#i got no comment for this one but im slowly figuring out how to make decent edits with this god forsaken app

[fckmebarnes]

˗ˏˋ ★ bliss ★ ˎˊ˗

bucky barnes x stoner!reader

word count — 3.5k words

18+ MEN AND MINORS DNI — cw: weed. color system use. daddy kink. bucky uses a vibrator on you. he’s stoned out his mind man. slight gagging (panties in mouth) multiple orgasms. bucky eats you out from the back for a second. slight breeding kink.

note — hii. older fic here! i like to headcanon weed is the only thing that really affects bucky’s system so..here’s this <3

you sat on the couch with your stash in your lap, opening the jar that you had decorated with moss, a few mushrooms on top and dirt on the bottom to make it a little bit more disguised when people came over. you took out a few buds and put them in your grinder, twisting the top so they would be able to be rolled into a joint.

“hey pretty girl, what are you doing?” you heard bucky from the entrance of the hallway, leaning on the wall with his arms over his chest. he watched you careful, observing the way you licked your bottom lip as you twisted the grinder, making sure to get everything down fine enough to roll the joints you wanted to smoke with buck.

“just rolling a few joints, baby. i found a new strain i wanna try with you, supposed to make you super horny.” you were half joking, but half serious. you both usually got really handsy while smoking, but this was supposed to be something else entirely.

bucky didn’t know how his body would react to weed — his super solider strength and health made it nearly impossible to even get tipsy off beer. so he was a bit nervous to try it.

he shifted on his feet, raising his eyebrows as he watched you turn the top of the grinder before taking it off and dumping it on your rolling tray. you had it balanced on your knees and the joint paper in one hand as you started to put some of the now ground weed on the paper.

“oh yeah? as if im not hard every time im around you.” he laughed as he came over to the couch, sitting next to you and wrapping an arm around the back of the couch, his eyes trained on your fingers.

“yeah, i guess thats true. but still,” you chuckled as you finished off the first joint, and started on the second. you felt his hand rub your lower back, feet crossed at the ankles.

when you finished the second one, you gave them to bucky to hold on to while you cleaned up your rolling tray and put everything back. you tucked everything neatly into the drawer that was on the side of the couch and came back with a lighter taking the joints from him. you placed one of them on the coffee table and held the other in your fingers as you lit the end.

“you look so pretty right now.” he commented, and you blushed as you got the end to light, took a deep breath in and held it for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. you took another hit before handing it over to bucky.

he took it in the middle of his fingers, placing it between his soft plush pink lips and taking a long drag. he leaned his head back and held it in for a few seconds before exhaling, seeing the smoke disperse into the air. you blushed, watching bucky smoke. youve never smoked with him, but fuck was he pretty.

he let out a few coughs here and there, but he quickly recovered as you figured. he seemed to be doing okay.

after nearly finishing the joint, you were blissed out, eyes feeling like they were nearly shut but you knew they weren’t, your limbs feeling so light and your brain on autopilot. you looked over at bucky who had a grin on his face as he was already looking at you.

“what’s so funny, buck?” you giggled as you spoke, his smile growing wider as he shrugged.

“nothin’” you placed the end of the joint on the coffee table before turning towards bucky, your legs thrown over his thighs. you poked at his tummy making him laugh.

“how do you feel?” you wanted to make this high as pleasant and relaxing as possible, not wanting him to have a bad high and be in a bad mood.

“horny.” he simply spoke, looking over your face as you blushed. well, that was one feeling he would get when high. he cocked an eyebrow when you took a second to reply, gripping your hips and making you straddle his waist, his hard cock brushing against your panties as you sat.

you never wore any pants when you smoke, only his big t-shirt and bucky was only in sweatpants, your hands on his chest watching as he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip and looked at you hungrily.

his hands roamed over your skin, making him feel like he was on cloud nine as he touched you. he had never felt anything as soft as you in his entire lifetime, and he needed more. he loved getting those pretty noises out of you, and he needed to need to be in you now.

you watched over bucky’s face, his eyes glassed over, steady breathing as he looked at you, his big blue eyes looking up at you and becoming entirely engulfed in black.

his hands tugged the bottom of the shirt and tore it off, leaving you nude on top of him in only your panties. you let out a gasp as you watched his eyes becoming blown out with lust and hunger. he grinded his hips against yours, fingers painfully gripping your hips and keeping you anchored against his throbbing cock under his sweatpants.

“bucky..” you let out a moan as one of his hands tweaked your nipple, the other still guiding your hips against his. he needed you, and he needed you now.

“gotta fuck you soon baby. just bury my cock in that sweet pussy of yours, can’t take it anymore.” he gritted his teeth as he picked you up swiftly and carried you to the bedroom, his mind only tunneled on one thing and one thing only.

he plopped you down on the bed and ripped your panties off, throwing the now shredded clothing to the side as he took his boxers and sweatpants off. your mouth watered at the side of his cock springing free, the tip leaking pre-cum, red and swollen. you kicked your lips as he watched you, chest heaving up and down with each pant.

“color system. got it?” you nodded your head eagerly, watching him smirk as he pulled your legs to the edge of the bed, a yelp leaving your lips as you felt his cock head brushing your clit.

“fuck.. can’t wait to feel your tight pussy around me,” you blushed softly as you took grip of the sheets and you wiggled your hips closer to him. he pushed your hips down on the bed and shook his head.

“as much as i want to fuck you right now, you won’t be making a move or making a sound. you’ll cum when you are given permission, got it?” you nodded your head as he grabbed his cock and harshly smacked your clit making you let out a moan.

“words, sweetheart. use em.”

“yes..” you panted out, just wanted to feel him take you. he smacked your clit once more with his cock, pinching your thigh.

“yes, what?” he groaned out, watching you whimper under him. normally when he was sober he wouldn’t be so dominating. but something about both of you being high out of your mind, being able to feel your dripping cunt the second he told you he was horny he needed to manhandle you.

“yes, daddy.” a moan escaped his lips as you spoke, teasing your entrance by just barely entering the tip to your hole, before taking it away. you tried to squeeze his head before he took his cock away, whimpering at the missed opportunity. he smirked, rubbing his shaft as he stepped away and went to the closet.

you froze in your spot, knowing exactly what he was getting from that box. you had shown him one of your new toys you had bought while he was away for a mission, promising you wouldn’t use it until he got back and you had kept that promise.

he came back with the purple vibrator, tossing it in between his hands as he came over and stroked his cock in his hand, wetting his lips with his tongue over and over again, growing more hungrier for you by the second.

“so good, just wanna eat you up. this pretty pussy is going to be weeping for my cock, you hear?” you moaned as he set the vibrator on the middle setting, biting your lip and nodding your head. he took the vibrator away and smacked your clit once more, twisting the bundle of nerves in his fingers.

“thought i told you to not make a sound. dumb little baby can’t even listen to directions, huh? need me to stuff that mouth with your panties?” he didn’t let you answer as he walked over to the panties he threw to the side and came back over to the foot of the bed, leaning over you so his cock rubbing against your clit as he pressed your panties to your lips.

“open.” you did as you were told and shoved your panties into your mouth, the taste of your arousal making you want to moan out in pleasure but you bit it back. you didn’t want to get in any more trouble.

“good girl,” you whined at the praise as he pulled back, the vibrator rubbing against your folds and collecting your slick before running over your clit, making your hips jerk forward at the feeling.

usually when you were high sex wasn’t this good, but something about bucky being high out of his mind with you on this new strain and needing you as much as you needed him made you wetter.

“this pretty pussy is soaking the bed, sweetheart. what’s got you so worked up, huh?” you looked at him as he smirked, softly patting your cheek as he teased your entrance once more with the tip of his cock, hissing at how wet you were.

“fuck, baby. so fucking wet.” your blissed out mind didn’t even realize how farther he had pushed into you until you heard him moan above you, the vibrator still circling your clit. the vibrations from the toy shocked through his cock and made him make the most obscene pornographic moan you have heard from him to date. you gripped the sheets as you watched him tilt his head back, his jaw going slack and eyes screwed shut rutting his hips into you a little further.

you wanted to moan with him, wanted him to lean over so you could feel his skin underneath your fingertips and leave scratches, wanted to leave you marking on him so everyone knew he was yours. you didn’t want anything in this town thinking he belonged to anyone else but you.

“shit, pretty baby. clenching around me so right, can feel you’re gonna cum, wanna cum baby?” you whined as you nodded your head, realizing how tight the ball in your stomach was when he mentioned it, not being able to focus on anything after that point. he clicked the vibrator up to the highest settling, a loud whine coming from your throat as you arched your back when he bottomed out.

everything was all too much but so good at the same time. he was a moaning mess as he reveled in the feeling of your wet and warm pussy clamping around his cock, almost making him cum at the sight of you with panties stuffed in your mouth. he reached over and yanked the panties out and tossing them to the side, grabbing your jaw in his fingers and made you look at him.

“let me hear you, cum ‘round my cock, you hear?” he squeezed your cheeks as he pressed a deep kiss on your lips, circling the vibrator on your clit as you came on his cock, moaning into his mouth and squeezing him as hard as your muscles could. you hadn’t came this hard in a really long time. he thrusted in and out of you slowly, pulling your orgasm out as long as he could before he turned the toy off and tossed it to the ground, his fingers both gripping your hips and slammed into you.

“daddy.. fuck me.. fuck..” he groaned at the nickname, bringing your thighs to your chest and your ankles on either one of his shoulders.

“so fucking pretty, shit baby look at you. creaming all over my cock like a little whore. so drunk on my cock aren’t you?” you could only nod your head at the tip of his cock kissed your cervix several times, making another orgasm wash over you without warning. he chuckled darkly, kissing your ankles as he watched your eyes screw shut and ride out your high.

“another one baby? let’s see how many times i can make you cum. what’s your color, angel?” he watched as you opened your eyes and looked over at him, a smile on your face as you painted out.

“green, fuck daddy, it’s green..” he let out a low growl at the nickname, pounding into you and listening to how sickly sweet your moans sounded as he screwed into you. he loved how you sounded, loved how you felt around him. his high mind was something else, and he didn’t know how good fucking you would’ve been. he needs to get more of this shit and fast.

he slowed down as you whined when he pulled out. he chuckled, putting your ankles down and leaning over to kiss you.

“want you on your hands and knees, angel.” you turned over, stuck your ass up in the air as you felt a slap on your left cheek, pushing your ass back as you moaned when he rubbed the flesh. you stayed on your elbows as his face was level with your soaking pussy, licking a strip up your core making you moan.

he loved how sweet you tasted, how responsive your body was to him. he wanted to watch you squirm under his tongue for the rest of the night and he would have if he didn’t want to cum in you so bad. he played with your hole with his tongue for a moment longer as he stroke his cock, your slick coating his shaft. the noises coming from him eating your pussy and stroking his cock made you wetter if that was even possible. you felt your slick run down your leg with a mix of his spit.

he pulled away and rubbed your entrance with his tip, before fully bottoming out inside you, taking it slow to feel how your velvety walls stroked his cock. he let out a moan as his hands landed on your ass, your back arched and your cheek shoved against the pillows drool falling from your lips. your eyes were hooded from two orgasms already, and it only made his cock twitch as you moaned when he slapped your ass.

“shit baby.. at a loss for words. you look fucking gorgeous.” he thrusted into you, his hand trailing down your spine before gripping your hair and tugged it, using it as leverage to fuck himself into you.

“harder..” it was a soft moan, and he hardly caught it until you said it again.

“harder, daddy. pull my hair and fuck me harder..” he groaned loudly as he twisted your hair in his fist, pulling your head to meet his shoulder still pounding into you. he loved who you turned into when you were high and horny.

“little minx, can’t get enough can you? dumb little slut only needs me to go harder. wanna cum, don’t you?” you merely nodded as your eyes were closed, moans leaving your lips left and right from your swollen lips. he licked his lips at the side, his hand wrapping around your throat and gripping the sides gently.

“color, angel?” he wanted to double check before he gripped your throat tighter, the cool touch of his metal rings digging into your skin and fucked you harder.

“fucking green, daddy. keep going.” he let go of your hair and let out a groan as he reached his hand to your clit, his other hand gripping your throat harder making you let out a strangled moan.

you loved feeling this with him, the rough, hot passionate sex made you feel more connected with him, made you feel like you were one as he was fucking into you. it was something not a lot of men could do with you, none of them could ever compare to bucky.

you gripped his arm that was around your throat, feeling another orgasm come up fast, not knowing how many this was. you clenched around his cock, feeling it twitch inside you telling you he was just as close as he was.

“cum in me.. please..” he loved when you begged, when you wanted him to fill you up to the brim. his fingers squeezed your throat a little tighter, a devilish smirk coming across your lips as his fingers circled faster on your clit.

“dumb slut, love when you fucking beg for my cum. gonna fill this pretty sweet push up so much you’ll be feeling me for days, cum dripping down your leg so you’ll never forget who owns this pussy.” he hot breath was on the back of your ear, strangled moans leaving your mouth and your mind becoming fuzzy as he thrusted up into you, your stomach leaving a burning sensation as you came the hardest you had around his cock.

“good fucking girl. my good girl..” he thrusted into you hard, his thrusts getting sloppier as he reached his peak, hot thick ropes of his cum coating your wet walls. he let go of your throat as the two of you moaned together, him fucking his cum back into you before you whined at the oversensitivity. he slowed down before taking his hand from your clit and pulled out, pushing your head down on the mattress softly as he watched his and yours cum drip out of your.

“so pretty.” he wiped a streak of mixed cum off your leg that was running down before licking his fingers and moaning at tasting you and him together.

you let out a pant before relaxing your back, dropping your hips to the mattress and closing your eyes. you felt his metal hand rub your ass and over your back, leaning over you and feeling his hard cock on your ass. you knew he wouldn’t try to fuck you again, but you knew it took a little while for his cock to soften.

“you did so good for me baby, so fucking good.” his praises only made you whine as you nodded, only now wanting to smoke the other blunt and cuddle him for the rest of the night. he tapped your cheek softly before going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm wet towel, spreading your ass and cleaning up the mess. you rolled over onto your back as you watched him grab two pairs of his boxers.

he pulled on his pair before walking over to you and putting his pair on you, up your legs and covering your sex.

“bucky..” you whined softly as he pulled you up by your arms, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss.

“yes, angel?” you looked up at him, admiring his face after sex -- his hair sticking to his forehead, hi s puffy and red lips from kissing them so much, and hi face that glowed.

“wanna smoke the other joint and cuddle for the night. please?” he looked down at you as you pouted, trailing kisses down to your neck and to your exposed chest before humming against your skin and breathing your scent in.

you smelled like heaven to him, even after sex. he knew he was a goner. his half high mind nodded his head, walking over to the closet and pulling his red henley shirt from the hook, walking back over and dressing you.

he knew you loved his clothes after sex, even if he was there. he knew it relaxed your muscles and made you feel even calmer and cuddlier after everything and he only wanted his baby happy. he pulled on his sweatpants before scooping you out of bed and down to the living room, setting you on the couch.

“is my angel hungry? i’m pretty hungry, and thirsty. didn’t know how bad i could get thirsty.” you chuckled and nodded your head, leaning over to grab the other joint from the coffee table.

“my baby have the munchies?” he blushed before kissing your forehead, taking an inhale from the joint in between your fingers. he cupped your face and pressed his lips against yours before exhaling into your mouth as you inhaled. he pulled apart and you exhaled, a blush rising to your cheeks.

this man was going to be the death of you while he was stoned.

[velaenam]

𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

                                                                         ◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. you said you were happy with your boyfriend ,then caleb came home, and now his mouth is on your neck. 𝐭𝐚��𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 –  NSFW (18+!!) dirty...nasty!!! RAW!! smut!!!, smut w/ alcohol (dubcon), reader cheating on bf w/ LI, caleb is the other man, swearing, mature languages, sexual themes, riding, creampie,raw doggy blah blah, p to v, internal conflict from reader 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 – not proofread. i got this idea from a very wonderful post i saw from the amazing @strwberri-milk. link to the post. i kinda went crazy, i loved the concept sm. its so fun and i hope i did the og justice. also im sorry but i made ur bf so loveable im sorry for the internal conflict ur about to go thru. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 1 of idk ! next chapter — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

m.c. stirs her drink with a lazy swirl, the clink of ice against glass filling the lull between topics. it’s warm. light spills in through the kitchen window, catching the sheen of your lip gloss and the undone button of her blouse. her voice is casual, as always—too casual.

“oh, by the way,” she says, not even looking at you. “caleb’s coming back next week. shore leave. only for a bit.”

you freeze mid-sip.

not enough for most to notice, but she’s known you too long.

you set your cup down too carefully, as if grounding yourself with the porcelain. “he is?”

“mmhm.” she picks up a grape from the bowl between you and pops it into her mouth. chews. doesn’t meet your eyes. “fleet grounded his unit. some political thing. he’s visiting family. probably crashing at my place the first night—he said he wanted to see everyone.”

your stomach does a quiet, traitorous lurch.

“oh.”

you don’t mean to say it like that. like someone’s name you’ve tried not to whisper in years.

m.c. finally glances at you. there’s something unreadable in her gaze—maybe curiosity. maybe knowing. maybe something harder. “you two still talk, don’t you?”

you nod, too slow. “here and there.”

she hums. leans back, legs crossing at the ankle like she’s weighing something in her head. “he asked about you. said he saw that photo you posted—the one with your boyfriend and the birthday cake.”

your breath catches.

“what’d he say?”

m.c. smirks, but it’s faint. tired. “he said you looked good. then he changed the subject.”

your hands fold in your lap. you keep your voice neutral. “has it really been two years?”

“two and a half, i think. since you last saw him.”

you want to ask what else did he say? you don’t.

m.c. leans back, eyes flicking to your face as she wipes her hands on a napkin. “what about you and lover boy? how’s that going?”

you smile before you even think about it. automatic. polished. like second nature. “we’re very happy.”

“mm.” she raises a brow. not suspicious. just amused. “that’s what people say when they’re very engaged. or very lying.”

you let out a soft scoff. “he’s good to me.”

“you always say that first.”

“because it’s true.”

she nods slowly, resting her chin on her palm. “and?”

you pause. the words get caught somewhere in your throat.

he’s everything you were told to want. considerate. rich. driven. makes reservations for you, opens car doors, tells you how lucky he is when people are watching. he buys you jewelry you never wear and posts anniversary photos you never take. he’s safe. he fits.

and yet you find yourself measuring him against someone who’s never even tried.

“he’s stable,” you finally say. “he makes sense. my parents love him. his place has a whole wing just for books.”

“sounds like a dream.”

you smile again, quieter now. “it is.”

but m.c. watches you a second longer than comfort allows. not pressing. not cruel. just… seeing. like she’s trying to figure out what’s missing from your voice.

“i’m glad you’re happy,” she says. and for a moment, you wonder if she believes you.

you nod. drink the last of your coffee. and try not to think about a man who hasn’t even walked into the room yet, but still manages to pull the air out of your lungs.

.

the landing deck rattles beneath him as the hatch opens, hydraulic hiss like an exhale. after weeks in deepspace, everything smells like static and heat and too many days without sleep. but the gravity that wasn’t his feels good. real. like something pulling him back to where he doesn’t belong anymore.

he’s still stripping off his gloves when his comm buzzes in his jacket pocket.

incoming call: m.c.

he accepts it without thinking. holds it to his ear as he walks down the ramp, duffel slung across one shoulder, black fleet coat whipping in the wind.

“you survived,” she greets, bright as ever.

“barely.” his voice is rough. low. “tell your government contacts thanks for the political nightmare. nearly got my squad killed before they figured out how to spell diplomacy.”

“you sound dramatic.”

“you sound cozy.”

she laughs. “because i am. and you will be, too. i washed the guest sheets.”

“right. thanks.” he pauses, steps off the tarmac into the waiting shadows of the city port. “won’t be in your way too long, pipsqueak.”

“caleb,” she says. “you’re never in the way.”

he doesn’t answer that. he’s too tired to lie.

“you’ll be here in time for dinner?”

“depends on traffic. fleet’s got me filing three reports before i’m even cleared to breathe.”

she hums. “she’s gonna be surprised to see you.” he stops walking. breath catching like static in his chest. “she?”

m.c. is smug. too smug. “you know who.” he shifts his grip on the strap of his bag, jaw tightening. “you told her i was coming?”

“nope,” she says cheerfully lying. “wanted to see her face when you walked in.”

he exhales through his nose. “you’re a menace.”

“you’re welcome.” and then, gentler, “i think you should talk to her.”

he doesn’t reply right away. doesn’t know how to

finally, he says, “i don’t think it would change anything.”

and m.c.—goddess bless her—just says, “then don’t say anything. just let her look at you and remember.”

the line clicks dead before he can say another word.

.

you’re in the kitchen when you hear the lock turn.

he calls your name before he even steps in fully, voice muffled by the door swinging shut behind him. there’s the soft shuffle of his coat hitting the hook, the familiar jangle of keys tossed into the bowl by the counter.

“hey, baby,” he says, stepping into your space with that easy grin. he leans in, kisses your cheek, your temple, then your mouth. he smells like leather and his cologne—the one you bought him last fall.

you smile. because you should. because it’s safe here.

“how was work?” you ask, pouring water into the pot on the stove. your voice is steady. your hands aren’t.

he wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into your neck. “long. boring. wanted to come home to you all day.”

your pulse stutters—not because of him. but because you haven’t stopped thinking about caleb since m.c. said his name.

since she said he’s coming back.

your skin’s been prickling ever since, like the air’s heavier. like the past is sitting just outside your window, waiting for a chance to knock.

but you don’t say that. you let your boyfriend’s hands slide up under your shirt, warm palms against your ribs. his lips trace your shoulder.

“missed you,” he murmurs. “need you.” you turn to face him, let him kiss you like nothing’s wrong. like your heart isn’t sprinting. like it isn’t someone else’s eyes you keep seeing behind your lids.

his mouth is on yours, his touch gentle and familiar, and still— you flinch when he whispers, “your heart’s racing.”

you pause. then smile, small and secret. “that’s your effect on me,” you lie, threading your fingers through his hair.

and he believes it— kisses you harder. but deep down, you know better.

you know whose name is making your pulse go wild.

he picks you up, one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back like he’s done a hundred times before. you let him carry you to the bedroom. let him lay you down like something precious, like he doesn’t notice the far-off look in your eyes every time he says your name.

his hands are reverent. his kisses slow, familiar, patient. he undresses you like a lover, not a stranger—but tonight, it feels far away. muted. like your body’s here, but something else is miles above it.

“you’re beautiful,” he breathes, kissing down your sternum. his fingers trace your ribs, the dip of your waist. “you always are. but tonight… it’s different.”

you smile at him, soft and practiced. “i missed you too.”

and you mean it, but not like that.

his mouth finds your collarbone and lingers there. he likes the way your breath hitches, doesn’t know it’s because you’re imagining someone else’s hands. someone else’s voice. you don’t even realize you’re clutching the sheet until he laces his fingers through yours.

“hey,” he says gently. “you okay?” your eyes meet his. he’s so kind. too kind. you could tell him the truth and it would break him.

you nod. “just overwhelmed.” he leans down, presses his forehead to yours. “i’ll be gentle.”

he thinks it’s his touch. that you’re nervous because of how much you want him. and you let him believe it.

you close your eyes. open your mouth. let the intimacy wrap around you like a warm tide, even as your thoughts drift—treacherous, unforgiving—to caleb.

to caleb………and the way he used to say your name like a secret only he got to keep.

you arch into your boyfriend’s hands.

but your mind is somewhere else entirely. imagining caleb on top of you kissing you, moaning your name like your boyfriend is doing right now. 

imagining its his dark brown hair you’re curling your fingers on, his purple gaze is the one piercing you as he fucked you so —

.

he’s asleep beside you, one arm heavy across your waist.

you stare at the ceiling.

your skin is still warm, flushed from his touch. the room smells like him. like routine and comfort and things you’ve tried to convince yourself are enough.

but your heart won’t slow down. not entirely. you shift gently, just enough to slide your arm out from under the covers, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. the screen lights up your face in the dark.

no messages.

you check anyway.

his name sits there—caleb xia. no photo. just the initials.  he never had a photo. never needed one.

you scroll. past the old messages. the ones that never meant much until now.

"congrats on the new job. i always knew you'd do something big." "heard the city's cold this week. you still forget your jacket like an idiot?" "hope you’re doing good. i like the photo"

you reread that one.

you remember the post. your boyfriend had taken the picture. some gallery opening. new dress. new earrings. and you had smiled like your heart wasn’t breaking from something you couldn’t name.

you hesitate. your thumb hovers over the keyboard. just a simple message. nothing dangerous.

you: heard you’re back.

you send it.

then, you lock your phone. place it back on the nightstand like it’s burning your hand.

his arm tightens slightly in his sleep. your boyfriend. the man who holds you like a promise.

and yet. you roll onto your side, facing the wall, eyes wide open, because caleb is somewhere in this city.

and for the first time in years, you’re starting to wonder if fate didn’t just miss its shot.

if maybe—it’s circling back.

.

the city stretches out below him, all glitter and silence.

caleb stands by the window of m.c.’s high-rise apartment, arms crossed, jacket draped on the back of the nearby chair. the lights cast gold against the glass, but he’s not looking at the view. not really.

he’s thinking about you.

how you might be sleeping right now. if you still leave the window cracked even when it’s cold. if the man lying beside you knows how you sound when you laugh until you cry. if he gets your references. if he even deserves you.

behind him, m.c. pads in barefoot, two mugs in hand. she offers him one. he takes it without a word.

“you always get like this when you’re back,” she says, settling onto the couch. “broody. contemplative. tragically poetic.”

“comes with the rank, pips” he mutters. but his mouth twitches. just barely. she watches him. “you saw her post, didn’t you?”

he doesn’t answer. doesn’t need to.

m.c. sips her drink. “they met at some space tech convention. she told me about it after the second date. said he made her laugh during a seminar about aerospace ethics and that was it.”

caleb’s jaw ticks. “sounds charming.” — “he’s fine,” m.c. shrugs. “rich. clean. knows how to dress himself. his parents are political investors, i think. very... curated.”

he glances over. “what’s his name?” — “adrien…. toulouse? i can’t remember at the top of my head.”

the name tastes sour in his mouth. he looks back out the window.

“he good to her?”

“yeah,” she says. then quieter, “but that’s not the same as being right for her.” he says nothing. the silence between them settles like dust. “you missed your window,” she says gently, not unkind. he breathes in. lets it burn. “i didn’t know it was open.”

m.c. stands, finishes her drink, and sets the mug in the sink. “that’s the problem with you, caleb. you only notice things once they’re already slipping through your fingers.”

he watches her go. but his mind stays on you. on the version of you that might’ve waited, if he’d just asked. he rolls his eyes as he shifts to the couch to watch a movie.

his phone buzzes against the coffee table.

he’s sitting on m.c.’s couch, long legs stretched out, jacket shed and collar undone. the room is dim, lit only by the city outside and the soft flicker of some old-drama playing in the background. neither of them’s paying attention to it.

he glances at the screen.

just one message.

you:  heard you’re back. 

his thumb hovers over the screen.

he doesn’t open it— doesn’t delete it either.

he just sets the phone down again, face down, like he can’t stand to see it glowing anymore.

m.c. watches him from the kitchen counter. she doesn’t say anything at first—just keeps peeling the label off a bottle of water like it’s a puzzle she means to solve.

“you’re not going to answer her?” she finally asks.

he shrugs. leans his head back against the couch. stares at the ceiling like it’s got the answers he’s too coward to ask for.

“what am i supposed to say?” he murmurs. “hey, it’s me. sorry for leaving when it mattered. wanna catch up while you belong to someone else?”

“that’d be a start,” she says dryly. he exhales. rubs a hand over his face. “i saw that post. he took her to that lakeside place. she always wanted to go.”

m.c. nods. “she mentioned that.” he’s quiet. a beat. another. then: “you think he knows?”

“knows what?”

“that she still carries me in her bones.” m.c. sighs, soft but sharp. “i think she tried to bury you.”

he flinches. “but,” she adds, folding her arms, “adrien’s gonna propose. soon.”

his head snaps toward her. “what?”

“she doesn’t know,” m.c. says, voice low. “but he’s been talking to jewelers. he asked me about her ring size a month ago.”

caleb’s throat tightens.

of course he is. of course someone who didn’t waste their chance would hold onto her with both hands.

“it’s not official yet,” m.c. says, like she’s offering him a thread to cling to.

he doesn’t take it. instead, he closes his eyes and sees you. not with a ring. not in a white dress.

but in that space hoodie you used to steal from him. curled up on the floor of his dorm with your head in his lap, laughing at his annotated star maps. warm. alive. his in a way no one else ever was.

he opens his eyes again. reaches for his phone.

but he doesn’t unlock it. he just lets it sit in his palm, heavy as regret.

m.c. walks over and drops onto the couch beside him, her knees bumping his. she hands him a new drink, one he didn’t ask for, and he takes it anyway.

the silence stretches.

“xavier says hi, or the best way he could, anyways” she says after a minute.

caleb glances over. “he of on mission again?”

“yeah. some wanderer dispute ” she shrugs, swirling her glass. “he loves it though.”

“you two still good?”

“we’re solid,” she says simply. and she means it. there’s a quiet steadiness in her voice that wasn’t there when she dated anyone else. “i love him. i don’t have to guess what he’s feeling”

caleb hums. “you always hated guessing.”

“i still do.”

he sips. it’s not strong, but it burns anyway. “and you?” she asks, eyeing him sideways. “you seeing anyone?” he laughs under his breath. “you know better, pipsqueak.”

“i also know that you never stayed anywhere long enough to try.”

“fleet doesn’t exactly lend itself to dating.”

“you don’t even try while you’re here.” he shrugs. “not interested.”

“because of her.” he doesn’t deny it. just stares down into his drink like it holds a confession he’s not ready to say out loud.

m.c. lets him sit in it.

then, softly, “she deserves to be happy, caleb. you know that.”

his voice is quieter when he says, “i never said she didn’t.”

“so what’re you going to do?”

he doesn’t answer. just runs a hand down his face, jaw tight, like he’s holding in the answer with his teeth.

m.c. leans back, sighs. “i wish things had gone differently for you two.”

he glances over. “yeah,” he murmurs. “me too.”

.

the grocery store smells like citrus and warm bread. the lights are too bright for this hour. everything is a little too quiet, too still, the kind of stillness that makes your thoughts louder than they should be.

you’re pushing a cart, hair tied up, sweater too big, list half-finished. you told m.c. you’d grab a few things for her dinner party—she texted last night, “you’re my favorite guest, but i need lemons and wine.”

“best produce comes in at 8 am,” she added. you’d rolled your eyes at the time. now you wonder if you should’ve known.

you’re halfway through the produce section when it happens. you reach for a lemon at the same time as someone else. your fingers brush theirs.

you freeze.

and then you look up.

his hand is still half-extended. callused. familiar.

caleb.

fleet jacket half-zipped. hair damp like he only just showered. he looks tired, but good. leaner. older. sharp in all the same places, softer in a few new ones. his eyes meet yours and—god, he still has that look. handsome, sweet..

your name leaves his mouth like a breath he’s been holding.

you try to speak, but nothing comes out. your fingers curl around the lemon instead. like it’ll keep you grounded.

he blinks once. then lifts the corner of his mouth. “figured she’d pull something like this.” you manage a laugh—dry, breathless. “she said the best produce comes in at 8.”

he nods. “yeah. she told me the same.” you both glance at each other. then the lemon. then back.

“guess we’ve been set up,” you murmur.

“looks like.”

the silence that follows isn’t awkward. it’s just thick.  with years. with almosts. with the weight of his message still unanswered and your heart still racing.

“you look good,” he says finally.

you smile. not quite at him. “so do you.”

you shift the lemons to your cart, fingers trembling just enough to notice. he sees it—you can feel him seeing it—but he doesn’t say anything.

instead, he grabs one for himself, examining it like it’s the most important thing in the universe.

“so,” you say, trying for casual, pushing your cart a little forward, “fleet let you off the leash for a bit?”

he follows, a step behind. “briefly. they’ll reel me back in soon.”

“what’d you do this time?” — “nothing,” he says, grinning slightly. “just politically inconvenient.” you huff a laugh. it slips out easier than you thought it would.

you glance from the side,. “you didn’t message me back.”

he stops walking.

the air shifts. subtle. like the quiet pulls tighter around the both of you.

“i didn’t know what to say,” he admit.

“you could’ve said anything.”

he looks at you. “would it have changed anything?”

you don’t say, so you keep walking. slowly. toward the wine aisle. he falls into step beside you like no time has passed at all.

“m.c. said you’re coming to dinner tonight,” you say, voice thinner now.

“she said i owed her. didn’t mention you’d be there.”

“you think she didn’t do that on purpose?”

“i think she’s a menace.”

you both smile at the same time.

you reach for a bottle—he does too. your hands meet again. this time, neither of you pulls away right away.

he glances down at your fingers, then back up at your eyes. “how is he?” he asks.

you hesitate.

then: “he’s good to me.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

you swallow hard. pull your hand back.

“he’s... safe.”

caleb nods, slow. quiet.

you can’t breathe for a second. just stand there, wine bottle forgotten in your hand, heart screaming under your sweater.

someone walks past with a squeaky cart and breaks the spell. you blink. step back. clear your throat.

“we should finish up,” you murmur.

“yeah,” he says, just as soft. “see you tonight.”

you nod.

but your fingers are still tingling from where he touched you.

.

you arrive on time, wine bottle clutched in your hand like a shield. adrien’s hand is on the small of your back, warm, grounding, his laugh low in your ear as you ring the bell.

you’re dressed too nicely. you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. you just wanted to look good for dinner. but as m.c. opens the door with a grin and a flourish of perfume, and you step inside, your heart starts to climb straight out of your chest.

because he’s there.

you see caleb the moment you cross the threshold. black button-up rolled to the elbows, sleeves creased like he’d ironed them just to ruin them again. he’s leaning casually against the kitchen counter, glass in hand, profile sharper than you remember, the soft gold light casting shadows over his jawline.

his eyes meet yours instantly.

and everything slows.

he doesn’t smile. just looks. long and quiet, like the rest of the room fell away and you’re the only thing that ever mattered.

adrien doesn’t notice at first. he leans forward to kiss m.c. on the cheek, laughing at something she says about the wine, and hands it off to her with his usual charm.

“you must be caleb,” adrien says, turning to him with that open, polished grin. “m.c. told me all about you. hell of a record in the fleet. colonel, right?”

caleb straightens. takes a slow sip before offering his hand. “that’s me. and you’re the boyfriend.”

“guilty.”

they shake hands.

it’s firm…too firm. neither one lets go first.

“adrien toulouse,” he adds. “i run a few companies. data logistics, spaceport infrastructure—boring stuff.”

“not boring if it pays well,” caleb says, voice smooth.

adrien chuckles. “doesn’t hurt. my board loves it.”

“we don’t really have boards in the fleet. just casualties and black boxes.”

you laugh a little too quickly. “he’s joking.”

caleb’s eyes flick to you. unreadable. “am i?”

adrien grins, undeterred. “i respect it. not many people can make a career out of combat anymore. takes guts.”

“takes loss,” caleb replies, quiet but even. “but the perks are decent. hazard bonuses. pension. a lot of medals.”

adrien raises a brow. “better than dividends?”

“depends who you’re trying to impress.”

you open your mouth to say something, anything to shift the mood, but m.c. saves you—breezing in with a tray of olives and cured meats, laughing too loudly and ushering everyone toward the table.

“save it for the dinner table, you two. god, it’s like testosterone in a wine glass over here.”

you slip away toward the dining room. your hand is still warm where caleb looked at you. adrien slides in beside you, fingers brushing your arm, oblivious.

but caleb watches you.

and you feel it like a match pressed to skin. you’ve screamt fuck in your head about 20 times now.

the dining room glows with soft overhead lighting, and the table is full—platters of roasted vegetables, grilled fish, wine glasses catching the gold reflections like tiny stars. laughter hums under the music playing low from m.c.’s sleek speaker tucked into the corner.

xavier’s seat is empty, just a folded napkin and a half-drunk glass of sparkling water. m.c. had said he’d be late, caught in something coming back from headquarters .

you sit beside adrien, his knee brushing yours occasionally, hand warm at your back when he refills your glass. across from you—caleb. calm, unreadable. fork moving with methodical grace as he picks at his plate.

“so, colonel,” nero says, raising his glass like it’s a toast and a challenge, “what have you been up to in the galaxy’s darker corners?”

jenna smirks beside him. “he probably can’t even tell us.”

“i can tell you some of it,” caleb replies, resting his elbow on the table, glass twirling lightly between his fingers. “spent most of last month in the outer rim, negotiating a ceasefire. fleet needed someone intimidating and tired. i qualified.”

tara laughs. “you always did look mean when you haven’t slept.”

“wasn’t about sleep,” he says, shrugging. “just tired of watching people die for decisions made lightyears away.”

the table quiets for a second.

adrien cuts in with a smile, smooth and practiced. “that’s why i stayed in civilian sectors. less blood. more spreadsheets.”

jenna snorts. “what a life.”

“it has its rewards,” adrien says, eyes flicking briefly to you. his hand finds your thigh under the table. “especially when you work hard.”

you feel caleb looking at you.

just a glance. a flick of his eyes.

but it lands like a crash.

you don’t turn your head. you just reach for your wine.

m.c. speaks up, trying to shift the tone. “i think caleb’s still the only person i know who voluntarily flew into a crossfire zone just to drag out two wounded rookies.”

“they weren’t going to make it,” caleb says, flat. “and i wasn’t going to leave them behind.”

xavier walks in then, saving you from your own pulse. “sorry i’m late,” he says, sliding into his seat beside m.c. with a soft kiss to her temple.

the room lifts again—conversation swirling back to lighter things. food. travel. politics. someone makes a joke about nero’s cooking attempts. laughter picks up. wine flows freely.

but every now and then, you look up.

and caleb is watching you like he never left.

like he’s still remembering the sound of your voice when you said his name.

and you don’t look away… not right away.

.

the clatter of forks dies down. glasses half-full. conversation slow and lazy like the lull after good food and too much wine.

someone’s moved to the couch. someone else is arguing softly over music selection. xavier and nero are in a quiet debate about defense policy. m.c. watches the room like a conductor, eyes flicking, measuring, waiting.

then, casually, too casually, she sets her glass down and turns toward adrien.

“hey,” she says, bright and charming, “could you help me with that thing? the new table setting i told you about? i need a second opinion. might order it tonight.”

adrien blinks. “now?”

“yeah, i’ll be quick.” her smile is sugar-sweet. “promise.”

he leans over and kisses your cheek. “you okay here?”

you nod. “go ahead.”

and then he’s gone. down the hall. the door swings shut behind them. voices muffled.

you stay seated… you should get up.

but caleb’s still across from you.

and he hasn’t moved either.

the quiet settles in. low hum of distant voices. glass ticking against wood as someone laughs from the other room.

caleb leans back in his chair. one arm draped over the side. the collar of his shirt slightly rumpled. his gaze, fixed.

“she’s always been a terrible liar,” he murmurs, eyes still on you.

you smile without looking at him. “she tries.”

“you look different,” he says, voice low.

“older?”

“no,” he says. “quieter. like you learned how to hide things.” you finally look at him. his eyes haven’t changed. sharp, steady, familiar in a way that feels dangerous.

“you think you know what i’m hiding?”

“i know you,” he says. “or i did.”

“you left,” you reply, trying not to sound like it hurts.

“i had to.” you nod, once. “and i had to move on.”

he doesn’t argue. just watches you like he’s trying to see what parts of you are still his. “he loves you,” he says after a beat. “i can see that.”

“he does.”

and then, more softly: “but you don’t look at him the way you used to look at me.”

the words land in your chest like a bruise.

you should tell him to stop…. you should get up.

but instead, you whisper, “you don’t get to say that.”

“i know,” he breathes. “but i still wanted to.”

the hallway creaks. voices coming back. the moment’s slipping, fraying at the edges.

you stand, finally, smoothing your dress. not looking at him.

“you shouldn’t wait around for something that isn’t yours.”

“i’m not,” he says. “i’m just remembering what was.”

and when you walk away, you feel it—that heat in your spine.

he’s still watching you.

.

it’s late when the message comes in.

adrien’s beside you, asleep. one arm draped across your waist, steady breaths against your shoulder. you should be sleeping too. the apartment is quiet. the kind of stillness that makes you feel like a ghost in your own life.

your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

caleb: you still up?

you stare at it for a while.

you shouldn’t answer. you really really shouldn’t answer.

but your thumb moves on instinct, like a silly idiot in love .

you: yeah.

a moment passes.

caleb: couldn’t sleep.

you wait.

caleb: been thinking about dinner. you.

your heart stutters.

you: don’t. caleb: why not? you: because it’s not fair.

there’s a long pause.

you think maybe that’s it. maybe he’ll stop.

but then—

caleb: i don’t want fair. i want true.

you close your eyes. your chest aches.

your fingers hover. shake. then:

you: i love him. caleb: i know. you: i’ve built a life. one with walls and calendars and routines and its domestic. he fits in it. caleb: but do you?

you don’t respond.

not for a long time.

you stare at the ceiling, heart beating like it’s trying to outrun your ribs.

then your phone lights up again.

caleb: do you remember the night before i left for the fleet?

you do…of course you do.

how you sat in the gazebo, knees drawn to your chest, his jacket around your shoulders. how he looked at you like he wanted to say something—but didn’t.

you never talked about that night, not really, nor did you really have a chance to.

you: yes. caleb: i should’ve kissed you.

your chest collapses inward. you turn your face into the pillow so you don’t make a sound.

you: i wanted you to. caleb: i still do.

adrien shifts beside you, murmurs something in his sleep. your phone nearly slips from your hand.

you lock the screen. press it to your chest.

but you don’t delete the conversation.

you don’t reply either.

fuck. 

.

the morning light spills through the apartment windows, golden and soft. adrien is already dressed—pressed linen shirt, slacks, and that easy, handsome grin that makes him magnetic at every event. you’re still in your robe, coffee warm in your hands, the weight of caleb’s texts buried deep beneath your ribs.

“i’ve got an idea,” adrien says, turning from the mirror as he fastens his watch. “hear me out.”

you raise a brow. “those are dangerous words.”

he laughs, leans over to kiss your cheek. “my company’s hosting a celebration this weekend. nothing formal. just something small for the board and a few close friends. we booked out a beach hotel on the coast. really secluded. great food, even better cocktails.”

“sounds like a nice break,” you murmur.

“yeah—and i thought,” he says, pouring himself coffee, “why not invite the gang? the more the merrier, right?”

your stomach drops.

you look up slowly. “what gang?”

“m.c. tara, nero, obviously. xavier if he’s back. even caleb, if he’s still in town. i feel like he could use a weekend off from… whatever world-saving things he’s been doing.”

your throat dries.

adrien’s still talking. “it’ll be good for everyone to unwind. ocean breeze, bonfires, no boardroom stress. and besides—i think it’d be good for you, too. you’ve seemed… tense lately.”

you try to smile. “just tired.”

“then it’s perfect. you, me, the beach. what could go wrong?”

your phone buzzes from the counter.

m.c.: he’s in. caleb’s coming. xavier too. hope you packed something scandalous.

you stare at the message, he’d already ask them before he asked you.

your suitcase lies open on the bed, half full. a few folded dresses. sandals. sunscreen. a silk scarf you haven’t worn in years. you pause, fingers brushing the fabric, chest tight.

the apartment is quiet. adrien left earlier for a board meeting. you said you’d finish packing, take your time.

your phone buzzes on the dresser.

you already know who it is.

caleb: pack something nice. or don’t come with clothes at all.

you stop breathing for a moment. thumb hovering over the screen.

you: don’t be an ass. caleb: can’t help it.

i’m picturing you sunburnt and annoyed, drinking something fruity, trying not to stare at me.

you press your palm to your face, the blush crawling high.

you: you’re not that charming. caleb: but you are packing that black swimsuit, right? the one that fits your body so perfectly?

your heart slams in your chest. you never posted that photo. you only sent it to m.c. once, in a private message. you hadn’t even known he saw it.

you: you shouldn’t know about that. caleb: i shouldn’t want you either. and yet.

you sit on the edge of the bed. the heat of his words curling slow, making you feel something that you should only feel for your partner.

your phone buzzes again.

caleb: you really going to let him have you for the whole weekend?

you don’t answer.

you reach for the swimsuit. fold it carefully. quietly. and lay it on top of the other things in your bag. you’re already in trouble. but you zip it shut anyway.

.

the car hums down the coastal highway, sunlight flashing through the windows in golden streaks. adrien’s driving, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. the wind is warm, the sky impossibly blue. everything should feel like peace.

but your phone buzzes again in your lap.

you glance down.

caleb: what are you wearing right now? please tell me it’s something i’ll regret seeing you in.

you shift in your seat. cross your legs.

adrien doesn’t notice. he’s talking about the hotel—how the chefs are all imported from a five-star kitchen, how the fire pits are custom built into the sand, how he’s planning a surprise dinner the first night.

your phone lights up again.

caleb: let me guess. sundress. soft. stupidly pretty. easy to pull up.

you grip the phone a little tighter.

you: stop. caleb: say it like you mean it.

adrien squeezes your thigh affectionately. “you okay, baby?”

“mhmm.” you smile, tight. “just checking something.”

you angle the phone a little farther away from him. open your messages again.

you: i’m in a car with my boyfriend. caleb: and still thinking about me.

your throat goes dry. you type back quickly:

you: caleb.

he waits.

you don’t know why you do it, but your thumbs move anyway.

you: it’s a white dress. cotton. nothing special.

the reply comes almost instantly.

caleb: you in white’s always been a problem. easy to make a mess in.

you bite the inside of your cheek. stare out the window.

adrien shifts, turning the music up a little, his voice easy and soft as he asks you something about checking in. you nod. pretend to listen.

but your phone buzzes again.

caleb: can’t wait to see you. in that dress. orrr— out of it.

you don’t answer. but you don’t block him either and you don’t stop the way your stomach flips, either, because fuck, it’s intense. what the fuck are you thinking? you are in this non stop tumultuous fight against morality and dignity. 

.

the hotel sits like a dream against the coastline—white stone and glass, balconies dripping with flowers contrasting the environment, ocean waves crashing just beyond the edge of the private beach. the valet takes your bags. adrien thanks him with a generous tip and slides his sunglasses up into his hair, flashing that confident, easy grin that always draws attention.

you’re still catching your breath from the ride—heat pooling at the back of your neck, caleb’s messages burning a little too fresh in your mind—when you spot her.

m.c. is already waiting by the entrance, perched on a curved stone bench in a straw sunhat and linen dress, oversized sunglasses pushing her hair back. she grins when she sees you, stands, and practically floats toward you.

“you made it!” she says, pulling you into a hug, smelling like coconut and orange blossom. “you look like summer incarnate.”

adrien chuckles behind you. “i planned the whole thing.”

“of course you did,” m.c. smirks, kissing him on the cheek. “we should all be so lucky to have a boyfriend with a corporate card and taste.”

and then you hear it—footsteps. low voices. the weight in your chest returns before you even turn.

“hell of a place,” caleb says, sauntering up with xavier beside him, both in crisp short-sleeves and aviators, fresh off the elevator.

he’s tan. looser than you’ve seen him in years. like the salt in the air is good for him.

adrien smiles wide and steps forward, reaching to clasp caleb’s hand in that quick, firm, shoulder-slap bro-hug men have perfected.

“glad you made it,” adrien says.

“wouldn’t miss it,” caleb replies, easy.

xavier grins, giving adrien a similar greeting. “this place is insane. whose idea was it to put a full bar in the infinity pool?”

adrien laughs. “mine.”

“you’re officially my favorite person,” xavier says, heading off toward the front desk to check in, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder.

caleb doesn’t move.

his eyes drift to you. slow and unhurried. he doesn’t say anything—doesn’t have to.

because the way he looks at you says enough. you glance down, fingers tightening around the strap of your purse. m.c. watches all of this. doesn’t say a word, just smiles, like she knew this was coming.

“drinks after you unpack?” she asks sweetly, “definitely,” adrien says, brushing a hand down your back. “we’ll meet you all at the pool.”

“can’t wait,” caleb murmurs, gaze never leaving yours.

the resort sprawls across the coast like something pulled from a dream—white stone buildings tiered into the cliffs, kissed by sprays of seafoam and crawling ivy. the main entrance opens into a vast open-air atrium, where sunlight floods through curved glass ceilings and dances across polished marble floors. fragrant bursts of jasmine and citrus drift from planters lining the walkways, and the sound of trickling fountains follows you with every step. 

past the concierge desk, the space widens into a sprawling promenade: a private shopping gallery lined with luxury boutiques, soft jazz playing as high-end fabrics sway behind crystal

windows. the central courtyard glows gold in the sun, with a tiered infinity pool spilling into the horizon, bordered by low cabanas, ivory parasols, and a gleaming bar half-submerged in water—guests wading up with cocktails in hand. above it all, arched balconies overlook the beach, private and serene, while the scent of salt, fruit, and sunscreen clings to the warm air. even the staff moves with a kind of reverent grace, every guest treated like royalty—

the group gathers at the front desk, luggage in tow, sun already warming their shoulders as the glass doors close behind them with a soft hiss. laughter drifts in from the lobby bar, the distant scent of espresso and saltwater mixing with perfume and cologne.

“party name?” the receptionist asks brightly, fingers poised over a sleek touchscreen monitor.

“toulouse,” adrien says, pulling out his sleek black id and card. he smiles, charming as ever. “we’ve got a few rooms under that name.”

“of course.” the receptionist begins scanning them in. one by one, the group passes over their credentials—m.c. tossing hers with a wink, xavier balancing his bag on his hip, tara and nero chatting about whether the beach view is better than the garden side.

then caleb steps forward.

his id hits the desk with a soft click.

fleet-issued. black-accented. unmistakable.

the receptionist’s eyes flicker down, and her posture shifts instantly. there’s a beat of silence.

she looks up—smiling wider now, more formal. “colonel caleb xia,” she says, her voice suddenly edged with something deeper. “welcome.” caleb blinks, casual. “just here with friends.”

“of course, sir,” she replies, fingers moving faster across the screen. “as a decorated officer of the farspace fleet, your stay qualifies for our high level courtesy protocol.”

m.c. glances at caleb. “your what now?”

the receptionist continues without missing a beat. “your group will be upgraded to the resort’s top-tier suites. each room includes a private oceanview terrace, complimentary spa credit, and full access to our elite guest-only lounge and services.”

“i didn’t—” caleb starts.

“it’s policy, sir. we’re honored to host you.”

adrien raises a brow, half-laughing, joking . “i should’ve brought my medals.” xavier whistles low. “fleet perks.” tara leans toward nero and mutters, “i knew he was important.”

caleb just shifts his weight slightly, expression unreadable, one hand resting casually in his pocket. “you all came here to relax. figured i’d make it worth your time.”

m.c. grins. “we should bring you everywhere.”

your heart does something strange. heat rising behind your collar as the front desk slides you your keycard—suite 9: north tower penthouse.

you take it with a thank-you. but your fingers brush caleb’s hand when you do.

the elevator dings softly, and the group spills out into a polished marble hallway—light slanting through tall windows, casting the floor in soft amber stripes. the suites stretch down the length of the corridor, tall doors with brushed gold handles and engraved plaques that gleam in the afternoon sun.

adrien’s at the front, laughing with nero about the time one of his board members confused a zero-gravity treadmill for an espresso machine. his voice echoes lightly off the high ceilings, easy, familiar.

you fall into step beside caleb without meaning to. he’s quiet. but he always was.

his hand brushes yours once— twice. you pretend not to notice—but you don’t pull away either.

the second time, he doesn’t move. his fingers linger just a little longer, pinky grazing yours like a secret in motion. it feels like the hallway narrows around the two of you. the air grows thicker. warmer.

m.c. glances back, says something to tara about the spa hours, but she doesn’t miss it.

you see it in the small smile she hides behind her glass.

“here we are,” adrien calls, stopping in front of the corner suites. “ocean view, floor-to-ceiling windows, personal plunge pools. you’re welcome.”

“he wants a thank you in writing,” xavier adds, nudging him.

“maybe a toast,” adrien jokes. “or a statue.” you laugh, even as your pulse is thudding in your ears.

caleb moves past you to his suite—his hand just barely brushing the small of your back as he does. not enough to be noticed.

“see you in a bit,” he murmurs.

you nod, and then step inside your own room, letting the door close softly behind you.

your bag is missing. but your thoughts are already somewhere else entirely

.

you’re halfway through unpacking when you realize it.

your smaller bag—the one with your swimsuits, the silk wrap, and your favorite perfume—is missing. it’s not in the closet. not in the bathroom. not in the entryway with the other luggage.

you check again. and again. your stomach drops.

adrien’s in the shower, humming something off-key, steam curling under the bathroom door. you step out onto the suite’s balcony, signal low, and flick open the group chat on your comm.

you: hey, anyone see a cream-colored travel bag? soft leather, gold zipper. it’s missing from our stuff. maybe got mixed up?

you wait. stare out at the ocean. the wind is warm on your skin.

a message pings a moment later.

caleb: yeah, it’s in my suite. looks like it got tucked into the side of my luggage. you can come grab it.

you freeze.

your thumbs hover.

you: oh. okay. thanks. caleb: door’s open.

adrien calls your name from inside. you glance back, then text:

you: be there in a sec.

you lock your screen. heart tapping too fast beneath your ribs.

it’s just a bag. it’s just a room. and yet— your hands are already reaching for the keycard as if your body’s moved faster than your thoughts.

his door is slightly ajar, just like he said.

you knock once, soft, “come in,” his voice calls from somewhere inside—lower than usual. unhurried.

you step in. the room smells like cedar and something clean, and there’s music playing, soft and smooth—something old, something with a bassline that rolls slow. the kind of music that gets into your pulse without asking.

and then you see him. he’s standing near the open suitcase on the bed, back to you, half-dressed—black swim trunks low on his hips, bare feet on the marble floor, a white towel slung over his shoulder. he’s rifling through folded clothes, pulling out a thin shirt, but he hasn’t put it on yet. and gods. his back is carved. every muscle cut and coiled, broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist, skin golden from the sun, small scars scattered like whispers from a life you’ll never fully know. his arms flex as he moves. slow. casual. you were a deer in headlights. but the headlights was a sexy 6’2 fleet colonel with the physique of a god. 

you stare longer than you mean to—longer than you should. he hears the door click shut behind you and turns, still towel in hand. and when he sees you—he smiles.

“thought you’d take longer,” he says, voice warm. low.

“you didn’t say you’d be half-naked,” you mutter, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice catches somewhere on the way out.

he tilts his head slightly, smirk deepening. “you want me to put something on?”

your throat goes dry, “you’re impossible.” he walks toward you—lazy, deliberate steps. the shirt still hanging loose in one hand, forgotten. “you’ve seen me worse,” he murmurs.

you try to keep your eyes on his face. fail. your gaze dips—chest, abs, the faint trail that disappears below his waistband. holy fuck.  when you drag your eyes back up, he’s watching you. head to toe.

“if you’re going to keep looking at me like that,” he says softly, “you might want to close the door properly.”

you realize then—it didn’t latch. you reach back, fingers fumbling for the handle. but you don’t stop looking at him. and he doesn’t stop walking toward you.

you close the door. not all the way. just enough that it clicks. when you turn back, caleb’s closer. still shirtless. still smug. he raises an eyebrow, that infuriatingly soft curl at the corner of his mouth growing. “huh,” he says, lazy. “thought you were just here for your bag.”

your stomach flips you open your mouth, trying to find something—anything—casual to say.

“i didn’t want the breeze blowing it open,” you offer, weakly. he laughs. low and warm, the sound licking at your spine. “right. the breeze.”

you clutch the strap of your purse a little tighter. “you said the door was open.” — “it was,” he says, stepping closer.

you don’t move, “but you locked it.” his eyes drag down, slow, deliberate,not crude—intentional. like he’s memorizing the shape of your breath, the curve of your silence.

“caleb,” you whisper, he says your name back—quiet, reverent. “i’ve missed the way that sounds coming from your mouth.”

your back finds the wall before you realize you’ve been retreating. his hand finds the surface beside your head, fingers spreading out like he owns the space around you.

he’s so close now you can smell the salt on his skin. feel the heat radiating off him. “you should go,” he says, but he doesn’t step back. his voice lowers. “but you won’t.”

your breath stutters. “this is a bad idea.” — “it’s the only idea that’s ever made sense.”

your heart hammers in your chest. his fingers lift—slow—ghosting up your arm. not touching. just close.

“is he enough?” he asks, voice quieter now. “or is he just… safe?”

you don’t answer… you don’t answer him.

instead, you inhale—steadying yourself like you’re preparing for gravity to give out. and then you move, shifting just enough to duck under the curve of his arm. his bare chest grazes your shoulder as you slip past him, and the heat that radiates off his skin feels like it clings to you long after you’re out of his reach.

he doesn’t stop you. he just turns, tracking you with that same steady gaze. like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do with your escape.

your footsteps echo softly against the marble floor as you reach the bed. your cream-colored bag sits there, neatly perched beside the open mouth of his suitcase, as if it had always belonged there. innocent. untouched. except now your fingers tremble just slightly as you reach for it.

you curl your hand around the handle and force your face into something neutral, something calm, even though your pulse is slamming against your ribs.

“thanks,” you murmur, your voice too soft, too normal for how wrecked you feel inside. you make it three steps toward the door before he says it.

“i took a souvenir.”

you freeze. 

your back stiffens. the room stills with you. you don’t turn. not at first. his voice is casual—low, smooth, velvet draped over something darker. “from your bag.”

you glance back over your shoulder. “what are you talking about?”

he holds something up between two fingers.

a scrap of red silk and lace.

your heart drops like a stone in your chest.

they’re unmistakable—your favorite pair. delicate, barely-there, the ones you packed last-minute without thinking. the ones you almost didn’t bring. crimson and sheer and trimmed in the thinnest whisper of embroidery.

his grin is slow. knowing. just this side of smug, “you really should pack more carefully.”

you stare at him, your mouth parted in silence, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks in a flush you can’t begin to fight. he twirls them once on his finger, then drapes them across his palm, like he’s offering you a dare. his voice drops even lower. “or maybe you left them for me.”

you don’t say anything.

you just turn, bag clutched tight in your hand, and walk.

each step feels like it echoes—too slow, too loud, too obvious. the air outside his suite is cooler, but it does nothing for the heat burning beneath your skin.

when you open the door to your room, adrien’s standing by the balcony, shirt halfway unbuttoned, a glass of sparkling water in his hand. he turns when he hears you come in, eyes flicking to your face.

he smiles, but it falters slightly. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you say too quickly, dropping the bag onto the chair, avoiding his eyes. “it’s just—hot. it’s the beach.”

you grab a hair tie from the nightstand and pull your hair back, trying to pretend your ears aren’t burning.

adrien grins, walking over to brush a kiss against your cheek. “you’re right. i forgot how thick the air gets near the coast.” he pulls a linen shirt over his shoulders, still barefoot. “m.c. says everyone’s heading down to the bar soon. they’re starting the party.”

“okay,” you say, grounding yourself in the word. you focus on that—normalcy. the night. drinks. laughter. anything but what’s still fluttering in your chest.

within the hour, you’re all heading down—the group buzzing with early vacation energy. tara arrives in a gauzy wrap and sunglasses, dragging xavier by the hand. m.c. loops her arm through yours, all smiles and mischief. nero’s already asking about the drink menu before you’ve even reached the elevator.

and then caleb joins at the lobby entrance, freshly showered, crisp linen shirt open at the collar, hair damp and pushed back.

he doesn’t look at you, not directly. but his mouth quirks—just slightly—when he catches you looking at him. and god, he still has your underwear.

adrien slips his hand into yours, you smile up at him.  and pretend that you’re not still trembling on the inside.

the resort’s bar isn’t just a bar—it’s a whole open-air lounge carved into the edge of the cliffside, with glass railings overlooking the sea and sunken seating arranged in half-moons of plush white cushions and low stone tables. lights are strung overhead in warm strands, flickering like captured stars. the sun is just beginning to set, turning the sky a bruised gold and washing everything in that kind of glow that makes even tension look beautiful.

the group claims a corner table near the edge, laughter easy, legs bare and drinks already sweating in their glasses. m.c. and tara are leaned together, sharing a bowl of citrus-soaked olives, xavier and nero comparing cocktails. adrien sits beside you, his hand tracing light patterns over your thigh as he tells caleb something about property shares on the coast, voice smooth, not bragging—but close.

caleb’s across from you, lounging low, one arm draped along the back of the seat like he owns the curve of the air behind him. he’s got a glass of something dark in his hand, condensation trailing slow down his fingers. he’s half-listening to adrien, nodding politely, but his eyes keep drifting. to you.

you look away, sip your drink.

he speaks, voice low and amused. “adrien, you ever try a flamefruit old fashioned? they only serve them off-world, but i’ve got a connection.”

adrien raises a brow. “can’t say i have.”

“i’ll have the bar replicate it. you’ll love it.” caleb turns, gestures to the server without waiting for permission. “round for the table. my treat.”

m.c. smirks behind her glass. “colonel card again?”

caleb winks. “if i’ve got the perks, might as well use them.”

“what’s it taste like?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.

caleb’s eyes meet yours.

and he smiles, slow and deliberate. “burns going down. sweet after.”

your breath catches. your thighs press together under the table.

adrien chuckles beside you, nudging your knee with his. “i’ll drink anything if it’s free.”

caleb raises his glass slightly, gaze still locked on you. “oh, it’s not free.”

tara fans herself dramatically. “stars, is it hot out here or is it just all this masculine tension choking the oxygen?”

m.c. laughs. “i think caleb’s trying to intimidate your boyfriend, babe.”

“oh, he’s not intimidated,” caleb says, sipping casually. “yet.”

adrien grins, unfazed. “depends. are you trying to charm me or compete with me?”

“does it matter?” caleb says smoothly. “either way, i win.”

the table erupts into a mixture of laughter and groans, but your cheeks are already burning. you don’t dare say a word. because every time you look at him, all you can think about is the red lace still sitting somewhere in his room.

the drinks arrive in short, crystal-cut glasses, glowing faintly pink-orange like sunset syrup. tiny flames flicker at the rim—real fire, hovering just above the liquid like it’s dared to touch it. a soft gasp rises from the table. they smell like heat and sugar, like something forbidden.

“they’re infused with flamefruit,” caleb explains, lounging a little deeper into his seat. “rare export. the alcohol levels double within five minutes of exposure to oxygen.”

“you mean—” m.c. squints at her glass. “this’ll make me blackout drunk?”

“if you’re lucky,” caleb says, sipping his first.

tara grins. “then i want two.”

cheers erupt across the table, glasses clinking, the laughter rising with the tide. the first round hits fast. the second hits hard.

in less than half an hour, nero’s shirtless and swaying to music that isn’t even playing. m.c. has xavier in a headlock in the pool, both of them crying laughing over something that doesn’t even make sense. tara’s floating belly-up in the water, sunglasses still on, whispering to the stars.

adrien’s sprawled across a deck chair beside you, half-asleep, half-chuckling, hand loosely tangled in yours, his voice slurred.

“you’re—so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles, “you know that?”

you smile at him, soft, but your heart’s somewhere else. because caleb hasn’t moved.

he’s sitting near the pool’s edge, ankles dipped in the water, watching everything with that quiet, unreadable expression. glass empty. gaze fixed.

you pull your hand gently from adrien’s. he doesn’t notice. you rise, your balance steady, even though your skin buzzes faintly from the drink. maybe it’s adrenaline. maybe it’s him.

you walk toward the pool. he watches you approach, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. you sit beside him, legs dangling into the water. the heat from the drink hums beneath your skin. the air smells like salt, citrus, and fire.

“they’re all gone,” you murmur.

he smirks. “lightweights.” you smile, “you didn’t finish yours.” he shrugs. “i wanted to remember tonight.”

you glance at him. his eyes are already on you.

the pool glows beneath your feet. somewhere behind you, adrien calls your name and slurs something about marshmallows, but the sound doesn’t reach you fully. not here. not beside him.

“you planned this,” you whisper. “i didn’t plan you showing up in that dress,” he says back, voice low. “but i’m not complaining.”

your stomach twists. “caleb—”

he leans in, just slightly, voice brushing your skin like velvet. “if i kissed you right now, would you still blame it on the drink?”

you don’t answer

you watch him, the edge of the pool casting shifting ripples of blue light across his chest and jaw. he looks good like this—barefoot, relaxed, but still sharp. always sharp.

“why aren’t you drinking?” you ask softly, trying not to sound like you already know.

he glances at you, half amused. “fleet protocol.”

you raise an eyebrow.

“active duty officers aren’t supposed to drink in public unless it’s sanctioned. even on leave. especially when there’s a crowd.”

you blink at him. “that’s… incredibly responsible of you.”

he snorts. “no, it’s annoying. but i’ve seen what happens when we slip. one colonel blackout-drunk in the wrong company, and it’s a planetary incident.”

you laugh—just a little. soft. “guess that’s why you let us fall apart instead.”

his expression shifts—just for a second. unreadable. raw. you don’t push, but the silence between you isn’t comfortable. it’s full. heavy with all the things you’ve been too afraid to say. a splash breaks the tension—tara, floating sideways, blinking up at the moon like it personally offended her.

“i think the diplomat’s drowning,” caleb mutters.

you both rise at once.

the rest of the night is a slow unraveling. you and caleb move from one friend to the next—xavier slung between your shoulders, nero mumbling something about becoming a beach hermit, m.c. giggling hysterically into caleb’s chest as he carries her in both arms like she weighs nothing. she calls him sir in a fake voice and salutes before passing out.

tara refuses to sleep indoors, insisting the ocean invited her personally. you bribe her with aloe vera lotion.

adrien is the last one—he stumbles into your room, mumbling praise, pressing a kiss to your temple before collapsing sideways on the bed. you help pull his shoes off. he’s already snoring by the time you dim the lights.

you stand at the door for a long moment.

caleb’s across the hall.

you decide to call it quits for the night instead.

you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling fan turning lazy circles above you. adrien’s out cold beside you, one arm flung across the pillow, mouth slightly open, the sound of his breathing rhythmic, steady. the room is dim, moonlight casting long silver shadows through the sheer curtains.

you try to close your eyes. you try to sleep, but your heart won’t slow down, and you know exactly why.

you slide out of bed carefully, quietly, padding barefoot across the cool tile. you reach for your phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

you don’t text him.

you just open the door. across the hall, his light is still on. your heart thuds once. you knock.

he opens the door almost immediately. like he was waiting.

he’s changed into a dark tee and joggers, barefoot, hair still damp from the night. there’s no smirk this time. no tease. just the quiet question in his eyes.

you whisper, “come walk with me?”

he doesn’t answer. just nods once, grabs his keycard, and follows.

.

the resort is near silent at night. lanterns glow low along the stone paths, lighting the garden walkways and casting soft reflections over the still pool water. the air is warm and salty, the kind of breeze that curls around your ankles and hums beneath your skin.

you walk side by side in silence for a while. until he says, “you always used to sneak out like this.”

you smile faintly. “you always caught me.” —“because you were bad at sneaking.” a pause, “because you were obsessive.”

he glances at you. “you say that like it’s a flaw.” you laugh, soft and tired. “you still are.” he hums. “only about some things.” you walk past the little row of cabanas, their curtains fluttering in the wind.

“remember the old beach station?” you say. “the busted one we thought was haunted?” — “you mean the one i dragged you into during a thunderstorm?”

“and then left me when a bird flew into the window.” he grins, sharp and nostalgic. “you screamed first.”

“i had reason to. i thought it was a ghost.” he glances at you again, eyes softer now. “you always believed in things i couldn’t see.”

you stop walking. just for a second.

the wind picks up, and you wrap your arms around yourself. not from cold—just to keep something in.

“why now, caleb?” you ask. “why all of this?” he looks at you. eyes serious. voice low. “because for years, i told myself you’d be there when i was ready.” you inhale. feel it sting.

“and now that you’re not mine,” he adds, softer, “i can’t stop wondering if i waited too long.”

you walk again, wordless, the silence a little heavier now. not cold—just brimming. every step brushing against the edge of something you’ve both kept locked away for far too long.

then the path curves.

a narrow stone turnoff, half-hidden by a curtain of vines and low-hanging lanterns. you slip into it without thinking, your feet moving before your mind catches up. he follows. the alcove is small. private. a carved-out space in the garden wall, ivy crawling over old stone and no cameras, no windows, no footsteps nearby. the moonlight doesn’t quite reach this far. it feels like another world tucked inside the resort—untouched, unseen.

you stop walking. and then he’s there, you turn to face him—barely. his hands find your wrists. slow. deliberate.

and he pins them above your head, pressing them gently into the cool stone wall. your breath catches—more in shock than fear. your eyes widen, but you don’t pull away.

you can’t.

his body is close. too close. heat rolling off him in waves, his mouth just inches from yours, his knee brushing yours, chest rising and falling steady while yours stutters.

his voice is low—dangerous and velvet. “you want to know the worst part?”

you can’t speak— can barely move.

“it’s not just that i want you,” he murmurs, head tilting, his breath hot against your cheek. “it’s how much i know you want me back.”

your fingers twitch in his grip. he leans in closer—lips at your ear now.

“you lock your knees when i touch you. you look away every time i say your name. and when i held your panties in my hand—” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear—“you didn’t tell me to give them back.”

your pulse is roaring. his grip stays firm but gentle—like he’s restraining himself more than you.

“i don’t need to kiss you to know how you’d taste,” he says, voice ragged now. “i remember you. and i’ve dreamed about this for too long.”

your whole body trembles. his forehead leans against yours, and for a second—just one—he softens.

“tell me to stop,” he whispers.

his breath fans against your lips, heavy with want and the weight of everything unsaid. he has you pinned—not roughly, not cruelly, but like he’s clinging to the one thing in this entire galaxy that still feels real. his fingers are firm around your wrists, pressing them gently into the cool stone behind you, his body a whisper away from yours, heat coiled between you like a storm about to break.

and god, you want him. so bad.

you want him the way your body remembers—hot and hungry, instinctive. the way your heart still does—tangled in the memory of laughter in empty classrooms, late-night talks and half-written letters, the smell of his skin on your pillow long after he left.

but your heart isn’t quiet. not now.

and your mouth, when it moves, doesn’t say yes.

it says—soft, barely audible—“stop.”

he goes still— completely still. like the air’s been sucked out of him.

his fingers twitch where they hold you, then slowly, almost reverently, let go. your wrists drop to your sides, tingling, your arms aching in the absence of his touch. he steps back, just an inch, like it hurts to put distance there, but he respects it anyway.

he’s breathing hard. not from exertion, but from everything he’s holding back.

you don’t look at him right away. your head is down. your chest rises and falls like you’re trying not to cry.

and then you do.

tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them—warm and silent, cutting slow paths down skin that still burns from where he touched you.

you lift your head, finally, and meet his gaze. he looks stricken. like someone who just realized he’s still bleeding from a wound he thought had healed.

“you didn’t pick me,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you had your chance. you left.”

he opens his mouth, but no words come.

“i waited for you,” you continue, stronger now, bitterness threading through the ache. “i waited longer than i should’ve. and you just… disappeared into the fleet. you sent reports. updates. hollow things. and i tried—i tried so fucking hard—to make peace with that.”

he takes a step closer, instinctive. but you back up, just slightly.

“and then i met someone,” you say. “someone who chose me. who stayed. who wanted a life, not just a memory.”

his jaw tenses, but he doesn’t speak.

you wipe the tears from your cheek with the back of your hand, breath sharp in your chest. “you don’t get to come back now and do this. you don’t get to touch me like i’m yours. you don’t get to look at me like that when i’ve finally, finally chosen to be happy.”

but i love you. your head buries the thought.

the silence that follows is suffocating. he’s breathing through his nose, eyes locked on you like he’s memorizing the pain he caused.

you hold his gaze one last time.

then you turn, footsteps light but unsteady as you walk away from him. past the vines, past the soft lights, past the garden path that still smells faintly of sea salt and firefruit.

he doesn’t follow.

he just stands there, rooted to the stone, with the weight of your words draped over his shoulders like a cloak he’ll never take off.

.

the sun creeps through the curtains like it’s apologizing. golden and soft, too kind for the ache sitting behind your eyes.

you dress in silence.

adrien’s already downstairs—he left early to meet with one of his execs flying in for the tail end of the celebration. he kissed your forehead before he left. you barely felt it.

your reflection in the mirror looks almost normal.

except your eyes— your eyes tell on you.

by the time you reach the dining terrace, the rest of the group is already gathered at a large outdoor table. white linen umbrellas shade half-drunk smoothies and strong coffee, sunglasses hiding most of their misery. nero looks like he’s about to melt into his plate. tara’s eating fruit directly from the tray with no shame. m.c. is dressed immaculately, of course, sipping lemon water like she didn’t drag half of xavier’s body weight through the hallway the night before.

“there she is,” m.c. says when she sees you, tone light. “sleep okay?”

you nod, sliding into the seat between her and tara.

“adrien told me you were already up,” xavier says groggily. “you people with morning routines are terrifying.”

you smile, small, polite, careful.

but your heart is already scanning the table.

he’s not here. you wait. maybe he’s just late.

but then m.c. sets her glass down and clears her throat.

“before anyone asks,” she says, tone just a little too smooth, “caleb had to leave early. fleet business. emergency recall. left just before sunrise.”

there’s a collective groan of disappointment. tara swears under her breath. xavier shrugs, “figures.”

nero mutters something like, damn, i owed him twenty credits.

but your stomach sinks… he didn’t say goodbye.

m.c. doesn’t look at you when she continues, cheerful now. “good news, though. the suite arrangements are staying the same—and he left instructions to keep everything on his card. so drinks, spa, room service—go wild.”

cheers rise across the table. xavier lifts his coffee like a toast. nero suddenly looks awake. tara claps her hands like someone just proposed. you force a smile. raise your own glass, but something inside you feels hollow. like a door closed quietly in the night, and you didn’t get to see what was on the other side.

he’s gone. again, and this time, he didn’t even look back

.

the rest of the trip slips through your fingers like sand.

there are bonfires and cocktails with flowers in them. ocean breezes and overpriced massages. poolside games and laughter that never quite reaches your chest. adrien is warm and sweet, always touching your hand, your shoulder, the small of your back. you let him. you kiss him when he leans in. you laugh at his jokes. you say “i love you” when he murmurs it against your temple.

but your heart stays quiet.

and caleb doesn’t message you.

not once.

no apology. no explanation. not even a hollow joke or a sign that he’d been thinking of you at all. it’s like he vanished again—just like before—leaving only the ache of what almost was. no one asks. not even m.c. she watches you sometimes, like she wants to, but she never says a word. she just stays close. brings you tea in the mornings. walks with you at night.

you keep waiting for something to break the silence.

it never does and eventually, the trip ends.

everyone hugs goodbye on the private landing deck. adrien kisses your cheek, promising he’ll take you somewhere even more beautiful next time. nero grumbles about work. tara’s already posting sunlit pictures. xavier pretends he didn’t cry when he saw the bill.

you hop in the car and look out the window as the coastline disappears beneath the clouds.

no messages.

no name lighting up your screen.

just your reflection, staring back at you, quieter now.

.

it’s been two weeks.

you’ve returned to routine—your apartment, your desk, your carefully managed calendar of quiet obligations. adrien is away on business, a two-week summit. he calls when he can. he sends gifts. you thank him with a soft voice and a smile he can’t see is empty.

you haven’t heard from caleb.

you’d convinced yourself that was permanent.

so when the building’s front desk pings you with a call, and the attendant says, “miss, there’s a colonel caleb xia here to see you. he’s requested you come down,” your breath catches like a hook in your lungs.

you almost say no, however, your feet are already moving.

the elevator doors open to the private valet entrance, and you step into the golden light of late afternoon—soft, clean, and far too warm for the cold in your chest.

and there he is.

leaning against the most stunning piece of car you’ve ever seen—gloss-black body, brushed metal trim, glowing fleet detailing along the edge of the door. a top-of-the-line sports car, modified beyond standard specs. of course.

he’s dressed simply—black shirt rolled at the sleeves, dark trousers, aviator shades tucked into his collar—but he still looks like he walked out of a novel.

and when he sees you—god, he actually looks nervous.

“hey,” he says, voice low. “thanks for coming down.” you stop a few steps away. arms crossed. walls up. “what are you doing here?”

he straightens. runs a hand through his hair like he’s bracing for something. “i owe you an apology.”

you don’t answer. you just wait.

“that night,” he says, “it was a fleet emergency. a real one. intel flagged a threat linked to one of my old operations—classified level. i had to leave before sunrise. couldn’t even bring my comm back online until i cleared orbit.”

he takes a step closer.

“i wasn’t ghosting you. i wasn’t running. i just—had to go. and i’m sorry you thought i didn’t care.”

your eyes sting, but you hold his gaze.

he exhales. voice softer now. “i should’ve told you as soon as i landed. but the longer i waited, the harder it got. and i… didn’t want to make things worse for you. not if you’d already chosen to forget me.”

silence stretches. and then—he nods toward the passenger door.

“i just want to talk. no pressure. no expectations. just you and me. one hour. that’s all i’m asking.”

your hand tightens around your phone. your heart’s a mess.

you nod, following him out of the apartment entrance.

you get in.

you don’t say anything at first.

just buckle your seatbelt and stare out the window as he pulls out of the lot, the engine humming smooth and low beneath you. he doesn’t play music. doesn’t speak. just drives—steady, like he knows every road but isn’t rushing through any of them.

the city thins. buildings stretch out into tree-lined residential zones, then the pavement turns soft with shadows. he pulls off into a small overlook just past the western ridge—where the city lights look like stardust and the sky hangs low and warm in the early dusk.

he puts the car in park but leaves the engine running.

for a moment, he doesn’t move.

just rests his hands on the wheel, staring out the windshield like he’s trying to breathe evenly.

then, quietly: “i don’t know what the hell i’m doing anymore.”

you glance at him, unsure of what to say.

his jaw flexes. “i thought i could just see you again. that it’d fade. that i’d remember why i left it all alone in the first place.”

his voice cracks slightly when he says your name. he turns toward you, finally, and there’s nothing calm in his eyes now. none of the smooth teasing or practiced control. just hunger. grief. something that’s been clawing at him for far too long.

“but it hasn’t faded,” he says. “it’s worse.”

you shift, pulse thudding louder in your ears.

“i miss you,” he breathes. “i miss you like it’s a sickness. like it’s in my bones.”

his fingers tighten on the wheel. “i think about you every goddamn day. and it’s not just memories. it’s need. it’s knowing exactly how you sound when you laugh and how you bite your lip when you’re overthinking something. it’s how you used to tuck your feet under mine on the couch just so they’d stay warm.”

you swallow hard.

“and i’ve tried,” he continues, raw now. “i’ve tried so hard to let go. to respect what you’ve built with him. but seeing you with him—smiling, reaching for his hand, looking up at him like he’s your future—i fucking hate it.”

you don’t look at him. you can’t.

“i know what this makes me,” he says. “but if the only way i get to have you is behind closed doors—if that’s all you’re willing to give me—i’ll take it.”

your breath catches.

he leans closer across the center console. “i’ll take anything,” he whispers, “as long as it’s you.”

you sit there, the silence thick as the sky around you. the console hums gently between your bodies, the glow of the city stretching out in front of you like a life that isn’t yours.

your fingers twist in your lap, voice raw when it finally breaks free.

“i don’t want to do that to him,” you whisper.

caleb says nothing.

you stare at your hands. “he’s never lied to me. never hurt me. he’s always been there, always—shown up. and he loves me.” your throat tightens. “he really loves me.”

you turn your face toward the window, breath fogging the glass. “how do i do this to someone like that?”

caleb shifts. not toward you—just slightly. like he’s holding himself back with everything he has.

“i’m not asking you to stop loving him,” he says finally, voice low, rough. “i’m asking you to stop pretending that’s all you feel.”

you shut your eyes.

he leans a little closer, his voice a breath against the quiet.

“you ache when i look at you,” he murmurs. “you flinch when i say your name. like you’re terrified of what it does to you.”

your heart slams against your ribs.

he exhales. “you think i didn’t see it? in the alcove? at the pool? even now—you won’t look at me because you’re afraid you’ll want it again.”

you turn, slowly, meeting his eyes—and he’s already there. watching you like he’s memorized the exact shape of your restraint.

“you’ve been wanting to fuck me for years,” he says, low and devastating. “you want to know how i know?”

you don’t breathe.

his gaze drags down—slow, deliberate—then back up, landing squarely on your mouth. “because i’ve been wanting it just as long. and i feel it—every time i’m near you. you’re thinking about it right now, and you hate yourself for it.”

your lip trembles, and he sees it. of course he does.

but his voice softens—just slightly.

“i’m not asking you to be cruel,” he says. “i’m asking you to be honest.”

he leans back then, like he’s giving you room to choose.

like he knows he’s already cracked something wide open.

you don’t answer.

you just sit there, the words still echoing in the low, humming cabin. his voice lingers in your blood, thick and hot, and your throat feels too tight to swallow.

he doesn’t push. doesn’t speak again. he just watches you for a moment longer—like he wants to reach  out, like he won’t.

then he shifts, gently easing the car out of park.

the drive back is quiet.

the kind of quiet that makes your skin itch, like your whole body is trying to scream beneath the weight of what wasn’t said. the city glides by in a blur of golden streetlights and reflections in glass. you don’t know what song is playing, if any. your pulse is too loud in your ears to notice.

caleb pulls up in front of your building.

he doesn’t turn off the engine.

doesn’t look at you, at first.

you reach for the door handle with fingers that don’t feel like yours.

he speaks, soft, one last time. “you don’t have to decide tonight.”

you nod, but you don’t look at him.

you open the door, step out onto the curb. the air is cooler now, night brushing your skin like a warning. you don’t say goodbye and he doesn’t ask you to.

he waits until you’re inside the building before he pulls away. you don’t watch him go. but god, you feel it.

you feel every inch of distance stretching between who you are and what you want.

and you’re still thinking about it. thinking about him. even as the elevator closes. even as your door clicks shut.

even as you crawl into bed beside a man who has never made you cry, and still—

he isn’t the one making your heart race

.

morning comes slow, the kind that bleeds in through the curtains too gently to jolt you awake. your body moves on muscle memory—coffee, robe, soft slippers against the floor. adrien is already at the dining counter, sleeves rolled, reading through a holo-brief projected over his tablet. he looks up the second you enter.

“hey,” he says, with that easy smile. “you slept in.”

you nod. pour yourself a cup. you don’t meet his eyes.

“bad dreams?”

you shake your head. “just… tired.” he watches you for a second too long. you feel it.

he sets the tablet aside, his expression softening. “you okay?”

you stir your coffee. it takes longer than it should.

he gets up, walks over, and wraps his arms around your waist from behind—warm and sure, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “you’ve been quiet,” he says. “colder, maybe. just a little.”

your throat tightens.

he presses a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. “if there’s something wrong—if i’ve done something—”

“no,” you interrupt gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “you haven’t.”

you turn slightly in his hold, enough to face him but not enough to really look.

“i get like this sometimes,” you lie. “just… little dips. random depression waves. i don’t always see them coming.”

his brows knit in concern, but he nods. you smile, and it feels brittle.

“i’m sorry if i’ve been distant. it’s not about you. really.”

he leans in and presses his forehead to yours.

“you don’t owe me apologies for how you feel,” he says quietly. “i’m not here for the best parts of you. i’m here for all of it.”

that breaks something in you. you hug him tighter than you mean to. he doesn’t question it. he just holds you. and you close your eyes. not to rest— but to hide from the truth pressing like a bruise beneath your ribs.

.

adrien’s message hits m.c.’s inbox just before noon, voice-attached, full of that effortless charm that makes him impossible to say no to.

“hey, sunshine. thinking of throwing something small this weekend at our place. just food, drinks, the usual. she’s been a little… off lately, and i thought maybe being around friends might help her shake it. you in?”

then, a second message, a little sheepish:

“also, i may have bought an embarrassing amount of alcohol. could use your help curating it so it doesn’t look like a cry for help.”

m.c. doesn’t even hesitate. she sends back a voice note with a laugh and a “count me in, you reckless wine hoarder.”

by the next day, he’s pulling strings.

he orders catering from her favorite fusion spot. hires a soft jazz duo for background music. stocks the bar with rare liquors—imports, aged things with names he can’t pronounce, glittery mixers from a lunar distillery she once offhandedly said reminded her of childhood.

and then, almost as an afterthought—but not really—he messages caleb.

adrien: got a favor. hosting a small get-together for her. thought maybe you could pull a few strings and get that flamefruit cocktail mix again? she loved it. figured it might get her smiling.

the message is casual. friendly. trusting.

caleb reads it twice.

he doesn’t respond immediately.

but two hours later, adrien gets a delivery confirmation for an off-world case of flamefruit extract with a note:

“tell her it burns going down, but it’s sweet after.”

adrien smiles. texts back a simple “you’re a legend.”

he has no idea what he’s set in motion.

[hyunjincanraptoo]

first of all, congrats!!! u really deserve the 500 followers, your writing is sosososo incredible <3

im begging you to do number 3 🙂‍↕️ tysmmmm <3

Hi, baby! Tysm 🤭 I'm so so so sorry it took SO long. I was really busy but now I'm back. This prompt was supposed to be small and suggestive but I got carried away and honestly turned out to be the best comeback hehe please enjoy 💜

3. Flirting during his insta live

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, sub!hyunjin, sex toy (idk if the toy actually exists irl but in my fic it exists)

Alexa, play Hotline Bling by Drake

Hyunjin’s live starts late.

His hair’s a mess, fresh out of the shower judging by the damp strands tugged behind his ears. He’s in a loose white tee, collar stretched just enough to reveal his collarbone, one side of the fabric sliding dangerously off his shoulder.

“Couldn’t sleep”, he murmurs, eyes flicking to the comments, “Figured I’d keep you company”

The chat is exploding, but one comment makes his lips twitch.

‘You couldn’t sleep so you came here to thirst trap us. Be honest.’

He huffs a laugh through his nose. Looks into the camera like he knows exactly who sent that.

“Some of you are very… confident tonight”, he says, sipping his water slowly

You send another:

‘Pull that collar down a little more. For science'

He chokes, coughing into his fist.

“I think this shirt’s already struggling for its life”, he murmurs, fingers ghosting over the edge of the neckline. His thumb dips under the fabric like he might give it to you

Then he stops and smirks

“Nah. Not for free”

The chat is in chaos:

“WHAT IS GOING ON??”

“WHO is he talking to???”

“Hyunjin why are you RED?”

Another comment:

‘Don’t act shy now. I’ve seen how you get when you’re desperate’

His lips part. He sits back, letting out a slow exhale, like he’s trying to behave.

“You’re very brave behind a screen”, he mutters, “Want to say that with your mouth full next time?”

The room goes silent for a second before he realizes

Instantly, his eyes go wide

“I MEAN! Like… Full of… tea. Or food. Because you’re eating. Clearly”

He buries his face in his sleeve, muffling his laugh while fans go feral.

You don’t let up:

‘You’re twitching your thigh again. Getting worked up, baby?��

His leg immediately stops. He shifts in his seat, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

“I hate you”, he says with a grin, “You know exactly what you’re doing”

More chaos:

“IS HE FLIRTING??”

“HYUNJIN YOUR THIGH IS WHAT??”

“Oh he’s GONE"

You finish him off with:

‘If you end this live without calling me, I’ll remind everyone what your voice sounds like when you moan’

He freezes.

His mouth falls open. He slams the screen with his hand like it’ll shut you up.

“Okay! Alright. That’s ENOUGH. This was nice. Love you guys. Goodnight, BYE…!”

The live ends mid giggle, his face and ears red

Seconds later, your phone lights up:

[Jinnie 💜]:

You’re so devilish.

I'm hard and mad.

Call me now.

You reply to him:

No. You call me

Just like that, your phone rings ten minutes later.

You answer without a word, smirking as you picture him pacing his bedroom, hoodie probably yanked off already, hair still damp, frustrated fingers raking through it.

“Are you out of your mind?!”, he says low

“Hi to you, too”

“You made me hard in front of a hundred thousand people!”, he groans, “Do you have any idea what I looked like trying not to shift in my seat?!”

“Oh, I know exactly what you looked like”, you stretch out on your bed, “Leg twitching, thigh flexed, little pout. The usual”

“Stop”

“Why? You like it”

You listen to his breath turning heavy

“You really said moan” he mutters, disbelieving, “I almost threw my phone across the room. My manager texted me with question marks!”

You laugh softly, “What did he say?”

“‘Was that meant to be public?’” Hyunjin mimics in a mocking voice. Then, he adds lower, “I told him it was improv”

“You’re welcome for the material”

Another pause.

You hear him exhale

“I had to sit still for ten minutes before calling”, he confesses, “I was so hard it hurt”

You bite your lip, “And now?”

“Now I’m on the edge just from hearing your voice”

He sounds wrecked already, like the tension hasn’t left his body since the second you typed that last comment.

“Say something else”

“What do you want?” you murmur, “Something filthy, or something sweet?”

“Something that’ll make me lose it”

You smile into the phone.

“I’m picturing your hand right now”, you whisper, “Fisted in the sheets or wrapped around your cock… I don’t know which, but I know your eyes are fluttering. You’re biting your lip. You’re wishing it was my mouth, aren’t you?”

A strangled sound escapes him, halfway between a groan and a curse.

You go on, just a little devilish

“Bet you keep replaying my comment in your head. Wondering if they could hear it when you moaned for me last night”

“Fuck”, he breathes, “You need to come over. Now”

“Why?”, you tease, “So I can finish what I started?”

“No”, he says, voice shaking, “So I can shut you up with my mouth”

Another silence falls between you.

Then, he adds

“I’m not even touching myself yet. I’m just hard. Just… imagining your voice and trying not to come in my sweats like a desperate loser”

You hum, “Then let me talk you through it”

He groans when you say it. His reply is barely audible, more breath than sound, “Please…”

You hear rustling, clothes shifting, probably the slide of his sweats down his hips. Then another sound— skin on skin, a slow stroke, a long exhale

“God, I’m so hard” he whispers, “Feels like I’ve been edged for hours”

“Is it leaking?”

“Of course it is! You ruined me on live and now you ask like you're innocent!”

You hum, smugly

“Wrap your fingers around the base. Squeeze just a little. Pretend it’s my hand”

“Shit…”

“Slow strokes, baby. I want you aching, want you whining”

His breath catches at that, a soft whimper spilling out before he can stop it.

“I miss your mouth”, he groans, “I’m picturing you on top of me, licking the head, taking me so well and slow and deep… I’d go crazy”

“Good”, you whisper, “Because if I were there, I’d keep my tongue just barely on you. Teasing your tip, watching you twitch, making you beg”

Another needy moan.

“I’m close already”, he confesses, voice shaking, “Your voice is… fuck, it’s too much”

“Then stop”

He freezes, “What?!”

“Take your hand off. I want you desperate”

You hear his breath hitch.

“You’re cruel”

You laugh, “No, baby. I’m careful. You’re not cumming yet. I want it to feel unbearable when you finally do”

He groans, deep and guttural.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep talking like that”

“Then don’t touch. Be good for me”

He breathes hard for a few beats, trying to obey. You can feel the tension even through the call— his thighs probably clenched, abs tight, cock dripping and untouched.

You lower your voice, letting it wrap around him like a spell.

“Tomorrow, I want your knees on the bed and your hands behind your back. I want to see how long you last with nothing but my mouth and my voice. You won’t get to touch me. You’ll be so good, Hyunjin. You’ll cry for it.”

The gasp that leaves him is shattered and helpless

“Please, Yn. I… I can’t. Let me come. Please”

“Not yet”,you murmur, wicked, “Get your toy. The one I bought for you. We’re not done”

You hear the shuffle of him getting up again. You hear his grunt followed by the sound of a drawer opening.

“I hate how fast I knew where it was”, he mutters.

You grin, “No, you love it. Now lie back, be a good boy and put it on”

He huffs— you can feel he is half aroused, half embarrassed.

“You’re so lucky I’m in love with you”

“Oh, baby, you’re not even ready for what I’m going to do when I get there”.

The sound of him gulping fills the silence before you hear a click. Then,a quiet vibration hums through the phone line.

“Fuck… it’s cold”, he gasps, “But it’s… shit… oh my god”

“Feel good?”

“Feels perfect. It’s just barely moving but it’s already driving me insane”

“Great. Now imagine me straddling you, using it on you while I kiss your neck. My lips are right on that spot behind your ear you always twitch for”

He moans— throaty, desperate.

“Keep your hands off”, you warn gently, “I want your hips jerking on their own. I want you to just take it”

He whimpers and the sound shoots heat straight down your core

“‘Jinnie”, you whisper, “I want you so ruined for me that your legs are shaking when I finally ride you”

“I’m already shaking”, he breathes.

The vibrations intensify a little, his breath stutters as the toy pulses against his leaking tip.

“You sound so pretty”, you murmur, “So needy. I could keep you like this for hours. Wet. Hard. Helpless”

“I’m gonna come”, he gasps suddenly.

“No, you’re not”

He groans loud, long and filthy. You can hear the tension in every inch of him, the fight to obey even while his body begs to finish.

“Please, baby… just a little, just let me…”

“No”, you whisper, “Not until I say so”

He cries out again, frustrated and fucked out already, hips twitching as the toy drags him through wave after wave of denied release.

And then softly, broken and breathless he begs again,

“…I can’t wait anymore. I need you”

You smile, voice softening into something sort of indulgent.

“I’m already in the car”

The drive takes just ten minutes. You keep him on the phone the entire time, teasing him with words that drips into his ear like venom.

“Are you still shaking, baby?”

His breath is ragged, “I can’t even think”

“Good. Keep the toy on the lowest setting. Don’t you dare touch yourself”

He groans, completely tortured, “It’s throbbing. I’m so close, just from your voice…”

“Don’t finish, Hyunjin. Not yet. You want me to take over, don’t you?”

“Yes. Please. I want… fuck, I want your hands, your mouth, anything”

You smirk, pulling into the parking lot.

“I’m outside”

He whimpers

“Open the door for me. Don’t cover yourself. I want to see everything”

A pause. Then a resigned, ruined, “You’re actually evil, aren't you”

But he obeys.

When the door opens, he’s wrecked— shirtless, sweats pushed down just far enough to expose the head of his cock, the toy snug against it, humming softly. His hair’s a mess, his lips are parted, skin flushed pink, and his thighs tremble from restraint.

You step inside without a word, setting your bag down slowly as you drink in the sight.

Then, finally you say, “Back on the couch. Hands behind you”

He sinks into the cushions, eyes wide and glassy with lust, trembling as he folds his hands behind him. You sit beside him, trailing one finger over his knee.

“Look at you”, you whisper. “All this from a few comments on your live”

He exhales shakily, jaw clenched, “You knew what you were doing, Yn”

You hum, “And you knew you liked it”

Your hand slides up his thigh, but without touching where he needs you most. Not yet, just light circles, featherlight pressure, making him twitch and groan and beg silently with his eyes.

“You’re going to take your punishment so well, aren’t you?”

He nods frantically, “Please. I’ll do anything. Just, please…”

You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Then ask nicely”

He chokes on a whimper.

“Please let me come. I can’t take it anymore. I want to come for you, please… please, Yn…”

You smile.

“Then lie back for me, babe”

He lies back like you told him, chest rising in shallow bursts, the muscles in his thighs drawn tight from holding back.

“You’ve been so good”, you murmur, kneeling between his legs, “So obedient for me”

“Please”, he whispers, voice cracking, “Please just touch me”

You wrap your fingers around the toy, guiding it in slow circles over his tip, cruel but sweet. His entire body jolts. His head tips back with a strangled moan, hips twitching off the couch.

“Shh” you coo, “you’re almost there”

You finally take the toy off, and his cock slaps against his stomach— red, leaking, aching. He cries out at the loss, desperate now, every inch of him trembling.

Then your hand wraps around him— finally— and he sobs your name.

“You’re gonna come so hard for me”, you whisper, starting to stroke, “You’ve been so good. Just let go, Hyunjin”

His eyes squeeze shut. His mouth falls open. Your pace is steady, slick, punishing, your thumb dragging over the slit with every upward motion.

“Yn… fucj, I’m gonna…”

“Yes”, you whisper, “Come for me. Right now. Show me how much you need me”

He breaks with a loud, shuddering moan— violent, helpless, beautiful. His back arches off the couch as he spills hot across his stomach and your fingers, legs trembling uncontrollably, voice reduced to gasps and half sobs.

But you don’t stop.

You keep stroking, slow and firm.

“W–wait... fuck... Yn!”

His whole body flinches, hands flying up instinctively, trying to push you away but you catch his wrists easily, pinning them against his stomach with one hand.

“No” you whisper, breath hot against his neck, “You don’t get to stop yet. Not after how filthy you were on that live”

He lets out a strangled cry, hips jerking, cock twitching painfully sensitive under your touch.

“Please... oh my god, please.. I can’t, I...”

You kiss his neck, sweet and unhurried, while your hand works him through the overstimulation— his moans breaking, turning into gasps, into high pitched sounds he probably didn’t know he could make.

“Look at you", you whisper, “Shaking so pretty. All for me"

He’s gone. Eyes glassy, voice cracked, body trying to twist away from the unbearable friction even as his cock stays hard like a rock in your grip— needy even after release, aching for mercy.

“Please, baby”, he whines, “It's enough... please, please...”

You finally ease off, hand releasing him slowly, trailing your fingers gently up his stomach.

“Next time you whisper, lips brushing his ear, “you’ll think twice before reading my comments out loud”

He’s still panting when he looks at you, dazed and completely ruined.

“You’re insane” he mumbles.

You grin, brushing his sweaty hair

“Better than my comments on your insta live?”

He lets out a tired laugh.

"I’m never going on live again"

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

[chalametluvrz]

dating timothee chalamet

timothee x afab!reader (mainly gn! expect on nsfw bits)

towards the start of the relationship, i think he'd be pretty anxious

he'd often find himself messing around with his hands a lot on dates

or stumbling over his words a little too much with a small giggle

if you've ever seen old interviews of him when he was younger. you know the ones where he gets all shy and giggly? that's exactly how i envision him to be with you

after some time, that's slowly replaced with his hyperactive ass

and let me tell you, boy never shuts the fuck up that's not a bad thing

because of his schedule, he rarely gets to see you in person

so whenever he does, he just has so much to tell you and so much to talk about that he just ends up coming out with a cluster-fuck of words

he always tries to facetime you at least a couple times a week

and let me tell you, the call will always start with him saying 'oh, i missed your pretty face' or 'seeing you has made my day'

boy is madly in love

and even though he hasn't said it yet, it's fairly obvious he's not hiding anything

he's the kind of person to want to keep your relationship on the down low

because if you're also famous, he wouldn't want to cause any issues or drama through tabloids

and if you aren't, he'd feel awful dragging you into the world of hollywood

eventually though, as most celeb relationships do, you got found out

someone caught you out on your 6 months anniversary

and that was it; twitter was going mental

timothee soon figured out that he probably had to say something

but honestly, he was kind of relieved he didn't have to hide you anymore

the morning you two woke up and saw yourselves going viral on twitter, there was a bit of a mad scramble between the two of you

before eventually, timothee chilled out

'but now i don't need to hide we're together, anymore. i can let the world know you're mine.' he'd say to your confusion at his relaxed state

cute but also now all of timmy's fans are stalking your instagram

cooking meals together!!!

i have a feeling timothee's love languages are more tailored towards physical touch and acts of service tell me im wrong

so cooking together is such a beautiful thing for him

as much as timothee loves taking you out, i think he'd much prefer to cook a fancy pasta dish together with wine over that any day

he also strikes me as a cosy movie date guy

but honestly, it more than likely turns into something else

don't fight me on his, he's a horny guy

like bro would get a hard-on just snuggling with you

when you first started dating, he'd get all shy about it

he'd apologise frantically and his face would be redder than ever

after dating for some time, he'd be less phased

unless you showed and expressed discomfort with it of course

after the shock of you dating slowly weaved out of the fans

timothee would definitely start posting you on his instagram

he just needed the world to know how obsessed he is with you

arguments are rare

extremely rare

they usually only happen when timothee is stressed

feelings get heated and you end up making some snippy comments at each other before one of you gets up and leaves the room

after you've both had time to cool down, you're both mature enough to talk it out and apologise for whatever each of you or one of you has done

communication is a big thing for timmy, so i think arguments are heavily avoided because he encourages you to come to him about anything

any concerns, rants and problems you have, he wants to know

he's a flirter, let me tell you that thankfully not with others

always dazzling you with compliments

you're in the crowd at a press tour? he's staring, smirking and winking at you the whole time

you're supporting him whilst he's on set? the man can't take his eyes off you and is coming to hold you the second the shot is taken

you're on facetime? every odd sentence is him saying some suggestive comment or simply how stunning you are

the man cannot get enough of you

going back to the horny thing...

he has a high sex drive

there's absolutely no doubt about it

he is a giver!!! the man aims to please!!!

could eat you out for days

i've already made a headcanon about him eating you out so i will be brief BUT!!!

he's messy!!! the wetter the better!!!

will overstimulate you with hid tongue any day

and then make sure you cum on his cock as well

you know what they say about tall, skinny boys? wink wink

i'd say he's a good 7 inches, 7 1/2 at a push

he knows how to please you, and he's eager to learn what makes you tick

even though he's mainly a dom, i can see him being a sub at times

only on rare assurances though

being his date to things like the met gala, oscars etc

after being open about your relationship, he couldn't wait to take you everywhere and anywhere with him

loves it when you wear his clothes

but i feel like all boys do?

especially when he's away, opening up a facetime call to see you sat there in one of his t-shirts. he actually thinks his heart might implode.

this boy will actually love you with his whole heart

the cutest, softest and proudest boyfriend around fr

[naturesapphic]

Please can we get a part 2 for Breed Me

Breed Me pt. 2

G!p!Billie Eilish x fem!reader

Warnings: Billie has a penis, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort

Part one here

The pregnancy test was in your shaking hands, looking up at you with two lines in the middle. Your breathing started to pick up as realization dawned on you. You are gonna be a mom. How are you gonna tell your wife? Is she gonna be happy? Mad? Upset? Question after question was swirling your mind and it was interrupted as you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, almost making you drop the stick on the bathroom floor.

A knock was heard on the door a few moments later and you thought you were going to vomit. “Babygirl? You okay in there?” Your wife asked you and you quickly bent over and grabbed the stick and put it on the counter. “Y-yeah! I-I’m fine…” you said hoarsely and Billie slowly opened the door to see your red face and a pregnant stick near you. “Is that…?” She said with shock and you whimpered out a yes and you thought billie was gonna lose her shit.

“NO WAY NO WAY! WE ARE GONNA HAVE A BABY!” She screamed in excitement and she started jumping up and down, basically doing Fortnite emotes. “HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT IM GONNA FUCKING SHIT MY PANTS!” She yelled as she went over to you and picked you up and bounced you up and down with her. “Oh my God Billie stop! I’m gonna puke!” You said, holding your stomach and Billie puts you down immediately, apologizing profusely.

“Oops baby. Hehe just got too excited I guess.” She said cheekily. “So…you aren’t mad at me?” You said quietly and Billie rolled her eyes playfully and placed her hands on your stomach in a loving gesture. “I could never be mad at you. Plus if I didn’t want to have a baby I wouldn’t have agreed to put a baby in you.” She smirked and you felt yourself blush at her comment. Billie slowly moves her hands down your body from your stomach and leans down to place kisses on your neck.

You closed your eyes at the sensation she was leaving on your neck and she slowly went down on her knees, her eyes never leaving yours. She slowly took off your shorts and panties that you were wearing and put her nose near your warm cunt and inhaled. “You smell so good…I bet you taste better than you smell…” she confessed and you tried to hide your face somehow but you realized you couldn’t and got even more flustered. “Tsk tsk…you can’t hide from me baby.” She said and you look away from her eyes and she slapped your ass.

“Eyes down here babydoll. Keep your eyes on me.” She demanded and you nodded quickly, not wanting to further disobey her. Billie started leaving teasing kisses all over your thighs and the inside of them, making your breath quicken. After a few minutes of Billie slowly torturing you, she finally started kissing your sticky messy cunt that made you close your eyes tight. You reached down to her hair and gently pulled on it, making Billie moan into you, causing intense vibrations on your clit.

“F-fuck…b-bils I need y-you…” you beg her and she smiles up at you with her beautiful blue ocean eyes that you adore. “Don’t worry mama…gonna take good care of my girl.” She said and you moaned at her words making her giggle. She slowly runs her tongue through your folds and you quietly moaned, feeling her tongue all in between your folds, wanting to make you feel good. Billie is addicted to your pussy and she loves eating you out, it gives her more pleasure than you think. She flicks your clit a few times then glides her tongue around it like a talented figure skater.

Moments go by and you feel her tongue glide down near your throbbing hole and she gently pushes her tongue in, making you moan out. You throw your head back as feel her tongue explore every crevice of your walls, making your legs shake. Every thrust she did, you swore you were seeing stars. Billie was ravishing you and was moaning into you like she was having the best meal ever, which to her she was. After a few more thrusts, your thighs were shaking and you couldn’t hold back.

“B-bills! N-need to cum!” You moaned out and Billie tapped your thigh twice to give you the okay to release. It wasn’t long after and you were cumming into her mouth. Billie was eagerly lapping you up, trying to get all your juices and cum into her mouth. After she was satisfied, your legs were shaking uncontrollably and she had to pick you up and sit you down on the bed as she starts her aftercare for you. “You okay mamas?” She asked and you nodded, still out of it from the orgasm she just gave you. “Y-yeah…just sensitive…” you replied and she nodded.

After the aftercare, the two of you laid in the bed, holding each other tightly. Billie rested her hand on your stomach, slightly trying to feel a bump or anything which caused you to smile at how cute she was being. “We are going to be mommy’s.” You quietly said and Billie broke out into a huge grin. “I know. I’m so excited. I love you to the moon and back my sweet love.” Billie said and you felt your cheeks heat up drastically and you hid your face in her chest, making her giggle. The two of you couldn’t wait to become parents.

A/n: thank you anon and to everyone for this request! I hope y’all enjoyed! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! Take care of yourselves. I love y’all! Happy Saturday.

[tan1shere]

Are We Still Friends

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: thought I'd do some angst again cuz im in the mood for it turday - I don't know if there's a happy ending tho... SORRY !

Summary: she didn't mean to hurt you, never wanted to. But she ended up doing so. Badly and unfixable.

Warnings: ANGST ! No happy ending, idk if there's anything else ?? Get tissues babes

Masterlist

She wasn't herself recently and it worried you, knowing her past. But it wasn't exactly like that. You began to think that at first when she started isolating from you. But then you saw how cold she had gotten. You started to wonder if it was you, who had upset her. But you've never done anything except love her. She had been out all day, like she has been alot recently. You understood because she has to work ofcourse, but it was always later in the evening when she got home.

You two were seated for some dinner, things being silent like usual. You watch her mess around with the food, not making eye contact with you. "So, how was your day?" She shrugs. "It was alright." She replies. Her tone dry as anything. Your heart picks up in speed, not liking this side of her. It was not only worrying but frightening you. What had you done, what had anyone done to upset her this much?

Whenever you'd ask if she was ok, you'd just get a hum in reply. But it was far from reassuring your concern for her currently. So you ask her properly tonight, usually leaving it be whenever she'd hum. "Baby are you sure you're ok, you've just been so off recently." Her eyes look up at you slightly for a second, then immediately back at her food. "I'm fine." You're surprised by the full answer. "Are you s-" "I said. I'm fine." Your heart sinks at the way she talked to you, was she angry?

"Oh, ok." You slowly grab your plate, going to put it in the sink without another word. That is, until she speaks up. "I'm sorry." She sighs. But you just think it's best to leave her right now, heading up to your bedroom. "Baby." She says timidly, still holding a slight anger in her voice. You knew something was clearly going on, and all you wanted was for her to talk to you. Or atleast figure out what was happening. Is She tired? Did you say or do something? Or maybe you hadn't said or did something.

It was eating at you, stressing you out. All you wanted was for your true love to be ok. It's all you've ever wanted. You couldn't work properly, it invading your mind like a bad smell. All you wanted was to get home and sleep, especially with her. But that also died down along with her happy vibe. No cuddles at all, you felt unlovable. Her mood was killing your own, and causing all your friends to notice. But that was the thing. She seemed to be semi ok with them, still having a tense tone.

But actually making an effort to talk. Maybe it was you, maybe you weren't as interesting anymore. Maybe she'd grown from you, was she getting over you? Night time rolls around after a long, long day. You get into bed, her not long after. Immediately going to get some sleep. "Night baby." You said, softly. "Night." Again, dry. Desert dry. You sigh, turning over on your side. Facing her but closing your eyes. You hadn't noticed, but she was looking at you. The guiltiest look on her face.

A few weeks past and nothings changed. She's still in the same exact mood. It made you wonder if it will always be like this. You were at work currently, going to scroll on your phone while on your break. You lean back in your chair observing. When you see a particular photo. One that made your heart sink. You look at it carefully. But you didn't want to, you wanted to puke. It was Billie, she was kissing another girl. You were trying to rack your brain on when and where this happened.

The caption said "Billie with - some girl." Your brows furrow. Her fans knew about you, you didn't know exactly how well but when you opened the comments it was clear.

'That doesn't look like Y/n'

'Did Billie cheat'

'That isn't her girlfriend'

'Who is she kissing'

You had the exact same thoughts, except there was more of them. Flooding your mind. "Who is she." "Whyd she do this." How could she, you really didn't want to believe it. She would never. Your heart sinks further realizing that it was you. But at the same time it wasn't. She cheated on you. You were still in pure shock, deciding to go home early.

You doubted she had even seen the photo, she hardly ever went on her phone these days. But then that got you thinking, the only time she did was at night. But she'd only go onto text messages, you know. Because her phone would constantly ding. You figured it would be Finn, or a family member. Or even another friend. But now you were starting to think otherwise. You plop down on your bed when you finally get home. Staring at the ceiling.

You thought it over long and hard, and you were picking between confronting her and getting it over with or letting her come clean. But it's been so long you worry she wouldn't. Did she care? But you couldn't bear it, the thought of loosing her. And if you confront her that would be the result. You just hoped deep down she'd come clean and you could try working this out. Right?

The door opens hours later, you see her placing her phone down on the nightstand. "Hey, what're you doing back early?" She asks. "Didn't feel too great at work today." You reply, turning over. "Oh, sorry." You knew she said that to be somewhat sympathetic, but in a way it's as if she was apologizing for more. You shrug slightly, just wanting to take another nap. "Me and Finn finally got done with something we had been struggling on for months." She says a tad bit happier than she had been.

You nod. "That's good, Bills." Now it was your turn to be dry, she wanted to leave you be. Noticing your mood. Going down to the living room. You look over at her phone that she had left, considering looking at it. Was that wrong.. you don't even know if you can trust her after the photo, you were almost certain you'd find what you really hoped not to find on there. When it dings. You just had to, reaching over to grab it.

She hadn't changed her password. Did she think shed get away with it or something? Did she want to just pretend it never happened? All these new questions in your head overflowing. You go to the message and it was from a girl, that girl who was feeling her up at a party way back. You knew Billie didn't like her and found her to be very annoying. What changed? Billie was always a kind person to everyone, never mean to anyone's face. Especially considering this girl was friends with some mutual friends.

But not that friendly. You felt your eyes water, thinking of what to do. You read more of the messages. Reading one of Billies saying to leave her alone in the end. Did she regret it? Why hadn't she told you if so. You bite your bottom lip, feeling the tears pour. 2 years wasted. Down the drain. That was all you could think now. How much of a waste this whole thing was. Slight anger rises in you. Not much because you never got angry, but this. This was the thing to be mad about.

You walk downstairs, little scared for what's about to come. She was sitting on the sofa, when you let her phone fall into her lap. Her head looks up at you, confused as anything. Her eyes move to her phone seeing what was on it. Her head instantly looks at you again, noticing the tears. "Baby-" "Don't. Baby me. You don't have any right to call me that. When you've hardly been doing such for a few months. Why start now." She was stunned to say the least. Even though she shouldn't be, she knew you'd find out eventually. But she honestly hoped it'd fade away and that you wouldn't have to.

"Please let me-" "Explain?" You finish. "Theres nothing to explain. You've been talking to this girl for God knows how long. Kissed her!" She didn't realize you knew that. "How'd.." You scoff slightly. "When you're famous Billie. Cameras never leave you. I saw on one of your fans accounts." She sighs, cursing to herself. Now she really felt guilty. She had been this whole time and wanted to tell you. She just never knew how and decided to forget it all. "It was a mistake." You chuckle. "Yeah, a massive fucking one." Her hands go to grab your shoulders as she quickly gets up.

You push her back. "No Billie, don't touch me. Please." The Please breaks her, she finally felt everything. All that she had been ignoring and pushing down until she didn't feel as guilty. That was truly pointless now. "Ba- Y/n. Just let me tell you what really happened." You shake your head. "How am I suppose to trust you. You've been lying to me this whole time." She nods. "I know I know, I don't know why I didn't just tell you. I should've." - "You're a liar. You're a fucking cheat." You go to leave the room. But she goes after you.

"Let me talk, please." You turn to look at her. "What's there to say? That it was an accident. You had been drinking, she came onto you. And that you were intoxicated so you obviously couldn't stop her. Did I miss anything?" She looks at you, that was half true. "Just let me-" "No, save it. Because if it's remotely close to what I just said I don't want to hear it." You go over to the closet. "I had been drinking, and no that's no excuse. I was trying to get away from her. I promise." Your tears come back. That promise was broken to you.

"I have no excuse for what I did. And I should've told you but I didn't, because I was trying to protect you. I didn't want to hurt you especially with how work had got you. I couldn't, I decided to when things eased. Then it started weighing on me. I felt miserable because it was all I was thinking of. The fact I hurt you, the second she kissed me." You grab a suitcase as she waffles on. Her eyes filled with worry. "You have to believe me, I know you won't but please. Please." It had been forever since you heard any emotion in her voice. And now it was need, desperation. "I cant stop you." You say sadly.

She looks at you confused. "I don't like her at all." You shrug again. "I don't know what to believe at this point." You pack a few things, starting to fully sob now, feeling shakey. She comes over going to gently touch your arm. "N-no." You attempt to move her. "Stop." But she now cries ever so slightly, bringing you into a hug. You wanted none of it. But with your weak state, your pathetic hits to her chest were doing nothing. You did need comfort right now but she was the last person you wanted it from.

When you muster up some courage you push her away. Scurrying with the suitcase down the stairs. You needed to get away. You had to.

"Are we still friends?.."

You don't say another word, knowing you both knew the answer to her question. It was the end you just couldn't keep doing this anymore. You didn't want to hurt. This was the only option for now. Closing the front door...

Maybe thats the sign it just wasn't meant to be.

Can't say goodbye..

Can't say goodbye.

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [ii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara mistakenly puts herself in a relationship she thought would be full of love.

word count: 1822

warnings: (Tara's POV), mentions of abuse, violence, angst, swearing

a/n: ok hi guys this is mostly Tara's POV and won't really be focusing btwn her and r's relationship. the next part would probably be the last one too but im always up on doing head canons for this pic. anyways apologies for any inaccuracy for this part, if ya'll have any feedback or suggestions feel free to dm me or send anonymously.

part [i] | part [iii] | part [iv] | part [v]

Tara never meant for any of this to happen.

She first met Amber a year ago, at a party that invited everyone from both Blackmore and Woodsboro High. Tara went with you at first, but you quickly got caught up in the chaos of the event, drinking with friends to drown your frustrations over the rivalry, leaving Tara to wander through the crowd alone.

Tara glanced around the room, feeling a bit out of place without you. It was her first real taste of a high school party, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You were missing. Some were celebrating—laughing, dancing, and basking in the glory of their win over Blackmore—while others attended this party just for an excuse to get drunk, but Tara wasn’t feeling the same rush. That was when she noticed Amber standing off to the side, holding a drink and watching the crowd with a knowing smile.

Amber had been a wild card that night. No one expected her to show up, least of all Tara. But Amber’s reputation preceded her—everyone knew she was sharp, calculated, and, most importantly, she knew how to play the game. She wasn’t just there to celebrate; she was there to get ahead.

Tara’s initial impression of Amber was a mix of admiration and curiosity. Amber seemed to hold herself in a way that suggested she knew something no one else did. And that intrigued Tara, even if she couldn’t quite explain why.

As Tara wandered away from the chaotic center of the party, she ended up near Amber. The two of them started talking, mostly small talk at first—what they were doing after high school, the thrill of their victory, and the peculiar tension between Woodsboro and Blackmore. Tara found herself drawn to Amber’s cool confidence, the way she seemed to have everything under control.

But what started as a simple conversation slowly shifted into something deeper. Amber had a way of making Tara feel like she was the only one in the room, even when there were dozens of people around. Tara’s mind kept drifting back to the feeling Amber gave her: like maybe she could be something more, something beyond the quiet girl who never quite fit in.

And so, things began to unravel.

Tara never meant for it to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just a casual connection. But somewhere along the way, Amber made it clear that she wasn’t just interested in Tara’s company—she had a plan, and Tara was a part of it. Tara hadn’t realized how deep Amber’s intentions went until it was already too late. Now, Tara was left to figure out how she’d let herself be pulled into something so complicated—something that, in hindsight, was far more than just a meeting between two people at a party.

Everything was bliss when Tara and Amber started dating. She was kind, gentle, and attentive—the kind of person who made Tara feel understood and like the most important person in the world. It felt like a dream. Amber would send her thoughtful texts, surprise her with little gifts, and always knew how to make her laugh. Tara felt safe, seen, and loved in a way she hadn’t before.

But as time went on, Amber’s true colors started to surface—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

It started with small criticisms. At first, they were disguised as concern, little comments about Tara’s appearance or habits that Amber claimed were meant to help her. "You know, if you ate healthier, maybe you wouldn't feel so tired all the time." Or, "I don’t think that outfit is really doing you any favors." Tara tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just Amber wanting her to be her best. But the comments grew sharper, more frequent.

"You always mess things up," Amber would say when Tara made a mistake, like forgetting to pick up groceries or missing a text. "Why can’t you ever get anything right?" Her tone wasn’t playful anymore. It was condescending, even cruel. Tara began to feel like she couldn’t do anything without Amber pointing out what she’d done wrong.

The verbal jabs escalated when Amber started to get possessive. At first, Tara thought it was just a sign of how much Amber cared. But Amber's jealousy started to feel suffocating. She'd ask Tara where she was going, who she was with, and why she didn’t tell her first. "You don't really need to hang out with them, do you?" Amber would ask, her voice dripping with insinuation. It would have been even worse if she had hung out with you. It was as if you were Amber's breaking point. "They don’t even care about you like I do." "I’m better than them; why are you still hanging out with them?"

Tara found herself apologizing constantly—for things she didn’t even understand; she would say sorry just to avoid the tension. 

It was always the same cycle: Amber would get irritated for no reason, her voice would grow cold and sharp just to insult Tara. "You always do this; you always make everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can’t you just do things right?". The next day, Amber would be apologetic, trying to console Tara, making her forget everything that happened the day before. She said all the right things, but Tara couldn’t ignore the knot of anxiety that lingered in her chest. She had a way of twisting everything, making Tara feel like she was always in the wrong, walking on eggshells.

And soon, the emotional abuse turned into physical fights. One day, Tara had dinner plans with Mindy when Amber confronted her again, "You always do this," she snapped. "You always choose them over me." Her voice was cold, venomous.

Tara tried to explain, but Amber wasn’t hearing it. "You think you can just leave whenever you want? No, you’re not going anywhere." Before Tara could react, Amber grabbed her by the arm—tightly, her fingers digging into Tara’s skin. "You’re hurting me, Amber; let me go!" Tara shouted, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened. She twisted Tara’s arm painfully, forcing her to sit down.

Tara’s heart was racing. She didn’t recognize this version of Amber—this wasn’t the woman she had fallen in love with. The love they once shared felt like a distant memory, replaced with anger, control, and fear. Tara was terrified, but she didn’t know how to escape. Before the day ended, Tara made up an excuse to Mindy that she couldn’t make it. She thought about her friends. Chad, Mindy, You. How will she be able to explain herself? She’s embarrassed and ashamed of herself if she were to ever face either of you. 

There was once when Amber picked up Tara from school when she saw her talking to you, both of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers, like you were in love with each other. And Amber simply couldn’t have that. Once both of them got back to Amber’s house, she gripped Tara’s arm, demanding an explanation. "So you’re just whoring around your school with someone else? Especially them? You’re just a slut, aren’t you?" Amber seethed, her nails digging into Tara’s skin, leaving another mark on her skin. Tara stood there, tears streaming down her face, knowing no matter what she said, it would be dismissed, twisted, or ignored. "You’re mine, Tara. I’m not letting you go anywhere," were the last words she heard before being shoved down the stairs, undoubtedly leaving bruises all over her body. She knew the next day Amber would whisper apologies, giving her kisses and hugging her in an attempt to make her forget.

Tara began pulling away, distancing herself from you, from Chad, from Mindy, from Anika—everyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Amber’s wrath falling on them, especially you. She couldn’t risk you getting hurt because of her, couldn’t risk Amber turning her anger on the people she loved. The more Tara tried to protect her friends, the more she isolated herself.

Every moment felt like a calculation; every text, every phone call, every plan made without Amber’s approval felt like a risk. Tara started to feel like a prisoner in her own life, like Amber was always there—watching, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Amber had a way of making her feel like she was constantly under surveillance, always one misstep away from an explosion. Tara couldn’t shake the feeling that Amber was breathing down her neck, that every time she laughed too loudly with a friend or spent too much time away from her, Amber would find out. And when Amber found out, the consequences would be brutal. Tara had learned that the hard way.

It was like living in a constant state of fear. Tara’s heart would race whenever she saw a message from you or heard from one of her friends. She hated that it had come to this—that Amber’s control over her had stretched so far that she couldn’t even speak freely without worrying about the fallout.

But more than anything, she hated that the woman she loved, the woman she had trusted, had become someone she feared. Every day, she woke up wondering how much longer she could live like this. How much longer until Amber's control over her—and over everyone she cared about—was too much to bear?

Amber’s behavior spiraled even further. The emotional abuse had crossed into physical violence, and Tara was left unsure of where it would go next. Amber would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and then turn around and hurt her again. Tara began to feel like she was losing herself. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to leave, afraid of what Amber might do. 

Though she would still post pictures of them together, of them being in a happy relationship for people to see online, the reality was far different. Behind the carefully staged photos, the smiles seemed forced, the laughter hollow. She knew the posts didn’t reflect the late-night arguments or the hidden marks on Tara’s body. Yet, there was comfort in the illusion, in maintaining a facade that everyone else admired. It was easier to keep up the pretense than to confront the discomfort of what was really happening—of the slow unraveling that no one could see. The attention, the validation from likes and comments, provided a temporary sense of relief, a distraction from the gnawing uncertainty she felt every time she looked at Amber when the camera was off. It became a blurred line for Tara to interpret what was the reality and the sick image she created of her and Amber online. 

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t love anymore. And Tara didn’t know how much longer she could stay in a relationship that was slowly suffocating her.

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

a/n: next update might be awhile bc exam season is coming up and im a chill girl that needs to rest so you'll probably hear from me in like 2-3 weeks :p

[nastybuckybarnes]

In the Ring

Pairing: dbf!bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky takes your dad out boxing.

Warnings: Violence, Language, minor angst, fluff, age gap relationship and all that goes along with that, minor injuries

Word Count: 1.7K

A/n: Here's a little thingy thing for this series... im open to asks for this one as well as my inspiration for it is starting to fizzzzzzle up

~*~

Bucky steps into the ring, his heart hammering in his chest as he cracks his neck.

"Interesting choice for today," your dad says, securing his boxing gloves then bouncing up on the balls of his feet.

"Figured it's about time we got back into the ring."

In truth, there are a few things he wants to talk to your dad about, and he's expecting a good beating for them anyway. Might as well make sure they're wearing the proper protection.

"Glad you finally got a break from work, house's been real empty without you there. Think even (Y/n)'s startin to miss your ugly mug," your dad jokes.

Bucky swallows hard and nods, holding the pads tightly as your dad starts swinging slow and controlled.

"Yeah, that's uh… kinda one of the things I wanted to talk to you about."

Your dad pauses, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"You know how for the past few months I've been… well… happy?"

Your dad says nothing, only eyes him warily.

"It's because I've been seeing this woman. She's… gorgeous and fun and smart and an absolute spitfire."

He eases up a bit and starts throwing loose punches again.

"Yeah, when are you going to let me meet this chick, anyway?"

Bucky winces and takes a deep breath before finally spilling the beans.

"You already have."

Your dad's brows draw together as he tries to remember ever being introduced to his best friend's mystery woman.

"What's her name again?"

Here it is.

"(Y/n)."

He doesn't see the punch, only recognizes it when he stumbles to the ground with the side of his face throbbing.

"Are you serious right now?!" Your dad's chest is heaving, fury filling him as Bucky pushes to his feet, dodging another swing.

"That's my daughter! My baby girl! You're fucking sick!"

He swings again, chasing Bucky around the ring while the brunet tries to reason with him, holding his hands up in surrender.

"No! Hear me out! Please!"

"No!"

This time when your dad swings, Bucky ducks under his arm and kicks his legs out from under him, giving him a moment to try and defend himself.

"I love her!"

"Bullshit!" Your dad spits, pushing to his feet. "You have a new girl every week! I've had toothaches with more commitment than you!"

If the man wasn't actively trying to kill him, Bucky might laugh at that comment.

"When was the last time you heard me talk about another woman? Hmm? All this time it's been her! For the past year, the only person I've been talking about has been her! I tried going on a date with someone more… my age, and the whole time I couldn't get your daughter out of my head."

They stand on opposite sides of the ring, Bucky with his hands out ready to thwart another attack while your father slowly lowers his hands.

Has it really been a year? His daughter and his best friend have been having a secret relationship for a year?

"What are you saying?" He asks, panting hard.

"I'm in love with her, with your daughter. I love her with my entire heart to the point where I would bring you here to beat the shit out of me because I can't keep it from you anymore. You're my best friend, but you're also the father of the woman I love. I have a lot of respect for you, but even more for her, and I need you to know that your daughter… she's a woman that I could see myself marrying."

Your dad's fist is connecting with Bucky's face once more and the brunet curses, jumping out of reach again.

"In due time! I'm not asking for your blessing, fuck!"

Your dad stands there silently, glaring at Bucky for a long moment before sighing and rubbing the back of his glove over his forehead.

"That's my baby girl," he whispers, heart aching. Sure, he knew one day you'd find some jackass that doesn't deserve a fraction of your heart, but he never thought that jackass would be Bucky.

The same Bucky who was there when your mother died.

The same man who's been a rock throughout your and your father's lives.

"I know, believe me, I do. But you know me. I would never do anything to hurt her, not on purpose. All I want is for her to be happy, and for there to be no more secrets between us. I can see how much it hurts her to keep this from you and… it's not her responsibility to tell you. It's mine."

Slowly, Bucky lowers his hands and takes a step toward your dad, huffing out a sigh.

"If you want to hit me again, I understand. Fuck, I'd hit me too. And… I understand that my history… I haven't exactly been the type of man a woman's excited to tell her dad about. But the way your daughter… she makes me want to be that man. Be a better man than I've ever been. And this is where it starts."

Your dad groans, his face screwing up in disgust.

"So over the summer when you would check up on her while I was away on work… oh God, I don't even wanna know."

Bucky tries hard to bite back a grin at the memories, he really does, but his lips twitch upward regardless.

"Like I said, I love her with my whole heart. And I fucked up, so all I want is to try and fix this."

This catches your dad's interest.

"What did you do?"

Puffing out another breath, Bucky shakes his head and jumps on the balls of his feet to keep himself warm.

"I guess now's as good a time as ever to come clean."

Your dad rolls his eyes and raises his fists once more.

~*~

You touch up your makeup, looking over your appearance once more before heaving a sigh.

You've spent the last week or so locked up in your room like a hermit, and today it seems like your dad has finally had enough.

"Put on a nice dress - I'm tired of seeing you rot."

"We going out?" You asked, pushing yourself out of your bed and shoving your hair out of your face.

"Get dressed."

Adorning your body is a lovely deep blue dress, with a slit in the left leg and delicate straps criss-cross across your exposed back.

Finally satisfied with the way you've done yourself up, you exit your bedroom and carefully descend the stairs.

"You look gorgeous, kiddo," your dad says, a proud smile on his face.

You can't help but smile back, the smile fading when you notice he's still wearing his pyjamas.

A throat clears behind you and you whirl around, your throat tightening when you see the man behind you.

Bucky stands, tall and dashing in a tux, his hair slicked back and his beard neatly trimmed. He's got a nasty bruise on his right cheekbone that wraps to his eye, and for a moment you're concerned.

"You look stunning," he says softly, his eyes gentle.

You swallow hard and look between him and your dad as your heart begins to race.

"What's going on?"

Your dad wraps you tightly in his arms, sighing shakily.

"Have fun tonight, kiddo." He pulls away and cups your cheek, nothing but pride (and a few tears) in his eyes.

"And you," he points to Bucky, "Don't have her out too late."

He pulls you into one more tight hug, bringing his lips to your ear.

"We've got a lot to talk about tomorrow," he whispers.

You pull away and look between the two men rapidly, still not fully comprehending what's going on.

Bucky comes up behind you, gently taking your hand and spinning you to face him

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers. The words are said to your dad, but his eyes are focused on yours the whole time.

"You'd better."

You're all but walking around with your mouth agape as Bucky leads you outside.

"What… what's going on?" You finally ask when the door closes behind you.

"Your dad didn't want you to miss out on the banquet just because I fucked up. And if you don't want to go with me, I'll understand and so will he. I just… I miss you and I know how excited you were to go."

You feel a little breathless, and you're glad he's got your hand held tightly in his.

"You told him about it?" You ask quietly.

He gives you a soft smile and squeezes your hands tightly.

"Babygirl, I told him everything."

Your breath hitches and you feel tears well up in your eyes at his words.

"You… he knows…?"

Bucky nods.

Your fingers tug from his and he feels his stomach drop, only to settle when you trace over the bruise on his face.

"Is that where you got this?" You ask softly.

He chuckles and leans into your touch.

"Your dad's quick, I'll give him that. It took a while and a few punches but… he knows about us. About how I feel about you, how you make me want to be a better man. I want to take care of you and provide for you and I never want to hurt you the way I did. And he… he understands."

You stare up at him, eyes full of wonder and awe.

"You did all of that... for me?"

He presses a sweet kiss to the back of your hand and nods.

"I did. I did it for us. Because I'm tired of keeping you a secret. I'm tired of other guys lookin' at you like they can have you, and I'm tired of not being able to show you off. You're not an object, but you're mine. And, more, importantly, I'm yours. I always will be. You may not know it, but my heart is entirely yours. And if you want to throw it on the ground and give it a stomp, I wouldn't blame you."

You're shaking your head at him before he's finished speaking.

"I would never..." You trail off, looking into his eyes as tears well up in your own.

"I love you, sweetheart. I really do. And I'm sorry I've been so shit at showing it. But, if you'll let me, I'll spend the rest of my life tryin' to prove it to you."

You can't help the small shy smile that pulls at your lips, and you duck your head to nod.

"Well, I guess I can't stop you from trying."

[voie-lacte3]

Fuck Ass School

—in which influencer! reader is stressed over school.

| fluff. maybe slight angst if you squint?? but not rly

| taglist! series masterlist!

you’re sitting cross-legged in your room, laptop open in front of you, three google docs open, ten tabs, and zero motivation. your eyes skim the same paragraph for the fifth time, none of it sticking.

your phone buzzes. you ignore it.

it buzzes again. you ignore it, again.

you’ve got a pre-cal and physics test tomorrow, a history project due by midnight, and an essay for english due tomorrow at 8am.

you sigh. different girls from school posted subtle tiktoks today, they didnt name drop, but gave enough information so people in the comments could tag you.

“influencer girl from my school thinks she’s better than the rest of us,” one says

"this girl from my school has 2 million followers and she's changed since she got that actor boyfriend of hers,” another says

many more post videos about the way you dress, how you act, etc. they find things about you to hate on, even the classes you take.

you shut your laptop a little too hard. telling yourself you’re fine.

then again, a little louder. “i’m fine.” like saying it enough times might make it true.

you don’t cry. crying would be too easy. instead, you take a deep breath and open tiktok, filming a video of you lip syncing to "euphoria" by Kendrick Lamar.

"its always been about love and hate, now lemme say im the biggest hater. i hate the way that you walk, i hate the way that you talk, i hate the way that you dress" you say, ending the video with the chocking emote.

you're quick to edit it, putting a text over it: "pov: the girls at my school be like." you caption it something snarky, "love knowing im what the groupchat's talking abt 😜"

you throw your phone on your bed sighing heavily.

then it buzzes, again.

you quickly get up, groaning. "who the fuck–", this time, it’s a facetime from mason.

you stare at it, contemplating answering it.

but you do.

because it’s him.

his face fills the screen. soft smile, hoodie on, messy hair, face calm.

“hey.”

you try to smile back. it doesn’t work.

“hi.”

he tilts his head, glancing at you, “you okay?”

“mhm, just tired.”

he hums. like he doesn’t believe you.

he doesn’t say anything else. just watches you for a second longer than you expect. "are you in a....in a car?" you finally ask, "huh? oh...yeah" he smiles again, "late night drive, y'know how much i love those"

“so, what’s your favorite drink right now? or snack? or anything"

you blink. “what?”, "clearly something's up, so i wanna distract you"

you instantly smile, "okay! favorite drink, hmmmmm.... i'd say the pink monster, think its pipeline punch or something, OH wait an iced caramel macchiato from starbbies is also up there"

you continue to ramble about your favorite things, making the boy smile. "hey, my mom's calling" he abruptly announces, "call you in a bit"

he doesnt.

you figure he probably got in trouble for being out so late. so you go back to your laptop, opening a google doc to try and finish your essay.

30 minutes later your door creeks open. "what the fuck??" you mumble, getting up slowly, shoe in hand. you throw if effortlessly, a small ow being released

"m-mason??", he walks into your room, target bag in one hand, starbucks drink in the other. "what the fuck??" "hey baby," he says, like its nothing, like he didnt just spawn out of butt-fucking nowhere

"what are you.... what are you doing here?? how did you get here? what the fuck?!"

mason laughs at your state, watching you pace around your room. "when i facetimed you, i was already in your town, landed like 2 hours ago, came to surprise you"

you stop pacing, walking towards him and giving him a tight hug. "missed you," you mumble against his chest. "missed you too,"

he places a kiss on top of your heart, "so, how come you didn't mention you're on the brink of falling apart?"

"i am no–" a sniffle cuts you off. your sniffle.

he walks the 2 of you towards your bed, sitting criss-cross as he takes out a ton of your favorite snacks from the target bag. "what's going on, n/n?" he asks, handing you the drink

thats all it takes, the softness in his voice, for you to break down.

"everything" you cry out, taking a sip of the macchiato. “school’s actually killing me,” you admit, curling up to his side.

“i’m behind in almost every class– even fuck ass P.E?!? i’m stressed from all the assignments i have due, everyone’s talking about me like i’m this… this fake person, like i think i’m better than them, like i haven't had millions of followers since the beginning of the year?? and i hate, hate, hate, that i care. i hate that it gets to me.”

your breath shakes as you shove hot cheetos in your mouth, "i know im not what they say i am, yes im chaotic, but thats just me. they hate how i dress, but if i change it up its 'oh, she's changed because of her boyfriend'. its like everything i do makes people mad, i can never be the good guy, and it sucks"

you take a deep breath, looking up at him. "you know its okay for you to care..right? you don't have to put up an act, especially not with me. you can be the funny chaotic girl the internet knows you as while also be struggling"

he pulls you on top of him, arms wrapping around your hoodie covered mess of a body. your face sits in his neck, his hand in your hair.

"take a break tonight, worry about school work tomorrow. you've turned in hundreds of assignments in late, and you're still rocking a 3.7 something gpa"

.....the next day

it’s the next day. you still feel a little raw, but there’s sunlight coming through the blinds. your makeup bag is calling your name, and mason is curled up next to you, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t literally save your soul last night.

you tap the record button after washing your face and brushing your teeth, capturing mason laying on your bed peacefully.

“okay so," you clap your hands together. "i had an actual breakdown yesterday,” you start, aggressively applying moisturizer, “and my boyfriend spawned out of nowhere, like a minecraft enderman, with snacks and drinks, like who gave him the right.”

from behind the camera, you hear him, “you’re welcome.” you look at your camera and roll your eyes, throwing a beauty blender at him. you miss. he doesn't look up, "i knew you were gonna miss"

you roll your eyes again but keep smiling, “anyway, today i’m pretending to be fine because mental illness isn’t hot unless you have winged liner and curled hair, right?"

silence. "ahem, right??"

"oh yeah, right right" mason says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“so yeah,” you say, blending your concealer, “school is actually world war 3 right now. i have an actual pile of assignments that have been due for God knows how long, and my mental health is a joke, but hey! at least i can skip school today and be with my hot boyfriend, so we’re thriving.”

you continue to talk to the camera, rambling about everything and nothing. mason eventually gets up, going towards you and leaning down, puckering his lips.

you roll your eyes for the nth time, still smiling, still tilting up and pecking his lips. he leaves your room with a smile, "men, am i right? ANYWAYS!"

"anyone know what the renaissance era was? i have to do a project on it— it was due like 2 hours ago, but its chill. we'll get it done," you start blending your blush in. "i know skipping school today was probably a dumb idea, i had 2 tests and a bunch of other crap due, but its important to get myself together. at least that's what mason says"

you laugh, but there's a little edge to it now. “people at school are being really weird right now. they're talking about me left and right, like im some fake version of myself now that im with mason. but hey, its cool cause im just here, watching my own tiktoks like that'll save my gpa"

you pause, look at the camera, and do the most aggressively arched eyebrow in recorded history.

“maybe i am fake. maybe this is my AI arc. maybe i’m not even real and this is all a simulation.”

“okay truman show,” mason mutters from your door, "what the fuck?!?" you throw a mascara tube at him.

he catches it.

"so you're just gonna stand there and watch me spiral?" "hmmmm," he pretends to think. "nah, imma stand here, watch you spiral, and then remind you you're the ultimate baddie, that you're still my diva with or without liner"

you stare at him through the camera, eyes softening. "you practiced that in the mirror, didnt you?"

"nope,"

"yeahhhhh, you definitely did,"

"okay maybe a little,"

you giggle, "m'kay lover boy, hand me that mascara i threw at you, please." he walks over to you, hands you the tube, and kisses the top of your head so casually you almost drop the dang thing.

“you’re like if caffeine had feelings.” he finally says after you're done lining your lips. you wheeze. "THAT’S the metaphor? seriously?"

"you're describing you emotionally unstable, funny, drop dead gorgeous girlfriend as caffeine with feelings??"

he grins. “yup. unpredictable. but necessary.”

you lean your head back onto him, lip gloss in one hand. “sighhhh, i guess i'll keep living.”

“good,” he says. “cause i’m not done loving you yet.”

“shut UP.”

“no, say thank you.”

“i hate you,"

"no you dont"

"yeah, i dont. thank you, king.”

“you’re welcome, sweet girl. oh by the way, mom made this huge breakfast, im talking disney show level big.”

"yall heard that?!?" you exclaim, looking at you camera. "time for me to go be a fat ass.

"thanks for watching todays get ready with me, hope you have a wonderful day, bye loves" you wave bye to the camera, hitting mason's shoulder until he waves as well

a/n: i feel like this sucks. pls request 🙏🏼

tags: @bluebvrriee @v4mpire-bit3s @neroloops @m-e-m06 @icollectrubberduckies @tuttifrutt1

[joelsprettyprincess]

Sharing is Caring

Pairing: Joel Miller + Arthur Morgan + Simon 'Ghost' Riley + John Price x f!reader Wordcount: 2k Tags: Extremely explicit smut, kind of dubcon (consent is assumed), oral, anal, piv (protected, for once), free-use, slight daddy kink, five(?)some, it's not poly they're just running a train on her. A/N: Okay. Um. Not sure what happened, I meant to write a little BLURB about this and it turned into a whole thing. Anyway..I tried to do it in a different style; it's kind of fragmented, instead of a proper story. Also this is very nasty. Like, REALLY nasty. I fear this is even more self-indulgent than my Dutch x reader fic, but I hope you guys enjoy anyway!! And MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! FOCUS ON YOUR ALGEBRA HOMEWORK 😒

joel preps you a couple hours beforehand. takes you over the knee, and fingers you till you're blubbering and begging him to stopkeep going. he slowly stretches out both your holes with plenty of lube. once he's got you properly ready, he slides a cute bejeweled buttplug between your asscheeks to make it...easier, later on. the hot pink heart winks up at him.

he has you greet his friends with him at the door. you've never seen them before, but they know you. you and your pretty body, your soft lips, your ass that hides the curve of your cunt. oh, yes, they know you, courtesy of the souvenir photos joel takes when you're cockdrunk and passed out.

they file in, one by one, big hulking figures. arthur, the freelance artist, who's already eyeing your curves, barely hidden by the tiny skirt joel put you in. you try fruitlessly to pull it down as he passes by. next is simon, or ghost, as he tells you to call him. an ex-military man who's even bigger than joel, with eyes like a wolf. "you look good enough to eat," he tells you.

"later," joel promises.

last is john, who you actually have met before. occasionally, when joel is in the mood to share, he invites him over for some fun– the fun being you. you'd had his cock stuffed down your throat at least half a dozen times. "hello again, love," he greets you, patting your head. you smile bashfully, already starting to get wet (thanks to the aphrodisiac joel had slipped into your food earlier). he was always kind to you, even more than joel sometimes.

the men all sit on the L-shaped couch– there's a big game today, or something. joel sits you between him and john, while arthur and ghost sit on the other side. "get us a beer, honey," joel says. when you get up to fetch them, john slaps your ass as you walk by. the men chuckle when you squeak.

you collect 4 beers and carry them in your arms back to the living room. after distributing them, the men focus on the hockey game, but john won't leave you alone. he lets his large hand rest on your thigh, then creeps it closer to your fluttering cunt. you push it away, but it's only a few seconds before he's invading your space again. you whine quietly, and joel notices. "leave her alone," he chides. "all in good time."

joel leaves to use the bathroom, leaving you alone with 2 strangers and john. arthur immediately slides over. "joel's told us a lot about you," he says, giving you a smile that reveals a hint of his canines. "oh," you say wondrously. you wonder what he's said. you wonder how arthur's chest looks under his slightly too-tight shirt.

"you like living here with 'im?" he asks. "y'know, if he's treating you wrong you could stay with me." he chuckles. you shake your head. "i like it here," you tell him. "he does everything for me." now ghost is closing in, unashamedly staring at your breasts. "real cute outfit you got on," he comments. you feel self-conscious in your tiny black tank top and short pink skirt. "daddy picked it out for me," you explain, referring to joel.

just then, joel comes back, and scolds the men, who've surrounded you as if you're their prey. "get off her– I told you all in good time, didn't I?"

"we've barely got to see her, what with you and john squishing her," arthur complains. ghost nods in agreement. "come sit by us, sweetheart, let us have a look at you." you look at joel for permission, and he nods, sighing. you switch places, now sitting between arthur and ghost.

after a while the men start to talk, about sports, about their friends...about women. joel tells them all about how obedient you are, how it took no time at all to mold you into his perfect stupid fuckdollgirlfriend. your face grows hot and you smile at the floor, embarrassed. it's not helping that arthur's been kneading your breast for the last 10 minutes and your panties are becoming soaked.

by this time all the men except joel have downed 2 or 3 beers, and they're getting handsier. ghost has been tracing circles on your thigh, 'accidentally' letting his fingers go up your skirt and graze the edge of your panties.

the men all silently exchange glances, unseen by you, and abruptly stand up. arthur pulls you along to the dining room, where the table has been cleared off. only a thin blanket remains on it...wait, what? you squeal in surprise as arthur easily lifts you and places you face down, ass up on the table.

the men surround you with hungry looks on their faces. "now, gentlemen, let me remind you of the rules," joel speaks. "don't hog a hole, everyone will have a turn. clean yourself off if you're going ass to mouth. use a condom, she's not on the pill. and simon, I know how you are with anal. be gentle. in fact, all of you, don't hurt her too badly."

"i want her ass first," arthur announces, already pulling down his pants. he flips up your skirt, and inhales sharply when he sees the heart-shaped outline of your buttplug against your light blue panties. he makes short work of your panties, tugging at them so urgently that they rip and fall onto the blanket in tatters.

the rest of the men quickly pull off their pants as well, eager to claim a hole. it's a bit daunting, staring at three muscular men who are hellbent on taking their stress out on your poor holes. joel allows his guests to pick first– ghost rests his thick cock against your lips. your tongue instinctively darts out to get a taste, before you can stop yourself.

"i haven't had the pleasure of her cunt in weeks," john sighs. he elbows arthur out of the way, and the two of them tap and stroke their tips against your two tight holes. arthur slowly pulls out your buttplug, and you whine loudly at the stretch. your hole is left gaping, the perfect opportunity for him to slide in. you grip the table and moan into the blanket, keeping your legs opened as wide as possible to accommodate him.

john puts on a condom and easily slides into your pussy, sticky and sopping with your own arousal. tears prick at your fluttering eyes as the two men stuff you full of cock. you stick your tongue out, overcome with need.

ghost pushes your mouth onto his cock, and you start sucking like the tip is made of candy. joel stands to the side, grabs your hand, and uses it to pump his throbbing shaft.

"she's so fuckin' tight," arthur grunts out, barely even halfway in your ass. he's right, you're gripping his cock like you need it to survive. he places both hands on your asscheeks, stroking and slapping them as he slowly moves in and out. john's just beside him, thrusting into your tight sticky cunt– the sounds are driving him crazy. your slightly pained groans, the creamy schwelp schwelp of your pussy– oh, he missed this.

ghost is the first to cum. driven crazy by your tongue slurping every inch of his cock and the feel of your plush lips practically sealing it in your mouth, he holds you by the hair and jerks off till thick globs and ropes of cum land on your face. he puts his tip against your tongue and finishes his release there, leaving a big puddle which you promptly swallow.

soon after, arthur cums, spreading your cheeks and keeping them still while he dumps a hot, thick load in your ass. it leaks out even while he's still inside you, dripping down to your pussy. "fuck, honey..." he mutters, pulling out. he observes your winking hole, already getting hard again.

ghost takes his place. he barely stops to clean up arthur's mess; just wipes off the excess with a paper towel and pushes his once-again stiff cock in your ass. you cry out, still sensitive from the stretch of arthur before. arthur's cum oozes out of you with every thrust.

john is still jackhammering your pretty pussy, and he's close. he presses himself balls deep inside you, and you can feel his cock twitching as he cums inside the condom. it could be the aphrodisiac, but the thought of him possibly knocking you up makes you twice as wet. he pulls out and fingers your spasming cunt, encouraging you to cum. you whine and moan loudly as arthur, who's just finished cleaning off his cock, slides his shaft between your puffy lips. your eyes roll, and you cum hard, squirting on john's hand and on the blanket. you thrash your legs a bit as john refuses to let up, and keeps fingering your extremely sensitive pussy.

joel finally reaches his peak as well, shooting a thick rope onto your hand, then getting closer and glazing your already cum-covered face with even more. some of it gets in your hair, which he knows you hate. his cum oozes down your face, and you can feel it sliding down to your right eye. he and john switch places, with john making you cradle his balls, while joel whistles when he sees the mess that your pussy is. he's the only one that can go bareback, the only one that's able to cum inside you. and he intends on doing exactly that.

joel wastes no time and pushes into your still-recovering pussy, watching your slightly swollen lips automatically grip him. you're still sticky with arousal, and it coats his cock. "you love being passed around by daddy's friends?" he mutters, smacking your ass. "you want 'em all to have a turn in this sweet pussy?" you can't answer, as arthur's got his cock in your mouth. but you whine, and if the sound of your creamy pussy is any indicator, you love this.

the men all take turns in your various holes, dumping load after load in your ass, in your mouth, and on your face. only joel cums straight in your pussy, but the others make up for it by covering your body with their hot loads. you cum more times than you can count, and by the end, the air smells of lust and sweat.

after they've all been fully satisfied, then men step back and survey their handiwork. your face is completely covered with multiple loads that are dripping off your face. your right eye is closed; you're unable to open it because of the cum that joel deposited on your eyelid. your lips are pink and puffy, and your tongue hangs out, tired after coaxing so many loads out of the men.

your asscheeks are also glazed with cum, and even your back has some white ropes. your ass is gaping, with cum oozing out of it. several used condoms have been thrown haphazardly on your body, mostly on your back.

and finally, your poor pussy. though it had the least amount of cum, it had taken the most abuse; all of the men had bullied your cunt into multiple orgasms, and now there's a puddle of arousal underneath you. joel's cum leaks from between your pussy lips onto the blanket.

your head lays on the table– you don't have the strength to even look up anymore.

"fuckin' beautiful," john says quietly, and the men agree. they all clean themselves off and get redressed, then joel coaxes you off the table. you stumble, then right yourself. more cum oozes out of your ass onto the floor. "'s okay, c'mon," he says, holding you by your left hand– maybe the only place on your whole body that hasn't been glazed.

the men watch you leave. your ass jiggles a bit, and arthur sighs. "we've got to come back, and soon."

[blitzyn]

shut up

childe x m!reader

request: none

a/n -> im sick and tired of winter WHERE IS SUMMER. help i wrote some of this in public so i had to stop myself from acting out some of the motions just to figure out how to write it lmao. guys i kinda made him a little mean i just got a little carried away oopsies. anyways one more non req and ill work on reqs i hope

wc -> 3.8k

cw -> very dubcon, hate sex, a lil bit of blood, anal sex, spit as lube, not a lot of prep, degradation, manhandling, throat fucking, asphyxiation, reader is a masochist, mean dom childe, spitting (in ur mouth like once), chokehold, prone bone position for like 2 seconds lmao, brief descriptions of fighting, reader offs someone cuz he felt like it kinda, it starts sorta abrupt tbh lol, not beta read

Childe fucking hated you. This was old news—absolutely anyone who had the barest idea who he was knew that. Everyone within a twenty meter radius could hear him arguing about something, and it never seemed to be about the same thing more than once. There always seemed to be something the two of you nitpicked about each other, throwing it out into the open which, more often than not, led to a fight with no clear winner.

There wasn’t anything anyone could do about it since the two of you were Harbingers. You were ranked tenth after Signora’s death and The Balladeer’s desertion, just behind Childe who was in ninth. But that didn’t stop you from riling him up relentlessly, even finding some type of enjoyment from his anger because you knew it wasn’t particularly common to see. Really, there wasn’t much of a power difference between the two of you other than the fact that you were less experienced.

As such, you were often assigned to missions together—if assigned meant that you simply joined him when you didn’t have anything important to do, much to his obvious displeasure.

This time, you followed him towards a hideout hidden between large rocks. It was simple, and you preferred that it wasn’t so easily accessible, but you supposed that hiding it in plain sight was acceptable for now.

“I don’t like how easy it is to find this place,” you commented, taking in your surroundings as if you were impressed by how large the area was compared to the small cave entrance. “It’s so obvious.”

Childe only offered you a grunt in acknowledgement, making his way past a few scattered materials on the floor. This wasn’t a facility that the Fatui used as much as before, but some machines were still operational and functioning.

“Ignoring people when they’re talking to you is rude, Tartaglia,” you chided, but you couldn’t care less that he wasn’t responding. “Besides, it’s not like you disagree with me. You wouldn’t want a poor, helpless child accidentally stumbling across this place while they’re playing a game.”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and you could see him grit his teeth when he noticed the smug expression on your face. “Nobody’s gonna find the entrance. It’s been around for years and there hasn’t been a trespasser.”

“Really?” You hummed, nodding slowly to yourself. “If you say so.”

He eyed you warily, instantly skeptical of how quick you were to accept his statement. But that wasn’t important right now—he needed to retrieve some documents and collect money from a few debtors.

“Just… Just stay here. Don’t touch anything,” he instructed, unnerved by how you obediently sat on a rickety chair and watched him expectantly.

“Yessir,” you replied with a playful tone in your voice, crossing your arms over your chest comfortably.

He silently stared at you for a few moments. “What are you planning?” He blurted out, annoyed with the eyebrow you raised in question. “You don’t like listening to me.”

You rolled your eyes at his accusation. “I don’t really favor getting chewed out by whoever needs those papers, so hurry up and get what you need. I’d rather talk to the debtors, anyways.”

He didn’t move from his spot for a few more moments before hesitantly making his way toward an isolated room, seemingly accepting your response. You chuckled through your nose at his reluctance as you swirled your finger around, creating a small rabbit made out of Cryo. It was quiet and unassuming as it silently hopped around before you sent it out of the room, searching for any valuable items worth keeping as you waited.

You leaned back in boredom, shutting your eyes to focus on keeping the rabbit's form. You could feel a faint hint of interest radiating through you from your creation, cringing slightly at the smell of metal before you relaxed again. The rabbit was mid-search when an arrow whizzed past it, nicking its back. Quickly, it fled, leaving a trail of Cryo. The hunter cursed loudly and chased after it, but it wasn't long before it made it to its destination.

Curious, you released your focus on the rabbit as you stood up to pick up whatever it found. You looked up when the hunter suddenly walked through the cave entrance, slightly surprised to know that they hadn't stopped trying to go after your rabbit. The two of you stared at each other before you spoke up in mild disinterest.

"Can I help you?" You questioned, inspecting your find once again. It was shiny and had intricate designs on it, but ultimately worthless.

"Uh... Uh, yes! Yes, you can," they said after a moment, scoping the area in search of their nonexistent rabbit. "Have you seen a white rabbit run through here? Small, quick, and leaving some sort of trail behind it," they described eagerly, taking a few steps forward.

"I'm afraid you can't come in here," you said, raising a hand to stop them in their tracks. You analyzed them for a moment, taking in their appearance. They couldn't have been older than fifteen, with shaggy brown hair and tanned skin.

"Then why are you in here?" They countered stubbornly, crossing their arms. It seemed they forgot all about their hunt in favor of digging into your business.

"That's none of your concern," you replied, ignoring their questioning gaze above your shoulder. "If you don't leave now, I'll have to resort to force."

You bristled a little when you saw them roll their eyes. Too stubborn for their own good, apparently. "Yeah? Well, I'm the chief's kid. What's a weird-looking guy like you gonna do to me?"

You frowned, visibly offended. You stared at them for a moment before raising your dominant hand again, this time letting an icicle form on the tip of your middle finger before flicking it directly at them. In the blink of an eye, they went down with a loud thud. "Kill you," you replied to the body.

You walked up to them and lifted their head by their hair, examining the wound on their forehead with a hum. Blood leaked in copious amounts down their face, and you couldn't stop the grimace when some landed on your foot.

"Oh, shit," you hissed under your breath when you caught a better look at them. You wondered why they seemed so vaguely familiar to you when the realization suddenly hit you-the chief was one of the debtors. You pursed your lips before standing up with a shrug, placing a hand on your chin to ponder different ways to dispose of the body without tarnishing the Fatui's name even further. "I suppose I could just toss them in a lake? Or lure in a wild animal to eat them? Burning's too obvious..."

"What the fuck did you just do?" You heard Childe curse from behind you. You turned around to face him, eyebrow twitching in interest when you noticed his normally void eyes alight with fury. Honestly, though, you didn't quite understand why he seemed so upset. Maybe it was because of how transactions with the debtor may not go as smoothly as he wanted, or the fact that the person you killed was still technically a child.

"Someone found the entrance," you shrugged, unbothered by his reaction. "We don't want anyone finding important information about the Fatui, right? So I killed them. I told you it was easy to spot." You rolled your eyes like it was the most obvious thing ever, which only served to anger him. You tried to make your way past him deeper into the facility in search of something interesting to take when a sudden blur slammed your body into a wall. You let out a pained grunt, instinctively wrapping your fingers around the wrist where he pinned you down by your throat.

You knew he was ruthless when he needed to be, but you weren't given a chance to see it with your own eyes up until now. He was far from gentle, holding your delicate neck with such ferocity it made your skin tingle. It was exhilarating.

"Like hell they just conveniently found the entrance," he spat, his voice low as he glared deep into your watering eyes. "You deliberately lured them in here, didn't you? And for what? Because you were bored?" He refused to slacken the hold around your throat, internally finding that he preferred how you looked when you couldn't breathe.

"You—cough—You're much the s-same, Tartaglia," you strained out, trying to furiously blink away your tears. "Don't pretend you don't crave vi-violence, too."

You could see him grit his teeth just before he tossed you to the floor, watching you cough and regain your breath with disdain in his eyes. "No. Don't compare me to a fucking psychopath like you. I don't kill kids just because I feel like it!"

"To-may-to, to-mah-to," you groaned, rubbing your sore skin. You could still feel his hand around your throat, his grip burned into your flesh in a way that sent a familiar heat through your groin. He took a second to examine your body before zeroing in on the growing bulge between your legs, disbelief written on his expression.

"There's no damn way," he muttered to himself as if trying to convince himself you weren't aroused by him strangling you. With a growl, he stepped forward and harshly pressed a foot on your crotch, merciless with the amount of pressure he used. He watched in disgust as your hips jerked in response, frowning deeply at the pained moan you let out. "You're seriously turned on?"

"If it wasn't obvious—" You were unceremoniously cut off by a swift kick to your jaw, accidentally biting down on your tongue. You tasted the metallic tang of your own blood that originated from your mouth and your nose, wiping it away quickly. Your cock only throbbed with an increased fervor in your pants that strained for release against the fabric.

"Shut the fuck up," he snarled, staring down at you for a few moments, deciding what to do with you now that he had this newfound information in his hands.

"What's gotten you so upset?" You teased him, obviously not taking your situation seriously. You felt a pleasurable chill run down your spine at the fierce look he gave you, sitting up a bit in anticipation when you saw his hand stray down toward his pants, roughly undoing them.

"You just can't shut your mouth, can you?" He hissed, leaning forward a bit to grab a handful of your hair. He yanked you closer, forcing you onto your knees as he pressed the tip of his flaccid cock against your waiting tongue. "Fine, then. I'll shut it for you."

You hummed at the salty taste of his skin, raising your hands up to hold onto the swell of his muscular thighs. He groaned quietly when you dragged your tongue along a prominent vein on the underside of the shaft, looking up at him through your lashes. You let out a garbled moan when he forced you all the way down to the base, seemingly satisfied with the way you gagged a little.

Your nose was buried within his pubic hair as your throat tightened and spasmed, feeling yourself beginning to drool as the thick strands of saliva seeped out of the corners of your lips. You could hardly breathe, but you loved it. You loved the way he tugged on your scalp, starting to move his hips back and forth. You tried to contribute as much as you could, but the way you could feel his cock hardening sent a pleasant ache through your jaw.

"Fucking hell... You're not fit to be a Harbinger," he spat, holding you still as he reached down to swipe a bit of the blood from your nose to messily wipe it on your cheek. You couldn't see what he was doing, but the patterned swipes made it clear what he was writing.

S, L, U, T.

The word sent a jolt of electricity down your spine. You could feel your cock twitch in your pants, leaking a profuse amount of precum that served to stain the fabric. You let out a moan and slipped a hand underneath your clothes, jerking yourself off shamelessly.

He let out a breathy scoff at the sight, but he couldn't help the way his dick throbbed when your throat squeezed around him. "You're too good at this," he groaned, gradually moving his hips faster until he was fucking your face. "You don't belong in the Fatui. You're better off at a goddamn whorehouse."

He relished in the sound of your chokes and gags, finding that he preferred this much more than your voice. He let out a heavy sigh and shut his eyes, tilting his head back in ecstasy as he lost himself in the sensations. He was unaware of how you shifted your hand lower, using your precum as a subpar replacement for lube to push two of your fingers in your hole. You weren't in any particular rush as you leisurely pumped them in and out of you, adding in the wet sounds to your strained moans and ragged breaths. You were brought back to your senses when you heard him bark out a mocking laugh, squinting up at him through the tears that accumulated along your lashes.

"You're fucking pathetic," he muttered lowly, almost to himself, but you knew it was directed at you. "Is this—shit—all it took? You just needed a dick shoved down your throat, huh? Should've known you were such a whore," he demeaned, and you could only whine in response. Suddenly, he leaned a bit forward to press the sole of his shoe onto your aching cock, watching intently at the way you choked in surprise. "Maybe the rest of us should get a turn with you? Turn you into our little fucktoy? Our good-for-nothing cumdump?"

A grin made its way onto his pale face, turned on with the amount of control he had over you. His left hand slid lower, maintaining a firm grip on the junction between the back of your head and neck as his other one moved up to pinch your nostrils shut. He thrust harder, faster, shuffling closer when you tried to tilt your head away. He ignored your muffled protests and focused solely on getting himself off, letting out satisfied groans that you weren't fully there to appreciate.

It wasn't until you could hear a high-pitched ringing did he finally cum, shooting his load down your throat without a care for whether or not you could properly swallow it. He held himself there for a moment longer before he pulled himself away with a harsh shove to your body. You coughed and panted hard, taking a moment to regain your composure before looking back up at him, eager for more.

"Still not satisfied?" He questioned rhetorically. You both knew you weren't done yet, not when you found out how he could get when you pushed his buttons just the right way. "Stupid question, huh?" He huffed a laugh through his nose before roughly kicking you onto your stomach, dropping to his knees not a moment later. He haphazardly tugged your pants and underwear down in one go, ignoring the pained hiss you made when you felt yourself sandwiching your drooling cock between your abdomen and the floor. He spread your ass apart to spit on your asshole, shoving a finger inside you for good measure before jerking himself off using some of his saliva.

"Tartaglia, please—hurry," you whined, looking over your shoulder to meet his gaze. It was satisfying to see you in such a pitiful state, but the sound of your voice, although hoarse and raw, annoyed him.

"Be quiet or I'll leave you here like this," he snapped, giving your asscheek a quick slap before positioning himself over your hole. He rubbed the tip of it against your skin for a moment before pushing himself inside, groaning loudly at the feeling of you clamping down on him so perfectly.

It fucking hurt; after all, you only used two meager fingers to prepare yourself, and even then, you hadn't done much. It burned like he was tearing you apart but in the best damn way. The pain of being stretched out so mercilessly only mixed in with the insatiable fire in your groin, shooting jolts of electricity up your spine so intense you nearly came on the spot.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Tartaglia, please, you're so—!" You cut yourself off with a moan when he suddenly slammed himself down all the way, ramming the head of his cock against your sensitive prostate.

"I said shut up!" He demanded, pressing his hips down to grind against you. He wasn't as deep as he could go in this position, but he still managed to fill you up just right. You groaned when he leaned down, pinning you to the ground with his body weight as an arm snaked around the front of your throat, pressing it against you firm enough to restrict some of your airflow.

Instinctively, you raised a hand to grab at his forearm, digging your nails into the scarred skin in a futile attempt to get him to ease up. You could hear every sound that left his lips, every labored breath that brushed the shell of your ear. It didn't take him long to start moving, pulling out until only the tip remained before slamming back into you mercilessly. You could feel every inch and vein with each drag of his cock, your body jolting alongside his harsh thrusts, grinding your dick up and down on the ground.

"God... you're so damn tight," he muttered, picking up the pace. A low moan escaped his throat when he pressed against your prostate just right, ignoring your fleeting struggle.

It was hard to breathe. You could feel him everywhere around you all at once, and it didn't help that he fucked you hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. Your moans and whines were strained and hoarse, clawing at his arm, but you knew you didn't really want him off. Your body ached at his rough handling as wet slaps echoed through the abandoned facility, briefly wondering if anyone outside could hear, but you could hardly maintain your train of thought long enough for it to become a concern. He fucked you fast and rough, hips slamming against your ass hard enough to sting, but he didn't find it in himself to care.

"Tar-Tartaglia! Slow...—!" You tried to plead, beginning to find everything overwhelming when you cut yourself off with a squeal. He quickly shifted himself, leaning back to hold your throat with his hands as he pulled, forcing your back to arch uncomfortably.

"No," he replied, tilting his upper half over you just enough to spit in your gaping mouth. He felt you tighten in response as he relaxed his hold the slightest bit, feeling you swallow his saliva eagerly. "You wanted this. So you're gonna fucking take it."

The heat in your belly intensified to an unbearable degree, and with the way he practically filled up every crevice of your hole, you weren't sure you were going to last much longer. With one hand on your throat, he moved his other one down to spread one of your asscheeks to intently watch his cock move in and out of you. He could feel every twitch and shudder you made, and it satisfied him to know just how easy you were to break down despite your initial resistance.

"Fuck... I can feel you," he groaned, yanking your head back a bit to get you to look at him. "You're about to cum, huh?"

It was hard to find the right words to reply when he fucked every thought out of your head, but the panic in your eyes made it clear that you didn't want him to stop so suddenly. And although he wanted to see you beg like the whore you were, he needed to finish this quickly. He still had a job to do, after all.

"You're lucky I still need to collect some money," he growled, glaring at you with familiar disdain. "Otherwise I would've left you like this for hours."

With renewed vigor, he removed his hand from your throat to roughly push your face down by the back of your head, tugging your hips up to bury himself deeper inside your ass. You cried out in ecstasy as your eyes rolled back, making an attempt to withhold your orgasm when he wrapped his fingers around your throbbing cock, jerking you off in time with his punishing thrusts, but to no avail. Barely a moment later, you came with a loud moan, cumming so hard it left you lightheaded and dizzy.

He chased after his own release, giving you a few more rough thrusts before he stilled, burying himself as deep as he could go inside you. You could feel his thick cock throbbing as he filled you up with his cum, shuddering at the warmth before you slumped back down to the ground. He remained still for a moment longer, catching his breath while he watched you tremble. With a sigh, he pulled out, grimacing a little at the sight of his dick slick with fluids, but he tucked it back in his pants regardless.

"Get up. We have to hide the body and get to the chief before anyone finds out you killed his kid," he said impatiently, walking towards the hunter to inspect it.

"Just... Just bury them, or something," you suggested, taking a moment to calm down before pulling your pants up. Finding a reflective surface, you summoned a bit of your Cryo and melted it with your body heat to wipe away the crusted blood on your face.

"Eugh... I can feel your cum," you found the energy to complain, turning to face Childe with annoyance written on your face. The audacity.

"Shut up and let's go. We're already behind schedule after your bullshit." He scowled, picking up the body, already having decided what to do with it. At least it wasn't your problem anymore.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," you said, quickly fixing your appearance. If it weren't for the slight limp in your gait, nobody would be able to tell he just fucked you within an inch of your life. Perks of being a Harbinger, you suppose.

cross-posted on ao3

[mikanotes]

happy sweet home season 2 release everyone!!! i just watched the final ep and started screaming. here’s something quick! greetings from, lee eunhyuk x gn!reader, warning sweet home season 2 spoilers possibly ooc eunhyuk im trying to decide how different he shld be, mentions of scars. cheers

“Took you long enough.”

Eunhyuk scoffs silently, hands buttoning up a white shirt over his figure. Unharmed. Clean. Possibly unstoppable, now. His gaze is on his own reflection but his focus is on you, sitting nearby with your back towards him.

“Mm.” he hums, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Did you miss me?” he asks, something like a teasing tone to his voice.

You turn to look at him through the mirror and he raises his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and turn back. “No.”

Eunhyuk smirks a little at that. He tugs at his collar to make sure his shirt looks fine, out of habit, then heaves a deep sigh and turns around. He walks over to the couch you’re sitting on and sits at your side, eyes on the book in your hands.

“Is that why you kept things for me?”

Clothes. A pair of glasses. Books he used to read during your time at Green Home.

“Who said they were for you?”

Eunhyuk is dead. Anyone from Green Home would have agreed with this statement. This fact. But you refused to believe it. Parting ways with the rest of the survivors you knew (as well as the only other person who shared your feelings on this matter), avoiding the military and living in isolation, you had decided to try and make living bearable. Settling in an old apartment in a small building near the river. With enough practice from before, you had traps settled around the place and at least one or two weapons.

You used to stay at the shelter at the stadium, but hated all about it. It was much too many people and too much change all at once. No matter how organized it was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay. So you left, and made your own home.

Maybe it was luck that you came back to check on Green Home a day after Eunhyuk came back.

(Maybe it was meant to be.)

“How long have you been living here?” he asks quietly. He watches your eyes scan the page on your book, watches the twitch of your lips when you hum in thought, watches every detail that he missed during this time. Time passes weirdly in the state he was in, and a lot changes. A lot doesn’t. Like feelings. “I missed you.”

You turn to look at him and he tilts his head. His expression is serious and his voice is as steady as it always is.

“Thank god, you survived.”

You stare at him for a while, silent, before looking away. “You didn’t even give me time to answer.” you sigh. “It’s been ten months here. I spent two at a shelter before I got sick of it.”

“Was it bad?”

“Terrible.” you say, “I’m sorry I left Eunyu there. She can handle herself well enough, though.”

Eunhyuk sighs at that. That’s a whole other problem. At least she’s alright. “I’ll find her eventually.” he nods to himself, gaze on the floor. “I have a lot of people to find, anyways.”

“You’re so strange.” you comment, suddenly closing your book and shifting your whole attention to him. Eunhyuk does the same in turn, gaze focused on yours.

“As in?”

“You’ve changed.”

Eunhyuk blinks slowly, before narrowing his eyes. You’re not wrong. But not right either.

“You too.”

You reach your hand to his face and hold the side of it gently. He tilts his head slightly into your palm, not breaking eye contact. It was worth waiting, even if just to see you again. Your eyes are colder and your skin gained a few more scars. He’s mildly annoyed he couldn’t keep away anything that hurt you, though he knows it simply wasn’t possible. He could direct his anger towards the other people that were with you.

But humans are just so… weak. How could anyone ever count on them?

“In any case, you don’t have to worry anymore.” he says, sounding almost cold. “Not even a little bit.”

He’s here, now, and he intends to make sure you won’t have to change more than you already have because of this hellish world.

[curly-fry-3]

Can you do Sam Winchester and his niece? Like maybe Dean has the Mark of Cain so he’s angry all the time, and he yells at his daughter and makes her cry, so Sam takes care of her?

𖦹Uncle Sammy's Sleepovers™𖦹

summary𖦹 Sam is there for you when your dad makes you cry

pairing𖦹 Sam Winchester x Niece!Reader

word count𖦹 1,007

notes𖦹 bro I'm low key so busy with school and everything right now so i'm procrastinating by making this also next week is my spring break so ill either be super active or not post at all lol

This isn't really your dad. You had to keep telling yourself that. Ever since he had gotten the mark of Cain, your dad had been angrier than usual and he had started taking some of that anger out on you. You knew you couldn't blame him but that didn't make it hurt any less. You felt like your presence just pissed him off. Like he has so much to do already and he has to take care of you. You had tried to just avoid him until uncle sammy could figure out how to get rid of the mark. You didn't want to feel like a burden, and you didnt want your dad to yell at you again.

You were used to him yelling, but never at you. Dean had made that promise to you when you were little. You had accidentally walked in when he was in a big fight with Sam, you got so scared and they had to stop everything to calm you down. That night your dad promised you that you won't see that side of him–that the only time he would get angry like that is when he needed to protect you. Now he kept breaking that promise, and you just wanted your dad back.

It had only been a couple months since he got the mark but you still haven't adjusted. Majority of the time, you were able to handle his snide remarks and backhanded comments but it had been building up, and it all came to a head one night.

Dean was in the library, researching about the mark, when you walked in. He was already frustrated about his reading leading nowhere and when you showed up, trying to talk about your day like normal, he snapped. He started yelling about how annoying you are, you just won't leave him alone, and how you're too old to be relying so much on him–it was exhausting. 

The second he started his rant, your smile dropped and when he finished you quickly exited the room, weakly looking down at your toes trying not to upset him anymore. You heard him sigh in relief when you were no longer in his line of sight and that's what really broke you. Hot tears streamed down your face as you ran to your room, too distracted by your emotions to notice that you slammed the door. You hear Dean yell out at the loud bang you caused and you sink into your bedsheets, sobbing into your pillows.

When Sam heard the commotion he came out from his room and followed the noise to your room. He lightly knocked and slowly opened your door to find you face down, crying on your bed. “Oh, Sweet girl, what happened”

You turn on your bed to lay in the fetal position and sniffle while trying to whip the snot off your face. After taking a second to regain control over your breathing you shakely respond “Dad yelled and I can't take it anymore”

He quickly but carefully walks closer to you and sits down on the bed next to you, putting your head in his lap. “I'm so sorry, you know he doesn't mean it”

You lean into his touch, “doesn’t make it better”

He starts running his fingers through your hair to soothe you, “I know, you don't deserve it. Im sorry he yells at you, you didn't do anything wrong”

“It's not just the yelling. He just acts so exasperated, like I'm the biggest burden. I'm just really starting to feel it” You correct.

“You're not a burden, you know that right. Your dad loves you so much–we both do. Never think, even for a second, that you're a burden or that you're weighing us down. We could never be without you. I don't even wanna think about the possibility of a world that you're not in. I know your dad would feel the same.” Sam reassures. 

You sniffle, calming down from your crying “I know you say that–deep down I know it's true–but it's still hard.” 

His shoulders slump slightly “you wont believe me tonight so how bout we take your mind off of Dean for a bit. We can have one of Uncle sammy’s amazing sleepovers”

You finally look up at him and lightly nod “I love your sleepovers”

He slightly smiles in relief “uh, that's cause they're the best. Are you thinking movie or tv show–your choice”

You think for a second before responding, “tv show. I just started this one and I think you'll like it. It's a bit gory and intense but its not like super scary”

“I’ll like whatever you pick. And if I don't like it, I'll watch it anyway, for you.” he responds

You shift slightly and hug his middle, burying your face into his stomach “you're the best sammy”

He strokes your back in consolation and lets you embrace him for as long as you need. When you pull away and sit up, he leans down to leave a kiss on your forehead, and stands up from your bed. “Lets go to my room, ok. Do you want me to stay with you or is it ok if I go make some snacks?”

You look up at him before answering “can you stay with me, I don't really wanna eat anyway”

He nods “of course, tonight is all about you”

You both make your way to Sam's room and settle into his bed before turning on your show. He stayed up as late as you wanted, with you cuddled up on his side. Eventually you both fell asleep after about a season of your current hyperfixation and he could tell you were barely even thinking about your dad’s harsh words. He had no idea how hard Dean’s shift was for you, but now he’ll always be checking on you–none of this burden bullshit–And his brother needs to be kept in line too. But, tonight was about making sure you were ok, he can handle Dean’s attitude later. 

hope you like it

sorry for any typos

also this is the "dont cry" from my WIP folder thing lol that name sucked (I also just feel like I suck at picking titles)

@areswasneverhere

[snoopyearss]

Hi ♡

I read some of your works and they were amazing! I just wanted to ask... Can I make a request? If yes, I had one thought in mind...

How would Nanami Kento react on his s/o who never experienced an orgasm while having sex? Always left unsatisfied with other men. Would he be such a gentleman and help her to experience the best bed experience of her life? ♡

Nanami making you come for the first time

Omg omg omgggg yes yes!! I love this idea

It started with the both of you feeling on each other subtly (if you can call it that), which led to him carrying you to his bedroom. He lies you on your back and starts kissing down from your jaw to your collarbone, whispering dirty things in your ear. “I’ve been craving you,” he would moan in your ear.

You and him have been dating for quite a while now, enough time for you two to start getting comfortable with sex. Usually when it came to dating men, they were a disappointment in that field. The number of orgasms you had to fake is absolutely ridiculous. But you got so good at it that they didn’t notice. You figured it was just going to be one of those times. No big deal, you’d just pull out the rose toy after he falls asleep, you thought to yourself.

“You look so beautiful baby, I can’t wait to see what you look like when you come all over my cock.” He purred as he took off your top and skirt you were wearing. You chuckled at his comment, completely forgetting that he was right in front of you.

He stopped what he was doing to drown at you, “What was that?” Your eyes shut out of sheer embarrassment. “Did you just laugh?” You didn’t respond.

“Y/n.” He sternly said. It made the hairs on your body stand up and a wave of arousal ran through you. Slowly, you opened you eyes and was faced to face with a shirtless, muscular man.

“I-I..”

“What? Do you think I’m incapable of making you come?”

“N-no, I just..no one’s ever really made me..” You don’t know what came over you, but when it came to Nanami speaking so sternly, it turned you on. “No one’s ever made you come?” He sat down next to you after you shook your head no.

“Darling, I feel like this is something you should’ve told me.” He lightly scolded. “I know, ‘M sorry. It’s just embarrassing.” You mumbled. “That could never be embarrassing. That just means they weren’t catering to your needs.” You remained silent. He got up and got on his knees before you, spreading your legs a bit.

“What-“

“I’m going to show you what you were missing.”

Nanami spreads your legs and softly blows on your clit causing you to twitch. You clenched the sheets in anticipation.

“Let me know if you feel uncomfortable, and I’ll stop. Okay?” He reassured and you nodded in response.

He began to massage your folds, getting you more malleable to play with. It made you relax under his touch which is exactly what he wanted. He used his hand to massage you while he brought his lips to your clit and lightly sucked on it.

“Oh fuck..” you breathed out.

Nanami continued his same movements, then replacing his hand with his mouth all together. The way your breath hitched in your chest and the way you were fidgeting around, you knew something about this was different.

“O-oh my- Kento..fuckk,” you moaned now running your hands through his blonde hair. “Oh my god it feels s-so good.”

“Yeah, it feels good baby? You want me to add another finger?”

“Yes yes yes yes please,” you chanted. He inserted another finger, curling it inside and hitting that spot that it takes you minutes at a time to hit. You moaned louder this time, legs shaking on either side of his face.

Nanami looks up and watches your face contorts in pleasure as you get close to your orgasm. “Kento…im- im-”

“Let go for me pretty girl, make a mess all over my fingers. Let me taste you..there you go..that’s my girl.” He talks you through the whole wave, using his other arm to hold you down to prevent you from jolting around. The moans flowed out of your mouth like a stream of water. He continued to pump his fingers in you until you came down.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out covering your eyes.

“How was that?” He kissed up and down your thighs. You could only nod.

“Think I can make you come around my cock now?”

[yothangie]

This is how i flirt

pairing: boxer!San x Fem Reader

genre: boxer au, loser in a hot body, SMAU, med student reader

warnings: mentions of the fight and medical stuff nothing really to have a warning

This is how i flirt masterlist

Comment to join the taglist

Part 4: keep woo away from the room ✎. Next>>

~

Changing into your scrubs you started to get nervous, you went over your notes real quick on what you needed to do. Since you’re still in school you needed to take your notebook to write down what you did.

After getting everything you went and knocked at your brother Sohee’s door.

“Sohee are you ready” you knocked.

Sohee came out with 12 different hats stacked on his head.

“which hat should i bring” he asked

“who are you trying to impress” you said

“uhh definitely not Choi San” he scoffed

you rolled your eyes and looked through his hats he has stacked on.

“go with this one i guess”

“okay im ready, are we carpooling with everyone else?”

you checked your phone one more time to figure out the ride situation.

“Jongho and Mingi are already there, so we will be going with Yeosang and Julie” you mentioned.

You and Sohee grab all the things you needed before leaving your apartment heading down to the first floor waiting for your ride.

~

when you guys got there Jongho and Mingi were already in line waiting. Since you have to go through another entrance you left Sohee with the rest and going through a different entrance.

Knocking on the door a ginger haired man slowly opened the door letting you in.

“You must be the intern, I’m Hongjoong the manager” he introduced

“Hi i’m Y/n nice to meet you” you said.

Hongjoong steps aside to let you in, you follow him down a hall into a room that looks like a small clinic room.

“You know who your patient will be right?” He asked

“I wasn’t told who the patient was” you said

“ahhh your patient is Choi San”

your breath stopped almost choking on spit, which Hongjoong took a noticed.

“are you okay?”

“yes sorry” you apologized

“are you a fan” he asked

“no i don’t know anything about boxing but my friends and little brother are huge fans” you clarified.

“are they here tonight?”

you nodded your head

“so during halftime and after the fight we will bring San in here so you can inspect him and make sure he’s not too hurt” he starts.

“if it gets to the point where you can’t do much cause i know you’re not allowed to do certain things then we will go to a hospital”

“sounds good, i do have to do notes for school so ill go ahead and do that in the meantime” you said.

“are you sure you don’t want to watch the fight?” he asked

“i’m sure i’ll stay right here” you sat down on a nearby chair.

“okay well San and the rest of our crew will come in a few minutes to have an introduction”

As soon as Hongjoong left you messaged your friends letting them know you got to your little office safely.

Not wanting to feel useless you decided to get your stuff ready such as your notebook and looking around the room to know where everything was located.

~

The fight was set to start in less than 10 minutes, you had everything set up and you know where everything is at.

Almost a minute later there was a knock on the door.

“can we come in” Hongjoong poked his head out

“of course” you replied

Hongjoong comes inside following inside were 4 other men.

“Hi i’m San” he reached his hand out

“Hi i’m y/n” you shook his hand

“and i’m Wooyoung” the boy slid between you and san.

“don’t acknowledge him” Hongjoong pushes the man away.

“anyways that’s Yunho our bodyguard and Seonghwa he’s our friend”

the boys stayed a few minutes going over a routine that will happen every fight before heading out for the first round.

After explaining they went out for the first round. You sat at the desk knowing how the next few months would be. Tiring.

~

 Taglist: @soso59love-blog @vampwritesstuff @invisibleshadow @haemshaems @kur0kki @crownj1min @domfikeluva @iminluv1117 @bookishcaptain @clxssy1997