#i still feel this way but the moment i wrote this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mylovesstuffs · 12 hours ago

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@miabebe Oh my god, I absolutely LOVED the way you wrote this reverse trope on their heads! This was everything I needed. I’ve always wanted to dive into a reverse trope like this, but for some reason, I just never got the chance. The second I saw this pop up in my feed, though? LOCKED. IN. And let me tell you, it did not disappoint.

Watching them choose to grow closer with each passing day? Ugh, my heart couldn’t take it. The way you wrote both of their POVs back and forth? Genius. Absolute genius. It made their connection feel so raw and real, like they were just meant to orbit around each other. Even before they realized their feelings, you could see it, you could feel it and I’m obsessed with how perfectly you captured that slow, magnetic pull. I’m still not over how much thought and care went into this. Every word, every moment was so precise, so perfectly balanced. Like, HOW? And don’t even get me started on the enemies-to-lovers trope—it’s one of my ultimate weaknesses, and this? Chef’s kiss. Seriously, you absolutely killed it with this. It was everything I hoped for and more. Amazing job, truly. I’m in love.

Too Many Beds (Choi Seungcheol)

Reverse Trope Series Installment 1

Choi Seungcheol may be your parent's best friend's son, your next door neighbour for 20 odd years and the one face you saw every damn time, every damn where but that didn't mean the two of you wanted anything to do with each other. But a business trip - one room, three nights, and seven beds - might just be what it takes to change it all....

Pairing - Choi Seungcheol x afab! Reader

Word Count- 13k (don't ask me how I thought I could do this in 5k)

Genre - Rivals to lovers? Frenemies to lovers? Lovers to lovers? Idk man, these two are idiots, that's all. Oh and smut.

Warnings - one mention of blood cause of intense make out wew, other smut warnings under the cut!

Smut warnings - oral (m and f receiving), fingering, brief face fucking, thick dick cheol lol, slight choking, allusions to a breeding kink, unprotected sex (these two are digustingly in love, extremely horny and highly irresponsible, please don't be like them), creampie, mention of the word slut like once, and I'm hoping that's all?

“Absolutely not.”

“No way in hell.”

Seungcheol glared at you as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I’m not sharing a room with him.”

“I refuse to even breathe in her vicinity.”

“Then maybe I should do mankind a service by being around you more.”

“The only way you can help mankind is by shutting your mouth.” Seungcheol leaned closer, his voice dropping. “You’re not pretty enough for all the stupidity that comes out of it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Rich coming from you. If I had a face like yours, I’d sue my parents.”

“Aw, fifth graders can insult better than you, sweetheart.”

“That was a fact, darling.”

“Ah” The two of you turned to the receptionist, finally remembering her presence as her eyes flickered between you and Seungcheol. “So, the two of you are dating?”

Looking at her incredulously and with unadulterated disgust, the two of you immediately took a step back.

“No!”

“I’d rather stub my pinky toe on furniture everyday than date her-”

“And I’d rather choke on my own spit everyday than date him-”

“Oh baby, I knew you were a desperate one. I can give you something better to choke on-”

“Honey, are you sure? I heard you can stack fruit loops on that skinny thing-”

“Enough!” The old woman behind the counter got to her feet, putting her hands on her hips, the never-ending squabbling finally getting to her. “If either of you say another word, I will personally put you both in the tiniest broom closet I can find and trust me, the ones in this lodge are devastatingly small.”

You immediately shut up, dreading that idea more than anything. Seungcheol too became uncharacteristically and thankfully, quiet.

“Now, as far as your room is concerned, your company booked only one room, number-” She glanced at the paper in her hand and pulled out a pair of keys from the drawer. “- 68. If you can bear each other for 4 nights, well and good, get moving. If not, then take your things and get out of here. Good luck finding another lodge in this miserable weather.”

And as though on cue, a bright light, followed by a loud thunder flooded the room, taking all three of its inhabitants aback.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Seungcheol visibly gulp, well aware of his fear of thunder. Seungcheol too heard the way you sniffled, knowing that your rhinitis would only get worse with the humidity rising outside.

Sighing with the realization that there was no way out of this, both of you reached for the keys at the same time, making the old woman snatch it faster than the damn lightning to avoid yet another fight from breaking out. Ringing for the bellboy, she handed him the keys before he took your suitcase and Seungcheol’s bag in each hand, leading the way to your despair of the night.

Seungcheol followed quietly behind you, hands tucked in his pocket, his large headphones perched on his head as he swayed to the music, blatantly ignoring you. You were thankful for that. Since you were little children, you had always craved moments where you could pretend like this man didn’t exist. Why wouldn’t you? Everything about him was a pain in your ass.

You first met Seungcheol when you were five. Your fathers were college mates turned business partners and coincidentally, your mothers were best friends since high school. Naturally, everyone expected the children of both families to be just as close as their parents but alas, even at the age of five, you could not bear him for more than five minutes. He was so aggressive and unruly, always messing up your dolls, always pulling your hair, never giving you a second of peace when he was around. Albeit that behaviour got milder over the years but there were other things now.

Like the fact that your father always preferred to have a boy, a son who could be his heir, someone like Seungcheol. It wasn’t like he didn’t love you but a different side of him came out every time Seungcheol was around, a side not even you could bring out. He would laugh louder, his eyes would shine more, he would seem so carefree. Seungcheol too never missed the chance to rub that on your face, constantly sneering and claiming that your father would be happier if he was a part of the family.

Over the years, your displeasure and annoyance at Seungcheol only grew into a deep dislike. As though it wasn’t enough that the two of you did your entire schooling together (yes, all twelve years of it), he was always present anywhere and everywhere you went - the debate club, the swim team, the dance academy, the cafes, the libraries, the movies - there was no place you were free of him. Ever since you were young, you had longed to escape to a place far away from home just to be carefree and explore and reinvent yourself without the constant looming of a figment of your past. You had hoped that at least after school you’d have the chance to go away from him but as your luck would have it, the two of you were accepted into the same business school, were interning in the same company, were working on the same project, and had come out of town for the same three-day conference together. It was one thing to have to bear this man’s presence all day, now you had to do it all night as well, thanks to your cheapskate company.

As you got in the lift Seungcheol held the doors open for you before settling in the corner opposite yours, keeping as much distance in between as possible. The bell boy looked at both of you confused.

“I thought the two of you are dating?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes, and fished out your phone, scrolling through it instead.

Seungcheol glanced at you before scoffing at the absurd idea of dating you. He wasn’t foreign to that doubt though – people often wondered if they were together and Seungcheol wondered what on earth they saw between them that even resembled a speck of liking or even tolerance for one another.

Seungcheol had honestly not met anyone as stuck up as you. He never understood why his parents constantly considered you as the ideal role model for their son - ‘Look Cheol, she joined debate, you should too’, ‘She got selected in the swim team, you should try Cheol.’, ‘What do you think about dancing Cheol? She’s really good at it.’. Seungcheol was sick of being dragged into everything you were in, only to always be second. He hated debates, he would rather play football than swim, and though he liked to dance, ever since he joined the academy with you, even dancing was not giving him any solace.

Yet he gave his best all the time. He tried and tried and tried but he was always second to you who was evidently a natural at everything. For example, back in the school days, Seungcheol would almost get the same grades as you but at the cost of sacrificing nights of sleep and putting hours and hours into teaching himself. Meanwhile, you would breeze through the notes a day before the test, get a full 8-hour sleep and still score higher than him. As if that wasn’t enough, you’d invite him home, offering to “tutor” him only to constantly berate him about his ignorance, drop snide comments about how you were better, subtly challenge him in a battle that the both of you were well aware he could not win.

No wonder you had no friends while Seungcheol was as popular as could be - who would even want to be friends with you when you were always so cold and condescending towards anything that moved or breathed. If your parents weren’t joined at the hip, forcing Seungcheol to be a constant presence in your life, he wondered who would ever even talk to you? You should have been thankful for him, that he was the one human presence in your life who was always there despite it all, yet you treated him like he was beneath you. He had hoped that at least after graduating the two of you could part ways but the universe apparently loved playing cosmic jokes, putting the two of you together yet again, at the same workplace. And completely up in each other’s space for the next few days as well.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t ever shared a room before - whenever your parents would meet up at each other’s house to drink and talk all night, the two of you had no choice but to crash in the same room, sharing the same bed even but thank God it was usually queen size, allowing the both of you to take two opposite ends, not even your breaths mingling. It had been years since that though…..Seungcheol felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. He had no idea how he was to spend tonight in this room. Or the next few ones.

Neither did you.

As all three of you stood before the door and the bellboy fumbled with the keys, you glanced at Seungcheol. He looked unbothered as one could be. Perhaps you were overthinking this whole thing. It was a matter of four nights, surely the two of you could at least try to be courteous right?

“What in the...?”

Seungcheol’s voice rang in the empty corridor and you leaned to see what had him so shocked. Your own jaw dropped in a strange mixture of surprise, confusion, and relief.

Room 68 was no average hotel room. It was as big as the entire lobby, 7 heavily pillowed and blanketed single beds aligned from one end to the other almost military barrack style, only small bedside tables putting space between them.

“Room 68 is uh our bachelorette party suite.” The bellboy clarified. “For, you know, those big groups of girls who are hell bent on partying all night together?” He looked away like he was recalling a horrifying memory. “Since it’s holiday season, the lodge is booked out, this was the only room we had left. Is... is it not good?”

Seungcheol looked at you and for the first time in nearly 25 years, the two of you could finally agree on something.

“No.” You stepped in. “It’s perfect.”

It had been years since you had seen Seungcheol half-naked.

Well, you frequently saw him during swim practice in those tight speedo shorts of his, ass all plump and taut but you were not talking about that. You were referring to the sight before you right now, him with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his wet hair falling into his eyes as he searched for something in his bag frantically – most likely his aftershave. You knew he must have cleaned up given the conference was starting tomorrow and also that his cheeks were burning because you couldn’t smell the subtle cinnamon spice aftershave that usually followed in his routine.

Seungcheol strangely felt a pair of eyes on him as he rummaged through his things and suddenly remembered he was not alone in the room. He quickly turned, looking for you, finding you curled up in your bed, writing in what he guessed was your journal, unbothered by his presence. You were wearing that cute nightgown with little tomatoes drawn all over it which Seungcheol found funny given how much you hated tomatoes with all your heart and soul. Realising he had been looking for too long, Seungcheol gulped, quickly grabbing the aftershave he finally found and rushed back into the bathroom.

You flinched as you heard the door of the bathroom slam shut, looking up from your journal. Shaking your head exasperated, you returned to your writing. Seungcheol always handled things around him roughly like he was just not built to be gentle - slamming doors hard, breaking at least one coffee mug a month, causing rips in most of his clothes when he would gym because he was so big…. And muscular…. And built…..You bit the back of your pen thinking about how good he looked in his gym wear but if you were being honest, he looked best in a suit.

He’s going to be wearing one tomorrow.

You snapped out of your thoughts realizing you were entering dangerous waters and turned your attention back to your writing. Seungcheol made that process slightly harder as he walked out, furiously rubbing his towel against the back of his head, dressed in a black t-shirt and grey sweats.

As he sat down on his bed, he looked at you sitting six beds across, all the way in the other end of the room, right by the window. The moment the two of you entered the room, he took bed 1, the one against the wall and you took bed 7, the one against the opposite wall, putting the maximum possible distance between the two of you. He let you use the bathroom first, not because he knew you preferred using it when it is dry but because he thought this was the best time for him to call his parents and wish them goodnight….. even though it was still 7:30.

He showered after you did but even now, despite being so far from you, he could still smell your bodywash, the fragrance of lilies, the mildest kind because strong fragrances irritated your sensitive nose. Throwing his towel on the chair he kicked his legs off the floor and lied on the bed, turning to the wall, hearing the faint annoyed click of a tongue. Seungcheol knew exactly what triggered it - you hated it when he tossed damp towels like that. But honestly, he couldn't care less right now, not when there were more important things to deal with tomorrow, not when he was so tired already.

You shut your journal, irritated by his behaviour remembering exactly why being in the same vicinity as this man infuriated you. Flipping the lights off and pulling the covers over your shivering body, you realigned your thoughts towards your goal - Tomorrow’s conference was crucial. You had to look your best and do your best so clocking in 8 hours of sleep was the priority, Choi Seungcheol's character development be damned.

But as you lied down turning towards the window, lightning flashed across the sky, a loud thunder following. You turned to see Seungcheol and his back was facing you, the outline of his figure moving up and down rhythmically like he was already in a deep sleep. Slightly relieved yet still unconvinced, you turned towards him before the sleep and tiredness took you away.

Seungcheol simply stared at the wall all night.

Seungcheol most definitely did not sleep all night.

You could tell by the fact that one, he was up without you waking him and two, he was not there in the room right now. That meant he was out for a run which in turn meant his face must have been all swollen which definitely meant he didn’t get enough sleep. You did notice though that his bedding had shifted from bed 1 to bed 2 and guessed it was because of the coldness of the wall - Seungcheol had the habit of tossing and turning at night and there was nothing he hated more than his bare skin accidentally brushing the cold walls. Considering you were still five beds away from him, you ignored it as you went to wash up and prepare for the day.

When he saw the time on his watch as he finished his last lap, Seungcheol realised he was way behind schedule and that you probably were already at breakfast, sitting with a dozen snide remarks, waiting for him. True enough, as he quickly showered, dressed, and headed down to the buffet, you were there already, going through the proposal, the plate beside you nearly empty. Quickly grabbing a piece of toast and stuffing it in his mouth he walked over, putting on his suit jacket in a hurry. As you saw him approach, you shut your laptop, looking at him top to down in an ensemble that fit him all too well. Seungcheol’s eyes wandered over the pretty way you did your hair, and the plunging neckline of your blouse, a sliver of your pink bra peeking from underneath the fabric-

Both of you cleared your throats and looked away.

“We should leave, the cab should be here in-” He glanced at his watch. “-should have been here ten minutes ago, fuck.”

“It’ll be here in ten.” You pushed a cup of coffee towards him, looking at him pointedly to take a seat. Seungcheol glanced at it then back at you.

“You changed the time on my watch.” He huffed annoyed. “Again.”

“Glad to know you are still capable of basic comprehension.”

“You vile woman.” Seungcheol gritted between his teeth, sitting down. “I showered so fast I thought I was going to pass out.”

“But you didn’t.” You shrugged. “And learn to be grateful Seungcheol, you’re only ever on time when I meddle, so say thanks to me.”

“I’d rather die before I thank you.” He took a sip of the coffee before the extreme bitterness hit his tongue, making him spit it out right back into the cup. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“You did say you’d rather die.”

“Fuck you.”

“I know ten minutes is more than enough for you but personally, I prefer longer.”

Every single time. Every single time you flashed him that sweet, mocking smile and every single time it pushed his buttons like no other. One day he swore to put you in your place but right now he was too low on energy for that.

Well aware that you loved strawberries more than anything, he grabbed the last one on your plate and walked off to the taxi stand, ignoring the way you whined behind him.

“Oh, real mature of you Choi Seungcheol!”

You knew in your stress about perfecting the proposal early in the morning you had forgotten something important and the moment you stepped into the room that night, you knew exactly what that was.

To close the windows.

Thanks to the pouring rain, the water had drenched your entire bed, not to forget, your bag full of your clothes which was conveniently placed right on the mattress, soaking nearly every piece of clothing you owned. Thank God the laundry in the lodge said they would handle it for you so you still had an outfit for tomorrow’s conference but there were still two major concerns - one, what to wear tonight and two, where to sleep tonight.

You solved the first problem (almost) by grabbing your umbrella and heading to the nearest clothing store as instructed by the receptionist only to find out it sold barely any ‘cloth’ at all. It was an adult shop, filled majorly with lingerie of all kinds which were aiming to cover as little as possible. Groaning inwardly, knowing you didn’t have a phone on you to go any further in this weather, you grabbed the most decent nightgown you could find and rushed back.

A hot shower, a change of clothes and a quick meal later you decided to deal with your second problem, moving your things from bed 7 to 6, not too displeased considering there were still three beds between the two of you. You glanced at Seungcheol’s empty bed and then at the time - it was well past 10. Sighing, you settled under the covers pulling out your journal to write but got lost in your thoughts instead.

You were pretty proud of what you presented today - people praised you, congratulated you for a well drafted proposal and even went so far as to offer you jobs in their company. Yet you were not satisfied. Somehow, the one thing constantly running in your mind was the swarm of women who had flocked around Seungcheol the moment the conference was done, ‘mindlessly’ touching his arms, ‘casually’ brushing their chests against his, ‘genuinely’ laughing too hard at whatever bullshit came out of his mouth.

This was not new to you, Choi Seungcheol being the centre of attention wherever he went. He enjoyed it, basked in it, and chose to make a show of it whenever he got a chance. It was all so fake and superficial; you could not bear to stand it. That’s why even though everyone decided to go out for dinner and drinks tonight, yes, all twenty-seven of them, you politely said goodbye citing a headache and took a cab back. You were not interested in casual conversation and definitely not interested in seeing Seungcheol’s pathetic flirting.

Just as you begin to relish his absence and the beautiful silence that came with it, a loud knocking on the door and his voice screaming your name ended your perfect night. Grumbling, you opened the door to a fully drenched Seungcheol looking absolutely frazzled.

“What the hell-”

He stopped when his eyes fell on you dressed in a white floor length satin gown, the material seductively clinging to the curves of your body, your leg slightly visible between the slit. You crossed your arms to cover yourself up, feeling conscious under his gaze as he gulped audibly.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He met your eyes, a slight worry flashing behind the anger. “You just disappeared without letting me know-”

“I told you I was leaving.” You walked into the room rolling your eyes. “Maybe if you could see something beyond all that pathetic fangirling you’d have heard.”

“Fangirling?” He looked genuinely confused, following you in as he stripped off his jacket. You tried your best to not stare at the way his pecs were so perfectly outlined under the wet shirt sticking to his body but Seungcheol caught you peering, his features lighting up with amusement.

“Would you look at that?” He smirked. “Someone is jealous.”

“Please.” You scoffed. “I wouldn’t be jealous even if we were the last people on Earth.”

“Obviously, if we were the last people, who would you even be jealous of?”

You sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“I actually don't, sweetheart. If a little action is all you want, you can just ask for it you know?”

“Funny coming from a guy who kissed me just because another man was talking to me.”

The first tea break of the conference had led to an introduction that was surprising to you considering people did not really tend to approach you on their own. It was even more shocking that this man chose to speak to you in the lunch break as well, completely unprompted. He was sweet, not egging you too much with conversation, simply limiting it to work and the conference and then Choi Seungcheol appeared out of nowhere, snaking an arm around your waist, uninvited. Before you could glare at him and send him away, he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, excused himself and led you away from there, only to abandon you the very next second without an explanation.

“You call that a kiss?” Seungcheol scoffed. “You were so swept off your feet, you were this close to spilling details on our quotation for the project. That was actually me shutting you up.”

“Oh yeah?” You raised an eyebrow. “If you really wanted to shut me up, then you should have kissed me on the mouth.”

Seungcheol stared at you wordlessly.

As you began to walk away, he pulled you by the elbow, putting you against the wall, trapping you between his hands on either side.

“Is that how?” He leaned closer, the scent of his cologne taking over your senses. “Because there is nothing I’d love to do more than shut you up.” He cocked his head with a small smile. “And maybe also show you what a kiss really is.”

You tried not to gulp the phantom lump in your throat, cheeks suddenly hot under his gaze. Somehow, as though it had a mind of its own, your hand traced his exposed collar bone, trailing down his chest slowly, eyes following. Seungcheol held his breath under your touch. You stopped your tracks at his hard pecs, right above his heart beating just as fast as yours and looked up at him.

And then twisted his nipple.

Shrieking in pain, Seungcheol stumbled back, clutching his chest.

“What the hell mate?”

You walked towards your bed, grabbing your matching satin night robe and slipping it on. “It's ridiculous that you even think you of all people could show me a real kiss.”

“You forget sweetheart, I was your first one.”

You turned to Seungcheol as he brought up a memory you had actually done a great job forgetting. It was during your senior year - your parents had forced you to accompany Seungcheol to a house party so you could “get more involved in the social scene” instead of holing yourself up in your room all the time. It was a classic game of truth or dare and the worst dare of your life - to kiss Seungcheol for a minute.

Now the last thing you wanted to hear was him teasing you every day about how you were too scared to kiss him so you held him by the collar and pulled yourself into his lap straddling him, your mouth meeting his in a frenzy. If you were being honest, something about that kiss served as your sexual awakening - maybe it was the way he moaned into your mouth, or his hands gripped your ass, or hands entangled in his soft hair or your chest pressed up against his. Whatever it was, there was a video of it that your classmates took circulating somewhere out there, timed around five and a half minutes as opposed to the one minute it was supposed to be.

“Don’t take too much pride in yourself Cheol.” You sat on the bed, leaning back on your hands planted in the mattress. “Only I know how many other guys I had to kiss after that to know what kissing truly is.”

Seungcheol felt his jaw tighten.

Something in you had changed in junior year. Yes, you were still the same antisocial, inhospitable, unapproachable person you always were but somehow every other day, he found you in a new location with a new guy's tongue shoved down your throat. They were not boyfriends, Seungcheol knew that much, and it was the fact that they weren't that made his blood boil with anger.

“You shouldn’t take pride in yourself either sweetheart.” He looked at you with a strange mixture of anger and pity. “There's nothing to feel accomplished about not forming a single real bond in your life.”

The moment the words left his mouth Seungcheol regretted it, knowing he had hit a soft spot. It was too late now; the damage was done - pain was flashing in your eyes.

You looked at the insensitive man before you and laughed at him sadly, mirroring his hurtful words.

“No real bond? I’m afraid you filled that void Seungcheol. Hate forms really strong bonds too.”

And with that you turned away from him, tucking yourself under the sheets, turning off the lights on your side of the room. Grabbing his towel and a change of clothes, Seungcheol locked himself up in the bathroom, your words piercing his heart like no other. Over the years yes, the two of you argued and fought and annoyed each other and couldn’t stand one another but hate? He didn’t ever think that’s what you felt for him. Perhaps he deserved it - he had after all crossed a line with that comment.

He knew you had always struggled around people. He knew that even though you detested taking his help for anything, in every social setting, you would always choose to hide behind him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to interact, you just couldn’t. You were a sick child since birth, constantly brought down by various illnesses that often confined you to your room - you didn’t go out to play with the other children, you didn’t join the kids on their trips to the ice cream shop, you didn’t go late night camping with your classmates, you didn’t do a lot of what kids your age did.

And when you were old enough, when you were healthy enough to step out into the world, you didn’t know how to anymore. Hence you continued to stay in your own shell, closing yourself off from everyone, wary of any and all interactions. Seungcheol knew all this, that’s why when he couldn't lay his eyes on you in the crowd of the conference, the panic he felt was like no other. He never thought he would ever feel his heart stop but Seungcheol felt it twice today - once when he lost you and the other when you said that. I’m afraid you filled that void Seungcheol. Hate forms really strong bonds too.

You stared out of the window, mildly annoyed by all the light falling in your face, Seungcheol’s words ringing in your ears. It might have sounded harsh but he was right. You never formed real bonds with anyone, you could never bring yourself to. Having spent years all by yourself, you didn’t know what it was like to let another person into a space that was entirely yours. That’s why, though you engaged in all sorts of flings and hookups, you never let it go beyond that - you never let yourself lose your heart to someone, walking away from them before they could walk away from you.

In that sense, Seungcheol was indeed the realest bond you had - just a constantly present, mildly irritating, oddly comforting white noise in your life. It was easy with him - you never had to think in his presence, you never had to wonder whether anything would drive him away, never had to worry about keeping him by your side unconditionally - he was always there. Somehow what you felt for Seungcheol was liberating in a way you hadn’t even realized. Hate could hardly define that; you were unnecessarily harsh earlier.

Seungcheol stepped out of the bathroom, eyes falling on your unmoving figure which he just realized was on bed 6 instead of 7. Noticing the damp sheets and piecing it together, he didn’t think too much of it as he switched off the lights and crawled into his bed.

Hearing the sounds of him shuffling, you turned towards him.

“Are you not going for the dinner?”

“It’s too late now. I would have eaten there if I didn’t have to run back here to check up on you.”

“You could have just called me.”

“I did.” He turned to you, looking at just your silhouette in the darkness. “A few hundred times.”

You checked your phone immediately and it wasn’t a hundred times but there were some fifty odd calls from him and two dozen messages.

“I put my phone on silent during the conference and forgot to take it off.” You mumbled, just a little guilty that he was missing out on a gathering because of you. “Did you at least eat?”

“I’m not hungry, thanks to all the Americanos you kept feeding me all day.”

“If not for that, you would have been snoring in the conference barely an hour after it began.” You turned to lie on your back, facing the ceiling. “And I wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d just obediently drank that double shot espresso in the morning.”

Seungcheol remembered you sliding the coffee cup to him and smiled to himself in the dark.

“Then maybe you should also listen to me and stop munching on those strawberries every chance you get, especially when you know they flare your allergies.”

You remembered Seungcheol gobbling up the last berry and smiled to yourself in the dark.

“Goodnight, you obnoxious prick.”

“Goodnight, you insufferable fiend."

When you woke up in the morning, two things had changed - one, Seungcheol had moved from bed 2 to bed 3 in the middle of the night and two, his shirt was gone, discarded somewhere in the mess on the floor. He was lying sprawled on his bare stomach, his back covered in a thin sheet of sweat, his tattoo shining as the light hit it. Ignoring the sight before you with much difficulty, you shook him awake.

“Get up Cheol, we’re going to be late.”

He groaned, rolling over, eyes slowly blinking open, falling on you first thing in the morning. Even though you were dressed in the sultriest thing he had ever seen on you, Seungcheol controlled himself and tore his eyes away.

“The radiator is right across the other bed; I was literally burning all night.” He mumbled, stretching awake, justifying his move.

You turned towards it noticing how it was in fact between bed two and three, closer to three than two to be honest. Considering Seungcheol was still drenched in sweat, his move in the middle of the night was actually quite pointless, but you chose not to say anything about it. Quickly washing up, the two of you rushed for breakfast, skimming over the presentation notes one last time. Today, neither of you noticed but Seungcheol drank the coffee and you didn’t eat the strawberries.

Day two went by in a flash much like day one. Only this time, you didn’t talk to the gentleman from yesterday, choosing to sit quietly by Seungcheol in the break and he didn’t leave your side either, regardless of all the ladies calling him to join them. In the evening, as the team headed to the city’s best karaoke bar, inviting you and Seungcheol again, Seungcheol brushed them off claiming the two of you had a little more work to do on the proposal. To his surprise, you shot him down, agreeing to join everyone, looking at him with a small smile.

“Don’t be such a killjoy darling.”

Seungcheol knew you were compensating for last night so he followed, well aware that you would most likely want to leave the moment the singing started. Well, he was almost right - you actually wanted to leave the moment you stepped foot into the room, turning to him with pleading eyes. Seungcheol turned you by your shoulder, laughing as he led you in.

“Don’t be such a killjoy sweetheart.”

You sat patiently as the beers poured in and people around you fought for the photobooth props. Seungcheol was sitting right beside you, his thigh a comforting weight against yours, laughing with everyone. As the night progressed, you had downed a beer or two, a slight buzz taking over, not noticing the way Seungcheol had his arm around you now or that you were warmly cuddled against his torso. Soon, one by one, everyone settled on the couches, tired from all the screaming, resorting to chatter instead and deciding on an old-fashioned game of truth or dare. Seungcheol smirked at you and you turned his face away with a soft push.

“So Seungcheol,” The man beside him spoke. “Truth or dare?”

“Neither actually. We should leave now.” He stood, pulling you up, stumbling slightly. “I’ve had too much to drink and it's late, Y/n needs to sleep.”

“Didn’t realize wacky wallflower here also had the bedtime of a toddler.” One of Seungcheol’s many fangirls piqued, jealousy stark on her face. “We can book her a cab, why don’t you stay a little longer, Cheolie?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused at the nickname, and at her jealousy but Seungcheol did not find anything about her words even remotely funny.

“No thanks, I go where she goes.”

“I thought you guys weren’t dating? Then why-”

“That doesn’t change what I said.” His voice dropped an octave. “I go where she goes.”

“Cheol.” You placed a hand on his chest, sensing his anger rising. “It’s fine, let’s stay for a few rounds, yeah?”

Seungcheol looked at you frowning as you sat down, pulling him with you. The girl you already disliked but quite vehemently hate now, spun the bottle with a giggle.

“We don’t have to stay.” Seungcheol whispered as the guy beside you excitedly asked the one across him a question. “You stayed long enough, you need sleep-”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not.” He spoke between gritted teeth. “Just looking at that foul woman makes me mad. I already said I wasn’t interested in her, she had no reason to be a bitch.”

“Well then don’t you want to put the bitch in her place Cheol?”

You looked at him with big doe eyes which terrified Seungcheol even more. What on Earth were you up to?

“Y/n, you get to ask Yuri!”

You looked at the bottle to see it pointing between you and your little conquest of the night. Hook.

“Truth or dare?” Line.

“Dare.” And Sinker.

“Okay Yuri, then I dare you to not take your eyes off.”

You pulled Seungcheol by the collar, smashing your lips on his, swallowing his audible moan. His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you closer, up against his body, teeth roughly tugging your lower lip. Hand sliding up his neck and across his jaw, you entangled your fingers in his hair, drawing him even closer denying even air the right to come between the two of you. Yes, it was all a show for Yuri or whatever her name was, but at a point, she stomped her foot and got up, running out of the room. Perhaps the two of you should have stopped then or at least when you were running out of breath. But you only broke apart when someone dropped a beer bottle, smashing the glass loudly on the floor. Seungcheol and you looked at it, faces flushed, lips swollen. A low whistle echoed in the room.

“We-” Seungcheol cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back. “We should get going.”

“Y-yeah.” You agreed, getting up and grabbing your things as Seungcheol smoothened his hair with his hand, muttering a small goodbye to everyone. As the two of you stepped out of the room, you found Yuri crying at the entrance, her friend trying her best to console her. Not sparing her another glance, you walked away, Seungcheol following you close behind. As the cold air hit you when you reached the taxi stand, you felt a painful sting on your lower lip, making you hiss. Hand cupping your face, Seungcheol wiped the trickle of blood with his thumb.

“Guess you desperately did need a real kiss huh?”

“Shut up.” You smacked his hand away. “I had to help the poor girl get over her pathetic taste in men.”

“By getting a taste of me?” Seungcheol smirked as you rolled your eyes. Before you could say anything, his stomach let out a loud growl making you laugh and look around, spotting a burger joint.

“Let’s get you a taste of that big boy.”

“Sometimes I wonder-” You stared out of the window at the large clouds rolling in. “-considering our parents are best friends and we are not, do you think our children would be good friends or enemies?”

“Wow, children.” Seungcheol munched on his burger furiously. “I never thought that far.”

“Then think about it now.”

“I don’t know.” He hummed. He hated thinking when he was tipsy. “Siblings tend to have a love-hate relationship.”

“I was talking about our children Seungcheol.”

“So was I.”

“No, I mean, my own children and your own children.”

“Yeah, same thing.”

You looked at him exasperatedly.

“Let’s be honest here Y/n. Who else out there can put up with us for long enough to start a family?”

“We can barely put up with each other-”

“But we have, for almost 25 years.” He slurped on his drink. “There’s a reason why you have never been in a relationship and I have never been in one that lasts. Because whatever it is we share, it’s you and I, till the end.”

“Till the end.” You muttered, reaching for his burger, taking a bite from it. Judging by your expression, Seungcheol could tell you liked his better, like you always do. That’s why he made sure to get it without the tomatoes he usually loved and settled to eat your meal instead. He was just about to ask why exactly you were so lost in thought when a loud thunder boomed across the sky sending a shiver running down Seungcheol’s spine.

Shoving the last of the burger down your throat quickly washing it down with some soda, you began gathering your things.

“We should go before the rain starts.”

Seungcheol nodded, finishing up his meal as you threw the trash in the nearby can. As the two of you left, muttering your thank yous to the waitresses, you laced your fingers with Seungcheol’s, gripping him tight as another lightning flashed across the sky. Thank God it wasn’t too hard to flag down a cab because the moment the two of you sat inside, rain began pouring like there was no tomorrow. As you glanced at the obscurity outside the window, Seungcheol stared at his hand, the one that you hadn’t left in all this time.

There were times when he used to stay over in your room, unable to sleep due to all the thundering while you dozed away oblivious to his presence. Those days, you’d turn around, reaching for his hand, holding it in your sleep. Seungcheol now wondered if that might have been a conscious effort to comfort him.

Perhaps not he thought as you began to nonchalantly hum his favourite song. He wondered if you knew he loved that piece because of how beautiful you looked when you danced to it. He wondered if you knew that the reason he was always around you was to make sure you were alright. He wondered if you knew he always carried an extra inhaler for you, that he had written a long list of your allergies in order from ‘can handle’ to ‘keep away from at all times’, that he was constantly alert about everything you ate, smelt and touched. He wondered if you knew, deep down how much he cared about you…..but sleep dragged him away before he could wonder anymore.

Sensing Seungcheol had fallen asleep, you stopped humming, turning to him, smiling at his half open mouth. Scooting closer, you slowly pulled his head to rest against your shoulder, and he groaned softly, nuzzling into it. The driver looked at the two of you through the rear-view mirror, making your cheeks go red as you looked away.

“Is your boyfriend afraid of thunderstorms?”

You nodded, ignoring the title. “Since he was a child. I don’t think he’s been sleeping too well the last few days.”

“The forecast shows it’s going to be worse today.” The driver sighed. “Look out for him.”

You nodded again. You did look out for him. In your own ways you always did - you always challenged him knowing that was what pushed him to do better. You always made sure to wake him up or at least meddle with his clocks so he was always on time. You always made sure he ate and slept enough, knowing how it threw him off whenever he was deprived of either. Even now you were humming his favourite song knowing it calmed him down. You wondered if Seungcheol knew, that deep down you really cared about him…..perhaps more than anything.

When the taxi reached the lodge, you softly shook him awake after paying, dragging his sleepy self through the lobby. The receptionist's eyes followed the two of you, stumbling away hand in hand, mouth curling into a small smile as you disappeared. You only let his hand go when you reached the room and that’s what jolted him awake.

The silence that descended the room today was different. It wasn’t because the two of you were too tired to say anything to each other, rather neither of you knew what exactly to say given there was so much to. So instead, you resorted to washing up and filling in your journal for the day while Seungcheol worked on a few changes in the proposal for the final pitch tomorrow. Just as he shut the laptop and you shut your diary, the two of you looked at each other before quickly looking away, settling in your own beds, for the night.

You were almost ready to drift off to sleep, before the driver’s words rang in your mind - the forecast shows it’s going to be worse today. Without thinking much, you moved your things from bed 6 to bed 5, muttering that the light from the streetlamps was falling in your face there. Seungcheol did not point out that you could just close the curtains instead and curled up in his own bed, glad you were closer to him now.

He looked at you across the one bed that was in between and suddenly you felt too far, like the distance was too much.

You looked at him as his eyes fluttered shut, thunder rumbling across the sky, wondering if he could hear you across all this space, humming louder than usual, lulling the two of you to sleep.

When you woke up, Seungcheol was surprisingly awake and fully dressed, trying to knot his tie unsuccessfully in front of the mirror, expression focused with a small pout. Propping yourself up on your elbow, you stared at his reflection, eyes skimming over the beautiful features of his face which you never really consciously admired - his thick hair, thicker eyebrows, plump, pillowy lips, his jawline sharp and chiselled. He was indeed handsome, in a way you really liked��.a lot.

You wondered why you always looked at him like he was the bane of your existence. Was it because it was easier to bury the unresolved tension under pointless banter? Or did you wantonly show him your worst side, hoping it wouldn’t scare him away, hoping he would stay despite every flaw, every shortcoming. What did it mean if in 25 years, he didn’t leave even once?

Seungcheol groaned, annoyed at his futile attempts, eyes finally meeting yours in the mirror. You slid off your bed, walking up to him as he turned to you. Yawning, you took his tie in your hands, tying it for him. Seungcheol’s eyes drifted over the features of your face as he held his breath.

He could get used to this, the sight of waking up to a sleepy you, your hair all over the place, your eyes slightly droopy, nose red. God you were so beautiful - he knew that, but why didn’t he ever think about it? Why did he choose to fight every remote thought about you with irritating banter? Was he scared that the tension would remain unresolved? And what did it mean if you were still here, right by his side, helping him out in everything big and small, always making sure he was going the right way and doing the right thing, every single day for the last 25 years?

You pushed the knot up to his neck, smoothening the material, patting his chest with a proud smile. Seungcheol gulped as you walked away to wash up, trying to get his breath under control.

When the two of you came down for breakfast, you pointedly avoided the receptionist's gaze. There was no time to deal with more thoughts.

The rest of the day went like that, thoughtlessly. It was a little awkward at the conference considering the little show you two put up last night, so the moment it ended for good in the evening, you bid everyone goodbye, citing you had an early flight and had to leave soon. It was true though, you did have to travel in the wee hours of the morning, but leaving from the conference so soon also meant having to spend longer with Seungcheol, all alone. He agreed with you though, stating his social battery was at an all-time low and that he just wanted to go back.

Today the two of you were somehow sitting on two ends of the car backseat, bodies pressing against the door, in complete contrast to last night. It was a silent ride, a silent walk to the room and a silent session of packing up. Suddenly there were very conscious efforts to not brush hands, or accidentally walk into each other or catch the other person randomly staring, lost in thought. It was only when you were finally done that you asked Seungcheol if he wanted to order dinner. He agreed, leading to a very small and very efficient discussion about what dishes to eat and then silence descended upon the room again. While waiting for the food to arrive, Seungcheol muttered that he was going for a quick run, leaving you alone with the thoughts you could no longer stop from plaguing your mind.

Something had changed over the last 3 days. It wasn’t you or Seungcheol - he was still throwing his damp towels on dry clothes and you were still meddling with his clocks. No, the two of you hadn’t changed. Neither did the arguing, neither did the banter, neither did the subtle flirting, neither did the silent support. No…. nothing had changed. It was all the same. It was all the exact same except now, you were finally willing to acknowledge something you hadn’t even admitted to yourself since the age of five, that-

“I’m in love with him.” You whispered, smiling to yourself.

Seungcheol on the other hand thought running around the lodge would mean those thoughts wouldn’t run in his mind anymore. He was wrong - even though you were not there, like always you were on his mind, in his every thought, in his every breath. Seungcheol didn’t know of a life without you. He also knew that you would be there with him for the rest of his life but for the first time in 25 years, he finally found himself owning up to it - that he truly wanted you be a part of his future, that he could not bear to think of one without you in it, that-

“I’m in love with her.” He whispered, smiling to himself.

By the time Seungcheol had returned, dinner had arrived. Between each bite you searched for the right words to say, noticing that Seungcheol was trying the same. Somehow, neither of you could bring yourself to say anything.

You couldn’t peacefully finish up your journal and Seungcheol couldn’t take a relaxing shower, both muttering under your breaths, practicing long speeches, determined to confess everything before sleeping tonight.

But when all was done for the night, both of you laid down on your respective beds, staring at the ceiling, unable to talk, unable to sleep.

Seungcheol turned his head as you did towards him, making his heart clench a little.

Sighing, he grabbed his pillow and put it on bed 4, lying down, facing you.

You looked at him blinking slowly.

Seungcheol held his breath.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your duvet and joined him on the fourth bed, throwing it over the two of you, lying down, facing him.

Seungcheol slid his hand over your waist, pulling you closer.

You gripped the material of his shirt, snuggling into the warmth of his neck.

Nothing was said that night.

Nothing had to be said as the two of you drifted off to sleep.

It was the harsh morning sun and the annoying chirping of the birds that woke you up.

You stared out of the window surprised at the bright light given the last few days were as gloomy as it could be. Seungcheol’s soft breaths tickled your shoulder as his arms held you tight, your back against his chest. Smiling you wiggled in his grip turning towards him, taking in how much more stunning he looked in the morning light-

Morning?

“Cheol.”

He hummed softly.

“Cheol!”

“What?”

“It’s bright outside.”

“That’s how mornings are Y/n.”

“Oh thank you for enlightening me.” You rolled your eyes. “Might I return the favour by reminding you that we had a flight at 5am?”

Seungcheol’s eyes flew open.

He quickly grabbed his phone from the nightstand, 11am flashing on the screen.

“Fuck.” He muttered, running his hand through his hair. “Fuck fuck fuck, I can’t believe we missed the flight!”

You took the phone from him and scrolled through the app. “The next flight out is tomorrow morning, same time, 5am.”

“But the company hasn’t paid for the room tonight, where will we stay?” Seungcheol groaned. “How could you not wake me up?”

You frowned at him. “And why is it my job to?”

“Because, you don’t like it when I put alarms on my phone.”

“Uh no, I don’t like it when you continue to sleep through the dozen alarms you put on your phone.”

“Whatever your reasons are, I think its been established that you are the one who's supposed to wake us both up.”

“Yeah well thanks to you I forgot to set an alarm.”

“Thanks to me?” He looked at you bewildered. “What did I do?”

“Who asked you to..” You pointed at everything around with the wave of a hand, the two of you only just registering the situation you were in.

“You were the one who came to my bed.” Seungcheol shrugged. “This is on you because you were desperate.”

“Says the one who’s boner poking into my back woke me up.”

Seungcheol gawked at you, stuttering. “M-morning wood is a scientific phenomenon, okay? I can’t help it-”

“I could have.” You muttered, slipping out of the bed.

Seungcheol pulled you back under him, half hovering over you.

“Oh yeah?” He bit his lower lip with a small smile. “How exactly?”

You hummed, “I happen to know some good meditation techniques-”, running a finger down his abdomen, tracing a random design.

Seungcheol grabbed your hand and pinned it to the mattress by your face, leaning close.

“Think of a better way, baby.”

The nickname sent a delightful chill down your spine as you slightly squirmed under him, smiling.

“How about I get you some ice-”

“That’s not what I want right now.”

“Then what do you want right now?”

His eyes ran along the features of your face.

“I want to kiss you.” He whispered. “So bad.”

“And what are you waiting for?”

Seungcheol groaned, immediately pressing his lips onto yours, needy and ravenous, like he had been waiting eons for this. Well, so had you.

Pushing him off you and onto his back, you straddled his hips, kissing him again, rolling your tongue over his. Seungcheol moaned into your mouth, one hand wrapping around your waist, the other holding you by the nape of your neck, taking back control. When you ran your hand over his thick pecs, he pulled away with a dreamy sigh, planting a trail of kisses along your jaw, down your throat.

“Strip for me.”

Sitting up immediately, you lifted your hips a little letting Seungcheol push the material of your nightdress up your thighs and you pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere. In the ten seconds it took you to do that, Seungcheol was a changed man. The old him wanted to take his time unravelling you slowly, pushing you to the edge but the new Seungcheol felt the animal in him come alive with a throbbing, insatiable desire. It became exponentially worse when you pulled your hair up, tying it with the hair tie on your wrist, baring your neck, perfect breasts, soft stomach….unable to reign it in anymore, Seungcheol lunged forward, hungrily sucking a tit into his mouth, making you lose your balance over him a little, grabbing his bicep half laughing.

“Huh, I really thought you were more of an ass guy.”

Seungcheol let go with a wet pop, looking up at you from between his thick lashes. Oh wasn’t that a sight.

“For you, I’m an everything guy.” His hands gripped your ass hard. “Your derriere does take the cake though.”

You laughed, “Who even uses that word?”

“I don’t know, I have no idea what is coming out of my mouth right now.” He confessed, his tongue running up the gap between your boobs, the sweet and salty taste of your skin driving him insane. “I just know what I want in it.”

“Yeah?” You sighed, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him back with a harsh grip, before he latched onto your other tit. “I have better things to put in it.”

Seungcheol grinned like he couldn’t wait, flashing his canines, biting his lower lip.

God he was going to be the end of you.

But you’ll beat him to it.

Palms planted behind you, you slid yourself back off his thighs and sat between his legs, lifting your own up for him. Seungcheol’s eyes darkened in an instant and the moment he saw the wet spot in the middle of your pink panties, he could not hold himself back anymore. With a swift movement he was up on his knees before you, hooking his fingers in the elastic by your waist and slowly dragging your underwear along your legs. Like a man starving he crumpled it in his hand, breathing it deeply, eyes fluttering shut like he was intoxicated by your scent.

“I’m going to be borrowing this, for whenever you’re not there.”

“Pervert.” You whispered as he tucked it in the back pocket of his tracks. “But I’m never not going to be there. I’m afraid you’re stuck for life now.”

Seungcheol fisted the material at the back of his neck and pulled it over his head, flinging it somewhere before he put his hands between your knees and spread your legs apart, groaning at the sight before him. You were quite literally hiding his paradise between your legs.

“Trust me,” He reached for a pillow behind him, throwing it to you. “I want to be stuck here.”

The moment you tucked it under your head lying back, Seungcheol wasted no time in crawling between your legs, tossing them over his shoulder, descending on your sex. You felt your back arch off the mattress as he devoured, his tongue, mouth, lips all showing you stars in daytime.

“Fuck Cheol.” You whimpered as his tongue slipped into your hole, his moan sending a wild vibration against it. Bringing your hands to his head, your fingers gripped his hair, pushing your hips up against him “Give me more.”

Seungcheol smirked, pressing your hips down, continuing his ministrations in a way that made your toes curl. Damn he knew what he was doing. For a split second you wondered how he knew so much and an ugly jealousy began coursing through you but it was lost almost immediately, when he began to suck on your clit.

“Cheol….” You moaned, the sudden stimulation too intense for you, a tightness growing deep inside. “F-fuck that’s good.”

Seungcheol knew he was good. Not because he was experienced, not exactly - more because he was desperate to taste every inch of you. If he thought the taste of your arousal was heavenly, the moment your legs trembled and your breaths got harsher and you came against his mouth, Seungcheol knew he’d cast aside the heavens for it. This wasn’t enough.

This was probably the fastest orgasm you ever had, waves of the buzz washing over as your jaw fell slack. You rode it out against his mouth, tense shivers running down your body as his nose grazed your clit before falling limp into the softness of the bed, chest heaving.

Seungcheol was so noisily devoted to making you fall apart on his tongue, he wasn't sure if you didn't moan his name or if he was too entranced to hear it. Either way, he had to go again, keeping in mind to put his eyes on you this time. When he looked up at you, your face was flushed, lips curled into a blissful smile and Seungcheol thought he fell more in love with you, if that was even possible.

“We're gonna have to talk about why you're so good at that.” You half laughed, trying to sit up. Seungcheol pushed you back down, throwing another pillow at you, humming.

“How good was I exactly?”

“Nice try big boy,” You stacked the pillow over the previous one, leaning back against it. “I'm not going to feed your ego.”

“I'll feed myself then.” He smirked before licking a long strip between your folds making you tremble with over stimulation.

“Cheol not yet-”

“If I don't hear you I'm not going to stop.”

And he descended upon you like a mad man again, making you gasp in surprise. You did not think he'd go through with it.

“Cheol I really can't-”

but Seungcheol did not stop.

When he didn’t listen, you reached to pull him off you but Seungcheol was quicker as he grabbed both your wrists in a flash and held them against your heaving chest, continuing to eat the life out of you.

“Seungcheol please.” You couldn’t even squirm if you tried to, held down hard by his brute strength. “I really can’t-”

He looked up, his mouth wet with his spit and your arousal as he licked his lips. Fuck you really loved this man.

“Do you actually want me to stop?”

He was taunting you but there's a slight concern laced in his voice.

You shook your head slowly.

“I thought so.” He chuckled before continuing his act of wolfing down on you.

Your second orgasm began to rush in with an unreal speed and you don't know how Seungcheol could read your body so well already but the little bitch backed out before you could cum again.

“Cheol…”

You whined, frustrated at the feeling ebbing away, desperately clenching to hold on to it.

“I said I wanted to hear you.”

You glared at him, not used to him having the upper hand. He knew he's got you under control when he finally loosened his bruising grip on your thigh to sit up and you opened your mouth on your own accord to let him slip his fingers into them.

“What a pretty little girl.” He sighed as you sucked on his digits. “My pretty girl.”

“Yes yours.” You moaned, as he pulled them out of your mouth and pushed them into his, wetting them more as you practically panted below him.

“I'll do what you want, just put them in me Cheol.”

“You're quite demanding baby.” He leaned over you looking amused. “I hope you deliver as well as you talk.”

“I'll suck the life out of your dick after this I swear, just let me cum again.”

Enticed by the idea, Seungcheol captured your mouth in another one of his messy kisses, his fingers slowly slipping into your heat. You gasped into his mouth, surprised by how thick his fingers were. Oh his dick would probably make you pass out and god were you ready for it.

“Say my name baby.” Seungcheol pressed his forehead against yours, still holding your wrists between both your bodies with his other hand. “Tell me who's making you feel so good.”

“You.” You moaned as he pumped his fingers, slowly stretching you open, your arousal dripping down between your thighs. “Fuck Cheol, faster.”

He obeyed, picking up the pace as you babbled a string of curses, legs squeezing his hand desperate to feel more. Seungcheol sucked on your neck, enjoying the way you were crumbling apart for him. How was he ever going to be away from you after this?

“Oh god yes.” You sighed, as his fingers curled hitting the spot, eyes rolling back. Seungcheol looked at you in awe.

“I apologise if I ever told you that it was annoying when you rolled your eyes.” He continued to push you over. “That was the hottest thing I've ever seen.”

“Yes yes yes.” You chanted not hearing him, too lost in your own pleasure building. Pleased with himself, Seungcheol finally put his thumb over your clit and that was all it took for you to cum all over his fingers with yet another silent scream.

Seungcheol let your hands go and sat back on his heels, admiring his artwork. Your chest heaved erratically like you had forgotten how to breathe, squeezing your tits, hands desperate to claw something. Hair sticking to your forehead, sweat running down your neck next to the bruises he marked, you were a vision to behold.

Seungcheol sucked his fingers clean, relishing the taste of you yet again. You stared at him wide eyed, curious.

“Have you never tasted yourself?”

You shook your head.

“Oh sweetheart.”

Seungcheol pushed his tracks down just a bit, enough to pull his dick out. It's not the longest you've seen but God was it thick, a stark vein running down the length which looked painfully hard. The thought of having him fill your mouth and choking around it literally made you drool.

He pumped it a few times before hooking his hands under your thighs and pulling you towards him with unsurprising ease. You scrambled to raise yourself up on your elbows, watching as he ran it up and down your slit, gathering your release on it.

“Come taste.”

You blinked at the man holding out his dick to you like it was a treat, like he expected you to crawl to him, stunned at just how cocky he had gotten in 20 minutes. Hell no.

You shook your head, tilting it in challenge.

“Come fuck my mouth.”

If Choi Seungcheol had a fatal flaw it was how much he desired control but right now, there was nothing he desired and craved more than you.

Moving over not so gracefully he aligned himself by your mouth, knees planted on either sides of your waist, looming over you.

You immediately wrapped your lips around his tip, humming at the weight on your tongue as he pushed your hair off your face softly.

“I know baby, you taste fucking divine.”

Giving him a half nod, running your tongue over his slit before hollowing your cheeks around him. The mix of your and his arousal indeed tasted….right, like they belonged together.

You tried to take in more of him but you might have underestimated his girth and overestimated your ability. Pulling back with a pop, you licked your lips.

“You're too thick.” Mumbling you tried to push him off you, onto his back. “Let me move over-”

“Oh no no.” Seungcheol clicked his tongue, grabbing the back of you neck, forcing you to look up at him. “It can't be that bad, someone claimed they could stack fruit loops on it.”

You rolled your eyes realising he was a bit too proud of himself. “I still can. I just don't have the cereal to prove it.”

“I'll buy some on the way back and when we go home that's the first thing you're going to do.” He wiped the spit leaking around the corner of your mouth with his free hand. “And if you don't manage to prove your point, that's grounds for punishment.”

You grinned at him.

“Oh you like that.” He hummed, guiding your head back to his cock. “We'll see how much of it you can take baby.”

A lot apparently.

Seungcheol should have known. You were like him - you didn't like to be challenged. That's why the moment he thrusted himself into your mouth, you held onto the back of his thighs with both hands, pushing it in a lot more than Seungcheol had thought you were capable of. Throwing his head back with a satisfied moan, he began moving his hips ever so little, slowly fucking your face, but you had other ideas, taking him as far back as you could, your throat constricting around his dick.

“Alright that's it.” Seungcheol pulled you off him, staring at your confused face. Somehow you had no gag reflex and Seungcheol suddenly had the endurance of a teenager. “Want to actually fuck you.”

He muttered drawing back, kicking off the remaining of his clothes and sitting up, trying to hide his breathlessness.

“Aw Cheol, was I right again?” You laughed, getting up and clambering onto his lap. “Is ten minutes really enough for you?”

“You'll see.” He pulled you into a deep kiss before abruptly breaking away, leaving you confused yet again. “Or not.”

“What?”

“I just realised… I don't have a condom.”

You waited for him to tell you he was kidding but he looked serious.

“Cheol….” He looked at you apologetically. “Ugh Choi Seungcheol, why not?!”

“One, don't call me that and two, I don't know, maybe because this was a work trip and the conference dress code didn't mention dick envelopes.”

You sighed annoyed. “I just always thought you'd carry one on you, xl sized.” You shot his overconfidence down before it even grew on him. “you know, for your head.”

“Oh because I'm a dick?” He rolled his eyes at the comment you had used on him too many times already. “Well, wouldn't that make you a little slut? Since you’ve been in love with me for so many years.”

“Who said I was in love with you?”

Seungcheol looked at you with the biggest, fucking cutest eyes. “Are you not?”

You smiled, surprisingly shy despite all that transpired so far. Honestly, you didn't have to answer that question. What you felt for each other was clear as day.

Putting a finger on his mouth, you whispered. “Less talking, more fucking please.”

Seungcheol groaned. “What do you want me to do? Go buy them now?”

“No…” You hated the thought of him leaving.

“Or…. I could pull out?”

“The last thing I trust in this world is your timing.” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Besides, don't you want to be inside me when you cum? Squeezing you tight? Milking you dry?”

“Kinky.” Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, secretly delighted. “And shoot me if I ever say no to that, but you're not on birth control are you?”

“No…” You drawled. “But I can get plan b?”

“Baby, you realize how reckless this is-”

“I know.”

“-we've barely just-”

“I'm aware.”

“-plus your health-”

“Choi Seungcheol.” You pushed him back into the bed, annoyed. “Are you gonna fuck me or not? Because if you don't then I'm gonna do it myself and all you get is to watch-”

Seungcheol, tucked his arm under his head, looking like he liked that idea a little too much.

“-while I cum taking someone else's name.”

His eyes darkened as his hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you down to his eye level, “Try me sweetheart.”

“You know how I feel about challenges.”

“And you know how I feel about sharing what’s mine.”

“Then fuck me like I’m yours.”

Seungcheol smiled, dropping a soft kiss on your mouth, much in contrast to what followed. “Remember, you asked for this.”

One arm wrapped around your waist, he flipped you over, putting you below him once again, the hunger in his eyes burning a lot more now. As he shifted to push your legs apart, hand leaving your neck, a soft whine left you and Seungcheol caught it immediately.

“You’re into that too?” Seungcheol smirked as you frowned at him, annoyed.

“Apparently. I just found out as well.”

“I wonder what else you’re into.”

“You can wonder all you want, after you put that dick into me.”

Seungcheol clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I don’t like how you think I’d listen.”

Yet before you could talk back, he slid his cock along your folds, the tip slightly dipping into your hole, pulling out the most exquisite moan from you.

“Now that’s something I’d listen to.” He pushed himself a little further, your hands immediately coming to grip his biceps, gasping again at just how big he was. Seungcheol had been dying to listen to you sound like this and god was it so worth it.

You attempted to relax, adjusting around his girth as he eased himself in, but gave up even trying to maintain the facade of composure when he bottomed out, pressing all the way in.

“Fuck yes Cheol.”

He hissed softly, feeling your soft walls flutter around him. He had never fucked anyone raw and after this, how was he expected to just not spend his whole life buried in you?

“Please, move.” You begged, and he folded immediately, his hips slowly picking up pace as he kissed you along your neck.

“We should have done this years ago.” He groaned, wrapping your legs around his hips, pounding faster, harder. “We should have been doing this for years now.”

You nodded half listening, half submerged in your pleasure, nails running down his back. “Let’s just never get out of this bed.”

Seungcheol chuckled, absolutely agreeing with that idea, snapping his hips faster, delighted by the way you were reacting under him.

He wanted to flip you around and take you from the back, mark your ass with the red prints of his hand. He wanted you sitting on him, fucking yourself on his dick while he watched, your head thrown back in pleasure. He wanted to eat you out till you cried, fuck your throat and make you swallow, pull every moan and every whine and ever chant of his name out of you. God he wanted so much but Seungcheol wasn't capable of any of those right now - he had been hard for almost an hour now and your grip around him was like a vice.

“Seungcheol more.” You whined, despite him already railing into you like there was no tomorrow. He still listened though, sliding his hand down between your bodies and finding you clit, well aware that you would probably go unbelievably tight the moment he touched it, rendering him absolutely helpless. Sure enough, you keened, clamping down on him hard the moment he began rubbing circles, a string of curses leaving your mouth.

“Cum for me.” He whispered, hips rutting against yours harshly, holding his own release back desperately. “Cum all over me.”

And you did, the pleasure washing over you in waves, legs tightening around him before they finally went slack, exhausted. Seungcheol pulled them off him, gripping your thighs instead, shifting from an erratic rhythm to quick, deep strokes as he finally came inside you, collapsing on top.

He was careful enough not to crush you under his weight, holding himself up a little so you could regain your breath, watching your eyes flutter tiredly.

“We need to get you cleaned up.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, glancing at your mixed arousals dripping out of you. “I don’t know how long the statute of limitations for ejaculate is….”

For the first time in your life, Choi Seungcheol had managed to turn you dumb, as you nodded mindlessly, not having registered the stupidity that just came out of him.

He chuckled, rolling off you, but you dragged him back by the wrist, wrapping your arms around him.

“Hold me.”

And as though the universe hated you, a sharp knock on the door made you two jump apart. Seungcheol still proceeded to hold you but the knocking only repeated, louder this time. He huffed annoyed, sliding off the bed, grabbing his shirt from the floor and threw it on. Opening the door just a little, half hiding behind it, lower half specifically, he peaked out but his plan was foiled when the receptionist pushed the door fully open and came barging in, throwing her hands around.

“Check out time was 12! You’re late-”

She froze as Seuncheol quickly covered himself with a towel from nearby and you scrambled in a hurry, hiding under the sheets, squirming in embarrassment.

The old woman slowly, still shocked to the core, muttered an apology and walked out of the room as Seungcheol smacked his head against the wall, regretting not wearing his pants.

“You…” She cleared her throat from the other side of the door. “You have till 2. Get it together and get out of my lodge.” She then walked away, the sound of her footsteps fading, before they suddenly got louder again. “I would also like to add that I knew this was going to happen from the moment you two stepped foot in here!”

You covered your face trying not to pass out from the embarrassment as Seungcheol locked the door laughing.

"Why does she sound so happy?"

“I cannot believe she saw us." You groaned. "Who walks in like that-”

“Who cares?” Seungcheol walked over to you. “I cannot believe we still have two more hours.”

“You’re not even ready to go again.” You looked pointedly at the softened dick in his hand that he was pumping lazily. “Besides, we're going to have to book the room again, for tonight.”

“2 hours isn’t enough for you? Oh baby-”

“Our flight is at 5am tomorrow you idiot, we still need a place for the night.”

“Right.” Seungcheol recalled, “I forgot we had to go… that this had to come to an end.”

“Nothing’s ending.” You clarified, putting a rest to his worries. “Didn’t you say, you and I, till the end?”

Seungcheol nodded as you held your hand out to him. He walked over taking it, dropping a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“Say.” And you knew an unholy thought was brewing in that head of his. “We have all this time and there are seven beds here.”

“I don’t care how many there are.” You laughed, pulling him into the softness of the sheets. “I only want one to share with you.”

A/n - this was supposed to be out a few hours ago but tumblr was being a bitch to me. Im adding the tags in the comments! Reblogs with tags, comments and asks are much appreciated, thank you for reading :)

#mylovesstuffs reads #mylovesstuffs yapping

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ylangelegy · 2 days ago

Text

like a python 🧊 jihoon x reader.

jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

★ rockstar!jihoon x reader. ★ word count: 2.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol. jihoon-centric, childhood friends, yearning... so much yearning, young k makes a cameo, jihoon is a bit lame (affectionately), cussing/swearing. mentions of alcohol, food. ★ footnotes: got7 dropped winter heptagon and it's all i can think about. wrote this in one sitting as a show of gratitude to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for introducing me to these boys. haven't done a song fic in a hot minute, but for lee jihoon and got7? anything. shoutout to igot7_MarKP on twitter for the english translation of the lyrics.

🎧 now playing: python by got7 — i know i'm an icon, watch me with the lights on; but she got a hold on me like a python.

▸ MUSIC IS HOW I'VE BEEN VENTING NOW... OVERSEAS, I'M SELLING OUT.

It’s pretty surreal to Jihoon, being in a room with some of the biggest names in rock.

In the past hour alone, he’s met Alex Turner, Dave Grohl, and— holy shit, is that Hayley Williams? Jihoon is getting dizzy, and it’s not only because of all the secondhand smoke he’s inhaled since he got to the Rolling Stones afterparty.

The best of the best. That’s what the invitation had boasted. It was the scene’s most coveted event, and Jihoon somehow made it to the guest list.

Unbidden, your voice nags from somewhere in the back of his mind. You’re the best, Jihoon-ah.

He shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to get away from the thought of you. This had been happening a lot more as of late. Fleeting moments wherein he’d imagine how you would react, what you’d say.

But Jihoon always catches himself. He snaps himself out of it and goes back to recording, goes back to performing.

God, he needs to get it together. He’s starting to regret saying ‘no’ to the cigarette Ely Buendia was offering him earlier.

(In Jihoon’s defense, he didn’t smoke often. He didn’t want to fuck up his vocal chords. He had a one-cigarette-a-year rule, and he wasn’t about to use it now. It was only January; who knew what else the year would throw him?)

Jihoon is contemplating some other vice— maybe he can go grab another beer— when he feels a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of who came up to him, Jihoon immediately folds into a bow.

“There’s no need for that,” Younghyun says, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “We’re all the same here, yeah?”

Jihoon pulls himself to his full height. “Not… really,” he says lamely, and then he immediately launches into mumbled apologies when he realizes how he might have sounded.

It wasn’t that Jihoon thought he was better than his peers. Hell, he knew that he was the least important person in the room. That’s what he meant; they were not all the same, because Jihoon still had a long ways to go.

Especially when compared to rock icon Young K, who is— gracefully— taking Jihoon’s awkwardness in stride.

“You’re holding up a lot better than me,” Younghyun muses. “At my first afterparty, I threw up on Rupam Islam.”

“No.”

“Yes, unfortunately. He was very nice about it, though.”

Jihoon lets out a stutter of a laugh. He’s never been a fan of small talk, but he clings to it now like a lifeline. “Does it get easier?” he asks.

Younghyun’s eyebrows raise. “Throwing up on rockstars?”

“No, no–”

“I was kidding,” Younghyun says in between chuckles. His expression is a little more pensive when he goes on, “I can’t say for sure that it gets easier, but you learn to deal with it.”

You learn to deal with it. Jihoon can almost laugh at just how accurate that is. It seems applicable to every aspect of his life— including missing you.

Jihoon winces. Younghyun notices.

The older man doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s something else entirely. Younghyun doesn’t flinch away, either, when Jihoon nervously says, “Can I ask you another question?”

“Ask away,” says Younghyun. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

What is Jihoon doing? He doesn’t know either, but it’s either this or fight off the urge to run through a pack of Marlboros. “How do you cope,” he starts slowly, “with… feelings?”

A beat. Crap. Jihoon realizes he definitely could have phrased that better, because Younghyun is now looking at him with an expression of mild confusion.

Jihoon backtracks. “You— we— go through a lot in this field of work. Like, a lot. And you— fuck, fine, I’m— grateful for it, really, I swear. But there’s just… so much other things, too, aside from the gratitude. How do you cope with those?”

Jihoon knows he probably looks and sounds like a trainwreck in his bid to be deliberately vague. By some miracle, Younghyun at least seems to understand what Jihoon is trying to say.

Younghyun’s lip quirks to one side as he thinks of his response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, but then he gives an answer that’s the last thing Jihoon could have expected.

“I write,” Younghyun says.

Jihoon blinks once. Then twice.

“You write,” he repeats, and the former nods.

“It’s all in my discography. The anger, the heartbreak, the love.” Younghyun raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve written nearly 200 songs, and all of them are just— that. Questions. Answers to questions. Feelings and stories.”

It’s so simple, so obvious. It’s like a glaring traffic sign, like something that every musician should know and do.

Put it in a song. Perform it for thousands and leave the muse none the wiser. Profit. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Jihoon had done it a fair amount of times, but never had he considered putting you to pen and paper. The prospect of it makes something in his chest thrum.

“I—” He clears his throat. “I think I have to go, sunbaenim. It was nice seeing you.”

A hint of humor glints in Younghyun’s eye, like he’s somewhat aware of the fact he’s witnessing something unravel. “‘Younghyun’ is fine,” he chirps. “And it was nice seeing you, too, Jihoon. Take care of yourself.”

The words— take care of yourself— are supposed to be a platitude. To Jihoon, it feels like a tall ask.

▸ I'M TOURING THE WORLD BUT I'M MISSING THE ONE WHO HELD IT DOWN.

Jihoon is exhausted.

As much as he wants to say that he’s never been this tired in his life, it’d probably be a lie. He’d make the claim, hit the road, then end up crashing out saying the same damn thing. He’s seen this film before; he knows how it ends.

He falls back on his hotel bed after his shower. A low groan escapes him, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the higher powers there are. Thank you for sheets with a 300-500 thread count. Thank you for air-conditioning. Thank you for warm showers and Listerine.

Despite his fatigue, Jihoon can’t just go to sleep. Post-show adrenaline always took a couple of hours to wear off.

He briefly contemplates his options. Write a lyric or two? Watch a shitty Netflix movie? Stare out the hotel window until his eyes can’t stay open anymore?

None of the above, it seems, as he reaches for his phone.

Jihoon has never been active on SNS; he just couldn’t bring himself to care about things like TikTok trends or Twitter ‘beef’. It’s a constant thorn in his PR team’s side. There is one thing that he bothers to check, though, and God forbid he deny himself the simple pleasure of some good ol’ fashioned pining.

He’s been on your Instagram page enough times that it’s the first thing that shows when he goes to the search bar. It’s the only thing that shows, really, which gives some pretty good sense of where his head is at.

Your profile loads. There’s no new post, no recent story. Jihoon is both disappointed and relieved.

No news is good news, he thinks to himself as he leisurely scrolls through the photos he’s already seen a dozen times before. You, feeding sidewalk cats. You, sipping tea at a cafe. You, in all the places that were once Jihoon’s, too. The beaches, the hiking trails, the restaurant in your shared neighborhood.

Jihoon opens that particular post. Even though he’s watched your life in squares for the better half of the past three years, this is the one photo that always has him feeling a pang of… something.

Because Jihoon can imagine it— being at that restaurant with you. The two of you had discovered it together, had pooled your measly school allowances to afford the bokguk and ganjang gejang.

He imagines being there with this older version of you, being the one snapping the picture that’d find a spot on your feed. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that if he really, really tries, it begins to look more like a memory than a daydream.

But he’s not in Busan, not even in Korea. He’s in the United States instead, where he has ten stops before heading to Canada and Europe.

Sold-out stadiums. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans.

All the food that he could possibly want, and yet it’s pufferfish soup and soy sauce crabs that he’s looking for.

Every person that he could possibly have, and yet. And yet.

Jihoon huffs out a frustrated exhale. He’s tired, which he swears makes him delusional.

He casts his phone aside, blissfully ignorant to the way his finger double taps his screen as he does.

Halfway across the world, your phone pings

woozi_universefactory ✓ liked your post.

▸ I'VE BEEN RUNNING BACKWARDS, RUNNING BACKWARDS LIKE A MARATHON.

The push notification glaring up at Jihoon looks a lot like a bomb that’s about to explode.

Jihoon feels like it’s a bomb, because he refuses to believe that after over a year of absolutely nothing, you’ve messaged first. You’ve messaged first.

He double, triple checks his calendar. It’s neither of your birthdays. It’s not a holiday, either. Is it Chuseok? No— that doesn’t make sense.

“For fuck’s sake,” he chides himself under his breath. It’s a text. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jihoon opens the notification.

And then his heart just.

Stops.

You’d sent two messages— the first, being the post that had him spiraling last night. It’s the proceeding message that has Jihoon hoping the ground will swallow him whole.

Stalking me, Jihoon-ah?

Holy shit.

Jihoon types out at least three different messages, from Are you a fly on my wall to Is there a new Instagram feature I don’t know about to What happened to “hello, how are you”?

In the end, he only sends back a single question mark. When he opens the offending post, he immediately sees his transgression.

Jihoon hadn’t liked the photo before last night. He didn’t like much posts to begin with. How— When—

His phone pings. He’s never been so thankful that he mostly opts to get room service for breakfast, because the squeak that he lets out is definitely not very rockstar-like. Jihoon fumbles, and he ends up opening your DM before he can psych himself up for it.

LOL. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you say.

Damn you and your ability to render him speechless. Jihoon wonders if he can get away with not responding, with getting back to you a couple of days later and blaming his work.

Except.

Jihoon’s fingers slowly move across his screen.

It was a good post, he says.

It was a post from a year ago, you answer.

So? He throws in an emoji of a man shrugging for good measure. Jihoon never uses emojis, but he can make some exceptions.

Your respond, So, stalking. You were stalking me.

Jihoon knows he’s digging a hole for himself, knows he’s going to stay up several nights thinking of just how stupid he is. If he were a stronger man, he’d pull the plug on this conversation and that’d be it. You wouldn’t bug him. He would maybe write a song about this moment. The world would go on.

But he can hear you.

In the messages, in the words on his screen. He can hear your voice, the way you’d smile or laugh or tease. How you’d say his name in that sing-song tone he once pretended to hate.

He hears you in your messages, and he’ll live with the secondhand shame if it means that he gets to keep on listening.

Not stalking, he shoots back. Just checking in.

Ah, you say. Because you missed me?~

Despite himself, he scoffs. You’ve always been so shameless. It didn’t matter to you that he was WOOZI the rockstar; to you, he would always be Jihoon who lived three houses down.

As if, he says to your teasing.

You don’t respond anymore. You don’t even read the message, because Jihoon doesn’t see the little ‘Seen’ under his last message.

He waits for it for a minute. Then five minutes. Then seven minutes. He stops checking at the thirteen-minute mark, because he likes to believe he’s no longer a high schooler with a raging crush on the girl next door.

He’s a grown man. He’s WOOZI, for Christ’s sake.

He can’t keep coming back to you.

▸ I GAVE YOU MY TIME WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH; ALL OF MY FEELINGS, SWEPT UNDER THE RUG.

Except he does.

WOOZI may not want to. WOOZI may be the bassist writing songs about the past in hopes of leaving things in the past, but Jihoon is a different story.

Jihoon texts you the moment he lands in Gimhae International Airport. Jihoon stands outside your front door— definitely jetlagged, probably in need of a shower— with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other.

Jihoon acts like it’s the world’s biggest inconvenience when he tells you, “Come on, then.”

The two of you get the crabs and soup. He refuses to talk about his time away; he contents himself with listening, like he always does, and you fill the silence with babble. Your desk job, your parents’ nagging, your hobbies and side hustles.

“Probably not as interesting as your life,” you joke after a particularly long-winded anecdote about a delivery rider who got your address wrong.

Jihoon neither confirms nor denies the statement. He only raises one eyebrow and gives you a wordless gesture with his hand. Go on anyway, he’s saying, and you take the cue.

The meal ends. Jihoon invites you for coffee. Then ice cream. Then a walk.

“This is very suspicious.”

Jihoon can’t help it; a snort of laughter escapes him at your words. “Can’t a guy take a friend out to lunch?” he asks humorlessly.

“And dinner,” you note.

“And dinner, yes.”

“And dessert.”

The two of you are taking the long way home. There’s something to be said about how Jihoon drags his feet, about how you walk like you’re not on borrowed time. Even your conversation moves like you’re beating around the bush.

There is an elephant in the room and Jihoon is done pretending that it’s not there. That it hasn’t been there since the day you two met in primary school, since the first time he held your hand as a teenager, since he became a musician and every song he performed became about you.

Jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

“Are you dying?”

Your blasé question draws a bark of laughter from him. “Jesus, no,” he says. “Do I have to be dying to want to see you?”

You don’t answer right away. Jihoon once again has that feeling that he’s said something wrong, something loaded, but you save him from overthinking when you respond with, “You wanted to see me?”

There it is. That teasing tone, that hint of a smile.

You bump your shoulder against his. “You missed me, Jihoon-ah. Admit it.”

And Jihoon is done, Jihoon is tired, Jihoon is still yours after all this time.

“Yeah,” he finally, finally says. “I missed you.”

#jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #jihoon fic #woozi fic #svt fic #seventeen fic #jihoon imagines #woozi imagines #(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

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vifilms · 2 days ago

Text

THE SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS STICKING LIKE HONEY

feat. contractor!abby x exgf!reader

content warning. eighteen+, smut, angst, some fluff sprinkled in, devastating dykes, nickname for reader (cherry), jealousy, long lost love trope, hazel (spoiler alert, she’s a cunt), just an emotional ass fic.

THE SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS STICKING LIKE HONEY, she was the healing in a world that struck so much pain, a life you would like to forget, but can you truly forget just how much you loved her?

rayray sesh. been working on this baby for over a month and i’m very happy to post it on time! happy birthday, pookie — @sinstear ♡ this is my special crafted gift i wrote just for you on a day to celebrate just how amazing you are. erenboo, you deserve all the love in the world. i hope you enjoy this as much as i took joy in writing it for you. my love, sweat, tears, and cum are laced in it. special delivery. i love you so much, bub. always and forever.

✶ special shoutout to @hypnagogics aka my co-yap captain. thank you for proofreading my bigger projects. you are a godsend. my nonsensical typos would surely make it if it wasn’t for you. mwahmwah! you’re the sweetest, ily ♡

✶ header heavily inspired by the lovely @hcneymooners

word count, 14k.

❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 ❞

The more you try to hide from it, the harder it’ll be when you face it — at least those are the words Abby had heard from her old man for as long as she could remember. Suddenly, nearly thirty-years later, they reverberated in her mind like a ring of a bell. A vibrating reminder of how her life remained the same, your love having limitations, requirements she never could have been aware of at the ripe age of eighteen.

All she needed was more time, more understanding, and a patient heart that was never reciprocated. On a day like today, she’s reminded of

In Jacksonville, there wasn’t much going on, and talk travels faster than the speed of lightning. Murmurs of your return started the moment Dina found out, then it spread like wildfire. All of it feels just like yesterday but the spring of her youth is a far cry away, just dust and bones to be found on the ashes of adolescence.

If the world was perfect, Abby could avoid all of this.

Maybe if her life had turned out the way she envisioned.

But it didn’t and neither did yours. Not as of late. Although Abby had to be tightlipped about it, business and pleasure entangled, all of that nonsense floating around her pretty head. A voice she once thought she had forgotten comes back with a violent need to be recognized, a calming notion before it punches her in the gut.

Not to mention, she just had to be on your father’s payroll, had to face the person she was never good enough for. All of it feels nauseating. Excruciating.

Reminder of a wound she’s never recovered from. Memories high and low come flooding, and with you in her line of vision, it only gets worse.

Way fucking worse.

“What is she doing back?”

“As if anyone would want her here.”

“Abby, was she even supposed to be here?”

The questions pile along with the bile collecting in the back of Abby’s throat. The pit in her stomach manifests a black hole, feeling herself succumb to the spin of everyone’s empty threats spilling from her friends to you. Abby can tell just by the way you’re downing the glass of champagne and picking up the next, coming here wasn’t your choice.

If you could have helped it, you would have never come back in such a public setting.

“Abby, are you listening?” She sighs, but still unable to take her eyes off you.

“Do I need to rea—”

“Yeah yeah, all of you hate them. I get it.”

“It’s not that simple. They aren’t good for you.”

There’d been murmurs through the small town of your return. That’s what happens when your mom gets sick, you come home and that you did. The anniversary of your parents, forty years strong, is the first public appearance. The absence of your brother’s appearance isn’t talked about, it’s brushed over, just like everything else, just like you.

“Yep, I got it.”

“I’m just looking out for you. They don’t appreciate you and—” Abby shoots her a knowing glare, annoyed with the intrusion of everyone thinking they knew best instead of herself.

“Yeah, like I said, I hear you, but you don’t fucking know her. Neither do I, certainly not anymore.”

Running a hand through her blonde-glistening locks, the sunset saturates her golden as she ignores Hazel, taking a sip of her beer as she takes you in. Everyone always has shit to say about you. Your parents, her friends, Abby’s parents, but no one really knows you.

It’s not easy for you to let people in, you seem as harsh as can be to others, but Abby knows you’re quite the opposite.

Different from everyone in the room, a polished cream suit and open collared button up shirt with your delectable collarbones exposed, your rings twinkle as you pet the husky, one you don't know belongs to Abby. If you did, your hand might feel repelled.

It’s what you always wanted. A life out of here, out of the small town where you’ve always felt judged, persecuted, even ostracized when you came out — and you succeeded — leaving Abby behind in the process. Even if you didn’t intend to, it sort of just…happens. We leave the ones we love behind, even if it’s our last possible intention.

Goodbye notions simmer and we forget about the love we once had.

“Hazel, Dina was asking for you, she mentioned needing some help finding JJ’s pacifier?”

“On it!” Abby chuckles as the cherry-haired girl flees into the other direction as Ellie laughs harder when she’s gone.

“You’re welcome. She's like a dog with a bone when it comes to your beautiful ex-girlfriend.”

“Watch it. Calling another woman beautiful, Dina might just skin you alive.”

“Nope. She loves me too much.”

Ellie chuckles as they watch you down another glass of champagne. Freeing your hair from the tight bun, your hair springs to life as it falls around your shoulders, framing your jawline as piercing eyes find the weeds poking through the freshly cut grass.

A few people had offered up a sloppy introduction, a grievance of pity, before returning to their groups. Anxiously, you tear at the loose thread on the cuff of your sleeve. It gets longer and longer, avoiding everyone watching you.

Pretending you don’t exist. You never do. Not in this wretched town where all dreams get sucked into a bottomless pit, where believers go to die.

Abby nods, the feeling builds in the pit of her stomach as she yearns to get closer to you. Even after all the hurtful insults thrown her way years back, she’s conflicted. A missile is thrown into her life with your arrival and all of her friends, besides Ellie, tell her not to fall back into old patterns. Not to fall for your charm, not to be a victim to reckless love.

The kind that left her empty for years. Abby knew the moment she fell, from the very first time they met, if you ever left her she’d never be the same again. You don't forget a love like this. It tears a hole within you before you even get a chance to think about it, their presence consuming your entirety, an empty promise of endless salvation dies on the tip of your tongue.

Impossible shoes to ever be filled.

Truly, Abby thought she had been in love before you, but she wasn’t. The feeling she’s been chasing for the rest of her life returns when she looks at you. Those bright eyes when you play with the pup, the gentle hand as your scrap his chin with the crescent of your blunt nails.

She feels more looking at you for one moment than anyone she’s dated after you.

It’s sickening.

Still, her friends ridicule her any chance they get. Telling her of what you’re like, how you hurt her, what you’ll do when your claws sink into Abby. It falls on a hyper fixated heart. She can’t think of anything when all the blood comes rushing to her head, how beautiful you look when she sees you anxiously biting your bottom lip, something you do when you’re attempting to stop the tears from spilling.

None of them knew what it meant to look in your eyes and wonder how someone so good couldn’t recognize the purity in your eyes, the love you give out when the world feels like it’s crumbling around you. They didn’t see the years of torture, the family that wasn’t so perfect, the anger you held wound so tight. You didn’t have anywhere to put it. Never could. Not when the image of the perfect daughter is meant to be upheld.

Not a soul knows the information Abby does. There’s nothing more you love than to hide in the shadows, hoping to be forgotten, how you nearly crave to be eaten alive if it means an end to your misery. It isn’t lost on her how much she wants to shield you from it all.

“Why don’t you go and talk to her?”

Ellie points the glass of wine she’s been nursing to you, watching as you excuse yourself into the empty guest house. Your body is still viewable through the tall glass windows, your body disappearing from the common area of the small home. The exact one she’s been renovating per your mother’s request.

“She’ll just—” Absentmindedly, Abby kicks the dirt with the toe of her boot, rooting her heel in the ground as she bites the wall of her gums, trying to center herself. Attempting to not let her mind wander into what if’s, what could have been.

“What? Figure out you’re scared?”

“I’m not scared.” Sighing into the palm of her hands as she can’t help but bite into Ellie’s comment, “It’s been years. For all I know, Cherry hates my guts. Not that it fucking matters, but I’m the last person they want to talk to. Plus, when she’s upset the last thing they want is to talk.”

“You’ll do just fine, can’t be too bad. They were always sweet on you.”

“It’s been years, Hazel’s right, in some sense I—”

“Please, even you know the only thing she wants is to get in your pants. That part is lost on me, you’re too beefy for my taste.”

“Some people like that, dick.”

“Your girlfriend sure did.”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

The rest of the night Abby avoids all of her friends, especially the meddling junkie, Hazel; fucking hazel. She wouldn’t let her rest. They never had done more than share a friendly hug and for some reason she always looked at Abby like she hung all the stars spreading across the galaxy.

“Are you going to let Hazel think she has a chance forever?”

Abby just shakes her head in omission.

“There’s no chance, I’m not—”

“Abby! I got you a glass of lemonade. Sweet with just a few cubes of ice, just the way you like it!” Ellie wiggles her eyebrows at Abby as if she has proved her point.

As soon as Hazel turns around, Ellie goes right back to the pitch of her ex-girlfriend, trying to sell Abby on the past. The only woman Dina and her had liked in her mess of a dating scene. A long line of hookups, one serious relationship that ended so horrifically the cops had to be called, and then there was Hazel. A naive girl who had been harboring a crush for nearly a year, the time Dina had adopted her into their little makeshift family.

You walk out of the guest house more comfortably. A pair of dark denim and a black graphic tee with the sleeves cut off. Abby smiles at how much you look like the woman she fell in love with, the youthful ache she still feels with every beat of her heart. The one you crushed in the palm of her hands without thinking twice.

Abby’s throat constricts when you catch her staring, quickly looking away, biting at your fingernails before your father introduces you to the new neighbors.

“What’s so important, Hazel?” Ellie bites.

Hazel ignores her. All she can see is Abby looking right at you.

Abby had realized she completely zoned out, her energy and focus harbored on you. Five minutes within your arrival and her head was already feeling the rapid hum of her heartbeat caught in the bottom of her throat as you looked at her again, just for a second longer before you turned the other direction, away from her gaze.

“Abby—”

Abby hums absentmindedly with you on her mind, infecting her thoughts like a former addict getting their first fix for years. The high. It feels even better than her mind could remember. The curious gaze in bright eyes feels intoxicating, too good to be true, and the fall feels higher than it ever was to begin with.

“Yeah?”

“She’s coming over here.”

It only takes a few minutes before Abby takes a swig at her beer, wipes the sweat collecting on the palm of her hands. When you get closer, she notices the engraving of A.A. engraved on a glimmering silver ring.

Did you keep it after all this time?

“Tell her to leave—”

“Hazel, for the love of god, would you shut your mouth?” Ellie barks as you make your way over to Abby.

Abby tries to make her resolve hard, icy even, but it’s not. Her electrified blue eyes are warm, full of curiosity and wonder, her freckled cheeks are flushed from the heat of the sun and her barely there grin has you offering one of your own.

“Abigail, hey.”

Abby is surprised you hug her and she doesn't want to accept but it feels too rude not to. But the second her arms envelop around your body you fit perfectly into her. Just like all those years ago, you’re everything she loves. Like no time has passed, as if you didn’t rip her heart and stump out the love it once held.

“It’s just Abby now.” Hazel interjects.

“Sorry, I didn’t know, Abby, right.”

“How could you? You’d have to be around—”

Ellie gently elbows Hazel in the stomach, trying to silence her best efforts to scare you away from the treasury stock of a blonde she believes to be hers.

“Abby, sorry. I’m just—”

“You’ve always called me, Abigail. It’s alright. Promise.”

There she is.

The charm that makes you fall when you don’t need to. It’s laughable that Abigail can make years of therapy, years of dating other people to get over her seem like a dream, as if it’d only just been the two of you all of this time. Like nothing had changed.

But everything has.

“Um, do you mind if we talk in private?”

Abigail follows your lead into the empty house, the party rages outside as the two of you sit in the living room, neither of you knowing what way to take your best foot forward.

“Sorry if I made things awkward with you and your girlfriend—”

“Oh, uh, she’s not….we’re not dating or anything.”

Shit.

You wish she was.

Abby doesn’t know what to think when the expression on your face wasn’t instant relief but instead turmoil within yourself. Your eyebrows furrowed as if you expected her to be in a relationship. It would leave you to escape from the overflow of feelings you had rushing through your core.

“You look shocked.”

“I just—” You bite your lip, looking anywhere but her, trying to put your best foot forward, like your father says, he’s the whole reason this conversation is even happening. “I can’t lie, it would have made this…easier? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“What are you trying to do?” Abby has a bubbly laugh threatening to burst but she swallows it for the sake of your dignity.

“Okay, well that’s not nice.”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Well, my dad he just thought that—”

“Wait, you’re talking to me because of your dad?” Abby stands up from the couch, rubbing her hands over her flushed face. “Not even because it’s been years, but because — well, why?”

“He was just encouraging me. I’m nervous, isn’t that fucking obvious? I can’t even look at you without feeling like I’m eighteen again.”

She’s standing at her tall height, looking down at you as you begin to cry.

Well shit.

“Hey, hey—” Abby sinks to the floor on her knees, her body between your legs. “C’mon, there’s no need for all of that.”

“I hate that you haven’t changed.”

“Did you want me to?”

No, you say just to yourself. Not trusting the waver of your voice to give her the truth. There’s always so much on the line with her. Everything feels heavy, final, an anchor to hold you down but also drag everything you are, tangled with her sweet, honey-filled baby blues.

“Can’t you be mean to me or something? Even the playing field a little bit.”

“Not even a little, sweetheart. We both know I never could.” Her fingertips trace your forearm, a shiver courses throughout your body, “I will admit, everyone says I should.”

“They’re right. I deserve it.”

“If we all got what we deserved, well, that would be such an ugly world, wouldn’t it? Just because you did something hurtful doesn’t make you cruel. It makes you human.”

“But I do deserve the cruelty.”

“Fine, I hate you.” Abby says with a smirk on her face, wiping away a stray tear, looking too fondly on the woman who broke her heart. She’s too kind for her own good.

The giggle Abby omits rivals sunshine.

“I just didn’t want it to affect the work on the house, everything between us, it’s complicated and I’ll be in the guest house while my mom’s—”

“I know, you don’t have to say it. Your dad may have mentioned it to me. I’m sorry, I truly am.”

“I am too. For everything. I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I was so young, scared, and I wanted you to hate me. It just seemed easier than having you actually miss me.”

“I did miss you.” Abby's warm palm might as well be burning your denim jeans through as she touches your thigh. “You could have done the worst thing imaginable and I still would have. I’ve never had, uh, reason with you I guess. Love doesn’t know scorn, like a child with a knife, even if you can get hurt — sometimes it’s worth it.”

The stars in her blue eyes hold the same light in them, too full of love, her older and refined spirit lays beneath them and she has become someone you have even more love for. It’s too damning. Abigail Anderson has always been more than you can handle, always outshining everyone in this small town even if she couldn’t see it for herself.

“I’m surprised you came back for them, you know, after everything.”

It’s not just them.

“They say she doesn’t have a lot of time, so—” You sigh heavily into your palms, “And that’s not your problem, but thank you for being so cool about everything. Maybe we can be friends?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Abby knows neither of you can’t. It’s never worked out that way. It’s all or nothing and she’s always been the all-in type of girl. She loves big, not caring if her own heart gets trampled in the process.

Her love blinds like the sun, but it settles over your heart like the moonlight kissing the waves — you just hope the tide is strong enough to bring you home.

❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ❞

The first few weeks back at home felt like a breath of fresh air. As much as you disdained being home, the cracks of your family nearly breaking you in the process, you had her.

Even if you didn’t really have her.

The definite silence was not so, Abby still soaked in her warm heart, the one you hoped she kept. The best part of her. She’s too kind, even when you don’t deserve it, she still freely gives it.

It bleeds into her work.

Clearly, your father was more than fond of her. Several occasions they would be chumming it up, your father even grilling a few patty hamburgers up for them both when the clock struck noon. They always did love her, possibly even more than you, but to say they were devastated about the break would be a tragic understatement.

Get her back.

She’s a prize in this town.

Abigail Anderson is the best you can do, you’re not doing better than Dr. Anderson’s daughter.

But you never did try. You trusted the universe as a sign given. The people driving you out of this town sided with the woman you had broken up with, so you left and didn’t look back twice.

Yet, she did, in more ways than you were even aware of.

Because of her stupidly built physique, you couldn’t stop looking.

Anchored into the heat, her muscles constrict as she helps the crew demo the tile of the master suite, the last touch of the renovation needs. Besides the final paint job in the guest house, Abby had finished it all. In all honesty, Abby was hoping all of it would be complete by the time you arrived back in town. Being around you on a daily basis, her friends telling her it’s only a matter of time before she’s back in your arms, it feels like a slap in the face.

As if she has no self restraint.

To be fair, she doesn’t.

Abby’s gone to lunch with you three times, had coffee with you once, and she exhibits her obsessive memory — still having your order memorized — even if it's the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard of. She still finds herself stuck between your teeth like cotton candy.

It’s all friendly, supposedly, but it’s the easiest thing to slip back.

Old habits do die hard.

Right now, you’re just watching her work.

You’ve been doing it a lot lately.

Out of habit, nervousness, maybe it’s the anxiety flooding through your bloodstream. All of this feels erasable. Too much thrown at you, with her, it always happens to be too irreplaceable.

The ghost you’ve been running from, the one that hides in the shadow, even if you’ve tried to stay on the path you’ve created. Dug from the ashes of all your failures, she’s the one thing you haven’t made right. The nights where you got too drunk, nearly texting her or calling her, the picture you still curated in a specific folder, the one you would look for when you’re the weakest.

Being back in your hometown, the first person who ever truly loved you, it feels suffocating.

It doesn’t help that she looks so good. Or that she’s even kinder. The love in her eyes is even more whole-hearted than they were ten years ago. Part of you tells yourself you couldn’t even help yourself if you tried. This is just how it’s supposed to be. The heartbreaker pining for the woman’s heart you shattered into pieces.

All it took, a few cups of coffee and Abby taking you to lunch and paying — it feels awfully like a date but you keep your mouth shut. Her being present in your life is already confusing enough; the added weight would just be unbearable.

But after today, you won’t see her again. Painting the final room in the guest house is the last duty she has to fulfill and the renovation is done on your parent’s property. The ache in the pit of your stomach is unsettling as you attempt to simmer through and wonder why the pain becomes so deep. As if the woman in front of you was scorning you alive.

“You need something or are you gonna stare at me all day?”

You watch Abby throw the paint roller back in the tray, running the brush in the sage green, before turning the attention back to the wall, waiting for you to respond.

“No, I wasn’t staring.” Abby chuckles at that.

Chuckles.

“Yeah, sure.”

If you could see her pouty lips, you’re sure that they’d be pulled into a smirk. Lately, she’s been enjoying this too much. Catching you staring at her for too long, biting the precious bottom lip of yours as she’s putting her muscles to work or when you caught her peeling the sweaty tank of her body for a new one, every inch of her skin glowing in the wake of the blistering sun.

Her abdomen, toned with a not so subtle four pack, her v-line defined as it disappears into her jeans. It’s sickening. Really. It is. She catches your self control slipping through the cracks, dignity along with it as you give in to her adonis-like physique.

The shock going through your body, going completely still as Abby just chuckles, winking at you before she goes about her day. Like it was nothing, like this is a normal occurrence for her. You’re not sure what thought made you feel even more sick.

Women fawning over her or what happened after.

But you didn’t have a right, you know you didn’t.

You swallowed the unflattering buzz of sweeping jealousy until you couldn’t feel in anymore. It’s not an emotion you even deserve to feel. While the two of you had been getting closer the longer you spent with each other, you knew your boundaries well enough to know you still weren’t there, you never would be.

The ghosts from your past made damn sure of it.

“I can pose for you if you’re going to keep looking.”

“I wasn’t—”

Abby wipes the mixture of sweat, oils, and paint on the pair of old blue-denim. She lets her blonde hair out of the bun she wore, despite the icy temperature, her body runs warm.

“It’s okay to admit it.”

“Admit what?” Suddenly you become defensive, arms crossing over your chest.

“That you’re still attracted to me.” Abby takes your curves in and nearly blows a low whistle, “You’re awful at hiding it.”

“I-I’m not, this isn’t….you’re not, like, easy to look at, you know? Uh, ummm….”

Standing there like an idiot as you struggle to get the words out, nearly impossible to get them released, your mouth staggering, unable to even keep them shut as Abby stalks you, your body pressed against the kitchen counter, the new one she installed days ago.

Nothing comes out on the way you intend it to. Fuck. Did you offend her?

“I’m not?”

She whispers into your ear, her lips ghosting your skin. A free hand plays with the buckle of your belt before she pulls you closer by the fastened leather. It’s soft to the touch, making her want to sink her teeth into you, until her canines break the surface of your skin, claiming you as hers once again.

Abby thinks about removing it off you, bending you over the counter and punishing you for it or even fastening the belt around your neck, pulling you along until you’re right where she pleases. The craving in the pit of her belly only stirs into an unmanageable peace the longer you stand there — squirming with satisfaction — waiting to be put out of your misery.

Golden locks tickle your jaw, the static energy radiating off of her shocks your skin, goosebumps come alive on every inch of you as she makes her presence known. One fact you haven’t been able to shake, Abby Anderson is a force to be reckoned with. Ten years, ten full years, and your life means nothing now that she’s right in front of you.

“Abigail, I don’t really think this is a good idea.” Abby waits for you to push her away, but instead you place your hands around her forearms but she’s so big, and it’s intoxicating that she stands taller than you. Her biceps the size of your head, veins protruding as she flexes, as if it didn’t make matters worse.

“Then why don’t you just admit it?” Abby presses her pelvis even closer to yours and you wonder if you’re hallucinating the barely-there kiss to below your ear. “You want me just as much as you did back then. Ten years apart won’t change that. You still care about me, even though you wish you didn’t, you do.”

“Abigail, we can’t go there, we both are—”

“What? I’ve always been a patient girl. I can wait.” Loudly, you groan as she peppers kisses down your neck, before scratching at her skin, when she kisses the one spot behind your ear she certainly didn’t forget about.

Abby digs her teeth in as you hiss, she enjoys the thrill of your soft whimpers, she’s barely started and you’re giving her just what she needs. The two of you know it, there isn’t a fix for this, the thread of a craving pulls until it’s fed.

“Oh–”

Rough hands hoist you on the counter top as she slots herself between your thighs, her frame protecting you as if you were a wild animal trying to be saved from extinction. The greed in Abby’s palm finds salvation when she touches exposed skin, silk to the touch — it doesn’t feel quite as sinful as she’s been told.

She should hate you, right?

You hurt her, didn’t look back twice, and you’ve never been the same.

All of this is just a facade. The life you have, the future you always dreamed of building is thousands of miles from here and she just doesn’t fit within it anymore, everyone tells her she never did. A missing puzzle piece with a jagged edge, the more Abby tries to fit with your world, the further she pushes away.

But she held onto the hope that your world no longer fit you and maybe — like a fool who believes in their first dream — she could be your world again.

Sparkling, honey-blues dazzle their way into your heart once again, reminding you of everything you love, striking a reminder through your soul of just what you had hurt. The life you stole, the one you wanted to so desperately have but fear still swarms you. The memory doesn’t feel so distant, the past isn’t the past but lies as a reminder of the blood still staining your hands.

With hesitance, you hold her full-freckled cheeks in your palms with a delicate hand, fearful any touch from you would burn her in the process.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” You bite into the isolating air, threatening to swarm your soul but she finds you first. Abby’s warm breath feeds into the need blossoming like a seed rooted in soil, solidifying the growth of budding salvation.

“I don’t know. Do you?”

She’s so sweet on you, even as the trickle of poison burns her, Abby would gladly let it absorb every inch of her skin if it meant this. The wondrous arrival of a love once lost, her heart torn right down the middle. Unsure if giving into reason or a festered dream.

It all grabs a hold of her the same, unwillingly to release her from the pure agony she feels when you’re not around. More dramatic than she intended it to be, the dagger once pushed through her heart, exerting every drop of blood until she felt unsatisfied iron saturating her tongue.

She would even show gratitude if you let her.

“Everything I think I know changes when you’re involved, so no, I don’t.”

Leaning into your touch, Abby swears into the palm of your hand, her hands smooth over the fabric of your pants and your entire skin leaves a trail of fire anywhere her large, calloused hand scorns you. The weight of her love feels heavy, as it always has, but the temptation to carry every ounce of it is heavier than it’s been in years.

With a terror in your chest, you blurt out the first thought entering you mind. “You’ve aged really well, can barely tell you’re hitting thirty.”

“Oh yeah? I can think of a few ways to show you.”

Shit.

A rapid heartbeat ready to burst, you’re not sure if it’s you or her. She’s inching closer, lips ghosting yours, her minty-ice breath makes home over yours. With a slight graze, you inhale a sharp breath, read for her to lean into you.

Slam!

“Am I interrupting something?” Immediately, you push Abby off of you, a judging pair of eyes scanning the two of you.

The woman from the party looked like she could actually kill you with her bare hands. Then there’s Ellie sitting there grinning like the joker, one giggle away from sounding like the maniac himself. As if she was fully aware this would happen. The two of you are running off of pure animal instinct, unable to keep your hands off one another.

“Abby? What’s going on?” The snip in the woman’s voice is evident, so is the possession she so clearly feels over your ex-girlfriend. The jealousy you feel over the thought sends an unwanted shiver up your spine.

Then she’s looking at you, expecting you to disintegrate into nothing right in front of her. Like you had done something terribly wrong.

Didn’t Abby say she’s single?

“Chill out, Hazel.” Ellie rolls her eyes, smirking at the steam practically boiling out of Hazel’s ears. “Ready for that drink? Dina and Jesse are already waiting.”

“Uh—” She looks back at you, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “Yeah, can you just give me a sec?”

“But I really think we should—”

“Down Hazel, god, you’re worse than a dog. They clearly were about to suck each other’s faces off. Move it.”

Hazel clearly looks offended as she desperately looks at Abby, hoping for her to save a little bit of dignity but Abby just punches the bridge of her nose as Ellie escorts out an extremely frigid Hazel.

Abby doesn’t miss the way the woman who has far too big of a crush on her tries to shoot daggers into you but you’re too busy focused on plucking your overgrown cuticles.

As soon as the door shuts you bend over the counter, forehead pressed into the white marble of the island, settling for a frustrated groan even when you want to scream.

“That bad, huh?” Abby stands behind you, watching as you lose it in front of her.

“Your friends already hate me, was that really fucking needed?”

There’s an itching, envious need to ask why Hazel seems to be protective over Abby, borderlining on obsession, but you keep your mouth tight lipped. Even if it’s the first thing ready to roll off your tongue.

“They’re fine, Hazel is just—”

“Protective.” You avoid her as she smirks, clearly enjoying the clear look of jealousy in your beautifully bright eyes.

“Oh?” Abby is grinning, pearly whites shining as majestic as the moon. “I didn’t think you’d even feel like that about me.”

As if it's instinct, she can’t stop how much she’s loving this. One moment of her lips on your skin and suddenly you want her all to yourself. Your head is spinning and her stupid, blue eyes won’t stop looking at you like a divine treasure.

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

You never did well with things out of your control, never really could. It’s why all of it ended the way it did. If you couldn’t somehow manipulate into what you wanted, it faded until you couldn’t hear it any longer. Abby faded into the noise, into your past, but maybe she is the noise and for the first time in ten years you can finally hear.

“You don’t have to say anything but you can come with me.”

“With your friends?” Abby nods.

“All of your friends hate me and one looks like she might actually kill me. Why on earth would you think that’s a good idea?”

“All of them are adults. They’ll handle just fine besides, I want you there.” As soon as Abby says those words, your harsh seamer softens, rejection melts and dissipates from your vocabulary. She’s always been a difficult person to say no to. “You could use some social interaction, you don’t even leave this guest house.”

“How did you know that?”

“I have eyes?” Abby states it as more of a question, a giggle threatening to bubble out.

“Oh god.” Abby laughs as she takes off her tool belt before finding her jacket and slipping it on her body. Grabbing her keys on the counter, looping the carabiner on the loop of her weathered denim.

“Ready?”

There’s a look of uncertainty in your eyes, nearly bleeding into an unwillingness to bend, but her words reassure you before you even get a chance to explain. As if she settled in your heart ten years ago and never left.

“Don’t worry, okay? If anyone’s mean to you, I’ll set them straight, Cherry.”

The nickname falls off her tongue, the sentiment hits you like a tsunami of emotion, bringing you back to every loving emotion she exposed to you for the first time.

It shouldn’t cut you this deep but it will — she always will.

❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞 ❞

March 26th, 2013

“C’mon dance with me!” Abby screams over the loud music of the party. Fluorescent lights, a disco ball and tequila raged through her body, the alcohol pumping through her veins as she finally mustered the liquid courage to talk with the girl she’s been crushing on all sophomore year.

Her friends had been teasing her all night about it, but when the girl looked at her in disgust, shoulder checking her into oblivion, she couldn't help but take it to heart. Her blue eyes swell with tears, a waterfall raging within her as she makes her way to the bathroom, puking out her dinner at her father’s house.

So much for prom night, right?

Making a beeline for the bathroom, with yet another rejection to check off the list, stupid fucking after party she lied to her dad about going to. It’s all so stupid, of course Lacey wouldn’t be into someone like her. No one likes her, no one ever will, she’s just the lame screw up in this town who can’t like boys, not when the rest of the girls in the wretched town do.

Even if her dad tells her, it’s what makes her special — it’s a bunch of horse shit.

So, in the home of the girl she confessed her undying love for, she pukes her guts out in the bathroom until there’s a knock at the door and a soft yet concerned shout that follows. “Hey, are you okay? Sounds a little rough in there!”

“Shit, yeah, just one second…” Abby collects herself taking off her jacket as she rolls up the sleeves, residue of what she chucked up on the cuff of her shirt. Quickly, she rinses off and roles the sleeves up.

Well, it didn’t get any more embarrassing than this.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can get someone it’s really not a pro—”

Without a further beat, the door is swung open. Abby suspects to see someone she knows, but she doesn’t. It’s a fresh face and she’s never been more grateful. The eyeliner she thought Lacey would like was probably smudged all over her face, Abby had no doubt she probably resembled someone operating an oil rig of some kind.

Just as Abby tries to talk, she feels another round come up and she runs to the toilet, sinking to her knees as more bile comes out. Way to go Anderson, you’ve managed to utterly humiliate yourself in front of two beautiful women tonight. Truly, there should be some type of an award for being the dumbest idiot on the planet.

Somehow, she knows all of this will come back to bite her in the ass. There’s no way that she isn't the complete laughing stock of the high school until she walks across the stage in two years with a diploma on hand. Whoever you are, you’re sure you’ll tell the entire town.

A stupid pathetic lesbian who can’t have one good night to save her life.

One of the most important nights of her life.

But she doesn’t hear a mockery laugh, a snide comment…she isn't even met with pure disgust. The third and fatal option. There’s a comforting hand on her back, reassuring her everything will be just fine, the other holding her hair into a makeshift ponytail, ensuring there isn't a single strand getting tied into the mess of her sickness.

By the time Abby’s done, she feels even more humiliated, her body running hot, cheeks aflame but you’re already running warm water underneath the towel folded on the shelf above the toilet. Kneeling down again, you angle her by the jaw, wiping the residue off her lips and you carefully wash away the black eyeliner smeared all over her freckled-cheeks.

For a second, Abby notices you staring at her pouty lips but she doesn’t say a word about it.

Turned out so wonderful the first time…

“Here!” You pull from your pocket, a pack of red labeled gun, cherry flavored, and pull out one piece wrapped in paper-tin foil. “For your, you know, breath.”

“Is this your nice way of telling me I have bad breath?” Abby teases, one moment with a pretty stranger, and she already felt more like herself. Abby takes a piece of gum, unraveling the piece before shoving the strip into her mouth.

“Well, you did puke.”

Regretfully she chews as the taste turns sweet instead of mint, her face contorts in rejection but still she chews. It’s not exactly what she had in mind.

“You don’t like Cherry flavored? That’s just bad taste!” You grab a piece of gum for yourself, throwing the piece of paper in the trash, consuming it wholeheartedly, almost moaning as you put on a show.

“Whatever you say, Cherry.” The sun might as well be shining on you from just how warm you feel. Heat rising in your heart, blossoming through your chest, thriving from the attention of the sun,

“Hey! That’s not fair. I don’t know your name.”

“Well, I don’t know yours either…” Abby hints, tilting her head to the side with a smirk the size of Texas. For once, she finds this easy, talking to a pretty girl, flirting with a pretty girl — proving it didn’t always have to be so hard to have something this good.

“Call me Cherry, it’s better than my real one, trust me.” You smile sweetly, fully willing to rot each tooth if it means you could feel like this. “What’s yours?”

“Abigail.”

The two of you just stare at each other like idiots, two losers, two outcasts and all of it started to make sense. Every heartache dealt out by careless handlers of the heart, each person who made you feel small, unworthy, who knew all of it could be healed by looking into the brightest pair of blue eyes, the warmest, full of honey and marvelous wonder.

It feels wonderful, being this close to a feeling, a lover's dream in the sunshine of spring, kissing shoulders never exposed to the brightful joy, freckles sprouting like bees flees to honey. One more kiss of sunshine until the sweetness falls on your tongue, guiding you to the spirit of love and everything you ever lost.

One person, one perfect person who makes your youth scream of joy again. Jumping off a cliff, plummeting into the cool ocean without second thought, hoping they’ll be there to jump off it with you. Even if it takes a lifetime of waiting — you’d wait your entire life for her.

As long as she’s in the sun, freckles being painted by pure light, you’d soak in the sun right along with her.

“Thank you.” She squeaks out the words so small, you nearly miss it.

“There’s no need for thanking. Just doing the right thing s’all.” Your smile is so sweet, Abby nearly feels every part of her body rotting with sugar. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“There was just this girl and I really thought she liked me but she really didn’t and I have this thing where I get a lot of anxiety or nervous I kind of just puke. It’s totally lame, god, I can’t wait to get out of this place.”

“Me too. High school sucks.” You agree with her, offering a small smile as you finish cleaning her up. “But she’s totally lame for not seeing how great you are.”

Abby tries not to blush, but she can’t hit the crimson swell painting the apples of her cheeks and the tips of her ears. “Did you try to kiss her or something?”

“I didn’t really get that far, she wouldn’t even dance with me. Not here, not prom, guess I’m not cool enough for her.” Pushing the metal frame of her glasses up her nose, trying to stop herself from biting into her blunt nails, nearly drawing blood. Now that she’s come down from her puking fest, she sees how beautiful you are. The kind of beauty that would bring her to her knees if Abby wasn’t already there.

“Cool is overrated. Who cares about being cool? We’re all losers trying to figure it out.” You say it as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, as if you’re confident in exactly who you want to be. Abby is envious of it. She wonders what it’s like to be so free — to not wonder what everyone is constantly thinking about you — if you’re good enough.

You don’t seem to care.

“If you still wanna dance, I’d dance with you. We can be losers together.” You offer up to her as you stand to your feet, offering a hand up to her and she takes it willingly. You grab the jacket to her suit, helping her slip into it and she smoothes the jacket over her frame.

“You really don’t have to—” But you look at her with the most absurd gaze of refusal, eyebrows furrowed as it makes this cute little line between them. Abby can’t help but admire it.

“Oh, we’re going to fucking dance and show whoever this bitch is just what she’s missing.”

Present day.

There’s a lot to be said for how you let yourself succumb to her again, it didn’t take much, just a batting of blonde eyelashes and irresistible pouty lips and you’d fallen victim to Abigail Anderson. The hardest thing you’ve ever done was leave her. All these years later, you’re right back to where you were before all of this had started.

It seems to shock all of her friends when the two of you walk on together and even more shocking when Abby throws her arm behind you, engaging in conversation here and there. Mostly, you tune out the conversation and mindlessly sip on the beer in front of you.

Hazel isn’t happy about the predicament, cold brown eyes sport a simmering guidance of rage as she watches Abby’s fingers on your shoulder tracing random patterns into your skin. The arrival of your presence in turn makes her take jabs at you all night. Even with your silence, it doesn’t stop her, and when you have no visceral reaction she finally goes for something that brings silence around the entire table.

“Why are you even here? Breaking Abby’s heart wasn’t enough the first time? Why don’t you run back to your sick mother and stop playing with people just because it’s fun for you.” Hazel bites and you feel the swarm of your tears begin to build and she keeps going, “Isn’t that why you came back? Not because you actually care but because your mom is going to die.”

“Sorry, excuse me—” Hazel scoffs as you slither away and head towards the bathroom. As if she’s accomplished, she sips on her margarita, like what she just did was a service to everyone here.

Ellie and Dina sit there in shock, trying to process what the fuck had just happened. Jesse sits there silently, discomfort written all over his face. But Abby? She’s filled with a soaring hot rage, face flushed violet as her knuckles turn white. Hazel immediately shrinks into the booth, unprepared for what’s about to happen.

She thought Abby would be happy, kicking someone who so wrongly hurt her to the curb. You didn’t deserve her. You never would. Hazel deserves you. She’s been here, waiting for Abby to see her and love her, not you.

“What the fuck is your problem? Cherry wasn’t even doing a goddamn thing and you’ve been attacking them all damn night.” Abby’s rage is palpable, steaming to the touch, and nothing like any of them have ever seen.

“I did this for you! She treated you horribly! She broke your heart! She deserves it.”

Abby pinches the bridge of her nose, tossing her head against the wall, “This has got to fucking stop. Cherry broke up with me goddamn ten years ago and it’s none of your business.” Hazel could practically see the steam rolling off her before Abby raised her voice even more, “You didn’t have a right to bring up her mom regardless of whatever happened. Jesus, if I want to be around her or want Cherry around, everyone here is just going to have to fucking deal.”

“Abby, we’re just trying to look out for you. Cherry only ever thinks about herself.”

“Well fucking don’t. I can handle myself despite whatever you think I can deal with. Stay the fuck away from her or you’ll live to regret it.”

Throwing a twenty on the table to cover her tab, she finds you washing your face, trying to get rid of the puffiness in your eyes. When you see her, you turn her away, a lame attempt to stop her from seeing you like this.

Weak. Overbearing. A winded rush pressing on your lungs, struggling to breathe — you didn’t need any of this. Not to be back right where it all destroyed you. Then here she is, the living reminder of your transgressions, your failure, the one thing you couldn’t fix.

All roads lead to her. All of it is sick and twisted. The look of love pierces through your soul, scouring through the place you keep hidden under lock and key; the part that still loves her.

It demands attention. To be heard. To be seen. To violate you and your dreams, to place her before everything else. A violent reminder of how all of this started. Before you could catch up with the tide, everything flips, your entire life becomes a reflection of what you feared.

Abby has her life together and yours is coming apart.

Everyone hates you for what you become. For how little you cared about leaving the first twenty years of your life behind, a chapter closed and discarded as if it never existed to you in the first place.

“Let me take you home, alright? I’m sorry for Hazel she’s—”

“It’s fine.” You cut her off, drying your eyes, or trying to but you can’t stop crying in the first place. “It was stupid of me to agree to this.”

“You aren’t stupid, sorry, she was being a cunt. It won’t happen again. I won’t let it happen.”

Abby carefully wipes your tears away, “Hey, let’s get out of here. Yeah? My place is just up the street. Just the two of us.”

You nod as Abby leads you out, her palm feels welcoming in your grip, a homecoming you have been dying to feel. Her touch feels warm, perfect as her fingers interlock with your own. Like no time has passed, it’s easy for you to slip back into her grasp.

Everything about her feels right. When she helps you get in her truck, the old one her father always wanted to renovate and it seems she did just that. The ride is only a couple minutes before she’s parking in the garage of her home. She opens the door for you, a hand on your back as she leads you towards the door leading into her house.

What you expect to be a farmhouse, a hint of southern barn meets boho chic, but you’re met with something else entirely.

It’s exactly what she talked about building growing up. Everything else feels modern except the cherry red kitchen with white accents and marble countertops. There’s cherries everywhere, but it’s subtle enough to the naked eye, you wouldn’t blink twice.

The memory comes back to you in a hot flash, one you weren’t fond of.

“We can have it all. I’ll buy you a damn house, I’ll give you whatever you want, whatever you need, I want this, Cherry. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I love you, please, can’t you see a future with both of us?”

“But I don’t want to be here. You know that! My dad can hardly look at me because I’m with a woman, my mom tries but she doesn’t understand. Is this the kind of life you want? They remind me that I’m not good enough. Who I love isn’t good enough, not if I’m not with a man. Can you understand I’m dying to get out of this nothin’ town?”

Abby gnaws at her bottom lip, teeth drawing blood as she sees you drawing within yourself. Pulling back at the first sign of hardship. Even Abby wonders if she’s worth fighting for.

“You mean dying to get away from me? I’m in this nothin’ town you despise so much.”

“Abigail, you’re taking words out of my mouth, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“You just want to leave and I don’t.” You look at her, her adorable pout in a frown, arms she’s been bulking for the past couple years begin to show definition. The freckles she hates grew more prominent on her skin as she spent the summer working for father’s construction company.

Her life is here, her future is here, but for once since the two of you met, your own two different paths and no matter how much you love her — it just won’t work.

“We’re eighteen! Our entire lives are in front of us. I can’t stay here, Abigail. I just can’t. I dream of a big city, somewhere my stories will take me places, a life that I can’t find here.”

“You got the scholarship, didn’t you?” Abby barks, her chest puffing out, jaw clenching as she pleads for you to tell her the truth. “Tell me the truth. You’ve been lying to me, hoping I’d change my mind?”

“I wasn’t lying. I just—”

“What? You were just going to leave one morning and never come back? Like I mean nothing to you?” Abby removes her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Like the past two years have just been what? A way for you to pass time until your real life comes along. Fucking great.”

“I told you from the start, I want more. I need to do more! No one gets into NYU around here and certainly not on a scholarship. I have a chance for a real future, a way out from my parents, a new life, I’ve always wanted this. You know I have.”

“And I’ve always wanted you.”

Silence engulfs the room, a pindrop could be heard, the tension could be cut with a knife but Abby sees the wall closing around you. Covering her from the heart you slowly opened up to her, what she fought tooth and nail for. She always fought for you but it’s hard to do anything when you don’t believe this is worth saving.

“You don’t even have the decency to ask me.”

“What?”

“You just want to write me off. You lump me with everyone else because you don’t even give me the chance.”

“What are you saying?”

Abby’s blue eyes turn into ice, all the warmth void as the chill sends a shiver down your spine. Her throat feels tight, like even if she swallows her own spit she’ll choke.

“Do you love me enough to make this work?” Abby flinches when you don’t immediately answer, because she knows where she stands, she would follow you across the world if it meant that’s what you wanted. To make you happy. But she can’t help but feel like she’s splitting herself apart for someone who doesn’t care in the way she does.

With tears in your eyes, they cascade down your cheek before whispering to her, “I don’t.”

“Get. Out.” She murmurs through clenched teeth, using the sleeve of her t-shirt, one you gifted her, to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. The overflow of the heartache racked through her body like she’s never felt before.

You don’t love her. You don’t love her. You never loved her.

“Abs, please, don’t make me leave like this. Can we talk about this?”

“What’s there to fucking talk about? We don’t love me, Cherry. What else is there to fucking say?”

You nearly scream, not sure why anything you’re saying isn’t coming out the way you intended it to. “You’re not listening to me I—”

“Right. You just need to find a man, right? God, you’re just like Lacey.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You bite, and if looks could kill, Abby would be dead right now. She’s struck a nerve, the memory of sophomore year comes flooding back to her, back when all of this started. “God, fuck you. How could you possible compare me to the straight girl that pulled you along because what she really wanted was Daniel Collins to fuck her so stupid she ended up pregnant junior year.”

“You’re leaving, when your back is pressed up against a wall, you’ll always leave, Cherry.”

“But I—” You stop yourself before you could speak the forbidden words, the ones you’ve said to her a million times, the one you just refuted that you did even if she can usually call you right on your bullshit. But you’ve diluted her sense of reasoning and all she hears is her girlfriend of two years just told her she doesn't love her.

“You what? What other lies are you going to tell me?”

“Fine.” Your expression turns stone cold, “Let’s both be done with it then. There’s nothing left to fight for.”

Prideful ego gets in the way of what Abby wants and she finally lets her head speak for her, “Sounds good to me.”

“Are you alright?” Abby asks but then she notices you’re just staring at her kitchen and she’s never been so self-conscious in her life. She didn’t even think about it, she’s so used to others seeing it but it’s different when your muse is taking in the craft you created with them in mind.

“Oh, right, the cherries.” She stutters out, scratching the back of her neck as she turns the lights on. It smells of vanilla and something oak, just like she smelled in high school. To others it may seem boring but it’s refreshing to know she’s still the same as she was.

“You still did it?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda lame honestly, maybe I should have done something else but nothing ever fit right with the rest of the house so.” Abby pops open a beer, somehow needing to have some type of liquor while you gawk at the work she created with you in mind. “If I’m being honest, I think it was just a way for me to hold onto you. I sure didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

“Me neither.” You answered truthfully, the loss of Abby rattled you, even though you were better at hiding it. Losing her is still the most painful loss you had to endure, which she considers fortunate, but not fortunate enough. “I always thought about what would have happened if I hadn’t been so headstrong. I think I had to convince myself in order to leave, I would have stayed here for you if not.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Even if she pretends not to be, Abby’s still bitter.

“Why?”

“You always knew what you wanted out of life and that wasn’t me.” Abby chews on her bottom lip again, picking the label of the beer before taking another swig. “Hell, you left before I even got a chance to say goodbye.”

“What?” Eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you take a step forward, “Did you come to the house?”

“Of course I did. I wasn’t going to leave things like that. Did you not—”

“No, I didn’t know, I thought that was it. I didn’t expect there to be more for my sake.”

The way she looks at you feels like she’s peering into her soul, the way she sees you so clearly, better than anyone ever has, chilling you to your core. Bits and pieces of your love located in eyes that glimmer only for her, light electrified the moment your sights are set on her.

It feels like falling in love with a broken melody.

You admire the imperfections instead of leaving at the bridge.

“I waited on your porch for hours but then your parents came home, saying they just had gotten back from dropping you off.”

In a matter of moments, your entire world feels flipped, like everything you had known for the last ten years, a terrible lie you wished to never know. A nightmare you would hope to wake up from. That’s all this was, you would wake up in her father’s home as you fought in the kitchen, you convince yourself not to let go of the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

“You came back for me?”

Closing the space between the two of you, grabbing her beer and placing it on the countertop. Abby takes an intake of breath as you invade every part of her personal space. As corny as it sounds, you do smell of cherries. So sweet, her bones feel weak with need, as if she doesn’t inhale the sugar she’ll just crumble at your feet, begging for just one drop.

“Yeah, I cried in front of your dad who hated me at the time, might I add. After that, he was kind, I think because he saw how much I…you know…”

You remember how much he changed when you came home for the holidays three years later. Naturally, you always accepted he had just come around over time, but it wasn’t that at all — the weeps of your high school girlfriend convinced him.

“Guess he saw how much I loved you or something…I don’t know…” She shrugs like it’s nothing.

Like she's nothing; the careless lie you let her believe.

Even with her dominating physical presence, she’s always been shy about this sort of thing. Expressing her feelings never really came easy, even if she wore them with her heart on her sleeve, admitting them was different than feeling them.

“You changed his mind.”

“He would have gotten there eventually. I’m sure he liked whoever you dated after me.”

“Hm.” You grimly laugh, “He didn’t. Not the two I brought home but he always spoke fondly of you, he definitely likes you better then he enjoys his own kid.”

Patient she is watching you process the information, it’s almost too much for her to swallow. What if you had been home when she was going to say goodbye? Would this be your home with her? The dreams of kissing her in the kitchen, cherry inspired, the family home she always wanted to build for the two of you. Now she’s here with no one but herself. Withering away the soul of a woman who only wanted love.

“He loves you and if he doesn’t, that’s his loss. Trust me, I know it too well.”

The confession hangs on the walls like a memorial, taking a trip down memory lane, or more like the hell of your own making. Demons you conjured cast over your past as if they only exist in hollow halls. The deeper you go, the more your heart slivers in the cracks of her delicate grip. For the first time, you don’t mind when she presses on your heartbeat — demanding more with just looking at you the way she does.

The way she always has.

“Do you still love me?”

“Are you going to run away if I tell you?”

Lips ghost over you, her breath hits your face, making it flush with heat. She leans against the counter, wrapping your back with one of her arms, tugging you close to her.

“Abby, I’m a mess.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what my family is going to look like or my future.”

“I know.”

“Abigail, would you stop saying that?”

“I’ve only ever cared about you, I don’t care if your life is together. I’m here and I—” She dips her head to kiss down your neck, decorating your collarbones with her lips as she creates a map back to where she wants to the most, “will take care of you.”

Abby kisses you like the air in her lungs is expendable, as she has endless amounts to give. That’s all she is love, pouring into every ounce of you that she can find. With desperate abandon, she wants to wipe your memory of every wrong she ever did you — she only wants to remind you of the reason why she loves you. Maybe it’ll be enough for you to wake up in her arms again.

For once, she might be enough.

“We don’t have to do this, I don’t know what it all means and—”

“Right now? I don’t fucking care.” Abby leeches off your neck, kissing and delicately sucking, grazing her sharp teeth against sensitive skin. “I just want you.”

Thoughtless abandon goes out the window as she guides you back into her apartment, off the spacious balcony and corners you into her room. Letting you fall on her bed as she stands above you, as she strips in front of you. Making a show of it, torturing you for sport, before she goes in for the kill.

The alcohol still alive in your mind as she pulls off, a freckled maze maps its way all over her body. The subtle blonde happy trails travels underneath her navel and disappears beneath the fabric of her denim jeans. Your own self-control begins to slip, but Abby is too concerned with evening out the playing field. Even if this is a long-lasting goodbye, she’s going to make it last.

Slipping your trousers down your legs, she’s met with cotton boxers — soaked all the way through.

“Is that all for me?” Abby snaps the waistband against your skin as you squirm underneath your touch, bucking your hips into the air. Impossibly desperate for her touch.

“Y-Yes, It’s for—” Irrevocably your eyes roll back into your skull, “Abigail, oh shit, shit, shitttt.”

Sneaking a hand in your boxers, she opens up your inviting folds, slippery and as Abby glides along, collecting your slick with the calloused fingers. You squirm and shift, bucking into her hand, waiting for more to be given to you.

“Just say my name like that pretty girl, so good for me, aren’t you?” Abby removes her hand as she pulls your boxers off your legs and without being asked she slides them down your legs as she pushes your shirt up to your tits, exposing the swell of your breasts to her possessive eyes, waiting to lay claim onto what she’s missed for the past ten years.

“I wonder if you’re just as…” Abby takes a beat before rubbing over your hard nipple along her tongue, her denim-glad thigh grinding against your thigh as she suckles at your breasts. “Sensitive.”

She moans into your skin, using her free hand to play with your pussy, soft strokes to your clit as she elicits more moans from you. The force of her strength and weight keeps you down, the stutter of your hips chasing her fingers.

“My pretty baby, not so mean and bossy anymore, huh?” She bites your nipple gently before whispering in your ear, “Did you miss me that much?”

“I just want more, please.”

In any other circumstance, she happily would make you pay for it. Wait even, but if she doesn’t have you in her mouth for another second, she won’t survive. You’re so beautiful, you’re perfect in every conceivable way. The years had in fact been kind to you, different from what she knew when the two of you had sex but god, she thinks you’re even more exquisite now.

“More?” Abby removes what remains of her clothing, leaving you to gawk at her muscled frame, small tits frame her chest perfectly. “How about you sit on my face, angel? How does that sound?”

She’s already made you come twice, just on her tongue alone, pushing for a third as she holds you by the waist, waiting for your overstimulated body to give into her once more.

Abby makes everyone look inadequate when it comes to her, no one could touch you like this, fuck you like this, slither their talent tongue inside your waiting hold as you take her out for a ride. Muffled moans against your dripping cunt sends shivers throughout your spine, body twitching as you feel yourself hurling closer to the edge.

You can’t help but ride her face as your head lies on the bundle of curves covering her mound and you’ve been too fucked out the entire time to do anything but you can’t help but notice the way her patient cunt is shining with her slick. Curiosity blooms within you as you notice the slight thrust of her hips, chasing a part of you that isn’t there.

With no sudden warning, you vigorously rub on her wet folds, applying pressure on her bundle of nerves as you spread her sweet juices along her puffed lips.

“Baby, nghhh, oh my god.” Abby slurps as she sucks your clit into her mouth before you fall right over the edge again. Her eager tongue fucks your through it with her tongue, letting your ride the high as your nails scratch her stomach, marking her as yours once again.

Abby helps your weak body slide down her legs, flipping you over as your pussy falls against her, her legs spread open as your head rests against her sternum, feeling the increased rate of her heart beat thump against her chest.

She smooths her hand over your hair, gorgeous hypnotic eyes pull at Abby’s heart. “We should get some sleep.”

“We can…unless you want to entertain a thought I’m having.” Abby raises her eyebrow as rotate your hips, clit bumping against hers as she throws her head back, a string of curses fall from her lips as she grips onto your hips. Happily, she lets you take control, pushing her strong leg over your shoulder as you glide against her soaked pussy.

“Oh fuck, fuck, holy fucking shit—”

Perfect tits bouncing as you rock your hips against her movement, the more you look in her eyes, you feel yourself yearning for another release. It’s never been this good, never with anyone. The moans she whispers, kept in the secret coven of your love, the spells she casts to keep you near — it trumps anything you’ve ever felt.

“Keep looking at me, Abigail.” The whine of her full name, only ever falling from your lips, the most wonderful symphony. It’s intoxicating how much she loves it. How much she loves you. Deep in her bones, even if she tries her best to pull away, she knows not a damn thing will ever compare to this. For this life and the next, she’ll be searching for you in everyone she meets.

She can’t live another moment with you. Not after ten years of agony, fuck no, she needs you like she needs oxygen to breathe. You’re not sure how long it takes, but you don’t forget how Abby looks at you with a tender heart that basically pours out of her.

“Baby, please. N-N-gh, I need you.” You push her forward, hitting a deeper angle than you were before until you hear just how wet she is with your forehead pressed against hers, “Show me how my pretty girl comes, yeah? Need a reminder, princess.”

Abby moans out your name, her body fucking up into you, slithering her convulsing cunt against your clit as her defined abdomen twitches and only relaxes when you follow her lead, you body collapsing on her. Two hearts beats become one as the two of you fall asleep, a quiet whisper of I love you, but you’re not sure if it falls from your lips or hers.

The morning air breathes lilies and fresh espresso, her sweet cinnamon cologne lingers in her sheets, where she held you all night with her heavenly embrace. Reality sinks in and then you’re afraid once again. You slip one of her button up shirts on, pulling on a pair of her sweats before your feet are met with the cool wooden floors.

She’s sitting there, those stupid glasses she apparently didn’t get rid of. Making her look stupid cute as she read the velvet-green covered book in her large palms.

It’s easy for her to tell how you feel, Abby knows you too well as she watches you with cautious eyes. You’re so afraid of it all. Always, you’ve been afraid of what she makes you feel, how close she pushes you to the edge of no return. A love you feel helpless to, especially when it eats you from the inside out.

“Do you wanna leave? I can take you home.” Abby doesn’t even look up from her book, she sounds annoyed, completely different than her vulnerable demeanor last night. It puzzles you when she closes herself off.

“Am I missing something? Did I do something wrong?”

Abby folds her book, marking the page on the sharp corner before she takes off her glasses. “You don’t owe me anything if that’s what you’re worried about. You felt like you didn’t before. You in all your city glory.”

Something happened.

“Abby, what’s going on?”

“You tell me.” She places your phone on the table and it’s the email detailing of your new book tour in Europe. One that lasts the better part of the year.

“You snooped through my phone?”

“I didn’t mean to, I thought it was mine, okay? I would never do that.” Abby sighs, “I really didn’t mean to fucking look. I just, it’s happening all over again, I’m losing you over something. I’m never what you pick and I can’t ever be enough for you. Even Hazel was right! All you do is hurt me and it’s my fault because I let you. I can’t keep chasing you. It’s a stupid dream I’m too dumb enough to let go of.”

“So, that’s it? Last night was just what? A mistake?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“But you did! Fuck, I should have known things wouldn’t change.”

“You should have known? This is the same reason why you left me. I’ll lose you, again, to something I can’t compete with. The both of us know it to be true. At least have the decency to admit it.”

“Do you want me to apologize? I did what I wanted! I have everything I wanted. This is everything I’ve worked towards for the best ten years—”

“But you don’t—” Abby puffs out her chest, standing taller than she has since you’ve been back. The words spill just like you did the night before, “You didn’t get everything, you made sure of it the moment you left me behind.”

Abby has backed you into a corner, stalking you like you’re her prey but this isn’t how she wants everything to be. Looking into your dreary eyes, she’s transported back to when you shattered her heart, splitting into pieces that no longer fit. The harder she tries to piece them back, the more jagged she becomes.

“I don’t want this. I’ve let go of it.”

I let go of you, sounds entirely too painful to say.

“That’s your plan? To pretend none of this has happened?” Abby’s tongue prods the inside of her cheek, a cocky smirk flashes your way. “Look at how well it turned out the first time.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Your arms cross over your chest, attempting to create some distance between the two of you, but Abby only closes you in.

“Why do you still wear it?”

“What are you talking about?”

Abby reaches for your hand, you untangle your limbs, the pad of her thumb loving running over the silky skin. Her calloused hand feels rough, just as it always has, but it also feels right.

The silver ring on your pinky, the one you lost and the one your father had conveniently found. But it was never him who located your perfect gem, nope. Not at all. Just Abby’s biggest fan, besides Hazel.

The reminder of her leaves a sour taste saturating your tongue, but you have no right. It's her friend, and just because you’re not fond of her, doesn’t mean a thing. You’re just a ghost still lingering in her life. Even if she answers there’s nothing, Hazel looks at her like you used to. When the same protectiveness switched into high gear last night, she only thought of how much you would do the exact same thing Hazel did if the roles were reversed.

Just maybe, not as cruel.

Abby takes the ring off your thumb, it shines in the dim lighting in the room.

“The day I fell in love with you, three months into our relationship, I gave it to you. Do you remember what I said?”

Simply, you nod.

“Wear this for as long as you love me and when you’ve taken it off, I’ll know we’re truly done.” Abby hums, your eyes shut as her thigh wedges between your legs but it only rests there. “But I hope you wear it forever.”

“Then let go of me, give it back, throw it away, but stop acting like you might still feel the same. I’m tired of being played. You know how much this ring means to me. Don’t leave me, again.”

It’s a cop out for what she really wants to say, the both of you know it is, but you have the decency to let it swarm past without making a single comment.

She’s begging for mercy. She’s tired. The lines on her skin are an indication of the hours she spends in the sun and the time passing by, engaging you in a never-ending tsunami of Abigail Anderson’s love.

“Abigail—” You say her name like it’s a curse, a spell you keep casting to make her fall deeper in your endless abyss. “Just because it seems like a good idea doesn’t mean it’ll work out. What makes this time any different?”

You slid away from her, needing to breathe, you can’t think when she’s too close. Serendipity finds home into honey blues, working its magic until she finds purchase in your heart once again. You’d let her get too close, more than you should let her allow.

Abby, the heart.

You, the head.

The dreamer. The thinker. Forever intertwined by the deadly kiss of fate.

“But if it did? What if we did?”

Abby doesn’t want to beg, but she is. She learned her lesson the first time. She said nothing all those years ago, letting you take the relationship the two of you had by the reigns, your cruelty being the fatal blow to what the two of you had worked so hard to build. Naivety crushed the future right in front of her — the one she regularly dreams of.

Each what if connected like constellations in the sky, each one just as bright as the next, Abby can’t make of which she wants. But Abby has always known it to be true, this has always been it for her but you’re so afraid.

Still petrified to be loved.

“I can’t let myself go through it again, if we didn’t? I can’t just—” You begin pacing, trying to get yourself into a position to clear your mind. The hope she has, it could kill you in your sleep. “I fucked up, okay? Last night shouldn’t have happened. I needed something and I used you. Is that what you want to hear? Will that satisfy you enough?”

“I want the goddamn fucking truth, Cherry. Stop with the lies. Tell me you want this to end because you don’t love me anymore, or that you want to go on this book tour, not because you fucked up. I don’t care if you fucked me because you needed your clit sucked for the night. Tell me the truth, Cherry, please.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Abby chuckles maliciously, “Why? You don’t like to remember when you were in love, the only time you ever were happy, the only time you ever let anyone get close to you?”

She attempts to get closer to you but you dodge her and walk to the other side of the room.

“You’re quite literally running away from me. Anything but facing the truth, right?” Abby sighs into her hands. The muscles in her body are exhausted, her heart is over spent, and her mind is filled with you. Even if she doesn’t want it to be. “Do you think I want this? To feel like this? To put my heart on the line when you clearly show that you’ll discard it every damn time? Do you think this is enjoyable for me?”

“Then stop! I’m not asking you to, just let me leave, let me go.”

“Let the ring go.” Somehow, in your heat of emotion, you grabbed it back from her and didn't realize it had been placed back on your thumb. “You know it was my mom’s, how could you so selfishly keep this?”

“What?”

Fuck. Abby runs her hands through her hair, gripping so tightly her sunkissed knuckles turn white from nearly being pulled from the root.

“But you said this was—”

“I lied! I was eighteen and scared shitless, okay? I didn’t want you to—”

“You didn't want me to….?”

Abby sighs rubbing her hand over her face, a habit she seemed to pick up in your presence. “If I tell you, you’re just going to run.”

You grimace, tearing up as you look at the ring, it means so much to her and all this time she was perfectly fine with thinking you got rid of it. Abby never so much as asked for it back. But everything feels more final with the ring in hand, the shining promise of something more. But the naivety of youth chilled her bones, made her believe that love like this comes and goes. It goes. And goes. And goes.

It never comes.

“Do you want it back?” You dodge whatever omission she was about to let fall. It’s what you do best. Avoiding the future — she’s always been ominous, constantly you’re scared to believe in the faith of her undying love. The forgiveness of her heart pours like an overflowing well. Abby teeters you along the line of grace you don’t quite deserve.

“No.” Abby sighs before she brings herself close to you. “I want you back, Cherry. There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted as much as you. When you left, everyone told me it’s just because you're my first love. Time heals all, right? But it doesn’t. Despite your best efforts, I’ll always love you. You’re—”

You take a step closer to her, “I’m what?”

“You’re the love of my life. If you walk at that door, it’ll take the rest of my life to fill the gap you leave. But if you don’t love me, then please, put me out of my misery and just leave.”

Abby looks down at the wood floors, tears collecting in her eyes as she expects you to walk out the front door, leaving her in the dust. But the slam of her front door never comes, instead you sink down on your knees resting your head on her knee, waiting for her to look down at you.

“What?” Abby grunts.

“There was this cute, really nerdy blonde girl, she puked on prom night, crying over some straight girl and somehow I managed to fall in love with her despite all odds but you know what the real kicker is?” You intertwined her hands with her, your head tilting to the side as your dreamily looked into sunny-blues, sticking to you like honey,

“I never, ever stopped.”

#so…..i heard the abby lovers were starving……i have a little treat #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x masc!reader #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson fanfic #tlou x reader #abby anderson angst #abby anderson fluff #❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 ❞

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mytherapyisreading14 · 13 hours ago

Text

Drunk Confessions

Summary: You got drunk during a night out with your best friend and accidentally send your Professor a photo of you in lingerie. Now you try to avoid him, which is not really working.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, dirty talk, dom!spencer, semi-public sex, hair pulling, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral sex (kinda, he comes in her mouth)

Word Count: 4,6k

Author’s Note: My last posts got so many likes, I didn’t expect that at all, thank you sm!! <3

Your alarm goes off - 8:30am. You groan. Your head is pounding and the sun shining into your room is just way too bright. Your stomach turns and you close your eyes to escape the wave of nausea. You slowly sit up and search for your phone on the nightstand. It feels like your head is going to explode. You reach out and unlock the screen, turning your alarm off.

It's way too early. And you drunk way too much last night. It was a chaotic but nice yesterday, a night full of laughter, way too much alcohol and karaoke. Your best friend celebrated her birthday and you promised to go to your favorite bar with her. You have to smile when you think back to the night and start checking your messages. You see that she already texted you this morning to find out how you are doing.

How are you?

I have the worst headache after last night

It was fun though, wanna go again tonight?

Just kidding, I feel like I need a week to recover from this

You can’t help but laugh and answer her quickly. You are about to put your phone away to finally get ready when a new chat catches your eye. You freeze in shock. It’s your Professors name. The one you’ve been crushing on since you saw him for the very first time.

Back when you found out that you were getting a new professor, you didn't expect much, a lecture like any other with someone who was only concerned with reciting his material. But then he entered. He came through the door and for a moment it seemed as if time stood still. The room, which had just been immersed in the murmur of conversation, suddenly became silent.

He was tall - taller than you expected and his presence filled the room in a way that you couldn't put into words. He wore a simple but elegant suit that somehow effortlessly fit him perfectly. His hair was a little longer, curly and fell slightly over his forehead. And then he looked up. His big, brown eyes met yours and in a split second everything became clear to you. You immediately knew you wanted, needed, this man.

Now you stare at the chat in complete horror. He recently gave you his number for a project. That's how this whole texting thing could even happen. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Obviously you can't remember texting him. You were so drunk yesterday that you can't even remember how you got home.

You open the chat - and your heart stops for a moment. It wasn't just a message that you sent him. It was a photo. Of you, in lingerie. It’s one of your favorite sets, you got it a couple of weeks ago. "I wore this for you today, Professor. Do you like it?” You wrote in addition to the photo.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. You just stare at the screen, the picture of you that you should never, ever, ever have sent. And the worst part: He read it. But didn't reply. Confusion and panic spreads through you. You jump out of bed, your feet barely finding purchase on the floor, and your heart keeps racing. You try to think clearly, but your thoughts are a complete mess.

You reach for your phone again and frantically tap on the chat with your best friend, but you pause and call her instead. "Hello?" Her voice still sounds sleepy and hungover. “Oh my God, I need your help!" you gasp and immediately start telling her everything.

The line is silent, then you hear a short laugh. "Wait a minute... what? You did that?" You close your eyes and search for the right words. But before you can say anything, it hits you like a blow. You also have a lecture with him today.

"I’m not coming today," you tell her. “You can't just cancel!" she says immediately, and you hear her getting herself settled in her bed. Her voice sounds determined, but also worried. "You know how it is, our seminar today. We can't miss it. We said that celebrating wouldn't stop us," she says. "Celebrating isn't what would stop me either. Seeing him definitely is," you say and lean back with a groan.

You close your eyes and sink even deeper into the pillows. Your stomach clenches when you think about it. She’s right, You really have to go today. But the text, the picture that you sent him - what if he wants to talk to you about it? Or worse, he reports the whole thing?

"I can't just sit in front of him today and pretend that everything is normal. I sent him a picture of me in lingerie... I can't face him. It's just... it's just too much!" There is silence on the other end of the line for a moment. She still hasn't said anything, and you know she's thinking. Then you hear her take a deep breath.

“Okay, the thing with the picture, that's really... a little crazy. But hey, you can skip the lecture. Just disappear after the seminar and then hide in your apartment. Or you can go and hope that when you run into him, he'll do completely different things after you seeing this photo. I bet you looked hot, was it the new set you recently bought?” she asks and you can hear her grin even though you're on the phone.

Obviously she knows about your crush on your professor. You couldn’t stop talking about him after your first lecture and she took every opportunity to tease you about it. You look at your phone as if it were the only thing that could help you think clearly. Of course she's right. You have to go to your seminar. And you can really skip his lecture. Still, the idea that he might be thinking about it makes your heart beat faster and not just in excitement.

“You're right, I... okay, I'll come," You say after a short pause, but the thought of maybe running into him still makes you nervous. “You'll see, it won't be as bad as you think. You'll get through the seminar, it's only an hour. And then we'll be out and we can take our time for everything else. And you'll just avoid your favorite professor today," she continues to teases.

“Today? More like forever," you mutter and finally get up, even though the thought of getting out of bed still paralyzes you. “See you soon then. I'll shower and get dressed now, then I'll come. Let’s meet outside the building, okay?" you ask. "Sure!" she calls out happily. "See you soon and don’t forget to wear another fancy set for your professor today. Just in case you run into him,” she jokes.

After you hang up you put the phone on the pillow and stand there for a moment, your legs heavy, your head still about to explode. But then you take a deep breath. It'll be fine, you just have get through the seminar. With a sigh, you go into the bathroom and take painkillers first. Then you start getting ready.

You turn on the water and let it run hot. A short time later, you go into the shower. The hot steam envelops you and slowly your body feels a little alive again. The nausea subsides and the hangover becomes more bearable. After the shower, you get dressed in peace - black skirt, a comfy sweater and your favorite sneakers. You quickly walk through the apartment again to make sure you packed everything and when you leave the house, you somehow feel less like a wreck.

The smell of freshly served pasta is still in your nose as you say goodbye. You got lunch together after your seminar and it was nice to get a little break and talk about everything that happened. Now you are ready to leave but you still have to go to the library to get a book that you need for your upcoming assignment first.

“I still have to go to the library," you tell her, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” you ask her. “I’m sorry, I have to pick up my sister now. But be careful, you don’t want to run into your favorite professor, or do you?” she teases again. “I’m not going to run into him. I’ll hurry up and leave immediately. I’ll call you later. See you tomorrow," you say and give her a quick wave before you set off.

The campus is full of students rushing through the halls, carrying their books around or sitting in groups and discussing. You slip into the library and head straight to the section where the book you need is. Unfortunately it’s at the top of the shelf and you realize that you probably won't be able to reach it. You jump up a few times, but the distance between you and the book just seems too big. You sigh. If only you were a little taller.

As you attempt the jump for the third time, you suddenly feel a presence building behind you. One that seems familiar. Your heart beats faster and a nervous tremor takes hold of you. You turn around and stare straight into Professor Reid's eyes. He is standing just inches away from you and you can hear the soft sound of his breathing.

The look he gives you is almost piercing - warm, but somehow also searching. He leans forward slightly without saying a word and effortlessly grabs the book with one hand. You avoid his gaze as he hands it to you. “Thank you," you murmur, trying to hide the slight nervous tremor in your voice. He nods and stands still for a moment.

"You weren't at my lecture today." You stare at the book in your hands and feel your stomach clench. This is not good. “I..." you take a deep breath. "I haven't been feeling so good. My head..." He waits, his eyes still fixed on you, and you get the feeling that he wants to hear more. You feel his gaze on you and when you finally raise your eyes to look into his eyes, there is a silent understanding, and for a moment you wonder if there’s more. “Sick, or...?" he asks calmly. You hesitate and bite your lip.

"I went out partying with my best friend yesterday, it was her birthday… we drank a little bit too much and... well, I'm not feeling so good today. That’s why I skipped." His expression remains neutral, but something in his gaze changes. You can hardly believe it, but it's almost as if he's interested. He frowns slightly. "I understand," he then says. "But it's not ideal to miss class, especially when important topics are involved."

You nod. “I know, Professor. I won’t happen again.” You just want to get out of this situation, and as you try to take a step back he stops you. "No, wait. I need to talk to you." You pause and turn back to him. "About what? I don’t really have the time -" you begin, pretending you don't have any idea what he wants to talk about, when he cuts you off.

"Doesn’t matter, it’s important. We'll sort it out in my office." His gaze is intense as he steps towards you. The thought of him asking you to come to his office makes your heart beat faster. The idea of being alone in a room with him is tempting. "Okay," you say quietly, unable to prevent a nervous tingling from spreading in your chest. You follow him, even though your legs feel like they're made of jelly.

He leads the way, his steps calm and determined, and you can barely keep your eyes from lingering on his back. As soon as you reach the door to his office, he opens it and lets you enter first. You step in, your heart now beating loudly in your ears. The moment he closes the door behind you, you realize that it is more than just a conversation about the seminar.

The look he is giving you now is not the look of a professor. It is the look of a man who wants more than just academic discussions at this moment. And the thought that you’re alone with him in this room inevitably leaves you nervous and intrigued at the same time.

As the door closes behind you, you’re left breathless for a moment. His office is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the crowded hallways outside. The room is sparsely decorated, except for the desk covered with stacks of paper and a few personal items. He is still standing at the table, his arms loosely folded in front of his chest and looks at you.

"Sit down," he says calmly, pointing to the chair on the opposite of the desk. You hesitate, then finally sit down, your heart pounding in your chest. The nervous energy inside you grows as you try to organize your thoughts. Before he can say anything else, you can’t hold it back any longer. The words come out of you hastily, almost in a rush, and you feel your body tense.

"The picture, it was a mistake! I didn't mean to... It wasn't meant for you. I was drunk, and it was stupid of me, really. I'm sorry." You look at the table, avoiding his gaze. But as you say the last words, you immediately notice how the atmosphere in the room changes. He remains silent for a moment, but then his body language shifts slightly - his gaze becomes more intense, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Hmm," he says after a pause, his voice deep and calm, "so the picture wasn't meant for me?" You flinch when you hear his question. What exactly does he want to hear? What does he want to know from you? You try to stay calm and answer hesitantly.

"It... it's none of your business." His expression hardens instantly. "It is," he says, and his voice sounds sharper, more determined now. "Because you sent it to me." Your heart beats faster as he continues. "I don't think it was an accident, even if you were drunk. You wanted to send it to me. And you did."

A cold shiver runs down your spine. You open your mouth, trying to say something, but you can't find a way to defend yourself. Instead, you just stay still, looking at your hands, which are resting nervously on your lap.

He laughs quietly, a mocking, almost challenging laugh. "So you're really sure it was an accident, huh?" He slowly leans forward, rests his hands on the table and looks straight into your eyes. The look in his eyes has changed, and something in his expression shows you that he is the one in control.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed how you look at me in class? How you keep watching my hands? How you press your thighs together when I approach you?" His words hit you and you freeze for a moment. Your cheeks burn hot, you feel your heart pounding uncontrollably, but you keep quiet. Everything inside you screams to defend yourself, but you stay silent because you know he’s right.

"I noticed from the beginning, angel," he continues, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t believe he just called you that. It turns you on immensely. "I know you didn't just do it because of the party and the alcohol. You also sent it to me because you wanted to." He leans further forward, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but feel small even as you try to assert yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words stick in your throat. What could you say? That he's wrong? That would be a lie. “You sent it to me," he repeats, his voice now almost like a command. "Because you wanted to show me. And I don't think it was an accident. You were drunk, yes, but you wanted me to see you like this."

Your body is paralyzed. It feels like the room has suddenly become smaller. You can hardly breathe. His words and his look have completely captured you in that moment. “I... uh," you begin, but the thought that he is in control, that he sees you like this at this moment, leaves you speechless and you’re unable form a proper sentence.

He remains silent, only his eyes continue to focus on you. "You have to understand that you can't just play with me like that." His gaze becomes more intense, and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say more but then he slowly stands up, walks around the table and stops right in front of you.

"I'll show you something," he says in a calm but unmistakable voice. "And you will understand why it wasn't just an accident." Your heart beats faster. His hand reaches for your chin, lifting it up and tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches and you lean closer, craving his touch. “Get up and lock the door for me,” he says and pulls his hand away slowly.

You do as your told immediately and when you turn around, he is sitting on his chair with his legs spread. He looks so hot and you desperately clench your thighs together to relief the pressure between your legs. “Good girl. Come here,” he says and pats his thigh. You shiver in excitement and when he notices a grin spreads across his face.

You go over to him and when you stand in front of him, he pulls you down into his lap. He leans forward to whisper into your ear “That’s what you wanted, right? To be my good girl. That’s why you send me that picture. You wanted to end up here,” he says and places his hands on your hips. You press yourself closer against him and inhale his scent, he smells like cinnamon, peppermint and aftershave, it’s addictive.

However, you get interrupt by his hand reaching into your hair to pull your head back. You gasp in surprise and he leans closer to you, looking deep into your eyes again. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” he says and you can feel yourself getting even wetter. “Yes, that’s true. I - I always wanted that,” you manage to say and he releases your hair, satisfied with your response.

Then he leans forward and you finally feel his lips against yours. It’s even better than you always imagined and you start to grind against his leg, desperate to release the friction between your legs. But Spencer quickly stops you. “Did I allow you to move?” he asks and you shake your head.

He sighs in disappointment but before he can say anything you quickly answer him. “No, you didn’t,” you say and his grip on your hips looses a little. “That’s right. I didn’t. And you’re not allowed to move until I tell you to. You’re going to listen to me and do exactly what your told, do you understand?” he asks. “I understand.”

“See, it’s not that hard. You listen to me, you behave and you’ll get your reward. Now, do you want to ride my thigh?” he asks, his hand slowly sliding behind your back to your ass, squeezing it. “Yes, please. Can I?” you ask and he leans forward to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he pulls back you can see his eyes sparkling with lust. “So polite, I like that. Yes, you can,” he says and you finally go back to moving against his thigh.

It feels good, so good and when Spencer starts to slide one hand under your shirt to grab your breasts you press closer against him. You can feel that you soaked your underwear trough and wearing only a skirt, you can already see a small wet stain on his pants. His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “Someone’s needy,” he says and you nod, leaning against his chest, grinding down more against him.

“Spen - Spencer, I’m going to come,” you whimper but he pulls you back by your hair again. “It’s Sir for you, angel,” he says and you correct yourself immediately. “Please Sir, can I come on your thigh now?” you breath out and he grabs your hips again, stopping you.

“No, not yet,” he simply says and you whine when he stands up and you lose contact. “But I thought - “ you start but he doesn’t let you finish. He turns you around and pushes you down onto his desk. “Doesn’t matter what you thought. I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says and flips over your skirt to expose your underwear to him.

“I see, another pair then the ones you wore yesterday. I’ve got to admit, I prefer the other ones, but you look pretty anyway, angel,” he says, sliding his hands over your thighs and your ass. “Last night when you send me that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admits and you can feel your whole body reacting to his words.

A wave of confidence flashes through you. “Did I keep you up last night, Sir? Did you have to stroke your cock while you looked at my picture? Thinking about all the ways you want to fuck me?” you ask him and turn your head slightly back to look at him with a smirk on your face. His eyes darken and he tightens his grip.

“Oh you have no idea, angel. I’m going to show you exactly what I was thinking about last night,” And suddenly you feel a harsh smack on your ass. He just spanked you. And you liked it. Your breath hitches and you bit down on your lip to keep quiet. You don’t want anyone to find out what’s going on in here.

His hand strokes the spot he just hit before going further down to pull at your panties. He takes them off and stuffs them into his pocket. You are convinced you’re not going to get them back. Then you feel his long, slender fingers sliding between your legs before he presses onto your clit. You gasp in surprise and try to press against him but his grip on your hips is firm, holding you still.

Then he pushes two fingers inside you. “So fucking wet.” His eyes wander over your body down to your legs hungrily, appreciating every curve and every spot. “I’ve never seen such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine now. You’re all mine now,” he says. The way his fingers move and the way he stares at you intensely feels just way too good.

When his thumb goes back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles, you can feel how your orgasm builds up inside of you and you can no longer hold back your moans. “Spencer - Sir, feels so good. Please,… I need more,” You clench around his fingers and he quickly puts a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. “Shh, be quiet, angel. As much as I would love to hear all these lovely sounds you make, I don’t want to get interrupted. Not now, when I finally have you, after all this time.”

His fingers curl inside you and keep hitting your g -spot. You clench around them, he notices and chuckles. “Can I - please,” you stutter. “Yes angel,” he says, already knowing what you’re asking for and you come around his fingers. You never had such an intense orgasm from foreplay before, but you don’t mind. It’s even better than you always imagined.

He wants to give you a moment to recover but you want more. You somehow manage to turn around, even though your legs feel like they are going to give in any second and push yourself up on his desk. He looks surprised and opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt him by pulling him closer by his tie.

You wrap your hands around his neck and rank your fingers through his soft, brown hair before kissing him. You moan into his mouth and he groans, sending a shiver down your spine. “Thank you, Sir. That was amazing,” you say with a smirk on your face when you pull back. “Now is the time to lose your pants and relax, I want to return the favor.”

“As much as I want to see you down on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, we don’t have much time left. Office hour starts in less than 30 minutes. And I need to fuck you. So drop it and spread your legs for me. Now,” he demands and you obliged, sitting further back on his desk with your legs spread.

He takes a step back and starts to unzip his dress pants. When he takes out his cock your eyes widen. He is even bigger than you expected. “Are you on the pill?” he asks while he starts to pump his cock. “I am,” you say. “Good. I want to fuck your pussy and then, since you suggested sucking me off, come inside your mouth. I want you to taste me. You don’t swallow until I say so. Do you understand?” he asks, sliding his cock through your folds to tease you. “Yes Sir, I understand,” you whimper and he wastes no time and pushes inside you.

His first thrust already make your eyes roll back and you feel like you’re going to die from the intense pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waits and your hands are on his back, pressing him even more against your body. Everytime a whimper or a moan escapes your mouth his thrust become deeper, rougher and faster. You can feel him throb inside you and he keeps hitting your g- spot over and over again.

One of his hand is sneaking through your breast, squeezing it and toying with your nipple. You graze his back with your fingernails and make sure to leave marks on him. Your mind goes blank and you lose yourself in the pleasure completely. After a few more thrust you can feel the orgasm building up inside of you. “Close,” you breath out and he nods. “Me too. You can come on my cock now.”

You let go and your orgasm is even more intense than you expected. You moan his name so loud that he quickly covers your mouth with his hand again. He picks up his speed and a few thrusts later he pulls out of you to shove his cock into your mouth. You can feel his cum inside your mouth and taste him, just like he told you to. He watches you closely the whole time while he recovers from his own orgasm.

“Now swallow,” he says and you do. Then he pulls you forward with both of his hands to kiss you. The kiss is different this time, more gentle and caring, not just full of lust. When he pulls back you both smile. “I guess sending you this picture was not bad at all. And I was so worried.” He laughs. “I’m glad you send it, angel. Now I finally have you all to myself. It's a shame I couldn't take more time for you right now. There's a lot more I'd like to do with you,” he says with a mischievous smile on his face. “Why don’t you show me after your office hours, Sir?” you say with a smirk on your face. “Make sure to be here on time, angel.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #professor reid #professor x student

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thebarneschronicles · 2 days ago

Text

Closer To Home (Part 2)

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: Somewhere between stolen glances, late-night conversations, and the careful way he protects your space, Bucky Barnes has quietly claimed a part of your heart. His brooding silence gives way to tender moments in the warmth of your apartment on a snowy night, where shared vulnerabilities reveal the man behind the soldier. Slowly, you navigate the spaces between his old-fashioned values and your modern perspective, learning each other one touch, one laugh, and one unspoken promise at a time. As trust deepens and emotions stir, the fragile connection you’ve built feels both delicate and undeniable—something neither of you is ready to let slip away.

Word Count: 12.4k

A/N: Took me long enough and 3 different tries, but here it is - part 2 of 'Closer to Home'. These babies have been my favourite to write and I truly hope you guys enjoy reading them. Let me know if there's anything else from their growing relationship you might want to see... I might have a few tricks up my sleeve as well. B xx

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Your knock on the office door echoes in the quiet space, instantly drawing both Sam’s and Bucky’s heads toward you. Sam is leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, but it’s Bucky’s steel-blue gaze that settles on you, pinning you in place. His expression is guarded as always, though the faintest flicker of curiosity softens the edges.

Across the room, Bucky sits hunched over a stack of papers—your papers. They contain the latest intel on a Hydra facility buried somewhere in the European countryside. You know every word, every detail in those documents because you wrote them. You also know the information will keep him tethered to the desk for far longer than he deserves. A twist of guilt knots in your chest, but you push it down as you step inside.

“You guys hate me yet?” Your attempt at humor comes out tentative, your eyes flicking between Sam and Bucky.

“We might,” Sam quips, his shoulders rising and falling in a mock shrug.

“Will coffee make you hate me less?” You bite your bottom lip, stepping further into the room. In your hands, two mugs of freshly poured coffee send thin streams of steam curling upward. You extend them as if they’re offerings of penance.

Sam’s grin widens, but your focus is on Bucky.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but his lips twitch in amusement. You’ve come to recognize this look ever since that night at your apartment—the night everything shifted between you. He’s still Bucky: quiet, brooding, and wrapped in layers of steel, but you’ve managed to find a way through. A small, vulnerable crack he seems to leave open just for you.

“Wilson,” you say, stepping toward Sam and setting the mug down in front of him.

“Thanks, agent,” Sam teases, the title rolling off his tongue with exaggerated weight.

You shake your head but let out a soft laugh. Then, heart thumping just a little harder, you turn toward Bucky. His gaze hasn’t left you, and the air between you suddenly feels heavier.

Taking a steadying breath, you move closer and place the second mug on the table in front of him. You lean in slightly, cheeks warming under his steady gaze. “Mr. Barnes,” you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of teasing formality.

Bucky’s lips curve into a barely-there smile, but it reaches his eyes. “Thanks, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough like gravel, but there’s a warmth in it that makes your chest tighten.

Sam clears his throat dramatically, leaning back in his chair with a playful smirk. “Mr. Barnes?” he teases, his tone dripping with mock offense. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

You roll your eyes but resist the urge to exchange a look with Bucky. Neither of you had told anyone what had happened between you—not even Sam, who seemed to live for knowing everyone’s business. Quite frankly, you weren’t even sure Bucky wanted to acknowledge it outside the safe confines of your apartment.

That apartment had become your sanctuary. The kisses, the quiet conversations that stretched long into the night, and the comforting weight of his hand on yours had transformed the last six weeks into something you couldn’t quite define but didn’t dare let go of.

He’d been at your place in some capacity every day since that night. At first, it was under the guise of walking you home. Then, he’d talked you into getting on the back of his bike, wrapping your arms around his waist as he drove you to your doorstep. From there, it grew into more.

He’d brought you coffee and bagels in the mornings, like the good Brooklyn boy he is, sometimes adding a slightly awkward compliment about how you "looked nice today". He’d introduced you to his favorite diner, ordering for you with an easy confidence that made your chest ache with affection. He even showed up one Sunday night with pizza, claiming it was your turn to suffer through a baseball game with him because he couldn’t sleep.

And when the nightmares were too much, and he’d knocked on your door at an ungodly hour, you’d let him in without hesitation. You’d made tea, or sat in comfortable silence, or talked until dawn. Whatever he needed.

It was good. It was comfortable.

It was fragile and new, yes, but it was special in a way you didn’t want to jeopardize. You’d let Bucky lead the way, trusting him to set the pace even when your insecurities gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

Sometimes it was hard not to second-guess yourself, though. The difference in your ages—or as Bucky had once awkwardly phrased it, “your … modern way of thinking”—lingered in the back of your mind. You worried over every good morning text you sent him after that first kiss, wondering if it felt too forward or too casual for someone from his time.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way his past and his present seemed to clash. Bucky was a man out of time, still anchored to the rules and habits ingrained in him from decades ago. You saw it in the way he always brought something with him—flowers, a bottle of wine, even a book he thought you might like. You felt it in the way his touches stayed respectful and measured, his hand resting on the small of your back or brushing lightly against yours but never lingering too long.

You admired it, even loved it in a way, but it left you unsure of how far you could go—what you could ask for without overstepping some invisible boundary he might not have fully explained.

Would he think you were too bold if you asked him to stay the night? Would he be scandalized if you finally tried to take things further after weeks of holding back?

The doubts circled in your mind, but you said nothing, afraid of shattering the delicate balance you had built together. Instead, you let the moment linger.

Your silence stretched too long, and Bucky remained still, seemingly content to let you stand there, which only made Sam groan dramatically. He let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “Alright, fine, ignore me. What’s this about?” He gestured to the coffee mugs.

“Just a peace offering,” you said with a casual shrug, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your nerves. You were hyper-aware of your position, standing close to Bucky’s chair, his knee lightly pressing into your thigh as he shifted. “...in the hopes you’ll give me a moment with Bucky?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as his voice boomed, filling the room. “Oh no. No, no, no.” He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I’m stuck here till all hours working on this Hydra mess, cyborg brain isn’t moving an inch.”

“But Sam—”

“Nope!” He cut you off, raising a hand as if to physically block the idea. “I’m not doing all this alone while you two sneak off for… whatever.” His grin turned mischievous, and his eyebrows waggled. “Unless you’re finally ready to spill whatever is going on between you two?”

You stiffened, and Bucky’s knee shifted ever so slightly against you. You couldn’t tell if the movement was meant to calm you or if it was his subtle way of tensing.

“Wilson.” Bucky’s voice was calm but firm, cutting through the air like a blade.

Sam rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by the warning tone. “Oh, come on. You’ve got this poor girl standing there looking all guilty, and you’re just sitting there like a statue. This is practically torture for me. Torture, Barnes.”

You couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped your lips. “Sam, please,” you tried again, your voice pleading this time.

Sam looked between the two of you, his smirk softening just enough to make it clear he wasn’t entirely unreasonable. “Fine,” he relented with a dramatic sigh, pushing himself away from the desk. “You’ve got ten minutes. But if I’m still stuck here after that, Barnes, you owe me big time.”

“Noted,” Bucky replied evenly, though his tone held a hint of relief.

Sam grabbed his mug and sauntered toward the door, turning back just as he opened it. “Ten minutes. And no funny business.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Sam was already gone, leaving you alone with Bucky.

The silence that followed was heavier than you expected. You glanced down at him, and he looked up at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky said finally, his voice low, almost hesitant. "You could've just said you need to talk to me."

You shrugged, forcing a smile. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you. Just us two.”

That made him smile—just a little, but enough to make your heart flutter.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, lifting the mug and taking a slow sip.

You shifted on your feet, nerves bubbling in your chest. “Bucky…” you started, unsure how to approach the growing weight of what you wanted to say.

His gaze never left yours, and after a moment, he set the mug down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve got something on your mind,” he said, his voice steady. “What is it?”

Your heart pounded as you considered your next words. “I just… I wanted to ask if…” You hesitated, biting your lip before taking a deep breath. “If maybe you’d want to stay tonight? At my place?”

The words were out before you could second-guess them, and your stomach twisted as the silence stretched between you.

Bucky blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment, which sent you spiraling into a rambling mess. “It's supposed to be a snowstorm tonight, and I’ve stocked up on everything. I’ve got food, beer, and… I even bought that whisky you like.”

His lips twitched, just barely, but he started to shake his head. “I wouldn’t want to impose—”

His words were soft, hesitant, and his flesh hand reached out instinctively, brushing against yours. Without thinking, you twisted your fingers into his, holding on.

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” you said quickly, the heat rushing to your cheeks. “I want you to. Come over, I mean. You never impose.” Your voice softened, your eyes searching his. “And it’d make me feel better knowing you’re somewhere warm instead of that cold, empty apartment of yours.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his steel-blue eyes scanning your face like he was trying to make sense of your words. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the warmth of his palm grounding you.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe, or caution. You both understood what an evening alone might lead to, yet neither of you was certain of how the other felt about it.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

His gaze lingered on you, and then, slowly, his shoulders relaxed. The faintest smile curved his lips as he nodded. “Alright,” he said, his voice as steady as the snowfall outside. “If you’re sure, then… yeah. I’ll come over.”

The relief that washed over you was immediate, and your grip on his hand tightened briefly before you let go, your fingers brushing against his in a lingering motion.

“Should we go?” you asked, your stomach doing flips as Bucky pushed up from his chair. He stood tall, his presence magnetic as he stepped into your space. His arm sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Before Sam comes back—”

“Time’s up, lovebirds,” Sam’s voice rings out from the doorway, cutting through the moment like a blade.

Your head snapped toward him, heat rising rapidly from your chest to your face as you caught Sam’s amused expression. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, one brow raised in playful judgment.

“It’s not—” you start quickly, your hand pressing against Bucky’s firm chest in an attempt to put some distance between you. But Bucky doesn’t budge; he’s an immovable wall, steady and unrelenting. His arm tightens slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him.

“Not what you think, Sam,” you say, your voice tinged with panic as the words rush out.

“Sure it’s not.” Sam’s grin widens, his eyebrow quirking higher. “Should I just ignore the fact that there’s an entire vibe happening here?”

You groan audibly, closing your eyes in mortification as you drop your forehead against Bucky’s chest. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing do little to ease your embarrassment, yet the circle of his arms feels undeniably safe, comfortable, and intimate in a way you hadn't experienced before.

“Wilson,” Bucky warns, his tone sharp and commanding. The sound rumbles through his chest, and you don’t need to look to know he’s glaring daggers at Sam.

Sam raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Just saying, man. You two are about as subtle as a brick wall.”

Your cheeks burn hotter, and you busy yourself with straightening the papers on the desk, refusing to meet Sam’s knowing gaze.

Bucky sighs, the sound low and exasperated, his fingers curling around your waist in a protective way, maybe even possessive. You can feel the tension in his body, the subtle shift as he tries to rein in his own frustration.

“So,” Sam drawls, clearly enjoying every second of this, “are you telling me what’s going on, or should I just assume the worst?”

Your head jerks up, incredulous. “The worst?”

Sam crosses his arms, his smirk widening further. “Yeah. Like, I don’t know… that cyborg brain over there took advantage of this poor girl. That you swooped in here all broody and mysterious, and now she’s trapped under your metal arm spell or whatever.”

You can feel your face flush, your stomach twisting in discomfort. You groan loudly, throwing your head back in disbelief. Your fingers tighten in the fabric of Bucky’s jacket as you prepare a scathing retort, but before you can, Bucky beats you to it.

He huffs, a sharp sound that carries both frustration and amusement. His tone drips with sarcasm. “Yeah, that’s exactly it, Wilson. She’s helpless, clearly.”

Your patience snaps. “I am a consenting adult!” you shriek, the words coming out in a rush. The urge to throw the nearest stapler at Sam’s head is almost too much to contain, but you force yourself to stay composed. “Anything he’s done to me or with me was discussed and agreed upon. Not that he has… done anything, that is. We haven't, he--”

You immediately regret those last words, the heat in your cheeks flaring up even more as your stomach flips with embarrassment. You want to sink into the floor and disappear, but Sam’s grinning face makes it impossible to hide.

Bucky’s arm around your waist tightens slightly, as though sensing your discomfort. “Sam,” he says with a low growl, warning in his tone. “You can stop anytime.”

“Relax, man,” Sam replies with a wink. “I’m just messing with you. Though, seriously, you two need to quit acting like you're the only ones in the room.” He pats his stomach with exaggerated flair. “It’s a bit much, yeah?”

You groan again, but this time, it’s a mix of frustration and amusement. “We’re not doing anything!” you insist, hands held out defensively.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Sam says, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Just remember, I’m not as oblivious as you think.”

Bucky’s hand slips from your waist as he steps toward Sam, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. “You need to go before I let her loose on you, Wilson.”

Sam laughs and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to… whatever you’re not doing. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He gives a dramatic wink before backing toward the door. “Remember—I know. I’ve seen the vibe.”

Once he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, you exhale, your shoulders finally relaxing. You turn to look at Bucky, who’s still watching you closely.

“I swear, if he says anything to anyone…” You trail off, the rest of your thoughts hanging in the air.

Bucky just shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “If he does, I’ll make sure he regrets it. I have a vibranium arm.”

You laugh, feeling the last of the tension melt away. “You really know how to make a girl feel protected,” you tease.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his eyes are soft. “Just doing my job.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Your job?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s hand brushes your shoulder lightly, his voice lowering. “To make sure no one messes with you. Not even Wilson.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity in his tone, and you can’t help but smile. “Well, I appreciate it,” you say, your voice soft. “Really.”

Bucky just nods, his hand slipping into yours as he gives you a warm, steady smile. “Let’s get out of here before he comes back with more jokes.”

“Agreed,” you reply, the warmth of his hand in yours calming you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

–

The wind whipped outside the car, but inside, it was warm, the heater humming steadily, and the radio playing soft background music. Bucky’s hand was steady on the wheel, his presence somehow grounding you even as the world around you seemed to fade into the night. He’d convinced Sam to switch with him - his motorcycle for Sam’s car, and that was enough to shock you into silence for nearly the whole ride.

Even when you stopped at the fancy supermarket, it felt surreal. The aisles were empty, save for you two, which gave Bucky the freedom to drag you through the store with his hand tightly wrapped around yours. The shopping cart squeaked softly as it rolled, and you couldn’t help but notice how domestic it all felt—how comfortable.

“We don’t have to do this, Buck. I’ve got plenty of food for both of us,” you tried, watching him toss your favorite wine into the cart—how he knew that, you still had no idea—along with chocolate and even a bundle of flowers that had you laughing under your breath.

“Wrong,” he said with a grin, shaking his head as he held up two boxes of pasta. “We don’t know how long we could be stuck there. Could be days, weeks…” He paused, his eyes softening, then added with a teasing smile, “Gotta keep you fed and warm.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress your amusement, pointing to the noodles you liked best. He added four boxes, his expression never faltering as he gave you another quick look, one that sent your heart into a flutter.

The cart was full of the oddest assortment of essentials, and it was clear to you by now that Bucky wasn’t just picking things at random. Everything he grabbed seemed like something he knew you’d enjoy—or at least, he thought you would.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he squeezed your hand, and you were sure he could hear it. “Buck,” you began, voice quiet but steady as you tugged him back toward you, pulling him into your space until his front was pressed against yours. The moment hung between you, thick with anticipation, and you took a breath, unsure but resolute. “I’m going to kiss you, and some people might see, so I need you to stop me if you’re not comfortable, okay?”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and his smile was shy but kind. He nodded, the slight tension in his shoulders easing as he stepped closer to you. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

With a nervous sigh, you rose on your tiptoes, tilting your head just enough to fit the shape of your mouth to his. Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers gently curling into his hair as you leaned in. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, a soft exploration, but it deepened when you let your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself even closer.

The air around you seemed to disappear, the world becoming small, fading into the background as you buried your face into his shoulder, your chest pressed to his in a way that felt more intimate than anything you had known.

Bucky’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as his lips brushed against your hair, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

“I’m so bad at this,” he murmured, and the words had a weight to them that made your chest tighten.

“At what?” You frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your brows furrowed in concern.

“Dating,” he laughed softly, the sound a bit strained. “I used to be good at it. In the '40s… Steve used to hate me ‘cause I’d get all the girls, and he couldn’t even get someone to dance with him,” he added with a rueful grin, though he winced when you pinched his waist playfully.

“Hey,” you scolded lightly, “I don’t need to hear about other girls.”

His laugh softened, but his expression faltered just slightly, as if he regretted even bringing it up. “I know. I’m sorry. But now… now it’s like I’m Steve. I don’t know what to do, or how to… move forward.” His eyes darkened a little with uncertainty, something raw flickering beneath the surface.

You studied him, your heart aching with the vulnerability he was showing you, and for a moment, it was like everything else faded away. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this connection between the two of you.

You reached up to gently touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble there. “You were doing a pretty great job before you mentioned other girls,” you said, a teasing note in your voice, though you couldn’t quite stop the slight pout that formed at the corners of your mouth.

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he chuckled under his breath, clearly amused by your reaction. “Sorry.” His hands moved up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he tilted your head back slightly, forcing you to look up at him.

You were so close now, your breath mingling with his, the space between you charged with unspoken words.

“What I’m saying is…” His voice dropped, and you could hear the sincerity in every word. “Things are different now. You think and do things so differently nowadays. So, you might have to boss me around a bit.” He smiled, though there was a slight nervousness in the way his lips curled. “Tell me what you want, how fast or slow I should take things… I just wanna make you happy, doll.”

You blinked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. You could feel the sincerity in his touch, in the way his eyes locked onto yours, as if waiting for you to guide him, to tell him what you needed. The idea that he was willing to be led, to be patient with you in this way, made your chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice soft but sure, “I just want you to be you.” Your hand slid up to his chest, resting over his heart. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be honest… with me, with yourself.”

You could see the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as he took in your words. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and you felt your heart flutter at the way he looked at you—like you were everything.

“Honest, huh?” he muttered, a playful glint in his eye now. “Alright, doll. I can do that.”

His hands slid down to your waist, his grip firm but tender, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like every movement was an exploration, a promise that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. It was the kind of kiss that wrapped itself around your heart, making everything outside of this moment feel miles away.

Bucky’s lips hovered near yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his gaze soft but intense. “In the spirit of honesty…” you murmured, scratching lightly at the hair at the back of his neck, your fingers curling into the soft strands. “I really, really want you to take me home.”

His breath hitched for just a second before his brow quirked, and a playful glint flickered in his eyes. “Hungry?” He tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at his lips as his nose brushed against yours.

You smirked, eyes glinting with mischief as you leaned in just enough to brush a teasing kiss across his lips. “Starving,” you whispered, the word hanging between you like a promise, an invitation, and Bucky’s grip on you tightened, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“Yeah?” His voice was low and thick, full of something you couldn’t quite place—teasing, but also a little desperate. His fingers dug into your waist, the touch possessive and tender at once. “God, you really are out for my virtue, aren’t you?” His smile was crooked, that playful smirk you adored, but there was a burn behind it that spoke to the heat building between you.

You laughed softly, the sound breathless as you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him even closer. “I might be…” you said shyly, your hands tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “But only if you’re okay with that. I mean it, Buck,” you continued, your voice soft but full of sincerity, “I just want you to be comfortable. And if taking things slow works for you, then I’m okay with that. But,” you added, your voice dropping an octave, the hint of something daring slipping in, “I’m ready for whatever you want to give me. Virtue and all.” You couldn’t suppress the playful, sultry edge that took over, but deep down, you meant every word.

Bucky’s gaze darkened at your words, the storm brewing in his eyes almost tangible as he stared at you. His breath caught, and something heavy settled low in your belly, your pulse racing as the air between you thickened. The bravado you’d carried, the playful energy you’d thrown his way, melted beneath the intensity of his stare, leaving you feeling like you were on the edge of something you couldn’t quite understand, yet couldn’t resist either. Just one look from him, and you were already lost.

Without warning, Bucky leaned in again, his lips crashing against yours with more urgency this time. His kiss was deep, demanding, but still careful—like he wanted to savor this moment, but couldn’t help the fire inside him. His hands slid lower, skimming the hem of your shirt, bunching it up as his fingers brushed against the soft skin of your back. The heat between you intensified, your body responding to him with an eagerness you didn’t even know you had. When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little harder, hearts racing in sync. His voice was thick with desire, the playful smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips, but there was something else now—something deeper, something real. “Let’s get you home, doll.”

You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him down into one more kiss—a slow, lingering connection that sealed the words between you both. Whatever happened next, it was clear neither of you were backing down. Not now. Not when you’d both found something too good to let go.

–

The ride back to your place felt like something out of a dream—the snow gently falling, coating everything in a soft, white blanket as the streets remained eerily quiet, save for the hum of the car’s engine. The city seemed to have slowed down, as if giving you both the gift of time, allowing you to exist in a bubble, disconnected from the rest of the world. The soft glow of the streetlights cast long shadows on the empty sidewalks, making everything feel surreal, like it was just you and Bucky, in your own little universe.

Bucky carried the bags with ease, his muscles straining slightly under the weight, but he shot you a look when you reached for them, a silent command for you to stay put. You gave in with a small sigh, letting him lead the way up to your apartment. The silence of the evening was comforting, and the last thing you wanted was a nosy neighbor making an appearance to witness the soldier who had, over the past few weeks, seemed to become a fixture of your life. To your relief, the hallway was empty, and you made it to your door without interruption.

Inside, the atmosphere was cozy, the warmth of the apartment a stark contrast to the biting cold of the storm outside. You both settled into an easy rhythm, unpacking the groceries in comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by the soft thuds of the fridge and cabinet doors opening and closing.

“So,” Bucky asked casually, leaning against the counter as he looked out at the storm gathering beyond your window, “do you have a record player or something?” He turned to face you, a slight frown of curiosity crossing his features.

You paused, glancing over at the small Alexa device sitting innocently on your counter. “I have an Alexa,” you replied, giving a small nod towards it. “You know, it plays music and does other things.”

Bucky frowned, his brows furrowing as he scratched his chin. “What’s an Alexa?” His confusion was genuine, the years between him and modern technology starkly evident.

You chuckled, your lips curving into a smile at his bemused expression. “It’s a smart speaker,” you explained, walking over to the counter to give him a quick demonstration. “You can ask it to play music, set alarms, tell you the weather... all that stuff. It’s like having a little assistant, I guess.”

He blinked at it for a moment, eyes narrowing as if trying to understand the concept. “So… it listens to you? All the time?” he asked, his voice laced with an understandable wariness. The idea of technology that could constantly listen was something far removed from his 1940s mindset.

“Only when you ask it to,” you assured him with a soft laugh. “It’s not always listening. Just when you say ‘Alexa.’”

His frown deepened, but his curiosity was winning out. “Seems weird,” he muttered, as if processing this new information, then shook his head. “You kids and your gadgets.”

You smiled at his bemusement, the way his voice softened, betraying his playful frustration. "Well, if you want, we can ask her to play you something. Music from the '40s, maybe. Would be fitting for the snowstorm," you offered casually.

He stood in front of the Alexa as if it were an unfamiliar adversary—his posture straight, shoulders squared, eyes locked on it with the same intensity he used to assess a potential threat. It was endearing, even a little adorable, and it made something flutter in your chest.

"You just call her by her name–"

"It’s a she?" His expression shifted to surprise, and you couldn't help but laugh softly, moving to stand beside him, tucking yourself against his side.

"It is," you confirmed, smiling up at him. "You call her by her name and tell her what you want to hear."

Bucky eyed the device warily for a moment before taking a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something monumental. "Alexa," he started cautiously, the uncertainty in his tone making you grin. You watched as his posture tensed, like he was preparing for some kind of response. When the Alexa lit up, he glanced at you. You nodded, urging him on.

"Play ‘I’ll Be Seeing You,’” he said, the words coming out a little less sure but with more of the quiet confidence you adored.

The Alexa responded with a cheerful chime, followed by the soft crackle of an old jazz band filling the room, the familiar strains of “I’ll Be Seeing You” floating through the air. The song instantly enveloped the space, its soothing, nostalgic melody bringing a warmth that matched the coziness of your apartment.

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed almost immediately, and he let out a quiet, appreciative hum as he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the music. You watched him, a little mesmerized by the way he seemed to let go, the weight of his past momentarily lifting with each note. It was as if the song had unlocked something deep within him—something soft and vulnerable—and you couldn’t help but smile.

He looked over at you, his gaze thoughtful, almost distant. "I used to hear this song everywhere," he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet nostalgia. "It was... everywhere during the war. The way it made people feel... like they were holding onto something, you know?"

You nodded, your heart aching with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “I get it. It’s a song full of memories.”

His eyes flickered to you then, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I didn't think... I'd hear it again like this," he admitted, a little stunned.

You shifted closer, your arm brushing his as you leaned into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. “I think that’s the magic of music,” you said softly. “It makes things feel familiar, even when everything around you is different.”

His hand found yours, the warmth of his fingers sending a jolt of comfort through you as he intertwined them. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper. “You’re right.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the music wrapping around you both like a shared secret. The storm raged on outside, but inside, it felt like time had slowed. All that mattered was the here and now—the feeling of Bucky’s hand in yours, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet comfort of being in each other's presence.

"Want to dance?" you asked softly, the idea slipping out before you could fully process it. Your cheeks warmed slightly at the thought, but you couldn't help the way your heart picked up pace, the romance of the moment beckoning you.

Bucky blinked, looking down at you with an almost surprised expression before that familiar smirk tugged at his lips. "Shouldn’t I be the one asking you?”

You grinned, looking up at him. “I did it this time, you can take the next one…Remember, you asked me to boss you around.”

His gaze softened, and after a beat, he stood up from where he had been leaning against the counter. His hand reached for yours, tugging you closer gently. “Alright, doll. Let’s see if I still know how to do this,” he said with a quiet chuckle, pulling you close.

You melted into his embrace, the two of you swaying slowly to the music. The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you in the warmth of the room. There was no need for words as you moved together, the silence between you only deepening the connection. Every brush of his fingers, every shift of his body against yours, seemed to speak volumes. It wasn’t about the past, or what might come—it was about right now, about this moment, and about the way you both fit together so perfectly.

As the song faded into the next, Bucky’s lips found yours again, unhurried and deliberate, as if the world outside had slowed just for the two of you. His kiss was a mix of tenderness and restrained fervor, like he wanted to savor every second, every detail. The slow burn between you deepened, the heat simmering just beneath the surface as his hand found the small of your back, drawing you closer.

You melted into him, your arms looping around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair with a confidence that belied the nervous flutter in your chest. When you parted your lips, letting your tongue tease against his, the quiet gasp that escaped you was met by a low, rumbling sound from him that made your knees weak.

The tension grew, thick and heady, until he finally pulled back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes searched yours, concern flickering as they trailed over the goosebumps on your arms. “Cold?” he asked softly, his voice low and gentle, as though the mere thought of your discomfort was unacceptable.

“The opposite, actually,” you managed, your voice quiet but steady, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky’s brow furrowed faintly, his gaze flicking to your chest, where your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of your ribcage. “I can hear your heart,” he murmured, the words almost apologetic, as though he didn’t mean to notice but couldn’t help himself. His flesh hand moved to your waist, loosening slightly as he stepped back. “Doll, what’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, the nerves clawing at you. Panic flared when he pulled away even a fraction, and before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out, gripping his dog tags and the front of his shirt to stop him.

“Don’t go,” you said, your voice firmer than you expected, though it still carried the edge of vulnerability.

His eyes softened immediately, concern giving way to patience as he stayed perfectly still. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured you quietly. “But tell me what’s wrong.”

The warmth of his presence, the way he was so grounded, so attentive, gave you the courage to take a shaky breath and press forward. “You know… you know how we said we had to be honest with each other?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent reassurance that he was fully present, ready for whatever you had to say.

You took a steadying breath, trying to push past the nervous tightness in your chest. “I have to tell you, I–” You faltered, but the heat in your veins burned brighter, urging you to move forward. “I really, really… want you.”

You watched him swallow harshly, one hand abandoning your body to scratch against the stubble on his cheek and your hands loosened their grip on him.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” you added quickly, rushing to fill the silence, afraid of misinterpretation. “But… God, you’re really gonna make me say this, aren’t you?” You laughed nervously, the sound trembling under the weight of your vulnerability. “I want… I’d like to have sex. If that’s… something you’re interested in.”

The confession felt both freeing and terrifying, like stepping off the edge of a cliff and trusting the landing would be soft. Your heart thundered, your hands slowly releasing his shirt as if giving him space to process.

Bucky blinked, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. He took a deep breath, his expression shifting into something you couldn’t quite place—somewhere between careful consideration and overwhelming tenderness.

“We shouldn’t rush this,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, each word carefully chosen, like he was afraid saying the wrong thing would fracture the trust between you.

His hand came up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, and the gentleness of the gesture made your chest ache in the best way. You nodded, already understanding what he wasn’t saying out loud: that he wasn’t rejecting you, that he would, if you asked, but there was no pressure.

Your heart, traitorous and loud, picked up speed again. His eyes flicked down to your chest, where the rapid thudding might as well have been a drum solo, and then back to your face, a slight frown knitting his brow.

“Your heart,” he muttered, almost like it was something he could scold into quieting down.

You huffed a laugh, grabbing his hand and kissing the center of his palm to redirect his attention. “Stop listening to it,” you whispered, your voice warm but teasing as you nipped lightly, teasingly, at the heel of his hand. “I’m nervous, okay?”

“There’s no reason to be,” he replied earnestly, his frown deepening as though he was genuinely baffled by the idea that he could make you nervous.

“Bucky, I just told you I want to have sex with you,” you said, your words tumbling out in a quick, exasperated laugh as heat rushed to your cheeks. “It’s a pretty big moment, you know? That doesn’t just roll off the tongue.”

That made him pause, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, though he fought to suppress it. “It sounded like it rolled out just fine to me,” he teased, his tone lighter now, the faintest hint of playfulness creeping into his voice.

“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled, smacking his shoulder lightly, though you couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “I mean it, though. This isn’t rushing—not for me. I want this. I want you.”

Bucky searched your eyes for a moment longer, as if trying to decipher some hidden truth, but there was nothing hidden. Only warmth, trust, and the quiet understanding that you were both on the same page.

“Okay,” he finally said, his voice low and steady.

Your stomach flipped, your pulse racing so wildly you half-wondered if you were on the verge of cardiac arrest. But before you could spiral any further, Bucky leaned in, his lips finding yours with a quiet intensity that made your knees buckle. There was something definitive about it and you practically melted into him.

Thank God for his arms wrapped firmly around your waist because you weren’t entirely sure your legs could hold you up. He smiled against your lips as he pulled back, a smug little quirk of his mouth that made your breath hitch.

“If your heart beats any faster, doll, I might think I need to call a doctor,” he teased, his voice low and rough with amusement.

You groaned, heat flushing your cheeks as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, though a reluctant laugh bubbled out of you. “Quit making fun of me and take me to bed..”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The walk to your bedroom was wordless, every step thick with tension that hung in the air like a live wire. His hand gripped yours, his vibranium fingers cool but steady against your clammy palm as you led him through the quiet space of your apartment.

The door clicked shut behind you, the sound impossibly loud in the stillness, and the finality of it sent a twist of nerves through your stomach. You paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and turned to face him, your back pressed to the door.

Bucky stood there, his gaze locked on yours with a heat that made your skin prickle. It was the kind of look that felt like he was peeling back every layer of you, uncovering truths you hadn’t even admitted to yourself yet. The air between you was charged, thick with unspoken tension, and you swore if neither of you broke the silence, you might actually combust.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” you asked softly, your voice barely cutting through the stillness of the room. Seeing him here, in your bedroom for the first time, surrounded by the intimate details of your life, made the moment feel weightier somehow.

This wasn’t just Bucky stepping into your space; it was him letting you into his. It hit you like a tidal wave—this wasn’t just about tonight. This was trust, raw and real, and it sent your thoughts spiraling. Was this his first time being with someone since the 1940s? Had he been with anyone before you, and if so, had it been because he wanted to or because he felt he had to? Was he doing this now because he truly wanted to, or was he trying to make you happy?

You couldn’t bear the idea of pushing him into something he wasn’t ready for. Bucky had endured enough of that in his lifetime, and the thought of being another source of pressure made your chest tighten.

“Buck,” you said again, your voice steady despite the knot of nerves coiling in your stomach. “You know we don’t have to do this, right? If you’re not ready, or you don’t want to…” You swallowed hard, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I’ll wait. As long as you need. No pressure.”

“Doll—” His voice was closer than you expected, and when you looked up, you realized he’d stepped into your space, the broad expanse of his chest now just inches away. His lips quirked into a soft, amused smile. “We joke about you stealing my virtue, but you’re really starting to make it sound like you think I’m some blushing virgin.”

Your cheeks burned as you stammered, “I know you’re no Steve Rogers!”

That drew a genuine laugh from him, low and warm, the sound reverberating through your chest. The corners of your lips tugged upward despite yourself, his laughter disarming you in the best way.

“He’d hate that, you know?” he said, shaking his head slightly, the teasing glint in his eyes softened by the affection in his voice.

You couldn’t help but lean into him, your body moving of its own accord as your lips brushed his in a tentative kiss. “I’m serious, though,” you murmured against him. “I just needed to make sure.”

Bucky’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone in a tender caress that made your heart stutter. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to,” he said, his voice low and steady, his gaze locked on yours.

“Good, that’s good,” you whispered, feeling the possessive press of his hand on your waist. Your voice dropped, trembling slightly as you asked, “Can I touch you now?”

His breath caught, and a low chuckle escaped him, the sound rumbling through your chest. “Go on, doll,” he said, his tone a mix of awe and hunger. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a maddeningly light kiss.

Your hand slid into his hair as you chassi his lips, your fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands as you tugged him closer. “Thank God,” you breathed, the words barely audible before your lips crashed into his.

This kiss was different—deeper, fiercer. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim, a declaration, and he met it with a raw intensity that left you breathless. His body pressed you firmly against the door, his broad frame caging you in. His hands roamed over you, heat and cold mixing as his metal arm skimmed your side while his flesh hand gripped your waist.

The contrast made you shiver, your body arching into him instinctively. His thigh pressed between your legs, the pressure slow and deliberate, creating a friction that made your breath hitch and your eyes flutter closed. A soft gasp escaped your lips as his mouth found your neck, his kisses trailing fire along your skin. He moved with a purposeful intensity, his lips and teeth teasing your sensitive flesh until you felt your entire body alight.

You couldn’t stop the soft, needy sounds spilling from your throat, each one seemingly spurring him on. Your hands gripped his shoulders desperately, like you were anchoring yourself to him.

When his hands gripped your hips, pulling you tighter against his thigh, your gasp turned into a sharp inhale, the delicious friction pushing you closer to the edge of reason. The strength in his touch, the heat radiating from his body—it was all too much and yet not enough. You shifted against him, seeking more, your body moving of its own accord.

Your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel him, and your touch grazed the warm, firm muscles of his back. He froze for a moment, a quiet hitch in his breath that you barely caught over your own heartbeat. Then, in a deliberate move, he caught your wrists and guided your hands down his chest, sliding under the fabric of his henley and pressing them firmly to his abdomen.

Your fingers splayed against his skin, exploring every ridge and contour of muscle beneath your palms. The heat of his body seemed to burn through you, and with an urgency you couldn’t suppress, you tugged his shirt up and over his head.

You took a moment, your lips brushing down the side of his neck and shoulder to where vibranium met flesh, kissing the junction reverently. His hand slid into your hair, his grip firm but careful, as though he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or let you explore at your own pace.

Your lips followed the path down his torso, pressing kisses over his chest, across his abdomen, and lower still until you found yourself on your knees before him. His breath hitched audibly, the sound loud in the quiet intimacy of your room.

You reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers fumbling slightly as you undid it, followed by the button and zipper of his jeans. The anticipation was electric, every movement deliberate yet tinged with a nervous excitement.

“Can you kick your shoes off for me?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

A soft laugh rumbled from him, low and indulgent, as he complied, toeing off his boots and kicking them aside. The quiet thuds they made against the floor only heightened the tension, your heart pounding as you pressed a kiss to his hip, just above the waistband of his jeans—a silent thank-you that made his fingers tighten on the back your hair.

You tugged his jeans down his legs, your hands brushing against his strong thighs as the fabric pooled at his feet. His fingers smoothed your hair, pulling only a bit to tilt your head back until your eyes met his. His gaze burned with a desire you felt in every fiber of your being.

“Come up here,” he ordered, his voice low and rough, igniting a fresh wave of heat through you. You glanced down his body, your gaze lingering shamelessly on the obvious outline beneath his pants. A teasing smile played on your lips as your fingers flirted with the waistband of his underwear.

His grip on your hair tightened in response, not painful but firm, and you let out a soft, protesting whine, surrendering as he pulled you back up. The motion was effortless for him, his strength a constant reminder of the power he held but never used without care. He gathered you against his chest, both hands slipping beneath your shirt to press against the bare skin of your back. His touch was searing, grounding you as his breath tickled your temple.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the clasp of your bra, the request making your stomach flip.

“You can do anything you want to me,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you anticipated. You swayed against him as he lifted your shirt halfway, exposing your stomach to the cool air. His lips were on you immediately, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the newly revealed skin, the contrast of heat and cold making you shiver.

“There’s a lot…” he began, his voice trailing off as his mouth moved lower, nuzzling and kissing the curve of your waist. Each touch felt worshipful, like he was committing every part of you to memory. He kissed up, his lips finding the edge of your bra, a faint smile ghosting over his face as he took in the delicate lace and mesh of your chosen set.

“Thank God for small mercies,” you thought, silently praising your past self for the decision.

Bucky seemed to share the sentiment, his nose brushing over the swell of your breasts as he let out a low, appreciative hum. “There’s a lot I want to do…” His voice was raspier now, tinged with a raw hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You can do it,” you urged, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation. When his hands finished pulling your shirt over your head, discarding it onto the growing pile of clothes, you finally gave in, letting your fingers brush against the front of his underwear, earning a grunt in response.

“Anything you want,” you repeated, your breath hitching as his lips trailed over the lace, closing around a hardened nipple. His hands roamed your back, steady and sure, and the fire in your veins threatened to consume you when he popped open the clasp, letting the garment fall down your shoulders before he pulled it away. “Careful what you promise,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin. His words were playful, but his touch was anything but as he laved a tongue across the swell of your breasts, teeth dragging over the nubs eagerly.

By the time you were both on the bed, his underpants were the only thing separating you, and you were certain you had become an addict to the feeling of Bucky’s lips on your bare skin. He kissed you like he waited all his life to learn every curve, every sound, every texture and every taste, tongue dragging over every new inch of skin like he couldn’t decide whether he’d had enough or wanted more, just a bit more of certain parts of you.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but admire the strength of his body. The scars—each one a story of battles fought, of time passed—marked his skin like a map, telling tales of pain, survival, and resilience. You were pretty sure your need for him could rival his own - you couldn’t tire of watching the way he explored you, of looking and touching and tasting every line of muscle and stretch of smooth and scarred skin.

Bucky exhaled sharply when your fingers traced the jagged line where vibranium met flesh, his eyes closing for a moment. His flesh hand was warm around your thigh as he spread your legs to fit between them, while the cold of his other arm supported his weight above you.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You whispered, emotion clogging your throat as you gently traced the scar on his shoulder. Tears threatened to well up, but you blinked them away, offering him a soft smile when you met his gaze. “I always thought you’d never even look at me. You’re so... I guess I’m lucky,” you added with a soft laugh, leaning up to place a delicate kiss on his scarred shoulder.

He froze for a moment, a look of quiet admiration crossing his features. “Lucky,” he murmured, his hand dragging up your leg, your stomach and your torso to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I’m the lucky one.”

You couldn’t find your words as the heat of his tongue found your ribcage, the skin beneath your belly button and the inside of your thigh. You were dripping, shaking from head to toe when his fingers abandoned your thigh to drag between your parted legs.

Bucky eyes followed the drag of his middle finger over your slit and you gulped loudly, breathing picking up right against his ear. He held his own as he stroked you, feeling you out, learning you, and he groaned when he dipped a digit in, feeling you flutter around his finger.

“That’s good,” he praised, taking a deep breath. “Really good, doll. Doing good for me. You’re so–“ wet. You were so wet you could hear yourself as he circled against your entrance and up, dragging over your clit in a teasing motion that made you dig your teeth into your bottom lip. Bucky’s focus was razor-sharp, every touch deliberate and careful, testing the waters before he fully dived in. The way his fingers teased your entrance—pressing just enough before gliding inside and pulling back out—drew a gasp from your lips, a sound that made his eyes darken. He gripped the headboard with his free hand, steadying himself, the gears of the vibranium shifting to adjust, and the sheer sight of him above you sent a fresh wave of heat through your body.

Your mind was a haze, swimming in the sensation of his rough fingers curling just so, finding every nerve that made you shiver and gasp. His movements were maddeningly precise—spreading you open, circling your clit in featherlight touches before plunging back inside. You couldn’t keep still, your hips moving instinctively to meet him, chasing the edge you were desperate to find.

“I can’t—” you gasped, your breath hitching as his thumb added pressure over your clit while his fingers pressed deeper, to the knuckle. You turned your face toward him, seeking his lips, but all you could manage was a stuttering breath that burned in your chest. “Fuck, Bucky, please don’t stop—”

His weight was grounding, but his hand between your thighs was all-consuming, working you open with the kind of slow, purposeful rhythm that made it impossible to think. When he added a third finger, the stretch was enough to make you cry out, your back arching off the mattress as his palm pressed against your most sensitive spot.

For a second, you thought you lost him—his gaze was transfixed on where his fingers disappeared in and out of you, his jaw slacking as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He licked his lips, and his chest heaved with shallow breaths, his pupils blown wide in a hungry gaze as his thumb brushed tighter slick circles against you.

And then it clicked. You saw it in the way his expression shifted—his eyes darkening further, his throat working as he swallowed hard. He was feeling it too: how warm and wet you were around his fingers, how tight you’d be when it was finally his cock stretching you instead.

“Fuck—” The word fell from his lips, rough and wrecked, his voice full of disbelief and want. He shifted slightly, the volume of his cock brushing against your thigh, hot and heavy even through the thin barrier of his boxers. The contact sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Bucky…” you pleaded, your voice breaking as you tugged him closer by the back of his neck. “Please, please, baby, don’t stop—it feels so good—”

The groan that tore from his throat was primal, vibrating against your lips as he kissed you, messy and desperate. The sound of your voice—of your need—only spurred him on. His fingers shifted angle, finding the spot inside you that made your vision blur, and the sharp moan that left your lips was loud enough to make you blush. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you worried about your neighbors, but the thought was fleeting as his movements pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your lips, the words sending a jolt through you. His pace quickened, his palm grinding against you, and you clenched around his fingers, your body tightening as pleasure coiled low in your belly and you reached down to wrap a hand around his wrist. “Good girl, that’s it… you’re close, aren’t you?”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer as you tipped over the edge, the tension inside you snapping as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he groaned again, his forehead pressing to yours as he worked you through it, every stroke deliberate, savoring the way you fell apart beneath him.

Your head spun, a dizzying haze of pleasure still clinging to you like a second skin. Your body trembled, every nerve alight, as Bucky’s weight pressed into you, grounding you back to reality. His flesh hand—warm, calloused—dragged down your side, leaving a trail of sticky wetness in its wake. He squeezed your ass, his grip firm, possessive, and you shuddered, your breath hitching as his voice cut through the fog.

“Doll—” His voice was low, rough, and you blinked up at him, lips parted, chest heaving. His eyes were dark, hungry, and you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, demanding attention.

Your hands, still trembling, fumbled with the waistband of his underwear, eager to feel him, to touch him. He groaned and helped you push the fabric down, kneeling between your spread legs to rid himself of the last barrier between you. You sat up, your hands roaming over his torso, tracing the ridges of his muscles, your lips following the same path, leaving a scorching trail down his side.

You licked the crease of his hipbone, your tongue teasing, and your hand wrapped around his cock, feeling him twitch in your grip. He was big, bigger than you had estimated, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he was beautiful, a vein running down the underside of him that made you want to lean in and follow its path with your tongue. Pre-cum leaked from his tip and his breath hitched, shaky and uneven, as you stroked him once, twice, the fluid slicking your movements, your thumb pressing to the sensitive head and making him shudder in response.

“N-no, c’mon, doll—” Bucky’s voice was strained, his hips jerking involuntarily as you tightened your grip. “Don’t—”

“You just touched me,” you argued, your voice breathless, defiant. You looked up at him, your eyes locking, and he tipped your head back by your chin, his hands tangling in your hair. His kiss was desperate, hungry, his tongue claiming your mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

The difference between his human hand and the vibranium one sent shivers down your spine, the contrast in their grip making you clench around nothing, your body craving him.

“I won’t last,” Bucky confessed, his voice rough. He bit your bottom lip, thensting making you gasp, before he dragged his mouth down your jaw, your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. “I won’t last if you keep going, and I’d really—” He paused, his teeth grazing your collarbone, his hands tightening in your hair. “...really like to get inside you.”

His words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you whimpered, your body arching toward him. “Do we need a condom? Do you have one?” you asked breathlessly, allowing him to push you back against the soft sheets. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he hovered above you, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

He hesitated, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he shook his head. “No,” he murmured, his forehead dropping to rest against your bare shoulder. You could feel the weight of his frustration, and it made your heart ache just a little for him.

Gently, you traced your fingers along the back of his neck, offering comfort. “Didn’t really think we’d–” he began, but you interrupted him.

“I don’t have any either,” you admitted softly, turning your face to press a kiss to his cheekbone, then to the bridge of his nose, before finally capturing his lips in a tender kiss. “But I’m on the pill. Birth control,” you clarified, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze, even as both of you lay exposed to one another, unguarded and vulnerable. “And I wouldn’t mind… having you bare.”

“Sometimes I think you are trying to kill me,” Bucky breathed out, his voice thick with a mix of desire and exasperation. He pressed his pelvis between your legs, eliciting a soft whine from deep within you as you felt his length drag tantalizingly against your slick folds.

“I’m just trying to find a solution,” you argued playfully, rolling your hips against him, your eyes fluttering shut as pleasure coursed through you. “Imagine how good it’d feel…”

He groaned softly, the sound reverberating in the quiet of the room, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t have to… I can already feel it,” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine.

“Please, Buck… stop teasing me,” you begged, the sound light and teasing, and it quickly melted into a moan as he pressed closer, his warmth enveloping you completely, his length gliding between your folds, the head of his cock bumping your sensitive clit. “Please… I just asked you to fuck me without a condom,” you shook your head at yourself, a hint of disbelief in your voice. “I’ve never done that.”

Bucky pulled back slightly, his intense gaze searching yours, admiration flashing across his features. “Really?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe the words himself. There was an unspoken question in his eyes, one that had lingered between you both since that first night: Do you really trust me that much?

The question wasn’t just in his words; it was in the way his fingers trembled against your skin, in the way he tried to pace the both of you, as if afraid to make a mistake and ruin everything between you. The vulnerability in his posture was unmistakable—this man, who had lived through so much, was now allowing himself to be here, with you, in this moment of pure intimacy, and he wanted to be sure you wouldn’t regret it.

You swallowed hard, the weight of it all settling over you like a heavy blanket. Your heart beat so loudly in your chest that it felt like it was echoing in the room. Your gaze softened, fingers brushing over the rough edges of his jaw, feeling the tension there.

“You know I trust you, Buck,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “Right?”

The space between you closed and with renewed urgency, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him to you, feeling the heat radiating from him. “Get in me,” you breathed, your voice a mix of determination and reassurance. “I want you in me.”

Bucky nodded, his breath quickening. You hadn’t quite finished this conversation - there was still so much you both needed to say - but you let your hand glide between your bodies, fingers gently wrapping around his cock to line him up to your entrance. You gave an encouraging and experimental roll of your hips, making both of you moan at the sensation, and he replaced your hand with his own, pressing forward until you could feel the pressure of him splitting you open.

“We’ll have to take it slow,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “I’m not sure how much I can– holy fuck.”

His cock slipped in, inch by inch, into your welcoming heat and your eyes couldn’t decide where to focus - on where you were connected, his length and girth stretching you little by little as he fucked in and pulled back just to press in deeper, or on his face. You saw seventeen different emotions rearrange his features, from awe, to torture, to delight and back to awe again as he watched himself sink in.

“Look at you,” Bucky breathed out, thumb reaching to circle your clit. “Taking me so well…” he praised, eyes fleeting up to yours. “Think you can spread your legs a little further for me, doll? Come on, just so I ca— fuck me, there it is, good girl,” he sounded delirious and you were pretty sure you’d too, if you could speak. He’d bottomed out inside of you, his eyes fluttering shut seconds later, the vein on his neck strained as he took in deep, steadying breaths.

The burn was maddening. You could feel every inch of his against your pulsing walls, the sensation of fullness now overwhelming to the point of tears. You felt him in your stomach, and you could hear the wetness of your heat when he shifted, letting out a guttural moan.

“J-James—“ you breathed out and he shuddered, pressing him hips tighter against yours, as if he could meld your bodies together even though there was nowhere else to go, no more of him to bury inside you. “Shit, you’re gonna split me open,” you gasped, a bewildered laugh slipping out of you.

You watched as he pulled himself together, eyes squeezing shut to try and focus and find his own voice again. “Does it hurt? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, pressing a kiss and then another to his lips and you nodded when his hips rolled involuntarily. “Yes, yes, please… that’s what I want,” you nodded eagerly.

There was no hesitation then, no careful restraint. Bucky Barnes, the man who so often kept himself in check, was utterly and completely unleashed. The realization sent a thrill racing through you, leaving you breathless, aching, and yearning for more.

His hips snapped and your head rolled back, hands tightening around his torso as he picked up a rhythm that had yours toes curling in no time. In and out, he stroked your walls, his free hand gripping your body possessively until you were sure he’d leave bruises, which only made you wetter and more desperate.

“You’re so deep,” you cried out when he pressed in to hilt and took a moment to breathe in, no space between your bodies. “I can feel you in my s-stomach.”

“Would get deeper if I could,” he’s a man possessed and when you look up at him, he looks as pussy drunk as he sounds. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, doll…”

“Oh my g—“ You choke, head falling back onto the pillow, eyes on the ceiling and lips parted around a shaky breath. “James—“

His reaction was instant, as if each letter of his name was a strand of the thread you tugged, unraveling him completely. He pressed his face to your neck then, snapping his hips with bruising force, making your breath stutter.

“Say it again,” he pleads, his voice a raw, desperate melody you wish you could capture—something to cling to in his absence. It resonates deep within you, tugging at the very core of your being, as if he’s not just claiming your body but binding your soul to his. “Please, doll…”

“James,” you offer willingly, rolling your hips to meet his. “I need you to cum, baby,” you beg, pressing your lips to his sweaty forehead. Your bodies are slick with it as well, your hand slipping down his broad back and you close your mouth around his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin on your tongue.

Bucky shakes his head then and he’s silent for a few moments, lost to the feeling of your slick walls. “You first,” he urges, pressing needy kisses down your neck and chest. “I wanna feel it… feel you cum around my cock.”

“Buck—-“

“It’s James,” he commands, pulling back enough so he can glide a hand between your bodies, his thumb pressing to your clit. “You’ll call me James when I’m inside you. You understand, doll?”

“Y-yes,” you nod and your face contorts with pleasure, a desperate gasp for air sounding between you as you try to fill your burning lungs.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, James."

His touch is sending you barreling down the edge and no matter how hard you try, there is no holding back. You feel it, white hot pleasure burning hotter and tighter low in your belly, your walls clenching around his member until you’re shaking and unable to meet his movements.

“I’m gonna c-cum—“ you warned, grateful for the way he’s pressing you down, grinding and adding more pressure to your clit. “Shit, J-James, baby, please!”

He never stops. Not until you’re shaking and he can feel you unraveling around him, your orgasm taking over with a violent force that takes you both by surprise. It makes you louder, your back arching off of the mattress and into his chest, your thighs snapping shut against his sides as you unravel.

“Shit!” Bucky gasps, dropping on top of you, pinning you down until you don’t know where he ends and you begin, your thighs shaking and toes curling.

Your sight is dotted with stars and you can barely speak to urge him on when he crosses the finish line, ecstasy taking over with no warning. His blue eyes roll back and you feel and hear him thrusting once, twice, three times, until his cock is twitching and pressed in to the hilt, his warm cum coating your walls. It oozes out of you in it's intensity and it makes you shiver at the primal feeling of ownership it sends through your body.“Shit, shit, I’m s-sorry—“

“I wanted it,” you confess, your arms and legs wrapping around him like a human cage. Not that it could hold him—one tug, one flick of his wrist, and you’d be undone. But he stays put, sinking into your embrace like he belongs there, his weight pressing into you, heavy and grounding. He’s your personal weighted blanket, if weighted blankets were also devastatingly handsome and extremely good in bed. Not that you could ever say that to him out loud.

The room is still buzzing with the aftermath—your mingled breaths, the faint hum of your heartbeats syncing. He presses soft, almost worshipful kisses wherever his lips can reach: your shoulder, your collarbone, that tender spot just below your jaw that makes you shiver.

The silence stretches, comfortable and lazy, until you finally break it. “What a mouth you’ve got on you, Mr. Barnes,” you tease, your nails tracing idle patterns along the muscled expanse of his back. “I had no idea.”

He snorts, the sound low and gravelly in your ear, getting more and more common the longer you spend time together. There’s a glint in his eye when he pulls back just enough to look at you. “What can I say?” he drawls. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” you retort, your grin matching his.

His hand moves lightning-quick, pinching your waist with pinpoint accuracy. You squeal, swatting at him, but he’s already laughing, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest, crinkles by his eyes making the blue sparkle brighter.

“Careful,” he warns playfully, his lips quirking up into a dangerous smile. “Keep that up, and I might have to show you a few tricks up my sleeve.”

You narrow your eyes, biting back a laugh. “Big talk for someone who’s currently trapped in my hold.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Trapped? Doll, you’ve got this all wrong… I’m exactly where I want to be.”

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fiction

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insidekatmind · 2 days ago

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Silent Promises~Jonathan Daviss

It was a cool spring evening when Jonathan called you for the second time that week. His calls were always filled with laughter, jokes, and a familiarity that comforted you. But this time, something in his tone made you raise an eyebrow.

"Hey, how are you?" Jonathan asked, and his voice sounded more serious than usual.

"I'm good, thanks," you replied, trying to sound more convincing than you felt. "I just finished doing some interviews for the new album."

"I can imagine," he replied with a light laugh, but it sounded a bit tense. "You know, the song you wrote about Drew... it's really powerful. There's a lot of you in that one."

A shiver ran down your spine. Drew... The man you had loved, but who had betrayed you. Every word of the song Heartbreak Highway spoke of your pain, broken dreams, and the loneliness you had felt after discovering his betrayal. The public had loved it, of course. It had gone viral, like all your most honest songs.

"Yeah... it was hard to write," you admitted, feeling a lump in your throat. "But the best of me came out. I'm glad people can relate to it."

"I'm sure," he said softly. "You're incredible, as always." His voice grew more tender but also more serious. "Listen, I want to talk to you about something..."

A small suspicion crept into your mind. Jonathan had never been afraid to be direct with you. But something felt different today. It was as if he was avoiding telling you something important.

"Sure, tell me everything," you replied, trying to keep your tone normal.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and when Jonathan spoke again, his voice trembled just slightly. "I... I know you're hurting, and I care about you. You know I've always been there for you."

"I know," you said, almost whispering. "And you've always been my rock, Jonathan."

He hesitated again. "I just want you to know that you deserve someone who truly loves you. Not someone who betrays you. Not someone who makes you feel less than you are."

Your heart stopped for a moment. His words seemed so sincere, but there was something deeper, as if he wasn’t just talking about Drew.

"Jonathan..." you whispered, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. "I... I’m not ready for another relationship, not now. Not after what happened."

"I’m not talking about a relationship," he said gently, but with an incredible firmness that struck you. "I'm just saying, I’m here. Always."

You sank into the couch, feeling the weight of his words. You had known him for so long. You’d laughed together, cried together, shared dreams, fears, and hopes. But you had never seen Jonathan in this light. Every word he spoke seemed to carry something more, a feeling you couldn’t fully decipher.

"Jonathan..." you repeated, his name sounded different on your tongue. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to think that I’m ignoring how you feel about me."

"I don’t want you to feel obligated," he said quickly, almost in a whisper. "I don’t want to put pressure on you. I just... I just want you to know that I care about you, in a way that goes beyond friendship. I’ve loved you, always."

The world seemed to stop for a moment. Jonathan... loved you? How had you never noticed it before? But at the same time, how could you respond to this revelation when your heart was still broken over Drew?

"Jonathan, I... I don’t know what to say." Your voice trembled, but not out of fear. Out of confusion, out of surprise. "I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you to be like Drew... like someone who deceived me."

"You know I’m not like that," he replied, his voice full of sincerity you had never heard before. "And I understand, really. But I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll always be here. I don’t just want to be your best friend. I want to be something more, if one day you want it."

Silence fell heavily between you, and as his words echoed in your head, your heart hammered in your chest. You were lost. Lost in a sea of emotions you didn’t know how to manage.

"Jonathan..." you repeated finally, trying to find the strength to say something you never thought you’d say. "Maybe, in another time, in another life, we could have been more. But right now... I need time."

He nodded, even though you couldn’t see it. "I understand. And I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you, if you’re ever ready."

The call ended there, but that silent promise lingered between you. A promise of time, of hope, of a future that would come, or maybe not. But one thing was certain: Jonathan would never just be a friend to you. Something inside you was changing, and maybe, one day, you would look at him with different eyes.

And in the meantime, your song continued to play on the radio, an anthem of heartbreak and rebirth, while Jonathan, from afar, watched you with silent hope.

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gurugirl · 10 hours ago

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guru, i have a requests bc I need something ✨fluffy✨ as im healing from closing my fingers in my front door!!

could you write any harry au finding out that the reader is in paramore and wrote the only exception for him?

Oh my gosh your fingers! Ahh I hope you didn’t break anything! 😬

Feel better soon hon ❤️‍🩹 Enjoy! (also I hope this is what you wanted )

A/N: I didn't mention Paramore specifically (except for some bits of the song) nor are there any physical descriptions of Y/n so it's inclusive! Imagine who you like! xoxo

Word Count: 1,174

Warning: FLUFFFFFFFFYYYY SWEET! (Harry has a quick moment of anxiety)

. .

Harry wasn’t sure what he was looking at when he saw it. Maybe you were just playing a joke on him—? He always thought your singing voice kind of reminded him of a band he'd heard on the radio a few times… but this?

There you were on video. Right in his phone... wearing a very short skirt hopping around on stage like that. You were usually more of a jeans and t-shirt or sweater gal. It was clearly you–but it was like watching a doppelganger of you.

He blinked his eyes at his screen. His apartment was quiet as he was just waking up and still sitting in his bed. It was a normal morning routine. Wake up and check social media, emails, his daily schedule…

He had no idea how this had come across his feed. You. Like that. He rubbed his eyes. Was he still dreaming?

You hadn't been dating all that long but you were both already head over heels. It'd happened so fast and there was still so much to learn about one another but he knew you were it just like he hoped you felt the same. He knew you had a band and he'd heard you sing. You had guitars at your place and you wrote poems and lyrics in your notebook all the time. You were talented.

A text popped up on his screen from you.

See you in five minutes!

Scooting himself out of bed so he could at least brush his teeth he clicked on the page that had posted the video and there were more! Of you! Of this band that he'd heard of in passing. He held the phone up and started watching the next video. You were singing for a semi-large crowd. He pressed the button on his electric toothbrush and felt his heart thrumming harder and harder as you started singing another song. A song he'd heard on the radio.

It was surreal to see you like that. Why hadn't you told him? Why was he finding out like this? Did you not want him to know? Did you not see a future with him at all?

The questions in his brain were buzzing as various puzzle pieces began to fall into place. It made so much sense now that he was thinking of everything but it also had him worried that you never told him. Maybe you didn't trust him.

When he was done brushing his teeth he splashed water on his face and pressed his palms over his sink counter. He was going to have to confront you.

He looked down at his phone and clicked on the next video. The most recently uploaded video.

"I'm Y/n! Thank you for being here with us tonight!" The crowd was loud and he could hear some whistles and cheering.

"This next song is about a guy that I'm falling for hard. It wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't think it ever would. I haven't told him yet but I have this song." You began to sway as the guitarist started to play. "This is for love. For anyone who's felt it. This is for Harry."

He blinked at the screen and you began to sing.

"When I was younger, I saw my daddy cry and curse at the wind..."

Harry was startled when he heard you knocking at his door. You were there and he was reeling from everything he'd just learned. Pausing the video he made his way to his door and opened it to see your pretty face. You immediately stepped in and wrapped your arms around his middle for a big hug.

He hesitantly placed his arms around you after he closed his door. But you noticed something was off. Harry was still holding his phone in his hand as you looked up at him.

"Everything okay?"

He looked like he was unable to put thoughts into words. Like he was stunned or hadn't expected to see you, even though you'd made plans to come over. Stepping back you clutched your hands over his wrists. "Harry?"

His throat bobbed when he swallowed and he blinked his eyes. "You're famous."

Your heart stopped. You knew he'd find out soon. You'd planned on telling him but it was always tricky telling people. You'd dated people in the past that were just looking for clout or trying to get there own name out there by using you. So it was a precaution. But you didn't need to hide it from Harry anymore.

"Yes. Well... kind of. I mean... a lot of people don't really know who I am. I'm not like at that level of fame but—"

"You don't trust me?"

"I do trust you, Harry. I promise." You slid your palms up his forearms and stepped in closer. "I was going to tell you. I just got a little scared because everything happened so fast between us. It just... I wanted to make sure first. I swear I've been planning to tell you because I... god... I just want to tell you everything."

"I don't understand why you never said anything." He shook his head but he didn't pull away from you.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to find out before I told you. I wanted to share something really special with you and tell you in this like... really romantic way."

He moved his arm and opened up his phone before you heard your song being playe. The song you wrote for him. His eyes flitted from you to his phone as the lyrics you sang poured out around you.

Because none of it was ever worth the risk... Well, you are the only exception...

Harry looked at you, a sheen of tears in his eyes as he let the song play out. You kept your hand on his forearm and let the lyrics do the talking. You just hoped he understood. You hoped that he could see why it took you a bit to work up to telling him.

Oh, and I'm on way to believing…

He tucked his phone into his sweatpants pocket and looked at you with soft eyes. Taking his hands into yours you smiled up at him.

"I have a lot to tell you."

He puffed out a low laugh. "I think that's an understatement."

"Are you mad at me?"

He shook his head. "Kind of hard to be mad after hearing that song you wrote for me. Is all that true, Y/n?" He pulled his hand out of yours and lifted his warm palm up to your cheek.

"Yes. Every word of it."

"Does that mean you love me?"

Your heartbeat tripped up on itself as you nodded. "I do. I love you."

His eyes were piercing and so deep with emotion, you'd drown in them happily. "I guess it's time for me to confess something to you then, too." He grinned and you felt his hand move back to cradle your nape. "I love you too."

. .

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@gmikaelson

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eyesofthethrone · 3 days ago

Text

So inspired by @meanbossart and his art of his durge Drow I wrote about 2k speculating on Drow's relationship and feelings towards Orin the Red and after showing it to him in private I now feel comfortable posting it publicly. Thanks for sharing your art with us man and creating such an interesting character xD

TW: Detailed descriptions of canibalism, suicidal imagery

The congregation all spoke of it, some were quiet, while some were too enraptured in the murder-bliss of Father staunch their words that spilled like blood and blood from the blessed sacrificed.

His sister, his cousin, his priestess, how could he not look upon her except with awe? How his eyes must shine like maggots in the torchlight, gleaming, following her. Obvious to all that look, even the hollowed out eyes of the skulls, fly-licked and stinking, could see it.

All did wonder did he take her to bed, did his mouth fall down upon her in reverent worship? Did she take her brother and lord inside herself? Might there not be a chance that the divine blood might mingle and quicken and the faithful might empty their throats into golden goblets so that they might be raised in celebration of a new Spawn?

Crass. Ugly. Short-sighted creatures. Pathetically mortal despite their feverance. None could ever despoil the most beloved and blessed Orin. Her changeling form was a gift from the Father himself and he had decreed that his daughter would never be violated or deformed in such a way. A beautiful doll, their Father’s perfect puppet. It was why she was perfect, for was it not anathema to their Father to give life? She could not, would not, thus she was purely a vessel for murder.

Oh how he loved her, dressed her in jewels, combed and twisted her hair till it coiled about them like intestines from a split gut. Her smile was the edge of the blade, her voice was the music of the last whimpered gasp of the dying. It seemed profane to him that it was he who was Chosen, and not her, for surely he was a mugger’s cudgel to her executioner’s axe, but he knew not the mind of their Father, could only thank him in prayers that he had deigned to make his sister live at the same time as him. To make his sister love him as he loved her.

Not to say he didn’t dream of intimacy with his beloved Orin, but it went far, far deeper than the dreams and lusts of these base creatures who clustered and fawned and crumpled so easily, so boringly beneath his fingers.

When all was said and done, and their Father’s war was won, they would be the last two living creatures beneath a dead sun, the blood of the graciously murdered would swim about their ankles and the yawning nothing of the void beyond the powers of the slain gods would rush to claim them and there, in that triumphant moment of annihilation would he finally be as of one with her.

Alas, that the moment of death was so brief, he would have just a second of her that way, when he snapped her neck. Perhaps as the last god of the dead world his Father might stretch out that moment of time so that they both might enjoy it, when he murdered her. To spend eternity holding her in his arms as the light left her eyes and the breath gasped between her teeth would be a reward beyond all riches, and while he did not serve out of a desire for reward, if that did happen he would be more than satisfied.

If not, there were still yet other intimacies available to him. He dreamed about it. He imagined what it would be like to peel her skin from her flesh, layer after layer, as fine and as translucent as silk. He might wrap it around himself, cocoon himself in her so that every inch of him was caressed by her. How paltry the pedestrian thought of running fingers through hair or gripping thighs seemed in comparison.

Then with her tender lamb flesh beneath bare, then, oh then would he begin to know her as a lover might. He would run his tongue over every strand of sinew, carve the path of each individual cord into his own unworthy heart. The flesh would be wet and warm as he peeled back each individual layer, quiver in necrotic anticipation of each touch of his lips. The fluids spilling forth her he would suckled and lap at. Just imagining the noises that would make made his spin tingle and his loins ache.

The thought of where he would make the first bite on occasion paralysed him, so many wonderful, tender spots. Her throat, the thin, soft film of flesh before the tough gristle of her larynx. Was that not a perfect metaphor for her? At first glance she seemed so small and delicate, but she was hard and tough, gristle and bone.

Her breast? The softest of meat, full of shimmering fat and so tender it would melt between his teeth and slide down his gullet without him even needing to swallow. To devour her there, to take sustenance would be poetic in a way, to draw nourishment like a child never would.

(Not that he didn’t consider a child, in the darkest and deepest places within him. That their Father might somehow bless them with his seed, and her belly might grow where he could kiss and worship it. That he might be privileged to hold a daughter of Orin in his arms who gazed up at him with his own eyes. But such a thing was anathema to their Lord, so he only held those thoughts in the dark, hidden cracks within his very soul where the Blood of Bhaal might not reach.)

The belly was traditional, of course, a knife parting the delicate sack of her guts so that they might lunge out of her towards him, tangling him up in an embrace, her miles and miles of intestines wrapping around him and holding her closer to her than a woman had ever held a man. Now this, this was true intimacy, close to it. The breathless rapture of holding her where no one else had even seen, let alone touch. He imagined wrapping them around him like a girl with ribbons, wet, soft and supple. Sometimes he thought how wonderful it would be to choke himself with them, to hang himself from the hooks of the temple. The poetic symmetry spoke to the romantic in him, for her to kill him after he had killed her and be left for all eternity as a symbol for those who would follow after. Bhaalist couples would point to their remains and coo “Oh, the greatest of romances, the most ardent of lovers,” for what could be a more perfect devotion of love than to die together in that moment of bliss, a perfect moment that would last an eternity, a true blessing from their Father.

He never would, of course, because as poetic and fairy-tale as that would be, it would be disrespectful to her, to her death and her body and he worshipped her (not as he worshipped Father, of course. People could be so foolish when they said you could only devote yourself to one thing, as if love was finite and not a wellspring eternal in your throbbing meat-heart?)

For the truest expression of his devotion would be to consume her, to catch the edge of a sinew where it met the cartilage, between his teeth and gently, lovingly pull it from her bones. He would not be as crass as to use a knife or even his hands. Only with his kiss would she be defleshed, the long, arduous work of days, even months, but he would do it, he would do it for her. Swallow down every inch of her and hold her safe in his belly like a child, perhaps his gut would even swell up and become round and gravid? That he might place his hand upon it and feel her within him. He would cradle her, sing to her, dream of her, all those things that a mother might do with her unborn child. For such was the depth of his love for her that it moved beyond the common and mundane categories of mortals. Sister, mother, daughter, lover, it was all the same to him, to them.

Her meat would be sweet and lean, soft and easy to swallow, like lamb or veal. He would lick her bones clean of all specks of flesh, he especially looked forwards to the feeling of her eyeballs popping between his teeth and then running his tongue around the inside of the socket. Then her brain, her wonderful, clever, cunning mind, always scheming and plotting. He loved her mind and her thoughts like rot loved the damp. He pictured her seeping into him like mold in a cellar, little black dots swarming over his insides. Would he know her better, understand more once he had finished eating her brain?

The heart was cliche, but cliche for a reason. Before he had come to know his sister a little better and her preferences he had tried presenting her with the hearts of his murder victims like a cat with a broken bird. His beautiful, untouchable Orin had not understood the suggestions of his actions but had accepted the tokens as offerings to their Father. How could he not love her for that? For her clear-minded devotion to something greater than herself. There was so much to be admired in that. When he eventually drew her own heart from behind the lattice of her ribs he would show it just as much reverence.

Her tongue would be another delicacy, when she lived it was sharp and acidic and honest. He loved her mouth, her tongue, her words. Words were just pieces of your soul fleeing your body to try and crawl into others like carrion flies. If he ate her clever tongue would he consume her soul completely?

No, no, he was getting ahead of himself. Not yet, not that yet. First he would have to eat the difficult parts. Not even a drop of her blood would go to waste and that meant he would have to eat her hair, her beautiful, long hair that shimmered like gold in the moonlight, always wet and healthy from the blood that sprayed into it. It would be an ordeal to swallow it all down, he knew he would gag and choke, be forced to swallow down his own bile again and again from the texture but he would do it, he would do it for her, a sign of devotion.

But her bones, her lovely, graceful bones would be the real test. Were he less faithful, less devout he would snap the cartilage and suck the marrow from within but he would take all of her into himself. He could cheat by waiting for them to dry out where they would break apart easier but no, every second wasted, every moment he made her wait would be an outrage. His lips and mouth and throat would be torn open by the shards, they would churn in his belly like, tumbling over and over like stones till they were worn down by the acid, lacerating his insides in the meantime. The agony would be exquisite, each spasm a kiss from her. Perhaps the agony would make him wish for death, perhaps it would actually kill him? It would be poetic for her to kill him from the inside, burrow her bones through him like worms.

Once she was consumed, once he had fully taken her into his body, he would lay down in the bed he had once wished to share with her in the heart of their Father’s temple and hold her within himself. This was why Bhaal was the god supreme, why their Father would one day rule the cosmos as was his right, because what other god permitted such an expression of love like this. This, the most blessed and perfect of unions. His stomach would not swell but shrink, his lovely living in his gut would not be expressed out but absorbed within.

When his stomach was empty, their matrimony would be complete, he would have unified with her completely. Her flesh one with his flesh, her blood running through his veins. For what we eat nourishes us, becomes part of us. He pictured her body dissolving into him, strengthening him. He would never have to eat again he knew because their love, partnership, sibling-hood would be all the sustenance he would need for the final act. He would be privileged that she was going to be the last thing he ever tasted.

For once it was done, Father’s plan realised and he truly was the last living thing in the universe, he would lay down amid the blood and gore and the dead, take his dagger and with a single strike through his own heart commit the final murder and thus murder all of reality, where all would be united in oblivion. No past, no future, just that single shining moment where he was Orin and Orin was him and that would be all he would ever know.

It was beautiful, perfect, poetry, more transcendent than the dreams of lesser mortals who desired such carnality, who believed that a mere exchange of fluids was the ultimate expression of ardour. No vision, no imagination.

What could be better? Except perhaps if the roles were reversed?

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when even the rats and ghosts slept, he would creep over to where Orin lay to watch her sleep, and pray over her, pray that one day it would be she who would eat him.

#my post #my writing #bg3 #durge #orin the red #tw: cannibalism

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babygirlnicohischier · 3 days ago

Text

It's the Cup - Matthew Tkachuk x gender neutral reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, oral (F and M receiving), fingering (F receiving)

Summary: Maybe serving the Stanley Cup champs wouldn't be so bad after all, thanks to Matt somethingorother.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: I wrote this right after the playoffs wrapped and just found it again, so don't be shocked if the proofreading is 100%

God, you thought as you slipped past your coworker slid the 1000th aperol spritz of the night to the group of 22-year-old girls in front of you,it’s 2024, why are we still playing Drake at the bar?

Things have been different lately, mainly that your bar has never been this busy. After the Cats won the Stanley Cup, even the most hidden gems in the city were packed with people who hoped and prayed that the team would be make an appearance, free bottles and fanfare galore.

Everyone except you. A bartender on their third double shift and eigth sugar-free red bull of the weekend. You were hoping that a few days out from the Stanley Cup Parade things would have started settling down but there had been no such luck.

Now, you have to crank out ten vodka sodas at a time and feel your hands go numb from constantly reaching into the cooler for beer bottles and seltzer cans to keep up with the rush. You didn’t think it was possible to get cramps in your hands from bud lights, but the universe wanted to prove you wrong. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be stiffed by the jerks here trying to hit on the puck bunnies. A few feet from you at the corner of the bar, you briefly make eye contact with one of the Panthers players, his golden curls somehow still perfectly touseled even after hours of partying. You hear him introduce himself, Matt something, to the girl in front of him. You almost felt bad for her with how uninterested he seemed in her, and how his eyes glazed over as she leaned in close to ask him something.

“It’s the Cup,” a sarcastic voice barked out,”it’s the Cup, girl.”

With how shitty the past few days have been, you allowed yourself to laugh at the snark. You looked over in the direction of it just in time to see the 1000th aperol spritz of the weekend slink away from Matthew Something. A few more rounds of green tea shots and dozens of High Noons later you could finally catch your breath as the crowd in front of you began to die down. Even the rush of the celebration could only alst so long into the night, and you checked your phone to see it was nearly 1:30 at this point. ‘Only a few hours left and I can crash. I got this.’

The sight of wet crumpled bills falling into your tip jar instantly made you perk up and lower your phone. It was one of those Florida Panther players, Matthew Something, dropping hundred dollar bills by the handfuls into the bucket with a smile.

“Been watching you all night, he yelled over the music,”you’ve been working so hard that I haven’t had a chance to come over. I’m Matt, by the way, Matt Tkachuk.”

Ah, you thought, that’s it.

You gave him your name and shook his outstretched hand, not-so-subtly noting how much bigger it was than yours. It was also gentler and warmer than you expected for someone with such a rough job and tough guy reputation. After a few moments, you realized you still hadn’t let go of said gentle, warm, and very big hand, and he hadn’t pulled away either. You would have been embarrassed if in that same moment one of his drunk teammates hadn’t come over yelling something neither one of you could make out and holding the Stanley Cup triumphantly above his head.

Matt finally dropped your hand and asked for some beers. “Oh yeah, he’s being nice to me since I’m at work. He was talking about getting drinks not about talking to me.” Thankful for a reason to turn away from his blue-green eyes and golden curls, you welcomed the order and opened up the row of beers. Dropping a few more of those crumbled wet bills into the bucket, Matt winked and turned back to his friends.

This happened a few more times throughout the night as the players took over your side of the bar. You watched them enviously as they got to drink, party, and dance while you were stuck making mixed drinks for girls trying to slip into the players’ section and the guys without a Stnaley Cup victory chasing right after them.

The only one without someone, girl or guy, hanging on to or circling around him was Matt. Matt who you caught looking in your direction more than once. Your eyes looking in his direction more than once. As much as you tried to ignore him, something about his gaze brought a flush to your cheeks.

Around 3am, when the remaining crowd seemed to settle down again, you told your coworkers you needed your break and slipped out the back door into the sticky Florida night to finally take in some fresh air, even if it was just as hot as the inside of the bar. As you sat there, trying to rally for the next few hours of your shift, the door opened behind you. You were surprised when you opened the door and heard the sound of someone scrolling through tiktoks, some pop song blasting out into the humid night air. “Shit, you scared me,” you said with a gasp, turning to see none other than Matt.

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled, “No, I’m the one who should be sorry about that. I would never want to scare you,” he replied. “I have been looking for you though.”

“Oh really? What for?”

“You’re the hottest person here. My friends bet me $20 I couldn’t get your number tonight. They upped it to $100 when they saw me empty my wallet into your tip jar and you didn’t even blink my way. I almost thought you weren’t interested until we kept locking eyes.”

“Oh please,” you teased, “it’s a but hard to look away from the loudest guys in the bar.”

Matt scoffed, “Somehow I don’t think that’s it. So what do you say? You wanna help me make back some of that tip money? Wanna help me win this bet?”

As he went through each sentence he inched a little closer until he was leaning over you, leaving just enough room for you to dip around him and escape if you needed to. Even inebrieated with a few of those beers you served him, Matt was aware of himself and how big he was, and how maybe you weren’t into him after all. The spicy smell of his cologne mixed with the beer you knew must be coming out from his pores at this point and the faint hint of cigar smoke and chewing gum. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were leaning in towards him, noticing how pink his lips looked. Before you could talk yourself out of it you were kissing him, hands running through his mullet.

He was taken aback at first and froze before you felt one of his large hands reach up and cup you cheek as he pulled you in even closer. As the kiss deepened, Matt pressed his body flush against yours. Through his jeans,through his hold, you felt him start to harden as you pushed your hips into his.

You pulled gently on his curly locks, eliciting a low moan from his throat. Taking advantage of his groan, you slipped your tongue into his mouth and his eagerly followed suit, pushing into your open mouth. His hands moved from your face to snake around your waist, somehow pressing you even tighter and removing any remaining space that was left between you. His lips were swollen as he pulled away from you briefly. You leaned into his collarbone, exposed with his shirt only half buttoned, and sucked it hard enough to leave your mark on him.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he threw his head back. Working up his neck, you continued to leave bites and wet kisses.

“Babe do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked, taking your hand and placing it over the growing bulge in his jeans.

It was thick, and you were surprised at how much of a grower he was. As your hand traveled up to his zipper you heard him softly whimper at your touch and the anticipation of more.

“Why don’t we go back inside?” you asked, continuing to stroke him through his pants,“Staff bathroom is a little more…private.”

You already knew he wouldn’t say no to you no matter what you said, his fingers interlocking with yours letting you lead him wherever you wanted. Once back inside, you slipped into the tiny bathroom between the shelves of extra bottles and backup cups.

Inside the small space, there was barely enough room for the two of you to stand together; nevermind with your back pressed into the sink and his calves touching the toilet behind him. Despite this, Matt continued making out with you the second the lock on the door clicked into place.

“Need you,” he whined, grabbing for any piece of your hips or waist that he could get to. When he managed to get his hands on you, he lifted you up and sat you on the edge of the sink. Lifting up your hips, you helped him pull down your shorts and undies. They were barely around your ankles before you felt Matt’s hands reach between your legs.

“Look at you, so wet for me,” he said mystified as he dipped one finger between your legs and put it into his mouth, “taste so sweet too.”

“Matt, come on,” you said, grasping at him and pushing him towards the floor, ”be a good boy and eat me out.

Matt was eye-level with your core now, puppy-like and eager, and spread your legs with care. Instantly, he dove betwen your legs and lapped at your wetness, circling your clit with his tongue.

“Oh god,” you managed to choke out as he licked at your core, “Matt, you look so pretty with my pussy on your face. You love this don’t you, baby?”

He moaned into you as an answer, driving deeper with his tongue and tightening his hold on your thighs.

“Just like that babe, you’re doing such a good job, baby boy.” Matt practically growled at the pet name.

“You love being on your knees, huh? Like a slut.” As he pulled away from your center, Matt sank his teeth in your thigh, leaving his own mark on you as his stubble moved across your skin. “Of course I do,” he grinned, licking his lips, ”especially when you taste so good.”

He stuck two fingers in his mouth and pulled them out with a pop. Before you could answer, his fingers were deep inside you, curling to hit your most sensitive spot. Soon his mouth joined in, sucking and biting your clit as you got closer and closer to release. Praises rained from your lips, urging him on until finally you felt yourself clench around his fingers. Matt let you ride out your high on his fingers before pulling them from you and licking them clean. A string of your cum still connected his lips to you, and it was the prettiest thing you had ever seen.

“Your pussy is addicting,” he said with a dazed smile. You finally untangled your hand from his locks, disappointed your grip on him had ruined his perfect curls.

You took a moment to regain yourself before sliding down off the edge of the sink and pulling your shorts back up. “You did so good, baby. You deserve a reward for making me cum so quickly.”

Matt nodded eagerly, waiting for whatever you would give him.

“Do you want me to go down on you too? Do you want me to show you how much I appreciate how good you were?”

“Fuck yes,” he gasped out as he watched you slide slowly down his body to settle in on your knees. With nimble fingers he undid his belt and pants and pulled out his cock, pumping it slowly in his hand as he waited for you to be ready.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” you asked him, tone suddenly serious.

Matt froze instantly. “Well,” you said, feigning disappointment,”if you want to take care of yourself then I guess I don’t need to help.”

“No, please—” he said, letting go quickly. He looked down at you with his big blue eyes, but you were more focused on the bead of precum on his pink tip. You needed to know how it tasted but you couldn’t let him have it so easily.

“Please what?” you prompted, giving tiny kisses and sucks along his thighs. You felt him shudder underneath each kiss.

“Please suck my cock,” he begged, eyes pleading with you,”please I need to cum. I've been so good.”

“Well,” you considered, drawing out the word, “you do sound so sweet begging for me.” You peppered kisses along his lower stomach, loving the way he squirmed for you.

“Please,” he breathed out, just as you kissed right where his abs ended and his happy trail began, ”please, I need you.”

Rather than answer him, you readied yourself before taking most of his length into your mouth. His surprised moan only fueled your fire as you swallowed around him. You pump him near the base, making sure to make a show of slipping your other hand into your shorts.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned out, repeating the phrase like a prayer. “Oh fuck, baby, please don’t stop.”

You pulled back to trace his head with the tip of your tongue, looking up at him so you could see how much he was enjoying it. He was biting his lip, using every muscle in his body to hold in how loudly he truly wanted to moan. Bobbing back down to swallow more of his length, you kept your eye contact going as long as you could. When his tip hit the back of your throat he couldn’t help but close his eyes and let his head hang back in ecstasy.

You felt him twitch in your mouth, a sure sign he was going to cum soon. Pulling your mouth off of him, you asked him sweetly, “Now baby, do you want to cum on my face or in my mouth?”

“Your mouth, please,” he panted out. You nodded and gave him kisses down his perfectly pink cock before putting him back between your lips. Not long after, you tasted the salty sweet release and felt him shake under you as you sucked his head gently, coaxing as much from him as he could give.

“Shit,” he gasped,“That was… that was amazing.” You pulled his boxers back up over him as you carefully stood up. Checking yourself in the mirror, your eyeliner was running slightly and your lips were perfectly plumped from the encounter.

A pounding at the door and a call for your name has the two of you nearly jumping out of your skin. “Hey, I need to pee,” one of your coworkers shouted from the other side,”Are you two almost done in there?”

Matt burst out laughing as he looked at you wide-eyed, face burning like a high school kid getting caught by his parents with his first hickey.

“Give us a sec!” you shouted as Matt finished up his belt buckle. He pulled you in close once more, kissing you deeply for a moment.

“No matter how many times we do this,” he admitted, pressing his lips gently to your forehead,”it’s still fun.”

“Maybe next time we can try role playing at your job though,” you suggested with a laugh, “I can pretend to be a sexy goalie or a naughty linesman.”

“Matthew Tkachuk, 2 minute minor for not enough roughing,” you teased.

“Ha ha very funny, now we better get out of here before Marla gets upset with me,” Matt said worriedly,”I think we took a little too long this time.”

He opened the door cautiously, afraid to slam it into your best friend and coworker, Marla, as she waited for you two to clear out. She rolled her eyes as you walked out, fingers laced together and very content.

“God,” she groaned,” can’t you guys fuck somewhere else? I love you both but this is the third time this month that I’ve been stuck out here waiting for you to finish up your little sex games.”

“Listen, if you were dating someone this hot you’d want to fuck them everywhere too,” Matt replied and Marla rolled her eyes. He led you back out to the sounds of shouts and celebration, still holding your hand in his.

“I’m serious about the linesman thing,” you piped up again,“I think it could be a sexy little scene.”

“Ehhh, we’ll talk about it at home. Now come on, the guys wanted to say hi before you went back to work.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk smut #matthew tkachuk x reader #nhl imagine #nhl smut #nhl fic #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #matthew tkachuk blurb #nhl blurb #nhl x reader #nhl x y/n #matthew tkachuk x y/n #writing tag

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angelofthenight01 · 1 day ago

Text

A first step to believe

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Hey, guys! So, I'm new here and I've decided to start posting some short stories I wrote of characters I like. I hope you enjoy!

genre: fluff || warnings: none

You had always been a quiet observer in the background, preferring to stay out of the limelight, especially with someone as powerful and captivating as Wanda Maximoff around. You worked with her on several occasions in the Avengers compound—whether it was helping with strategy or assisting in the tech department—but you never quite felt like you belonged in her world.

She was magic and mystery incarnate. Her powers, her strength, her vulnerability... all tangled up in that red aura that surrounded her. You, on the other hand, were just... you. A normal human with a special skill set, not even close to the god-like powers Wanda wielded.

But something had changed over the last few weeks. You’d caught her eyes a few times—just for a brief moment—and there was something there. Something soft. Something that hinted at a longing you couldn’t quite interpret.

It started on one particularly quiet evening in the compound. The rest of the team had scattered for some downtime, and you found yourself in the kitchen, making tea to unwind. Your hands trembled slightly from the long day of troubleshooting tech issues, and you were looking forward to a peaceful moment alone.

But as you poured the hot water into your mug, the door creaked open.

“Mind if I join you?” Wanda’s voice was soft, a lilting accent tinged with something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Of course,” you said, offering a small smile. “I was just about to make some tea.”

She stepped into the room, a flicker of hesitation passing over her features. Her eyes—those impossibly deep, captivating eyes—met yours. You could see the exhaustion in her posture, the weight of the past few missions still lingering on her.

“You look like you could use a moment,” you added, hoping she wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

She hesitated, and for a second, you thought she might decline and retreat to the solitude she so often sought. Instead, she gave you a small smile and nodded. “I could use the company.”

You poured her a cup and passed it over, your fingers brushing for a brief moment. Wanda’s gaze lingered on your hand, and then she met your eyes again, her smile softening just a bit. There was an unspoken connection between you, something that had only grown stronger with time.

The silence between you two was comfortable, not awkward. You both sipped your tea, and you found yourself slowly relaxing in her presence.

“I’ve been thinking,” Wanda said suddenly, her voice low. “About... about everything. All the things I’ve done. The things I can do.”

You swallowed, trying to keep the nervous flutter in your chest from taking over. You knew exactly what she meant. Her powers, her trauma, her inner turmoil. It had been a lot for her to bear, especially after everything she had gone through with the Mind Stone, and the aftermath of everything that happened with Vision.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you said gently, meeting her gaze. “But that doesn’t define you, Wanda. You’re so much more than the pain and the power.”

Wanda’s lips parted as though she were about to say something, but she stopped herself. Her gaze drifted away for a moment before returning to you, this time with a look that was almost unreadable.

“I’m not sure I can believe that,” she whispered.

You set your cup down and took a step closer. “You don’t have to believe it all at once. But I do.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The air between you was thick with something unspoken, something that both of you seemed afraid to give voice to. It was like a thread, fragile and delicate, waiting to be pulled. You could feel her uncertainty, but you also felt the quiet yearning in her eyes.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand resting lightly on her arm. She tensed at the touch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you gave her a reassuring smile.

“I’m here for you,” you said, voice steady, but soft. “Whatever you need.”

Wanda’s eyes softened as she looked at you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. The world outside the compound, with all its dangers and distractions, faded away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet kitchen, surrounded by the warmth of the tea and the gentle hum of the compound around you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped even closer, your heart hammering now. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. We can figure it out together.”

Wanda looked at you, really looked at you, as though seeing you for the first time. And in that moment, you knew something had shifted between you both.

The tension in the air seemed to crackle with possibility. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she leaned in. Your breath caught in your throat as her lips brushed lightly against yours.

It was soft. Simple. Tentative, even. But it was enough to send a shock of warmth through your entire body.

When she pulled away, her eyes were full of wonder and uncertainty. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped her face gently in your hands, your thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “I’m sure.”

And for the first time in a long while, Wanda allowed herself to believe it, too.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader

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movingmusically · 2 days ago

Note

I am obsessed with your writing!!! I was wondering if you could write about the reader being a singer on tour and Austin being there to support her? THANK YOU!!

Author’s Note:

Thank you ☺️ I hope it’s what you had in mind!

Word Count: 11,915

Masterlist

Headliner

The roar of the crowd was deafening, their voices a single, electric wave that washed over you like a warm tide. The stage lights blazed, transforming the arena into a kaleidoscope of colour and energy. You could feel it—the magic of the moment, the kind that made your pulse race and your skin hum with electricity. This was what you’d dreamed of. This was the payoff for every sleepless night, every sacrifice.

As you launched into the final chorus, the crowd sang with you, their voices lifting yours higher. Thousands of people, united by a song you’d poured your soul into. Your heart swelled, the ache of exhaustion forgotten in the glow of their energy. This wasn’t just a job. It was everything you’d ever wanted.

When the last note faded into the air and the spotlight dimmed, you stood on the edge of the stage, soaking it all in. “Thank you!” you called into the mic, your voice ringing over the cheers. Your grin was wide and genuine, your heart still pounding with adrenaline as you gave the crowd one last wave before heading offstage.

Backstage was chaotic, but in the best way. Crew members offered quick congratulations, their hands clapping against your shoulders as you passed. Your manager handed you a water bottle, rattling off tomorrow’s schedule, but you barely heard her. You were still riding the high of the performance, your body buzzing with energy that wouldn’t let you stand still. You bounced lightly on your feet, your smile almost giddy.

“Hell of a show tonight,” one of the sound techs called, giving you a thumbs-up. You laughed, raising your bottle in thanks, your mind already replaying the best moments from the set.

In the dressing room, you peeled off your jacket and caught sight of yourself in the mirror. You were flushed, glowing, your eyes still sparkling from the rush. This was why you pushed so hard. This was the dream—the kind you’d spent years chasing. And tonight, it felt worth every moment.

The energy backstage after another successful show was electric, the buzz of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Your team ushered you toward the makeshift meet-and-greet area, a small room tucked just behind the stage where fans had gathered for the post-show event. You barely had time to catch your breath before the doors opened, and a group of wide-eyed fans entered, clutching posters, albums, and carefully crafted gifts.

Your cheeks already ached from smiling, but as the first fan stepped forward, the exhaustion melted away. She was a teenager, maybe fifteen, with a shy smile and a journal clutched tightly to her chest. Her hands trembled as she passed it to you.

“I—I wrote this for you,” she stammered, her voice barely audible over the murmurs of the others. “Your music got me through… a lot. Especially when things at school were… hard.”

Your throat tightened as you flipped through the journal, its pages filled with sketches, letters, and lyrics she’d written herself. The care and vulnerability in every word hit you square in the chest.

“This is beautiful,” you said softly, looking up at her. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Her eyes lit up, a mix of relief and disbelief. “Really? You mean it?”

“Of course,” you said, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. “You’re so talented. And brave.”

Her shoulders straightened a little, her smile growing. “Your song—‘Rise’—that one’s my favourite. I used to listen to it every day on the way to school. It made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”

You blinked quickly, trying to keep the emotion from spilling over. “I’m so glad it helped you. That’s why I do this—to connect with people like you.”

She nodded, biting her lip to stop the tears from falling. “Thank you,” she whispered, stepping aside to let the next fan approach.

The meet-and-greet continued, each fan bringing their own stories, laughter, and moments that reminded you why this was all worth it. One fan even brought a small dog plush, complete with a hand-knitted bandana with your logo embroidered on it.

“It’s for your dog!” they explained, their enthusiasm contagious. “I hope it fits, but I can make another if it doesn’t.”

You laughed, holding the plush up for your team to see. “This is adorable. Thank you so much!”

By the time the meet-and-greet ended, your spirits were soaring. As you walked back to your dressing room, you carried the gifts and notes close to your chest, their weight a reminder of how much your music meant to people.

Your manager caught your eye, a knowing smile on her face. “Good crowd tonight, huh?”

“The best,” you said, your voice warm. “I needed that.”

The next few days followed the same rhythm. Each night brought a new city, a new stage, and a new crowd that screamed your lyrics back at you with an intensity that made your heart swell. You started every show with the same wide-eyed excitement, feeding off the energy of the fans and letting it carry you through the night.

Even the whirlwind pace didn’t faze you at first. Backstage meetings with fans left you glowing, their stories reminding you why you loved this life. On the bus rides between cities, you laughed with your bandmates, trading inside jokes and sharing snacks like it was summer camp. The exhaustion was there, creeping in at the edges, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the dream you were living.

One night, after the crew had cleared out and the buzz of the show still hummed in your chest, your phone lit up with Austin’s name. Grinning, you swiped to answer, your voice still giddy with adrenaline.

“Hey, rockstar,” he teased, his voice warm and familiar. “How many bras were thrown at you tonight?”

You laughed, leaning back against the couch in your dressing room. “Only three. A slow night, clearly.”

“Tragic,” he deadpanned. “Do I need to start sending decoys to up the numbers?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to stop smiling.

He chuckled, the sound like a balm to your nerves. “Okay, but seriously, how was it?”

“Amazing. The crowd was insane, and they actually sang the bridge louder than me. I think I could’ve just stood there and let them do the work.”

“Sounds like they’ve got taste,” he said, his tone mock-serious. “But don’t let them replace you just yet.”

You shook your head, biting back a laugh. “And how was your day, Mr. Hollywood? Please tell me something boring. I need balance.”

“Oh, absolutely riveting,” he said, his voice dropping into a faux-earnest tone. “I spent twenty minutes debating whether to have cereal or toast this morning. Then I stared at a script for an hour without reading a single word. Truly groundbreaking stuff.”

You snorted, feeling some of the tension in your body dissolve. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“What, to know that I’m a human disaster?” he teased.

“No,” you said softly, your smile fading into something gentler. “To hear your voice.”

His tone softened too, the humour giving way to sincerity. “Anytime, baby. You know I’m always here, right?”

“I know,” you murmured, your chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and longing. “I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too,” he said quietly, the emotion in his voice matching your own. “But you’ve got this. I’ll be cheering from here until I can do it in person.”

The call ended a few minutes later, leaving you with a lingering warmth that stayed with you as you packed up and headed back to the hotel.

Austin was a constant presence, even from afar. He sent thoughtful texts before every show, little reminders to “breathe” or “kill it,” and FaceTimed whenever your schedules lined up. He didn’t have to say much—just hearing his voice steadied you, grounding you amidst the chaos.

But as the days stretched into weeks, the cracks started to show.

It was subtle at first. A missed meal here, a hoarse voice there. The adrenaline that once carried you through each night now left you jittery and drained, making it impossible to sleep. You found yourself staring at the ceiling in dark hotel rooms, your body aching and your mind racing with to-do lists you’d never have time to complete.

By the third week, you were running on fumes. The fans’ cheers were still exhilarating, but the feeling didn’t last as long as it used to. As soon as the stage lights dimmed, the weight of it all came crashing down. The early mornings, the constant travel, the pressure to give 110% every single night—it was starting to feel like too much.

That night, as you sang the second chorus of your most popular song, something unexpected happened. Your voice wavered—not enough for the audience to notice, but enough for you to feel it. The high note you’d hit effortlessly a week ago caught in your throat, forcing you to push harder to recover. For a split second, panic surged through you, your mind scrambling to stay in the moment.

The crowd didn’t seem to notice—they were still singing along, their energy undiminished—but the strain lingered in your chest. By the time the song ended, your smile felt a little more forced, your body suddenly heavier as you moved across the stage.

You shook it off as best as you could, slipping back into the rhythm of the set. But the small falter stayed with you, a quiet reminder that your body and mind were nearing their limits.

Backstage, the usual hum of post-show excitement felt quieter, the high of the performance dulled by the ache in your throat and the exhaustion creeping into your muscles. You plastered on a smile for your team, but the weight of the tour was becoming harder to ignore.

One night, after a particularly gruelling show, you collapsed onto the couch in your dressing room, your legs too heavy to move. Your manager popped her head in, clipboard in hand. “Quick debrief in ten, then we’ll head back to the hotel. Tomorrow’s packed, so try to get some rest.”

You nodded, your grin feeling a little forced now. “Got it.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and for the first time all night, you were alone. The silence was jarring after the noise of the arena, the weight of the night settling on your shoulders like a heavy coat. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to sleep for a week, to stop moving for just one day.

Your phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with Austin’s name. You grabbed it instinctively, your heart lifting as you read his message.

Saw some clips from the show tonight. You killed it, baby. Wish I could’ve been there. ❤️

The tension in your chest eased slightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. He always knew how to make you feel seen, even from miles away. You typed out a quick reply.

Wish you were here too. Miss you. ❤️

Setting the phone down, you leaned back, closing your eyes as the silence of the room pressed down on you. You missed him more than you wanted to admit. His presence, his laugh, the way he could make you feel like yourself when everything else felt overwhelming. But he wasn’t here. And that ache was starting to feel unbearable.

Touring wasn’t just a job—it was a lifestyle. Early mornings blurred into late nights, the adrenaline of performing keeping you wired long after the crowds had gone home. Your body was constantly on the edge of exhaustion, your voice strained from pushing it night after night. Even the days off weren’t really “off.” There were interviews, photoshoots, and endless planning for the next stop.

But the hardest part wasn’t the physical toll—it was the emotional one. You gave so much of yourself to the world every night, there was barely anything left by the time you were alone in your hotel room. And that’s when you felt it the most: the loneliness, the ache of being away from the people who made you feel like yourself.

Austin did his best to fill that void. While he couldn’t be there in person, he always found ways to remind you that you weren’t alone. Care packages greeted you at nearly every hotel room—thoughtful little surprises that made the distance between you feel smaller. Sometimes it was handwritten letters, filled with his familiar scrawl and quiet reassurances that he was proud of you. Other times, it was Polaroids from home: his favourite corner of the couch where the two of you would spend lazy afternoons, a sunrise from his balcony, or a snapshot of your dog curled up in a patch of sunlight. And then there were the snacks—your favourite chocolates, crisps, or that tea he swore tasted like dirt but always made you feel better.

The packages were like lifelines, pulling you out of the endless churn of days on tour and back to the comfort of what you’d built together.

And when the care packages weren’t enough, there were the late-night FaceTime calls. No matter how exhausted he was, he’d sit propped up in bed, hair mussed, his voice soft but steady as he listened to you vent. You didn’t have to sugarcoat anything for him. When the adrenaline had worn off and the weight of the day pressed down on you, Austin was your safe place to fall apart.

“Tell me everything,” he’d say, his eyes intent on yours through the screen. “The good, the bad, all of it. I’m here.”

Those conversations were your sanctuary, a reminder that even when the world demanded more than you felt you could give, there was someone who saw you—not the performer, not the polished version of yourself—but the real you.

But it wasn’t the same. You missed his touch, the way his hand would find yours without even thinking. You missed the quiet comfort of his presence, the way he could make you feel seen and understood even in your most chaotic moments.

Still, you pushed through, because this was your dream. And as much as it demanded from you, it also gave you so much in return. The fans who sang your lyrics back to you, the moments on stage when the world melted away, the pride you felt in building something that mattered—it all kept you going.

But some nights, when the adrenaline wore off and the silence closed in, you wondered how much longer you could juggle it all. And that’s when you’d reach for your phone, scrolling through old pictures of you and Austin, your thumb lingering on his smile.

The next morning, you woke up with a dull ache in your chest, the weight of the tour pressing heavier than usual. The care package waiting on your hotel desk brought a brief smile to your face—Austin’s handwriting scrawled across the envelope in messy block letters—but even that wasn’t enough to shake the exhaustion. You carried the unopened box with you to the bus, telling yourself you’d open it later, when you weren’t so tired.

By the time you reached the next venue, the adrenaline was harder to summon. You plastered on a smile during soundcheck, nodding along as your manager ran through the schedule. But even as you took the stage that night, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered, How much longer can I keep this up?

The breaking point came two nights later, in yet another anonymous hotel room. You’d barely made it through the show, your voice straining to hit notes that usually came easily. Backstage, you’d smiled through fan photos and listened to your team’s endless plans for the next city. But the moment you closed the door to your room, the exhaustion hit you like a wave, pulling you under.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, your head in your hands, fighting back tears. This wasn’t how it was supposed to feel. The dream you’d worked so hard for had become a treadmill you couldn’t step off, and in that moment, you weren’t sure you had the strength to keep going.

Your eyes drifted to the edge of your suitcase, where Austin’s care package sat untouched. With trembling hands, you tore it open, revealing the familiar mix of snacks, letters, and Polaroids he always sent. But something else caught your eye—a small, battered USB drive tucked between the notes. Your heart twisted as you pulled it out, instantly recognising it as his.

Plugging it into your laptop, you found a single file. The title made your breath catch.

Demo – Y/N.

Your hands shook as you clicked play. The moment the melody filled the room, you froze. It was raw, unpolished—your voice accompanied only by an acoustic guitar. You remembered this song. You’d written it years ago, before the tours, before the arenas. It was a love letter to music itself, a song that had poured out of you in the quiet of your tiny apartment. You hadn’t heard it in years.

Attached to the file was a note, typed out in Austin’s words:

I found this the other day and couldn’t stop thinking about how far you’ve come. You’ve always had that fire in you, baby. Don’t let the noise drown it out. I believe in you. Always.

Tears blurred your vision as you stared at the screen, the melody wrapping around you like a warm embrace. For the first time in weeks, the weight pressing on your chest eased just enough to let hope slip through.

Without thinking, you grabbed your phone and dialled his number. It rang twice before his voice came through, warm and steady.

“Hey, baby,” he said, concern lacing his tone. “What’s wrong?”

Your voice cracked as you spoke. “I found the demo.”

There was a pause, then his voice softened. “What’d you think?”

“I… I forgot how much I loved it,” you admitted, wiping at your cheeks. “How much I loved all of this before it got so… overwhelming.”

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I sent it. I wanted to remind you of who you are, not just who the world thinks you are.”

Your throat tightened at the sincerity in his words. “Austin, I don’t think I can keep doing this without you. It’s too much.”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “You’re stronger than you think. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, even if I can’t be there.”

His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the ache you hadn’t been able to shake. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For always knowing exactly what I need.”

He chuckled softly, the sound like a lifeline. “That’s my job, isn’t it? Now, get some sleep. You’ve got another show tomorrow, and I want to see you kill it again.”

You smiled through the tears, the tension in your chest finally starting to release. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “Now, close your eyes and dream big, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, letting his words wash over you.

As the call ended and you climbed into bed, the exhaustion still lingered, but it felt lighter now. You weren’t alone in this—not really. And as the melody of the demo replayed in your mind, you remembered why you’d started this journey in the first place.

The next evening, after another long day of interviews and press commitments, you found yourself back in your hotel room, phone pressed to your ear as Austin’s familiar voice filled the quiet space.

“Tell me again why you don’t just stow away in my luggage?” you teased, trying to keep your tone light despite the ache of missing him.

“Because I’d never fit, and you’d never make it through airport security,” he shot back, his voice warm and teasing. “Besides, I think your team might notice if I started hanging around eating all the snacks.”

You laughed, the sound genuine for the first time all day. “They’d probably thank you. I’m not very good at sharing.”

“Noted,” he replied, his voice softening. “How’re you holding up tonight, baby?”

You hesitated, the truth sitting heavy in your chest. “Better now,” you admitted, letting the sound of his voice wrap around you like a balm. “It’s just been a lot, you know?”

“I know,” he said, his voice steady. “But you’re killing it. I’ve seen the clips—they’re all losing their minds over you. I mean, I get it. Look at you.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I know it will,” he said, his tone playful. “Seriously, though, I’m proud of you.”

His words warmed something deep inside you, easing the tension that had been building all day. Before you could respond, a sudden knock at the door startled you, the sound cutting through the quiet.

“Hang on,” you said, frowning as you slid off the bed. “Someone’s at the door.”

“It’s probably room service,” Austin said, though there was an odd note in his voice—something almost… expectant.

You padded to the door, phone still pressed to your ear. “I didn’t order anything.”

When you swung the door open, your breath caught in your throat.

Austin stood there, his familiar lopsided grin lighting up his face, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He looked tired, but it didn’t matter. He was here.

“Austin?” you whispered, frozen in place. “What—how—?”

He raised a brow, his grin widening. “You gonna let me in, or are we doing this in the hallway?”

Without thinking, you dropped the phone and launched yourself into his arms, your heart racing as his warmth enveloped you. He chuckled softly, his hands coming up to steady you as you clung to him.

“You’re really here,” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I thought you couldn’t—”

“I couldn’t not,” he interrupted, his voice low but steady. “You needed me. So here I am.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you shook your head, barely able to believe he was standing there. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

He smiled softly, his hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Where else would I be?”

Your heart swelled as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours, filled with a tenderness that made your breath catch. “Every second.”

Without another word, his lips met yours in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly deepened, all the longing and emotion from weeks apart pouring into it. Your hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer as your heart raced. Without breaking the kiss, you stepped back into the room, tugging him with you, and he followed willingly, the door clicking shut behind him.

His hands slid upward, finding the hem of your shirt and slipping beneath it. His warm palms against your bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you gasped softly into his mouth. The feeling of his touch, his presence, was so overwhelming you felt like you might break apart and piece yourself back together all at once.

“Austin…” you murmured against his lips, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and breathless. His hands smoothed over your back, his thumbs tracing soothing circles against your skin as he pressed another kiss to your lips, then your jaw, trailing down to your neck. Each touch felt grounding, like he was pulling you out of the haze you’d been trapped in for weeks.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your breaths coming in shallow bursts. His eyes searched yours, his gaze filled with so much tenderness and love it nearly undid you.

“You don’t know how much I needed this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“I think I do,” he said softly, his thumb brushing along your cheek, wiping away the tear you hadn’t even realised had fallen. “I hated not being able to be here for you.”

“You’re here now,” you said softly, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing along his jaw. “That’s all that matters.”

He smiled faintly, leaning into your touch, before his lips found yours again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands roamed along your back, every movement deliberate and grounding, like he wanted to memorise the feel of you.

As the kiss deepened, you felt his hands shift, lifting your shirt slightly as his fingertips grazed the small of your back. A quiet hum escaped you, your body leaning into his instinctively. It wasn’t just the kiss or the touch—it was everything he brought with him. The warmth, the steadiness, the reminder that you weren’t in this alone.

You pulled back slightly, your breaths coming in shallow bursts, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the moment—an ache you couldn’t quite bury. “It’s been…” you whispered, your voice catching. “it’s been so hard.”

The confession hung in the air between you, raw and unguarded. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, steadying you as his eyes searched yours.

“I hate seeing you in this state,” he murmured, his brow furrowing. “You’re running yourself into the ground, baby.”

You bit your lip, the vulnerability of his words making it harder to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. “I’m okay,” you said softly, though even you could hear the uncertainty in your voice. “I just—”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he interrupted gently, his hands tightening on your waist. “Not here. Not now.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and you felt the dam of emotions you’d been holding back for weeks begin to crack. His gaze was steady, his hands grounding you, as if silently telling you it was okay to let go.

“I’ve been trying,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “Trying to keep it all together. For the fans, for the team, for everyone. But it’s… it’s so much, Austin.”

His brows furrowed, and his thumbs continued their slow, soothing circles on your skin. “I know it is,” he said softly. “And I know how much you give. But you don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

Tears spilled over before you could stop them, and you turned your head slightly, embarrassed. But he was having none of it. He tilted your chin back toward him, his touch gentle but firm, his eyes locking on yours.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice a mix of tenderness and quiet strength. “You’re allowed to feel this. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Your shoulders sagged under the weight of his words, the truth of them unraveling something deep inside you. “I just don’t want to let anyone down,” you confessed, the tears flowing freely now. “I worked so hard for this, and I love it, I do, but it’s—”

“It’s overwhelming,” he finished for you, his voice breaking slightly as if the thought of you struggling hurt him too. “And it’s okay to admit that, baby. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he held you tightly, his chin resting on top of your head. His warmth and steady presence made you feel safe, like you could let go without falling apart completely.

For a while, neither of you spoke. He just held you, letting you cry into his chest until the tears slowed and your breathing steadied. When you finally pulled back, his shirt was damp from your tears, but he didn’t seem to care. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears.

“Better?” he asked softly.

You nodded, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “A little.”

“Good,” he said, his voice lightening just enough to make you feel like you could breathe again. “Because I didn’t come all this way just to make you cry. I came to remind you how incredible you are.”

You laughed softly, the sound breaking through the heaviness in your chest. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

He grinned, his hand dropping to your waist as he pulled you closer again. “It’s a talent.”

For the first time in what felt like weeks, you felt the weight on your chest ease, the tension in your body unraveling under his touch. As his fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, you leaned into him, closing your eyes and letting the comfort of his presence settle over you like a blanket.

“You’re not alone in this,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m here. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

The next morning, the soft hum of traffic outside the hotel window pulled you from sleep. For the first time in weeks, you felt a kind of stillness in your chest—a reprieve from the constant hum of exhaustion and worry. The bed was warm, and Austin’s arm was draped over your waist, anchoring you in place. His presence was tangible, calming, and you weren’t ready to let it go just yet.

His breath stirred against the back of your neck as he shifted slightly. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice gravelly from sleep.

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his as you closed your eyes again. “Morning.”

He tightened his hold on you, his lips grazing your neck. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better,” you admitted, the weight on your shoulders feeling lighter. “Because of you.”

He chuckled softly. “Good. That’s the plan.”

Having Austin with you changed everything. He wasn’t just there—he was present, quietly weaving himself into the rhythm of your days. When your schedule had you rushing from interviews to soundchecks, he was the one sneaking a granola bar into your hand or gently reminding you to drink water. At night, when the adrenaline of the day wouldn’t let you rest, he’d strum his guitar softly in the corner, humming a melody you couldn’t help but fall asleep to.

“You’re worse than my tour manager,” you teased one afternoon as he handed you a bowl of something that smelled suspiciously healthy.

He smirked, settling into the chair across from you. “Your tour manager doesn’t love you the way I do.”

That shut you up, the sincerity of his words settling over you like a blanket. You took a bite, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

His presence extended beyond just you, too. The crew had started joking about how he was the unofficial “morale officer” of the tour. When you caught him helping one of the techs carry equipment after soundcheck, you shook your head in disbelief.

“You know you’re not getting paid for this, right?” you teased as he walked toward you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

He shrugged, his grin lazy. “You think I flew across the country to sit in a hotel room? Besides, I like being part of the team.”

That was Austin—always willing to pitch in, always trying to make things better for the people around him. It was just one of the reasons you loved him.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you had a day off. No interviews, no sound checks, no schedule meticulously planned down to the minute. Just a stretch of hours that were completely yours. It felt almost foreign after weeks of constant motion, but Austin seemed determined to make the most of it.

He’d woken you up with a soft kiss and a whispered plan to escape the confines of the hotel. By late morning, you found yourself tucked into the passenger seat of a rented car, the windows down and the warm breeze tangling your hair as Austin drove with an easy confidence.

He drove with one hand loosely gripping the wheel, the other resting on your bare thigh. Your leg pressed lightly against his, the closeness a quiet comfort as the road stretched ahead of you. Your hand rested over his, your fingers tracing along the veins on the back of his hand absentmindedly. His thumb moved in slow circles against your skin, each gentle stroke grounding you in the moment. The warmth of his palm seeped into you, and every squeeze of his fingers felt like a silent promise. You leaned further into him, your knee brushing against his, the casual intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like the summer breeze filtering through the open windows.

“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, glancing over at him.

He smirked, his eyes flicking to you briefly. “You’ll see.”

The radio played softly in the background, some mellow tune that perfectly matched the easy rhythm of the day. You turned, leaning your head back against the seat and watching the trees blur past. His hand tightened slightly on your thigh, the small gesture enough to send your pulse skipping. You glanced over again, catching the way his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“What?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin. “You just look... peaceful.”

You smiled, your hand still covering his where it rested on your leg. “That’s because I am.”

The destination turned out to be a quiet little town just outside the city, its main street lined with charming shops and cafés that felt a world away from the arenas and hotels you’d been living in. Austin parked the car and took your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he led you down the cobblestone sidewalk.

The day unfolded slowly, deliberately. There was no rush, no pressure to be anywhere or do anything in particular. You wandered into a quirky bookstore, where Austin immediately made a beeline for the history section while you lingered near the music biographies. He held up a book with an absurdly long title and read it aloud in a dramatic voice, making you laugh so hard you nearly knocked over a stack of paperbacks.

Afterward, he insisted on buying you an ice cream cone from a little stand on the corner. You sat on a bench in the shade, the sounds of the town’s quiet bustle around you, as he stole bites of your mint chocolate chip with a grin that made your heart flutter.

“This is nice,” you said softly, leaning back against the bench and letting the sunlight filter through the leaves above. “I almost forgot what it’s like to just… slow down.”

He reached over, brushing his fingers against yours. “That’s why we’re here. You deserve a break, baby.”

You smiled, your chest tightening with gratitude. “Thank you for this. For being here.”

His expression softened, and he leaned closer, his voice low and earnest. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

In the afternoon, you found yourselves wandering down a quiet trail near the edge of town, the sounds of nature replacing the usual hum of city life. The path wound its way to a small lake surrounded by trees, their branches forming a canopy that dappled the ground with patches of sunlight. Austin stopped abruptly, pulling you to a halt with him.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

He grinned, his gaze darting to the water. “How do you feel about getting your feet wet?”

You raised a brow, already knowing where this was going. “Austin…”

Before you could protest, he was tugging you toward the edge of the lake, his enthusiasm contagious. You kicked off your shoes and followed him into the cool, clear water, the sensation oddly grounding after weeks of nonstop movement.

He splashed you lightly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face when you gasped in mock indignation. “You did not just—”

“Oh, I did,” he said, his voice full of laughter.

It wasn’t long before you were splashing him back, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. By the time you finally retreated to the shore, your clothes damp and your feet muddy, your cheeks ached from smiling.

Austin flopped onto the grass beside you, his damp shirt clinging to his chest. “Worth it,” he said, his hair sticking up in unruly strands.

You leaned back on your hands, the sun warming your skin as you looked over at him. “Definitely worth it.”

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as his gaze traveled over you. “You look happy,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your arm.

“I am,” you admitted, your voice quiet but steady.

His touch grew bolder, his hand sliding up your arm to your shoulder, then tracing the curve of your neck. You shivered under his touch, your heart skipping a beat as he leaned closer.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and full of heat.

Before you could respond, his lips found yours in a kiss that started slow and gentle but quickly deepened. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he shifted, his body pressing against yours. The warmth of the sun was nothing compared to the heat building between you, his touch igniting something that had been simmering all day.

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging slightly as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, pressing soft kisses along the curve of your neck. He growled softly against your skin, the sound sending a rush of need through you.

Before you could think, you pushed him back gently, his eyes widening slightly in surprise as you straddled him. He fell back into the grass with a quiet laugh, his hands instinctively finding your hips. The look on his face shifted as you leaned over him, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was deeper, more urgent than before.

His hands roamed over your thighs, his touch setting your skin alight as you pressed your body closer to his. Your own hands slipped beneath his shirt, running over the hard lines of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. The weight of his gaze, the heat of his hands, made the rest of the world blur into nothing.

“Austin,” you breathed against his lips, your voice filled with a mixture of need and desperation as his grip on your hips tightened.

He let out a low, quiet groan, his lips trailing along your jawline as his hands slid up your back, under the thin fabric of your shirt. His thumbs brushed against your sides, the deliberate movement sending shivers through you.

But just as the kiss deepened, his hands paused. He pulled back slightly, his chest heaving as he met your gaze, his lips curling into a soft smile. “We’re in public,” he murmured, his voice a mix of heat and restraint, though his eyes were still dark with want.

You blinked, the words grounding you back into reality. Glancing around, the quiet isolation of the lakeside suddenly felt far less private than it had moments ago. You let out a soft laugh, burying your face in his shoulder to hide the flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Right,” you mumbled, your breath warm against his skin. “I got a little carried away.”

His hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as he kissed your temple. “Trust me, I’m not complaining,” he said, his tone playful but still thick with desire. “But I’d rather not have an audience.”

You laughed again, sitting up slightly but still staying close, his hands lingering on your hips as he watched you. The smile on his face was soft now, the heat tempered by a warmth that made your heart swell.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you murmured, “Then you’d better get me home before I do something really scandalous.”

Austin's grin widened, his hands tightening on your hips as he let out a low chuckle. “Home it is,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. He trailed off, his eyes flickering over your face with a heat that made your pulse quicken. “But don’t think for a second I’m keeping my hands to myself when we get there.”

You bit your lip, your heart racing as his words settled over you, thick with promise. Sliding off his lap, you smoothed your shirt, the warm flush on your skin still lingering from the intensity of the moment. He stood up a moment later, and the two of you slipped your shoes back on.

The walk back to the car was quieter but no less charged. His hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours as he gave it a squeeze. Every touch, every glance he cast your way, was electric, leaving your nerves alight with anticipation.

When you reached the car, he opened the door for you, his palm grazing the small of your back as you climbed inside. Settling into the driver’s seat, he shot you a sly grin before starting the engine, his hand immediately finding its place on your thigh as he drove.

The ride back to the hotel was filled with a teasing tension that had your stomach fluttering. His thumb traced lazy circles against your skin, his touch steady but deliberate, and every so often, his eyes flicked to you, his smirk growing wider at the flush that deepened on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but reach out, your hand resting over his as your thumb mimicked the same soothing circles, the quiet intimacy between you making the air in the car feel charged.

By the time he pulled into the hotel parking lot, your heart was hammering against your ribs. He parked quickly, his movements efficient yet somehow still languid, the kind of calm control that only made you more eager. As he cut the engine, he turned to you, his gaze sweeping over your face like he couldn’t decide where to look first.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, his voice thick with restrained urgency.

The walk through the hotel lobby felt like a blur. He kept a firm but gentle grip on your hand, his strides purposeful, and you matched his pace, your breaths quickening with every step closer to your room. By the time the door clicked shut behind you, the tension finally snapped.

Before you could even turn, his hands were on your waist, spinning you around and pressing you gently against the door. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was hungry, impatient, the soft restraint he’d held onto all day completely unraveling.

Austin’s hands were on you, his lips crashing into yours with an urgency that sent your head spinning. He pressed you back against the door, his body flush against yours, his warmth and the sheer force of his presence stealing your breath.

Your hands instinctively reached for him, clutching at his shoulders, but before you could pull him even closer, his hand came up to capture both of yours, pressing them above your head. The slight roughness of the movement sent a shiver racing down your spine. His strength was overwhelming yet intoxicating, his grip firm but never harsh.

The kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His free hand roamed down your side, sliding over the curve of your hip to the bare skin just beneath the hem of your shorts. His fingertips grazed your thigh, teasing, as you arched into him, desperate for more.

A quiet whimper escaped your lips as you twisted slightly in his hold, trying to press closer, but he held you in place, his control unyielding. The weight of him against you, the way he commanded every part of the moment, left you dizzy with need.

His lips trailed down your jaw to the curve of your neck, each kiss a brand against your heated skin. The hand on your thigh slipped higher, his thumb brushing against the inside, igniting a trail of fire in its wake. “Austin,” you whispered, the word barely audible, more plea than name.

He released your hands suddenly, his arm looping under your legs as he pulled you up against him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders instinctively, your legs circling his waist as he carried you from the door. His lips found yours again, his kiss urgent and consuming, as he moved toward the bed, every step steady despite the tension radiating through both of you.

When he reached the edge, he laid you down with care, his body following yours as he braced himself above you. His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it higher, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist. His lips left yours, but only to trail downward, pressing heated kisses to the curve of your stomach, each touch urgent and full of need.

He moved with a singular focus, his mouth following the hem of your shirt as he pushed it higher, kissing and nipping at the exposed skin. The rough scrape of his stubble against your stomach made you gasp, your back arching into him as his hands gripped your sides to hold you steady.

With a swift, fluid motion, he tugged the shirt higher, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ribs before he sat up enough to pull it over your head. The second it was gone, his gaze roamed over you, dark and searing, his breath coming fast as though he was barely holding himself together.

You didn’t wait—your hands flew to his shirt, tugging at it with urgency until he leaned back just long enough to yank it over his head. The sight of him, bare and flushed, only fueled the fire burning under your skin. Your hands found his shoulders, pulling him back down to you as your lips crashed together, the kiss hungry and wild, all restraint forgotten.

His hands roamed your body like he couldn’t get enough, sliding over your sides, your hips, and then lower, his fingers toying with the edge of your shorts. He broke the kiss, his lips moving down your neck, over your chest, and further still. His kisses were rougher now, his teeth grazing your skin, his tongue leaving trails of fire as he worked his way back down your body.

When his lips reached the waistband of your shorts, he paused, his hands already unfastening them as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. The heat in his gaze was enough to steal the air from your lungs, the raw need there matching your own as he finally moved lower, his mouth pressing against the sensitive skin of your hips. Every touch, every kiss, felt like he was pulling you apart piece by piece, leaving you breathless and craving more.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and finally he pulled them and your shorts the rest of the way down. The cool air of the room brushed against your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you in place as he worked his way upward, his lips and tongue leaving trails of fire against your skin.

Your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping you as his mouth moved closer to where you wanted him most. His kisses grew slower, more deliberate, as though he was savouring every inch of you. His hands slid under your thighs, spreading you slightly, and the anticipation alone sent a shiver racing up your spine.

When his lips finally brushed against you, your whole body jolted, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you. His tongue moved with precision, teasing and testing, until he found the rhythm that made your back arch and your breaths come in short, broken gasps.

He murmured something against you, his voice low and thick with want, but the words were lost in the haze of sensation as he continued his slow, torturous exploration. His grip on your thighs tightened as he drew you even closer, his mouth working you over with a hunger that made your head spin. Each flick of his tongue, every gentle scrape of his teeth, sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, building you up higher and higher.

Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you tugged him closer, your body instinctively moving against him. He groaned in response, the vibration sending a jolt through you that had your thighs trembling around him.

“God, yes...” you gasped, the words breaking on your lips like a plea.

He looked up at you briefly, his eyes blazing, before diving back in with renewed urgency, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony. Your breaths turned ragged, your body tightening as the pressure inside you built to a breaking point.

The sound of your moans filled the room, unrestrained and raw, as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. When you finally fell, it was with a sharp cry, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure consumed you, wave after wave leaving you shaking and breathless.

He didn’t stop, not immediately. His movements slowed, his kisses gentler now, easing you through the aftershocks until you were left trembling and spent. When he finally moved up your body, his lips brushed yours in a kiss that was soft and almost reverent, his weight settling comfortably against you as you tried to catch your breath.

But then you felt him, hard and straining against his jeans, pressing into you with an urgency that reignited the fire simmering just beneath the surface. A soft gasp escaped you as your hips instinctively arched into his, the friction sending a fresh wave of heat spiralling through you. His breath hitched, a low, ragged sound escaping him as his forehead dropped to yours.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands slipped between you, reaching for the button of his jeans, fumbling slightly in your haste. He groaned softly, his head tilting back as he shifted to give you room. The sound alone sent a rush of desire pooling low in your stomach, and the feel of his muscles tensing under your touch only spurred you on.

When you finally freed him from the constricting fabric, he moved quickly, kicking the jeans off the rest of the way and leaving them in a heap on the floor. The sudden closeness, the feel of his bare skin against yours, made you dizzy with want.

His lips crashed against yours again, the kiss deeper, hungrier now. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed you into the mattress, his body aligning perfectly with yours. The heat of him, skin to skin, was almost too much, and yet it wasn’t enough.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver racing through you. Without a word, his hands slid down to your thighs, lifting one leg and guiding it over his shoulder. The shift made your breath hitch, the position sending a wave of anticipation coursing through you as his lips brushed the inside of your knee.

His gaze stayed locked on yours as he kissed his way up your leg, his touch deliberate and teasing. Your heart pounded, your body trembling beneath him, as he brought your other leg up over his shoulder. His hands settled on either side of you, as he leaned forward, his body pressing into yours.

The sensation of him filling you in this position was overwhelming, the depth and intensity stealing the air from your lungs. Your head tipped back against the mattress, your hands gripping the sheets as he moved, slowly at first, every motion deliberate and precise. The angle sent shocks of pleasure radiating through you, your body arching instinctively to meet him.

He leaned forward, the muscles in his arms flexing as he braced himself above you, the movement pressing you further into the mattress. The weight of him, the way his body fit perfectly against yours, was almost too much to bear, and yet you craved more.

Your hands instinctively reached for him, finding his forearms and gripping tightly, the muscles there flexing under your touch as he held himself over you. His lips dipped to yours, capturing them in a kiss that was hot and urgent, muffling the soft sounds spilling from your lips.

As his pace quickened, the pressure built steadily, your legs tensing against his shoulders, your fingers curling tighter around his arms. The angle amplified every movement, sending waves of heat radiating through you, your body helpless against the tide of sensations he was pulling from you.

The sounds escaping your lips were soft and breathless, matching the rhythm of his movements as he drove you higher and higher. His breaths were ragged, his groans low and guttural, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

When your release hit, it was like a floodgate opening, the sensation so powerful it left you gasping, your entire body trembling as it crashed over you. He didn’t stop, his movements carrying you through every wave of pleasure, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was desperate and consuming.

Moments later, his pace stuttered, his grip tightening as his head tipped back, a deep groan ripping from his throat as he followed you over the edge. The intensity of it left him shaking, his body pressing into yours as he came undone.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room your heavy, uneven breaths. He carefully lowered your legs from his shoulders, his hands brushing along your thighs as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Then he shifted, settling beside you and pulling you close, his arm draping over your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The quiet that followed was full of warmth, connection, and a sense of belonging that made everything else fade away. You didn’t need words; his touch and presence said everything you needed to hear.

The warmth of Austin's body pressed against your back and the quiet stillness of the room were the first things you noticed as you stirred awake. The curtains were still drawn, the soft light of morning barely peeking through the edges. You blinked sleepily, stretching against the sheets as the events of the day before slowly came back to you.

A strong arm curled around your waist, anchoring you, and the familiar warmth sent a quiet flutter through your chest. You shifted slightly, and his hold tightened instinctively. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” you murmured, your voice soft as you turned to face him. His hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and yet he looked unfairly perfect.

He smiled lazily, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “How do you feel?”

“Like I could stay here forever,” you admitted, your voice muffled against the pillow.

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you softly. “I’d let you, but I think your team might have something to say about it.”

You groaned, the thought of schedules and meetings already threatening to drag you out of the cocoon of warmth you’d built with him. “Don’t remind me.”

His hand brushed up and down your side in soothing strokes. “Let’s not think about any of that yet,” he murmured. “Just stay here with me a little longer.”

And for a while, you did. The world outside could wait.

The quiet peace of the morning eventually gave way to reality. Austin sat on the edge of the bed, his phone in hand, as you pulled on one of his shirts, letting it fall loosely over your legs. His expression shifted, his jaw tightening slightly as he read the message on his screen.

“What is it?” you asked, stepping closer.

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before meeting your gaze. “It’s my manager. They’ve confirmed my next project, and I need to be back in LA next week.”

The weight of his words settled over the room like a cloud. You’d known this was coming—his career was as demanding as yours, if not more so. But knowing didn’t make it any easier. “That’s soon.”

He reached out, his hands finding your hips as he pulled you to stand between his knees. “I hate leaving you,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I wish I could stay longer, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile. “I know. I just… I’m going to miss you.”

He rested his forehead against your stomach, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. “I’ll miss you too. But we’ve still got time, and I plan to make the most of it.”

Glastonbury. The word alone was enough to make your chest tighten, both with exhilaration and nerves. Headlining the Pyramid Stage was the kind of milestone artists dreamt of their whole lives. It wasn’t just a show—it was a statement, a moment that cemented your place in history.

The days leading up to the performance were a whirlwind of preparation. But it wasn’t the usual grind of endless rehearsals or meticulous sound checks—it was something more. Each moment felt charged, as if the very air around you knew the weight of what was coming. Your band was buzzing with excitement, the crew double-checking every detail, ensuring everything was perfect.

Austin had stayed by your side through it all. He blended seamlessly into the background when needed, offering quiet support during meetings and cheering you on during rehearsals. But it was in the quieter moments, away from the bustle, that he truly shone.

“Are you nervous?” he asked one evening, his voice low as the two of you sat on the grass near your trailer, watching the sun dip below the horizon.

“A little,” you admitted, your gaze fixed on the fiery hues of the sky. “It’s Glastonbury. It feels… massive.”

“Because it is,” he said simply. “But you’re ready. You’ve worked your ass off to get here. And tomorrow, you’re going to show everyone exactly why you’re headlining.”

His confidence in you was unwavering, and it settled something deep in your chest. You leaned into him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

The morning of the show was a blur of activity. Your team bustled around you, going over every last detail: the setlist, your wardrobe, the press schedule. The Pyramid Stage loomed in the distance, a symbol of everything you’d worked toward.

Austin stayed close, his quiet presence a grounding force amidst the chaos. While your manager fretted over timing and logistics, he handed you a bottle of water and whispered something ridiculous in your ear, making you laugh when you needed it most.

The morning passed quickly, but the excitement truly hit as you and Austin wandered the festival grounds together. It felt surreal to be there—not as a fan, but as the headliner. The crowd was already building, and the energy in the air was electric.

Austin held your hand as the two of you wandered through the bustling crowds, the sun warm against your skin. The atmosphere was electric, a blend of laughter, music, and the scent of food stalls offering everything from wood-fired pizza to vegan curries.

“Where to first?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looked at you with a crooked smile.

“Let’s just explore,” you said, your heart lighter than it had been in days.

For a few hours, you managed to forget the pressure. With Austin by your side, you blended into the crowd, stopping to watch a few sets from other bands and grabbing drinks from a vendor. He kept you grounded, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as the two of you laughed and joked like it was any other day.

At one point, Austin dragged you to the edge of a smaller stage, insisting you needed to see the up-and-coming indie band he’d discovered months ago.

“They’re incredible,” he said, his eyes lighting up as the band launched into their set. Watching him get lost in the music, his head bobbing along to the beat, made your chest ache with affection.

As the afternoon stretched on, you found yourselves back near the artist’s area. You were mid-sentence, laughing at one of Austin’s terrible jokes, when you spotted them—your mum, your siblings, your best friends, all standing there, waving and grinning like they’d just won the lottery.

Your breath caught. “What…?”

Austin’s hand on your back grounded you, his voice soft in your ear. “Surprise.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you turned to him. “You did this?”

He shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I knew how much you wanted them here. It’s a big day, and you deserve to have your people with you.”

You threw your arms around him, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.

He held you close for just a moment longer before nudging you toward your family. “Go say hi.”

You turned back toward your family, their excited grins making your heart swell. Your mum’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she clasped her hands over her mouth as if trying to contain the emotion bubbling inside her.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she finally managed, stepping forward to pull you into a tight hug. “I can’t believe we’re here.”

Your throat tightened as you hugged her back, the familiar scent of her perfume grounding you in the moment. “I didn’t know you were coming,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “This means everything.”

“We wouldn’t miss this for the world,” your older brother chimed in, stepping up with a wide grin. “It’s not every day our little rockstar headlines Glastonbury.”

Your best friend nudged him playfully. “Excuse me, our rockstar. I was her first fan, remember?”

The teasing broke through the emotional haze, drawing a laugh from you as you turned to hug each of them in turn. The joy and pride radiating from their faces were overwhelming, a reminder of the support system that had carried you to this moment.

Finally, your mum stepped back, her hands resting on your shoulders as she looked you over with a mixture of awe and love. “You’ve worked so hard for this,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “We’re so proud of you.”

Austin’s hand found the small of your back again, a steadying presence as you blinked away tears. “I can’t believe you all came,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion as you turned back to your mum.

She smiled, her own eyes glassy. “It was Austin’s idea. He made sure everything was perfect.”

Your chest tightened as you glanced at Austin, his expression soft but steady. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice full of meaning.

His lips quirked into a small smile, his hand squeezing yours. “Anything for you,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on yours before shifting back to your family, giving them a polite nod.

The rest of the afternoon flew by in a whirlwind of hugs, laughter, and stories. Your mum fussed over you, your siblings teased you mercilessly, and your best friends gushed about how amazing the festival was. Having them there made everything feel real in a way that nothing else could.

The moment finally arrived. Standing backstage, you could hear the distant hum of the crowd, thousands upon thousands of people waiting for you. Your heart pounded in your chest as your team made their final checks, and Austin leaned in close, his hands on your shoulders as he searched your face. “You ready?”

You took a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah. I think I am.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Go show them why you’re here.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped onto the stage, the roar of the crowd hitting you like a wave. The lights were blinding, the sea of faces stretching as far as the eye could see. But as you launched into the first song, everything else melted away. This was where you were meant to be.

Each song flowed into the next, the audience singing along, their energy lifting you higher with every beat.

When it came time for the acoustic section of the set, you stepped forward, your guitar slung over your shoulder. The crowd quieted, their anticipation palpable as you adjusted the mic.

“There’s a song I want to share tonight,” you began, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “It’s one I wrote a long time ago, in a tiny apartment with no idea if anyone would ever hear it. It’s about why I started, and why I keep going.”

The first chords of the demo song filled the air, and for a moment, it felt like the world stopped. The audience hushed almost instantly, the sheer intimacy of the moment drawing them in. The notes carried over the crowd like a gentle tide, and as you sang the first verse, you could feel the weight of the lyrics settle over everyone.

In the VIP section, your mum clasped her hands over her chest, her lips moving silently as if singing along. Your siblings leaned closer to each other, their faces a mixture of pride and quiet awe. And then there was Austin—his expression raw, his eyes fixed solely on you as if the entire world had narrowed to this moment.

The words came easily, each one laced with the emotion you’d poured into the song years ago. The melody wrapped around you, pulling you back to that tiny apartment, to the late nights spent dreaming of stages like this. As you reached the chorus, your voice steadied, confidence blooming in your chest as the crowd swayed gently, their phones lighting up the night like stars.

When the final note faded, a beat of silence hung in the air, the moment suspended in time. Then the cheers erupted, rolling over you in a wave so powerful it left you breathless. You glanced back at your bandmates, who wore matching grins, their energy feeding into your own.

But your eyes found Austin’s again, and the look he gave you—a mixture of pride, awe, and love—made your chest ache. He pressed a hand to his heart, mouthing, You did it.

The rest of the set was a blur of energy and emotion, each song building toward the explosive finale. As the last chord rang out, fireworks lit up the night sky, the crowd’s cheers reaching a fever pitch.

You stood at the edge of the stage, soaking it all in. This was your moment. Your dream.

Backstage was a flurry of hugs, congratulations, and champagne. Your family and friends surrounded you, their faces glowing with pride and excitement. They pulled you into hugs, their words tumbling over each other as they tried to express how incredible it had been.

Your younger sister was the first to break the silence as you walked off the stage, her voice cutting through the post-show chaos. “That. Was. INSANE!” she shouted, throwing her arms around you. “You were on fire out there!”

Your brother grinned, clapping you on the back. “I don’t think Mum’s stopped crying since the second song.”

“I’m just… overwhelmed,” your mum said, her voice trembling as she hugged you tightly. “You were phenomenal, darling. Every note, every word—you owned that stage.”

Even your best friend, who rarely got emotional about anything, looked teary-eyed as she handed you a bottle of water. “You didn’t just headline Glastonbury,” she said, her voice shaking with pride. “You owned Glastonbury.”

Their words filled the space in your chest that had felt so heavy for weeks, each one grounding you in a way you hadn’t realised you needed. When you turned to Austin, his quiet smile said everything your family couldn’t—that he saw not just the performer, but the person behind it all.

He waited until the chaos died down before pulling you aside. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he looked at you with a mix of awe and love.

“You were incredible,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’ve never been prouder of anyone in my life.”

Tears stung your eyes as you smiled. “Thank you. For everything.”

He shook his head. “This was all you, baby. I just got to watch.”

Leaning up, you kissed him, the world fading away for just a moment. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

As the celebration began to wind down, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the stage, the crowd long gone but their energy still lingering in the air. The fireworks had faded, leaving the sky a quiet, inky blue. Austin sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the warmth of his presence grounding you.

“Crazy night, huh?” you said, your voice soft as you looked out over the empty field.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

You turned to him, your smile faint but full of meaning. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Not just tonight—all of it.”

Austin’s expression softened, his hand finding yours. “You could’ve, but I’m glad I got to be here. Watching you… it’s like seeing someone touch the stars.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over you. “I just hope I can keep going,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “This dream… it’s everything, but sometimes it feels like it’s too much.”

“You will,” he said firmly, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Because it’s who you are. And when it gets too heavy, you’ve got me. Always.”

You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder as the quiet of the night wrapped around you. For the first time in weeks, the pressure didn’t feel so overwhelming. You weren’t alone in this—not on stage, not in life. And as the two of you sat there, the Pyramid Stage towering behind you, you realised that the dream wasn’t just about the music. It was about the people who made it worth chasing.

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #fan fiction #fanfic #imagine #fiction

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naomijoestar · 3 days ago

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⋆.ೃ JJBA SCENARIOS ࿔*:･

Masterlist here <3

Genre: platonic, non-bio father daughter duo, fluff, soft abbacchio (kinda)

Warnings: none

Characters: Leone Abbacchio

Notes: I was sad and bored and decided to write this, when I first watched jojo when I was younger all I could think about is how much abbacchio could make a great father figure to someone, so here you all go, I hope you enjoy this, I kinda wrote this as a lil comfort scenario for me and I hope you guys will be able to find comfort in it too <3 F!reader but I tried not to imply it too much

⚠️ Also just so there is no confusion the reader is NOT abbacchios real daughter in this scenario nor is he her biological father! The reader simply sees him as a father figure and abbacchio cares for you like his own daughter (although he would never admit that.)

Abbacchio walks in on you trying to dye your hair at 3 am

It’s the dead of night, closer to 3 a.m than any reasonable hour, and Passione’s safehouse is completely still, save for the faint rustling of wind against the windows. Leone Abbacchio is in bed, trying to ignore his insomnia the way he usually does: by lying stiff as a board and glaring at the ceiling, his teeth grinding slightly in irritation.

He’s almost convinced himself he’s about to drift off when he hears a soft, repeated thud coming from the bathroom down the hall. His eyes snap open, narrowing instantly. He isn’t a paranoid man by nature—not anymore—but in his line of work, you don’t ignore unusual noises at odd hours. With a grunt, he gets out of bed, slipping into his boots and stalking down the hallway.

The light is on in the bathroom, leaking out under the door. He scowls. He knows everyone else in the safehouse is asleep; or at least they should be. Abbacchio raises a fist to knock, but just as his knuckles connect with the wood, the door cracks open slightly.

Inside, he sees you.

You’re hunched over the sink, a pair of bright purple gloves tugged awkwardly over your hands, which are currently smothered in what looks like… pink dye? A lot of it. Bottles and brushes are strewn across the sink in a chaotic mess, the stark white of the bathroom’s countertop streaked with alarming splashes of neon color. A towel—formerly white, now a blotchy pink—hangs precariously off your shoulders. You freeze when you see him, your face contorted in a mix of guilt and panic, as if you’ve been caught red handed in the middle of a crime.

“…What the hell are you doing?” Abbacchio deadpans, his voice dripping with disapproval. He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway with a look that could cut steel.

“Uh.” You blink at him, hands still poised mid-air like a kid caught stealing cookies. “…Dying my hair?”

“In the middle of the night?” he snaps, eyebrows furrowing deeper. His gaze sweeps over the mess behind you, and his lips press into a thin line. “Do you have any idea what a disaster you’re making?”

You wince, holding up your gloves defensively. “I was trying to be quiet! And I was gonna clean everything up-”

“Quiet?” He steps into the bathroom, his tall frame instantly making the small space feel cramped. “I’ve seen murder scenes with less chaos than this.” He gestures sharply to the sink and the floor, where a drop of pink dye glistens mockingly under the fluorescent light. “If Bucciarati sees this, he’ll have your head.”

“…It’s not that bad,” you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

Abbacchio sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why,” he begins slowly, voice as flat as a stone, “are you even doing this? What was so urgent about turning your head into a neon sign that you couldn’t wait until morning?”

You bristle, turning back to the mirror and avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know, okay? I just… felt like it.”

He watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Though he’d never admit it, he can see the exhaustion in your movements, the way your shoulders slump slightly despite your efforts to seem nonchalant. Something about it makes him soften, just a little.

“…You’re an idiot,” he mutters gruffly.

“Thanks, Dad,” you shoot back without thinking, half-smiling as you dip the brush into the dye again.

The word makes him pause. He doesn’t respond right away, but his scowl deepens—not in anger, but in that vaguely flustered way he gets when he doesn’t know how to handle sentiment. “Don’t call me that,” he says finally, though there’s no real bite in his tone.

You glance at him in the mirror, and the corner of your mouth quirks up in a way that’s both teasing and oddly sincere. “Whatever you say.”

For a moment, silence settles between you two, broken only by the faint sound of dye being brushed through your hair. Abbacchio watches you work, his sharp eyes catching the streaks you’ve missed and the uneven patches forming near the back of your head. It’s grating to watch.

“Move over,” he snaps suddenly, taking the brush from your hand before you can protest.

“What-”

“You’re doing a terrible job,” he grumbles, pulling a clean pair of gloves from the counter and snapping them on. “If you’re going to make yourself look ridiculous, at least do it properly.”

You stare at him, caught somewhere between stunned and amused. But you don’t argue. Instead, you shift forward slightly, letting him take over.

He works in silence, his movements surprisingly precise as he sections your hair and applies the dye with the same focus he uses in the field. Every so often, he mutters under his breath about how reckless and stupid you are, how you’ll be scrubbing pink stains out of this bathroom for weeks.

But underneath the grumbling, there’s a strange sense of comfort in his presence—a steadiness you’ve come to rely on, even if you’ll never say it out loud. And though Abbacchio would rather drink bleach than admit it, there’s a part of him that doesn’t entirely hate this, standing here, helping you, and making sure you don’t completely ruin your hair.

By the time he’s finished, the first rays of dawn are peeking through the bathroom window. He steps back, pulling off the gloves with a snap and tossing them onto the counter. “There. You look ridiculous.”

You turn to the mirror, examining the vibrant pink that now coats your hair. It’s loud and obnoxious and entirely you. A grin spreads across your face.

“Thanks, Abbacchio,” you say softly, the sincerity in your voice catching him off guard.

He grunts, turning away to hide the faintest hint of warmth creeping into his expression. “Just clean up your mess,” he mutters as he heads for the door.

But as he walks away, you swear you catch a flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips.

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other posts, and if you’d like anything specific written for a jjba character/squad you can request it if my requests are open!

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marksbear2 · 2 days ago

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Silco x Enforcer male reader

Warning!!⚠️ Not really deep angst as it was last fic I wrote of him but still angst. It’s like unrequited love, but also Silco using your love for his own gain.⚠️

Beneath the surface

The streets of Zaun were alive with noise and chaos, but within the shadows, where the flickering lights from the neon signs barely reached, there was something different. A silence that clung to the cold walls of the underground lair that belonged to Silco.

You leaned against the doorframe, eyes scanning the dimly lit room where Silco sat, his back turned as he stared out of the window. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension. Months had passed since this... arrangement had begun, yet neither of you spoke of it aloud. There was no need. The silence between the two of you had become its own language.

The size difference between the two of you had never been lost on Silco. He was a smaller man, but he carried himself with such a commanding presence that it made up for it in spades. Your height was an advantage, but it didn’t matter in the end. Not in this dynamic.

He didn’t turn to acknowledge your presence, his fingers tapping against the glass. It was something he did often—silent, distant, lost in his thoughts. You could only wonder what was going on behind that cold gaze of his.

“I need you,” he finally spoke, his voice low and cold. It was the same way he always spoke to you. Not with warmth, not with affection—just with the weight of command.

Your heart tightened, but you stayed silent, obeying without question. "What do you need?" you asked, your voice betraying nothing. There was no place for weakness here.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Silco’s lips. He glanced over his shoulder, the faintest glimmer of something darker in his eyes. "Do you ever question why you're still here?" he asked, the power play palpable in his words.

Of course, you had questioned it. You were aware of the manipulation—the way he kept you close but never allowed you too close. The way he twisted your emotions into something that only fueled his ambitions. But you couldn’t walk away. Not anymore.

“No," you said simply, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside. "I’ll always be here."

Silco’s expression softened, just a fraction, but it was enough to make you pause. He wasn’t looking for love. You weren’t that naive. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, when his guard was down, he allowed himself a fraction of vulnerability. Just enough for you to see how lost he really was beneath the cold exterior. It was fleeting, but it kept you clinging on.

Without turning to face you completely, Silco’s hand reached up and brushed against your cheek, the coolness of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was always calculated, always just enough to remind you of the distance between you both.

“I’ve made you soft,” Silco murmured, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “But I think you like it.”

You didn’t argue, not now. There was nothing left to say. He had you in the palm of his hand, and while you hated it, you could never escape it. His control over you was suffocating, but it was also intoxicating. You were too far gone, too deep into this twisted dance.

The size difference between you and Silco had always been a reminder of who held the power, yet every time you were alone like this, it felt as though the roles were reversed. The way he made you feel small without even touching you, the way his silence could break you, it all came together in a power play that neither of you fully understood. Or perhaps you did, but neither of you had the courage to call it what it was.

His hand dropped from your face, and without a word, he moved toward you, his steps slow and deliberate. You knew what was coming—a momentary lapse of control, a fleeting moment of intimacy that would be gone before you could process it.

“Come here,” he commanded softly, the cold edge still present in his voice. You stepped forward, your body betraying your desire to be closer, even if it meant continuing this cycle. His hands were all over you, pressing you against him, your larger frame somehow still dwarfed by his presence as he leaned into you.

He didn’t kiss you—not like lovers did. He kissed you like a ruler marking his territory. There was no tenderness, only hunger, and the need to remind you who was in control. The sharp press of his lips, the way his hands gripped your sides tightly—it all made your breath catch in your throat.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered against your lips, his voice a quiet order.

You swallowed, the words feeling too familiar, too much of a surrender, but you said them anyway. “I’m yours.”

Silco smirked, pulling away slightly, eyes meeting yours. “Good. Never forget that.”

You were trapped in this world of manipulation and coldness, unable to let go, and even if you could, you knew you never would. No matter how often Silco reminded you of your place, how often he used you emotionally, it wasn’t enough to break the attachment that had built itself so deeply inside you.

In this power play, you were just as much a prisoner as he was—bound by the secrets you kept from everyone around you. And no matter how hard you tried to fight it, you couldn’t escape the way you needed him.

And in that moment, Y/N understood: this was his place, standing at the edge of Silco’s abyss, constantly yearning for the affection that would never come. But as much as he hated himself for it, he would always return to Silco. The cold, calculating man who used him emotionally, who toyed with his affections as if it were nothing.

But to Y/N, it was everything.

And so, they remained there in the dark, both trapped in their roles. One in control, the other consumed by love. Y/n kept trying, to search his gaze wanting to find anything that had a glimpse of love or affection. But what he saw was emptiness, as he knew loving someone like a Silco will forever will only lead into heartbreak.

#x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #x male y/n #x reader #amab reader #x gn reader #silco x male reader #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco #arcane x male reader #arcane x reader #arcane lol #the bear club

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arc852 · 3 days ago

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Fault 2/3

Summary: Joel goes for a walk to get some fresh air and Tango and Jimmy hang out.

Warnings: self-blame, self-deprecation, and slight anger and jealousy

Word Count: 4637

Part 1 | AO3 Link

The next chapter is here! Sorry it took a bit of time but I hope you all enjoy!

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Joel was not getting any homework done.

He sat there typing up his essay for a good thirty minutes before reading back what he wrote and realizing none of it made sense. He groaned and put his face in his hands. Great, none of this was salvageable and he’d have to start all the way over. Why did everything today just seem so hard?

Tears, once again, pricked at the corner of his eyes but he wiped at them, shook his head, and stood up abruptly. As he did so, he accidentally knocked his chair back, causing it to fall over and for Grian to flinch at the resulting thud. Grian turned away from his own laptop and looked at Joel questioningly. “Joel?”

Joel ignored him, slamming his laptop shut and grabbing his keys from his bag. He made no move to grab his fallen chair, leaving it lying on the ground as he headed over to the door. Grian spoke as Joel’s hand came in contact with the doorknob. “Joel, where are you going?” Grian asked and Joel could just hear the concern dripping from his tone. It made Joel mad and he didn’t understand why. His grip tightened around the doorknob before he forced himself to loosen it.

He took a deep breath. He needed to calm down.

“I just…I’m just gonna go for a walk. I’ll be back.” Joel said, flicking his eyes over to look at Grian for only a moment before they focused back on the door. Grian looked just as concerned as his voice had sounded. Joel swallowed the forming lump in his throat.

“Okay…be safe.” Grian said and then looked at him for just a moment longer before turning back to his laptop. Joel took in another deep breath and finally opened the door. He stepped out and made sure he locked up behind him. He paused for a moment, and looked down the hallway, in the direction he knew Tango’s dorm room to be in. In the direction he saw Tango disappear with Jimmy.

He shook his head again before tucking his hands into his pockets and walking in the opposite direction, out of the dorm building. He kept his head low until he made it outside. It was a nice, sunny day. Not too hot either. It was honestly perfect out here but for some reason that only made Joel feel worse. At least if it was raining or overcast he could maybe justify his mood, if even just a little. But it was just yet another reminder that he was being an idiot.

He let out a frustrated sigh and continued to walk. He didn’t have a plan for where he was going, he just knew he couldn’t stay in the dorm right now. So he simply let his feet take him wherever.

He paused when he came across the college courtyard. He stared out into the expanse of grass and foliage, and the lack of people, and decided to take a seat at one of the many benches around. As he sat, he took in another deep breath and it didn’t make him want to cry this time. So, progress, he supposed.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, soaking in the warm rays of the sun from above. He let his brain clear out, trying his hardest not to think about Jimmy. About how he had failed him, and that despite what Grian had said Joel still fully blamed himself for what had happened. How he was feeling jealous of Tango and felt like Jimmy was choosing him over Joel but that Joel also understood because of course Jimmy would choose Tango over--

And he had already failed.

Joel groaned in frustration, gripping at his face with both hands as he continued to let his head hang back. All he could think about was Jimmy and everything to do with him. Not to mention he was still dreading the talk they needed to have as soon as Jimmy came back from hanging out with Tango.

He still very much did not want to talk but he knew Grian was right, despite the fact Joel wished he wasn’t. Gosh, it was going to be so awkward. What would Jimmy even think? Would he confirm his fears? Think he was being an idiot? Joel wouldn’t be able to blame the borrower for thinking any of that.

He was spiralling again, he knew. But even with the nice day in front of him, it was hard not to get swallowed within his own thoughts.

Thankfully, a voice broke him out of his thoughts before he could spiral even further. “Joel? What are you doing out here?”

Joel opened his eyes and tilted his head back down to see none other than Impulse standing there. Joel’s friend and Tango’s roommate. Joel blinked at Impulse, taken aback by suddenly seeing him here. He hadn’t actually seen Impulse in quite a bit. Only a handful of times since meeting Jimmy.

Joel realized he was staring and flicked his eyes away for a moment while he answered. “Oh, hey! Uh, just getting some fresh air, you know how it is.” Joel said with a forced chuckle and a half shrug. He turned his attention fully back on Impulse again. “What about you? What are you doing out here?”

Impulse smiled at him. “Just having lunch.” Impulse raised his hand a bit and Joel noticed for the first time the brown sack in his hands. “I like to come out here during nice days to eat.” Impulse continued as he took a seat on the same bench as Joel.

“Oh, yeah, that sounds…nice.” Joel winced at his own awkwardness. In his defense though, he hadn’t actually been expecting to run into and talk to anyone on the walk that was supposed to help clear his mind. Joel stood up and did his best to smile at Impulse, though he feared it came across as more of a grimace. “Well, I won’t bother you then. I was just leaving anyway-”

“Joel, you’re all good, you don’t have to leave.” Impulse said and motioned for Joel to sit back down. Joel did, not knowing what else to do. “Besides, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Joel winced again at that. He knew it was true because he had just been thinking it, but hearing Impulse say it? It just confirmed what he thought. Like great, he was a bad friend to multiple people. Awesome. Despite himself, he felt his mouth move to try and give some excuse. “Sorry, things have just been…busy. First year of college and all that.” Joel said, though it felt flat even to his own ears.

“I remember.” Impulse said with a slight chuckle, thankfully seeming to not see through Joel’s lie. Well, half lie. “It’s hard to get used to.”

You don’t know the half of it, Joel couldn’t help but think. His first year of college was nothing like he had expected. But that was just what happened when you discovered borrowers existed and became friends with one. “Yeah.” Is what Joel ended up saying out loud.

Impulse looked at Joel, really looked at him, and Joel curled in on himself at being studied like that. Impulse was starting to look concerned and already Joel could feel his hand tighten around the fabric of his pants. “Is everything okay?”

Joel once again swallowed yet another lump forming in his throat. “Yeah, of course.” He tried playing it off, putting on an easy smile. Based on Impulse’s continued growing concern though, Joel didn’t think he was very successful. “Why would you think it’s not?” That, apparently, was the wrong thing to ask.

Impulse bit his lip. “You just seem a bit…down? And flighty? And you don’t normally come out here like this. Not to mention I found you sitting on this bench with your head in your hands looking up at the sky. That’s sort of textbook body language for going through something.” Impulse said, gaining more confidence in his own words and observations as he spoke. Joel deflated a bit, his shoulders moving up to his ears and he turned to look away from Impulse.

“...Am I that obvious?” Joel mumbled, feeling awful now that two people have clocked him. Grian was one thing but now Impulse?

“Maybe not to other people. But as your friend? Yeah, kind of.” Impulse said, not unkindly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But at least let me keep you company.” Impulse said, opening his sack lunch and pulling out a saran wrapped PB&J. He placed the paper bag on the bench, inbetween him and Joel, and started to unwrap the sandwich.

Joel just looked at him and then at the sandwich. “Why did you even pack your own lunch? Why not just go out? Or to the campus cafeteria?”

Impulse sighed as he took a bite. “I ask myself that sometimes too.” Impulse said.

Joel gave him a look but didn’t say anything more about the topic, instead he looked out into the courtyard, watching as the gentle early summer breeze swept through the trees and grass. He let out a slow breath, taking everything in and realizing he was feeling calmer than he had in the last couple of days.

“I made a mistake. A big one.” Joel said after a moment. He kept his eyes forward but he could feel Impulse looking at him.

“Oh?” Impulse asked and Joel nodded curtly.

“I…my mistake almost got a friend of mine seriously hurt or-or worse.” Joel closed his eyes tight, feeling like he was reliving the moment when he found out what had happened. When he realized Jimmy wasn’t in his pocket anymore. “And now he’s hanging out with another friend instead and I feel like he’s choosing him over me. I know he’s not really but it-it feels like it. And I know I need to talk to him but I just…” Joel shook his head, opening his eyes to stare at the ground. He scuffed at the pavement with his shoe. “I don’t even know what to say.”

It was silent for a long moment and Joel winced, thinking he must have revealed too much. He opened his mouth to try and backtrack but Impulse beat him to speaking. “Well…you could start with how you’re feeling about all of this.”

Joel blinked and looked over at Impulse. “How I’m…feeling?”

Impulse nodded. “You can tell him how sorry you are, how you feel like it’s your fault, how you feel hurt by him hanging out with this other friend. You just have to…tell him how you're feeling. And from there, I think the rest of the conversation will fall into place.”

“Oh.” Joel said and looked down at his hands. Joel was not one to talk about his feelings but…for Jimmy he might just have to change that. “How I’m feeling…?”

Impulse hummed. “How are you feeling?”

Joel thought for a moment, thinking back to the last two days and everything he’s felt over that time. “I’m mad.”

“Mad?” Impulse questioned. “At your friend?”

Joel sat up and looked at Impulse with wide eyes. “What? No!” He couldn’t be mad at Jimmy. Not for something like this at least. “I’m mad at…myself…I guess.” Joel finished lamely but it made sense. Did it make sense? Okay, it didn’t actually make sense but Joel knew deep down that it was true all the same.

“Okay.” Impulse said after a moment. “Anything else?”

“I also feel…frustrated. And, I guess I’m j-jealous.” He winced at the word, he hated that it was true. “And…” Joel paused for a moment, realization dawned on him for the first time. “Oh…”

“And?” Impulse gently pushed, knowing Joel was having a breakthrough.

“I feel scared.” Scared of losing Jimmy, of something happening to him, of him choosing to leave because Joel wasn’t good enough. Scared that Joel will mess up again and next time it will end up hurting Jimmy. He was scared and he hadn’t even realized it until now. He was mad at himself for almost hurting Jimmy and he was scared that Jimmy would leave because of that.

Bloody hell, he was an idiot.

“That’s good.” Impulse smiled but then it quickly dropped. “I mean, not because that’s how you’re feeling, obviously I’m sorry you feel scared and mad and such. But it’s good that you can pinpoint what it is.” Impulse said, verging on rambling as he realized how his words could be taken.

Joel, despite himself, felt his lips curl up a bit. “It’s okay, Impulse, I know what you meant.” His smile dropped a second later though and he looked down, taking a deep breath. He then slapped his thighs and stood up, a look of determination on his face despite how scared he still felt. “Welp…I better go and talk to him then.” He’s sure Jimmy would be back from Tango’s soon by now and he didn’t want to be out when he came back.

He turned back to Impulse. “Uh, thanks for helping me out. And sorry we haven’t, uh, hung out in a while…” Joel rubbed the back of his neck, feeling bad.

But Impulse simply smiled at him. “It’s okay, like I said, I get it! College keeps you busy.” He chuckled. “How about we just agree to plan something where we can all hang out. We can invite Tango and Grian too.”

Joel smiled. “That sounds great.”

“And hey, maybe you can invite this other friend of yours too. I’d love to meet them.” Impulse said and Joel’s smile became a bit less genuine and a bit more panicked.

“O-Oh! Uh, yeah, for sure. I’d have to ask him though, he might be too busy now that I think about it, we’ll have to see.” He rambled, laughing nervously. Impulse gave him a bit of a weird look but otherwise didn’t comment on how he was acting. Thankfully.

“Sounds good. Just let me know what time works best for you.” Impulse said and Joel nodded. “And good luck with your talk with your friend.” Impulse continued. Joel hesitated but nodded again at that.

“Thanks.” Joel said and with that, he started in the direction back to the dorm building. He still felt nervous about talking with Jimmy about this. And even if he did realize all his emotions it didn’t stop him from feeling them. He was still very much angry at himself, jealous of Tango, and scared. But he would have to push through it, if only so he could finally put all of this behind him. If only so he could finally get the reassurance from Jimmy that he doesn’t hate him.

Joel sighed and shook those kinds of thoughts out of his head. He had a talk to get ready for.

***

“So, I know you’ve been here before.” Tango said as he shut the door behind him. “But welcome to my dorm room!” He exclaimed and brought his hand away so Jimmy could see the entire room. Tango was right, though he had been in here before, he really hadn’t been in the right headspace back then to look around properly.

He took the opportunity to do so now, taking in the room. He paused though, when the first thing he noticed was the giant divider taking up the center of the room. He blinked. Had that always been there? “What’s that for?” Jimmy asked, pointing over to it.

Tango hummed and followed where Jimmy was pointing. “Oh, Impulse put it up. Don’t ask me why.”

Jimmy let out a hum himself as Tango stepped further into the room. “Was that there the last time too?” Jimmy asked.

Tango gave him a confused look. “Yeah?”

Jimmy sighed. “Yeah, I have no idea how but I completely missed that the first time.”

Tango blinked at that and then chuckled. “Really? I mean, I guess you weren’t really focused on the room…” Tango said, his laughter dying off a bit as he remembered just how scared Jimmy had been. Which had then quickly been followed by panic when Jimmy realized his friends still thought he was missing.

Jimmy shrugged. “I still feel like I should have noticed that.” Oh well, no use focusing on it now. It was still weird to see though, he was used to the openness of Grian and Joel’s dorm ever since moving in himself. “Anyway, I was promised some lunch?” Jimmy joked, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Thankfully, it made Tango chuckle. “Of course, I just gotta order it.” He set his hand down on the desk, letting Jimmy climb off his hand before taking out his phone to do just that. “I was thinking of a burger, some fries, and a shake?” Tango asked, looking down at Jimmy from over the phone screen.

Jimmy perked up at the mention of a shake. He’d had one for the first time not too long ago with Grian and Joel and they were amazing. Sweet and creamy, and cold but in a good way. He nodded his head maybe a bit too fast at the idea of having it again. “Yes, please! That sounds great!”

Tango grinned and pushed the buttons to order exactly that. He did have to backtrack and delete some things though, almost ordering two of everything he had mentioned. Jimmy didn’t need his own of everything, he wouldn’t even be able to finish it. It was a bit strange to think though, that Jimmy could have an entire meal, and then some, just from Tango’s portions.

“Okay, it should be here soon.” Tango looked down at Jimmy on his desk and suddenly felt like he was looming far too much. He went ahead and took a seat at said desk and though it helped a bit, Tango still felt like he was taking too much of Jimmy’s space. He really didn’t have a solution for that though. The most he thought to do was at least keep his hands below the desk, giving Jimmy all the space on top. “So…how have you been?” Tango asked, if a bit awkwardly.

“I’ve been…good.” Jimmy said, though he hesitated a bit. He was hoping Tango wouldn’t catch on to it but the confused look Tango was now giving him was enough of an answer that he did.

“Is something wrong?” Tango asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Jimmy sighed. “Not really. I just…well, Grian and Joel have been acting a bit more protective than they usually do because of what happened. Which is fine and that’s not really the issue.” Jimmy was used to Grian and Joel being overprotective of him. It came with being the smallest and youngest of the three of them. “The real issue is, well…have you noticed Joel acting a bit weird lately?”

Tango blinked. “Acting weird?”

Jimmy nodded. “I don’t really know how to describe it, like I said the two of them are usually protective but this is…more so. And he’s been more quiet, I guess? He just seems off.” Jimmy said with another sigh. And of course, Jimmy couldn’t help but think it had to do with him. How could it not be about him, when all this started happening right after the incident.

Tango hummed and thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it, he did seem a bit weird when I was talking to him about you today.”

“Really?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah, he was like, a lot more snappy. I mean, Joel has his fair share of getting angry or annoyed but this felt different, you know?” Tango said and Jimmy nodded along in agreement. He’d had his fair share of seeing Joel mad like usual. It was never at Jimmy himself, usually it was at a game he was playing, Grian, or his schoolwork. But Tango was right, this was different than the previous times he’d get mad or annoyed.

“He also…didn’t seem like he wanted me to go with you.” Jimmy said and Tango nodded along in agreement.

“Yeah, I did sort of get that vibe.” Tango said with a half-joke. “I mean, it kind of makes sense? After what happened?”

“No, it does.” Jimmy said, but he looked away and sighed. “But he isn’t…saying that. I asked him if it was okay for me to go with you in the hopes he’d actually say something but he just brushed it off.” Jimmy then seemed to realize what he said and looked back up at Tango with his hands in the air. “Not that I didn’t want to come hang out! I really did!”

Tango blinked at Jimmy’s sudden defense and then smiled. “Don’t worry, I believe you.” Tango’s smile disappeared as he thought over Jimmy’s words and the situation at hand. “I think…I think it’s not doing you any favors by waiting around for Joel to say something. If you’re worried about him, you might need to be the one to bring it up.”

“Yeah…you’re probably right.” Jimmy agreed. The reason he hadn’t yet was because he was hoping it would either pass or that Joel himself would say something. But the more time passed, the weirder Joel acted. Especially today when it came to Tango.

“And hey, maybe you can talk to Grian about it first? Grian’s known him forever and he’s also probably noticed how weird Joel is being. You two could possibly talk to him together.” Tango said and Jimmy nodded along.

“Yeah, it would definitely be easier to bring up if Grian was there with me…” Not for any reason other than the fact that Jimmy didn’t really know how to go about these things and he figured Grian of all people had experiences with this already, especially with Joel.

He never thought actually having friends would be this confusing but he supposed that’s just how it went. Despite that, he wouldn’t trade it away for anything.

Tango leaned back against his chair, hands still placed firmly in his lap, which did not go unnoticed by Jimmy. “But for now, how about we just hang out like we want to and you can deal with all that once you get back.”

Jimmy hesitated for just a moment before nodding, a smile creeping up onto his face. He directed it towards Tango. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” A distraction would be nice and like he had said, he really did want to hang out with Tango and get to know the human who saved his life better.

“We still have some more time to kill before the food gets here.” Tango said, looking at his phone to check the update. It seemed like it was still a good fifteen minutes out at least. “Hey, uh, is it okay if I ask you something…maybe a bit personal?”

Jimmy blinked, tilting his head at the sudden question. “Oh, uh, sure?” He didn’t know how personal the question Tango wanted to ask but Jimmy wasn’t afraid to share.

“Right! Cool, uh, I was just wondering…what are you?” Tango finished lamely, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt a bit awkward asking. But he couldn’t deny that he was curious.

Jimmy’s eyes widened in realization that he actually hadn’t told Tango what he was yet. “Oh! I’m a borrower.” He said proudly, a smile on his face. “We live in the walls of people’s houses, or dorms, and borrow things from humans that we need to survive. Hence the name.” Jimmy further explained, knowing now that simply saying what he was called wasn’t usually enough.

“Oh, that’s pretty clever actually!” Tango said with a grin. “Borrowers, wow, are there any more of you little guys running around the college?”

With that, Jimmy’s smile turned into a frown and he looked away. Tango noticed this and panicked for a moment. “Uh, I mean, obviously you don’t have to tell me. I don’t need to know or anything.” Tango said, his words coming out a bit too fast.

Jimmy shook his head and gave a small smile to Tango. “No, it’s not that. There’s…no other borrowers around here. It’s just me.”

Tango calmed down but looked sadly down at Jimmy when he realized what that meant. “So…you’ve been alone for a while then?”

Jimmy hummed his reply, nodding. “Yeah, before Grian and Joel found me I had been alone for…7 or so years? It’s nice actually having some friends.” Jimmy said, messing with his shirt a bit. He then smiled fully at Tango. “And I’m happy to be making more of them too.”

Tango flushed a bit and chuckled. “Me too! The more the merrier as they say!” He let his chuckles trail off and he looked at Jimmy fondly. “I’m…glad you aren’t alone anymore.”

Jimmy blinked, some tears coming to his eyes. They didn’t fall but his throat felt just a tad bit tighter. He smiled. “Me too.”

They were both silent for a moment before Tango went ahead and cleared his throat. “Alright, enough with this sappy business.” He said with a wink, which made Jimmy chuckle. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to know how you met Grian and Joel.”

Jimmy snorted. “Well that’s a story and a half. You sure?”

“As long as you’re okay telling it, yeah! Sounds like some stuff went down if context clues are to be believed?” Tango asked and Jimmy found himself laughing out loud at that.

“That is putting it lightly but yeah.” Jimmy didn’t think too often about his first meeting with Grian and Joel nowadays but when he did he felt far enough removed from back then to look on that first meeting with a lot less fear and even a bit of fondness. So despite how he felt at the time, Jimmy was more than willing to tell the story to Tango.

Grian and Joel on the other hand barely ever liked to bring it up, much less talk about it. Jimmy suspected they still felt guilty about it and would rather not be reminded of how they had acted. Jimmy understood, he didn’t want to talk about it much before either. But at the same time, sometimes things needed to be talked about. Maybe that was another thing on the list to bring up to both Joel and Grian a bit later on.

But for now, best he focus on one kind of talk at a time.

“Well, it started when I was trying to find some food and decided to go borrowing in their dorm-” Jimmy was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Tango’s head whipped over to it and he was rised to a stand.

“Hold that thought, I think that’s the food.” Tango said and Jimmy nodded, watching Tango head for the door. Thankfully the desk he was on was situated in a way that he shouldn’t be seen from the doorway at all and even if he could be seen he was sure Tango would block the way.

As Tango answered the door and took their food, Jimmy’s mind wandered back to his and Tango’s previous conversation and to his previous observations. Jimmy was still worried but Tango was also right. If Jimmy was that worried about Joel, then maybe he needed to be the one to bring it up. If he didn’t, Joel may never talk about it.

With his mind made up, Jimmy was determined to get Joel to open up to him and figure out what was going on with him.

But for now, as Tango closed the door and came back with a smile, food in hand, he would focus on hanging out with his new friend.

#g/t #giant/tiny #borrowers #au #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitfic #bbbcau #bad boys borrower college au #borrower jimmy #tiny jimmy

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