, cut her losses, escape while she still could. But beside her, Cam lit up.

“Yup,” he said, nodding before Azzi could protest. “We’ll see you there?”

Nika held his gaze for a second too long, then turned to Azzi with a small smile.

“Yeah. Of course.” Just then, a burst of applause erupted from the backyard. Nika glanced over her shoulder, already backing away. “That’s my cue,” she said. “No telling what Paige is doing out there.”

She said it casually. But it landed like a spark dropped on dry leaves. And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

“Paige’s handler?” Cam whispered in her ear.

Azzi choked on that. Thankfully, it passed for a laugh—tight and brittle, the kind you release just to keep something heavier from slipping out.

“Yeah,” she said, still catching her breath. “Nika’s got a way with her.”

She didn’t add the part that burned the most.

But not like me.

She knew the difference between Paige’s real smile and the one she used when the cameras were on. She knew the look in her eyes before she unraveled, the way she said I’m fine when she was anything but. She knew the scar on her right knee, the birthmark on her hip, the way she folded her hands, knuckles milky white, when she prayed asking God for impossible things.

So, yes, she wanted to say, Nika had a way.

But once, Azzi had been the way.

Paige’s POV

Paige never cared much for school, but some things stuck.

Like Newton’s Third Law: For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction.

So when she saw Azzi leaning into that guy— whatever his name was—she knew, with absolute certainty, she was about to do something incredibly fucking stupid.

As always, she’d known the second Azzi walked into the room. Didn’t matter that the house was packed, that the music was loud, that half the team was gathered around her for a beer pong tournament that had apparently become life or death.

Her eyes still found her. Like instinct. Like addiction. Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

Azzi Fudd.

A glance from her felt like a hit of something Paige could never quite quit—sharp and euphoric and devastating. Nothing else came close.

So yeah, she was in the middle of a heated game. But her eyes were on Azzi.

She’d been half-assing the beer pong game, letting muscle memory do the work, riding a messy high of liquor and applause, until she saw him.

His arm slung low around Azzi’s waist. His hand gripping. Fingers pressing into her perfect skin like he had any fucking right. Like she was something to be held that tightly. Too tight. Too casual. Too sure.

And Azzi didn’t even flinch. She didn’t lean away. She just stood there, soft and steady, like she belonged to him now.

Paige missed her shot. Didn’t care. The cup clattered off the table and the crowd erupted anyway, but she barely heard it. Because she was staring at the way his thumb stroked just under the hem of Azzi’s shirt. Slow. Possessive. Like he thought he knew her.

He didn’t.

He didn’t know what that skin felt like under his palms at midnight. Didn’t know how Azzi sighed when she was tired but wouldn’t admit it, or how she bit the inside of her cheek when she was nervous.

He hadn’t earned the right to hold her like that.

Azzi leaned into him. Her chin tipping up just enough to close the distance. A silent invitation, the kind of instinctive shift that always came before lips met.

And Paige’s stomach twisted like someone had reached inside her and wrung it out by hand. No. She wasn’t going to watch this happen. Not like this. Not tonight.

She locked her eyes on the last remaining cup, vision blurring at the edges. The noise, the heat, the alcohol—all of it pressed in around her. But her body still remembered.

It was all instinct now.

So she let the ball fly—blind faith and something uglier mixed together. And it sank. Dead center. No hesitation. No rim. Just gone. The crowd lost its mind. A roar of sound. A wave of limbs. And across the room, Azzi flinched.

Pulled back just before their lips met, like the sound had snapped her out of it. Like the universe had clapped its hands right beside her ear and said: Not yet. Paige didn’t breathe.

She just watched them split apart like magnets flipped the wrong way, energy still sparking in the space between them.

She grinned—wild, unsteady, almost manic. Good. Let him back off. Let Azzi remember. Let the night bend in her direction for once.

But the high had only lasted a few short seconds before she felt the weight of all it again.

That’s why now, she was pacing in the backyard, shoes crunching over dead grass, air too thick, too hot, like it was pressing in on her. The energy in her chest was a live wire, snapping and sparking beneath her ribs.

She needed to move. To do something. To rip a hole in the night and crawl out of this feeling.

Anywhere but here. Anywhere but still.

The adrenaline was still surging, spilling over. Her hands wouldn’t stop moving, clenching and unclenching at her sides like they were reaching for something that was already gone. And then—

“P.”

She stopped mid-step. That voice sharp with understanding. Nika.

Paige didn’t turn around. Just stared out into the dark like maybe if she focused hard enough, she could disappear into it.

“I’m not in the mood,” she muttered.

“Let’s go to Ted’s, P,” Nika groaned behind her. “I’m bored.”

That caught Paige off guard. She’d been bracing for a lecture, a look, a What the hell was that?

“You’re ready to go?”

Nika nodded, already pulling her phone out. “Yeah. This is lame. And I want better music.”

Paige blinked, then let a grin curl at the edge of her mouth.

“Shit,” she said. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Nika smiled, slipped her arm through Paige’s, and tugged her toward the street.

Ted’s was crowded—but not too crowded. Just enough bodies to blend into. Exactly how Paige liked it. When they crossed the threshold, a few heads turned. Eyebrows raised. A couple of whispers passed between tables. But nothing intense. No swarms, no cameras, no one begging for a selfie.

For the most part, she just got to exist. And that, especially lately, felt like a rare kind of grace. She let the door swing shut behind them and exhaled.

“I think we’ve earned shots,” Nika said, already scanning the bar.

Paige nodded, pulling out her card and handing it over without hesitation.

“Just open a tab.”

Nika smirked. “It’s a tab night?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Paige laughed, already sinking into it. “Just go get the drinks.”

With a dramatic salute, Nika skipped off toward the bar.

Paige turned, slipping into a booth tucked into the far corner—the kind of spot no one looked twice at. She sank into the seat, legs stretched out, the vinyl cool against her skin. And for the first time all night, she felt lighter.

Not better. Not fixed. But there was a weight that had been pressing against her ribs, and now it wasn’t. Because whatever was about to happen between Azzi and that guy, she’d stopped it.

He hadn’t gotten to kiss her. Hadn’t gotten to win.

The sound of the crowd had cut through the moment like a knife, and Paige had been holding the handle. That counted for something. Didn’t it?

Paige wasn’t well-adjusted to losing.

She didn’t take it in stride. Didn’t breathe through it. She hated it. She wanted to win. And when she wanted something? She got ruthless.

Quietly, at first. Then recklessly. Blood in her mouth. Fire in her chest. Mine echoing in her skull like a drumbeat.

And Azzi Fudd? That wasn’t a game. That was the prize.

Something sacred. Something carved into her like a hunger she’d never learned how to starve. Something she’d tasted once, just enough to ruin her for anything else.

It lived in her now. In her blood. In her teeth. A craving no one else should be allowed to touch.

Admittedly, she would do terrible things to win what she wanted. Burn bridges. Bite the hand. Break the rules. Especially when it came to Azzi.

Because she wasn’t just someone Paige wanted. She was the thing Paige needed. And need makes people dangerous, especially someone like Paige.

Nika set the shot down in front of her. Plastic cup. Clear liquid.

“It’s—”

Paige didn’t wait for her to finish. She threw it back in one motion, didn’t flinch, didn’t breathe. Just let it burn all the way down, like it might scorch Azzi out of her bloodstream.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes still locked on nothing.

“When’s the rest of the team getting here?” she asked, voice low.

Nika glanced at her phone and grinned.

“Now.”

Paige’s eyes cut to the door just as it swung open. Jana. Aaliyah. Caroline. Azzi. Him.

It was then that the earlier shots finally needled their way into her brain. The room tilted, soft at first, then all at once. And Paige watched the pair through the blur.

Azzi laughing. Azzi leaning. Azzi looking away. And it hit her, stupidly, suddenly, like a truth she should’ve already known:

Needing someone doesn’t win you anything.

Not really. Not when they’ve already started looking somewhere else.

But Paige? Paige needed to fucking win. She needed to feel something. Anything.

So maybe she couldn’t have Azzi. Maybe she couldn’t fix what she broke. But she could still win a battle or two, even if the war was already lost.

She could make Azzi look. Make her watch. Make sure that when she laughed too loudly, or kissed someone new, or touched another girl’s arm like it meant something, Azzi would feel it. Feel her.

Because if Paige couldn’t have the ending she wanted, then she’d settle for the only thing left:

Winning.

She smirked, slow and sharp. Game on.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The pregame had clearly ended. People flooded through the entrance in waves of laughter, heat, and too-loud voices. Paige didn’t move.

She stayed sprawled in the booth, back pressed deep into the vinyl, one arm slung over the top like she owned the place. Legs spread wide, deliberately. Not much room for anyone else. She looked like someone who wasn’t paying attention. But she was. Her eyes tracked every movement, every gesture.

Cam’s hand slipping into Azzi’s. His touch guiding her toward the bar. His palm finding that too-familiar place on the small of her back. The place Paige knew by heart. Not too big. Not too small. Just right. Made for her hand. Her touch. No one else’s.

“You’re staring,” Nika said, low and dry.

Paige didn’t flinch. “Not staring. Studying.”

Nika leaned in, her voice barely audible above the music. “Don’t do any stupid shit, P. It never ends well.”

Paige shook her head, eyes still on Azzi.

“I’m just having a good night, Nik.”

Nika gave her a look. The kind you give a lit match next to a leaking gas line. But she didn’t say anything else.

The rest of the team found them quickly, flooding their usual table with loud greetings and too much energy. Paige didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just smiled. And Azzi kept her distance. Not just physically. Emotionally. Intentionally. And that? That ate away at Paige’s sanity more than anything else.

Two more shots in, and she’d had enough. Her eyes tore away from Azzi like ripping a bandage off raw skin. She scanned the room. Looking for someone. Looking for damage.

It didn’t take long. Dark curls. Dark eyes. A girl leaning casually against the bar, flicking glances toward Paige every few minutes. Curious. Open. Interested.

And most importantly, right in Azzi’s line of sight.

Paige’s smile curved into something darker. If Azzi didn’t want to be close, then she’d get to watch what distance looked like.

“I’ll be back,” she muttered.

Maybe Nika said something—Paige didn’t catch it.

She was already pushing up from the booth, sliding her hands into her pockets like it was all casual. She moved slow. Controlled. Like she had all the time in the world.

At the bar, she slipped into an open spot a few bodies down from the girl, then leaned her elbows onto the sticky wood like it was instinct. The bartender was on her immediately.

“A Shirley Temple,” she said. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Vodka.”

Her eyes flicked sideways. Found the girl. Watched her expression shift—wide-eyed, caught—before she looked away. Paige smiled.

“And whatever she’s having,” she added. A beat. “Put it on Bueckers’ tab.” Just loud enough for her to hear.

Paige’s drink appeared within seconds. Then came the second glass: a bright blue something, set carefully in front of the girl. The bartender leaned across the bar, murmured something just for her.

The girl blinked, surprised. She looked up, eyes scanning the bar until they landed on Paige. And when they did, she grinned.

Paige held her gaze. Didn’t smile. Just let the corner of her mouth twitch—an invitation, a challenge, a warning. Maybe all three. The girl didn’t hesitate. She made her way over, nerves barely contained.

“I—” she started, already stammering. Paige crossed her arms, leaned back against the bar like she had all night. She towered over the girl’s smaller frame. “Thank you for the drink,” the girl managed.

Paige tilted her head deliberately.

“You kept staring,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “Figured you’d want a closer view.”

The girl’s cheeks flushed, but not with embarrassment. She was flattered. Paige could tell. And it plucked something sharp and mean inside her.

“I’m Addie,” the girl offered, voice a little shaky now.

“Paige.”

“I know,” she admitted quickly, cheeks coloring again. “I mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Paige cut in, smirking.

Addie shifted closer, drink in hand, eyes bright with something between nerves and awe.

“I still can’t believe you bought me a drink,” she said, laughing softly. “I mean… you’re Paige Bueckers.”

Paige turned to her, lazy smile in place.

“So I’ve heard.”

Addie ducked her head, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Sorry. That was lame.”

“I thought it was cute.”

The flush of the cheeks followed again. It was so easy. So fucking easy. And Paige was drunk. On it. On alcohol. On the thought of Azzi hurting like she had been.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not, like, that person. I just—my brother’s obsessed with you. And I guess now I am too. Not obsessed! Just… interested. Admiring. Or whatever.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of disclaimers.”

“I know.” Addie groaned, face flushed. “I’m totally screwing this up. Aren’t I?”

Paige shrugged, lifting her drink to her lips. “Not really.”

Addie’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Okay. Cool. This is fine.”

Paige tilted her head, studying her. Addie was cute in that lost puppy kind of way. Sweet. Nervous. Probably thought this meant something. Paige didn’t say anything for a beat. Just let the silence hang while Addie fidgeted, cheeks flushed, fingers curled tight around her drink.

Then, finally, she reached out, fingertips brushing Addie’s arm.

“Relax,” she said. “Wouldn’t have come over if I didn’t want to.”

Addie beamed. And Paige? She smiled back. Right as her gaze flicked up, there she was. Azzi. Their eyes collided.

Azzi looking at her like she didn’t mean to. Like it burned. Like she hated herself for doing it. And Paige’s pulse kicked, hard. Because she knew that look.

The purse of her lips. The stiff line of her jaw. The second too long she held the stare before yanking her eyes away. Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. She let her fingers drift a little lower on Addie’s arm. Just to see if Azzi would look back.

She did. Of course she did. And Paige licked her lips like she was about to enjoy this. Leaned in, just enough to make it look intimate.

“Do you go to UConn?” she asked.

Addie nodded, already leaning in like this was the beginning of something. But Paige wasn’t listening.

Her eyes stayed locked on the girl across the room. The one who used to say her name like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

And when Azzi looked away, but kept looking back, Paige smiled. Not because it helped. But because for one brief, burning second, she got to be the ache sewn into the softest part of Azzi—tender, terrible, and still pulsing.

Because if she couldn’t be loved…not the way it used to be, she’d settle for this:

The ghost Azzi kept lodged in the back of her throat. A grief she never learned to spit out, souring everything she tried to swallow.

Azzi’s POV

They walked to Ted’s in a tight, clumsy cluster. The team buzzing from just enough alcohol, laughter spilling out onto the sidewalk. Azzi let it wash over her. Let it settle deep in her bones.

Cam walked beside her, close but not too close, his arm brushing hers every so often like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold her hand. She didn’t move away.

The others asked him about his season, about the team, about what it was like playing baseball at UConn. He answered easily, likable in that effortless way. And Azzi hung back just half a step, watching him with something that could almost pass for affection.

Because in that moment—on that street, with the night humming around them, it felt like maybe he could fit. Like she could make this make sense.

Something simple. Something good. Something that didn’t ask her to bleed just to feel alive. She laughed at something dumb he said. Let herself imagine it. A quieter life. A different story. An ending that hadn’t been prewritten when she was sixteen.

The red tin roof of Ted’s came into view, glowing under string lights. And for the first time in weeks, Azzi felt light. Not healed. Not whole. But possible. She took Cam’s hand, unexpectedly, like maybe, if she held on tight enough, it might stitch her back together completely.

He grinned, tugging her gently closer. Ahead of them, the others laughed as the door swung open.

“The promised land,” Jana called, throwing her arms wide. “First round’s on…anyone but me!”

The group dissolved into laughter as they pushed through the double doors, met by the thick scent of stale beer and a song Azzi didn’t recognize blaring overhead.The place was filling up. Not packed, but on its way.

A few open tables. The bar already crowded. Clusters of students leaning over sticky counters, waving bills, trying to catch the eye of an overworked bartender.

“Want another drink?” Cam asked.

Azzi nodded, and he gave her hand a quick squeeze, guiding her through the growing crowd toward the bar.

Once they reached it, he let go. His palm sliding to the small of her back instead. A warm pulse of reassurance. Steady. Simple. She did her best to focus on that. On how nice it felt to be the only thing he wanted.

As he waited for the bartender, Azzi tuned into the noise around them. The usual low thrum of college bar chaos: weekend plans, midterm complaints, someone arguing over darts.

And then, “No. That’s her,” a girl whispered.

Azzi stilled.

“Do you think she’d be annoyed if I asked for a picture?”

“Probably,” her friend laughed. “But I don’t think she’d blame you either.”

The girls were cute. Heads tipped together, wide-eyed and innocent. Azzi leaned slightly in their direction.

“She’s even hotter in person,” one of them murmured. “It’s sort of unreal.”

Azzi followed their gaze. She didn’t mean to. But her body turned before her mind could stop it. Before she could lie to herself one second longer. And there she was.

Paige. Posted up in a booth like it was her goddamn throne.

Legs spread without apology. One arm draped over the back of the seat, a large, thin hand lazily wrapped around a sweating glass. Her head was tipped slightly back, half-listening to whatever Nika was saying but her eyes, even from here, looked sharp. Calculated. Like she was taking inventory of the room without ever really looking.

And she looked obscene.

Hair pulled into a lazy bun like it hadn’t taken her twenty minutes to make it look that effortless. Oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed up, silver rings catching in the low bar light every time she moved. That chain. That chain she always wore—thin and silver clipped around her throat.

Her legs were spread wide in black sweats that slouched in all the right places. Her sneakers were propped on the edge of the booth.

She looked like power distilled. Like want, weaponized. Every part of her body said: I know you’re watching. And Azzi hated that she was. But she couldn’t stop.

“God, I want her so fucking bad,” one of the girls murmured, practically breathless.

Azzi blinked. Snapped out of it like surfacing from underwater. The girl’s friend snorted, casual and cruel in the way strangers can be.

“You and the rest of the world.”

Azzi looked away, fast. Tried to ground herself in the feel of Cam’s hand, still resting at the small of her back. Tried to remember how light she’d felt just ten minutes ago. Before she walked into this room.

“Here you go.”

Cam pressed the drink into her hand, his eyes scanning the bar. They landed on the booth in the back where most of the team had already gathered, half-hovering around Paige like always.

“Want to join your friends?” he asked.

Azzi hesitated. Swallowed.

“Let’s hang with your team for a bit,” she said.

Cam led her toward the back half of the bar, where a small group of guys in UConn baseball gear had claimed a tall table near the dartboard. They noticed him first, then noticed her. And the shift was instant.

“Yo, finally,” one of them grinned, nudging the guy next to him. “Thought you made her up.”

Cam laughed, cheeks flushing as he pulled out a chair for Azzi. “Yeah, okay. Like I could make Azzi Fudd up.”

Azzi gave a small smile, sliding into the seat.

One of the guys leaned forward, offering his hand. “Manny. Catcher. And the unfortunate guy who hears way too much about you.”

Azzi raised a brow, glancing at Cam. “Oh yeah?”

“He’s obsessed,” another teammate added. “It’s actually kind of embarrassing.”

Cam groaned. “You’re all the worst.”

“No, seriously,” Manny said, grinning. “He won’t shut up about your shot. It’s kind of ruined pickup for the rest of us.”

Azzi huffed a laugh, ducking her head.

Well,” She said, taking a sip of her drink, “at least he has good taste.”

Cam shot her a look—half amused, half like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or kiss her.

They fell into an easy rhythm. One Azzi didn’t have to work for, didn’t have to decode. The conversation moved around her, low and warm, and she let herself lean into Cam as the alcohol settled in her bloodstream. Her body softened, shoulders loose.

Azzi didn’t notice the shift at first. The sound of Cam’s laugh, the chatter of the table, the weight of a hand on her knee, it all blurred together, soft and safe and slow.

But something in her body tensed before her brain caught up. A hush that didn’t quiet the room, just tilted it. And then…

Paige.

Walking toward the bar like the floor had been laid for her. Like she didn’t move through the world so much as rearrange it. Azzi’s breath caught. Paige wasn’t looking at her. Of course not.

Her gaze was fixed ahead, steady and unhurried. But everything else, the way she moved, the silver at her neck, the rolled sleeves and low hum of confidence around her…It all said: watch me anyway.

Silver glinted at her ears. At her throat. On her hands. It caught the light every time her arms swung or she smoothed down her hair. She wasn’t smiling. But she wasn’t not.

Azzi hated the way people watched her. The way heads turned as she passed. The way even Cam glanced up, just for a second. Because Paige had always had that power. And she liked it. She fed on it.

Her beauty wasn’t soft. It was precise. Measured. Weaponized.

And as she passed their table, Azzi could feel the heat of her. Not close enough to touch, but enough to burn.

Paige didn’t look over. Didn’t even slow. But Azzi swore that Paige brushed just close enough to let the scent of her skin linger. And in that moment, Azzi felt every part of herself pull taut. Every inch she’d given to someone else suddenly snapping back like Paige had called it home.

She followed Paige’s path to the bar, unable—unwilling—to look away.

Watched how a space opened for her automatically. How people moved without realizing they’d moved. How the bartender, mid-pour for someone else, looked up, and without hesitation, went to her instead.

Azzi felt her stomach twist. Because of course. Of course Paige Bueckers didn’t wait in lines. Didn’t need to ask twice.

She used to love that about her. The quiet power Paige carried without trying. But here, with alcohol in her veins and Paige’s name echoing through the bar like a warning, she hated it Hated the way it still pulled at her. Hated that part of her still wanted to be close to it.

Paige leaned her elbow on the bar like she belonged to it. Like it was built around her.

Then her gaze slid down the line. To a group of girls. One in particular. Pretty. Dark curls. Tan skin. Laughing like she hadn’t noticed Paige was looking. But she had. Everyone did.

Paige didn’t smile. Not exactly. But there was something in her mouth— in the shape of it— that made Azzi feel like the floor had dropped out from under her. Not violently. Not all at once.

Just enough to remind her that gravity still belonged to Paige. Always had.

Azzi saw it before it happened.

The way Paige leaned in again, lips barely moving as she spoke to the bartender. Not flirtatious. Not coy. Just direct. The kind of quiet command that always got her what she wanted. The glance cutting back to the girl with the dark curls The bartender nodded.

Azzi’s heart thudded once. Loud and wrong. She didn’t need to guess. She knew.

The drink appeared seconds later. The bartender placed it gently in front of the girl. The one with the dark curls. The one Paige had already chosen.

Azzi watched the girl blink, startled, then grin, turning automatically, already knowing who to look for. And Paige was waiting. Elbow on the bar. Not searching. Not wondering. Just watching. Because she didn’t need the girl to see her. She knew she already had.

Azzi’s grip tightened around her own drink, jaw locked so tight it hurt. Paige didn’t smile. Not quite. Just tilted her head slightly, a flicker of amusement in the set of her mouth.

Immediately, the girl moved toward Paige like she didn’t have a choice. Like something had pulled her.

Azzi recognized the look on her face. That giddy, stunned kind of thrill. The am I allowed to want this expression Paige pulled out of people like it was instinct.

She watched the girl slide into the space Paige had already made for her. Too close, too confident. Paige didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just turned slightly, as if she’d expected it all along. As if the girl had done exactly what she was supposed to do.

They leaned in. Laughed about something Azzi couldn’t hear. And Azzi sat frozen, drink in her hand, the ice long since melted.

Cam said something beside her. She didn’t catch it. Couldn’t. Because all she could see was Paige—glowing with that quiet, smug certainty. Beautiful in the way disasters are: devastating. Inevitable.

Paige towered over the girl. Loose-limbed and casual, but calculated down to the tilt of her head. She leaned in slightly, as if to hear her better, fingers brushing the girl’s skin. A slow drag up the girl’s bare arm, like Paige couldn’t help herself.

And Azzi felt it in her bones. Paige’s fingers on her skin, just like that. Light. Deliberate. The kind of touch that didn’t mark you, but haunted you anyway. And now she was watching it play out on someone else. Like a memory repurposed.

Azzi didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.And then, as if on cue, Paige looked up.

Her gaze cut clean past the girl, slicing through noise and distance until it landed squarely on her. Azzi.

Their eyes locked.

And for a second, everything else vanished. The bar. The team. Cam. All of it dropped away like Paige had willed it.

She didn’t smile. She just held Azzi’s stare. Steady, merciless, and knowing. And in that moment, Azzi felt everything inside her go very, very still. Because she knew exactly what this was.

A wound reopened with surgical precision.

Paige didn’t look away. Not when the girl laughed, not when she touched Paige’s shoulder, not even when she leaned in so close it bordered on indecent.

Because her eyes were on Azzi. Only Azzi. And Azzi met her there. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just stared back like she could set Paige on fire with nothing but her rage.

And Paige…Paige smirked. Barely. Just the edge of it. A flicker of mouth. But it was enough.

She let her fingers graze the girl’s waist as she leaned in again, mouth near her ear, saying something Azzi couldn’t hear. Tucked a stray curl behind the girl's ear. Licked her lips as she nodded half heartedly to something being said.

But the eyes, they remained on Azzi.

Azzi knew this was part of it. Knew it would come.

Hadn’t she been clinging to Cam’s arm like a life raft these past few weeks? Letting herself pretend there was something easier out there, something simpler than the ruin Paige left behind?

She had to know Paige wouldn’t wait forever. Wouldn’t just sit in silence while Azzi tried to scrub her name out of her bloodstream.

This—this girl, this drink, this whole fucking performance…it wasn’t random.It was inevitable.

Azzi had made her choice. And now she had to watch Paige make hers.

Still, knowing didn’t help. Didn’t stop the nausea. Didn’t stop the ache. Didn’t stop the way her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Because no matter what she told herself— no matter how many times she said it was fair— it didn’t feel like justice.

It felt like Paige was still inside her, dragging nails through the softest parts of her.

“Azzi?” She jumped. Cam was watching her now, eyes flicking between her and the direction she’d been staring, like he was trying to work out an equation that didn’t quite balance.

“You’re shaking,” he said, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel good,” she muttered, throat tight. “I—”

But her eyes slipped back. Back to Paige. Paige, licking her lips. Eyes locked on the girl beside her with that same devastating focus Azzi knew too well. The kind of stare that made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

Azzi felt like she might throw up. Because she remembered. What that look used to feel like. What it used to mean.

She needed space. She needed to get out of this place before she fell apart. Loudly. Publicly.

Azzi stood too fast. The room tilted. She blinked, trying to steady herself, but the pressure in her left foot flared. Familiar and terrifying. She’d been ignoring it for days. Weeks, maybe. The drinks hadn’t helped. The old injury she had acquired in AAU just never healed completely.

Cam said something beside her, something light, maybe a joke, maybe her name, but his hand didn’t catch her.

Her ankle buckled. And before she could stop it, she was on the ground.

It wasn’t graceful. Wasn’t quiet. Her hip hit first. Then her elbow. The music didn’t stop, but the laughter did. Just for a second. Heads turned. She felt the flush rise up her neck, hot and consuming.

Cam reached for her, too slow. “Shit—Azzi—”

But then there was someone else. Familiar. Not Cam. Not hands grabbing without understanding.Someone known. The scent of lavender and something warmer. Something Azzi had once fallen asleep inside.

She blinked and Paige was crouching in front of her.

Knees bent. Eyes level. Like the rest of the world had peeled away and there was only this. Only her.

“Is it your foot?” Paige asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi nodded, sharp and ashamed. Tears welled up without warning, without permission. Not just from pain. From everything.

The fall. The silence. The way Cam was still behind her, stunned and motionless. The way Paige was looking at her.

“Jesus Christ,” Paige muttered, her eyes flicking up, scathing. “What the fuck? You were right next to her. She has an old injury. You have to pay attention.”

Cam stammered, trying to reach for Azzi again. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize—”

“Don’t touch her,” Paige snapped.

Cam yanked his hand back. Paige returned her focus to Azzi, gaze softening immediately. Only gentleness in her approach.

“Okay, hey,” she said, brushing a curl back from Azzi’s face. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She shifted closer, anchoring herself beside Azzi like her body knew how to fit there. Like it remembered. One hand settled lightly at the base of Azzi’s spine. The other slid beneath her arm.

“Take your time. We don’t have to rush.”

Azzi’s breath shuddered. People were still watching. She could feel it. But Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t play to the crowd. She was only looking at her. Like Azzi was the only one in the room.

“You’re okay,” Paige said again. “Let’s just get you up, alright? We’ll sit. I’ll look at your foot.”

Azzi’s eyes met hers, wide and wet and wrecked. And Paige softened even more, impossibly.

She brushed her thumb beneath Azzi’s eye. The kind of touch you don’t earn twice.

“I’ve got you, Az,” Paige said again. Then, so soft it might’ve been a memory, “Don’t worry, baby.”

Azzi froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. Paige didn’t even flinch. Didn’t seem to notice she’d said it. Her eyes stayed locked on Azzi’s, focused only on her pain, her posture, the way she was trying so hard not to shake.

She let Paige help her up, slow, careful, like she was made of glass. Like she mattered.

Paige guided her toward the edge of the bar, to an empty booth where the noise felt a little farther away. She didn’t let go. Not even when they sat. Not even when the rest of the world began to move again. And Azzi let her.

Because Paige’s hands still felt like her favorite kind of touch. The kind you don’t even realize you’ve memorized until it’s gone. The kind that made her feel like nothing had changed.

Like heartbreak hadn’t happened. Like endings were just something other people had to survive. Like every version of love Azzi had never quite found the words for.

And God, how stupid it was. How reckless. How utterly human to still want comfort from the only person in the world with the power to shatter her whole.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Love didn’t ask if it made sense. Didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t care if it was soft or safe or good for you. It just stayed.

Even when you tried to carve it out of your bones with shaking hands. Even when it rotted in your chest. Even when it stopped feeling like love and started feeling like a wound that wouldn’t close.

Paige’s thumb brushed against her knuckles in that familiarly devastating way.

And Azzi thought: This shouldn’t feel good.

But it did.

God, it did.

It always did. And maybe the worst part was knowing it probably always would.

#pazzi fics #paige x azzi #azzi x paige #pazzi

203 notes · View notes

lolab4t · 16 hours ago

Text

safe together - fluff, angst

pairing: bob reynolds x thunderbolt!gn!reader summary: you’re benched with a broken ankle, stuck in the tower while the rest of the team is out on a mission. the only one left behind with you is bob. what starts as awkward company and bob acting like your nurse slowly turns into something deeper, safe, and comforting. word count: 5.8k warning(s): light thunderbolts* spoilers, angst, fluff, brief nightmare , implied trauma, mentions of the void and past trauma related to him, injury (broken ankle), mutual pining, emotional vulnerability, awkwardness, reader likes to read (lol) a/n: finally wrote for my sweet boy! yelena fic is prob coming next... i really hope you enjoy :) and if you do, please feel free to like, comment, or reblog! <3 also, requests are open!

you hated it. sitting on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket, leg propped up on a pillow. you felt guilty for feeling so comfy. you felt lazy. like you were wasting time.

you had broken your ankle, and found yourself in a boot, unable to walk. so of course, you were forced to sit out of a mission.

bob, who was used to staying back, was clearly excited to have some company for once. he didn't admit to it, but it was obvious. the tower always felt so cold and lonely to him when the team was gone. he always tried to distract himself with books and chores, but none of it compared to having you there with him.

now, he seemed to be glued to your side, staying near you on the couch. still shy, still quiet, still careful not to hover too obviously. he didn’t say much, only asked how your pain was doing or what you needed. every now and then he'd glance over at you, like he was checking to make sure you were still okay. he was acting a little like your nurse. it was sweet.

"do you, uh… need some water or anything?" he looked at you for a only a second, before directing his gaze back to the tv. his voice was quiet and hesitant.

you looked up for your book and smiled. "no, i'm fine. thank you though, bobby."

bobby.

he originally hated the nickname when walker called him that. but when you started using it… he grew to love it. maybe he just didn't like walker.

he didn’t respond, and just gave a tiny nod, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.

you adjusted your blanket again and looked back down at the book in your lap. it was your favorite, one you'd read a million times. but this time, you found yourself rereading the same lines over in your head… your thoughts kept wandering. to your ankle. to the mission the others were on. and to him. quiet, careful, sweet bob, sitting beside you like your own personal shadow.

he watched you like you were something fragile. something important. it made you feel… safe. which was ironic, considering the darkness that everyone knew was hidden inside him.

the void.

he sat there, still as ever, arms folded loosely in his lap. he glanced over at the book that seemed to be stealing all of your attention.

his voice was quiet again, cracking a little at the end. “what book, uhm— what book are you reading?”

you looked up and closed it gently, turning it to show him the cover. “it’s my favorite.”

he blinked, leaning in a little. “really?”

you nodded, watching the way he scanned the cover. he seemed interested in it. he was interested in it because you liked it.

"do you wanna borrow it?" you asked, not sure if he would want to.

his eyes lifted from the cover to your face. surprised.

"are you sure? i don't want to take it if you're reading it…" he rubbed the back of his neck shyly.

"i've read it a dozen times. take it. i think you'd like it." you smiled as he finally accepted it, holding it in his lap like it was something precious.

you don’t remember much after that. you must’ve dozed off, giving into the sense of comfort and safety you were feeling.

what you do remember is the nightmare you had. it was painful, full of the memories and wounds that had been reopened when you went into the void about a year before.

when you blinked awake, you were sitting up, sweating and panicked. the room was dimmer now. it had likely only been a few hours.

and bob was still there. he was already leaning forward, not crowding you, just close enough that you could see the worry in his face.

"you okay?" he asked gently, scanning your face for any answers.

you swallowed hard, finally catching your breath. you wanted to say yes. you wanted to pretend it was nothing.

“nightmare?” he asked before you could speak, "i get those too."

you nodded slowly. “yeah. probably the painkillers.” you let out a half-hearted chuckle.

he hesitated for a second, then reached out, lightly brushing your hand where it lay on your lap.

“can i…?”

you didn’t know what exactly he was offering but you nodded anyway. he carefully took your hand in both of his. his palms were warm. steady.

"sometimes just knowing you're not alone can help." he smiled softly.

for a moment, comfortable silence stretched between you. then he gave a small, awkward laugh, pulling away slightly.

“sorry. i’m... probably making this worse, huh?”

you shook your head, managing a tired smile. “no, it’s… nice. thanks, bobby.”

he looked down at your hands, squeezing gently. “nightmares suck.”

“yeah,” you whispered, “but having you here is making it a little less… bad.” you giggled quietly.

he glanced up, eyes soft. “i’m glad i could help.”

you took a deep breath, letting the tension ease out of your shoulders. your eye caught sight of the book, sitting behind him on the couch.

“so,” you gestured to it, trying to lighten the mood, “have you started reading it?"

he looked surprised, then grinned sheepishly, letting go of your hands to grab it. “i, uh, already finished it." he held it out to you.

you blinked in shock, taking it, "finished it?" you opened the book, flipping through the pages.

bob had left pieces of post-its on almost every page, full of handwritten notes. you stared at them in a stunned silence for a second, then let out a soft laugh. “you annotated it?” you asked, shocked... but touched.

he looked flustered, cheeks turning just a little pink. “i—yeah. sorry, i should’ve asked first. i just… i kept thinking about how you loved it so much, and i wanted to understand why… i wanted to remember what stood out. i’ll take them out if—”

“no,” you interrupted, clutching the book a little closer. “don’t. i think i love it even more now.”

he blinked, clearly surprised by your reaction. then smiled, just barely.

for the first time in a while, you both felt comfortable and safe. with each other.

thanks so much for reading <3 as always, requests are open

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austinbutlerslovers · 2 days ago

Text

Attention to Detail

Label Mature 18+

Summary Watching Austin care for he bike so thoroughly makes you want his hands all to yourself.

💝Romantic Smut💝 Austin Butler domestic • aims to please • being carried • edging •teasing •fingering• sweet talk• dirty talk• praising • size kink • p in v • orgasms •cream pie •aftercare

🔗 Master List ✨ Multiple inspo (while waiting for Cannes & Caught Stealing 🤩)

Attention to Detail

The Los Angeles sun spills golden light over the hillside, bathing Austin’s sprawling home in a warm, hazy glow. The house is a modern masterpiece of high glass walls, clean lines, and a wraparound deck that overlooks the downtown cityscape.

Inside, it’s all soft textures and earthy tones, a reflection of Austin’s grounded charm. You’ve lived together for months in blissful harmony, and each day feels like a dream you never want to wake from.

The glass walls of the living room frame the sprawling city below as you pour a glass of iced tea, but your eyes are fixated on something far more captivating.

Austin is out on the driveway, crouched beside his Harley, a vision of effortless allure in a fitted white T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and scuffed black work boots.

His sandy blonde hair catches the sunlight, gently tousled from the breeze, and his blue eyes are focused and sharp as he works.

You go to get a better view leaning against the front door frame, swirling the glass of iced tea in your hand.

You watch him polish the black chrome of his bike, his hands, calloused and sure, gliding over the metal with care, wiping down every curve, every edge.

The rag in his grip moves slow and methodical along the body, and you can’t help but think of how those same hands touch you, always knowing exactly where to linger.

“Enjoying the view?” Austin teases, pulling you from your thoughts as he glances up, and as his ocean-blue eyes lock onto yours, the soft smile playing on his lips makes him even more irresistible.

You smirk, taking a slow sip of your tea, gazing at him over the rim of the glass. “You make working on that bike look so… passionate.” you tease.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich, and he stands, stretching his arms above his head, his white tee riding up, to reveal a sliver of tanned, toned abs.

“Gotta take care of my girl,” he says, patting the bike’s seat, but his eyes stay on you, playful and knowing.

“Lucky bike,” you reply, setting your glass down on the entryway table. You cross the driveway to him, your bare feet soft against the warm pavement.

Austin watches, mesmerized, as you approach, his gaze darkening as he takes in the way your sundress hugs your curves, the hem swaying at your thighs.

“It makes me wonder,” you say, stopping just within reach gazing up at him, “What I need to do to get attention like that.”

His eyes are all heat as he tosses the rag onto the bike’s seat, closing the distance between you. His hands find your waist, pulling you against him, and you feel the hard planes of his body through the thin fabric of your dress.

“You have all my attention,” he whispers, his lips brushing yours, and kisses you, soft and slow, tasting of sunshine and mint. You loop your arms around his neck, melting into him as your mouths move together.

His strong hands slide up your sides, thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts, and you pleasurably sigh against his lips. “Austin,” you whisper, pulling back, your voice filled with desire, “take me inside.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice and in one fluid motion, he pulls you up into his strong arms, gripping your legs firm as they wrap around his waist and he carries you through the front door.

He takes one hand, pushing it shut and your lips meet again, passionate and desperate, your tongues teasing together.

His hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer, and you can feel the hard ridge of his erection through his jeans pressing hagainst you with every step.

You don’t make it far before Austin gently backs you against the living room wall, the cool plaster a stark contrast to the heat of his body.

He sets you down, pulling back just enough to yank his T-shirt over his head, revealing the tanned, chiseled lines of his torso.

His pecs are well defined, and his abs are sculpted ridges leading down to the v-line of his hips.

You trace your fingers over his skin, marveling at his strength as your eyes fill with want.

“Austin, you have no idea what you do to me,” you confess, your voice breathy as he leans over you, one arm braced against the wall above your head.

“Oh, I know,” he says, as his other hand slips under the hem of your dress, fingers brushing the fabric of your panties and you gasp, arching into his touch. He smiles, slow and sure, his voice all desire. “You want me to take care of you, don’t you baby?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” you breathe, your head tipping back as his fingers tease you, circling your clit through the fabric. The tantalizing pleasure builds fast, and you clutch his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Austin, please…”

He hums low in his throat, his lips claiming yours again as he pushes your panties aside.

His fingers slide through your slick heat, and you moan into his mouth as he pushes them inside you, thrusting until your hips rock against his hand.

He’s relentless, stroking you with the same care he gave his bike, every touch precise, every movement designed to give you satisfaction.

The wet sounds of his fingers working between you grows louder, slick and obscene, and he thrusts them just right, pressing against a spot that makes your vision blur as your breath hitches.

“Yes… right there, Austin,” you gasp against his lips, your moans rising as the pleasure coils tighter. His fingers thrust deeper, more focused, and his palm grinds against your clit as your orgasm overtakes you, sudden and intense with a muffled cry against his mouth.

He groans, feeling you flutter around his fingers, your release unmistakable as you come apart in his hand. He withdraws his finders slowly, bringing them to his mouth and he sucks them clean with a low hum of approval, his gaze locked on yours as you as you come down, breathless and trembling.

Your hands fumble with his tack button, tugging at the zipper until it gives way, and he kicks off his boots and jeans, leaving him in tight boxers that do little to hide his impressive length.

You palm him through the fabric, and he groans, hips jerking forward. “Fuck, you make me so hard,” he breathes, his voice strained and low.

“Show me,” you plead, your eyes locked on his knowing exactly what he needs.

He doesn’t hesitate lifting you again and he carries you to the large sectional couch, placing you down with ease.

You slide your panties off, tossing them aside and he pulls down the waistband of his boxers. His cock slides free, thick, veined and heavy, the sight sending a jolt of overwhelming desire through you as you lay back, your heart pounding in anticipation.

He mounts you with his strong, powerful thighs, and you feel the hot, rigid length of his cock press against you as he pauses, his eyes searching yours.

“You’re so perfect for me” he rasps, his gaze dropping to how slick and ready you are for him.

“Austin, yes,” you answer, wrapping your legs around him. “Please I need you.”

With a groan, he thrusts into you, filling you completely, the stretch immensely pleasurable, as you cry out, your hands gripping his firm biceps as he sets a slow, deep rhythm.

His arm braces above you, his muscles flexing, as his other hand grips your hip, holding you to place to meet his thrusts. The couch creaks with every movement, but you don’t care—you’re lost in him, in the way he feels, the way he makes you entirely his.

“You feel …so good, baby,” he praises, his voice low and reverent as your eyes meet, and you see those piercing blue depths darken with desire.

His hand slides down to your thigh, firm and possessive, as his hips move in perfect rhythm, every thrust dragging a moan from your lips, feeling the friction of his cock becoming unbearable in the best way.

Your hands slide over his shoulders, clinging to him as he brushes his nose along your cheek listening to your satisfying moans against his ear.

“Austin I’m so close,” you gasp, your climax rising fast feeling his pelvis rolls tight against yours hitting just right with unrelenting precision.

“Let me feel you come,” he breathes, increasing his pace thrusting harder as his fingers find your clit, circling in time with his hips.

You moan uncontrollably, the pleasure immeasurable as he drives into you, the strength of his body claiming yours with every thrust.

His muscles flex hard against you until you begin to orgasm, your body trembling as cry out his name feeling waves of ecstasy crash through you.

He feels you come and he groans deep in his chest, his body a vision of strength as he surrenders to pleasure. His abs pull tight, his powerful thighs flexing as he drives into you with ruthless precision chasing his release.

You moan, nails raking down his back, and he grunts softly his cock pulsing inside of you as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours as he starts to come, his moans breaking as his release spills deep inside of you.

“I-I love you too,” you breathe, your heart pounding as he gently thrusts into you, keeping you right there with him.

As his pace slows and his breaths even out, his hands slowly slide down your body with care, his touch gentle and grounding.

You place your hands on his neck, drawing him close as you gaze into his soft blue eyes. “You take such good care of me Austin,” you praise, your voice full of satisfaction as your fingers slide through his hair, pulling him in for another kiss.

He smiles against your lips, slow and easy. “I always take care of my girl,” he promises, knowing that this is just the start of your day together.

END 🏍️

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List @purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mani-pedro @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @unicoo @thejoywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog @jjubilee-fluff @laurenmcquilty @louisejoy86 @butlerrizz @kulturalismellektermek

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yena-enha · 20 hours ago

Text

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 - 𝐏𝐉𝐒

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Warning - Major character death, pregnancy complications, grief, emotional trauma, hospital scenes, blood, implied postpartum depression

Note - MDNI (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)/INTERACT AT YOUR OWN RISK/NSFW ANGST Content

Genre - Angst, Tragedy, Family, Emotional

Pairing - Idol!Jay x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Song Inspiration - “From the Dining Table” by Harry Styles

Word Count - 2,225 words

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Jay was in love.

With your laugh, with the way you clutched your stomach when your daughter kicked, with your sleepy voice over late-night calls.

But most of all, Jay was in love with the life the two of you had created—a baby girl, slowly growing in your womb, curling up beneath your ribs and stealing more of your heart each day.

He was in love with you. And yet, he was never there.

---

You had learned to smile for him.

Even on days when your vision blurred, when your legs trembled just walking from the bedroom to the kitchen. Even when blood coated your thighs in the middle of the night and you had to lie to the emergency line just to convince them not to call your husband because “he’s busy—he’s an idol.”

You always said the same thing when Jay called:

"I’m okay."

Even when you weren’t.

Even when your hands shook trying to make a meal, your back felt like it would snap under your own weight, and your body screamed for help.

You wanted him to be proud of you.

You didn’t want to be a burden.

You were six months pregnant, and the only thing louder than the baby’s heartbeat was the silence that followed after every call ended.

---

Jay would FaceTime during breaks.

He’d press his face close to the camera, eyes tired, but smile wide and boyish. “Hi, baby. Show me the belly.”

And you’d sit on the floor, biting your lip to hide the pain, and aim the camera down at your bump. It was bigger now. Stretched thin. Heavy.

“She kicked today,” you whispered, your voice weak.

His eyes lit up. “Really? She’s strong like her mom.”

You smiled, nodding. But you didn’t say how the kick had left you breathless and dizzy. How you had to hold onto the wall to keep from falling.

“Jay,” you said softly that night, “I’ve been feeling weird. Like… dizzy. And my legs hurt. I couldn’t stand earlier without losing balance.”

He frowned. “You went to the doctor, right?”

“I didn’t have a ride.”

“I can send a manager or—”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. I’ll go tomorrow.”

“I’ll come home next week. Just a few more days of rehearsals, okay? Hang in there, baby. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

But inside, your body was crumbling.

---

It happened on a Sunday. Quiet, gray, forgettable—until it wasn’t.

You woke up with a sharp pain in your stomach, but you had grown used to pain by then. You slid your legs out of bed, palms bracing against the wall. Your vision danced, blurred at the edges.

“I just need water,” you whispered to yourself. “Just the kitchen.”

You made it halfway down the stairs when your legs gave out.

Your body twisted mid-air, your arms desperately reaching for a railing that wasn’t close enough. You landed hard.

Head.

Back.

Stomach.

A scream ripped from your throat—but no one was home to hear it.

Your hands instantly flew to your belly. Blood. There was so much blood.

“Please,” you whispered to the emptiness, “please don’t take her from me.”

---

Jay’s phone rang seven times before he answered.

He almost didn’t pick up. He was in the middle of rehearsing choreography.

But something in him knew.

The moment he saw Grandma Song’s name, his stomach dropped.

Her voice was shaking. Panicked. Breathless.

“She fell—Jay, she fell down the stairs—she’s bleeding—she wasn’t moving��ambulance took her—please, come fast—"

He dropped everything.

Didn’t change clothes. Didn’t tell staff. Didn’t grab his wallet.

He just ran.

---

The hospital was cold.

Jay didn’t remember how he got there. Whether he ran or flew. All he knew was that they wouldn’t let him in the ICU.

“Sir, she’s in surgery. Please wait here.”

“What happened to her?! What happened to my wife?!” he shouted, voice breaking.

“She’s sustained internal trauma. Placental rupture. Blunt force injury to the skull. She’s unconscious but—”

“But what?!” he roared, tears forming.

The nurse glanced away.

“…she woke up briefly before the anesthesia. Said to save the baby. No matter what.”

Jay stared at her, frozen. “What?”

“She insisted, sir. Begged, actually.”

---

He collapsed into a chair, hands gripping his hair, eyes stinging.

“She told you to save the baby over herself?”

The nurse nodded.

Jay let out a broken sob.

You were dying—and still thinking of your child before yourself.

The guilt clawed into his chest like a knife.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispered. “I should’ve been home.”

He didn’t feel the tears anymore. Just the aching.

“I left her alone. And now…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

---

Hours passed.

The light above the ICU door glowed red.

Jay sat frozen in the hallway, head down, clutching the last photo you’d sent him—one where your belly peeked out beneath one of his hoodies, your smile tired but proud.

And then…

The light went out.

The doctor came out slowly. Face pale. Gloves stained.

Jay stood up. “Is she okay? Please, tell me she’s okay.”

The doctor took a deep breath.

“She didn’t make it.”

The air left Jay’s lungs.

“No,” he whispered. “No—no, that can’t be—”

“She lost too much blood. We did everything we could. But she went into cardiac arrest. She… she was gone before we finished the cesarean.”

Jay stumbled back. “But the baby…?”

“She’s alive. Tiny, but breathing. Fighting.”

Jay’s knees hit the floor.

You were gone.

And he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

---

They let him see you one last time.

You looked peaceful. Too peaceful. Like sleep—but wrong.

Your hands were cold. Your lips blue.

Jay leaned over you, sobbing so hard his body shook.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, voice cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I promised to protect you. I promised to come back. But I wasn’t there.”

He kissed your forehead. “You were all alone. I should’ve been the one to fall. I should’ve—God—I should’ve carried you through this.”

He clutched your hand, trembling. “I loved you more than anything. And now you’re—”

He couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t say dead.

---

When he saw the baby, he lost it all over again.

She was so small. Her body barely the size of his forearm. Wires taped to her chest. A nasal cannula feeding her oxygen.

“She’s strong,” the nurse said softly. “Just like her mom.”

Jay stood outside the glass for ten minutes before he dared enter.

When he held her, she didn’t cry. Just blinked slowly. Breathing.

Alive.

“You’re here,” he whispered. “You made it.”

He bent down and kissed her soft forehead.

“You’re all I have now.”

---

He named her Jayeon—meaning natural grace.

The name you scribbled on a sticky note months ago and stuck to the fridge.

Jay kept that note in his wallet now.

He moved the crib to your bedroom—his bedroom now. But he still slept on your side of the bed, curled around your pillow, as if you might come back one day.

Jayeon cried often in those first months, but Jay never complained.

Not once.

Because her cries meant she was alive.

And every time he held her close, he’d whisper:

"Your mommy gave you her heartbeat."

---

Jayeon was four when she found your photo book.

Jay walked in to see her sitting in the hallway, flipping through old polaroids. Her little hands traced your face over and over.

“Daddy?” she asked, eyes big. “Was Mommy beautiful?”

Jay knelt down beside her, voice catching in his throat.

“The most beautiful person I’ve ever known.”

“Where is she?”

Jay smiled gently, tears stinging. “She’s in the stars now, baby. Watching over you.”

“Did she love me?”

Jay’s lips quivered.

“She died loving you.”

He pulled her close, holding her tiny frame against his chest.

“Mommy gave you everything. And I promise… I’ll give you the rest.”

---

You left the world with empty arms, but you left behind a heartbeat—a daughter Jay would spend the rest of his life holding tight, so she’d never know the silence that took you away.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

CRY GUYS

«Masterlist || Introduction»

Taglist» (open) @strxwbloody

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

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readreidsworld · 2 days ago

Text

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky surprises you with a lazy Sunday date to the farmer’s market.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’re still half asleep when a pair of warm lips press softly to your forehead. A low whisper follows. “C’mon, sweetheart. Up and at ‘em.”

You squint one eye open and groan dramatically. “Bucky, it’s Sunday. I was having a very intense dream about pancakes.”

He chuckles, his voice still raspy from sleep.

“Good thing I know a place with pancakes…and strawberries. Lots of strawberries.”

You blink your eyes open fully now, curiosity piqued. He’s already dressed in a cozy navy henley and jeans, his hair still a little damp from the shower. There’s a softness in his expression like he’s been waiting all morning just to see you smile.

“You’re being suspiciously cute,” you mumble, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

“That’s because I’m taking my best girl to the farmer’s market,” he says proudly, like he’s just announced a trip to Paris. “You’ve been working too hard. So today’s about fresh air, carbs, and me buying you flowers like a proper gentleman.”

You giggle, already melting.

The farmer’s market is in full swing by the time you arrive. It’s all sunshine and music, the kind of day that feels dipped in gold. Stalls line the sidewalks, overflowing with fresh produce, handmade candles, jars of honey, and bunches of wildflowers that smell like summer.

Bucky holds your hand the entire time with his metal one, which he’s always been self conscious about, you squeeze it every so often just to remind him you love every part of him.

He buys you a lavender lemonade and insists on carrying all the bags, even when his human arm is clearly full. You catch him sneaking glances at you when you’re distracted by a stand of succulents, his eyes soft and awe struck, like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Ooh, strawberries!” you exclaim, tugging him toward a small stall with the ripest berries you’ve ever seen. You sample one and your eyes go wide.

“Try this,” you say, holding one out to him.

He leans in and bites it straight from your fingers, his lips brushing your skin. “Sweet,” he says and you’re not sure if he means the strawberry or you. Probably both.

Later, you sit together on a bench, sharing a warm cinnamon roll and watching a little girl dance to a street musician’s violin.

“You were right,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “This was perfect.”

Bucky kisses your hair, letting out a content sigh. “Told you. You deserve soft days like this.”

And with the sun on your face, the scent of strawberries in the air, and Bucky’s hand laced with yours you start to believe him.

By the time you get home, the kitchen table is cluttered with bags of fresh produce and flowers. Bucky’s already rolled his sleeves up, revealing his forearms a sight you don’t mind one bit.

He gives you a playful look. “So…you really wanna make jam or were you just using it as an excuse to keep me here longer?”

You shrug, grinning. “Can’t it be both?”

Bucky laughs, pulling you in for a quick kiss before turning to the strawberries. “Alright, boss. What’s first?”

You spend the next hour slicing strawberries and sneaking bits to each other like kids. Bucky’s surprisingly meticulous measuring out sugar with the focus of someone defusing a bomb.

“Did you follow a recipe for this?” you ask, impressed. “Nope,” he says. “Just Googled ‘how to not screw up jam.’”

You’re stirring the mixture over the stove when he comes up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, arms slipping around your waist. He smells like sunshine and strawberries and cinnamon like home.

“This is nice,” he murmurs.

You nod, feeling your heart settle into something warm and safe. “Yeah. It really is.”

While the jam simmers and cools in jars, Bucky puts on a record an old jazz tune with a lazy, swaying rhythm.

He holds out a hand with a soft smile. “Dance with me?”

You take it without hesitation, letting him pull you close. The kitchen lights are low, and the world outside your windows is quiet. Your bare feet move slowly against the tile as he spins you gently, then pulls you back into his arms like he never wants to let go.

“You make everything feel so still,” he says quietly. You look up at him. “Still good or still boring?” “Still like peace,” he answers. “Like I don’t have to run anymore.”

Your chest aches in the best way. You reach up to touch his face, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

“You’re not running, Buck. You’re home.”

He kisses you again, softer than ever before, and when you pull away, his smile looks like something he hasn’t worn in decades like ease.

Later, you sit on the couch, tangled in blankets, passing a jar of fresh jam back and forth with spoons.

It’s too sweet. The strawberries are still warm. And Bucky keeps making a mess of himself.

But it’s perfect. Because he’s here. And he’s yours. And the rest of the world can wait.

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fiastomatocheek · 2 days ago

Text

WHERE IT HURTS ME THE MOST

requested: yes | req: okay so my idea is reader and will are arguing and she's got a short temper and so will is kinda dialing in on insults related to that. and i guess to make this make sense, she had a past boyfriend that didn't treat her the best so her anger is a coping mechanism and a safety net for herself so she doesn't get hurt again but he's never seen her cry at all (about that situation or anything else) in the time they've been dating. and they're just going back and forth and back and forth and finally will says something like ‘well i get why your ex left because you're so stubborn and angry all the time. if you got your anger under control maybe some good things would happen to you’ and it just breaks her. like she stops fighting and when she goes to leave, will sees the tears welling in her eyes and he knows immediately that he fucked up. and she isolates herself and no one hears from her for days until finally will finds her at her apartment and he apologizes or something like that? please and thank you!

pair: will smith x f!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, romance.

warnings: past emotional abuse, toxic ex mentioned, yelling/argument, emotional breakdown, isolation, hurtful dialogue, emotional vulnerability, but ends with comfort and healing.

summary: you only asked will for one thing is that to check in after practice. it wasn’t a demand. just a simple gesture. but when a small concern turns into a spiraling argument, will crosses a line he never should’ve touched. and the moment he sees you cry for the first time, he realizes exactly how much damage he’s done.

fia’s note: never been in a toxic relationship before *praying this kind of love never finds me* so i’m not really sure what else to add, but i hope you enjoy it anywayyy. love you all lots!! my fav little 🍅s. alsooo i’d love if some of you could recommend me a few will smith angst fics to read, i’m in the mood to suffer a little. and i’m currently open to dad!luke hughes requests too!! he doesn’t get nearly enough dad delulu content on here and i desperately need it.

tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @kell9rs @nokiaholland

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | fic discussion

“Hey,”

Will greeted casually, wiping his damp forehead with the edge of his shirt after tossing his gear bag down by the entryway.

“Hi,” you replied flatly.

He paused, glancing at you. “Everything… okay?”

“I don’t know. Did something happen after practice? You usually text.”

He looked up from unlacing his shoes.

“Yeah, sorry. Coach kept us longer than usual.”

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

“You still could’ve sent a text. Just… anything.”

He let out a breath, already heading toward the kitchen.

“Babe, I was busy. And you know I don’t take my phone on the ice.”

“I know,” you said quietly.

“But it’s not about the rink. It’s about after. You had it once practice ended. You just didn’t use it.”

“You’re mad?”

“I’m not mad,”

You said, eventhough the frustration in your tone told a different story.

“I just… it would’ve taken two seconds to text ‘I’m okay’. That’s all I needed.”

Will tossed his hoodie over the back of the chair.

“I was exhausted. I didn’t think you’d be this upset about it.”

“That’s the problem,” you snapped.

“You didn’t think. About me. About how I sit here wondering if something happened. If you got hurt. I know it sounds stupid, but it matters to me.”

“It’s not stupid,”

He said quickly, but the way he rubbed his temples suggested he didn’t quite mean it.

“It’s just… I don’t get why it’s always a big thing.”

“It’s not always a big thing,” you said, voice rising.

“You just make me feel like I’m asking for too much everytime I express something that bothers me.”

“Because you come at me like I’ve already failed.”

You stared at him. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you actually listened when I talk.”

Will’s jaw clenched. “I do listen, I do. But you’re always so angry. Every conversation turns into a fight.”

And just like that, your anger cut deeper than he probably intended.

You turned away, trying to collect yourself.

But Will didn’t stop.

“It’s like you’re constantly looking for something to go wrong. I come home and you’re already on edge, like you’re bracing for a war that hasn’t even started.”

“Maybe because I am bracing,”

You snapped, spinning back toward him.

“You don’t know what it’s like to live in a state of defense. To have someone chip away at you every fucking day until the only thing left is armor.”

Will’s expression now is confused, overwhelmed, cornered.

“I’m not your ex, babe.”

“I never said you were. But sometimes you make me feel like I have to prepare for the worst. Like if I don’t say something now, I’ll end up swallowed by silence, again.”

He scoffed. “You can’t compare me to him everytime you’re upset.”

“I’m not! I’m just trying to explain why I am the way I am!”

“Then maybe work on changing it.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, frustration bleeding through,

“You always expect me to cater to your triggers, your past, your baggage but when do you take responsibility for how you react?”

“I am taking responsibility,” you said.

“I’m telling you what I need so we don’t spiral like this. And you’re acting like I’m attacking you.”

Will stepped back, tone turning cold.

“You know what? Fine. Be angry. Be stubborn. That’s all you ever do anyway.”

You flinched.

And then he said it. The most hurtful things you’ve ever heard.

“Well, I get why your ex left. Because you’re so stubborn and angry all the time. If you got your anger under control, maybe some good things would happen to you.”

A breath. A heart broken.

All of the pain hit all at once, your body stilled, your face blanked. Your eyes went glassy, your fists clenched at your sides.

Will’s face dropped as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Wait no, I didn’t mean that, I—”

But it was too late.

Your voice cracked as you whispered,

“You were supposed to be different.”

You turned, grabbed your keys, and… left.

It’s had been three days eversince that day you left his apartment, eversince the you hadn’t answered a single message.

Not the texts. Not the voicemails. Not even the flowers he sent that sat untouched outside your apartment door.

Will was unraveling, everytime he closed his eyes, he saw the way your face shattered, how your mouth opened in shock, but no words came, your eyes filled with tears those tears you never let him see before you slipped out the door without another word.

Now, soaked from the rain, he used the spare key you gave him months ago, stepping into your apartment with a heart heavy enough to drown him this time.

You were there.

When you looked up and saw him, you didn’t move.

“Please…”

He said quietly, shutting the door behind him.

“Just… let me say this.”

You looked so tired. So hollow.

Will knelt beside the couch, water dripping from his head onto the floor.

“I know… I know I said the one thing I should’ve never said. But I need you to understand… I wasn’t angry at you. I was scared. Scared I was failing you. And instead of being patient, I chose to be cruel.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, lips trembling.

“You’ve told me what your anger protects. I should’ve respected that. I should’ve seen that what I call ‘yelling’ is really just the sound of you trying not to drown.”

He hesitated, then reached for your hand so gentle, barely a brush.

“I love you. Not in the convenient way. Not just when things are easy. I love you when you’re quiet, soft. But I also love you when you’re loud and afraid. I love you when you’re angry because I know that anger comes from pain you never deserved.”

Will moved slowly, sitting beside you, careful not to push too far.

“You don’t have to protect yourself from me. Not with words. Not with walls. I’m not going anywhere. No matter how loud it gets. No matter how hard it feels. I’m yours. Even when it’s not easy.”

“You are not too much. You were just never given the right space to be everything you are.”

Silence.

“And I want to be that space.”

You looked at him, crumpled and broken, and you believed him, your body leaned forward. Your hand reached for his. And when you finally pulled him into you, burying your face in his shoulder, he held you like the home he promised to be.

“I don’t need you to be okay all the time,”

Will added, voice shaking a little now.

“I just need you. However you are. However you come.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair.

“I’m so sorry.”

#will smith #will smith imagine #will smith imagines #will smith x reader #will smith x you #will smith x y/n #will smith hockey #will smith fic #will smith fluff #will smith nhl #will smith angst #will smith hockey imagine #will smith hockey imagines #will smith hockey x you #will smith hockey x reader #will smith hockey angst #will smith hockey fluff

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yungistiny · 3 days ago

Text

Heaven And Back ═ chapter four

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter four: mine

╚═════════

summary: mingi is trouble wrapped in bleached hair and piercings and maybe that’s exactly what y/n needs

warning: emo mingi, stoner/dealer mingi, use of drugs, first time, unprotected sex, choking, possessive mingi, oral

pairing: mingi x afab reader

genre: romance, drama, smut

word count: 6.3k

chapter three

chapter five coming soon

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The cafe was slow for a Monday morning, the kind of lull that made everything feel suspended, like the world was still stretching itself awake.

Y/N stood behind the counter, organizing sugar packets with a little too much care. She wasn’t really paying attention. Her mind kept drifting to warm water, slick skin, the way Mingi’s voice had gone rough when he whispered her name against her neck.

She bit her lip and smiled to herself, pulse fluttering.

“Alright, what the hell is that face?”

Y/N jumped.

Wooyoung was leaning against the espresso machine, arms crossed, one brow arched high. “You’re smiling at coffee stirrers like they just proposed.”

She blinked, caught. “I’m not..”

“You are. You absolutely are.” He stepped closer, squinting at her. “Your skin looks too glowy. Your mood is suspiciously mellow. And is that a hickey or a constellation?”

Y/N let out a groan and buried her face in her hands. “Please don’t make me talk about this right now.”

“Oh my god, you slept with him.” Wooyoung hissed, grabbing her wrist. “You totally slept with him, didn’t you?”

“Can you not announce it to the entire cafe?” Y/N hissed back, eyes darting toward the single customer in the corner.

Wooyoung leaned in, eyes wide and sparkling with mischief. “So? Was it… did he live up to the whole tall, dangerous fantasy?”

Y/N hesitated, and then her expression softened, a blush blooming across her cheeks.

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. You’re ruined, aren’t you?”

She swatted at him with a laugh, but didn’t deny it.

And Wooyoung, grinning like the devil, slung an arm around her shoulders. “You better tell me everything on our lunch break. I want a play by play. Actually, no. I want poetry. A sonnet.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re in trouble,” he sing songed. “You’re catching feelings for the plug.”

She didn’t answer that, mostly because he was right.

They slipped back into rhythm after that, bantering between customer orders, stealing sips of cold brew and dodging each other in the tight space behind the counter like it was choreography. But Wooyoung didn’t miss the way Y/N would zone out while restocking the pastry case or how she hummed under her breath while wiping down the counter, a tune he didn’t recognize, but knew wasn’t from the cafe playlist.

By the time noon rolled around, the cafe had picked up. The usual lunch crowd trickled in, office workers and students balancing laptops and overpriced salads. Y/N was mid pour, filling a to go cup with oat milk when Wooyoung nudged her sharply with his elbow.

“Your boy’s here.”

She didn’t even have to look, she felt it first, like gravity had shifted. That pull. That flutter.

Still, she played it cool.

Mingi had that effortless swagger, even in broad daylight. Black hoodie half zipped over a ribbed tank, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He smelled like musk and something darker, like heat clinging to skin after a long night. He offered Wooyoung a nod, but his eyes locked on Y/N.

Wooyoung raised a brow. “You want to take this one, or should I?”

She was already moving.

Mingi leaned casually against the counter, mouth curling into a smirk. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She said, blushing, keeping her voice light.

He tilted his head. “You free for five minutes?”

She glanced at the growing line. “Give me ten. You staying?”

“For you? Yeah.” He grinned. “I’ll even buy something.”

He stepped aside as she rang up a latte for the next customer, but the heat of his gaze stayed on her, and she felt it in every inch of her body.

Wooyoung slid up beside her again once Mingi was seated, sipping an ice macchiato and scrolling his phone. “You two are gross.”

Y/N bumped him with her hip. “Jealous?”

“Of what? The post coital glow or the fact that you’re clearly in too deep?”

She didn’t answer again.

But when her break came, she brought herself an iced drink to the little table near the back and slid into the seat across from Mingi. His hand found her knee under the table almost instantly, and her smile gave everything away.

Wooyoung watched from behind the counter, shaking his head and muttering to himself, “She’s so ruined.”

The cafe’s buzz faded into the background the second Y/N sat down across from him. The light filtered in through the window just enough to catch on Mingi’s rings, the condensation sliding down the side of his cup, the slight crook in his smile as he looked at her.

“You look tired,” she said, watching him through her lashes.

“Didn’t sleep much,” Mingi replied, voice low. “Someone wore me out.”

Her lips twitched. “You’re blaming me?”

“I’m thanking you.” He murmured, and then his fingers brushed lightly against her knee beneath the table.

The touch made her heart kick, but she didn’t shy away, not this time. She let her leg stay there, warm against his, and leaned in just a little.

“When can I see you again?” He asked, thumb tracing small circles just above the hem of her skirt.

Y/N took a slow sip of her iced coffee, teasing. “That desperate already?”

Mingi laughed, head tilting, eyes scanning her face like he was memorizing it again. “Yeah, kinda. You gonna hold it against me?”

“Maybe,” she said, voice dipping with quiet confidence.

His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. “Tonight?”

She bit her lip, pretending to consider it. “You’re needy.”

“And you’re cocky now,” he grinned. “I like it.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she held her ground. “Maybe I’ll let you convince me. Depends on how sweet you are for the rest of this visit.”

“Sweet?” he echoed, leaning forward so his knee pressed between hers, barely noticeable under the tablecloth but there. “I wasn’t that sweet in the shower.”

Y/N’s breath hitched just slightly, but her smile didn’t falter. “Exactly.”

Mingi exhaled a soft chuckle, eyes lingering on her like he couldn’t look away.

They didn’t talk much more after that, didn’t need to. His hand stayed warm on her knee, and when her break ended, he didn’t protest. Just stood slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“I’ll text you,” she said.

“You better.”

He left with that lazy, unhurried walk, and Y/N watched him go with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Behind her, Wooyoung groaned dramatically. “Honestly? I feel like I just watched a soft porno.”

“You wish your life was this interesting,” she quipped, already heading back behind the counter, heart beating a little faster than before.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The sun had long dipped behind the city skyline by the time Y/N knocked on Mingi’s door. She could hear music faintly from inside, something low and heavy with bass, just like always, and her nerves fluttered in her stomach, even though she’d already been here. Even though he’d already seen every inch of her.

Still, this felt different.

When he opened the door, he looked just as undone as the first time, sweats low on his hips, an oversized black tee, chain hanging around his neck. His hair was damp, like he’d just showered.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than she expected.

“Hey,” she replied, stepping inside.

He closed the door behind her and kissed her like he’d been waiting all day to do it, slow, warm, deliberate. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and when they parted, her breath came out shaky.

They ended up curled together on the couch, legs tangled beneath a throw blanket, some movie playing quietly in the background. Mingi’s hand traced slow, absentminded patterns along her bare thigh, under her skirt.

It was Y/N who shifted first, sitting up slightly, heart thudding in her chest.

“Mingi?” she asked, chewing her bottom lip.

He looked at her, eyes gentle. “Yeah?”

“I, um…” She hesitated, but forced herself to meet his gaze. “I want to try something. With you.”

That got his full attention. He sat up slightly, brows lifting, but not in surprise, just interest. “Okay.”

She looked down at her lap, flustered. “I’ve never… I’ve never gone down on anyone before, obviously. But I want to. I mean, with you. I want to learn. If that’s okay.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything and she panicked, ready to crawl under the blanket and die.

But then Mingi exhaled, slow and warm, and grabbed her chin gently.

“You sure?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. I just… I don’t want to mess it up. I thought maybe you could teach me?”

His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “Baby, you asking me that? Might be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her face flamed, but the tension eased out of her shoulders.

He leaned in and kissed her, this time slower. “I’ll show you everything,” he murmured against her mouth. “And you don’t have to be nervous. We’ll take it slow.”

Y/N nodded, heart thudding as he took her hand and guided her off the couch, leading her to his bedroom with that same patience he always had with her, only now, she wasn’t afraid to want.

Not with him.

The bedroom was dimly lit, just the soft amber glow of the lamp on the nightstand painting the walls in warmth. Mingi’s bed was messy, sheets slightly tangled, one pillow half on the floor, but it felt lived in, real. It felt like him.

He let go of her hand only to tug off his shirt, revealing golden skin, the cut of his abs, the silver gleam of his nipple piercings. Y/N swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

Mingi noticed.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded. “Just… nervous.”

His hand found her waist, coaxing her closer until her body met his. “I’ll tell you what to do. You go at your own pace. And if at any point you want to stop, we stop.”

Y/N breathed out, grounding herself in the heat of his body, the calm in his eyes. “Okay.”

He smiled, kissed her forehead, then leaned back and sank onto the edge of the bed, legs spread just slightly.

“Come here,” he murmured, patting his thigh.

Her hands trembled just a little as she sank to her knees in front of him, heart pounding. He brushed her hair away from her face, his rings cool against her skin.

“You’re already doing perfect,” he whispered.

He tugged down his sweatpants, letting them slide off his hips, and Y/N breath hitched as he freed himself. She blinked, not just from size or nerves, but the sheer intimacy of it. Of this.

Mingi chuckled softly, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. “You can start with your hands. Touch me. Get used to it.”

She reached out, wrapping her fingers around the base of him, warm and thick and pulsing in her grip. The soft groan he let out made her thighs press together.

“Just like that,” he breathed. “Slow strokes. Don’t squeeze too tight… there you go.”

She watched his face as she moved her hand, his lashes fluttering, mouth parting slightly. His praise came gentle but hungry. “You’re so good at this already, baby.”

The nickname sent heat pooling low in her belly.

“Use your mouth whenever you’re ready,” he added, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Start with just the tip. Don’t go too deep.”

Y/N leaned in, lips brushing against the head of him, and he hissed through his teeth. Encouraged, she parted her lips, letting him slide into the warmth of her mouth, just a little at first, and then deeper.

Mingi groaned, head tilting back.

“Fuck, baby. That’s it,” he panted. “Hollow your cheeks a little. Just like that.”

She did, her hands gripping his thighs for balance, heart pounding with every moan she pulled from him. He was gentle, never pushing her, just guiding, one hand stroking her cheek, the other in her hair.

“That feel okay?” he asked, voice strained.

She nodded, mouth still full, and he groaned again.

“Shit. You’re gonna kill me.”

Feeling a little more confident, Y/N decided to see how much of him she could fit, the second she gagged, taking him all the way, Mingi let out the most addictive moan she ever heard, and she wanted more.

She pulled off with a gasp for air, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Mingi was flushed, sweat at his temple, his dick still hard and glistening with her spit.

“You did so good,” he murmured, tugging her up into his lap. “So fucking good.”

Their mouths met in a hungry kiss, and then he was flipping them onto the bed, her back against the pillows, his body caging hers in.

“I need to be inside you again,” he growled into her skin. “But I wanna taste you first.”

Y/N whimpered, already pulling her clothes off.

Mingi was on her before she could think, mouth hot and slow and expert between her thighs. He made her come once, twice, body trembling, back arching, hands in his hair, before he finally put a condom on and slid inside her with a groan that sounded more like a prayer.

They moved slow, Mingi holding her close, whispering things she barely caught. Things like “So tight,” and “You feel like heaven,” and “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

When they came together, it was intense, shattering, and afterwards, he didn’t leave her for a second. Just curled around her, kisses pressed to her shoulders, her neck.

She fell asleep like that.

Wanted.

Safe.

Wrecked in the best way.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It had been a week.

Seven days of classes, work, and deadlines, of too many late nights and too little sleep. Y/N planner was a mess of highlighter and half scribbled reminders. Her phone buzzed constantly with due dates and unread group chats. And somewhere in between trying to keep her GPA afloat and pulling doubles at the cafe, her body started running on caffeine and fumes.

She hadn’t seen Mingi since.

At first, she didn’t worry. She was busy, he was busy, she knew what he did, and that his world moved fast and late and often didn’t follow the same rules hers did. But as each day passed with just a text or two, a “how was class” here, a “you okay?” there, the anxious thoughts started to creep in.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just giving her space.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

She was wiping down tables at the cafe when Wooyoung slid behind the counter and stole the rag from her hand.

“Sit down,” he said firmly. “You’re about to fall over.”

“I’m fine.” She lied.

“You’re vibrating with stress and I saw you cry in the walk in fridge yesterday.”

“That was allergies.”

Wooyoung raised a brow. “In a refrigerated space?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

He softened. “What’s going on? School? Work?”

“All of it,” she muttered, leaning on the counter. “And…” she hesitated. “Mingi.”

Wooyoung didn’t say anything right away.

“It’s not bad,” She explained quickly. “I mean…. nothing happened. It’s just… we haven’t really seen each other since, I… went…. I gave him…..” Why was she blushing at the word? “Since I gave him head, and now I’m wondering if maybe that all of this was just… sex. Like, great sex. But just sex.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes. “You think he ghosted you?”

“I don’t know,” she rubbed her forehead. “I’m probably just overthinking. I just…. I liked how things felt. It was easy. And now it’s not. And I hate not knowing what we are.”

Wooyoung was quiet for a beat. “Did you ask him?”

Y/N groaned. “No.”

“Then maybe start there, genius.”

She shot him a look.

“Look,” he said, gentler now. “You’re tired and overwhelmed and in your head. You care. That’s not a bad thing. But if you don’t ask him, you’re gonna keep spiraling and assuming the worst, and I know Mingi isn’t the best at texting, but the guy looked wrecked after you left last week. I don’t think you’re a casual hit to him.”

Her heart twisted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Wooyoung nudged her hip. “So talk to him. Before your brain convinces you he joined a cult or something.”

She laughed, a weak little sound, but real.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what she needed.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Later that evening, Y/N found herself cross legged on the floor of Wooyoung’s dorm room, head tipped back against the edge of his unmade bed. The window was cracked to let out the smoke, but the room was still hazy, thick with the sweet, earthy scent of the blunt his roommate Yeosang was lazily passing between them.

“I can’t feel my knees,” Y/N murmured, blinking slowly at the ceiling.

“Good,” Wooyoung grinned, sprawled across the bed like a satisfied cat. “Means it’s working.”

Yeosang chuckled from where he was slouched at his desk chair, fingers idly tapping against his thigh. “You’re both lightweights.”

Y/N didn’t argue. She was too far gone, in that blissful, untethered way where her thoughts floated just beneath her skin, and everything she’d been trying not to feel was suddenly impossible to ignore.

Her phone buzzed from the floor next to her leg.

Mingi’s name.

Just a “hey”, simple. Nothing more.

But with her head fuzzy and her heart louder than her logic, something in her snapped.

She unlocked her phone, thumb hovering for a second, then hit the call button.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Wooyoung asked, sitting up a little.

“I’m calling him,” she said, like it was obvious.

“You’re high as shit.”

“So?”

Yeosang blinked. “This feels like a bad idea.”

But it was already ringing.

Y/N held the phone to her ear, heart hammering now under all that haze.

“Y/N?”

Mingi’s voice was warm, rough, like it reached down her spine and curled around her ribs.

“Hi,” she breathed, trying not to slur. “Were you asleep?”

A pause. “No. Just got home. You okay?”

“I’m stoned,” she said plainly. “Like really stoned.”

He chuckled softly. “I can hear that.”

“I miss you.”

That made him quiet.

“And I’ve been thinking,” she went on, eyes fluttering shut. “About… us.”

“Us?” Mingi’s voice gentled, more alert now.

Y/N pressed her cheek against the bed, clutching the phone tighter. “Yeah. I mean…. what even are we?”

Behind her, Wooyoung groaned and face planted into a pillow. Yeosang silently handed him the rest of the blunt.

Mingi didn’t answer right away.

Y/N bit her lip. “You don’t have to say anything right now if it’s like… a bad time or…”

“No,” he cut in, quiet but firm. “I’m just thinking. I didn’t expect this conversation tonight. But I’m glad you called.”

She smiled, eyes glassy. “Even like this?”

“Especially like this,” he said. “You always say what’s really on your mind when you’re high.”

“I’m scared I’m just a good time,” she whispered. “That I caught feelings for someone who didn’t mean to catch mine.”

“You’re not just a good time, Y/N.”

She blinked. “Then what am I?”

“You’re someone I keep thinking about, even when I’m not supposed to,” he said slowly. “You’re the first person I want to text when something’s funny, or fucked up, or when I’ve had a long day. I don’t know what we are yet…. but I want to find out.”

Her breath caught.

“Sleep it off,” Mingi added gently. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? Face to face.”

“Okay,” she murmured.

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you too.”

He hung up.

Y/N stared at the screen, then let it fall against her chest, lips pulled into a slow, sleepy smile.

From the bed, Wooyoung muttered, “That was the hottest, what are we, conversation I’ve ever witnessed.”

Yeosang took another hit. “Mingi’s voice is unfair.”

Y/N just sighed, letting herself sink into the moment, and for the first time all week, felt her anxiety loosen.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It was late afternoon by the time Y/N made her way to Mingi’s place, the sky painted soft and golden outside. Her heart hadn’t stopped racing since she woke up, groggy, embarrassed, and full of dread over the words she’d spilled the night before.

But he’d said he wanted to talk.

And he’d said he missed her, too.

She stood outside his door for a beat too long before finally knocking. No nervous text first, no warning. She figured she owed him a little boldness after last night’s honesty.

When he opened the door, he was barefoot, hoodie half zipped, his hair messy like he’d just woken up from a nap.

His eyes softened instantly.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey,” she said back, a little breathless.

He stepped aside, and she slipped in quietly. The familiar scent of his place, all warm spice and something faintly smoky, wrapped around her like a hug.

Neither of them spoke right away. It was the first time she’d really looked at him in a week, and he was still too handsome for her to think clearly.

“Do you remember everything from last night?” he finally asked, voice low as he moved to sit on the edge of the couch.

“Most of it,” she said, sitting next to him. “Enough.”

“Do you want to take any of it back?”

She looked up at him, honest. “No.”

His jaw ticked, and his fingers twitched where they rested on his knees. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I meant what I said. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I just… didn’t know how to say it without messing this up.”

Y/N blinked, warmth creeping into her chest.

“I don’t do labels easily,” he went on, turning slightly toward her. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I didn’t just want you for one night.”

She nodded, voice small. “I know.”

“I want more,” Mingi said. “And not just sex. I want your weird little rants, and your late night texts, and your coffee orders that change every week. I want to know what makes you anxious before you even say it.”

Her eyes welled before she could stop them, and she laughed through the sting. “Why do you always know exactly what to say? It’s unfair.”

“Because I’ve been wanting to say it for a while,” he murmured, reaching out to grab her hand.

“So… what are we?” she asked again, gently teasing this time.

Mingi smiled, slow, crooked. “We’re something. We’ll figure the name later.”

“Okay.”

Then he kissed her. And this time, there was no confusion behind it, just promise.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

“You know,” Y/N began, flopped across Wooyoung’s bed with her legs swinging off the edge, “for all that build up, losing my virginity wasn’t some crazy, fireworks exploding moment.”

Wooyoung paused mid scroll on his phone. “Was that a complaint?”

“No! Not at all,” she said quickly, cheeks warming. “It was good. Really good. Just… softer than I expected.”

Wooyoung smirked, setting his phone down. “You expected Mingi to toss you around like a rag doll first time out?”

She groaned. “That is not what I said.”

“But it’s what you were thinking,” he teased, nudging her foot with his. “Be honest.”

Y/N buried her face in his pillow for a second before admitting, “Maybe a little.”

Wooyoung cackled. “Knew it. You’re the type that wants to be folded.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love that I’m right.”

She flipped him off but couldn’t hide her grin.

“I mean,” she went on, “we’ve only had sex a few times so far, and it’s been soft, like, hot, yeah, but slow. Gentle. He’s… gone down on me, I went down on him once, which was… kind of a mess at first but still really hot? And now I just…”

“You’re ready for him to destroy you.”

“I didn’t say that!”

Wooyoung gave her a smug little look. “You definitely said that. Your eyes just screamed, Mingi, break me in half!

Y/N shoved him again, both of them laughing.

But her smile turned a little dreamy, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. “I just… want more. I trust him. And I feel like I’m ready now.”

Wooyoung softened a bit. “Then tell him. Mingi’s not an idiot, well, mostly not. If you’re ready, he’ll give you exactly what you want.”

“And if I say the wrong thing?”

“You won’t,” he said, tugging her into a loose side hug. “Because you like him. And he clearly likes you.”

Y/N leaned against him and let out a breath. “God, I’m so screwed.”

“Not yet,” Wooyoung grinned. “But maybe soon, and harder.”

She screamed into the pillow.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The frat house was packed, warm bodies, pulsing bass, cheap beer, and too sweet jungle juice. Y/N tugged down the hem of her little white dress for the tenth time as she followed Wooyoung and Yeosang through the crowd.

“I still don’t know how you talked me into this,” she muttered.

“You needed a night out,” Wooyoung sang teasingly.

“You’re insufferable,” Yeosang added, trailing behind them with a red cup already in hand.

Y/N just shook her head, smiling despite herself.

She hadn’t planned to drink much, not after the stress of the week, but she’d downed half a cup of whatever neon concoction Yeosang had handed her and was starting to feel the loose edges of tipsy. Her white dress clung to her just right, her skin warm, her lips glossed. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than casual, but she felt good.

So when some random frat guy sidled up next to her while she waited for Wooyoung and Yeosang to reappear with more drinks, she didn’t think much of it.

“You here with anyone?” he asked, clearly staring at her legs. Y/N blinked. “Yeah, actually…”

“That’s too bad,” he said, smirking. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to come upstairs.”

She was mid eye roll when another presence suddenly loomed behind her, the air shifting.

“Back off.”

Y/N turned, heart jolting, and found Mingi.

Black tee stretched over his shoulders, silver chain catching in the strobe lights, jaw tight. His eyes were fixed on the frat guy, expression unreadable except for the unmistakable sharp edge of possessive.

The frat guy, sensing a storm, backed off with raised hands and a muttered “my bad.”

The moment he was gone, Mingi turned to her, and his gaze dragged down her body like a match being lit.

“You knew I’d be here?” he asked lowly, jaw still clenched. Something about seeing another guy with her making him snap.

“I didn’t. Wooyoung dragged me out.”

Mingi’s nostrils flared. “And you were just letting guys hit on you?”

“I didn’t let him do anything.”

His hand landed on her waist, fingers gripping, eyes burning now. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Y/N breath hitched, the tension snapping taut between them. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That dress. That face. That fucking look in your eye right now.” His voice dropped, low and rough. “You’re pushing me.”

Maybe she was.

But all Y/N could feel in that moment was how close he was, how his jealousy clung to her skin like smoke, how badly she wanted to be under him again. Her pulse throbbed between her thighs, nerves buzzing.

“So what if I am?” she whispered, tilting her chin up.

Mingi blinked, like that caught him off guard, and then his eyes darkened further.

“I want you to fuck me,” she breathed. “For real this time.”

He stared at her a beat longer, chest rising, and then his hand slid down, gripping the back of her thigh hard, drawing her flush against him.

“Then get the fuck out of here with me.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The inside of Mingi’s car was dark and quiet, save for the low hum of music and the city lights flashing by. Y/N sat in the passenger seat, dress riding high on her thighs, the buzz of adrenaline and liquor and whatever this thing was between them making her pulse thrum just under her skin.

She glanced over at him, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh, rings glinting in the light. His jaw was clenched, eyes forward, but she could see it, the tension in his knuckles, the tight coil in his shoulders.

He was pissed.

Jealous.

And god, it was hot.

“You’re quiet,” she said, turning toward him, voice low and teasing.

Mingi didn’t look at her. “Trying not to get pulled over.”

She smirked. “Mmm. That’s very responsible of you.”

Still, he didn’t look, but his hand twitched on the wheel.

Y/N leaned a little closer, crossing one leg over the other slowly. “So… that guy back at the party. You didn’t like him talking to me?”

Mingi’s jaw flexed. “You know I didn’t.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice silk. “It’s not like we’re dating.” She really was pushing him now.

He finally glanced at her then, just a flick of his eyes, sharp and dark.

Y/N tilted her head. “I meant it, you know…. when I said I wanted you to fuck me?”

His knuckles turned white on the wheel.

She smiled and trailed one hand over her bare thigh, then slowly reached across the console to rest it on his thigh, fingers light, teasing, right over the seam of his jeans. “I wasn’t just saying it.”

His breath stuttered.

“Y/N,” he warned, voice low and wrecked.

“What?” she asked innocently, palm grazing higher.

He swore under his breath, deep and sharp, and the car jerked slightly as he picked up speed.

“You better stop, or I swear I’ll pull over and have you in the backseat.”

Y/N just grinned, heat building between her legs. “Maybe I want that.”

Mingi looked at her then, really looked, and the growl that left him made her thighs press together.

But he didn’t stop the car.

Not until he pulled into his parking spot outside his apartment building, and Y/N heart skipped a beat. She got out of the car first, but before she could make it to the door, Mingi was right behind her, a hand brushing her arm as he leaned in close.

He stayed that close until they were inside, just at his apartment door.

She could feel the heat of his breath against her neck, and her body instinctively pressed closer to him. “You sure you know what you’re asking for?” Mingi whispered in her ear, his voice smooth, a touch of warning beneath the surface.

Y/N shivered, her skin tingling as her heart raced. Her gaze met his, and in that moment, she saw the unrestrained desire in his eyes.

“Yes.” She whispered, her voice low and teasing, but filled with the edge of something more vulnerable. “I want you to.”

Mingi didn’t respond right away, his eyes darkening as he reached out, fingers grazing her cheek before sliding down to her jaw. The contact was electric, sending a jolt through her entire body.

“You really want that?” he asked, his voice raw with a need that matched hers.

Y/N nodded slowly, biting her lip as she closed the distance between them. “Yes. I want you to take control. Show me what you can do.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when Mingi’s lips were on hers, deep, demanding, and full of hunger. His hands slipped under her dress, grasping her hips as he pulled her against him. She moaned softly at the contact, feeling his arousal pressing against her.

Mingi’s breath hitched as he pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. “You want me to fuck you? I’ll do more than that.”

He unlocked his door and pulled her inside, kissing her again, this time with more urgency. His hands explored her body, tracing the curves of her waist, the dip of her back, and then pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

She felt her resolve begin to melt as he guided her backward, pressing her against the door of his apartment. He was relentless, his hands never stopping as they moved from her waist to her thighs, his fingers trailing dangerously close to where she wanted him most.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, needing once again to make sure, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I want it. I want you,” she breathed, her words rushed and barely audible.

Mingi smiled, his hands sliding beneath her dress, fingers caressing the bare skin of her inner thighs.

He kissed her like he’d been starving, lifting her up and carrying her to his room, hands all over her, lips devouring every inch of exposed skin as she clawed at his back, pulling him down onto the bed with her. His mouth trailed down her neck, her chest, dragging the hem of her shirt up inch by inch until he could finally taste her skin.

“I think im addicted to this,” he breathed against her hipbone. “to you.”

She gasped as he dropped between her thighs, fingers spreading her open, tongue licking a slow, devastating stripe that made her hips lift off the mattress.

“Mingi..”

“I got you,” he murmured, gripping her thighs tighter, locking her in place.

And then he ate her alive, slow and filthy, his mouth working her until her moans were breathless, legs trembling, hands fisting the sheets. He didn’t stop until she was crying out, eyes fluttering shut as her orgasm crashed through her.

She hadn’t even caught her breath before he kissed his way back up her body, capturing her mouth again, letting her taste herself on his lips.

“My turn,” she whispered against his mouth.

And then she flipped them, taking him by surprise, straddling him, her hands dragging down his chest, nails teasing every line of muscle as she lowered herself between his thighs.

Mingi hissed through his teeth, watching her with hooded eyes as she took him into her mouth, slow and deep. “Fuck…. Y/N…”

She gave him everything, tongue swirling, lips tight, hollowing her cheeks, just like he taught her, dragging every reaction from his body like she was playing him like a damn instrument. His head fell back, one hand gripping the headboard, the other tangled in her hair.

“You keep doing that,” he groaned, “and I’m not gonna last…”

She pulled back with a smug smile, licking him one last time before crawling up his body. “Maybe I don’t want you to last.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’m on birth control now…”

He flipped her fast, her back hitting the mattress with a gasp, legs wrapping around him as he slammed into her in one perfect, hard thrust. Because fuck, he was going to make sure he filled her full. They both cried out, raw, desperate, ruined.

His rhythm was punishing at first, hips snapping into hers with a force that had the bed creaking, her fingers raking down his back as he buried his face in her neck.

Then he slowed.

Grabbed her thighs.

Flipped her again.

She barely had time to adjust before he pulled her back, chest to her back, his dick driving into her from behind while one hand snaked around her throat, tight, possessive.

She turned her face toward his, lips parted in a moan.

“You know you’re mine now, angel,” Mingi growled against her ear, breath ragged. “mine.”

Her gasp was a broken sob as he fucked her harder, his fingers pressing into her skin like he was trying to mark her from the inside out.

They came together, breathless and shaking, collapsing in a heap of tangled limbs and sweat soaked sheets. Mingi stayed behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, chest pressed to her back, face buried in her shoulder.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N slowly stirred awake, the warmth of the bed around her making her feel cocooned in the soft sheets. Her eyes fluttered open, and the soft morning light filtered through the curtains. She glanced around, her hand reaching out for Mingi instinctively, but found the spot beside her cold.

The bed was still warm, as if he had just left, but the silence was unsettling.

She sat up, pulling one of Mingi’s oversized shirts over her head as she stretched, feeling the slight soreness from the night before. There was a quiet hum in the air, the kind that told her he wasn’t far.

Curiosity tugged at her, and she padded barefoot across the apartment, the sound of her steps barely echoing on the hardwood floor. She followed the faint murmur of voices and the smell of coffee to the living room, where Mingi stood talking to someone, a man she didn’t recognize. The low hum of his voice was almost like a lullaby, calm and controlled, but his posture was sharp, the way his hands gestured signaling a conversation that was anything but casual.

Y/N paused in the doorway, still trying to fully shake off the haze of sleep. She watched for a moment, unsure whether to interrupt, but then Mingi’s voice broke through the tension in the room.

“You’re up,” he said, his eyes flicking to her, an unreadable expression passing over his features before he turned back to the man in front of him. The other guy gave a nod, as if acknowledging her presence, but Mingi kept his attention on the transaction.

Y/N shifted, not quite sure what to do. She had expected something different when she woke up this morning. Not this. Not him conducting business with a stranger while she stood there, wearing his shirt and still feeling the aftereffects of their intense night together.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingi finally added, his tone soft, almost reassuring, as if sensing her hesitation. “This won’t take long.”

She nodded, her eyes lingering on him as she walked past, heading to the kitchen to make herself a coffee. Despite the disconnect between them, she couldn’t shake the small pang in her chest.

It was clear to her now that Mingi had his own world, one she hadn’t fully stepped into, even after everything that had happened between them. And maybe she wasn’t quite ready to either.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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kaliforniahigh · 1 day ago

Note

Hello! I come with angst ideas for Ex Husband!Noah.

So.

For context they’re still married at this point.

Ezra’s school is putting on a show (like an end of the school year or a Christmas show?) and he’s like SUUUPER excited about it.

He’s been practicing his lines every day. He only has a small part but he doesn’t care.

Noah promises he’s going to be there but he’s not home yet when it’s time to leave to head to the school to watch it.

You take your seat and there’s an empty one beside you.

The show starts and Noah still isn’t there.

You can’t help but notice the devastation in Ezra’s face that’s mixed with hope as he watches the door at the back just in case he comes in.

You confront Noah when you’re home.

LOVE YOU! And love this au!

Wow, you really came through with this angst!!! I love this so much. I feel like even though Noah is a great dad, sometimes, parents just slip and end up doing not nice things. I'd say this is definitely something that haunts Noah to this day. Especially because he's had to miss more school plays and events due to his job.

Anyway, here's a little something about how this went down when they were still married. Thanks agains for sending this in <3 Love ya!!!!

Warnings: me not knowing how school plays work lol angst, exwife is a little angry, but things end as well as they can.

WC: 2.5k words. (not proofread, so sorry for any mistakes!)

Exhusband!Noah and Exwife!Reader masterlist.

You were honestly grateful Ezra's school play was happening today. Even though you loved how excited and happy he was about it, getting to hear a play by play on how theater practice is going kind of took a toll on you. You'd never tell him this, though, so you'd just let the kid ramble on for hours on end.

"And that's because he's the tree. Which is unmovable and has no lines. Imagine if he gets a main role one day", Noah pointed out once, as you were laying in bed at the end of the day.

"At least he's dedicated. Main role or not", you said. "I bet he's gonna be the best unmovable tree, though"

"Of course he is. He's my son and we don't do things half assed", you snorted at this because it's absolutely true. Noah went above and beyond even for things with little significance at the and of the day, and you expected your son to be no different.

Right now, you were getting ready to attend the school play. You had dropped off Ezra early at school, so him, the other kids, and the teachers could get everything ready on time, and make sure all the kids were set.

You had agreed with Noah to meet him there, since he had band practice and it would run a little bit late and he wouldn't have time to come home and get ready with you.

It was nearing 6pm and you texted him saying you'd leave in about twenty minutes, and you'd save him a seat beside you for when he arrived.

When you got no answer, you thought it was odd, but didn't dwell on it too much. He must be busy at the moment and couldn't check his phone.

You grabbed your stuff and headed out, texting him on the way to the school once again.

Still no answer.

You waited until you were parked at the school parking lot to call him, instead of texting, but it just went straight to voicemail. You decided to leave him a message.

"Hey, just wanted to let you know I'm already here. Are you on your way? Text me when you can"

Hanging up the phone, you had a strange feeling pooling in your belly, but you pushed it aside. He was gonna be here. He had to be here. Ezra was talking about this school play for weeks, there's no way Noah wouldn't be here for it.

Locking your car, you made your way to the school theater. Finding a place towards the front, you sat down and placed your bag on the seat beside you.

The play would start in about forty minutes, and during that time, you guess you've called Noah more than ten times. At this point, you were getting agitated, a nervousness settled deep in your stomach, and you started to get antsy.

When the lights dimmed, and the music started to play, it dawned on you. Noah wasn't coming.

Trying one more time, and still without success, you decided you wouldn't call him again.

Your mind went a hundred miles a minute, thinking about all of the things that could've happened that would prevent Noah from being here. You even though about the worst case scenarios, but brushed it off as soon as it came to your mind. Bad new traveled fast, and if something had happened to him, you'd surely know by now.

Ezra came into play, his little face poking through a hole in the tree costume, and you smiled when he spotted you in the crowd. You could see his face turn into a frown though, when he noticed his father was not sitting beside you. You just waved at him, trying to act nonchalant.

Throughout the play, you'd be lying to say you were paying attention. You didn't know if you felt anger, concern or disappointment. You guess it was a mixture of all three.

About thirty minutes into the play, you turned your phone brightness all the way down, so people wouldn't notice you on your phone, and decided to text Ruffilo.

You: Hey, Nick. You know where Noah is?

You waited a few minutes for his replay. Heart beating fast.

Ruff: Hey, Y/N.

Ruff: Yeah, we're hanging at Matt's place. I think Noah's phone is dead, though.

Ruff: You wanna talk to him?

You stared at the text messages in complete disbelief. He was hanging at Matt's place? Hanging with his buddies instead of being here for his son?

You'd love to know what excuse he'd come up with.

You: Not really. Just let him know he's missing his son's school play.

You locked your phone, and you could tell the play was about to wrap up, as the main characters delivered the last lines, and in a couple of minutes, everyone was standing up and clapping, as the kids bowed on stage.

You felt your phone vibrate and looked at the screen.

Ruff: Shit.

Shit indeed, you thought to yourself, as you sat down once again to wait for Ezra to come and find you. He just had to take his costume off and change back into his clothes.

It didn't take long before he appeared on the side of the stage, one of the teachers holding his hand as he looked for you. Standing up, you waved, and he came walking towards you as soon as he spot you.

He came walking. Not running, as you expected.

"Where's daddy?", he asked you, as you crouched down to his level. He had a deep frown on his face.

"Hi, baby", you greeted him, smoothing his hair that was growing to be long like his father's. "Daddy got sick, sweetheart. He couldn't be here. I'm sorry"

You hated lying to Ezra, and you didn't do it often at all, if ever. But, this time, you guess it would be better to not tell him the truth, instead of saying his father completely forgot about his school play.

"What does daddy have?", Ezra asked.

"I think it's just a stomach bug, buddy. He'll be fine soon, don't worry", you reassured him, but his demeanor didn't change, or get better.

"Can we go home? I'm tired", he said, reaching his arms up for you, and you picked him up. You couldn't help but notice he was getting too big for you to carry him, and you'd soon had to stop.

"Of course we can", you said, threading your fingers through his hair, as he laid his head down on your shoulder.

You wanted to cry. You hated seeing your son sad.

Walking with him to the parking lot, a bunch of parents were walking to their own cars with their kids, and you greeted some of them on the way, recognizing them as parents from Ezra's class.

Strapping him in his booster seat, you got in the driver's seat yourself and started the drive home.

Observing him through the inside rearview mirror, you noticed that halfway home, Ezra dozed off and took a nap.

There's no way he'd eat something, or take a bath, before going to bed today.

Arriving home, you took him in your arms once again, struggling with the key to the door a little, but finally able to get it open. You walked with him to his bedroom, setting him on his bed, where he sat, rubbing his eyes and looking extra sleepy.

"You wanna eat something?", you asked, and he shook his head no. "A warm bath?", he shook his head no once again. "Ok, then, I know you're tired, so tonight, you can go straight to bed"

Walking towards his dresser, you opened the pajama drawer.

"You want the dinosaur, or the robots pajama?"

"Dinosaur"

You nodded and grabbed the dinosaur pajama and helped him into them, and in no time, he was snuggled under the blanket. You waited a few minutes, until his breaths evened out and you were sure he had fallen asleep.

While you waited, you heard the front door open, so you got up from your spot on the bed, closed the door behind you, and made your way to the living room.

You stopped in your tracks when you spotted Noah locking the door behind him. Turning around to face you, you swear you've never seen a guiltier face in you entire life.

"Y/N...", he started, but you cut him off. Much to his dismay, you had a lot of time to simmer in your anger on the drive back home.

"I honestly don't even wanna look at you right now. Let alone hear whatever stupid excuse you're gonna come up with", you told him, coldness and a tinge of anger seeping into your voice. He can tell you're holding back on him.

"I don't have an excuse", he said, looking down, and when he looked back at you, you could see his watery eyes reflecting in the lights coming from outside the window.

"I don't know if that's better or worse", you pointed out.

"I just", he said, taking a long breath. "I just forgot. I don't know what happened, but I just forgot"

You don't know if you should feel any better about his honesty and the fact that he didn't try to come up with a false reason for not being there.

"You forgot about the play he's been telling us about for the past, I don't know, month?", you question him, incredulous.

"I just forgot, ok? I don't know what else to say", he told you, visibly getting frustrated at the situation and at himself.

"You don't get to be fucking angry and pissy here, alright?", you say, trying not to raise your voice, pointing a finger at him. "You're lucky I'm even giving you the time of day so you can explain yourself"

You don't give him a chance to reply, as you start to make your way to the kitchen to grab your nightly glass of water. You can hear him trailing behind you, though.

"I'm really sorry. I really didn't mean to forget about it", his voice was meek and a little shaky.

"It's not me you should be apologizing for. It's your son", you grab your glass of water and start to make your way to your shared bedroom, when you stop in your tracks and turn back to him. "I told him you were sick. So, when he asks, just go with the story"

This time, you disappear down the hallway to your bedroom.

You go through you nighttime routine and Noah doesn't come in the bathroom, or in the bedroom. He knows to give you some space and time when you're angry. Especially when you're angry at him.

You turn off the lamp and slip under the blankets, but sleep doesn't find you so easily. Instead, you toss and turn in bed, and, as you lay there, you slowly start to feel the anger slipping away from your bones.

Tomorrow is gonna be a new day, and you couldn't hold this over his head forever, anyway.

After ten more minutes, the door opens and Noah comes into the bedroom. He quietly does his thing in the bathroom, and changes into his sleep clothes. He doesn't say anything, even though he can tell you're awake.

It's when he lays down in bed with you, that it all comes crashing down.

It starts off with quiet sniffles, that soon turn into full body sobs, as he tries to even out his breath and wipe the tears from his eyes.

You come out of mom mode, and instead, you decide to be the partner he needs right now.

Turning on your side, you wrap your arms around him, and he rests his head on your shoulder, his cries not letting up.

"I'm such a shitty father. How can I fucking forget my son's school play?"

"You're not a shitty father. What happened today wasn't nice, but it doesn't define you as a father", you tell him, honestly, but you can tell it's gonna take more for him to understand that.

"Yes, I am. I try so hard to not fuck up but it happens anyways. Maybe it runs in the family, and you're probably wondering why you even had a kid with me in the first place"

This time, you sit up in bed, and you prompt him to sit up with you. Taking his head in your hands, you make him look you in the eye. His tear-stained face looks back at you, as fresh tears still slip down his cheeks.

"That's something I won't tolerate", you tell him, with a firm, but gentle tone. You needed him to understand this. "I never thought twice about having a baby with you, and I wouldn't think twice about having another one", you said, taking a few seconds for him to comprehend your words. "Again, this does not define you as a father, and, honestly? This is not the only shitty thing that'll happen. We have Ezra's whole life ahead of us, and we're bound to mess up from time to time. But what matters is that we're trying. And we're doing damn well so far"

He's calmed down by now, as he listens to what you're saying. You've always had the ability to ease his nerves, even in situations like this.

"Ezra is so loved by both of us, this was just a little bump on the road, ok?", you asked and he nodded.

"Thank you", he said, voice low and throat raspy from the force of his cries.

"You don't have to thank me. You know I love you forever, right? And we're doing this together"

"I love you so much", he intertwined his hands with yours and kissed the back of your hand. "Can Ezra sleep with us tonight?", he asks and you nod in agreement.

"Go get him. He'll love to see you"

As Noah left the bedroom to get Ezra, you thought over the events of today.

You knew what happened was far from ideal, but like you told Noah, it does not reflect who he is as a father. Besides, shit is bound to happen, and you're sure you're going to mess up as well sometime in the future. It was all about how you decided to handle it. And you handled it like you and Noah always did. Together.

A few minutes later, Noah comes back with a drowsy, but happy looking Ezra in his arms. And, as they both lay down, with the little on in the middle, Ezra turns to you and whispers.

"Daddy's not feeling so great tonight, mommy. So I'll cuddle him with him instead of you, ok?", he asks, and you get a little amused.

"That's fine, baby", you agree, heart swelling with pride at how considerate and kind your son is.

And that's how you fall asleep. Ezra tucked under Noah's arm that is stretched under his son's head, caressing your hair softly, a silent apology, as you look at him, giving a smile and a little nod, telling him you're accepting it.

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c4shm0neyxxx · 3 days ago

Text

“No One Else”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader

Genre: Angst, possessiveness, obsession, unresolved tension

Setting: Post-Class 2 events, dark school rooftops and quiet apartments

⸻

You shoved his hand off your wrist for the third time that night.

“Geum Seong-je,” you snapped. “You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t get to act like this.”

His eyes flickered. Not wide, not surprised—but focused. Too focused. Like a lion watching prey try to limp away.

“Don’t call me by my full name like that,” he said, stepping forward. His voice wasn’t loud, but it tightened the air between you.

“Why not? That’s your name, isn’t it? Or should I start calling you what people actually say behind your back?”

He raised a brow. “You think I care what people say?”

“You care when I say it.”

That shut him up, for a beat. And that silence felt more dangerous than any insult he could throw.

You folded your arms, already regretting coming up to the rooftop with him. He’d cornered you at the stairwell after your last class, asking—no, demanding—a word. Always when no one else was around. Always when it would be easier to just nod and let him have his say.

You should’ve said no.

“You were with him again,” Seong-je said finally, his voice low. “You know who I mean.”

You blinked. “Are you seriously bringing this up again? He’s a friend. A normal friend.”

“Normal? You think that guy’s not waiting for you to give him one smile and climb into his lap?”

You stepped back. “You’re out of line.”

He followed, slow and deliberate. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

“Even if you’re not, it doesn’t matter. You don’t get to dictate who I hang out with. You don’t own me.”

That word. Own.

His face twitched. Not angry. Not yet. Just… strained. Tense in that way he got when he was trying not to lose control.

“I don’t want to own you,” he said. But his eyes said otherwise. “I just want you to understand. I’m the one who sees you for who you are. Not them. Not that guy. He doesn’t know how your voice sounds when you’re lying. I do.”

You stared at him, arms still crossed. “That’s not love, Seong-je. That’s surveillance.”

He laughed. Just once. Sharp, bitter.

“Love?” he repeated. “You think what you make me feel is love?”

You paused. The rooftop air felt colder suddenly. And quieter. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I don’t sleep some nights,” he said. “Not because of guilt. I don’t have much of that left. But because I can’t stop thinking about you. What you’re doing. Who you’re smiling at. If you’re still thinking about me or if you’ve finally decided I’m just another freak with a control problem.”

You didn’t speak. Because he wasn’t wrong. You had thought that. Maybe still did.

“But then you do something stupid,” he continued. “Like laugh too loud in the hallway. Or wear something that makes every guy turn his head. And I realize—they don’t get to see you like that. They don’t get that part of you. Only I do.”

You exhaled slowly. “That’s not love either. That’s obsession.”

He stepped closer again, so close you could smell the faint trace of smoke and mint he always carried. Not cologne—something darker. More dangerous.

“I don’t care what you call it,” he said. “As long as it keeps you away from him.”

You glared at him. “You think I’ll drop my friends just because you said so?”

He leaned in, voice quiet enough that you could feel it in your spine.

“I think you already have. At least a little. Because you’re still here. Because even when I scare the hell out of you… you stay.”

He was right. And that terrified you more than anything.

Because you had a million chances to walk away from Geum Seong-je. From his temper, from the way he made everything a war, from the way his gaze felt like it could skin people alive—but you didn’t.

Maybe because part of you liked how intense he got. How he looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world full of pawns and trash. Maybe you liked being the one exception.

But at what cost?

“You need help,” you whispered.

His head tilted, eyes unreadable. “You make me worse. You know that, right?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. And you make it really hard to breathe sometimes.”

He looked at you for a long time. No smirk. No anger. Just a quiet, razor-sharp stare.

“Good,” he said. “Then we’re even.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was a claim.

Possessive. Bruising. A kiss like a warning.

You didn’t kiss back. But you didn’t push him away, either.

And when he pulled back, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, you realized he wasn’t going to let go.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

#dark romance #geum seong je #weak hero class two #obsessive love #geum seong je x reader #Spotify

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velvetsserenity · 3 days ago

Text

The Steam Hasn’t Settled

Sevika x Enforcer!Reader

wordcount: 4K

content warnings: explicit sexual content, strap-on penetration, rough sex, breath play, overstimulation, possessive behavior, light choking, marking/bruising, emotional tension, power imbalance, praise and degradation

The first thing you noticed was the sound, the low glug-glug of liquor meeting glass, echoing in the warmth of the apartment. The door had creaked behind you, but she didn’t turn. Steam still clung to the ceiling, ghosting from the bathroom down the hallway, curling around your legs like smoke from a dying fire. She was fresh out of the shower. You were sure of it.

And there she stood, back to you, a towel riding low on her hips, nothing else. Water still clung to her skin, glistening along the powerful slope of her shoulders and spine. Her mechanical arm flexed slightly as she reached for the bottle on the counter, the prosthetic gleaming a dull purple in the low light.

She looked… dangerous. Comfortable. Like this was hers, her space, her night, her silence, and you were just lucky to be allowed inside it.

You lingered in the doorway of the kitchen, not yet ready to cross the threshold. Not because of nerves, but because there was something sacred about seeing her like this. Raw and quiet. Like watching a storm sleep.

“That for me?” you asked finally, voice soft.

She didn’t look at you, but she poured another glass beside the first. The glug of it felt like a signal. An answer.

“You’re late.”

That made something twist in your chest, not guilt exactly, but close. Her voice carried more heat than accusation, and you couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or simply reminding you that she’d noticed. Of course she had. She always did.

“You always wait this long?” you asked, stepping closer, slow.

“You always test me this much?” she shot back, calm.

Her voice was like rough velvet, dragging across your skin, and as you crossed into the kitchen, the air shifted. Denser now. Charged. Her presence did that, coiled around you like smoke from a barrel still warm.

You reached past her for the second glass, fingers brushing the counter. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Let you get close.

The smell of her was stronger now,clean, like sharp soap and steel. Her hair hung damp and dark right above her shoulder, and as she finally turned her head slightly to look at you, a few strands clung to her cheek. Her eyes dragged across your body slowly, assessing, deciding.

“You smell like oil and concrete,” she said.

You said nothing. She didn’t ask what took so long, and you didn’t tell her what you’d been doing. That unspoken line was one you never crossed.

Not out loud.

ou could still feel the ache in your shoulder from earlier. The tension in your jaw from the shift. Every now and then, Sevika’s crew got too close. Every now and then, your side was told to push harder.

But here, in her apartment, none of that mattered.

Here, you were just hers.

“I missed you,” you said.

Her lips quirked. “You always miss me when it’s convenient.”

“Maybe. Still true.”

She turned to face you fully now, her body still damp, towel slipping just a little lower with the motion. You didn’t know if she noticed or if she did it on purpose. Her skin steamed in places where water clung to the heat of her.

“You going to act like you didn’t spend the last week chasing ghosts in my district?” she murmured, stepping closer.

You went still.

The words held weight, but her tone stayed casual. Daring you to flinch. You didn’t.

“I’m here now.”

Sevika’s smile was slow and cruel and beautiful. “You always are. Eventually.”

Her hand came up, her real one, and gripped your chin between thumb and finger. Not rough, not yet. She turned your head slightly, making you look at her fully.

“You gonna make it up to me?”

Your stomach fluttered. You hated how easily she pulled that out of you. Hated it, but needed it.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I will.”

She kissed you then, fast and deep, like something hungry. Her mouth tasted like liquor and smoke and something bitter you could never name. Her lips dragged across yours with purpose, her tongue parting you without pause. The glass in your hand nearly slipped.

She took it from you, set it down behind you, and pushed you back against the counter. Her towel brushed your thighs. Her body pinned yours—warm, damp, muscle and heat pressed tight to your front. You gasped into her mouth and she swallowed it like a challenge.

“You’re tense,” she growled against your lips.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, “some of us work for a living.”

She laughed, low and dangerous, and the sound vibrated in your chest.

“Watch it.”

“I could say the same.”

She pressed her thigh between yours, dragging it up slowly, parting you with it. You sucked in a breath, grip tightening on her arm.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

“That’s the idea,” she said, voice smug, already dragging her mouth along your jaw, nipping just below your ear. “Don’t play coy now. You came here needing it.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Her hands found your hips, grinding you down on her thigh. The friction sparked heat immediately. You clung to her, hands gripping the edges of the towel at her back, nails digging into damp skin.

She moved with purpose, slow and deliberate, like she knew every button to press and exactly how long to drag it out. The muscles in her thigh flexed under you, grinding up just right, too good.

She kissed your throat, licking the pulse point. “So wet already, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

You whimpered, head falling back.

“You want it here?” she asked. “Against the counter like a fucking delinquent?”

Yes,” you hissed, rocking against her. “Please—”

She growled, something primal in it. Her hand slid between you, pushing your clothes out of the way, fingers hot and impatient. She didn’t tease. She never teased when you begged.

Two fingers slid into you with ease, and you moaned, high and broken. She watched your face, eyes dark and burning, then ducked her head and latched onto your throat again. Her mouth sucked a bruise into your skin, marking you, while her fingers curled just right.

“You’re not supposed to like this,” she muttered against your neck. “You’re supposed to be better than this. Right?”

“Shut up,” you whispered, trembling. “Don’t stop.”

“Didn’t plan to.”

She fucked you with her fingers like she meant to ruin you, and maybe she did. Her thigh still pressed hard between your legs, her other hand gripping your waist like she owned it. You writhed against her, moaning, one hand gripping her wrist while the other clutched her shoulder.

You came with a shudder, hips jerking, nails digging into her skin as the pleasure tore through you. Sevika didn’t stop right away. She let you ride it out, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every twitch, every gasp.

When she finally pulled her fingers from you, she licked them clean. Slow. Intentionally obscene.

“Good start,” she said, voice like gravel and smoke.

You leaned against the counter, breathless, dazed.

“Fuck.”

She smirked. “That’s one round. You’re gonna need more than that to make up for this week.”

And the way she looked at you, towel hanging low, steam still clinging to her skin, cocky and hungry and unbothered, you knew she meant it.

The sheets stuck to your back, damp with sweat and breathless struggle. Sevika’s weight above you was a blessing and a threat, her hand fisted in the bedding by your head, the other gripping your thigh, pushing it higher, holding you open while she rocked into you with a rhythm that had no mercy left in it.

You’d meant to say something, maybe ask for a pause, a breath, but her body made it impossible to form anything beyond broken syllables and gasps.

“F-fuck—”

“You can take it,” she growled into your neck. Her voice wasn’t soft, wasn’t sweet, it was low and heavy, like the promise of thunder. “You wanted it rough, remember?”

You did. You always did. But tonight, it felt different. She was holding onto you like something had snapped loose during the week you’d been gone. Like fucking you was the only way to remind herself you hadn’t vanished completely.

Her mouth was at your collarbone, teeth scraping raw. She didn’t kiss pretty, she kissed like she was trying to mark you, bite pieces of you deep enough to feel tomorrow. Her skin was still hot from the shower, damp from sweat now instead of steam, the last of the towel long forgotten on the floor.

You locked your legs around her waist, hips grinding up to meet every thrust, wanting more, needing all of her. Her mechanical hand creaked slightly as it braced against the headboard, the weight of her hips driving into you deep enough to steal the air from your lun.

She groaned into your mouth when you kissed her, clumsy, open, messy. Like she was trying to taste the truth in your teeth. Your hands tangled in her damp hair, dragging her closer, but she resisted just long enough to make you ache for it. Her lips parted against yours again, her tongue sliding deep, slow, like she wanted to devour every lie you’d ever told just to feel them melt on her tongue.

“Don’t think about it,” she muttered, forehead pressed to yours. “Don’t you fucking think about work right now.”

“I’m not,” you panted. “I’m not—”

“Liar.”

Her hips snapped harder, punishing. You cried out, fingernails scraping down her back, digging into muscle. She liked it, groaned again, deeper this time. Her breath hitched as you clenched around her, the slick sound of your bodies meeting filling the space between harsh panting.

You looked up at her, her face darkened with sweat, jaw clenched, eyes barely open. And fuck, she was beautiful. Like this. Raw, undone. Still wearing that look like you’d challenged her, and she was winning.

You always look at me like that when I fuck you,” she said, voice low. “Like you forgot which side you’re on.”

“Maybe I did,” you whispered. “Maybe I like this side better.”

Sevika froze for a second. Just a second. But it was enough.

Her hand left the headboard and wrapped around your throat, squeezing—not hard, just enough to feel the pressure, the weight of her control.

“Don’t say shit like that,” she muttered. “You don’t mean it.”

You stared up at her, eyes wide, lips parted. You didn’t nod. You didn’t argue.

“Say something,” she demanded.

“I mean it,” you whispered.

She stared at you like you were a loaded gun aimed at her chest. Then she crushed her mouth against yours again, rough, needy. Her hand slid back down, fingers trailing between your breasts, down your stomach, until they found your clit, already swollen, throbbing.

She circled it slowly, drawing a cry from your throat that turned into a broken moan as her thrusts picked up again. Your whole body trembled under her, pinned by her weight, drowning in her voice in your ear.

“Let me hear you,” she rasped. “Come on. Don’t hold back.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t.

Your orgasm ripped through you like fire, arching your back, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Sevika fucked you through it, watching you fall apart beneath her with something dark and tender in her eyes.

When it passed, your body dropped limp beneath her, chest heaving, sweat-slick and ruined.

But she wasn’t done.

She pulled out only long enough to flip you onto your stomach. You barely had time to gasp before her hands were dragging your hips up, her thigh pushing between yours again. She mounted you from behind, grip possessive on your waist, her breath ragged and hot against your spine.

“Thought we were even,” you groaned into the sheets.

“We’re never even,” she said. “Not with you.”

Her thrusts were slower now, deeper. Drawing it out. You buried your face in the mattress, hands fisting the sheets, body trembling with overstimulation.

You gonna cry for me, sweetheart?”

“No—”

“Liar.”

She reached under you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing soft, mean circles. Your whole body jolted.

“Don’t—Sevika—”

“That’s right. Say my name.”

“Fuck—Sevika—Sev—”

Your voice broke on a sob, and you hated how much you needed her to hear it. Hated how much you loved when she whispered filth into your ear, kissed your spine, licked the sweat from your neck like it meant something.

something.

“You’re mine when you’re like this,” she said. “Doesn’t matter what you do out there. Here, you’re mine.”

And you were. God help you, you were.

authors note: i cumbust

plagiarism not authorized

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika arcane #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane smut #sevika smut #strong lesbian women #my wife #sevika wife

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