#it's so heartbreaking and just the kind of angst i need | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonlightwritingf1 · 23 days ago

Text

Just a Picture | LN4

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° summary ━━━━━━━ After four days of silence, Y/N was drowning in heartbreak, replaying the fight that started it all—a photo of Lando in a club, looking far too close to another girl. It triggered every insecurity she'd tried to bury, and when she confronted him, things spiraled—accusations, shouting, even a panicked flinch that neither of them could forget. Then he showed up at her apartment, looking just as wrecked as she felt, desperate to explain, desperate not to lose her.

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° word count ━━━━━━━ 10k

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f and m receiving), creampie?, slow sex, lots of 'I love you's

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° author's note ━━━━━━━ I guess this can be part 2 to The One He Couldn't Let Go if you squint a bit.

Based on this request.

It was late afternoon. Y/N was in her apartment, the dark clouds outside mirroring the storm brewing in her thoughts. She paced across the polished hardwood floor, arms folded tightly over her chest, her posture radiating tension. The living area—modern décor, a minimalist gray couch, glass coffee table, and tall bookshelves filled with novels—felt both too big and too small all at once.

Her phone lay face-down on the dining table, silent for the past three days. Not a single call from him since that explosive argument. She glanced at it again, half-hoping it would light up, but it remained still. She bit her lower lip, trying not to let the swirl of angst devour her. The image from that damned photo online had replayed in her head non-stop. Just a random snapshot—but enough to trigger months of tension that had been quietly building between them.

A year ago, when she first met Lando, she had never imagined she could be standing in this place—both physically, in her apartment, and emotionally, consumed by heartbreak so intense that it threatened to break her from the inside. And yet, she remembered how it all started. He had breezed into her life, courtesy of a mutual friend, with that mischievous grin and those unexpectedly soft, bright eyes that seemed to look right through her. At first, she’d tried to keep her distance. He was a playboy, or so all the rumors said. She had read the articles, seen the gossip, heard the stories from random acquaintances who claimed they knew him. She doubted he was the type to stay faithful. She doubted he was the type to take relationships seriously, given all that she’d heard about his partying, about the way he used to message random girls on Instagram. It was the exact opposite of everything she wanted or needed.

Yet he had pursued her relentlessly. Flowers would show up at her apartment every week—delicate bouquets of roses, peonies, lilies. Expensive gifts, random text messages in the middle of the day just to say he was thinking of her. He found out about her favorite authors and sent her limited-edition books. He discovered her love for certain designer bags and surprised her with them, even though she told him a hundred times that she didn’t want him to waste money on her. She had tried to play hard to get; she had shut him down over and over, telling him that she wasn’t convinced, that he’d break her heart. She had tried to remind herself that once upon a time he had been in a relationship, still rumored to be cheating, going to clubs, and partying with random women. All the gossip. All the pictures. She didn’t want that kind of heartbreak. She believed he would revert to his old ways at any moment.

But then, five months ago, she finally gave in. Five months that had begun the strangest, most wonderful, and most complicated relationship she had ever experienced. From that moment, everything between them had been intense, nearly suffocating in its passion, overshadowed by her lingering doubts and his determination to prove her wrong. Every kiss felt like a confession of how badly he wanted her to trust him. Every time he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, she glimpsed in his eyes a silent plea that she believed in him. And slowly, she had begun to let her guard down. She let him in further than she had let anyone before.

That is, until four days ago, when her phone blew up with messages and notifications from mutual friends, from acquaintances who had seen it on social media: a photograph of Lando in a club with an unknown girl pressed very close to him. The angle of the camera made it look suggestive, as if he were leaning down into her ear, or maybe even nuzzling her neck. The girl’s arm was around his shoulders, and it looked like she was whispering intimately to him. The moment Y/N saw it, her stomach dropped. She hadn’t known rage so pure, not since childhood memories that she tried to bury. And in that moment, every single doubt she’d ever had about him came roaring back. She confronted him that night in her apartment, the memory of that confrontation still burned into the walls.

–

Four Nights Ago – The Fight

The moment Lando stepped into her living room, Y/N’s hands were shaking from anger. She had texted him: We need to talk. Now. And he’d come over immediately, wearing an expression of anxiety mixed with confusion. He must have known the rumors were swirling online.

“What the hell is that?” she demanded, pointing her phone at him, screen displaying the offending photograph. She didn’t realize she was almost yelling from the get-go. “Care to explain, Lando?”

He swallowed hard. His cheeks reddened. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or guilt or both. “It’s… nothing,” he said, raising his palms defensively. “That picture—God, I didn’t even know someone snapped that. It’s not what it looks like.”

Her words came out in a hot rush, unfiltered. “Oh, it’s not? Because it looks like you’re cozying up to some random girl at a club—just like the old days, right?” She breathed in sharply, unable to stop the venom streaming out. “I knew it. I always knew you’d go back to your old ways sooner or later.”

He stepped closer, frustration written on his face. “I wasn’t cozying up to her. She was a friend of a friend. I was leaning down to hear what she was saying because the music was too loud. That’s it. It’s a stupid camera angle.”

“Camera angle,” she repeated mockingly. “Right. Always an excuse. You act like I don’t know you have this… this history. Messaging random girls. Sleeping around. Even when you were with someone, the rumors said—”

“Rumors!” he interjected, voice cracking with frustration. “They were just rumors! I told you a hundred times, I never cheated on anyone. If I had a reputation for partying, it was because I was young, going to clubs, sure, but I wasn’t hooking up with every girl who came near me. And I’m sure as hell not hooking up with them now!”

Her face twisted with anger she couldn’t contain. “Don’t you dare lie to me. You know how insecure I already feel. You know what I’ve been through, Lando!” Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to cry. “You should’ve been more careful. You should have thought about how that picture would look. How it would make me feel.”

He ran a hand through his curls, agitated. “For God’s sake, Y/N, I can’t control every photo or every rumor. I’m an F1 driver. People take pictures. I’m sorry that it happened, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure. Just like you never did anything wrong all those other times you got plastered with groups of girls, right? God, how am I supposed to believe you, Lando?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. She could see him holding back his own anger. “Because,” he replied in a voice that trembled with repressed fury, “I’ve been bending over backward for months trying to prove to you that I’m not that guy. Do you think I spend all this time showering you with gifts, messages, and time, just so I can go out and hook up with random girls? That’s not me anymore!”

he shook her head, her voice laced with contempt that came from the deepest pit of her insecurities. “We can never know for sure, can we? God, I can’t stand the idea that I let you in, and you do something like this.”

He took another step toward her, eyes flashing. “Don’t put this all on me. You came into this relationship—if we can call it that—assuming the worst about me. I’m always on trial with you, Y/N. You never truly trust me.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Well, if you want my trust, then don’t get photographed cuddling with random girls!”

He breathed heavily, exasperation rolling off him. “I told you, it wasn’t cuddling. And I can’t believe you’d think I would cheat on you. After everything we’ve shared.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other, hearts pounding, both of them caught in the throes of powerful, conflicting emotions. Then she lifted her chin, refusing to budge. “Get out,” she said quietly, but her tone was menacing in its finality.

He froze. “Y/N, please. Don’t do this.”

She shook her head. Her vision blurred as tears threatened to spill again. “Get. Out. Now.”

Lando’s expression turned furious and wounded. “Fine,” he spat. “If you won’t even listen to me, what the hell am I supposed to do?” In his frustration, he flung his arm up, wanting to run his hand through his hair, but in that split second, it looked like his hand was coming toward her in a fast, menacing way.

She recoiled instantly, a panicked flinch, arms defensively curling toward her face, eyes wide in fear. A rush of adrenaline spiked through her. It was so fast, so involuntary, as if a primal reflex told her that he was about to hit her.

His entire demeanor changed in an instant. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a haunting sorrow. “Y/N,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You think… you think I would—?”

She just stared at him, still trembling. She hated that her body had interpreted his movement as a threat. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, guilt mixing with the cocktail of fury and heartbreak in her chest. “I— I just… you moved so fast.”

He took a shaky step backward, heartbreak contorting his features. “I would never lay a hand on you,” he said, voice trembling. “How could you even think—?”

She pressed her lips together, her cheeks burning with shame. But the anger was still there, too, overshadowing everything. “Just get out,” she repeated.

He stared at her for a few long seconds, pain written on every line of his face. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel, storming out of the apartment. She heard the door slam behind him. It left her standing alone in the silent living room, her heart pounding loud enough that she thought it might burst through her chest. She sank onto the couch, tears finally spilling.

–

The Four Days of Silence

Now she was on day four without a call, text, or anything from Lando. At first, she’d been so angry she told herself she wouldn’t care if he never reached out again. But after the first 24 hours, the doubts crawled in. Had she overreacted? Was that truly just an innocent picture? She battled with herself over and over, replaying the confrontation in her head, fixating on the moment he raised his arm to push his hair back—how she flinched, how his eyes turned to raw agony.

Guilt ate away at her. Yet the betrayal—and the fear that he was still that same playboy—remained. She wasn’t sure she could handle being with someone who always had rumors swirling around. It was making her question everything.

But she also missed him. Terribly. She missed his laugh, that boyish grin in the morning when he’d wake up next to her, the way he’d wrap his arms around her waist from behind while she was doing something mundane like making coffee. She missed how he would gently brush his fingertips down her cheek while watching TV, how he was always so enthusiastic about introducing her to his friends—well, the few times she’d let herself be around his circle. She missed that warmth and attention, how being with him made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long while.

Late into the nights, she lay awake in her bed, staring at the city lights, tears wet on her cheeks, imagining him in Monaco or at his family’s home, maybe even with that unknown girl. The worst part was that she realized, in her chest, that she truly loved him. A truth she had tried to ignore because acknowledging it made her feel so vulnerable.

She hated herself for flinching, for letting him see that she thought he could physically harm her. She knew enough about him by now to know he wasn’t violent. That flash of panic had come from a dark place in her mind, shaped by her insecurities. She didn’t know if he’d ever forgive her for that. Or if she could ever forgive him for being so careless in that photo.

Day three passed. Then day four. She was pushing through work, eyes rimmed with dark circles from lack of sleep, snapping at her coworkers who asked too many questions, trying to bury herself in spreadsheets and emails.

–

The Afternoon of the Fourth Day

She had just gotten back to her apartment after another draining day at the office. She kicked off her heels by the front door, passing the large mirror in the entrance hallway. She lingered a moment, studying her reflection—searching for something she could never quite name. She tried to straighten her shoulders, to seem more composed than she felt, but the familiar ache of doubt had already settled in.

She always worried that Lando, with his flirty ways and well-known preference for a certain type, would eventually look at her and realize she wasn’t enough. It hurt that she cared so deeply about this. She hated that she cared. She wanted to be that fierce girl who didn’t need anyone’s validation. But with him, she felt so out of control sometimes—like all the confidence she’d tried to build kept slipping through her fingers the moment he smiled at someone else.

Letting out a shaky breath, she headed to her bedroom, planning to change into something more comfortable, maybe sweatpants and an oversized tee. She rounded the corner into her living room—and froze.

Lando was there, standing by the window, looking out across the glittering skyline of London. He had his luggage next to him, as if he had come straight from the airport or something. Her heart jumped to her throat. Anger, relief, love, and pain swirled inside her so violently that she couldn’t even speak for a moment.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps, eyes meeting hers. She saw the exhaustion on his face, the shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days either. His hair was disheveled, the curls an unruly mess, and he wore a fitted black hoodie and gray joggers. Under normal circumstances, the sight of him might have made her breath catch with desire, but now, there was only tension.

They stared at each other in silence. Her eyes filled with tears again. She loathed that she cried so easily these days. “How did you get in?” she finally managed, her voice cold.

“I still have the key,” he replied quietly. “You didn’t ask for it back.”

She swallowed. Right. She hadn’t. Maybe that was a subconscious sign she wanted him to return. “You can’t just barge in here.”

“I didn’t know how else to see you,” he said, voice trembling with raw honesty. “You wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. I kept sending messages the first two days, you never replied. I got scared you’d blocked me, or that you never wanted to see me again.”

She scoffed, though hearing he’d tried to call made her guilt spike. She had left her phone on silent, or face-down, ignoring the messages—convinced she had to remain strong. “And so you decided to ambush me at home?”

He clenched his jaw, taking a step forward. “I couldn’t stand the silence anymore, Y/N. It’s been killing me.” He paused, searching her face with a mixture of desperation and anger. “I’m sorry for everything. But you have to understand, that picture—it was nothing. And I hate that you believed otherwise. It feels like you don’t trust me at all.”

“Because you’ve given me reasons to doubt,” she snapped, tears threatening to spill once more. “I’ve seen the rumors, the pictures, the girls you used to be with. I can’t— I don’t know how to handle it. It hurts to even think about. I can’t stand the idea of being compared to those bikini-model types you used to party with.”

His eyes widened. “Compared to them? Y/N, I’ve never once compared you to anyone. I—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I know I made mistakes in my past. I slept around. I partied. But that was before. This last year has changed me, especially these five months with you.” He paused, voice trembling, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

Her throat was tight. She exhaled slowly, all the anger and hurt rising again. “Then why did that picture look so—so intimate?”

He rubbed his face. “I was talking to that girl. She was leaning in because the music was loud. I wasn’t even there for long. I’d gone out with some mates, had a few drinks, and left early. I swear to you, I wasn’t flirting or anything close to that.”

She folded her arms protectively, glowering. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

He looked at her with a heartbreak so profound that her stomach twisted. “I wish you would,” he whispered. “Because it’s true.”

She stared at the floor, tension coursing through her. The silence pressed down on them. She recalled the image of his arm moving up four nights ago, the absolute terror she felt, that flicker of fear that he might hurt her physically. She forced her eyes up to his. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, voice catching. “For thinking you’d hit me.”

His face contorted with anguish. “That… that moment,” he said, voice shaking, “I can’t even describe how it felt to see you flinch like that. Like you believed I could do something so horrible.”

She sucked in a breath, her lips quivering. “I just—I don’t know what came over me. It was a reflex. But everything else I meant. I can’t stand the way you have these shady pictures circulating. The rumors. And I hate feeling like I’m one in a long line of random women in your life. It eats me alive.”

His eyes were red, and he seemed to hold himself back from crossing the room to comfort her. “You’re not just another woman,” he said, voice brimming with emotion. “I would never see you that way. I love you, damn it. Don’t you get it? You’re everything to me.”

She swallowed, her heart thumping so loud it filled her ears. “You say that,” she answered raggedly, “but it’s so easy to say. What if you get bored, or you find someone else, or you want someone who wears skimpier clothes—someone who has the perfect body or an easier attitude?”

He scoffed softly, a pained look crossing his face. “Skimpier clothes? You think I care about that? Y/N, I love you for you. You can wear a shapeless potato sack, and I’d still think you’re breathtaking.” He licked his lips, stepping closer, but still leaving a couple feet of space, as if cautious not to invade her bubble if she didn’t want it. “I don’t want any other woman. I want you. I hate that all these rumors, these illusions, keep driving a wedge between us.”

She turned away, crossing to the couch. She rested her palms on the back of it, trying to steady her breathing, trying not to let the tears fall. “I can’t… forget. When I see pictures like that, it’s like a knife to the chest.”

He came up behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. Very gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. “Y/N, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I could erase my past. I wish I could protect you from seeing that photo. But I can’t. All I can do is promise you I wasn’t cheating, nor do I ever want to.”

Anger still simmered beneath her skin, but she also felt the longing, the deep ache to reconcile with him. She wanted to lash out, to blame him, but she was so damn tired of fighting herself and him. She turned around slowly, looking up at him. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” she asked hoarsely, tears pooling in her eyes. “Why didn’t you show up earlier?”

He inhaled sharply. “I tried calling. When you didn’t answer, I was worried you’d blocked me or that you needed space. I also needed to cool down. After how we yelled at each other, I— I was afraid you wouldn’t even look at me.” A trembling laugh escaped him. “I didn’t want to drive you further away. But last night, I realized I couldn’t handle another hour without trying to see you. So I packed my bag and flew here this morning.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fresh tears running down. “I hate you,” she whispered, though her tone was heartbreakingly vulnerable, betraying how she felt the exact opposite.

He grimaced, eyes moist. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

For a moment, she couldn’t respond. She just stared at him through the haze of tears. Something inside her cracked wide open—the dam that had been holding in all the emotion. In one swift motion, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. She felt his heart hammering beneath her cheek.

He hesitated only a split second before he crushed her against him, his arms wrapping around her waist so tightly as if he was afraid she’d slip away at any moment. The tears she’d been holding back poured out, and she felt his body shaking too. They stood there, locked in an embrace that trembled with raw anguish.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hate that you made me doubt you,” she whispered, voice muffled by his shirt. “And I hate that I’m so insecure. But most of all, I hate that… I can’t let you go.” She let out a choked sob, closing her eyes. “I love you too. And it hurts so bad because I’m scared you’ll destroy me someday.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’d rather die than hurt you,” he said, voice cracking with sincerity. “I’d rather die than lose you.”

The tension and heartbreak in the air shifted palpably, turning into a different kind of electricity. They pulled back just enough to look at each other, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Their faces were inches apart, breath intermingling. Then, wordlessly, as if drawn by a magnetic force, their lips collided in a fierce, desperate kiss.

She tasted salt from her tears as he kissed her, but the urgency in the press of his mouth overwhelmed her senses. Her hands slid up around his neck, fingers tangling in his curls. He held her face between his palms as though she were something delicate—yet the kiss itself was anything but gentle. It was raw, intense, filled with the pent-up longing of four days of agony and an entire relationship’s worth of insecurities.

They broke apart for a brief moment, gasping for air, foreheads touching as they tried to form words. But no words came. Only that frantic hunger to feel close after so many days of pain and confusion. They resumed kissing, deeper this time, tongues and teeth clashing, breath ragged. She moaned softly against his mouth, her body igniting with the need to be consumed by him.

“Bedroom,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak. His eyes were dark with longing, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

She grabbed his hand and led him down the short hallway. The moment they entered her bedroom, the tension redoubled. Even the air felt charged. The blinds were half-drawn, letting in the golden glow of the late-afternoon sun. The duvet on her bed was slightly disheveled, and she had thrown some clothes on it earlier that morning. The entire room smelled like her faint vanilla perfume and the leftover anxiety of the last few days.

She turned to face him, breath quivering. He reached for her face, cupping her cheek. She looked up into his eyes, still rimmed with leftover hurt. She reached for his hoodie, and he helped yank it off, tossing it aside. The next second, he was kissing her again, guiding her toward the bed. He peeled off her blouse, his hands shaking with the intensity of the moment, exposing her skin to the cool air and his heated gaze.

His lips moved down her jaw, her neck, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh there, drawing out soft gasps. Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of his joggers, pulling them down. Every movement was frantic, desperate, as if they both knew that making up like this was both a healing and a reaffirmation of what they meant to each other.

She sank onto the bed, and he followed, settling above her. Their mouths found each other again in a searing kiss, tongues dancing as their bodies pressed together. She could feel his heart beating wildly. She let her hands roam over his torso, savoring the warmth of his skin, the muscle that flexed beneath her palms. He groaned into her mouth, his voice husky with need.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed. He lowered his head to kiss down her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin. “I was going crazy not hearing your voice.”

She arched against him, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by how much she had missed him too. Her nails lightly raked his shoulders. “Don’t ever disappear on me again,” she murmured, breath hitching. “Don’t leave me like that.”

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. The raw emotion in his eyes almost made her dizzy. “Never,” he promised, and he sealed the vow with a slow, deep kiss.

Their hands explored every inch of exposed skin, reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies as though it had been years rather than mere days. Slowly, carefully, they stripped away the barriers of clothes. Each article of clothing fell to the floor or was pushed aside on the bed, along with the tensions and fears that had weighed on them. He caressed her curves, pressing gentle kisses to her hip, her waist, then trailing his lips up to her neck. She whimpered softly, allowing herself to be lost in the sensations.

He loomed above her, completely naked, his body trembling with the intensity of the moment. His hands slid down her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before he moved up her body again. His lips found hers in a searing kiss, hot and desperate, as if he were trying to make up for every second of the four days they’d spent apart. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his unruly curls, pulling him closer, as though she could fuse them together and never let him go again.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips didn’t stray far. He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her temples, each press of his mouth a silent apology, a promise, a plea. His breath was warm against her skin as he trailed kisses down her jawline, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear. She shivered, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her head fell back against the pillows, her body arching instinctively toward him.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he kissed across her collarbone, his hands moving down to her shoulders to steady her. His lips moved lower, leaving a trail of fire across her chest. He lingered there, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, his breath hitching as if he were savoring her. She could feel his hunger, his desperation, and it mirrored her own. When his mouth finally closed around her nipple, she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair.

He sucked gently at first, teasing her, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud until she was squirming beneath him. Then he sucked harder, drawing a sharp cry from her lips. She could feel the heat pooling low in her stomach, her body responding to him as it always did, as if it were wired to crave him and him alone. His fingers found her other breast, kneading and teasing, and she moaned, her back arching off the bed.

“Lando,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breathing.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen from kissing her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She reached up to touch his face, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of everything that had happened between them hanging in the air. But then he leaned down, capturing her lips in another kiss, and all the tension, all the doubt, melted away, replaced by an all-consuming need.

This time, when he pulled back, his hands moved to her hips, lifting her slightly so he could slide further down the bed. His lips trailed down her stomach, leaving a path of fire in their wake, and she shuddered, her hands clutching at the sheets. He kissed her hips, her thighs, his breath warm against her skin, and then his mouth was on her again, sucking and teasing, his tongue darting out to taste her.

She cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily, and he groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her still as he continued to worship her with his mouth, his tongue flicking over her sensitive flesh until she was trembling, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“Lando,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “Please.”

Lando didn’t lift his head, not yet. His hands tightened on her hips as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to trace the slick, sensitive folds of her pussy. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her, and she whimpered, her thighs trembling on either side of his head. He could taste her, her arousal, her need, and it drove him wild. He loved her like this, so open, so vulnerable, so completely his. His tongue delved deeper, exploring her, savoring her, and she cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets.

“So fucking sweet,” he murmured against her, his breath hot. “I could taste you forever.” His voice was rough, dripping with desire, and it sent a shiver up her spine. He pulled back slightly, his lips closing around her clit, and he sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. She arched off the bed, her moans echoing through the room, and he groaned, the sound muffled against her.

He lifted his head just enough to speak, his lips glistening with her. “You taste like heaven,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “I fucking love your pussy, Y/N. I love how you writhe for me, how you moan for me.” He kissed her again, his tongue slipping inside her, and she gasped, her hips bucking against his face. He held her steady, his hands firm on her hips, as he drank her in, every sound, every taste, every shudder of her body.

He loved this—he lived for this. The way she fell apart for him, the way her breath hitched and her cries grew louder, the way she trembled when he touched her just right. He loved the way she moaned his name, the way she clutched at the sheets, the way she surrendered to him completely. He loved knowing that he could make her feel this good, that he could bring her to the edge and push her over, that he could make her his in every possible way.

His tongue flicked over her clit again, faster this time, more insistent, and her moans turned into desperate cries. “Lando—please—I’m so close,” she gasped, her voice breaking. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. He sucked her clit into his mouth, his tongue working her relentlessly, and she came with a sharp cry, her body convulsing, her hands clawing at the sheets. He didn’t let up, drinking in every drop of her release, until she was panting, her body limp and trembling.

He finally lifted his head, his lips wet, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he said, his voice rough. He crawled up her body, his hands framing her face as he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. “I love making you feel good,” he murmured against her mouth. “I love hearing you moan, feeling you shake, watching you fall apart for me.”

She reached for him, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. “You’re incredible,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I love it when you worship me like that, when you make me feel like I’m the only thing that matters.” Her eyes were soft, filled with adoration, and he kissed her again, gently this time, savoring the way she melted into him.

“You are the only thing that matters,” he said, his voice low and earnest. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “I love you, Y/N. I love everything about you—your body, your mind, your soul. I love making you feel good, I love hearing you moan, I love watching you come. I love you.”

She smiled, a slow, sweet smile that made his heart ache. “I love you too,” she whispered. She pulled him down, her lips finding his, and they kissed, slow and deep, their bodies pressed together, their hearts beating in sync. For the first time in days, the world felt right again.

He pulled away from her lips reluctantly, his chest heaving, his cock throbbing between them as he hovered above her. “I need to be inside you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. “I can’t wait anymore.” His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he guided her closer to the edge of the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

But she shook her head, her eyes filled with need, her lips swollen from his kisses. “Not yet,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need you in my mouth first. Please, Lando. Let me taste you.”

He groaned, his head falling back as he fought for control. “Fuck, Y/N—I want to be in you. I’ve been waiting for this for days.”

Her hands slid down his chest, her nails lightly scratching his skin as she moved lower, her fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He hissed at the touch, his hips jerking forward instinctively. “I know,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “But I need this. I need to feel you in my mouth. Let me, please. I’ll make it good for you.”

He looked down at her, his eyes burning with desire and frustration. She was begging him, her voice dripping with need, and he couldn’t deny her. Not when she looked up at him like that—with those pleading eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered, his resolve crumbling. “Just—just for a minute. Then I’m inside you.”

She didn’t waste another second. Lando lay back on the bed, his head resting on the pillows, his chest rising and falling rapidly as she positioned herself between his legs. His cock was already leaking precum, the tip glistening, and she could feel him twitch in her hand as she stroked him slowly. She licked her lips, her mouth watering at the sight of him, at the thought of tasting him, of feeling him on her tongue.

Without hesitation, without teasing, she took him into her mouth, her lips wrapping around his shaft, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groaned loudly, his hands fisting in the sheets as she sucked him deep, her head bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm. One hand rested on his inner thigh, her fingers digging into his skin, while the other stroked the base of his cock in time with her movements.

She looked up at him, her eyes locked on his as she sucked him, her lips stretched around his length. The sight of her—her lips wrapped around his cock, her eyes filled with hunger—was almost too much for him. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and she moaned around him, the sound vibrating through him, sending jolts of pleasure racing down his spine.

“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice rough with arousal. “Fuck, you’re so sexy like this. You love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you? You’re such a good girl for me, Y/N. Such a fucking slut for my dick.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t stop. She loved when he talked dirty to her, when he called her his slut, his good girl. It made her feel wanted, desired, and it only made her suck him harder, her movements becoming more desperate, more eager. Her hand moved from his inner thigh to his balls, her fingers gently massaging them as she continued to suck him, her lips and tongue working him relentlessly.

She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, could taste the saltiness of his precum on her tongue, and it only made her want him more. She loved the way he felt in her mouth, the way he filled her, the way he made her feel so alive, so connected to him. She loved the way he moaned her name, the way his hands tightened in the sheets as he tried to hold himself back. She loved the way he looked at her, his eyes filled with desire, his breath hitching as she sucked him.

For Lando, it was almost too much. The sight of her—her lips wrapped around his cock, her eyes filled with hunger, her hand stroking him, her fingers massaging his balls—was driving him wild. He loved seeing her like this, so turned on, so eager for him. It made him feel powerful, desired, and it made him want to give her everything she begged for. He loved the way she looked at him, her eyes locked on his as she sucked him, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. He loved the way she moaned around him, the way her body trembled with need. She was his, and he loved every fucking second of it.

But he couldn’t let himself come—not yet. He wanted to be inside her, to feel her tight, wet pussy around him as he spilled himself deep inside her. He gently pushed her away, his hands trembling as he gripped her shoulders. “Enough,” he said, his voice rough with need. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

She pulled back, her lips swollen, her breathing ragged, her eyes filled with longing. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. “Please. I need you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands moved with purpose, gripping her hips firmly as he manhandled her onto her back again, her body sinking into the mattress. She gasped, her hands instinctively reaching for him as he positioned himself above her, his weight pressing her into the bed. His eyes locked onto hers, intense, brimming with something deeper than desire—something raw, emotional, and unspoken. He hovered for a moment, his breath ragged, his chest heaving, before he shifted, guiding himself toward her entrance.

She felt the tip of him brush against her, hot and insistent, and a shiver of anticipation ran through her. He paused, his hands framing her face as he leaned down, his forehead pressing against hers. She could feel the tremble in his body, the way he was holding himself back, trying to control the primal urge to claim her. His breath mingled with hers, shaky and uneven, as he whispered, “I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

And then, slowly, achingly slow, he entered her. She felt every inch of him as he pushed inside, her body stretching to accommodate him, the sensation both overwhelming and electrifying. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady her breathing. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that made her head spin—it was the way he looked at her, his eyes never leaving hers, his expression a mix of reverence and desperation. It felt like he wasn’t just entering her body; he was reclaiming her heart, her soul, every piece of her that had been fractured by distance and doubt.

For Lando, the moment was equally intense. The warmth of her body enveloped him, tight and welcoming, and he groaned, his head falling forward as he fought to keep his movements slow, controlled. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps, and it made him ache with a need that went far beyond physical. He wanted to lose himself in her, to drown in the way she felt around him, but more than that, he wanted her to know how much she meant to him. How much he loved her. How he’d do anything to keep her, to protect her, to make her feel cherished.

He stayed inside her, not moving, his body flush against hers, their breaths mingling as they stared into each other’s eyes. The stillness was charged, electric, as if the world had paused just for them. She could feel him twitching inside her, the way his body seemed to throb with the effort of holding back, and it made her ache with a need that was almost unbearable. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her hands clutching at his back. “Please… move. I need you.”

But he shook his head, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I want to take my time with you. I want to show you how much I love you, Y/N. How much you mean to me.” His words were soft, tender, but there was a fire behind them that made her heart race. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss, his tongue exploring hers as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m yours. Always.” His voice broke on the last word, and she could feel the sincerity in it, the weight of his promise. It was as if he were trying to pour every ounce of his love, his devotion, into that one moment.

She whimpered, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. “I love you,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion. “I missed you so much. Please, Lando… don’t let go.”

He kissed her again, his movements slow and deliberate, his hands roaming her body with a reverence that made her heart ache. He worshiped her with his touch, his lips, his words, as if every inch of her were sacred. His hands slid down her sides, smoothing over her skin, before he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in slow, teasing circles. She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as her body responded to him instinctively.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he leaned down to kiss her neck, her collarbone, the sensitive spot just below her ear. His lips were warm, his breath hot against her skin, and she shivered, her hands tightening in his hair. He took his time, exploring every inch of her with a patience that made her ache.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice pleading, her hands tugging at his hair. “Please… I need you. I need you to move.”

But he shook his head again, his hands sliding down to her hips, gripping her firmly as he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. “I’m not going to rush this,” he said, his voice steady despite the fire burning in his gaze. “I want to make this last. I want to make you feel how much I love you, Y/N. How much I’ve missed you.”

His words were a balm to her soul, soothing the raw edges of her heart, but they also made her ache with need. She could feel him inside her, hot and thick, twitching with every breath, and it was maddening to have him so close, so still. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking, her hips lifting slightly in an attempt to get him to move. “Please, Lando… I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me feel good.”

He groaned, his hips jerking forward involuntarily at her words, but he held himself back, his hands tightening on her hips. “I will,” he promised, his voice rough with desire. “But not yet. I want to savor this. I want to savor you.”

She whimpered, her nails digging into his back as she tried to pull him closer, but he stayed still, his eyes locked on hers, his expression filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache. She loved this side of him—the way he could be so soft, so gentle, even in moments of intense passion. It made her feel cherished, adored, and it made her love him even more.

Finally, he began to move, his hips rocking against hers in slow, deliberate thrusts. The sensation was maddening, each movement drawing a soft cry from her lips as she writhed beneath him. He kept his pace slow, his eyes never leaving hers, his hands moving to cup her face as he leaned down to kiss her again. His lips were warm, his tongue exploring hers in a way that made her head spin, and she moaned into his mouth, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

For her, the slow, deliberate movements were both agonizing and intoxicating. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, the sensation building slowly, steadily, until she felt like she might explode. She could feel him inside her, hot and thick, filling her completely, and it made her ache with a need that was almost unbearable. She wanted more—needed more—but he held back, his movements controlled, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

For Lando, the slow pace was equally intense. He could feel her around him, tight and warm, and it took every ounce of his self-control to keep from losing himself in her. He wanted to savor this moment, to make it last, to show her how much she meant to him. He wanted to worship her, to make her feel loved, cherished, adored. And he knew that the only way to do that was to take his time, to draw out every second, to make her feel every ounce of his love.

He kissed her again, his lips moving against hers in a slow, deep rhythm that matched the pace of his thrusts. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, his voice trembling with emotion. “I love you so much, Y/N. I’m never letting you go.”

She whimpered, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as she kissed him back with a desperation that mirrored his own. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please, Lando… don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kept his pace slow, deliberate, his thrusts deep and steady as he continued to worship her with his body, his touch, his words. He kept kissing her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders, his lips lingering on every inch of her skin as if he were trying to memorize her. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if he were trying to commit her to memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as he leaned down to kiss her again. “I can’t get enough of you, Y/N. I never will.”

She moaned, her hands clutching at his back as she arched into his touch, her body responding to him instinctively. The slow, steady rhythm of his thrusts was driving her wild, the sensation building slowly, steadily, until she felt like she might explode. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “Please… I’m so close.”

He kissed her again, his movements never faltering as he held himself above her, his eyes locked on hers. “Let go, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

And with those words, she shattered, her body convulsing as she clung to him, her cries muffled against his chest. He held her through it, his thrusts never faltering as he continued to drive her over the edge, his own release building steadily until he could no longer hold back. With a low groan, he pressed his face into her neck, his body shaking as he spilled himself inside her, his breath hot against her skin.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their bodies trembling, their breaths mingling as they held onto each other. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, the air thick with the weight of everything they had shared, everything they had overcome.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking down at her with an aching tenderness she had never seen so plainly before. He brushed damp hair off her forehead, trailing a thumb across her cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice a low rasp in the hush of the room. “I love you so much. And I’m so sorry for everything.”

She exhaled shakily, caressing the side of his face. “I’m sorry, too,” she murmured. “I got so consumed by anger and jealousy. I should have let you explain calmly. And I… I should never have doubted that you’d raise a hand to me.”

He shook his head, kissing her temple. “You have nothing to apologize for. Your fears come from a real place. I just want to do better for you. I never want you to think I could hurt you.” He swallowed hard. “I’m terrified of losing you.”

She stared up into his eyes, seeing the layers of heartbreak there. “Don’t do anything that makes me doubt you again, Lando. Please,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “I can’t take this kind of fight again.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I promise,” he said. “And if something comes up—pictures, rumors, anything—please talk to me before letting it build up in your head. I’ll tell you everything.”

She nodded, tears threatening once more, but they didn’t spill. “Okay,” she agreed softly.

They settled into a quiet embrace, his arm draped over her waist, her head on his chest. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heart, each beat reassuring her that he was here and that he wasn’t letting go. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in pink and orange hues that filtered into the room. For a time, neither of them spoke, letting the warmth of each other’s bodies and the lingering afterglow of their fierce coupling do the talking.

Eventually, their breathing evened out, and Lando shifted to lie on his side, propping his head on one hand so he could look at her fully. She blushed slightly, tugging the sheets up to cover herself, though he’d already seen every inch. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her lips felt tender from the rough kisses.

He reached out to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he said quietly.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “Don’t,” she mumbled. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he insisted. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Your body, your face, your heart… it’s all incredible to me.”

“Stop flattering me,” she murmured, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. His genuine admiration always made her heart skip a beat.

He gave her a half-smile, though there was still a hint of sadness in his eyes. “We have to talk, you know,” he said softly. “We can’t just… pretend the argument didn’t happen.”

She nodded, the smile fading as she remembered the fiery fight. “I know.”

He took a deep breath, shifting closer so their foreheads nearly touched. “I hate that my past makes you feel insecure. But it’s my past. I can’t change it, no matter how badly I wish I could.” He placed a hand gently on her hip. “I need you to understand that I’m not that guy anymore. Maybe I was reckless before, a little shallow. But I’m not the same person I was a year or two years ago.”

She chewed her lip, eyes drifting to where her hand lay over his on the bed. “I guess a part of me thinks that once a player, always a player,” she admitted. “Like, if you’ve done it once, you’ll do it again. But I know that’s not fair. People can change.”

His fingers squeezed hers lightly. “I don’t want anyone else. I know you might find it hard to believe, but it’s true. I’m not going to ruin this for some random stranger in a club.” He paused, voice growing thick with emotion. “I love you, Y/N. I love your fierceness, your shy smiles, your sarcastic quips, how you refuse to let me pay for everything even though I want to spoil you. I love the way you get all excited about a new book or a new recipe you learned. I love your body, every curve, every inch, how it feels like you were made to fit in my arms.”

She drew in a shaky breath, tears gathering again. “Lando…”

He nodded, blinking back his own moisture. “So trust me, please. Talk to me if you feel suspicious. Don’t bottle it up until it explodes. Because I can’t go another four days like this. It was pure hell.”

She closed her eyes, exhaling. “I’m sorry I shut you out,” she whispered, voice trembling. “And I’ll… I’ll try. I don’t want to go through this either. I just need reassurance. Because my insecurities are… they’re crippling sometimes. Seeing that picture brought back every fear I had.”

He cupped her cheek gently. “I get it. And I’ll do my best to reassure you. Always.”

They shared a tender kiss, a silent pact to communicate better, to lean on each other instead of letting the fear linger. After a few more minutes of hushed conversation, she excused herself to use the bathroom, to freshen up.

Stepping into the attached en-suite, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair in wild mess. She splashed cool water on her face, trying to calm the roiling emotions. She felt lighter somehow, as if her chest wasn’t as constricted. He was here, in her home, in her bed, and they’d just poured out so many painful feelings. But they’d also reconnected intimately, forging a new bond in the midst of all the anguish.

Yet a small flicker of doubt still lingered. She wondered if she could truly accept the rumors that might come in the future—pictures of him with fans, random girls in clubs, or women who found him attractive. He was an F1 driver, he was famous, and she couldn’t shield him from the outside world. She swallowed hard, telling herself that if she truly loved him, and if he truly loved her, they would find a way through it.

When she returned, dressed in a fresh tee and shorts, she found him sitting on her bed, having pulled on his boxers. The bedside lamp was on, illuminating the curve of his shoulders, the slight slump as he stared at his phone. He looked up the moment she stepped in.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly, noticing his phone in his hand.

He grimaced. “Max and a couple of the other guys are freaking out because I went off the grid. I told them I needed time to sort this out.”

She nodded, crossing to the bed, settling beside him. “I’m sorry if I caused you trouble.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t apologize for that. They were worried, but now that I told them I’m with you, they’re pretty much leaving me alone.”

She reached for his phone, pressing the lock button so the screen went dark, then set it aside on the nightstand. “You’re here with me now,” she said quietly. “Focus on that.”

He exhaled, nodding. Then his eyes flickered to the faint bruise on her wrist, a small mark she’d gotten from accidentally knocking her hand against a table the day before. She saw him stare with concern. “What’s that?”

She glanced at it. “Oh, that’s nothing. I bumped into something at work. I’m clumsy.”

He lightly brushed his thumb over the bruise, then lifted her hand and kissed the spot gently. The tender gesture made her chest tighten. His gaze moved up to hers, intense. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “for scaring you the other night. I haven’t gotten that out of my head. The way you flinched…”

A wave of guilt crashed over her. “Lando, I said I’m sorry. It’s not you—it’s my own fear. I just reacted.”

“But the fact that you could even think I’d—” He exhaled unsteadily, closing his eyes. “I promise I’ll never move that way again. I’ll be mindful. I don’t want to trigger that reflex or make you think—”

She slid her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “No. Don’t change how you move or exist in the world,” she whispered, voice thick with regret. “It was my own trauma or fear or something. But I know you’d never do that to me, logically. My body just panicked.”

He nodded, holding her close. “Okay,” he said softly. “But if you ever feel scared, tell me. I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel safe.”

They stayed like that for a long time, arms wrapped around each other on the bed, the soft glow of the lamp creating a cocoon of intimacy. She felt his heartbeat slow as he relaxed in her arms, his breathing growing calmer. She gently stroked the back of his neck, and he exhaled against her shoulder.

Finally, she drew back slightly, looking into his face. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

He shook his head, giving her a wry smile. “No. I came straight here from the airport, then… all this happened.”

She offered a small smile in return. “I’ll order us takeout. Thai or pizza?”

He shrugged. “Anything you like. Though I’m kind of craving noodles.”

She nodded, picking up her phone from the nightstand, scrolling through her food delivery apps. Within minutes, she placed an order for a selection of Thai dishes. Then she set her phone aside again.

Lando let out a soft chuckle. “I can’t believe we went from screaming at each other to ordering noodles. My head’s spinning.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, it’s been a rollercoaster.” Her features turned somber as she looked at him. “Do you regret coming here?”

He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers. “Not in the slightest. I want to fix things with you more than anything.”

A gentle silence fell over them, broken only by the hum of the city outside. She cuddled closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Despite the leftover ache, a sense of relief washed over her. He was here. They were together, speaking, touching, and trying to heal.

2K notes · View notes

marvelstoriesepic · 13 days ago

Text

Powdered Sugar

Pairing: childhood best friend fuckboy!Bucky x hopeless romantic!Reader

Summary: Your friend group is having a night out at the local carnival. Bucky is his charming self and you are tired of pretending it doesn’t affect you.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: friends to something-maybe-more tension; unrequited love (the perceived kind); heartbreak; unspoken feelings; light angst; emotional withdrawal; miscommunication; mentions of Bucky being a fuckboy and flirting with other girls

Author’s Note: I know this turned out to be a little longer than planned for these drabbles and I did want to end it at around 1.6k words but I felt like the conversation just needed a little more. Anyway, this is based on this request from my sweet, sweet mutual!!

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

Everywhere around you are colors. Blinking, buzzing, glowing colors. Neon reds and golden yellows. Cotton candy blues shaping the darkening sky.

The air is dense with the smell of sugar and smoke, a little burnt, a little sweet - like fireworks melting.

A thousand voices are stitched into the dark. Booths are being crowded, laughter rings out from all around you. Something about it feels like nostalgia wrapped in noise. Summer hanging off your skin.

You walk through it all in a slow dream.

Sam is saying something funny. Steve is losing his mind over who won the water gun race with Natasha. Wanda is laughing so hard she snorts.

You are smiling, but not all the way. Only with your mouth. Your head is somewhere else. Somewhere maybe not here at all.

Wanda’s arm is looped through yours, her voice warm in your ear, but you’re not hearing a word.

Because you’re in your head again.

And in your head, there’s a boy.

There’s always a boy.

He’s got a crooked grin and impossible eyes. Hands made for trouble. And a voice that is meant to live in your name.

He’s in your head because he can’t be anywhere outside of it.

It’s safer for you if he stays in here - because when you let yourself drift, you can imagine what it would be like if things were just a little different. If he was just a little different. If he looked at you the way you look at him when he’s not paying attention. If he loved you back.

You imagine him holding your hand under the glow of cotton candy lights.

You imagine his voice soft only for you.

You imagine his heart not borrowed.

He’s been your best friend since sandbox days and scraped knees. Since secrets shared under blankets and hiding from thunder in the dark. And somewhere along the way he became the sun and you became the shadow. Orbiting. Always too close to stay safe. Always too far to be seen.

And lately, you’ve been pulling back.

Not because you want to, but because you have to. Because watching him flirt with every pretty girl who captures his attention is like slowly bleeding out from the inside. And maybe that’s dramatic. Maybe you’re just being the hopeless romantic again, building castles in clouds and crying when the rain comes.

But god, you wish you didn’t feel so much.

“Hey, where’s Barnes?” Sam asks casually, looking around.

You do too. Because you just can’t help yourself. But you shouldn’t have.

And your fantasies shatter for the thousandth time.

He’s across the way, at a booth that smells like vanilla and sugar and heartbreak. He’s leaning against the counter. Smiling that easy smile. The one he gives to girls he’ll forget tomorrow. The one he doesn’t give to you.

The girl behind the counter is giggling.

Of course, she is.

She’s pretty and pink-cheeked with her long hair fastened at the back of her head, possibly with a hair clip you can’t see. Because she’s not turning around. Not turning away from Bucky.

Bucky is saying something. It’s probably something charming, something easy. And your stomach drops as if you just stepped off the edge of the Ferris wheel.

You blink too long. Swallow too hard.

Something sharp blooms in your ribs, something that nowadays never fully heals. A bruise where no one can see it.

The group keeps chatting around you but you can’t hear them anymore. The noise of the carnival dulls. It all dulls. The lights, the heat, the movement - all of it fades to background static as you stare and think, of course.

Of course, he couldn’t even make it one night.

This was supposed to be for all of you. This was supposed to be just your night as a group - no distractions, no other girls, no stupid charm shows. Just friends, food, maybe a ride or two, laughing till your face hurt.

But Bucky Barnes cannot help himself as it looks like.

And you should have known better by now.

You look away just as he gestures for more powdered sugar - a generous heap of it on top of the funnel cake. Just the way you like it. But you don’t see that part. You don’t see anything but the girl smiling at him like she’d give him her whole world for free.

“You okay?”

It’s Wanda’s voice in your ear. It sounds knowing. And you hate it. Because she knows you are not okay. Knows you haven’t been for a while. And she knows why. Because other than Bucky, everyone can see your heartbreak so plainly.

“Yeah,” you lie tersely because what are you supposed to tell her when she already knows the answer is no?

Bucky comes walking back to your group a minute later holding the funnel cake carefully in both hands. He is grinning, all proud of himself, eyes scanning the group until they land on you.

He makes a beeline for you.

The group keeps moving.

Wanda, to give you some space perhaps, walks ahead, laughing as she tugs Sam toward the spinning teacups as though they’re not entirely designed for kids under ten. Steve is shaking his head, pretending he’s not going to join in, but you all know he will. Natasha is throwing you a subtle, knowing glance before smirking at Steve.

You don’t get far.

“Here,” Bucky says, holding the funnel cake out to you, falling in step.

But you are drifting.

Your body is here, feet touching ground, but you feel like you’re moving through molasses. Everything slow. Heavy. Your heart sticky with regret or embarrassment or whatever that fucking pain is.

You glance down at his offering. The powdered sugar is already melting into the ridges. A soft, sweet mess. It smells like childhood. Like summer. Like him, as weird as it feels.

You swallow. “I’m good.”

You feel the warmth of him. That stupid comforting heat that’s always just there. Like a fire you want to lean into but know better than to trust.

“You didn’t eat all day.”

His voice beside you comes like a tug at your sleeve.

He keeps pace beside you, his stride easy like it always is but you acknowledge that there is a difference in the way he holds himself. Less swagger. Less play. He’s not performing. Not posturing.

You glance sideways. The funnel cake is still sitting in his hands.

Still warm. Still untouched.

“I’m not hungry, Buck. You can have it.” You don’t really look at him.

He doesn’t answer for a few steps, just walks with you, his eyes on you, the crowd fading behind.

The gravel crunches beneath your shoes. A moth flutters through a streetlight above. The world keeps moving, but it feels like something in your chest doesn’t.

He holds the plate out again. Firmer.

“You always eat this first,” he says, and there is something like a forced charm in his voice. Great. He doesn’t even seem to try with you. “Every year.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t take it. You keep your eyes ahead. You don’t respond.

So he steps in front of you, blocking the path, just slightly. As if trying not to be obvious about it but it still is.

It makes you halt.

“Take it, doll,” he insists. Quiet. Not demanding. Rather pleading.

Slowly, you blink up at him. His eyes are darker in the carnival lights. Blue, but tired. There’s something behind them. Something like a question. Like he’s reaching out with more than his hands and hoping you’ll meet him halfway.

Sighing, you take it, your fingers brushing his. You pretend not to feel it. He pretends not to hold on for a second longer than needed.

Picking at the corner, you tear off a soft edge. You bring it to your mouth and chew slowly. It doesn’t taste as good as it is supposed to.

It’s too sweet. Or not sweet enough. You don’t know.

You nod, just a little. “Thanks.”

Bucky doesn’t smile. Not like usual. His face is silence and shadows. There is something unreadable there.

He starts walking again after simply staring at you for a while.

You follow.

For a few minutes, you’re just walking. Side by side. Like you always have. Like nothing’s changed. You don’t even bother looking where the others are going.

You hear him bite the inside of his cheek. You know that sound. He’s deep in his thoughts. He does that when he’s trying not to say something too fast.

“Something’s up with you lately. You’ve been actin’ a little different,” he then starts after some more thoughtful moments, voice careful, deep and raspy. “And I don’t know what’s going on, but-” he sighs deeply. “I miss you, doll. Feels like you’ve been pulling back.”

You swallow another bite of funnel cake as if it’s the most disgusting thing you’ve ever eaten. It sits wrong in your gut. Makes it turn. Makes it hate you. Makes you hate it.

You glance over to your best friend. His hands are in his pockets now. Shoulders tense. He’s not looking at you. But you can see the edge of something vulnerable in the line of his jaw.

“I don’t know,” you get out somehow. “I guess I just needed space.”

He nods. Slow. As if he understands. But you don’t think he does.

“If something’s going on, you can-” His tone is softened, but his voice is scratchy. Almost gravel. “You can talk to me, doll. You know that, right?”

You let the silence stretch.

You watch it reach between you and settle in your bones.

You think about all the words you could say and how none of them are enough.

You think about how much it hurts to want someone who never asked to be wanted.

You think about powdered sugar.

“It’s nothing.”

You watch a paper napkin flutter across the pavement. Someone laughs nearby, giddy and golden and loud. Somewhere, the Ferris wheel creaks.

You walk a little further. Past the game booths. Past the families and kids and the couple kissing against the light-up sign that says Tunnel of love. You pretend not to see it.

He watches you. Carefully. Trying to read a page you’ve scribbled over.

Bucky bumps his shoulder gently into yours, letting out a breath.

“I’m not good at this,” he mutters, voice rough.

“At what?”

He shrugs, looks at the sky, then back to you. “Knowing when I’ve screwed up. With you.”

Your throat closes around nothing. You don’t want it to. But it does.

“You didn’t screw up,” you reply weakly.

“Then what did I do?”

And there is that question you can’t answer without giving yourself away.

“It’s not that simple, Buck,” is all you give him.

“It doesn’t have to be simple, doll,” Bucky presses, a little more desperately. It seems like this has been gnawing at him. “But you’re clearly keepin’ something. And I've got the feeling it’s got something to do with me.”

Your heart thuds. The lump in your throat is unendurable now.

“You’ve been weird,” he goes on, staring right at you. “For weeks. We’re makin’ plans, you cancel. I’m callin’ you, you don’t pick up. Don’t even call me back anymore. And you won’t tell me anything.” His jaw flexes. “Something’s not right. I’m even kinda surprised you joined us here.”

He looks at your profile as if ready to catch the truth as it falls out of you.

You slow down. He does too.

“Just tell me if I did something,” he begs. “If I crossed a line. If I hurt you.”

The carnival is alive around you, loud and bright and unaware. But this moment feels still.

“You didn’t, okay?” you declare. “Not really.”

“But kind of?” he asks, eyebrows pulling in.

You shake your head with a vehement sigh. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it,” he utters with that stubborn and desperate edge. The part of him that refuses to let go. That never has.

“I’m not mad at you.“ Your voice is getting slighter higher. “I’m just-”

He is watching you so openly and you hate that you can’t lie to him properly.

“I’m not keeping score, okay?” you say suddenly. The words come out too fast. Too bitter. “I don’t sit around counting who you talk to or who you smile at or who you fucking flirt with.”

You clamp your mouth shut.

Too much. Too much too fast.

A hand stuffs funnel cake in to keep you from saying more. Your jaw works like it’s a distraction as if sugar and dough can silence what your heart just screamed.

But Bucky already stopped walking.

You take two steps before you realize. Turn.

He’s standing there in the half-light, shadows soft under his cheekbones, carnival glow flickering behind him like bad TV static.

He’s looking at you as though you just dropped a grenade at his feet.

Terrific.

He exhales carefully. Stares at you. Quiet. Maybe a little sad. Maybe a little something else.

But you cannot stop now.

“It’s just- it’s always like this,” you continue. “Every time. We make plans as a group, we do stuff, and then you see someone pretty and you’re just gone. Like the rest of us don’t matter.”

He looks stunned. He looks everything.

There’s a long stretch of silence.

“I wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to ditch you, sweetheart,” he says almost under his breath. “I went to get you some-”

“Doesn’t matter,” you cut in. “Because you always end up talking to someone else. You always find some new girl to flirt with, even when it’s supposed to be just us.”

You tear off another bite and don’t eat it.

“I didn’t flirt with her,” he says, after a beat. His voice is low. Testing. “I swear to you, I wasn’t. I just wanted to get the cake right.” A hand drags through his hair. His voice turns even softer. Dejected in a way. “You looked- I don’t know. You just didn’t look okay. Hoped it might cheer you up.”

You don’t look at him.

Because you’d crumble if you did.

You lick sugar off your lip, suddenly furious with how gentle he’s being. How cautious. As if you are something he doesn’t know how to hold anymore.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asks, same voice. “If something I was doing was bothering you - why didn’t you say something?”

“Because it wasn’t your fault,” you answer, and now your voice is breaking. “It’s mine. It’s-” You stop again. Take a breath that tastes like carnival smoke and sweetness and everything you wish you could forget. “I know who you are, Bucky. Okay? I’ve always known. You don’t owe me anything.”

He frowns. But somehow he still looks soft while doing it. “What the hell does that mean?”

You breathe in. Your fingers twitch. You stare at the funnel cake and wish it were enough to quiet the thunder in your chest.

“It means I’m not stupid,” you basically whisper. “I know you. I know who you are with people. I know what your smile does and how easy it is for you to make someone feel like they matter, even if it’s just for five minutes. And it’s fine. It’s fine, okay? I just need to stop watching it happen.”

You feel the moment your words sink into him. You can’t take them back into your mouth and swallow them down. Can’t clean them up or smooth them over.

His eyes are like the sky just before a storm.

“Is that what you think I do?” he asks incredulously. His voice isn’t accusing. Isn’t angry. But it’s pained. Tired. As if he’s been trying to piece something together for weeks and it’s only now starting to form into shape.

His voice is quiet but not soft. Not now. It’s too filled with something else that is vulnerable and profound.

“You think I go around giving pieces of myself away like candy?”

Powdered sugar sticks to your throat.

You open your mouth. Close it again. Because yeah. Maybe you do.

He runs a hand over his jaw. Still not angry. Just hurt. Disappointed. Sad. And trying not to be.

You pick at the corner of the plate.

“That’s not who I am with you,” he states. And there is something different in his voice. Something wobbly. “That’s never been who I am with you.”

Your heart stops. Just a little.

He looks at you. So deeply. As though you’re not just some girl in a crowd. As though you’re not a thing he’ll forget after five minutes. As though he’s trying to memorize the way you exist in this moment - all messy silence and half-held tears.

He steps closer.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he continues after a little pause. “But doll, please don’t stand here and tell me I make people feel like they matter for five minutes. Not when I’ve been showing up for you every damn day since we were kids. Not when I’ve been-”

He stops. Swallows the rest.

Your hands are shaking. The funnel cake is barely still a thing anymore, just warm sugar on torn paper, and you think you’re falling apart.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, barely breathing. “I just- I didn’t know how else to say it without saying too much.”

His eyes soften.

He steps in closer. Looks down at you. His hand brushes your forearm, making your fingers stop fidgeting with the paper plate.

“You can say too much around me, doll,” he insists. Soft again. Certain. “You always could.”

The lights glitter in your peripheral. The night is filled with other people’s joy, but yours feels more important.

You don’t bother to think about where your friends are.

He leans down, noses almost touching. His eyebrow twitches. His throat bobs.

“Just so you know,” he murmurs, almost like he’s not sure he should say it but knowing that if he does, he won’t regret it. “You’ve never been five minutes. Not even close.”

You blink fast. Look away. The ache in your chest shifts. It’s not gone but somehow it turns gentler.

You don’t say anything. Can’t.

But you think he hears it anyway.

The hope.

Your heart.

The maybe.

And then he walks beside you again. Like he always has. Like he always will. Even when you’re a little cracked, a little afraid. Even when you’re not saying everything.

But sometimes, just saying enough is already everything.

#2k drabble challenge request #2k drabble challenge #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #buckybarnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes

1K notes · View notes

meowdei · 18 days ago

Text

the psychology of men (a guide to understanding how they work) — ft. phainon

if nice guys didn’t always screw you over, you’d have an easier time trusting that phainon isn’t the good guy full of bullshit. but he’s still nice enough to patiently wait for you to give him one chance, though

word count. ❤︎ 10.3k words — in literally one day. ONE

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; college au ; reader has a shitty ex boyfriend and trust issues — she is not perfect but she is human. be nice to her ; strangers to friends with benefits to lovers ; reader has a crush on mydei at first LOL ; mentions of alcohol and drunk sex ; phainon is a YEARNER ; resolved angst, miscommunication, and arguments ; phainon is down bad and reader is simply in denial that she is too ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read

commentary. ❤︎ i didn’t care about this dude until today. he possessed me so hard i wrote 10k words in less than 24 hours. white hair and blue eyed freaks will do that to you

LESSON ONE: MEN ARE ALWAYS PLANNING SOMETHING. THE NICER THEY SEEM, THE MORE SINISTER THE SCHEME!

You meet Phainon for the first time while you’re freshly out of a relationship, nursing a broken heart. Your ex-boyfriend pursued you with that heartfelt, fairytale sort of devotion, and you thought you’d be telling people at your wedding one day that you knew he was “the one” early on in your relationship.

And then he dumped you as quickly as he “fell in love” with you. It wouldn’t be right, he’d said, it just isn’t fair to keep you around when I don’t feel the way I used to. He leaves you with not so much as a tear of sorrow, and you’re left with the aftermath of a devastating heartbreak.

Not the sad, lingering kind—this one is the sort of heartbreak that makes you hate all men. Especially the nice ones—the ones that manipulate you into thinking they’re the good guys who won’t turn on you, but they do. They always do. The nice guys are the ones with the most potential to turn out dangerous. They aren’t upfront about their assholery. That shitty ex of yours is a prime example, and you refuse to fall victim twice.

Your first impression of Phainon happens in some boring college class you take just for the elective credit and an easy gpa boost. He’s the sort of guy your attention doesn’t instantly latch onto—he’s sweet, sure, and funny but a little too gentle to be real. Too good to be true. Too much of a green flag to be interesting. Exactly the kind of guy you’re avoiding—exactly the sort of person who can worm his way into your heart slowly and lethally and then bite. Hard. (That sort of mindset is too pessimistic to be any good, of course, but you’re only just barely in your twenties as you navigate your dramatic breakup, and your prefrontal cortex is still developing.)

You find his friend a little more intriguing for the longest time, if you’re honest. The brooding blonde next to him always made your eyes linger for a second too long.

“Hey,” he whispers, poking your shoulder from behind. You turn, slightly irritated by the fact that some guy is interrupting your dissociation in the middle of class—doesn’t he know you have false scenarios to run through your mind while you pass the time? Professor Anaxagoras has a strict no-phones-in-sight policy if you want to keep your participation points up, so the only thing to entertain you is your own head. Sheepishly, as if sensing your irritation, he murmurs, “Sorry. Can I please use your laptop charger?”

“I’m using it,” you blink.

“Yeah, but it’s almost fully charged,” he practically pleads. The puppy eyes on him are unreal—you feel almost compelled to cave just at the sight of them alone until you realize it’s your charger, and he’s bargaining with you about why you don’t need it. Absurd. “I can see the green battery sign.”

“Are you serious,” you stare at him blandly, “it’s barely twelve pm. Why is your laptop already dying anyway?”

“I charged it,” he pouts, “but she’s old and on her last legs. It doesn’t last if I take the charger out for too long—I forgot to bring it with me. Please. If it dies in the middle of this assignment, it’ll make me start over! It took me an hour to google all these answers.”

Well. He’s convincing in that pathetic sort of way. Just the perfect mix between nice and genuine but still a tad bit needy that just tickles your gut in the right place to loosen you up. Without a word, you unplug your charger with a roll of your eyes and hand it to him as he smiles gratefully.

“You’re the best!”

“You’re pathetic,” his friend grunts to him from beside him.

“Don’t be rude, Mydei!” he whispers through a wounded voice.

They continue to bicker back and forth, but you tune it out—there’s only one thought on your mind for the remainder of your time in that room.

You spend the rest of class thinking about the deep sound of his friend’s voice to care about anything else. Fuck, you think—you’re almost debating that strict no more men rule you’d set for yourself after your break up, ready to throw it all away for the grumpy looking blonde with red tips behind you. He’s hot. And honestly, he seems a bit rude and crabby, so really, he can’t be that bad—and yeah, everyone would think he’s the red flag, but you know how men go. You’ve figured out their psychology. The ones who are prickly on the exterior are actually very soft inside, and they’re not half as bad as the soft, cuddly type of men who turn around and bite you as soon as you’re close enough.

This guy could be different. He could be worked into devotion instead of smothering you with it early on, only to have ulterior motives and get bored. What was his name again? Mydei? Sounds decently moanable in bed, you reason. He certainly seems like a keeper.

It’s not long before the lecture ends, and you walk off with all your thoughts consumed by the grumpy blonde guy who said maybe only three words that you properly heard before he possessed your mind like a fucking demon. So much so that you forget to ask for your charger back, and that clever asshole never gave it back on his own accord like a proper human being.

So, the next time Phainon walks into class, you’re glaring at him right at the entrance of the room with an outstretched hand and an unimpressed curl of your lips.

“My charger,” you say blandly, “you took off with it last class. I need it back.”

“Oh!” he flushes, quickly digging into his bag and pulling it out—at least he kept it in very good condition. Men are not to be trusted with things you need because they are irresponsible. Case example: not returning what they borrow. “Sorry,” he says earnestly, “I meant to return it, but I forgot. Which, I was thinking…maybe we should exchange numbers—you know…to contact outside of class if we ever need it.”

You blink, seeing right through him. Why else would you ever need it again? “You walked off with my charger just so you could use it as an opening to ask for my number?”

He flushes a deeper shade of red, creeping up to his ears and down his neck like he didn’t expect you to call him out on his so very blatant scheme. “W-well…did it work?”

You contemplate for a moment before you respond, “No.”

“How about if I throw in some assignment answers?”

“…Okay, fine.” You never pay attention in this class—the tests are open notes, and the weekly assignments are easy enough when you have the internet at your disposal. But still, having someone present the answers to you is a much faster route, and you have other non-elective classes to worry about, so all in all, if a semi-annoying guy messages you here and there, it’s not so bad.

And the better part is that his friend is hot, so you can snag the details on him, too. Men don’t really worry about the concept of loyalty—they don’t stay far away from the people their friends show an interest in for something like friendship. You know how they work. Phainon’s number can lead you to Mydei’s, and Mydei can break you free from your awful, terrible descent to madness from heartbreak, and when you inevitably have a happy, healthy, and loving relationship that lasts, you’ll never think about your bastard ex again.

Foolproof.

“Great!” Phainon beams. He hands you his phone, and you type your number in.

And that starts it all.

────────────────────────

LESSON TWO: SEX DOES NOT EQUAL INTIMACY. WHEN THEY SAY IT’S JUST PHYSICAL, THAT’S TOTALLY FINE. BUT IF YOU SAY IT, YOU’RE OUT OF LINE!

Exchanging phone numbers with Phainon was supposed to be a simple way to have at least one contact for a class—a very important measure you should take for every class you’re in—and perhaps, if you’re lucky, you could also somehow get closer to that hot blonde friend he has named Mydei.

It was never supposed to become a real friendship.

But, well…shit happens, and things don’t go according to plan. It also doesn’t help that Phainon is a consistent texter—almost to a fault. What sort of man doesn’t text sporadically and with a tone as dry as concrete? Phainon, apparently—which is not like any sort of man you’ve ever known.

You even start sitting with him in class instead of in front of him—that’s a terribly unplanned development. The bright side of it, however, is that you quickly get over his friend. Mydei is nice, but he’s a little too bored. Or maybe he just isn’t interested in you; you’re not so sure. No amount of flirty comments gets a flush out of him, not a smirk, not even a smart retort back. He is just…bored. (Or maybe he’s secretly just one of those good friends who doesn’t flirt with the girl that his friend is actively trying to pursue, but that option does not align with your very complex understanding of men, so you shove it aside. He’s probably just bored, and that’s just truly unfortunate. He was hot.)

But you grow fond of Phainon. As a friend. Sure, he’s clearly been interested in you since day one, but he’s not pushy, and a hint here and there that you’re still bitter about your previous relationship makes him keep a respectful distance. But he’s definitely smitten—and you? Well, you’re lonely. And he’s a good guy. A good guy who keeps you good company as a good friend and nothing more. He knows that, and you don’t think you’re stringing him along if he’s aware that you’re nothing more than friendly.

And sometimes, friends go to parties together. And sometimes, they also drink together. And sometimes, they also end up staying at the other’s apartment afterward because it’s closer and safer than trying to get back home alone. And…sometimes, although not a lot of times—but sometimes, they wake up in bed together, nude with no recollection of the previous night and love bites scattered on their necks as proof that something very, very physical happened between them.

It’s not always a common occurrence, but it’s certainly not a rare one. Does it complicate things? For certain—but you think that you and Phainon are good enough friends and mature enough people to know that sex does not equate to intimacy. Most men are super clear about that, anyway—it’s almost ingrained in their nature to say “no strings attached” before they fuck your brains out in every position they can think to try. This should not be a foreign concept to him.

But it doesn’t make the morning any less awkward.

“Oh my god,” you say in disbelief, pulling the sheets over your bare chest as you stare at Phainon like he’s grown two heads. He stares back at you like you’re some figment of his imagination—unsure if you’re real but painfully hopeful that you are. And then you take a quick glimpse around his room and realize he’s a space nerd—there’s a poster about Saturn on his wall. “I didn’t think you were into space. You seem a little too air-headed for that.”

“Hey!” he pouts, “you don’t know me! I can be very smart!”

You snort, eyeing him in amusement. Except staring at him for too long means that you are forced to look at the hickey you left on his neck, almost like you were a raging, horny teenager last night and not an adult. You would be more embarrassed if one glimpse down at your chest didn’t tell you that he was even worse.

“So…” you start awkwardly.

“So…” he echoes.

You don’t know where to take it from there. There’s a beat of silence before you say, “We’re good, right Phai?”

He softens, looking at you with those large, round eyes that house every shade of the sky and her beauty before he nods and murmurs, “Yeah. We’re always good.”

“Good,” you breathe, “I’m glad. I want us to be good.”

“Well,” he rubs his neck, “we are, in fact, good. So…yeah.”

In the end, you sheepishly turn around so he can get out of bed, find his scattered clothes and put them on, and leave, and you—once you’re certain he’s far enough in the kitchen and the faucet is running—scream into his pillow before slipping out of bed and putting on your own. You’re pleasantly surprised he doesn’t have only one pillow. But his sheets are navy blue, so you dock a few points for that. Not a good look.

He makes you breakfast before you leave. Something about sitting and sharing pancakes while he has tousled hair feels so natural you almost feel sick at the thought of leaving. But you tell yourself that he’s an easy friend to have and feel comfortable with, and force yourself up and to the door when the time inevitably comes.

He sees you out with a soft, “See you later?”

“Yeah,” you hum, “later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

—————

You wish so badly that you could be an ideal individual, but you are as flawed as the rest of the humans you share planet Earth with.

You and Phainon fuck again. Sober, this time. Still as friends. Not by accident, or through the influence of alcohol, or by forced proximity, or by anything that you can use to excuse it. You can’t excuse it. It’s entirely an act of free will that you consented to—because he does take consent very seriously, you learn—and it starts to become abundantly clear that sex is beginning to get a little too frequent in your time together.

The first time it happened after the initial accidental night, he was over at your apartment helping you build your new desk. The old one was too small, and you needed an upgraded space badly. He spends the evening hammering and drilling pieces away and fitting them together, and like some cliche joke from the universe, when you slip on the instruction manual on the floor, he catches you as your face hovers dangerously close to his. A kiss later, and suddenly he’s fitting into you and drilling you instead of the wood.

And then it starts to happen everywhere.

Sometimes in the back of his car before he drops you off at home after class. Sometimes on your kitchen counter when you’re supposed to be washing dishes after he’s over for dinner to study. Sometimes after he’s got a bad exam grade to blow off some steam. Sometimes when you’re particularly stressed over a busy week with too many assignments due on the same day and too many hours of your part-time job to work.

Every time it happens, you go back to acting like you always do afterward. Like it never even happened. Never mentioned, or questioned, or brought up. He never questions if something is shifting in your relationship, and you never bring it up. Sometimes, two people can have a physical relationship and still be friends and nothing more. It’s not impossible, and it’s not bad.

If anything, it makes you closer friends. You start to understand each other better. You talk more—really talk. No silly banter, or heated debate, or stressed-out vents. Just you, Phainon, the sheets that cover your bodies and a quiet room that lingers with the scent of sex.

He tells you about how much he misses his hometown. How small it is, and how everyone knows everyone. How leaving home and his young triplet sisters was the hardest thing he did, but a good degree and stable job is even harder to come by where he’s from. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

And you tell him about your ex. About how sweet and nice he was. How badly he wanted you. How good he was at doing things right and reading you for what you craved. How to love you like you always wished. How to spend time with you without burning you out and depleting your social battery. How to know your ticks and know when he’s pushing your buttons too far and when a joke doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. How to make you feel seen.

No man has ever loved you like that. None have cared to, either. Learning you is a lot of work—you have years and years of life and stories and feelings and fears and everything’s to share. Teaching them is a lot. Learning them is even more.

You liked to think that boy from your past was a ticket to something good. Some better life for yourself where it’s not just you and yourself, and that’s it—a life where you were you and someone else cared to see it. Have it. Cherish it. Keep it.

You don’t know how someone could pour in so much time, do everything first, want things all on their own, and still walk away and tell you that they just don’t feel the same anymore.

You think it’s just a man thing. Men bore easily.

Phainon snorts at that.

“They do have short attention spans,” he tells you.

You smile tightly, humming as you blink back tears. “Or maybe I’m just boring.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he gasps dramatically, reaching over to swipe the tears like it’s always been his job to—it feels so natural when he does it. “You’re not boring! You’re at least a step up from boring because boring is Professor Anaxa, and god knows what he drones on about.”

“Gee,” you huff, but the tears are easier to subside when it’s him. They’re gone quickly like a fleeting reminder that sorrow exists but shooed away like they’re unwelcome when he’s around. He’s around more and more these days. “Thanks. I’m glad to be just a step up from boring. Maybe in a year or so, I’ll be two steps up from boring.”

“Nothing is ever impossible,” he winks. “Some day, with enough hard work and determination, you might even be three steps up.”

“You suck,” you giggle.

He laughs, and the sound of his voice is enough to lull you to sleep. You sleep good next to him—always do.

—————

One thing you count on is that it’s always easy when it’s you and Phainon. Phainon and you.

Just two people who exist with each other, and nothing else really needs to be thought out. You don’t worry about what you wear around him or how you look. He doesn’t care too much about what you’re doing or where you’re going. As long as it’s you and him, him and you, and nothing else—it’s okay. He’s good. He treats you good and makes you feel good, too. Inside and out. Physically and mentally.

He might even be your best friend. You don’t know if you should tell him that—men get weird about definite titles like that. But then again, maybe not Phainon. He’s like an anomaly of sorts, sometimes.

But you forget sometimes that Phainon was never hoping to just be friends. And you suppose letting him feel you come undone for him more than once is like dangling his desires right in front of his face because it all blows up on you very fast.

Perfect one second, like the calm before the storm, and a disaster zone the next, leaving you no time to evacuate before the tornado has hit and done its damage.

“Mydei wants to come with us to try that new cafe you mentioned,” Phainon hums, watching in sheepish amusement as you sigh and mutter under your breath while picking up his dirty socks from the couch and tossing them across the room. (Men are all the same, aren’t they?) “He said something about there being a pomegranate beverage he wants to try.”

“Fine by me,” you shrug, slumping onto his couch, “if he doesn’t find it awkward, then I don’t either.”

“Why would he find it awkward?” he looks at you in bewilderment.

“I think he’d have to be oblivious to miss the way I was flirting with him,” you huff out a snort, “I don’t think most men jump at the opportunity to hang out with a girl they ignored advances of, but maybe he’s just too passionate about pomegranate to care.”

Everything feels like it pauses as soon as the words come out. You thought he’d known this whole time—you could have sworn he’d known. How would Mydei have never mentioned it to him? Aren’t they best friends? Don’t men at least tell their friends when a girl is hitting on them regularly in passing? Is Mydei really that bad at giving life updates, or is he more clueless than you gave him credit for when it comes to romantic interaction?

Nothing makes sense, and you’re not entirely sure about anything. The only thing you are sure about is that Phainon is staring at you like you’ve been disloyal to the worst degree.

“You liked Mydei?” he asks in hurt, staring at you with those god-awful puppy eyes. You feel like you kicked one, too, with the way he stares at you.

“W-well, no,” you stutter, “I mean, yes—but like…not really, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “you’re not making any sense.”

“I liked him for a very short time,” you say quickly, “like…like a small crush, you know? He was attractive, and I am not immune to an attractive man, so it just…b-but it never lasted for long!”

“Did you still like him when we got together?” he asks quietly. Got together—you physically have to stop yourself from flinching at those words. Some part of you feels a little bit bad that he sounds so wounded, but the other part of you feels like this is all so absurd. That he’s starting to get worked up over nothing. He has to know you were never together—you never did anything that implies two people that are…together. It’s always been a good fuck here and there, and that’s what you kept it as strictly.

(Distantly, your mind gnaws at you and screams that two people who just fuck and nothing else do not do the things that you and Phainon do. Sure, you were friends first, but two people who draw the line at sex don’t seek each other to FaceTime until three am, and they don’t bring each other soup when they’re sick, and they don’t hold each other when they cry, and they don’t, under any circumstances, tell each other about their deepest insecurities that they’ve never voiced before about shoddy exes who ruined their ability to trust and feel loved. You can’t be the closest people in your lives and just have sex—but your mind has never been your number one supporter, so you shove the voice down.)

“No,” you admit, and for a second, his shoulders sag in relief. Like he doesn’t care or feel threatened that you liked his friend as long as it didn’t bleed into your time together—and that’s when you start to wonder if Phainon is too good for you. Too kind and genuine in a way that is not dangerous. Too sweet in a way that doesn’t slowly kill you like poison but just gives you something to look forward to. Maybe he’s a good one—a good guy who is just good and nothing else. Still, you kill his heart anyway with a harsh blow to his chest as you add, “I didn’t like anyone when we started getting physical. And I still don’t, Phainon.”

Getting physical. Whatever that means. You say it like it puts some distance between the sex you have and intimacy. You say it like it rationalizes everything you do with him—you get physical, which is only human nature, and in the mix, if you develop a good, long-standing friendship, then there is nothing wrong with that.

But are you really okay with just friends? Yes. You are. Are you sure about that? Absolutely. You don’t seem so convinced. This is a positive, for sure, one hundred percent true reality. Phainon is just a friend. You’re shooting yourself in the foot.

You force yourself to stop arguing with yourself when you notice the way his eyes flash at the words: still don’t. He processes the words that you still don’t like anyone, and the look in his eyes is devastating. Betrayal. Confusion. Hurt. Anger. Something else that you don’t quite understand, but it makes you filled dreadfully to the brim with unease.

“Every time we’ve been together has just been physical to you?” he asks quietly, croaking out the words as if they’re acrid on his tongue and taste awful. “You’re lying.”

“I thought I made it very clear we were just friends, and I wasn’t looking for a relationship,” you furrow your brows, “you can’t act like I’ve been stringing you along—”

“Before we started, fucking, sure! But I thought it was pretty mutually clear we were slowly turning romantic when you willingly took my dick down your throat every now and then.”

“We’ve never had a ‘hey, what are we?’ discussion,” you cry exasperatedly, throwing your hands up as though this is all…so, so, so absurd—and for a second, you feel like it is. You made it clear that you weren’t trying to date. Not him, not anybody. Sure, that silly blonde friend of his clouded your judgment for a bit, but that was never more than a phase. “Don’t you think it was a red flag to never discuss what we are or what we’re doing if we were getting romantic?”

He falters. Something in his face makes him look so unrecognizable. So fragile and knocked down a peg that you’ve never seen from him. And something about the way he looks at you makes you almost feel like he doesn't recognize you.

“I thought you were avoiding the conversation on purpose,” he whispers, voice cracking just as he says: you. “I thought…I thought you were just nervous about labels after everything from your last…” he clears his throat, like even mentioning the word relationship kills him, “and…and that I was just waiting for you to be more comfortable…”

You don’t know what to say. And frankly, nothing seems like it’ll make him feel better. He’s fighting the trembling of his lips and blinking back the moisture in his eyes like all he has left in his control is to not shed tears in front of you.

You extend him that much grace. (Men don’t like being vulnerable, you reason. They hate showing emotions.)

“Phainon, I think I should go,” you murmur softly.

“You want to leave?” he asks, gutted. It’s got two meanings—you know that. You know exactly what he’s asking.

Everything feels wrong when you say, “Yes,” through a soft whisper, “I do.” But you still don’t take it back.

And nothing feels right when he lets out a watery chuckle and lets the first few tears slip. “Well, you know where the door is,” he spits.

He doesn’t walk you out. You’re not sure why that feels so heavy—it’s not because you’re guilty. You know that. It’s something else, and you can’t quite understand it.

────────────────────────

LESSON THREE: NOT ALL MEN. SURE, MOST HAVE A VERY BAD STREAK, BUT NEVER THE WHITE-HAIRED AND BLUE-EYED FREAK!

You barely last two weeks before you call Phainon.

At first, you thought being without who is maybe your closest friend at the moment was just eating away at you, and that’s why you missed him. You threw yourself into your social circles, making plans left and right to fill that gaping hole of his presence. It didn’t work.

And then it slowly starts to click in place.

Your friends send you a picture of your ex’s new fling, calling him an asshole and how she’s too pretty to be his next victim. You don’t feel even the slightest bit jealous or hollow. In fact, you’re bored by the news—you have more pressing matters.

Then, you start to see what feels like fucking propaganda for romance everywhere. Every social media timeline is filled with some stupid, cheesy, cringe trend that rubs in your face how painfully in love two people are. You get ads for fucking wedding rings. Your friends are all magically starting to get out of the talking phases and actually have something exclusive and official. Your old high school friends are getting engaged, and invitations are coming in. You’ve RSVP’d one in spring and two in fall already.

Everywhere you look, it’s something that feels like the universe is promoting a relationship in your face as if it’s a poorly disguised paid sponsorship by some celebrity online, and all you want to do is throw a rock at the sky and hope it lands on whatever divine being is playing tricks on you straight in the face.

But it slowly becomes clearer and clearer why it unsettles you so much. Why it all makes you bitter and annoyed and tired and…and sad. You’re sad. And it’s because you miss Phainon, and every couple reminds you of the hurt you caused him and why it’s your fault he’s still not in your life. Because you wanted your cake and to eat it, too. Even if it meant taking advantage of his feelings and the heart he didn’t even bother wearing on his sleeve. He just pinned it to yours and let you wear it.

So you call him. When that doesn’t work, and you get sent to voicemail, you go straight to his apartment. You knock on his door incessantly for two minutes straight (you know he’s home—his car is there) before he opens the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes despite it being three in the afternoon.

“Mydei, can you at least come bother me to eat a little later in the da—oh.”

He notices you and quickly straightens up, smoothing out his wrinkled t-shirt as best as he can and fixing his ruffled hair (that doesn’t do much but ruffle more) as he looks at you with what is his best attempt at a nonchalant look and clears his throat. “Yes?”

“Hi,” you say nervously, “how are you?” (What else do you say? You’re at a loss.)

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs casually, “nursing a broken heart and trying to integrate back into society as a functioning member. The usual. How about you?”

You flinch at his tone, at the way it’s so clipped yet so emotional at the same time.

“I called earlier—”

“I know. I ignored that, by the way, if that wasn’t clear,” he says as if being petty and angry is the only thing he has left. (It might just be, and you certainly won’t blame him for it.)

“I know,” you whisper, “but I still wanted to talk. And see you. Which I know I don’t deserve, but I guess I’m clearly not perfect, huh?” you shrug softly, giving him a sad smile.

“Well,” he says flatly, “you came all this way, and I’ve already opened the door. Might as well say the groundbreaking thing you came to say.”

When Phainon is hurt is the only time he does not know how to be kind. He spends so much time not hurting others, not letting them feel the pain of their feelings being overlooked, that he doesn’t quite know how to handle it. How to stomach that, yes, there are hurt people in this world, and, yes, they do the hurting, too. And he might fall victim to it. And he might even be the cause of someone else’s hurt, too, intentional or not.

He’s not good at processing pain. He’s too good of a guy to ever have to dwell on how badly his actions have impacted someone. Not because he’s perfect but because he’s gentle enough by nature to avoid the necessity of it while he can.

“I’m sorry,” you say earnestly. Because you are. You are. “I knew you were interested early on, and having sex as often as we did was leading you on whether I meant to or not, and you got hurt because of it, so I’m sor—”

“Unbelievable,” he scoffs, shaking his head with a bitter laugh.

You blanch. “What?” you ask, mildly frustrated. He doesn’t have to forgive you, but it’s certainly an honest apology. “You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to. But I just felt it was right to tell you that I—”

“I’m not upset because you don’t like me or you that led me on,” he interrupts, making you blink in confusion. He looks at you for a moment—really looks at you, and before you can say anything, he lets out another disbelieving chuckle. “You still don’t get it, do you? Do you even understand it yourself—why you’re even here?”

“To apologize, of course—”

“No.”

He says it so seriously.

Phainon is hardly ever so serious. It’s what you always liked about him, even if you hated to admit it. He’s good at taking serious matters and making them feel like they’re not so serious. Not in a bad way—he’s just good at making them feel less soul-crushing with that carefree smile and those light-hearted words. He comforts you without ever letting you feel the shame of needing comfort. It’s nice.

You forget that even he is capable of being solemn.

“No one apologizes for breaking someone’s heart unless it breaks theirs too—do you see that? Do you see that you care? I’m not upset that you don’t care about me or that you don’t feel the same. That would be easy to move on from. It kills me because you do—you care, and you feel exactly the way I do, and you just won’t admit it—do you know how much that sucks?”

You swallow thickly. It’s getting to that dangerous territory. That fragile, vulnerable place in your mind that you don’t like because then you have to admit that, yes, maybe you fucking fell hard and crashed onto the ground for Phainon. Asphalt and rocks still digging into your arms with raw and bleeding skin. Yes, maybe he’s that nice, kind, genuine guy who you fell for and who has no other motives than to spend his time being nice and genuine to you. And maybe, if you’d met him sooner and not later, you could have loved him and not some other asshole in disguise, pretending to parade around like a good man, like some wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Maybe that would have saved you the constant fear of it inevitably going all wrong—of giving and giving and giving, and one day, even that’s not enough, and someone doesn’t even want to take from you anymore. That one day, someone doesn’t even find you worth taking advantage of.

That stings.

It’s this twisted sort of rejection you can’t handle. This sickening sort of feeling makes you think it’s better to be needed for selfish reasons than to be discarded like a useless, meaningless waste of time. And Phainon wouldn’t take advantage of you, right? He’s too nice of a guy—he’d reel you in, make you think he wants you so, so badly, and then when he doesn’t, he’ll play that nice guy trick again and make you think he’s doing you a favor by letting you go. Letting you go so you’re not being used by making it known you’re unwanted and not enough.

As if he didn’t spend so much time making you want him. Condition you into thinking being loved by him was such a treasure. Convince you into needing the devotion he hands so easily for free.

But you’re wrong, aren’t you? Maybe he’s not like that at all—maybe he’s just a nice guy because he really is good. Maybe he’s not nice because he needs to be to get what he wants. Maybe he’s nice because he wants to be, and it earns him what he wants the honorable way. Maybe you’ve fallen for Phainon, and maybe you were wrong about that being a bad thing. And maybe you just really fucking hate to admit when you’re wrong. (Your prefrontal cortex is still developing, after all. The men of your past are not very helpful to that slow development.)

“I don’t know how I feel anymore,” you whisper, tears littering your eyes. And god, you feel like a witch—using those sad, doe eyes with the wet, teary gaze that you know will soften him up like butter. Because he does. Even if you don’t do it on purpose, it makes sure he softens right up in front of your face because he hates the sight of your sadness being so tangible that he can feel it on the pad of his thumb in the form of a wet, warm rivulet.

Like clockwork, he wipes the tears and sighs, and you let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how I feel about anything because every time I think my feelings are right, they’re fucking wrong,” you sob, “I am always wrong, and I don’t know how to stop being wrong.”

His arms wrap around you and pull you close, pressing your body flush against that sturdy chest that feels like a brick wall—strong enough to keep you away from all the harm and cruelty of the world around you as long as he stands in front of you. Sometimes, you think that’s all it takes. Just Phainon standing there, and that’s it. That’s it to be okay.

“You can only stop being wrong once you’re right,” he hums, giving you a sad, innocent little smile, “isn’t that the whole point of it all? To find the person who’s right? There’s gotta be a few wrong answers here and there, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to keep crying over the wrong answers,” you sniffle, “it’s dehydrating me.”

He laughs. It sounds good. It feels good, too, with the way his chest rumbles against you. He always does. Everything about him is just good. The way he smells, and feels, and sounds, and just is. Phainon is just good. You like just good—no catches, no curveballs, no fine print. Just good.

“Hey,” he tilts your face up and presses his forehead to yours, wiping your tears valiantly still, even as they keep coming. And he’s hurt. You did that—you hurt him. But he seems more focused on the fact that your heart is crumbling than his own. “I can’t promise you won’t ever cry because of me—I’m not always the brightest, okay? But I can promise that I’m going to stay and wipe every last tear if I mess up. And then I’m going to keep staying. I will always stay so I can wipe the next round of tears and hydrate you again for your troubles. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

“You don’t want it to be?” you snivel, “you seem like the type to hopelessly daydream about perfect romances with not much luck.”

“I’m going to let that dig slide because you are emotional right now, and we all say things we don’t mean when we’re emotional,” he rubs your back, rocking you slowly from side to side.

And…well, you think you’re wrong. About him. About Phainon and now he’s nice in a way that’s too nice and too good to be true. You’re wrong because he’s just nice, and it’s just nice enough that it’s good, not devious—and for once, just this once, you don’t mind being wrong.

Not if it’s for him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “for being confused and scared and unable to realize I care about you. I will get some help or something to be a functioning member of society.”

“Well, when you find help, hook me up,” he snorts, “because I need it, too. You’ve done a number on me.”

You’re both laughing. And then, at some point, you’re both kissing. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and it’s just a mix of each other that feels less like it’s right and more like nothing about it was ever wrong in the first place. Sometimes, it doesn’t have to be right as long as it’s just not wrong. Sometimes, that’s enough to keep things going. Sometimes, they become right along the way, all on their own.

You cup his cheeks, making him pause his assault on your lips against his will as he lets out a soft noise of protest deep in his throat. You’ll fall hopelessly harder for him because of that later—first, you have more pressing matters.

“I’m serious,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I do care about you—so much that it scares me. I care about you and I promise this time I’m going to stay and keep caring. So be ready.”

“I’m ready,” he smiles, all wobbly lips and a shaky voice and trembling fingertips. They dig into your hips as his head buries into your neck, and you hold him—latch onto him and clutch his shirt because feeling him is all that ever felt good, and you don’t think you can stomach letting it go a second time. “I am so ready to be the only thing you care about.”

“Maybe not the only thing—”

“Did you hear that? That weird crack sound? That’s the sound of my heart breaking a second time. Any more, and I’ll be collecting shards off the floor.”

“C’mere loser,” you laugh, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a hard, deliberate kiss that knocks the wind out of both of you. It makes your stomach twist and form knots and there’s this weird tickle in your chest that feels like you’re about to implode. Phainon is so good at that—at making you feel so, so unwell but well at the same time. You’re sick and nauseous from how badly you want him, but nothing else feels right until you have him.

So you wrap your arms around him, pressing nearer, closer, harder up against him and kissing him until both of you are gasping for breath in between every press of your mouths together. Your hands find his hair, carding through it wildly and pulling on the strands when he nips at your lips, and when he groans into your mouth at a particularly harsh tug, you know it’s starting to become a scene that should not be happening at his front door where anyone can pass by.

“Inside?” he pants, pulling away for just long enough to say the word.

You kiss him hard once more, making him groan again before you decide that, yes, it probably needs to move indoors. “Inside,” you breathe, labored and unsteady, “now—now, please.”

“Whatever you want,” he chuckles, “you don’t have to beg. You always get what you want—don’t I always give it to you?”

“Then quit talking and give it to me.”

That shuts him up really fast. With a dark glint in his eyes, he pulls you in, closing the door swiftly and pressing you against it. You’re caged—nothing but him, you, and the throbbing ache between your legs that seems to be a common denominator between the two of you.

“I want you so bad,” he groans, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent along your sweet, delicate skin, “want you so bad I never want you gone. Don’t ever leave.”

“I won’t,” you gasp as he bites—and it’s a little hard. A little mean almost, but he kisses it better with a soft peck afterward that you forgive him on the spot and melt. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he hums, nose trailing along the column of your neck before he drags it along your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before he murmurs, “but I’ll make it hard to walk away this time just for safe measures.”

It feels like a literal and metaphorical promise. Before you can even respond to his cheekiness, he has your mouth hostage again—kissing and groaning into it enough that you have no choice but to soften and become pliant under him. You swallow up his sounds as the bulge in his pants presses against your own heat, the slow, desperate pressure of him grinding against you, making you shiver against the door.

Good—he always feels so good. Everything about Phainon is always so damn good.

“Feel that?” he croons, gasping as you roll your hips in tandem with his own movements, “feel how hard I am for you? You’re telling me anyone else will want you this bad? No one. I’m it for you. I’m not giving you up. Ever.”

His voice is a low, almost dangerous promise—and if you weren’t dripping at your core from the sound of him alone, you’d be less than inclined to admit that you like the sound of that. But you do, don’t you? You want him to want you so badly, so desperately, that the thought of letting you go makes him his own worst enemy. And he does, doesn’t he? He wants you so badly that you’re almost scared.

But you like it. Love it, even. You fucking love that he needs you, and you want him to need you so badly he might just die without you.

“Don’t,” you whisper, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to his shoulders. He lets go just long enough to pull his arms up and let you take it off of him, tossing it to the ground before your fingers run your nails along the hard plane of his abs. He shivers, letting out a soft, barely-there sound at the feeling. “Don’t let me go. Ever.”

“Whatever you want, princess,” he grins. Phainon leans in again, kissing you impatiently like being away from you for that short period of time was enough to have him on edge. Maybe it does because he only melts and relaxes when his lips are against yours again. His fingers trail to the edge of your pants, toying with the waistband as you quiver at the feeling of his rough fingertips rubbing against the skin of your belly.

“Need you,” you whine.

“You got me,” he reassures, “just wanna take my time, yeah? You can handle that, can’t you? Let me have a little fun with you so I cheer up before I fuck you right against this door?”

You whimper. He’s mean sometimes, too. He’s so, so nice, but sometimes, it’s like a switch flips, and he’s mean. Not cruel—just teasingly mean to keep you on your toes and have you falling apart for him. It’s so mean, but it’s so careful and thoughtful and meant just for you—like he thinks only about you.

“Just hold onto me, okay, baby?” he asks gently, pecking your lips, “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

Before you can even ask what that means, he drops down to his knees, spreading yours and pulling your pants and underwear down in one go, helping them off your legs as they get thrown somewhere in the back along with his shirt. You realize exactly why you need to hold on as soon as a finger prods your entrance, splitting your folds open as he peers into them and hums at the way you’re wet and slick. You gasp, grabbing onto the nearest thing—which happens to be his hair as he chuckles.

“Easy,” he murmurs, “I hardly did anything yet. But don’t worry, you can pull if you need—I don’t mind.”

Just like that, his mouth is between the apex of your thighs, tongue tracing your sweet, precious little clit before he licks a stripe along your folds, humming against your cunt and sending vibrations as you mewl at the feeling.

“Ph-Painon…fuck—”

He hooks a leg over his shoulder, letting you half sit on him as he props you up and devours you. Devours you like you were the only thing on his mind. Like he was starved and dying in this apartment, and the only thing to sustain him is you. His tongue dips past your folds and fucks into you before pulling away just as quickly and flicking over your clit. Two fingers gently prod at your entrance this time—only they don’t tease you. No, instead, they fill you up and slip into you as far as they go, curling into a sweet, sweet spot in your walls that has your knees wobbling.

You think you will fall for a moment. You think holding onto his hair and tugging him so harshly is not going to keep you steady, and the weight he takes as he props you up on a shoulder, is not going to hold you.

But he makes good on his promise. He doesn’t let you fall or slip for even a fraction, even as your legs get weaker and your orgasm draws nearer.

“‘M close, Phai—s-so close,” you whimper.

He pulls away. With a smug, stupid little grin, he looks up at you as you stare down in disbelief. “Say you care about me.”

“What is wrong with you—”

“Ah ah, that’s not what the magic words are!”

“Phainon—”

“That’s not a bad guess, but still not the right answer!”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss, “I care about you, asshole.”

“A little more aggressive than necessary, but I will accept it,” he hums, rewarding you with a soft kiss to your clit. “Now tell me you know I care about you. That I want you, and I want to stay.”

“Phainon,” you plead, “please, can’t we do this later?”

“No,” he says firmly, “because then it’s just getting physical, and I am not getting physical. I am getting intimate. Tell me what I want to hear so there’s no mistaking things.”

He’s throwing your words right back at your face. And the only way you’re going to get what you want is if you own up to them, even if it’s against your will. So you do. With an exasperated sigh, you tell him what he wants to hear.

“I know you care about me,” you say impatiently, “I know you care, and you want me, and you want to stay, and god knows you’re not good at leaving me alone, so I guess I will just have to get used to you.”

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, giving your clit one more kiss before he’s back to lapping at your cunt like he’s parched. Your slick coats his chin and makes his skin glisten as he traces your clit with his tongue, curling his fingers just right into your heat. They brush against that spot again—he has it perfectly memorized, and just like that, you fall apart, gushing around his fingers and coating his lips with even more of your essence.

“Fuck,” you sob, grinding against his face as you ride out the shockwaves of pleasure, feeling him groan against you right where you need him.

He lets you stay like that for just a moment, resting half your weight on his shoulder and half your weight on one leg before he abruptly stands and grabs your waist, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around his hips. You’ve done this before—at that point, you’d considered it just any other step to getting physical with someone.

Now, you realize you were beyond oblivious to how much you needed it to only be him you were doing all these motions with. It almost feels silly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grins.

“What?”

“I don’t want you against the door anymore. I want you on the bed—my bed. And you’re staying there, and you’re going to like it.”

You laugh, breaking into a fit of giggles as he jogs over to his room with you in his arms. And when he drops you unceremoniously only to the bed, flopping on top of you and attacking your neck with kisses, you can’t help but break into another fit of giggles, feeling his playful nibbles and licks against your skin. It feels so easy. So natural. Only with Phainon, you realize. Only ever with Phainon.

“Hi,” you breathe when his forehead presses to yours.

He gives you a bright, toothy grin, murmuring, “Hi, yourself, pretty.”

And then he's kissing you again. His lips are soft and slow this time around. Pressing against your mouth, slotting into the space like it’s his to fit into—and it is. It’s always been his, whether you were willing to admit it or not. His tongue glides against yours languidly, no rush or impatience or desperation like usual. This time, he kisses you like you’re his and always have been—like he knows what you taste and feel like, and he knows it’s always been his and always will be. He kisses you like he’s reminding you of it, one painstakingly slow second at a time.

“You broke my fucking heart,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice raw and vulnerable but never not soft, “you know that? You broke my fucking heart.”

Your hand presses against his chest, feeling the erratic beating of it under your palm as you whisper, “Seems like it’s working perfectly well to me.”

He chuckles at that. Lets out another toothy grin before he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s cute and precious and so fucking sweet—he sounds just like what he is. Tooth rotting sweet.

“You’re always so smart with your words,” he drawls, pressing wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

One hand slowly pulls your shirt up, inch by inch, before you slowly help him take it off of you. The bra comes off next, and you’re bare—under him as nothing else but his. Nothing else that covers or keeps what’s his away from him.

And when you eye his pants with a petulant, pouty look, he chuckles before throwing you an amused look as he takes them off slowly, not taking his eyes off of you.

You and Phainon have fucked. But you’ve never been intimate—not by the real standards, at least. The proper kind where you take the time to really take in each other’s bodies, commit each dip and curve to memory, know it inside out and like the back of your hand. Where that scar starts and ends from his childhood shenanigans, where your little moles scatter along your body in hidden crevices. And when he slowly frees his cock, and you can really stare without having to tell yourself you shouldn't, you take a good look.

You take a good look at the flush of his pretty cock—pretty, just like the rest of him. A nice, soft, muted pink at the tip that oozes with the beginnings of pre cum, and it’s sensitive as it twitches under your delicate thumb when you smear the dribbling essence along the head of his cock.

“Mmh,” he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, fluttering his eyes closed and panting as you touch him. Feel him. Want him.

You finally want him, and it’s almost enough to make him spill into your hand alone. But he forces himself to composure, grabbing your hand and pinning it over your head—and then goes the other. He holds them in place with one large hand, watching as you squirm under him impatiently.

“No touching,” he whispers, “first, I’m gonna teach you not to take me for granted. Then you’ll never want to take your hands off of me.”

“If you just ask me nicely, I’ll never take my hands off of you,” you offer.

He laughs, boyish and charming and so fucking smooth, you feel something flutter at the base of your stomach. Something stirring in your guts and twisting them inside out in anticipation. “Persuasive,” he hums, “but I still have to teach you not to take me for granted.”

When the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, your wrists struggle against his hands to break free. You need to feel him—to know he’s there against you and real. To feel his hair and tug and hear him groan in response. To scratch along his back and feel his warm, damp skin, the way he shivers under the pain and likes it. To pull him closer and feel him practically melt against you at the gesture.

You want to feel him. Because you need to know he’s yours. And you never, ever want to take for granted Phainon again. Your Phainon. The nice, sweet, gentle boy who stole your charger for a day to get your number. Who knew before you knew, long before you were ever willing to know, that he would love you. Even when you didn’t want to, he did it from a distance. And when he thought you finally would, that you’d finally let it happen, he still did it quietly, stripped of labels and titles even though he wanted to announce it to the world.

For you. Everything was always for you.

“Please, Phai,” you plead, “please, please, please—let me touch you.”

“Yeah? You want that, huh?” he grins, pretending to think for a moment before he hums, “tell me why.”

“So I can feel you and know you’re mine,” you lean up and breathe against his ear, “don’t you want to be mine?”

It’s a silly question. It’s all he’s ever wanted, so he gives it to you easily. Lets your hands go and lets them wander over his sculpted body as he sinks deeper into you—no more taking his sweet time to draw out the teasing. He’s impatient now—just as impatient as you. Maybe even more. He’s been waiting longer than you have to make this happen. To take you and make you his and have you admit that he’s yours, too.

“Fuck,” he groans as he sinks the final few inches of this thick, girthy length, “fuck you’re so fucking tight. You feel that? Feel me? How deep I am?”

“Yes,” you mewl, “yes—so deep. F-feel so full. You feel so good.”

He groans at that, pulling out almost completely before slamming his hips into yours, cock burying deep into you and burying to the hilt. The tip of his sensitive length kisses against that sweet, delicate spot against your walls—your spot that he knows and memorizes so easily.

He knows you. Knows your body. He’s felt it so many times under him and made it react for him the way he wants, but finally—fucking finally, it reacts to him and only him. He knows it’s him and only him. Only ever will be if he has anything to say about it.

“God, you drive me insane. So insane, you know that?” he grunts, rolling his hips hard and fast and drilling into you like he has something to prove. Every slam of his hips and every brush of his cock along your sensitive folds makes you pull him closer, kissing him hungrily—desperately. So needy.

You need him. You’ve always needed this—someone to want you and need you and find you worth it to stay. How could you think Phainon didn’t want to stay when he was so clearly happy with just pieces of you because you didn’t want to give the full of you? When he stayed and stayed and stayed and happily took the little shards you dropped, even if they were sharp, and cut his fingers because they were pieces of you. When he was just happy to have you whichever way you let him because it was you.

All he wanted was you. You get that now. You’re not going to forget.

“‘M close,” you pant, breathing against his mouth, “g-gonna cum. With me…with me, please.”

“Yeah? Whatever you want, princess,” he groans.

His hand moves to find your clit, rubbing quick circles as his own pace quickens, and you can feel the telltale signs that both of you are not going to last much longer. He lets out a particularly deep, sharp thrust—and you’re gone.

Plummeting off the edge in a hazy fall. You mewl his name, chanting it over and over and over as your walls constrict around him tightly. Spasm around him uncontrollably. And your fall coaxes him into his own. He falls into his release with a soft, drawn-out moan of your name, hot, thick seed filling you up through quick ropes of cum. His cock twitches with each rope, painting your insides white with him.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “so fucking good—you were made for me. Only me. Knew…knew you were perfect for me since the first day.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him as close as he can get without physically merging into your bones. His head tucks into your neck, and you both ride out the aftershocks of your highs. You feel him breathe, and he listens to your soft breaths, and it’s just you and Phainon. Phainon and you.

It always has been.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbles tiredly after a while, sleepy words said through a petulant warning.

You chuckle, kissing his sweaty forehead as you promise, “I won’t.”

“Good. Won’t let you.”

“Good. Don’t.”

Your own eyes start to grow heavy with exhaustion, slowly fluttering closed until—

“Who’s that?” you look at him in confusion as you hear an incessant knocking on the door.

He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “Ah,” he sighs, “right. That’s…that’s just Mydei. He’s coming to make sure I eat instead of starving to death from sadness.”

You blink, and then you throw your head back, laughing loudly. He watches you for a moment, smiling softly at the sound of you flooding his space. “You’re hopeless, Phainon.”

“Am not!”

“Go tell Mydei to leave and that you’re alive.”

“...Okay.”

Idk what this is. It’s 10k words of pure babbling and hardly a single coherent thought. I’m sorry dfksksjr this isn’t my best work but . I needed to get him out of my system

I also think writing a reader that is younger than me and navigates life and its challenges through a less mature and experienced lens was a fun project. She is not perfect but she is certainly a human who is trying her best and wants to be loved and I think that’s endearing

#meowdei.writing #meowdei.longfics #hsr x reader #hsr x you #phainon x reader #phainon x y/n #phainon x you #phainon smut #phainon angst #phainon fluff #hsr x y/n #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail smut

2K notes · View notes

wcters · 6 months ago

Text

I MISS YOU, I’M SORRY

pairing: lando norris x fem!singer!reader

summary: the falling out of one of formula one’s favourite couple

warnings/contents: angst, cheating, get ready to get angryyyy, swearing, some crack, lando is the bad guy in this (sorry)

author’s note: faceclaim is gracie abrams (my girl), this was honestly soo fun to write, let me know if you want a part two…. and if it should be with lando or someone else 😙😙

f1gossip

liked by user1, user2, and 24,973 others

f1gossip lando norris seen out in a club in monaco with a mysterious women. is there trouble in paradise between lando norris and his current girlfriend, y/n y/l/n?

view all 126 comments

user1 ummm what?

user2 lando . . . what did you do

user3 i cant defend this one

user4 did they break up??

↳ user5 i kind of hope he did or else he’s cheating on her

user6 this HAS TO be a prank

user7 rue… when was this?

user8 if they broke up, WHAT’S HAPPENING WITH BERNIE

↳ user9 who’s bernie?

↳ user8 their dog, cutest thing ever

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, alexandrasaintmleux, and 545,973 others

yourusername i miss you, i’m sorry out now 🤍 i poured my heart and soul, and some tears, into this song. hope you all like it❤️‍🩹

view all 2,375 comments

user1 WHAT DOES THIS MEAN

user2 lando when i catch you lando

lilymhe so proud of you ❤️

user4 is this confirmation they broke up??

alexandrasaintmleux truly a piece of art 💞 always here

francisca.cgomes you’re so brave ❤️ missing you

user5 y/n you’re breaking my heart

danielricciardo we’ve all got your back ❤️

↳ heidiberger_ hell yeah we do!

user6 what do lily’s and daniel’s comments mean?

f1gossip

liked by user1, user2, and 34,901 others

f1gossip lando norris seen with the same mysterious girl from the night out in monaco in the paddock. is it over between lando and y/n?

view all 275 comments

user1 did you guys see the looks of disgust from the girls

↳ user2 they were planning on how to kill him

user3 he really fucked this one up

user4 y/n was there too but with daniel at his garage this time

↳ user5 he’s such a good friend to her

↳ user6 she avoided the mclaren garage at all times 😭 she’s obviously so heartbroken. and there were so many times where the girls were hugging her

user7 so is this conformation??

landonorris added to their story!

yourusername posted to their story!

yourspam

liked by artsyfartsyalex, totallynotdaniel, and 23 others

yourspam at least breaking up with someone creates a good album . . . but what was that fake ass story?

view all 17 comments

artsyfartyalex oh jolie fille ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

totallynotdaniel let’s run him over

↳ yourusername DANNY NO

↳ totallynotdaniel DANNY YES

professionalchili baby 😢😢 we can send the cats after him

↳ lilyswag we totally can

↳ yourusername you don’t need to, just let me see them againnn

smoothoperator i’m prepared to push him out of the next race

↳ tposebrat same

↳ lilyswag same

↳ simbasmom same

↳ yourusername girl 💀 you can’t drive an f1 car

↳ simbasmom i can find a way

nascarpastry sincerely apologize for my teammate

↳ yourusername you are too sweet 🥺 thank you oscar

berniethedog flame his ass

↳ yourusername daniel is this you?

↳ berniethedog noooo

newgirlfriend

liked by landonorris, user1, and 204,863 others

newgirlfriend this happens once every few lifetimes 🤍

view all 847 comments

user1 she did not….

user2 😐😐😐

landonorris 🖤

user3 not the black and white hearts…. she’s literally trying to copy y/n with the white hearts…. and he’s playing along

danielricciardo 🤨🤨🤨

↳ user4 he’s thinking the same thing we are

↳ user5 on the public account too

user6 daniel is so real for that reaction

user7 i feel so bad for y/n, first the breakup and then this

youusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, 809,768 others

yourusername good riddance coming to you in 5 days🤍 this was written with all my emotion and love and heartbreak. big thank you to my friends and family for being by my side through this, especially daniel and heidi for being my number one fans. i love you both so much 😭😭

view all 2,634 comments

danielricciardo streaming it right when it’s out!

user1 lando norris is my opp

user2 i’m not ready 😭😭😭

user3 i know he said it was mutual but her lyrics say different…

alexandrasaintmleux me, charles, and leo are streaming it now!

user4 my heart is actually breaking with these lyrics

user5 “and i swear to god, i’d kill you if i loved you less hard” BABE

lilymhe beautiful ❤️

oscarpiastri great album!

↳ user6 he’s so awkward 😭

↳ user7 he’s got the spirit though

user8 even oscar’s on y/n’s side

user9 if you look at the credits for 405 it mentions daniel as a guitarist 😭😭 they love each other so much

newgirlfriend so good!

do not answer ‼️

hey, can we talk?

2K notes · View notes

trashytracktales · 1 month ago

Note

My love….i need some ANGST. Like make me cry….then make me wet 😱😅

IM SORRY ITS BEEN ONR OF THOSE DAYS and your posts always make the day better.

Final call | LN⁴

📞 summary ──── Lando thought that ending things was the right decision. But he never really let go. When one final, desperate call pulls her back into his orbit, old wounds resurface, anger and longing collide, and the lines between love and heartbreak blur.

📞 pairing ──── Lando Norris x (she/her) ex!reader

📞 rating ──── explicit

📞 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, Lando struggling with withdrawals from his usual life, drunken texts, heavy angst and arguments, swearing, heartbreak, power struggles between both characters, smut, fingering with teasing and edging, unprotected sex, praise, desperation, overwhelming pleasure leading to emotional vulnerability, begging, multiple orgasms, post-sex tenderness, crying (I need to touch some grass fr fr).

📞 word count ──── 12.8k

📞 date ──── Mar. 30, 2025

📞 a/n ──── Been working on this for over a month now. It feels like a fever dream, I have no words. Enjoy whatever this is and I apologize in advance 🤧

IT IS A random Saturday night during the winter break, and Lando would rather stay home. But he’s spent the last two months buried in the same routine; rinse and repeat. It’s been easier that way, keeping himself too busy to think, and too exhausted to feel anything else.

This time around, his friends have been quite insistent, pushing him to get out of his self-imposed isolation.

“Come on, mate,” said Max, his frustration evident in every word he uttered, even through the speaker, “One night won’t kill you. Everyone is expecting you to be there.”

“Why would they?” asked Lando, not particularly interested in Max’s answer.

“Because I told them you’ll come. Now, don’t make me a liar, and get your athletic physique up. I’ll get to yours in five.”

Lando tried to argue at first, but Max wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, eventually, after what felt like ages of back-and-forth, he caved, mostly out of morbid curiosity.

Now, standing in the dimly lit bar, surrounded by laughter and music, he wonders why he agreed, after all. When he’s not in the mood to party or to be around people in general, everything is suddenly way too loud, too annoying, and nothing satisfies him. The air is thick with a weird combination between spilled liquor and various perfumes, adding to his irritation.

Avoiding to make a scene, Lando shifts awkwardly, nursing a drink, half-listening to whatever story Connor is animatedly telling. He feels bad when he realizes that he hasn’t seen most of his friends since the breakup, but he knows they’ve only been giving him the space he needed, waiting for him to bounce back.

But Lando hasn’t. He’s just gotten better at pretending things are going the right way. Fake it until you make it, or whatever.

“Landooo,” Max says suddenly, nudging him out of his thoughts. “Look who I ran into!”

Lando turns and his eyes lock on her, her alluring presence catching him off guard.

“This is Eva,” Max continues, “An old friend of mine.”

He can’t help but think how effortlessly beautiful she is, all bright eyes and easy smiles, with the kind of confidence that makes people gravitate toward her instinctively.

“Hey,” the girl says, offering him a playful smirk. “I was starting to think you were just a figment of Max’s imagination.”

Lando forces a chuckle. “Yeah, well. I haven’t been… around much.”

Eva tilts her head, taking him in. “That’s a vague answer.”

Max claps a hand on Lando’s shoulder. “He’s just being mysterious. It’s part of his charm, you’ll see.”

Lando rolls his eyes, but plays along. He knows what Max is doing, but he doesn’t call him out on it.

Because maybe Max is right. Maybe he should try.

And so he does.

He engages in conversation, letting himself slip into the rhythm of it. Eva is funny and easy to talk to. She makes it effortless, steering their interaction in a way that keeps his mind from wandering. As the night progresses, they end up dancing, and hands are suddenly everywhere while the music envelops them like a protective dome.

At some point, he offers to buy her another drink, and she smiles, nodding at Lando’s initiative.

“I’d like that,” she admits, her eyes sparkling under her eyelashes.

They weave through the crowd toward the bar, and as they wait, she leans in a little closer. It’s subtle at first — a touch to his shoulder when she laughs, then her fingers grazing his bicep. Lando notices it, but he doesn’t react. Not until he feels her fingertips brush against his hand. At that, he looks down and sees the way her small hand lingers against his, making his chest tighten.

She’s watching him with anticipation in her expression, waiting for him to do something. Anything. To respond, to take her hand in his, to let this moment be what it’s supposed to be.

Lando closes his eyes for a fraction. Then he pulls his hand away. Eva’s face doesn’t fall, but something shifts in her eyes; the spark goes away, being replaced by something Lando can’t quite decipher. Confusion, perhaps? Understanding, maybe? Pity, for sure.

She nods, taking a step back, putting distance between them. “Right,” her voice is light, but unbothered. “Cheers for the drink, Lando. I should get back to my friends.”

Lando swallows, guilt gnawing at him. “Eva, it’s not that I don’t—”

She stops him with a tiny smile hanging in the corner of her mouth. “Don’t have to explain yourself to me, darling. It was fun meeting you, hope to see you around. Have a nice night.”

And with that, she’s gone.

He watches her disappear into the crowd, debating going after her or scanning the place to find someone else.

Finally, Lando turns back to the bar, giving his head a little shake.

Well, that went well.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go and signals for another. The liquid burns his throat, but it’s still not enough. He needs more, now that he’s alone. Just for tonight.

As Max said, it won’t kill him.

A few minutes later, Lando returns to his people with another drink in hand. He looks much more relaxed, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s still there, somewhere, lost among the lonely nights spent in his apartment, buried under the lies he told his friends just to be left alone.

Max spots him first and frowns, “Mate, where’s Eva?”

Lando shrugs, “I think she didn’t like my bucket hat.”

Max squints in his direction, clearly unimpressed. “You didn’t even try, did you?”

He did, but won’t bother explaining that to Max. It’s not the time nor the place and, taking a slow sip of his new drink, Lando doesn’t answer, ending the conversation there.

HIS PLACE IS drenched in darkness, exactly how he left it, when Lando stumbles in. He kicks off his shoes haphazardly, muttering a curse as one skids across the floor.

So, Max’s plan hadn’t helped; nothing ever does. He had laughed at all the right moments, sipped at overpriced drinks, and told himself he was having fun. But the ride home had been silent, his thoughts crashing against him like a lost boat against the waves in the middle of a storm.

His friend offered to stay over, but didn’t insist when Lando told him he was okay; two months of pretending he was.

Two months of convincing himself he made the right choice, that he needed space to figure out who he was outside of them. He told himself he needed to be alone and focus on his work, because the aftertaste of the last season still lingers. He wants to see his dream manifesting before his eyes, and he knows that comes with a set of sacrifices. He is ready, but how far is he willing to go? What else is he willing to give up?

Because all he’s done in her absence is slowly descending into madness.

With a defeated sigh, Lando collapses onto the couch. His head falls back against the cushions, just as his phone starts buzzing into his pocket. He doesn’t need to check it to know it isn’t her. She hasn’t reached out since the day she walked away, her face crumpling in defeat as she whispered, I can’t keep fighting for something you clearly don’t want.

The memory of her face still haunts him, because he knows now, just as he knew then, that he should have fought harder. He wishes he had at least tried. Although he also knows it wouldn’t have been fair to either of them, because the mental state he was in at the time would’ve made everything worse for both of them.

Without thinking too much of it, his thumb finds her little icon, and before he can stop himself, Lando starts typing.

10:24 PM: Hey, you up?

10:24 PM: Sorry.

10:26 PM: Can we talk?

10:30 PM: You ever think about us?

10:35 PM: Forget I said anything.

10:39 PM: No, actually, don’t. You were everything. You ARE everything.

10:39 PM: I may be a little bit drunk, but I fucking miss you, baby…

10:41 PM: I don’t miss you because I’m drunk BTW. I just miss you.

10:41 PM: All the time.

10:45 PM: Was I ever enough for you? Like, in general… do you think we could’ve made it work?

10:47 PM: God, I hate you for making me question myself like this.

10:58 PM: I don’t hate you. I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you.

11:59 PM: Remember when we went to Lake Como and got lost trying to find that little café? I think about that all the time. It started raining, and we both got sick, then we stayed in bed for a week.

11:08 PM: Are you happy?

11:10 PM: Please, say something.

11:10 PM: I know I ended this, but don’t ignore me.

11:10 PM: Please…

On the other side of the city, she’s sitting across from a man who could be plucked from a brochure for Monaco’s elite. His posture oozes confidence and he’s immaculate, from the tailored suit to his charm that has her smiling politely but distantly. He’s nothing like Lando, and she noticed that from the first date. That’s the reason why she agreed to go out again. And again.

Now, she’s four dates in, and she tries to convince herself she could get used to seeing this man as something more. But it’s not that easy when all he talks about is crypto currency and boats.

Suddenly, her phone starts buzzing, a succession of vibrations that she tries to ignore at first.

Once.

Twice.

Three-four-five-six-seven times.

When it keeps going, she excuses herself to glance at the screen, and her stomach twists as she sees his name. What freaks her out at first is that only now she realizes that she never changed his contact name, and LANDO ♥︎ now occupies both the entire size of her screen and her entire mind.

“Is everything okay?” her date asks, his voice cutting through her haze.

She blinks, confused, “I’m sorry, yeah,” she says, a wave of heat crawling up her chest and neck. “I forgot to put it on silent.”

A deep ache settles in between her lungs as she touches the icon to silent her phone. She wishes she could do that to her brain right now, because all of a sudden, her entire world starts spinning faster.

It’s the first time he’s reached out since he ended things. For her, this is monumental. But she shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t even be tempted to read whatever nonsense he keeps typing out. But then another message comes through, begging her not to ignore him, and something about the desperation in the rapid notifications makes her break.

“Excuse me,” the girl says quickly, pushing her chair back as she gets up, ready to head towards the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Somehow, she knew the quiet won’t last forever, but she kept hoping that Lando was happy, even without her. She hated him for a few hours after he broke up with her, but all the hatred faded away the next morning, when she woke up in an empty bed, trying her best to understand his decision.

She did, eventually. And she accepted it. More than that, she respected it, because she knew that Lando would do the same for her.

Rage.

She put in so much work, and now it’s all for nothing.

She exhales heavily, gripping the edge of the sink before finally, finally unlocking her phone, not so surprised to see more texts flooding the screen.

11:12 PM: I just wanna talk, I swear.

11:12 PM: Can I call you?

11:12 PM: Just once, please.

11:13 PM: I miss your voice.

Her heart breaks a little, but before she can overthink it, she presses that call button herself, and Lando picks up on the first ring. There’s silence at first. Nothing but his uneven breathing and the faint hum of the muted background noise.

Then, she hears his voice, rough and slightly slurred, “You called.”

She closes her eyes, trying her best to control her trembling hands. “Only to tell you to stop texting me, Lando. I am busy.”

A pause. Then a slow, shaky inhale, followed by Lando’s curiosity, “It’s almost midnight on a Saturday night, how busy are—” he stops himself as if realizing something obvious, his next words dripping in disappointment, “Oh, you’re busy,” he continues, but this time his voice changes to nonchalance. “What am I interrupting?”

She presses her lips in a thin line, bringing her fingers to her temple. “None of—”

“Are you with someone?”

Her throat tightens. “None of your business,” she finally manages to say.

His heavy breath crackles through the speaker. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She doesn’t confirm it. Doesn’t deny it. Just exhales slowly, wishing she would disintegrate into thin air before the conversation gets to an end.

To break her silence, Lando makes a noise, something caught between a bitter laugh and a sigh. “How boring is he? Be honest.”

The girl blinks, letting out a dry laugh. “Excuse me?”

“The guy you’re with,” says Lando, “How boring is he? Does he talk about taxes and golf? I bet he fucking sucks at golf.”

“Lando, how drunk—”

“Does he make you laugh?” his voice drops, softer now, but unsure. “Like I used to? God, I miss your laugh.”

She grips the sink tighter, warning him, “Stop that.”

Silence.

Then, in true Lando fashion, he blurts out something completely ridiculous, “And I miss you.”

Her stomach flips. Painfully.

He shouldn’t have this right. He broke up with her. He was the one who argued in detail why they should break up and stay that way. Him. But hearing his voice again, after all this time, she realizes how easy it is to fall back into it. Into everything they had.

“I do,” Lando insists, “I really fucking miss you, baby. Do you miss me?”

The words hit like a sucker punch.

Yes.

She bites her lip, willing herself not to break. “No,” she ends up saying.

“No,” he echoes. And for once, he sounds completely sober.

She swallows hard, forcing her voice to stay steady as she repeats, “I am busy. Goodbye, Lando.”

And before he can say anything else, before she lets herself feel too much and tell him the truth, she hangs up. With a heavy heart, she presses the phone against her chest, eyes shut, trying to breathe through the emotions crashing over her.

Breaking up with someone when you still love them is like throwing yourself into a bottomless pit. You don’t know when or if the fall will ever end, you have no idea whether or not you’ll be alone on the other side if it does end, and you certainly don’t know if you’ll make it there alive. They had their problems, of course. Everybody does. But for the first time in their relationship, Lando’s goals didn’t include her, and she had to make peace with it.

Inhaling deeply, she looks back at her reflection then she steels herself, smoothing her dress, and wiping at the corners of her eyes.

THE SECOND SHE hangs up, her words brand themselves into his brain, and for a while, he’s terrified that he’ll go mad, because they won’t stop replaying in his head like a broken record.

Goodbye, Lando. Goodbye, Lando. Goodbye, Lando.

Goodbye.

The finality of it slams into him, sucking the air from his lungs, and all the light from his eyes.

He can’t do anything but stand there, phone still pressed to his ear, as if maybe she’ll change her mind and call back. As if this is just a silly test, some cruel joke played by the universe to see how much more he can take before he completely breaks.

To his horror, the line stays dead, and the realization settles in too quickly for him to process, a dull ache spreading through his chest like poison ivy.

She didn’t even hesitate, didn’t soften, didn’t give him anything to hold onto. And maybe it’s better this way, but how easy is it to close the door on someone like that?

For the past two months, he told himself that if he ever needed her — really needed her — she’d be there for him. Because he knows her, and he knows that no matter how much time passed, no matter how many miles stretched between them, she’d still be his person.

But now, the truth is staring Lando in the face. And it looks like him. She’s gone for good, and he has no one to blame but himself.

His jaw clenches, his hold tightening around the phone so hard he might break it. The room feels too big, too empty, too goddamn quiet to the point it gets too much. With an angry exhale, Lando hurls his phone across the room, watching it smashing against the wall before clattering to the floor, the sound slicing through his ears like a gunshot.

With a deep sigh, he drags his hands down his face, fingers digging into his skin as if he can claw the frustration out of his body.

What did you expect? he asks himself. Then, he laughs. A dry laugh, deprived of real amusement.

At that time, space was what he needed, but she was never something Lando needed to escape. She was his anchor. His safe place. And now, she’s out with some other guy, probably smiling in that adorable way she does when she’s trying to be polite but isn’t actually interested.

Or maybe she is interested. Maybe she is moving on.

The thought nearly guts him.

Pushed by fear from behind, Lando forces himself to move, pacing the the living room while he runs a hand through his hair, irritation simmering beneath his skin like an annoying itch he can’t scratch. His heart is racing, thoughts spiraling faster than he can control. The only time he felt like this before was when his car slipped from his grasp back in 2021 at Spa. He knew he had to brace for impact, and knew his time was limited to do so. The difference now is that he can’t even brace himself, because the impact already took him by surprise.

This can’t be it.

After a moment, he crosses the room and picks up his phone. It has a little crack across the screen, but it’s still functional and, in his foolishness, he takes it as a sign to start typing again.

11:59 PM: Fuck your goodbye. You’re really just going to pretend like I don’t exist?

11:59 PM: After everything?

12:01 AM: Such a fucking liar.

12:01 AM: You can’t tell me you don’t feel anything. That you don’t miss me at all.

12:04 AM: I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you, alright? But I swear to god, I never stopped caring about you.

12:04 AM: Not for a second.

12:07 AM: It’s so stupid, but tell me to move on, and I will.

12:08 AM: Tell me you don’t love me anymore, and I’ll leave you alone.

12:48 AM: Please, don’t leave me like this…

12:48 AM: We can find a way, I know we can.

12:53 AM: No one will ever know you like I do, you know that, right?

12:53 AM: He doesn’t know how you hum when you’re nervous or how you always steal the blanket in your sleep, does he?

01:23 AM: Got it.

01:23 AM: If you ever meant what we promised, just know that this is my final call.

The moment he sends the last text, Lando knows he’s got only one chance to make it right. And maybe he took it too far this time, but he’s also at peace, knowing he did everything he could to catch her attention.

Their worst fight ever, before breaking up, nearly ended them right there and then. They were on the verge of walking away, but when all the anger settled and the silence stretched between them, they both realized neither wanted to lose the other. So, they needed a way to say it. A final chance to make things right.

A final call.

A desperate ‘I need you’. No games, no pretending. If one of them said it, the other showed up, no questions asked.

But the seconds turn into minutes, and the minutes turn into his darkest hour.

HER KNUCKLES ALMOST leave marks against Lando’s door from how aggressively she’s knocking. She is relentless, angry, and insistent, like she wants to break through it at all costs.

Behind the door, Lando frowns, pushing himself off the couch where he’d been slumped, after the realization hit him. But when he swings it open, his heart nearly flatlines.

She’s standing there, chest heaving and eyes wild with fury, with her tears still fresh on her face. Before he can say a word, she pushes him hard, forcing him a step back as she storms inside. The door slams shut behind her, the sound ringing through the silence of his empty apartment.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Lando?” her voice cracks, her chin trembling under the weight of her furious words. “Are you actually serious?”

Lando barely has time to react before she shoves him again, her palms pressing into his chest with all the force her adrenaline generates.

He stumbles back, blinking at her in shock.

“You’re such a coward!” she yells, “This is so unfair, you know?” her voice wavers, but her anger doesn’t falter. “You have no right to do this to me. None.”

Lando swallows hard, his mind scrambling to catch up. But too much is happening too quickly, and he doesn’t get the chance, before she interrupts him right when he’s about to speak.

“No. You’ve said enough, now I’m talking,” her breath is ragged while pointing a finger at her chest, her whole body shaking with rage as she glares up at him. “You don’t get to pull me in just to push me away. Again and again. You don’t get to decide when you love me and when you need space. And you sure as hell don’t get to use your last call just to make me drop everything for you. Because of course I will, and you know it!” she says, laughing at herself in disbelief. “That’s so fucking selfish, especially when I know you don’t even mean it, and you’re just too fucking pressed that I’m moving on without you.”

His stomach twists. “I do mean it.”

“Oh, really? Then why do you do this?” she asks, her voice breaking as she shoves him again, weaker this time. “Why? One second, you’re in love with me, and the next, you want to be left alone. And now you’re dragging me back in like I don’t have a choice, like I don’t have a life outside of you.”

Lando flinches, guilt settling deep in his bones. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“You don’t know what you want,” she accuses, her voice trembling in frustration. “Because if you did, you’d know how ridiculous you’re being right now. You can’t do this to people who love you, Lando. You can’t just… fuck with my peace like this just because you’ve had a rough night. I’ve had plenty of those myself!” she loses it, turning around only to take a break from seeing his face.

Her words hit Lando like a freight train, but she doesn’t even realize what she’s just said. She’s too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, too exhausted from holding herself together. But Lando heard her loud and clear: she still loves him.

He takes a step toward her, thinking that she’s done with pushing, but when she suddenly turns around, she starts hitting his chest again, enough to pour out all the anger, all the irritation, and all the heartbreak she’s been carrying like rocks in her pockets.

Lando just stands there, letting her, because he knows he deserves it.

Finally, she lets out a shaky breath, her hands falling limply against him. Her forehead presses into his chest as the fight drains from her completely, and a sob wracks through her. Instinctively, Lando’s arms move on their own, pulling her into his tight embrace.

He wraps himself around her, his grip firm but careful, like she might slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. Her tears soak into his shirt, and for the first time in months, the floor stopped moving under his feet, and Lando can breathe again.

They stay like that for a long time. No more words. No more yelling. Just the sound of their breathing, and their hearts beating in sync. Lando’s hand is gently moving up and down her back, and she hates how safe she feels with his scent enveloping her from every direction.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, she sniffles and pulls away just enough to wipe her cheeks.

Her fingers brush lightly against his damp shirt, letting out out a humorless laugh. “I probably ruined your stupid shirt. There’s make-up all over. Sorry.”

Lando shakes his head, his hands still resting on her waist. “That’s okay.”

She scoffs, stepping back to free herself from his embrace. Next time she looks up at him, her eyes are still glassy, but there’s something softer in them now. Then, quietly, she says, “He was boring, by the way.”

She walks past him without another word, heading straight for the couch, just like she did a thousand times before.

Lando turns to follow her, his mind slowly starting to catch up.

She’s here.

She came.

He hesitates for a moment before he enters her personal space again, watching as she sinks into the couch, exhaling silently as if she’s trying to steady herself. She rubs the mascara smudges beneath her eyes, and the sight twists something deep in his chest, realizing that he did this to her. Again. And he hates it. Hates knowing that he’s the reason she looks so lost, with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Hates that she showed up at his door furious, but now she just looks tired. Most likely of him. Of their situation. Of running in circles that he’s designing with the sole purpose of torturing her.

Still, as Lando lowers himself onto the couch beside her, a strange sense of normalcy settles over him. They’ve sat like this countless times before, curled up together watching movies, falling asleep tangled in each other, making love, and sharing lazy conversations over takeout. He can still picture her lying here in one of his hoodies, laughing at some stupid joke he made, eyes bright and full of adoration. But tonight, the space between them is foreign, like a chasm neither of them knows how to cross.

He exhales, raking a hand through his curls. At least, her words sobered him up, his thoughts clearer than they’ve been in months.

“I met someone tonight,” Lando’s voice cuts through the silence.

Her heart drops in her stomach, but she turns her head to look at him. Her expression is unreadable, however, Lando can see the way her fingers tighten on her thighs, like she’s bracing herself.

He swallows. “If you need a reason why, this is it. Max introduced me to her,” his tone is quieter now, a bit uncertain. “I think he was trying to… I don’t know. Set me up, maybe.”

She nods once, a short, clipped motion. “And?”

“I tried,” he admits. “I really did. She was nice. We had a few drinks together.” Lando huffs out something that’s almost a laugh but lacks any real amusement. “I even thought that maybe it could work out. I hoped it would work out.”

She doesn’t say anything, but looks at him with empty eyes and dry lips.

Lando sighs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “But then she tried to hold my hand and…”

A beat of silence.

Another deep sigh.

He lifts his head just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye before continuing, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend,” he adds, voice faint, like the confession is physically weighing on him. “It felt so wrong.”

She turns her face away, staring at the opposite wall, her jaw clenched. She understands him, of course she does. Because that’s exactly what she was doing before her phone was flooded with his texts — pretending. Faking it. Settling for something that, deep down, was so utterly wrong.

Lando shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

He watches her profile, trying his best to understand what’s going on inside her head, what she’s thinking, and if she’s warring with her own heart, just like he did for the past two months.

Finally, Lando leans back against the couch. His fingers drum restlessly against his knee when he starts speaking again, “Do you like him?”

She stiffens. “What?”

“The guy you were with tonight,” he says, studying her closely. “Do you like him?”

The girl rolls her eyes, pressing her lips together. “You are so incredibly stupid, Lando.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “I still want to hear you saying it.”

She hesitates, “I don’t know. He’s nice.”

It’s Lando’s turn to roll his eyes now, “Nice.”

She gives him a sharp look. “Yeah, nice. Like the girl you met? What is wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” he mutters. But when she keeps staring, he forces himself to continue, picking at the lint on his pants, only to avoid her piercing eyes. “It’s just… you never went for nice.”

Her expression flickers between annoyance and something else he can’t quite name.

“You don’t know me like that anymore,” she warns him.

Lando lets out a quiet breath, “People don’t change that easily,” he says it like he talks from experience. “I’d still be able to recognize you blindfolded.”

His words almost knock the wind out of her. She tilts her chin up, trying to hold onto her anger, but it’s slipping through her fingers like sand. Especially when he speaks so soflty, no bitter trace behind his voice. It’s just a fact.

“I don’t know about that,” she whispers.

“I do,” he says, getting closer to her side of the couch.

She takes a breath in, exhaling slowly. “You walked away, Lando. It was your choice. What changed?”

Instead of looking back at her, Lando’s picking now at the skin of his thumb with his nail, until he feels the blood under his fingertip. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“For who exactly?”

His chest tightens. “It was for you too,” he says in a defensive tone. “I couldn’t be what you needed. It took me years to finally be competitive, and I barely had time to breathe outside work, let alone be someone you could rely on. There was so much noise around me, I just couldn’t put you in second.”

She shakes her head, her expression caught between irritation and heartbreak. “You didn’t have to change anything for my comfort. I know what racing means to you. Knowing you were there was enough for me.”

He swallows, guilt pressing heavy against his ribs. “Not enough. I didn’t want to drag you down.”

Her lips part, a flash of disbelief crossing her face. “Do you even hear yourself?” she gestures wildly, “You were never dragging me down. I was so happy for you, Lando. Still am,” she blinks rapidly, trying to push down the emotion rising in her throat. “But you decided I was an inconvenience.”

Lando closes his eyes briefly, his fingers curling into fists. He knows she’s right. He knows. But back then, he had convinced himself that letting her go was the only way to keep her from ending up hating him. Now, she’s standing next to him, looking at him like she doesn’t know whether she wants to scream or sob.

“I’m sorry,” it’s all he can say. And then, “I just... missed you.”

Out of instinct, she makes herself smaller on the couch, raising her knees to her chest.

“I tried to act like I didn’t, but I was miserable,” Lando adds, “Everywhere I went, I was looking for you. Waiting for you.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head again. “Spare me, won’t you?”

“I’m not saying this to change your mind,” he defends himself quickly. “I just need you to know. Because it was eating me alive.”

Her arms loosen around herself, her posture softening just a fraction. “Do you think I wasn’t miserable too?” her voice cracks on the last word. “You said I was pretending you didn’t exist. Do you really think I just walked away and simply forgot about you?”

Lando stares at her, taking in the way her lower lip trembles, the way her eyes are shining with new, unshed tears.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Stupid, stupid,” she repeats.

She’s still mad at him. But she aches to be closer, to touch him, to bury her face in his chest and just breathe him in. Just for a moment. Just long enough to pretend that everything is okay again.

Cautious, Lando lifts a hand like he’s giving her time to pull away. But when she doesn’t, his fingers brush against her hair, gently tucking a loose strand behind her ear. His touch is light, barely there, but it still gives her chills. Then, without thinking too much of it, she leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut.

A tear slips down her cheek, and before she can wipe it away, Lando’s thumb does.

“I’m sorry.”

She lets out a quiet sob, and that’s all it takes for Lando to pull her into his arms without hesitation. She melts against him, fists gripping the fabric of his shirt, pressing her face back against his chest as she lets more tears out.

Lando buries his face in her hair, whispering all over again, as if that will make her believe him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tears are threatening his eyes too, but he closes them before they can escape.

He feels the warmth of her breath against his collarbone and, once again, he’s terrified. He would rather her push him away, rather her scream at him, tell him she hates him, hurt him back. Because all this silence is unbearable. It swallows him whole, and tells him everything he’s too afraid to admit: that he drained her, emptied her out until there was nothing left to give.

He’s about to apologize again, but then he feels it in the way her fingers, still curled into the fabric of his shirt, twitch slightly, and the weight of her head is pressing deeper into his chest — she fell asleep. As soon as things went quiet, she slipped under, exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the time of night and everything to do with him.

A lump forms in his throat as he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. He shifts carefully, moving just enough to lean back fully, making sure she’s as comfortable as possible. But unfortunately, sleep doesn’t come easy for him.

HER PALM RESTS against his cheek, the heat of his skin seeping into hers. Every exhale of hers tickles his jaw, and it feels like muscle memory, the way her body molds into his, the way he instinctively holds onto her even in sleep.

Lando doesn’t stir. He never does. He’s always been the type to sleep through anything — alarms, thunderstorms, and morning light flooding the room. Even now, he’s dead to the world, his lips slightly parted, his arm wrapped lazily around her waist.

But his phone vibrates on the coffee table, and that’s what wakes her up, the sound cutting through the stillness. She barely registers it at first, burying her face against his chest, but when it buzzes again and again, she groans softly.

Disoriented, her breath deepens as she takes in her surroundings: the familiar scent, the heavy weight of Lando’s arm, the warmth of his body against hers. And then, all of it crashes down on her. Last night. Every whispered apology, every push, every tear, every way she let herself slip back into him like she never left.

Suddenly, a wave of panic wakes her up for good and, covering her mouth with a trembling hand, she tries to muffle the sob that threatens to escape. She can’t cry again; she’s way too exhausted for that. But her body betrays her, stiffening next to him as his weight becomes suffocating.

Luckily, the continuous buzzing takes her out of it and, reluctantly, she finally reaches for Lando’s phone. The screen lights up with a crack across it, and lots of notifications. It’s 1:04 PM, and a text from an unsaved number catches her attention first:

Hey, Lando ;) This is Eva. Max gave me your number, said you weren’t feeling well last night. I’d like to see you again tonight if...

The rest of the message is cut off by the lock screen, so she lets the phone drop back against the glass of the table, swallowing past the tightness in her throat and slowly turns onto her side, facing him. Lando looks so peaceful like this. His curls are messy, his face slack with sleep, no frown decorating the smooth skin of his forehead. His eyebrows are a little fuzzy, so she gently styles them back into shape with her thumb.

She missed their lazy mornings more than anything. The way the concept of time never seemed to exist when they were wrapped up in each other, away from anything that could potentially come in between them.

Her hand is still weak as she presses her palm to Lando’s chest. His heartbeat thrums beneath her fingertips, steady, warm, alive. That’s why she came here in the first place: for him. And in the clear daylight, she realizes that the familiarity between them can’t be reversed. Last night was a lot, but she can’t let herself fall into it again, no matter how badly her body wants to stay curled into him.

She brings the same palm to her chest then, trying to put some distance, but Lando stirs instinctively. His arm pulls at her waist, his fingers twitching against the fabric of her dress, unwilling to let her go even in the hazy blur of waking up.

His body recognizes hers before his mind does; the warmth, the normalcy of having her there. Then, reality creeps in, dragging him back into consciousness. And with it comes the dull ache pressing against the inside of his skull, the dryness in his throat, the remnants of last night staining his entire body with exhaustion, guilt, and shame.

“I feel like shit,” he speaks against her shoulder, voice raspy from sleep. His head is pounding, his stomach unsettled, but her scent is the only thing guiding him to something steady. He breathes it in, eyes still closed, and continues, “I need a greasy burger for breakfast.”

“It’s past one,” she says quietly.

Lando groans, rolling onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes. He can feel her presence, but even though her body is so close to his, he starts to feel the tension. The distance. He realizes it the second she moves again, getting in a sitting position, ready to leave the bed. Leave him.

Lando’s eyes snap open, desperate to catch a glimpse of her, even as the sunlight nearly blinds him. Her hair is messy, hands resting against her lap. Her dress is all wrinckled and drapes over her frame, making her look small in a way that destroys him. Like she doesn’t belong to this moment, like she’s already halfway out the door.

“I should go,” she says the words that he was so afraid of, and it feels like a knife to his ribs.

“You should stay,” he insists. “We can get something to eat, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

She presses a palm against her forehead, realizing the gravity of the situation. Giving him false hope won’t help anyone.

“No, thank you. Falling asleep was already bad enough.”

Lando clears his throat before speaking again, slightly unsure, “Was it, though?” he asks and, in return, she shoots him a warning look. “I know, I’m sorry.”

However, she’s no longer angry with him. She exhausted the last of her strength last night, and now all that’s left is the bitter taste of what could have been.

“Is that the only thing you’ll say now?”

He licks his lips, throat still dry as if he drank sand. “Yes. Until you forgive me.”

It was meant to be lighthearted, a little joke, and a weak attempt at softening the weight pressing down on both of them. Based on past experiences, she always forgave him. So why should now be any different, right? But when she doesn’t react, when the silence only thickens, he realizes how fucking stupid that was.

She blinks once, twice. Her gaze flickers away, “Your final call,” she says quietly, “Did you do it because of that girl? You got scared because you liked her more than you thought you could?”

Lando’s heart stalls for a second, caught off guard by her inquire. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know what the hell I was doing. I mean, I was scared. But not of her,” he stops, thinking of it. The frown comes back, and it looks like the thought gives him a headache. “I was scared of falling back into something I couldn’t fix. Still am. You and me… we’re not easy, you know?” he lets out a small, bitter laugh, almost self-deprecating. “We’ve never been easy. And I’m just so tired of fucking things up.”

She doesn’t think much about her actions lately. She wasn’t thinking last night when she left her date in a rush, and she certainly isn’t thinking now, as she turns her body to face him.

“I don’t understand you anymore, Lando. The only thing I do understand is that you pushed me away just so you wouldn’t have to deal with me. Because you couldn’t handle me, is that right?”

Lando winces. The weight of her words hit him harder than any punch. “No, it’s not right. I just didn’t know how to fix… me,” he says it for the first time out loud, his voice breaking on the last part; surprisingly, it’s not making him as uncomfortable as he thought it would. “I didn’t want to lose you. Not like that.”

She scoffs, “And now what? You think one drunken night is enough to put you on the right track? You think you know what you want just because you’re afraid of losing something that’s no longer yours anyway?” the girl asks, watching as his facial expression changing in pain. “I’m sorry, Lando. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I need answers.”

His voice is barely a whisper as he replies, “The only answer I can give you is that I didn’t know how to be what you needed at the time. Is that so hard to believe?”

Her eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them away. “It is,” she agrees, “Because you never asked me what I needed. Not once. You just did what was best for you. And now…,” her voice trails off before moving her eyes on a random point on the floor, “You’re not showing me anything. You can say that all you want, but how do I know you won’t push me away again? I need to know you’re here, that you’re really here.”

Lando reaches for her then, almost instinctively, his hands determined as he cups her face. “I am here,” he whispers, leaning in, his breath shaky against her skin. “You’re just too stubborn to let me back in. And I get why,” he rushes to say as he feels her tensing under his touch. “But, please. Let me fix us. Please.”

Neither of them speak for a while after that. She’s so close to him now, she can hear both of their heartbeats, the weight of every single second hanging between them like lead from a strand of hair.

She is hesitant, but she pulls him in first, her lips barely brushing over his. Even though it’s a featherlight touch, her close proximity ignites something highly flammable in Lando. He stills, his breath caught in his throat, his hands curling into fists as if holding himself back, too afraid to take it any further too fast.

Just as he leans in, just as he starts to close the little gap, slowly, she pulls away. The loss of her, even for a second, makes his patience snap and, without giving her the chance to build another wall between them, he reaches out, fingers threading into her hair, pulling her back to him, this time with purpose.

She doesn’t resist — can’t, really.

His forehead presses against hers and neither of them move, trapped in the space between knowing and doing. His grip tightens against her jaw, thumb stroking over the edge of her cheek, his breath hot against her parted lips. The weight of everything that’s been left unsaid lingers in the air, and it’s suffocating. She exhales shakily, closing her eyes for a moment, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers splayed over his heart, feeling the way it pounds beneath her touch. And then, as if her body betrays every ounce of hesitation in her mind, she fists his shirt and pulls him back against her.

They crash together, and the world tilts within a second.

Their lips meet in a clash of want and desperation that knows no border of sanity. His hands are suddenly everywhere, cradling her face, threading through her hair, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. She presses into him, her nails scraping against the back of his neck, anchoring herself to him like she’s afraid he’ll slip away any minute. Like he’s going to change his mind again, and tell her to leave, because he needs to be alone.

But he won’t. He never will again. The taste of her floods his senses, familiar and intoxicating, making his body buzz with excitement as he deepens the kiss. He breathes her in, trying to make up for every second he’s spent without her.

She wants him, and she’s aware that things could go exponentially wrong after this, but she’s already broke the rules the moment she crossed his threshold last night. She shifts against him, pressing closer, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. He stirs slightly, humming, his arms automatically locking around her, helping her sit on his lap.

Her lips brush against his jaw, trailing down the column of his throat. She’s barely even touching him, but she knows he feels it, because she hears the way his breathing stutters, the slight twitch of his fingers against her hip. She smiles, shifting again, innocent, except not at all, because her thigh suddenly drags over his, pressing just enough to feel the growing heat between them.

Lando lets out a sleepy grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “What the hell are you doing?” his aroused voice is exactly how she remembers, rough and deep, and able to send shivers down her spine.

She hums, pressing another kiss to his collarbone. “Nothing.”

Lando chuckles, his hand sliding to grab her waist, fingers lazy but firm. “No, I think you’re doing something.”

And, whatever she’s doing, she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause to think.

She lets out a dry laugh, edged with sadness and a hint of accusation, “Always making me ache, aren’t you?” she asks, pressing her lips against his ear, while positioning herself above him, helping Lando get rid of his shirt. Soon enough, her fingers are dragging down his stomach, nails grazing lightly at his abs. “It’s like it turns you on to see me in pain, isn’t it?” the girl sighs, brushing her hips against his in a way that makes him curse under his breath.

His fingers dig more into her waist, his patience thinning by the second. “You know that’s not true,” his voice sounds so angelic, that she actually believes him for a second because of it. “I’m sorry you can’t trust me anymore. But there’s nothing I hate more than to see you hurting because of me.”

She nods, giving him the impression that his words have the power to make her weak. In reality, she’s just curious to find out how sorry he really is.

“You’ve said that about a hundred times already,” the girl reminds him, “How bad, though?” she tries to push the limits, mostly to see if there are any, the words slipping from her lips like something delicate and filthy all at once. “Bad enough that you’ll drunk text me again? To see if I come running to you? Again? To say you’re sorry a hundred more times, hoping I’ll let you fuck me in whatever position you want, for as long as you want just because I feel for your sorry ass?”

His nostrils flare as he exhales in disapproval, “Stop that shit.”

“Why?” her voice sounds overly seductive, but somehow, he knows it’s just a trap. “Isn’t sex your answer to everything?”

There you go.

Lando’s jaw tenses as the words continue to leave her mouth, unforgiving, each one winding around his self-control like a vice. His fingers twitch on her waist, the weight of her straddling him making it impossible to think straight. She knows exactly what she’s doing, pushing, teasing and testing the waters of his restraint.

And fuck, it’s working.

Her dress has ridden up her thighs higher, exposing smooth, warm skin that begs to be touched, and his hands find their way there without permission, fingertips pressing into her like he wants to make sure he’s not just dreaming, and she’s actually there.

“Not trying to fuck my way back to you, if that’s what you mean,” Lando disagrees just as he lets his fingers drift higher, watching the way her breath becomes more uneven. “But won’t back down if it works, either. So what does that say about you? That we’re just the same?”

She puffs out a laugh, but there’s no humor behind it. Just a lot of tension, coiled so tight between them that something is bound to snap. Soon.

“We’re so not,” she argues, tilting her head slightly, her lips so close to his that he can taste her breath. “I actually have the balls to stay when things get tough.”

Her unfiltered comment it’s all it takes.

Lando moves in a blur, gripping her hips and flipping them over in one swift motion, pressing her into the couch as a surprised gasp leaves her lips. He hovers over her, his body fitting perfectly between her open thighs, hands braced on either side of her head. The sudden shift has her looking up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, and chest heaving in anticipation.

In this position, Lando looks at her like he’s trying to figure out what to do to her, aware that the changing in dynamics favors him. His hands find the hem of her dress, fingertips teasing the edge as he watches her reaction, giving her a chance to stop him — or to take back her words, whichever comes first. But she does neither. Instead, she lifts her hips, a silent plea, and that’s all the permission that Lando needs.

He peels the fabric up, savoring the way her body is revealed inch by inch. His mouth finds the newly exposed skin along her ribs with the speed of a man starved, trailing open-mouthed kisses up her torso, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. Lando can feel her shiver beneath him, her fingers tangling into his curls, tugging just enough to pull a string of sweet noises out of him.

“I won’t be able to stop if we—” he murmurs against her skin, a last sliver of hesitation buried underneath all the want.

She cuts him off by cupping his jaw, guiding his face up so he has no choice but to look at her. “I won’t ask you to,” she assures him, lifting her hips up once more to meet his, feeling how hard he is against her. The contact is like a drug she’s been deprived of for too long, and now that she has access to him again, her mouth starts moving before wiring to the rational side of her brain, “I wanna do laundry together later.”

Despite what he’s just said, Lando does stop, watching her intently. Because he knows that she means more than just laundry. For starters, it means she’s staying. It means she’s letting him try. It means the weight in his chest that’s been suffocating him for weeks finally lifts, replaced by something warm yet fragile, something he doesn’t dare break this time.

He has to swallow past the ache before pressing himself against her, letting her scent wrap around him like the most familiar kind of comfort.

“Yeah?” he finally whispers, like he’s afraid speaking too loudly might shatter whatever weak truce they’ve found between them.

She nods, a real smile appearing on her face, the first one in months, “Yeah,” she parrots, which urges Lando to plant another kiss on her lips, lazier this time. And she welcomes him.

Gradually, his grip consolidates around her, his teeth catching her bottom lip, and suddenly, the slow morning is anything but. Now he’s wired, wide awake, and so fucking hard.

Her hands work fast, pushing at the waistband of his pants with an urgency that makes Lando’s pulse hammer in his throat. He moves enough to help her, and then the fabric is gone, pooling somewhere on the floor, next to her dress and panties.

The feeling of skin on skin has the power to set him on fire, every inch of him hypersensitive as she drags her fingers down his stomach, nails scratching lightly against the ridges of muscle before wrapping around him for just a second, only to say hi. His breath catches, head tipping forward before he forces himself to look down at her.

“You’re a menace,” Lando points out. His voice is thick with desire as he rolls his hips against her once her hands move around his neck, dragging his length along the soft skin of her inner thigh, brushing lightly where she needs him most. He feels her shiver, her nails digging into his back for a fraction of a second before she exhales a breathy laugh.

“I had to adapt,” she says, her voice saccharine, but teasing, fingers biting into his shoulder blades.

“I can see that,” his tone is rough, but there’s something playful underneath it. He continues to move, this time with more intention, the tip of his cock catching against her slick heat.

She bites her lip, her free hand reaching up to pull him down on her and crash their lips together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, too desperate to be anything but raw. He groans into her mouth, their breaths blending together, and she takes the moment to wrap her legs around his waist, locking him against her completely, the heat ever-growing.

The easiest thing in the world for Lando is to get lost in her warmth, her scent and the way his skin vibrates with every touch of her delicate palm.

The hardest thing in the world for Lando is to stop when every nerve in his body screams for more, just to make sure she wants this as much as he does, even though it risks snapping her back to reason, forcing her to push him away all over again.

“If you don’t—”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “I do.”

With that, his hand is already in motion, dragging down her stomach, pushing between her thighs. He finds her soaked, warm, and slick against his fingertips, and it makes him want to howl, knowing that he still has the same effect on her; if anything, the time spent apart only made her miss his touch more.

“Shit,” he slurs, pressing two fingers against her clit, moving them in torturous circles. “Missed seeing you this needy in the morning.”

She hums, thighs twitching. “Techincally, it’s not morning anymore.”

Lando shakes his head in disbelief, “That smart mouth,” his fingers slip lower, teasing at her entrance but never pushing in, just pressing there, feeling the way she opens up for him.

For a moment, his fingers stay right there to tease her, barely giving what she wants, what she’s silently begging for with the way her hips roll forward. Agonizingly slow, he pushes in, finding her so ready for him and so fucking tight, that Lando swears he could lose his mind just from feeling her in his hands.

The girl huffs out a breath, her frustration evident as she glares up at him, “Lando.”

“Yes, love?” he uses his fingers to press further just a little more, but never enough, feeling her walls hugging him impatiently.

She bites her lip, a flush creeping down her neck, and he knows she hates the way he’s making her ask for it.

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You win. Now stop being a dick.”

Lando smirks, dipping down to press a kiss to her shoulder, dragging his teeth along her skin before pulling back to look at her. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully, fingers curling lightly inside her pussy, enough to make her whimper. “I kinda like seeing you like this.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but it’s ruined by the way she starts panting when he finally, finally, glides his fingers in and out, her body agreeing with everything he has to offer. His thumb presses against her clit, rubbing her wetness against it as he watches her fall apart, her hands clinging onto him for support.

“Fuck,” she cries, head tipping back, and Lando swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Yeah, fuck,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth, and then her jaw. Her back arches instantly, a moan spilling from her lips as her nails dig into his arms, while he’s going faster, agonizingly so, dragging his fingers in and out, feeling how her body fights to keep him in. “This what you needed?”

She quickly turns her head from side to side, fingernails scratching along the skin his shoulders. “More,” she whispers, already out of breath. “Wanna feel you.”

Lando pulls his fingers out, watching the way her slick clings to them in the rich color of the afternoon light. He blows out the breath of air he was holding, trapping her thighs in his grasp as he lines himself up, the tip of his cock dragging through the wetness pooling between her legs.

“Well, if that’s what you want, that’s what you get, baby. Wanna see you drip on it,” he muses, pressing just barely inside before pulling back out, coating himself in her slick. “See how much you missed me.”

She whines, hips jerking up.

The grin on Lando’s face widens. “There you go, you beauty.”

She meets his eyes, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his kisses. Seeing her like that, squirming under him, throws Lando into a spiral. For now, he has no idea where this moment will take them. All he knows is that he wants to make the most of it, to memorize her body lines and the sound of her moans, because once the haze fades and clarity takes its place, anything is possible.

And that terrifies him.

Sinking into her feels like homecoming, and the sweet stretch is making both of them whine in unison, cling onto each other. He swears under his breath as her walls constrict around his length, her mouth falling open in a breathy gasp.

“Holy shit.”

She’s so full of him, just like she wanted, the feeling even better than she remembers.

Lando presses a kiss to her jaw, his hands holding her waist tight enough to leave faint marks behind. “Not letting you go ever again,” he says with his lips glued to her skin like he’s in a trance, voice strained as he fights to keep control of his own body.

She nods, barely able to realize what’s she agreeing on, mind buzzing with thoughts of him, him, only him. “Promise?”

Lando sighs, pulling out slowly, almost all the way before sinking back in. The sound alone — that lazy, wet, messy drag of his cock leaving her, again and again — enough to turn him into a savage man. He watches, entranced, as the evidence of how much she wants him spills down her slit, glistening and painting her inner thighs.

In answer to her plea, Lando links his pinky finger with hers, his hand covering hers entirely. “Promise you, baby. You’re fucking unreal,” he rasps.

Waiting for her was pure torture, but the thought that this can be over before it even properly begins, forces him to still inside her then pull out entirely, his cock, flushed and soaked, resting against her thigh, leaving more of their mess behind. He grips the base, stroking himself once, careful, watching as her empty cunt clenches in his absence, her body desperate to be filled again.

“I’m so glad I got drunk,” says Lando, tracing his fingertips through the wetness between her legs. He presses a long finger back inside her, for his own pleasure, only to feel how impatient she is.

She cries out, thighs snapping shut around his wrist, back arching off the couch. “Yeah, me too,” she blinks up to him, her sincerity spurring Lando on.

He adds another finger as a reward, fucking into her deeper, his other hand stroking his cock in time with her gasps.

“We were always gonna end up here, weren’t we?” asks Lando, his hand working her faster now, watching as she writhes beneath him.

She lets out a choked moan, but can’t answer, too busy rolling her hips against his movements.

“Me, apologizing,” Lando continues, sounding so out of breath, “While you moan my name. Like always, is that right?”

“Lan,” she warns.

“Juuust like that. Look at you,” he chuckles, watching the way her body responds, getting covered in a sweaty layer of goosebumps, and the way her thighs tremble. “As desperate as ever.”

She whimpers, pushing up onto her elbows, dazed and itching to see what he’s doing to her. And the sight makes her pulse race: Lando between her legs, his fingers moving inside her, fucking her with a contrasting gentle force, while his other hand works over his cock, slick and hard, ready to stretch her all over again.

His eyes flick up to hers, dark and hungry, lips parted as he watches her descending into despair, slowly but surely. He drags his fingers out, just to press them back in, firmly, watching her body tense, making her whine louder.

“That’s it, my sweet girl,” he praises, voice subdued and teasing. “Feel it,” his strokes on himself grow lazier, drawing out the moment. “Feel me.”

She nods frantically, her thighs so close to give up from so much shaking. “Not… enough.”

Lando mewls, biting his lip as he watches her squirm, his patience hanging by a thread. “No?” he asks amused, pulling his fingers out and lining himself up again. “Let’s do something about it then. Show you how sorry I am, hm?”

He pushes back inside without any warning in one fluid motion, and the sensation wrecks both of them at the same time. She’s always so fucking tight, but soaked enough that there’s no resistance, just the messy slide of him stretching her open with every inch.

“Shit,” his voice is barely a sound, more like a guttural groan as he bottoms out, his hands finding their way back home, on her hips.

The heat of her, the way she pulses around him, has his heart racing relentlessly, and their sounds fill the living room every time they move together. Lando grits his teeth, withdrawing just halfway before thrusting back in, harder each time.

She gasps, her body craving him, like she can’t get enough. “More.”

He snarls, pace picking up, his hips snapping against hers, skin meeting skin in a rhythm that’s almost punishing. “More?” Lando asks in amazement, “You fucking take everything I give you, and you still want more?”

She nods, dragging her hands down his back, nails leaving marks that burn, but it only spurs him on, thankful she gives him something he could feel for hours after they’re done.

“Always more,” she whimpers, legs wrapping weakly around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she yammers. “Feels so. Good,” she chokes on the last word, lifting her hips in desperation.

Lando is close to sobbing at this point, slamming into her, his control unraveling by the second. “Good girl. Gonna make you come so fucking hard you’ll feel me every time you blink.”

Her whines break into cries as he fucks her harder, each thrust hitting the exact spot inside her where she needs him most. His hand slips between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing her in messy circles, just to see her fall prey to the pleasure that only he can give her.

“Yes,” she nods, her body keep moving on its own to meet his. “Yes, I’m so close. Don’t stop!”

He is far too hypnotized by the way she loses it under him, demanding more and more with each passing second. Lando’s hands move then to encircle her waist, squeezing gently before sliding higher up her ribs, and finally to her breasts. They don’t rest there for too long, though, as she grabs his wrists and moves them around her neck, pulling his face right above hers. Her legs tighten tighter around him, and her palm cups his ass cheeks, pressing him deeper into her.

“That bad?” he asks her, and all she can do is nod again, speechless. “Come on, then. Wanna feel you drench my—"

Lando can’t even finish his sentence as her moans get louder, a blinding pleasure tearing through her in waves, over and over again, too intense to hold back. She cries out, back arching, body shaking she squirts, soaking both of them.

“Ah, shit. Shit shit shit!” Lando’s voice is wrecked, his hips stuttering as he watches her welcoming the euphoria.

The sight, the feel of her pulsing around him, squeezing him so tight has the power to destroy him. He barely manages a few more thrusts before he breaks, burying himself deep, groaning as he spills inside her, warmth flooding her walls. His body shudders against hers, muscles tensing, pleasure rolling through him in waves just as endless as hers. His hands are holding on to her like she’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. And right now, she is.

For them, the time stops. They just breathe each other in, their bodies locked together, still vibrating. He can feel everything, from the soft rise and fall of her chest to the tiny aftershocks still making her pussy throb around him, pulling him deeper even though he’s already buried to the hilt. It makes Lando gasp softly, dragging his lips lazily over her jaw.

His fingers brush along her side once they manage to catch their breaths. “You okay?” Lando’s voice is low, lightly dipped in concern at her sudden silence.

She nods weakly, eyes snapping open, a satisfied little hum escaping her lips. “Okay,” she breathes out, lovingly tracing her fingers along his spine.

Lando smiles mischievously, “Okay.”

Before she can register what he’s doing, he grabs one of her legs and pulls it up, resting it over his shoulder, changing the angle entirely.

“The fuck?” her inquire is startled, but it quickly turns into something else the moment he starts moving, the new position making everything tighter, deeper. Heaven.

His grin is downright devilish. “Not done,” he informs her matter-of-factlty.

To that, Lando’s hands settle firmly back on her hips, pinning her in place before he draws back and thrusts into her measured at first, the kind of stroke that leaves her breathless.

Somehow, the finish line turns into a brand new start, and all she can do is brace for it.

“Oh, my—Lando!” her stomach twists, fingers grasping at nothing, forced to cling to the cushions because she can’t reach him like this. The position keeps her wide open for him, helpless, unable to do anything but take it.

Lando hums, his grip tightening. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Spread wider for me,” he instructs. “Can you give me one more?”

She whimpers, barely able to think, let alone answer, as he starts pounding into her, his rhythm relentless. Every thrust knocks the breath from her lungs, her body struggling to keep up with the sheer intensity of it, but somehow excited and so willing to push the limits.

“Please,” it’s both a cry and a plea, but she doesn’t even know what she’s begging for.

“Obsessed with those pretty noises. Just take it, baby,” he breathes, driving into her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

His grip shifts then, spreading her even wider, forcing her open until there’s nowhere for her to run. His pace slows just for a fraction, not out of mercy, but because he wants to feel every inch of her hugging him, wants her to feel how deep he is, how there’s no part of her he isn’t claiming.

And then he sees it.

Right there, in the soft plane of her lower stomach. Every time he pushes in, there’s a faint, tantalizing bulge, proof of just how deep he goes; his brain short-circuits. The sight of it has him helpless, hunger twisting tight in his gut, making his cock twitch inside her.

“Fucking hell,” his voice is nothing but raw, shattered arousal. He can’t help himself, instinctively bringing his wide palm to press down on it, applying the slightest pressure, feeling himself inside her from the outside.

“Fuck’s sake, Lando,” her moans turn high, her body jerking as if there is no such thing as too much pleasure.

“You feel that, baby?” Lando’s eyes are wild, rolling his hips a bit slower now, pushing so far inside her that she swears she can feel him in her throat. “Feel how fucking deep I am?”

She nods, tears beading in the corners of her eyes, her hands clawing harder at the sheets because it’s too much.

His forehead falls forward, resting on hers. “Forgive me.”

A simple — yet not really — plea, wrapped in something devastatingly tender. It makes her stomach flip, makes her heart ache in a way that feels too big for her body. She clenches around him involuntarily, and he groans, his grip on her hips tightening.

Her leg slides down his waist, hands instantly flying around his back, pulling him impossibly closer, her lips brushing against his jaw as she nods. “Please, Lando…”

“I need you,” he says, “Need you by my side when I win. Need you by my side when I fuck up. When I’m flying so high it feels like I’ll never come down.”

The sweat blends with the smell and the desperation behind his confession, and somehow, the moment feels endless, even though both of them know it quickly approaches the end.

“Need you when it gets too loud, when I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just noise. Need you when I wake up, and when I go to sleep. Just… need my pretty girl that knows me better than anyone,” he praises, pressing his palm firmer against her stomach, feeling the way she squeezes him from the inside. “Need to fuck you like this every day, baby. To be the one that drives you mad. Please. Please, forgive me.”

His words send a shockwave through her, a moan ripping from her throat. Lando hisses, thrusting deep again, watching the way his cock bulges against his palm, and the way her body welcomes him with no resistance.

He is right there, balancing on the knife’s edge of pleasure, and it’s almost infuriating. His whole body shakes with the effort of holding back, but he can’t tear his eyes away from where they’re joined. The sight has his stomach tensing, his cock throbbing inside her. The slick glide, the way she clenches around him every time he grinds in deep, and the way her body drags him back in with every pull out it’s fucking unbearable.

“Baby, I can’t—” she drags him deeper into the heat of her release, her weak arms pulling him impossibly closer as if she’ll disintegrate without him.

That does it for Lando, shattering whatever control he has left. His rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic as the pressure in his spine explodes.

“Fuck” he groans as his release bursts inside her, hot and thick, flooding her walls. His hips jerk against her as wave after wave crashes through him, his cock pulsing with every sharp, overwhelming aftershock.

But even as his body shudders with euphoria, even as his breath stutters against her throat, his hips keep moving.

“I’m sorry. So fucking sorry,” he rasps, pressing into her with hard grinds, still spilling inside her, his body demanding more. “Fucking hell, I can’t stop.”

She gasps, over-sensitive but still achingly wet for him, her body responding to every push, every deep roll of his hips.

“I know, I know,” she says, wrapping herself around him.

“Yes? Just a little more,” he begs, “Please, just let me feel you a little longer.”

His movements slow eventually, each thrust turning sluggish, drawn out, until he can’t physically move anymore. The last of his pleasure drains from him, leaving his body heavy, and utterly spent. Finally, he collapses on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing ragged, skin covered in a generous layer of sweat. His natural scent sends her home in an instant, and all she wants right now is for time to freeze in place.

She doesn’t say anything, just exhales softly and presses a kiss to his temple, then another to his cheek, her lips brushing over his damp skin. She moves tenderly, kissing his jaw, his eyelids, the bridge of his nose. He’s still inside her, still holding onto her like she’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

People talk about the quiet before the storm, but the quiet after is much more terrifying. It gives you time to see the destruction it left behind, and there’s nothing you can do but watch. She has always hated feeling powerless, and it’s only when she tilts her head, pressing her lips to his forehead, that she feels it. A warm, wet drop against her collarbone. Then another.

Her fingers still where they were stroking through his curls. “Lando?” she whispers, pulling back just enough to look at him, hoping that her suspicions will not come true. But that’s when she sees the raw emotion in his eyes, the way his brows are furrowed, the silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

He looks almost startled, like he hadn’t even realized he was crying. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his lips parting slightly as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

She cups his face instinctively, her thumb catching a tear before it can fall, just like he did last night. “Lan…” she speaks a bit louder this time, “Look at me.”

He shakes his head in response, his hands gripping her waist like he’s afraid she’ll disappear again, this time for more than two months.

Lando presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, feeling more tears running down his cheeks, “Tell me it’s not too late for us,” he pleads, pulling back to finally meet her gaze. “Tell me I haven’t fucked this up beyond repair.”

Beneath the surface, the pain still lingers. But much deeper down, their bond is still knotted tightly, and even though the rope is taut, ready to snap at any small gust of wind, the fact that she’s still in his arms is enough for the rope to become the binder that holds them together. She can’t name the feeling without giving him everything all at once. Instead, she just brushes her nose against his.

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

861 notes · View notes

kingkaisen · 18 days ago

Text

♡ — SUMMARY; your ex-husband, Nanami, asks you to meet him at a local diner.

♡ — CONTENT; heavy angst, toxic relationship, mentions of death, illness, loss of child, slight gojo x reader.

“I didn’t think you would show up.”

KENTO NANAMI took a tentative sip of his black coffee. Though he did not show it, his heart was pounding rapidly from the very moment he glanced out of the window and saw your car enter the parking lot of the old-fashioned diner.

“I didn’t think I’d show up either, to be honest.” You mumbled unhappily. You sat down in the booth across from your ex-husband. “Why am I here?”

Your face was as blank as an untouched canvas. Sitting his white mug of coffee down, Kento folded his hands, resting them on the table.

“You know what today is, don’t you?” He asked. As soon as his question fell from between his lips, he hated himself for the way he approached such a sensitive topic.

“Of course I do, and I’d rather spend it alone,” you snapped, speaking in a harsh tone slightly above a whisper. “I don’t wanna talk about this with you.”

“Well,” Kento took a deep breath. “To the rest of the world, today’s a regular day. But to us, it’s . . . his birthday. We’re the only two people grieving him today, so I thought-”

“Thought we’d grieve together? I’ve been grieving alone for four years now. Today’s no different. I needed your help then and you didn’t give it, but I don’t need you now.” Suddenly, you started to scoot out of the booth. “You know what? This was a bad idea, I’m just gonna leave-”

“No, no, wait. Don’t leave yet,” Kento’s words halted your movements, but you glared at him as he continued to speak. “It’s me who needs help. I know you don’t need me anymore, but I still need you.”

“Still?” You settled back down into your seat. “The word still implies that you needed me before now.”

“I’ve always needed you,” Kento said softly.

“You sure didn’t act like it.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.” Taking yet another deep breath, Kento ran his large hand through a few strands of his blonde hair. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for everything. I was an awful husband. Distant father. I’d do anything to make things right.”

His words were met with silence. Your eyes were scanning him — perhaps for some sign of dishonesty — drifting from his serious expression, white collared shirt, and even down to the laminated menu resting on the table in front of him.

“You’re a couple years too late,” your voice was soft. Filled with regret. “I’m remarried, and our boy is gone.”

Those were two facts Kento knew well. Even so, hearing them sliced through his heart, creating a horrific ache painful enough for him to wonder if he would truly die from heartbreak, here and now.

“Is Satoru treating you well?” He asked with as much composure as he could muster.

“We, um,” you hesitated. “I’m pregnant now, actually.”

Kento looked into your eyes. His eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, but his eyes were glassy.

“Oh. I’m happy for-”

“Save your breath. Don’t lie to me,” you interrupted.

“But I am happy for you.”

This time, it was your turn to raise your eyebrows in surprise, but your eyes flickered away from him and down at the salt and pepper shakers. “Really? You’re not upset?”

“I am. I’m heartbroken. Two things can be true at once,” Kento said. “You’ve moved on, and I understand that, believe me. I only wish I was the one to heal what I broke. But, as you said, I’m too late. I’m out of time now.”

A young brunette approached with a kind smile and a notepad in hand. She jotted down your orders. Though it was a little ways past eight p.m., you ordered buttermilk pancakes, while Kento opted to respect the time of day and ordered a sandwich with tater tots for his evening meal — not his favorite, but he wanted to order the first thing that came to mind in hopes of sending the waitress away as quickly as possible.

Her departure sparked a bit of small talk between you and Kento, and it lasted until she returned a while later with steaming plates of food. Your pleasant chatter was rather mundane, but even so, you said, “Seems like you’ve changed. I hope it’s genuine.”

Oh, how he wanted to hear those words more than anything. The left corner of his mouth twitched with the urge to smile, though not noticeably.

“It is. I quit my job,” Kento said.

“Wow, that’s . . .” For a brief second, you smiled, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “That’s great to hear, but at the same time, I wanna slap you right now. Why did our lives have to fall apart for you to finally wake up? Why weren’t the hundreds of arguments we had enough?”

Happy and pissed. Two things can be true at once.

“Our lives would have fallen apart anyway,” Kento said calmly. “Whether I had quit my job sooner rather than later would not have changed what happened to Kenji.”

“No, but when he suddenly took a turn for the worse, I would have had my husband there to hold my hand, and he would’ve been able to see his father one last time.” Pain flashed across your face. There was a slight tremble to your voice. You were trying your hardest to control your anger among the quiet diner chatter from nearby groups and family. “He was scared. He was asking for you. And where the hell were you? Handling stocks while our son was dying.”

“They told us we had time-”

“It was fucking cancer, Kento! Any day could have been his last, and you knew that, and you didn’t care.”

A few heads turned in your direction, but with tears threatening to stream down your cheeks, with the memories of your dying boy replaying in your mind endlessly, drawing attention was the last thing you were concerned with.

“Of course I knew and cared, that was why I worked so hard. Someone had to pay for all of the stays in the most advanced hospitals, the finest treatments known to man, the rarest medication administered by the best team of doctors, surgery performed by some of the best surgeons we could find . . . Kenji had all the help money could buy and only because I worked every second of my life.” A tear fell from Kento’s eyes. He wiped it away quickly.

“And in the end, it was pointless, wasn’t it?” You said quietly. “Wasn’t it? Because he died anyway, and you weren’t there to say goodbye.”

“I know what you’re doing.” Kento’s voice had an unfamiliar, dark tone. “You feel guilty as well. About what exactly, I don’t know, but you’re taking the anger you feel towards yourself and letting it out on me.”

“You’re wrong, you jackass. Do you seriously think you’re blameless in all of this or something?” You glared at him with pure hatred. “I was wrong. You haven’t changed one bit.”

The way you looked at him now, as if he was worthless, as if he was a bug that deserved to be squashed; it snapped his heart into pieces, if it was capable of being broken further at this point.

However, it didn’t stop him from continuing on with his own form of cruelty.

“You can’t bring yourself to say his name. You haven’t said it. Not once.” Kento was as calm as ever. Or, at least, he was pretending to be. “You try to avoid talking about him. You try to pretend he didn’t exist by marrying a man I know you don’t care for, all so you can have another child to replace him-”

“Go to hell.”

“I, on the other hand,” Kento continued to speak despite your bitter interruption as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “I spend my time keeping his memory alive. All of my money goes towards research. Towards organizations dedicated to finding a cure so no parent has to go through what we went through. I wasn’t there for Kenji when he died and I will never forgive myself for it, but you aren’t here for him now, in the present.”

“Here for what? A pile of bones in a graveyard?” You glared.

“A graveyard you never visit, so I’ve heard.”

That was it. Those were the words that finally made your brewing tears fall. They splattered against your half-eaten plate of pancakes.

A long enough period of silence passed, long enough for nosy fellow diners to return to their own conversations.

Kento’s eyes softened at the sight of your crying face. “I’m sorry. Sweetheart, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t call me that. You’ve lost that right a long time ago.” You sniffled. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of trying to erase the memory of our son from my life.”

Kento's brows were pinched as he frowned. “And I can’t believe you’d accuse me of not caring about him. It hurts, doesn’t it? The accusations we keep throwing at each other?”

Your face was unreadable. He knew you well, better than you knew yourself as fate would have it, but even so, he couldn’t tell what you were thinking right now.

Outside, it started to rain. For a moment, you eyed the raindrops coating the street. Neither you nor Kento said anything for quite some time, your food becoming cold, and together, you watched the rainfall.

“I’m sorry.” You said after a while. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m just still so pissed off about it. I know you’ve suffered enough, and I know you only worked so hard to save him, but . . . you didn’t see him use the last of strength trying to call for you. It haunts me every day. I can’t live with that amount of pain, Kento, so I’m just trying to move on and keep on living, not erase his memory.”

“I know, I know. I wish I never said that.” Kento wanted to reach out and touch your hand, but the sight of the wedding ring sitting on your finger stopped him. “I wish I never did a lot of things in general.”

“You need to do what I just said.” You faced him, wiping away a few stray tears. “Try to move on and keep on living. Forgive yourself.”

“Can you ever forgive me?” Kento asked softly.

“I can.” You gave a sad smile. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I already do.”

He matched your sad smile with one of his own.

“God, we’re a fucking mess. I can’t believe I caused a scene.” You buried your face in your hands for only a moment, then looked up at the sound of Kento’s voice.

“I would lie and tell you they won’t ever see either one of us again, but I’ve been coming to this diner for years, and I don’t plan on stopping,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah I know. We went on our first date here, remember? We were dumb teenagers back then.” It was a bittersweet memory, one you regretted bringing up immediately.

Never before had your smile been so bright. If only you could go back to that simpler time.

If only.

“But we were in love with each other back then, weren’t we?” Kento asked. His own question nearly pushed him to his limit.

“Yeah, we were.” You smiled, brighter this time, and continued, “You’ll always have a special place in my heart — you know that, right?”

“I do.” Kento paused. “And, I’m sorry, but you’ll always be my sweetheart.”

“Good,” you mumbled, though your words were guilt-ridden. Avoiding Kento’s gaze, you started to fiddle with your wedding ring. “It’s getting late. I should . . . I should probably go.”

He didn’t want you to leave, but you weren’t his anymore. How he felt didn’t matter.

“Thank you for coming. It meant more to me than you know,” he said.

“Well, I was lying when I said I wanted to spend his birthday alone.”

“I know.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he did.

“Bye, Kento,” you got out of the booth, pulling your jacket tighter around your frame. “I . . . nevermind.”

Kento watched you walk through the chiming exit doors of the diner, your last sentence left incomplete. Raindrops were splattering against your head and clothes, but you were in no rush, not minding the drizzle.

Suddenly, your footsteps halted on the concrete sidewalk. You turned around, peering through the big windows, locking eyes with your ex-husband. At first, you gave him a soft smile — one that meant goodbye, and nothing further.

But then, he saw the corners of your lips fall into a little frown, and your eyes glistened with uncertainty. Hesitation. Regret.

You sighed, turning away from the sight of the man in the booth, the man who you knew for a fact held more than a “special place” in your heart, but still owned it entirely.

Though every step away from him was painful, you dragged yourself to your car, and drove away from the ex-husband you still loved, and home to the current-husband you somewhat liked.

Kento thought about rushing out of the door, wrapping his arms around your waist, and kissing you in the rain — passionately and deeply, as you once loved. After all, he knew what your final look towards him meant. He knew your past marriage, though destructive, still held more passion than your current loveless one.

But he stayed put in his seat, taking a sip of his cold black coffee.

Perhaps, he would regret not chasing after you for the rest of his life, but being that he discovered not too long ago that his son’s cancer was genetic, originating from Kento’s side, and would soon claim his life as well — even after he survived all these years — he knew he wouldn’t have to live with his regret much longer.

This was the last time he would ever eat at the diner he once took you to, back when you were both young fools excitedly in love, fools who would die for each other in a heartbeat.

And those couple of seconds in which you locked eyes with him through the diner window? That was the last time he ever saw you.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @koikohib

#tw death #tw illness #cw illness #cw death #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami angst #nanami x reader angst #kento nanami x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader angst #kento nanami angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk fanfic #jjk fic

793 notes · View notes

mattrempeswife · 20 days ago

Text

THE BEGINNING OF IT ALL

series: blue and blind hearts | part: 01 02 03 04 05 06

pairing: quinn hughes x f!reader

genre: angst, slow burn, friends to lovers.

warnings: unrequited love (reader has feelings quinn doesn’t realize yet), emotional pining, supportive reader, mention of high school/college years, slow burn, light swearing, brief alcohol mention (legal age).

summary: you’ve loved quinn hughes since before the world knew his name. back when he was just a scrappy kid with big dreams, skating on frozen ponds and talking about the nhl like it was the moon. you were there for the heartbreaks, the late-night workouts, the draft day nerves. you’ve been his best friend for years and you’ve never told him how you feel.

It starts with a frozen pond and a boy who couldn’t stop talking about the NHL.

You were fourteen when you met Quinn Hughes. He had braces, a chipped stick, and the kind of determination that didn’t make sense for a teenager. You remember the first time you saw him on the ice, he’s too fast, too focused, like he wasn’t built for anything else but skating. You sat on the edge of the pond with a thermos of hot chocolate and watched him weave around cones he’d stolen from gym class, his breath visible in the frigid air, sweat clinging to his hair.

“Hey,” he called out without looking. “How’s my form?”

You blinked. “Uh… good?”

He skated over and grinned at you, windburn on his cheeks.

“Just good? Come on, I’m trying to go pro here.”

That was Quinn.

Confident in a way that wasn’t cocky, just sure. Even back then, he spoke about the NHL like it was a fact, not a dream.

“I’m gonna make it,”

He told you once while lying in the snow beside you.

“Not just for me. For my family. For everything they gave up.”

And you believed him.

Somewhere between watching him sharpen his skates in your parents’ garage and sneaking back in from midnight practices, you fell in love with him.

Not all at once. It was a slow burn.

Like how he always left you the last slice of pizza even though you liked the same toppings.

Like how he’d toss you his hoodie after games because you always forgot to bring one.

Like how he’d grin when he spotted you in the stands, even if you were the only one there.

He never said it out loud but he needed you. And that was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

High school was a blur of early mornings and late-night phone calls. You were the one quizzing him on history while he taped his sticks, the one sneaking snacks into his gym bag, the one cheering so loud the other team knew your name. People used to joke that you were ‘Mrs. Hughes-in-training.’ You laughed with them. So did he.

He never saw it the way you did. Not then.

You watched him go through girls like jerseys. A few flings, nothing serious. But it still stung. Because he always came to you after, shoulders slumped, asking what he did wrong, as if your heart wasn’t breaking just sitting beside him.

“I don’t get girls, man,”

He mumbled once, nursing a Gatorade after a messy breakup sophomore year.

You passed him a bag of chips and shrugged.

“That’s because you date girls who don’t know you.”

He blinked at you, confused.

“What do you mean?”

You just smiled and looked away.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

He did.

By the time he was drafted, you were in your first year of college, pretending you didn’t flinch every time someone brought him up in conversation.

“Wait, you know Quinn Hughes?” your roommate gasped, eyes wide.

“Like… Quinn Hughes?”

You nodded, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your palms.

“Yeah. He’s… my best friend.”

“Best friend,” she echoed, with that tone.

“Is he single?”

You smiled through your teeth and said, “I think so.”

He called you the night before the draft.

“I’m freaking out,”

He said, pacing through his hotel room. You could hear the nervous tapping in his voice.

“You’re going top ten,” you said, even though he already knew.

“They’d be idiots not to take you.”

“What if I mess everything up?”

You paused, heart aching.

“Then I’ll be there to remind you who you are.”

He went quiet for a moment.

“I love you, you know?”

Your breath caught but he didn’t mean it like that.

“I love you too,” you said softly, swallowing the ache.

⸻

Vancouver.

The first time he wore the jersey, he sent you a photo, smiling like a kid on Christmas.

‘Look where I am’, the caption read. ‘Wish you were here.’

You texted back, ‘Always am.’

He didn’t get it. He never got it.

You visited a few times that first year. His apartment was a mess, all takeout boxes and gym bags. You helped him hang pictures, bought him real plates, stocked his fridge.

“You’re like a hockey mom,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a pillow at him.

“Shut up. I just don’t want you living off protein bars and regret.”

He laughed, and your heart did that stupid thing again.

You could survive like this. Being the best friend. The rock. The girl behind the scenes.

Until the night he called you drunk.

“She’s incredible,” he slurred over the phone.

You were half-asleep, curled in bed with a book on your chest.

“Who?”

“This girl I met. I think I really like her.”

You sat up. Blinked.

“Oh.”

“She’s smart. Funny. Kinda reminds me of you.”

He paused. “But, like… hotter.”

The words punched the breath from your lungs. You laughed because what else could you do?

“Sounds great, Q,” you said.

“You should totally go for it.”

And he did.

You never told him how you felt. Not when he started dating her. Not when he flew you out for his birthday and you had to sleep in the guest room while she wore his hoodie and sat on his lap. Not when she posted photos of the two of them and tagged you in the background, smiling like it didn’t hurt.

You stayed. Because that’s what you did.

You were always there, at the backstage, behind the boards, in the shadows.

And maybe that was where you were meant to be.

To be continued…

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x f!reader #quinn hughes x fem!reader #quinn hughes series #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes nhl #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey

773 notes · View notes

biblicallyaccuratemeat · 3 months ago

Text

A Firm Hand

MDNI!!!

A/N: I posted this on ao3 a little bit ago, so I figure why not post it here too! Beta read by @teaflavoredwitch Bucky Barnes x female reader, past Steve Rogers x reader implied/referenced, cheating, alcohol, kind of dub con if you squint, p in v sex, dom!Bucky, protective Bucky, dirty talk, kitchen sex, spanking, fingering, drunk sex, size kink, friends to lovers, angst and porn, shamelessly self-indulgent

Word Count: 5.3k

Steve Rogers is a jackass.

Captain fucking America, mister cherry pie and morals, was a self-righteous prick. Bucky had never felt more pissed off at Steve in his one hundred plus years of living than he does right now. You curled up in his bed, bawling your eyes out and practically chugging some cheap magnum bottle of whiskey.

Steve, who apparently didn’t believe in too much of a good thing, when he decided to stick his patriotic dick in Sharon Carter of all people. Of course, you found out. Steve was a terrible liar despite having the balls to actually cheat on you. You don’t know why you immediately go to Bucky, but you do. In the year you’ve been dating Steve, you became rapidly closer with the former Winter Soldier. Perhaps it was the forced proximity, or maybe you were just kindred spirits.

Bucky, of course, falls for you. Hard and fast like an idiot. Forced to pine after his best friend’s girl as if his life wasn’t already a fucking sob story. Always the dutiful friend, listening to you vent about the pitfalls of your relationship with Steve and trying to offer sound advice. Bucky learns to tame the green eyed monster inside him, finding contentment as your friend and confidant.

When you show up on his doorstep at eight o’clock on a Saturday night, he knows Steve fucked up. He knows it without you even having to say a word, because he knew this would happen. He knew, on some level, that Steve didn’t deserve you. Not that Bucky deserved you either, god knows he was even less deserving. But you went to him, so that has to mean something, right?

The intensifying of your sobs pull Bucky out of his reverie, head snapping in your direction again. Some commercial blares on his shitty little TV in the corner of his bedroom, Even the Nights Are Better playing in the background on some allergy medicine ad.

“T-this was our song!” You wail, burying your face in a pillow as your body shudders with the force of your sobs. The bottle of whiskey remains clutched in your hand. If it weren’t for your inconsolable state, Bucky might’ve been impressed and slightly turned on at the way you chug the whiskey. A woman after his own heart.

Bucky grimaces, perched next to you, stock still, “Okay, dollface, I think that’s enough whiskey.”

He feels awkward and stilted, like his skin is on too fucking tight and the room is too warm. He feels way too self-aware, he’s tuned in to every little sniffle and hiccup.

Seriously, fuck Steve for this. Not only for breaking your heart, but also creating the perfect storm. You, vulnerable and drunk in his fucking bed of all places. A wet dream come to life, if he’s being honest.

He needs to get the whiskey from you. He practically has to pry it out of your hands, amber liquid sloshing inside the nearly empty bottle. Fuck. He should have cut you off way earlier. He grabs the remote, clicking the mute button, “Honey, let’s take some deep breaths, yeah?”

Bucky tries to smile reassuringly but it’s tight and stretches over his teeth in a weird way that makes him look more machine than man. You peer over the edge of the pillow smushed against your face, doe eyes blinking owlishly at him, “Deep breaths?” You echo, incredulously, “You want me to take deep breaths when I walk in on my boyfriend tongue deep in that blonde bitch? Are you fucking for real, Bucky?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes rapidly, like a fish out of water. He sure fucking feels like one, incredibly out of his depths. He’s not equipped for this, a tornado of hormones and heartbreak. His stupid silence somehow seems to agitate you even further, angelic features twisting and morphing through every stage of grief in a matter of seconds.

Your anguish quickly gives way to fury, chucking the pillow across the room, “Has he always been like this? Huh?”

Bucky blinks taken aback, “What? Steve?” He sighs, running a hand through shortly cropped hair, “No, doll, he hasn’t always been like this. I’ve known Steve since we were kids, and he’s never been a saint but he’s not usually an inconsiderate, lying, cheating asshole either.” Bucky’s voice is hard and contemptuous.

Bucky takes your dainty hand in his, squeezing reassuringly, “Hating Steve isn’t going to make this better. It’s not going to erase the pain he caused,” He pauses, pursing his lips as he tries to find the right words, “You gotta let yourself feel this, dollface. Feel the anger, feel the hurt, the betrayal. Don’t suppress it, because that’s just gonna make it fester.”

His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together. Bucky silently attempts to work through his own feelings on the matter. On one hand, his never wavering loyalty to Steve, his brother in arms and every sense of the word. On the other hand is you. Heartbroken, far too lovely for his comfort and the odd, delicate bond between you two. Bucky swallows, his mouth filled with a metallic taste as he fights down the ever growing urge to hunt Steve down and beat him within an inch of his life.

He realizes you’re staring at him, gaze hard, “Why didn’t you warn me?” You ask in a quiet, hollow tone that makes Bucky feel like his heart is going to shrivel up in his chest.

Running a hand down his face, Bucky huffs, “Warn you?” He echoes, “Honey, I… I didn’t know.” He implores, clenching his fists in his lap, “I swear to God, if I had known he was being such a fucking prick, I would’ve put a stop to it, I would’ve beaten the information out of him myself.”

“You didn’t know?!” You throw your hands up in the air, gesturing wildly, “You didn’t have a single fucking inkling? I don’t believe that for a second, Bucky,” You hiss, movements jerky and agitated as you tousle your hair, “You didn’t think to say, “Hey doll,”” You begin to mimic Bucky’s voice, “‘You’re about to date the goddamn devil!’”

Holding his hands up in a placating gesture, Bucky scoots back. Your accusation stings, hitting a nerve he hadn’t known was exposed, “Hey, hold on just a damn minute,” He says, his voice rising in defense, “I’m not fucking psychic, dollface. I knew Steve could be an inconsiderate ass sometimes, but I didn’t know he was straight up cheating on you.”

Bucky scoffs, a mixture of shock and anger coursing through his veins, “I’m not going to apologize for not knowing what my so-called best friend was up to behind your back. That’s not fucking fair.”

His gaze softens slightly, his voice lowering to a more conciliatory tone, “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t see the signs earlier. I’m sorry you got hurt. But don’t think for a second that I would’ve ever encouraged you to be with someone who would treat you like this. You mean too damn much to me for that.”

You’re still pissed, of course. Feeling self-destructive, though Bucky’s heartfelt declaration hits deep. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, a feral kind of rage filling you, “Oh yeah? Well… you’re… You’re an ass!” You shout, a half-hearted insult. You weren’t really trying, you just wanted to burn bridges. You push yourself out of the bed, stomping out of the room. Slamming the door for good measure, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. Storming into the kitchen, you begin digging through Bucky’s sparse cabinets for more liquor.

Bucky stared after you, stunned and hurt by your somewhat childish outburst. Your accusations burned like salt in a fresh wound. He stood there for a moment, anger and confusion warring within him. Then, with a fierce scowl, he stalked after you, his long strides quickly closing the distance between his bedroom and the kitchen.

The floorboards creak under his heavy footsteps as he follows the path down the hallway. When he reaches the kitchen, he grabs the doorframe, leaning in. “Hey, wait a fucking minute.” He all but growls, his voice a deep, dangerous rumble. “I know you’re hurting, but you don’t get to just accuse me of being an ass and then stomp away like a fucking toddler.”

He steps further into the kitchen, a breath away from crowding you against the counter, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Steve being a prick, but I won’t accept you throwing blame at me when I'm trying my goddamn hardest to be here for you!”

Bucky leans back against the counter, scoffing, “We both know you’re better than this, sweetheart. Don’t let Steve’s mistakes make you forget that. I’m not the enemy.”

You snatch a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet, there’s no more than a few sips left. You down it in one go, sighing tiredly, “I don’t need you to be here for me. I don’t need you to fix me, Bucky. I’m not some little dolly for you to glue back together. You don’t need to make your fucking amends with me.”

Bucky’s expression hardens, snatching the bottle from your hands, “Watch your fucking tone,” He whispers, cornering you against the counter. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, you see it. The Winter Soldier lurking in the back of his psyche. It sends a perverse thrill down your spine.

“I’m not trying to fix you. You’re not some damn doll, I know that. I’ve always known that.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, “I’m here as your friend, to listen, to support you. But I won’t allow you to take your anger out on me, honey.”

You’ve never been good at knowing when to quit, it’s never been your strong suit. Now is not an exception, you double down on your brattiness.

“Don’t tell me to watch my fucking tone, I’m not a child.” You hiss, scowling up at him. He towers over you, all muscle and man. Damn him for being so fucking tall, built like a skyscraper. You damn near have to be on your tiptoes at this point, it’s ridiculous.

He grasps your chin hard, cheeks smushing up and lips forced into a pout, “Watch it, little girl,” He murmurs lowly, licking his lips, “You can be mad. You can scream and shout and curse until you’re blue in the face. But you don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Those sapphire eyes flashed with a mixture of anger, frustration, and a hint of something else, something that made your insides feel molten and heady.

“I’ve taken a lot of shit for the people I love. I’ve been beaten, tortured, and turned into a fucking weapon. But damn if I’m going to stand here and take your anger when all I’m trying to do is be here for you.” Slowly, deliberately, he leans in closer until his breath is hot against your pursed lips, “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re angry. But I won’t let you push me away, dollface. I won’t let you be self-destructive.” His voice drops to a fervent whisper, “You fucking try me, sweetheart. I’ve dealt with terrorist threats and mad titans. Fuck, I’ve been a terrorist. You think a little thing like you is going to scare me off?”

Bucky’s hand snakes around to the back of your neck. You whirl around, the world spinning, and he pushes you face first into the hardwood. You all but shriek in surprise, eyes comically wide. Your left cheek squished on the cool flooring, shoulders pinned down. Your knees prop your ass up in the air, curving your spine into a sharp arch. He has you right where he wants you, submissively positioned. An offering, your perky backside up in the air invitingly. Your body betrays you, a fucking shiver of pleasure wracking through you. You can feel your cunt leaking eagerly at Bucky’s manhandling.

You wonder if he realizes the effect this is having on you. All thoughts of Steve and his betrayal fly from your mind as your pussy throbs in time with your rapid heartbeat. Shame and arousal burn your cheeks, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will away your body’s traitorous reaction.

This is Bucky. This is fucking Bucky. Steve’s best friend, your weird friend-ish acquaintance. You know him because of Steve. This is a bad idea, horrible. You need to put a stop to this immediately before you actually let him have his way with you on the kitchen floor. Because you’re heartbroken, you’re pissed, and you’re far wetter than you’ve been in months. You’re too vulnerable and fucked up, not to mention drunk to make a sound decision right now. And you know, you fucking know if Bucky asked to rail you within an inch of your life… You’d say yes.

So, “Bucky, uh,” You begin to protest meekly, all the fire and spit on your tongue moments ago evaporating.

The hand that is now pressing down in the middle of your back and pinning your sternum to the ground increases in pressure fractionally. A silent warning of the consequences of pushing back even further.

The words die on your tongue, you focus your gaze on a piece of lint by your face and huff.

But then, slowly, deliberately he brings his hand down on your upturned ass. Delivering a sharp smack that echoes through the room. A surprised shriek of indignation rips from your throat, equal parts horrified and aroused. The stinging pain radiates across your tender flesh, a stark contrast to the coolness of the floor beneath you. “What in the fuck are you doing?” You demand angrily, scowl deepening.

“Keep testing me, honey, and I’ll show you exactly what happens to bratty little girls who don’t listen,” Bucky punctuates his words with another sharp smack to your ass, watching as the flesh and fat jiggle and redden beneath his organic palm.

He drapes his muscular torso across your back, leaning over your bent form. His breath is hot against your ear, his body a heavy, unyielding weight pressing down on you. It’s a comforting contrast from the rough treatment your butt is receiving, like a warm weighted blanket.

Despite your best efforts to stay quiet, a tiny breathless noise escapes your throat. Halfway between a moan and a squeak, the flush staining your cheeks darkens further. You bite your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, simultaneously mortified and turned on.

Momentarily caught off guard, the super soldier freezes, his vibranium hand resting on the curve of your hip. A look of shock and disbelief crosses his handsome features. He had expected anger, perhaps even more fighting back, but never in a million years did he think you would react so unabashedly with desire.

For a moment, Bucky simply stares down at you, taking in the pretty flush of your cheeks, the way your lips parted around that sinful little noise. His cock, hard and heavy, strains through his jeans and presses into the curve of your ass. That all-consuming hunger that HYDRA tortured out of his system returns with a fucking vengeance. His blood sings in his veins at your little noises and rushes to his dick.

A low, strangled groan escapes his throat as Bucky tries desperately to grasp at the last vestiges of self-control. His hand digs into the fat of your hip, squeezing and kneading almost unconsciously, “Fuck, honey…” He murmurs, his tone ragged with the overwhelming heat consuming you both, “Are you… are you getting off on this?”

Bucky moves impossibly closer, chapped lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “‘Cause if you are, honey… I’ll fucking wreck you and I won’t be held responsible for it.”

“Shut up,” You whine weakly, your shame and arousal fighting for dominance. Despite your half-hearted protest, you arch your spine deeper. You’re soaked, you know it. Embarrassingly soaked, probably through your fucking sweatpants at this point. Your cunt aches, feeling too empty. Bucky’s dark promise of wrecking you? Fuck if it doesn’t make you clench around nothing, needy and debauched. He’s barely touched you and you’re sure if he so much as brushes past your clit, you’ll cum harder than you ever have in your life.

Bucky’s eyes darken with lust as you arch your back, presenting your ass to him like a cat in heat. A low, approving growl rumbles deep in his throat. The hand on your hip slides back to palm the globe of your ass, sinking into the fatty flesh. You hope it bruises, god you want him to mark you. You want that vibranium arm to rip you into pretty little chunks and remake you into something new. Something Steve’s never touched, never kissed, never held.

“Shut up? Honey, the way you’re acting, you don’t want me to shut up,” He taunts, his voice a deep, seductive murmur.

That rips a pathetic whimper from your throat, eyes fluttering shut, “I’m too drunk for this.”

Bucky hums, “Yeah? You’re a big girl, you know how to say stop.”

You shudder, all but melting beneath him, “I’m too sad for this.”

Smack!

This time Bucky’s metal arm meets your ass cheek, you jolt, gasping. You’re panting openly against the hardwood, eyes screwed shut and blushing like a virgin. The intoxicating mixture of stinging pain and molten pleasure are far more powerful than the whiskey in your belly.

The former Winter Soldier all but rips your sweatpants down, bunching them around your knees. The cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you shudder, a perverse shiver racing down your spine. The rough, calloused pads of Bucky’s fingers dig into the tender flesh of your ass cheek, kneading and squeezing the malleable muscle possessively, “Fuck, baby, look at this ass… you’re fucking perfect,” He groans approvingly, hips rocking forward to grind his clothed erection against you, “Steve was a goddamn fool to ever even look at another woman.”

Without warning, he brings down his palm hard against your bare ass, the sharp crack of skin against skin filling the otherwise silent apartment. The biting ache blossoms across your nerves, quickly followed by a rush of heat and traitorous surge of arousal, “Maybe this is what you need, honey. You need to be manhandled, huh? I gotta slap that bratty attitude of yours outta your ass?” Bucky coos mockingly, dragging his blunt nails down the rapidly reddening skin.

You breathe shallowly, fuck it feels like you’re barely breathing as is. This is a side of Bucky you’d never dreamt of seeing, not even in your wildest dreams. He was always so stoic, quiet. It was like you were friends with a brick wall that used to be a sleeper agent. But this? Domineering, taunting, merciless Bucky? You were fucking drenched.

You hum in agreement, wiggling your ass back, too far gone now. Any sense of decorum or boundaries flies out of your little bird brain. All you know is Bucky’s punishing hand and his rock hard dick pressing against you.

He shifts, maneuvering your wrists to hold them firmly over your head with one large hand. He brings the other down on your backside in a series of sharp, biting slaps. A red handprint blooms across your skin, a brand. The pain gives way to a dizzying liquid heat that has you squirming and whining under him.

“Fuck, listen to you… making all those pretty little noises for me,” He pants, hips grinding slowly against the curve of your butt. Bucky was throbbing in his pants, achingly hard and straining angrily in the confines of his jeans, “Keep making those noises and I’ll bust in my fucking pants, honey.”

You can feel it now, how soaked you are. The cotton gusset of your panties clings to your puffy lips like a second skin. The evidence of your arousal is impossible to miss, the dark spot growing rapidly with each slap and taunting murmur. You rub your thighs together needfully, desperate for some kind of relief. Bucky’s gaze narrows in on your needy display, grinning wolfishly, “Fuck, honey, you’re absolutely soaked through,” His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, rolling his hips teasingly into your backside, “Is this what you need, doll? To be put in your place, spanked until you’re a needy, desperate little thing?”

Holding your wrists firmly above your head, his vibranium hand slides around your hip, fingertips brushing teasingly along the sticky fabric of your underwear. The material clings to your swollen, aching folds.

“You leaking just for me, honey?” Bucky murmurs, nipping at your ear. He brushes the edge of his nail across the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. It’s so light that you almost don’t feel it, but you do and you sob in relief at the slightest touch. Your legs tremble, threatening to give out under you.

Bucky continues his maddeningly light caresses, “So fucking wet and ready for me…”

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, cool vibranium meeting feverish, swollen flesh. It swells and throbs under his ministrations. His fingers continue their unhurried exploration of your pussy, a single digit circling your entrance. You feel it push in slowly, sinking in one knuckle at a time. Your pussy flutters and clenches around the invading pressure, eager to be filled.

“This is what you needed all along, isn’t it honey? To be touched like this, to have someone take control and make this needy cunt drip?” He slides a second finger knuckle-deep into your dripping hole, pumping them in and out of your clinging heat as his other hand delivers harsh, biting strikes to your backside, “That’s it, honey, fucking take it.”

The thought of Steve’s vanilla, lackluster lovemaking paled in comparison to the passionate, almost feral way Bucky was claiming your body now. And his dick wasn’t even out yet. He could feel every inch of your silken skin trembling and quaking with need, your breathy cries and whimpering music to his ears. The tender, almost gentlemanly approach Steve usually had taken with you had left you wanting, craving something far more intense and fulfilling.

Bucky eases his fingers out and peels your panties from your sticky cunt, shucking the fabric to bunch it around your knees with your sweatpants. He reaches out once more, his calloused palm cupping the warm, plush flesh of your ass. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin, could feel the way your muscles clenched and trembled beneath his touch. His fingers sank into the giving flesh, squeezing.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I think I’ll die,” You whisper, needy with shame burning your cheeks. And in that moment, it may as well have been true. To drive the point home, you wriggle your ass back against his groin, a clear invitation.

Bucky groaned, the sound torn from deep in his chest. His cock throbs and jumps at your needy words, desperate to be balls deep in your tight cunt. Faintly, he realizes he should hesitate, take a moment to think this through. But the way you presented yourself so wantonly to him made every logical thought fly out the window. He couldn’t resist, not you, not like this.

His hands flew to his belt, working it open with shaking hands. He quickly shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs, freeing his aching cock. It sprang up, long, thick, and flushed a deep, angry red. The swollen head was leaking pre-cum, a bead of moisture rolling down the shaft. He wrapped a hand around it, stroking himself a few times, before shifting closer to you. Bucky sweeps the tip of his cock through your folds, from hole to clit, coating himself in your sticky slickness.

You gape at his dick, eyes wide as you peer over your shoulder. He’s fucking huge, because of course he is. Thick and girthy, this is going to hurt, you realize. And though that should deter you, or at the very least make you anxious, it only makes you wetter.

“Fuck,” You whisper, struggling to form a coherent thought, “You’re fucking huge. That’s… that can’t fit. It’s physically impossible.”

The bastard smirks, rubbing the small of your back, “Oh, it’ll fit, honey. I’ll make sure of that.”

You already feel your inner muscles tensing up, trying to force out something that isn’t even breaching you yet. A high-pitched keening noise rips from your throat as the bulbous tip sinks into your wet heat.

Bucky shudders as he feels your tight little cunt clenching and fluttering around just the swollen head of his cock. Fuck, you were so goddamn small, so fucking tight. He could feel every inch of your silky walls squeezing him, trying to push his thick tip out of your needy hole. It took every ounce of control not to just slam forward and bury himself to the hilt in your scorching heat.

He grit his teeth, his breath coming out in a low growl as he forced himself to hold still, to wait for your okay before he fucked into you. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you in place as he fought for some semblance of restraint. Where was all that goddamn self-discipline that HYDRA beat into him? His dick was barely inside you and he was already a slave to your nubile body.

He rocked his hips slightly, just barely, letting you feel the thick, spongy head of his cock kiss your entrance with each shallow thrust. “Tell me to move, honey.” Bucky pants, sounding utterly wrecked, “Let me move.”

All you can offer is a small, pathetic whine in response.

That’s all the confirmation Bucky needs. He starts to move then, his hips rocking in shallow little thrusts as he eases inch after inch of his monstrous dick inside you. His grip tightens on your hips, digging into the plush flesh of your ass as he keeps you in place for each teasing thrust of his cock.

“God, honey, I’m gonna fuck this needy hole just like you want,” He growls, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of holding back, “Gonna rub this thick fucking tip all over this slutty pussy until you’re dripping and begging for my cock. Fuck… you’re so goddamn tight. Squeezing my cock so fucking hard.”

“W-we shouldn’t be doing this,” You gasp, screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You’re already feeling overstimulated, too warm and too full. Part of you screams to crawl away from the excruciating sensation of being impaled on such a thick cock. You try your best to breathe through it, willing your body to relax. Your cunt weeps, rivulets of slick dripping down and around Bucky’s dick. You feel the little droplets running down your thighs, mixing with your sweat.

Bucky hisses through clenched teeth as he feels your arousal dripping obscenely down his length, your thighs trembling. He loops an arm around your hips, holding you up as he watches the way his dick is swallowed up by your tight hole. He could see you struggling, hear the conflict in your whimper, the way you whispered this was wrong even as your body screamed for his touch. He knew he should listen to the voice in both your heads telling him to stop, to pull away before they crossed a line from which there could be no return… but fuck, he was so goddamn close to the edge already.

His hips rocked faster, fucking his cock in and out of your clutching heat with rough, rapid thrusts. A wet, obscene symphony of squelching and skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with his labored breathing and low, strained grunts of pleasure.

“We… fuck.. We shouldn’t…” He repeated your words dumbly, but even as he said it, his cock kept moving. You could feel the tip kissing your cervix with each throbbing, leaking thrust. “But fuck, honey, you feel too good… too goddamn good. We can’t stop now,” Bucky leans forward, pressing his chest against your back, his lips brushing down the side of your neck, “Fuck, gonna make this pretty cunt mine. Fill it up real good, honey.”

“Oh, god,” You gasp, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you at his words. Your toes curl, fingernails scraping across the floor, “I want that, please. Wreck me.”

The desperate, pleading tone of your voice shatters the remnants of Bucky’s already frayed control. His eyes roll back at your words, groaning. He feels your velvet walls clench and ripple around his throbbing dick, grasping him like a hot fist. Without warning, his hand slides from your hip to your dripping sex, rough fingers finding your swollen, aching clit.

He teases the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles around it with the pad of his thumb as he fucks into you hard and fast. His hips rock faster in tandem with the finger on your clit, each thrust pushing a gush of your juices around his cock and down your thighs.

You feel like you’re on fire, every nerve alight and singing Bucky’s name. You bite down on your fist, attempting to hold back the shrieks of pleasure bubbling up in your chest, “Right there, god, please!” You squeal, trembling with the burning need to cum, “God, don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop, right there.”

Your whiny, wanton moans bring Bucky’s climax hurtling at him like a freight train. He ducks his head down, sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder and shudders. The feeling of your slick little cunt gripping his dick was maddening, and the needy, desperate sounds spilling from your lips were pushing him closer to the edge, “Fuck, honey. Just like that, keep screaming for me. Gonna blow my load in this hot little cunt.”

You whine in response, Bucky’s rough treatment of your clit sending you careening over the edge. Your cunt clamps down violently, slick release gushing out of your hole. Lips parting in a silent scream, you shudder, shattering beneath him. Bucky lets out a guttural moan, his voice raw with pleasure as you cum hard on his cock. A puddle of sticky wetness forms between your legs on the floor, dripping down the fat of your thighs. Bucky can feel his own orgasm building fast and hard, his shaft throbbing and pulsing as he caresses your clit through your aftershocks.

“Yes, fuck! That’s it, honey. Soak me, pretty girl, gonna- fuck!” He grunts, his hips slamming forward and burying his thick cock to the hilt in your spasming pussy with one hard thrust. He groans long and low as your sex milks him for all he’s worth, his hot seed flooding your insides.

Bucky shudders, hips jerking as he empties his heavy balls inside you, thick ropes of pearlescent cum coating your fluttering walls. He presses his hips tight to your ass, grinding against you. That’s enough for your legs to quit on you. His eyes widen as your legs tremble and then give out, your body going boneless and pliant in his arms. He tightens his grip on your hips, hauling you back up onto your knees. Bucky’s heart races, a wild bird in his ribcage, as he struggles to catch his breath in the aftermath of his intense orgasm.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he eases his softening cock out of your well-used hole. A river of his thick cum oozes out after him, dripping down your inner thighs, joining the puddle of slick on the floor. Bucky can’t help but feel satisfaction at how fucked-out you look, sporting his bite mark on your shoulder. His hands slide around to cup the soft swell of your belly, his palms splayed across the gentle curve. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way it flushed and erupted in little goosebumps from his touch. His gaze heavy-lidded, dark with lingering lust as he murmurs in your ear, “We can’t do this again, right honey?”

#fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mcu #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #callie's masterlist

782 notes · View notes

pigfacedbitch · 1 month ago

Text

Second to None

summary : you may be Percy's girlfriend, but not his first choice.

word count : 0.9k

type : imagines

pairing/s : Percy Jackson x Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson x Daughter of Hades! Reader.

warning/s: angst lol, and a little cliche. never settle for fucking less, guys.

here's my masterlist! along with Part 2.

Note : I'm not against Percabeth, just so you know. Or Annabeth, I think she's a badass. I just thought of this and I was like "Damn, did I just hurt myself?" Blue aesthetic since the color represents sadness.

You knew what you were signing up for when Percy Jackson asked you out.

You fell in love with him despite knowing the risks.

The constant danger, the relentless quests, the whispered rumors, the pointed stares whenever you were together— none of it was enough to scare you away. He was the great hero of Olympus, the son of Poseidon who had saved the world twice and continued to do so. Of course, people talked.

And you could handle all of it.

All of it— except one thing.

Annabeth Chase.

You were new to Camp Half-Blood, but not naïve.

You knew, the moment you agreed to be his, that you were stepping into a love story written long before you came along. You weren’t a new chapter. You were just a footnote, scribbled in the margins, fighting for space in a tale that was never yours to begin with.

Even your own brother, Nico di Angelo, had warned you. Everyone did.

They had seen Percy and Annabeth’s story unfold— the rivals turned partners, the friends turned lovers, the two who walked through literal hell together and survived. The kind of love even the gods envied.

"It will only end in heartbreak."

But you ignored them all. Because when Percy pulled you into a fierce kiss after winning a game, when he whispered sweet nothings as you lay beside him, when he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world— it was easy to pretend.

Pretend you didn’t notice the silver owl pendant he kept hidden under his shirt.

Pretend you didn’t see the way his sea-green eyes softened at the mere mention of her name.

Pretend you didn’t feel the hesitation in his touch whenever she was near, or the way he always seemed to be waiting— for something, or someone.

Forget that you were never meant to be his forever. That you were just the one keeping his heart warm until she wanted it back.

And yet, you knew Percy loved you. Maybe not in the way he loves her, maybe not in the way you deserve, but in the only way he knew how.

You never doubted your own worth before. You were the daughter of Hades, powerful in your own right, admired, desired. But with Percy, doubt bloomed inside you like a slow-growing poison.

And you loathed it.

Loving Percy Jackson is your greatest blessing. And your greatest curse.

Annabeth never tried to take him back— not outright.

She didn’t need to.

She moved like the strategist she was— calculated, deliberate, patient. Weaving herself into his life in ways you couldn’t contest.

Inside jokes only they understood.

Touches that lingered just a second too long.

Shared memories and unfinished dreams that whispered, This isn’t over.

She never crossed a line.

She never had to.

Because she was Annabeth Chase. His first love. His best friend. The one who had built a world with him long before you ever arrived.

You were the outsider.

Because Annabeth never really lost Percy.

She had simply let go.

And Percy? He had never truly moved on.

So, you waited for the inevitable. Like an inmate on death row, counting down the days.

Maybe you were still hoping. Hoping he’d look at you and finally see you, not her shadow. Hoping he’d realize that you were the one here, standing beside him, loving him— not better, but differently.

Or maybe you were just a fool who enjoyed her own suffering.

Or an addict who couldn’t let go of her drug, even as it destroyed her.

Then one night, walking through the woods, finding solace in the quiet and darkness, you heard them.

Percy and Annabeth. Sitting on a log beneath the stars, wrapped in the weight of a history you could never rewrite.

"Do you ever think of what could’ve been?" She whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"All the time." Percy admitted, after a long silence. "Annabeth, you know I’ll always—"

She moved closer. Too close. Her fingers brushed against his wrist, and you felt the chill of inevitability run down your spine.

"If I asked for a second chance..." She breathed. "Would you give it?"

You braced for the pain of hearing him say yes, for the final dagger to be driven into your heart.

But he hesitated.

Perseus Jackson, who never think twice in the face of death, hesitated.

But Annabeth didn’t.

Before he could answer, she leaned in, claiming a kiss that had always been hers. Her arms wrapped around his neck like they belonged there.

"Choose me, Percy." She whispered against his lips. "You know it’s always been me. Be with me again."

You turned away before he could kiss her back.

You didn’t need to hear his answer.

You already knew it.

Shadow-traveling to your cabin, you threw a few things into a bag. Nico wasn’t there— probably off with Will— and you were grateful. You weren’t in the mood for questions.

You couldn’t stay long enough for Percy to look at you with guilt-ridden eyes and tell you what you already know.

So you left a note on his nightstand.

"I wish you and Annabeth the best. Don’t let her go this time."

Some might call you a coward for walking away.

But you didn’t care.

Percy had made his choice.

And now, you had made yours.

521 notes · View notes

harrysredroom · 7 days ago

Text

Playing With Fire

word count: 4.5k

summary: 18+ content! basically just smut with loads of angst. enemies? lovers? who knows. they sure don’t. dominant/switch harry, submissive/switch y/n…they don’t discriminate. Harry and Y/N just can't seem to decide if it's love, hate, or lust.

a/n: hiiii, this is my first time posting something i’ve written. It’s not something i ever thought i’d do, so go easy on me lmao. let me know if you want to see more!

"Hello?"

"We're doing pleasantries now? I'm here."

"I'm home."

"Then buzz me in."

"I'm watching a new episode of Criminal Minds."

"Jesus. You can watch it while I fuck you from behind. Buzz me in, Y/N. Now. I don't have the time -or the patience- for your attitude tonight."

That's about as long as their phone calls ever got. The pair sighed in unison before the call ended, the tension bubbling beneath the surface from the second Y/N saw Harry's name pop up on her phone screen. She hadn't seen him or heard from him for the past three months.

Her and Harry had a complicated, long-standing situationship…and that was putting it lightly. A friend of a friend, a few drinks, a few months of connecting, heartbreak, and a mess of blurred lines. They were the kind of almost-couple that never quite got the timing right.

Every goodbye was temporary, every reunion accidental but inevitable. The inability to stay away from each other? That was the real reason things never worked. Too much chemistry, not enough clarity. It was passion tangled with pain, affection mixed with avoidance, like trying to hold onto smoke.

Incompatible.

Harry was consistently gone on tour and afraid of commitment. Y/N never left her tiny bubble of life and was emotionally unavailable.

They didn't see eye to eye on most things.

But...their sexual tension?

It buzzed consistently like a live wire, twisting, crackling, and sparking to life.

Harry was a constant thrum beneath her skin, rooted deep in her veins like a heartbeat she couldn't quiet. He had this way of making her feel like she mattered even if it only lasted a second. When he'd breathe into the curve of her neck, voice low and ragged, whispering how she was his, her walls would crack just enough to let him in. In those moments, she wasn't cold or closed off. She wasn’t numb. She could feel—really feel—something other than the dull ache that usually lived inside her. It was fleeting, sure, but it was real. And sometimes, that was enough to pull her back under.

Y/N was like a drug to Harry. He was always twitching, in desperate need of a fix. Being inside of her was addictive, his head in the clouds and far away from everything. But the comedown from the high? Brutal. The crash after they were done, after the kisses cooled, after the silence settled in, always hit harder than he expected. Each time left him hollow, questioning everything. Why had he stumbled back into her life again? What part of him kept confusing chaos for comfort, or her bed for safety? He’d lie there, heart still racing, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. But it never did. Just the same ache, the same regret, curling up beside him like a second skin.

Y/N adjusted the sleeves of her oversized jumper, fingers fidgeting for a moment before she stood from the couch. Padding toward the front door, she hesitated for just a second before pressing the buzzer to let Harry in.

The soft buzz echoed down the stairwell, but to her, it felt like a warning siren.

She had to stand her ground this time.

She couldn’t keep letting him drift in and out of her life like a tide she had no control over, especially not after this long. Usually, it was a few weeks, a handful of texts, and a night that bled into morning. But three months? That was different. That was silence she’d almost started to believe in.

Almost.

Harry’s lips curved into that familiar devilish smirk the second he heard the mechanical whirl of the front gate unlocking. That soft hum, the one that granted him access, always felt like the first drop on a rollercoaster. He pushed the door open once the metal gate slid back into place behind him, shutting it with a click that echoed in the empty hallway.

He practically jogged up the two flights to her flat, his pulse quickening with each step, a boyish eagerness he never could quite shake when it came to her. But when he reached her door, any fantasy he’d built on the way up hit a wall. Literally.

She was already there, standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, hips tilted, gaze unimpressed. No soft smile. No warm welcome. Just that unreadable expression he’d seen too many times before.

His grin only widened.

Of course she wasn’t amused. He couldn’t blame her.

But he was already in too deep.

“Aww, s’my sweet Bunny girl angry?” Harry crooned, voice dripping with mock concern as he looked down at her, eyes glinting with mischief.

Without waiting for a response, he brushed his shoulder past hers, slipping into her flat like he owned the place. The scent of her hit him instantly, intoxicating, wrapping around him as easily as her silence did.

"No." Y/N's tone was sharp and low, giving her away.

Harry clicked his tongue as he slipped off his shoes and hung his coat on the rack. Y/N followed him inside, closing and locking the door behind them.

"Now, now, now...s'that what we're doing? Lying to each other? Thought we both agreed it’s just easier to be honest, did we not?" He tutted as he turned to face her.

Before she could protest, his hands were grasping at the plushy flesh of her hips with rough vigor, tugging her frame flush against his own. Harry hummed, the sound gravelly and guttural as it rumbled through him. Y/N let loose a shaky breath, her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones.

A simple touch.

Just one very simple touch.

That's all it took for them to fall back in head first.

That’s all it took for their resolve to crumble.

Harry leaned in slowly, his movements unhurried and deliberate. His nose brushed against hers, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver down her spine. He breathed her in, sweet and familiar. That scent always did something to him, settled low in his gut and curled around his ribs. He could feel her heartbeat, rapid and erratic, thudding so hard in her chest it might as well have been echoing in his own. The corner of his mouth twitched. "There's my little Bunny, so nervous and jittery around me. S'addicting, y'know that? God, three months without you has been fucking torture."

His voice held the kind of yearning that made her lips itch to feel his own.

His words were a plea, needy and desperate.

Her hands moved up to hold the sleeves of his t-shirt, curling around the fabric, trying to ground herself.

"Need you t'use your words for me, love. S'that what's the matter, hmm? Been too long without me?”

His thumb and forefinger came up to gently grip her chin, tilting up her head. “C'mon, sweet girl. Y'know I can tell if you lie. You wanna be good for me, don't you? Bad girls don't get what m'about to give you."

Her entire body felt like hot molten lava, and she looked up into his eyes.

Harry blew out a breath. Those big doe eyes of hers were going to kill him someday and he was certain it would be a happy death. “Fucking hell. I missed you. There. I said it.”

Now it was her turn to tsk and chuckle, her cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink. “I don’t even have to speak and you’re a sputtering mess for me, Harry. It’s pretty desperate, don’t you think?”

She watched the way his jaw clenched, felt the way his fingers dug into her sides, and how his pupils blew out, his eyes darkening. “You’re playing with fucking fire, Y/N.” He growled, low and primal, before driving her backward until her spine hit the front door with a quiet thud. In one fluid motion, his hands gripped her hips and lifted her, catching her beneath the thighs. She gasped as he pinned her there, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

His body pressed hard into hers, firm and unrelenting, holding her in place like he had every right to. The force of it stole the breath from her lungs, but it wasn’t just the impact.

It was him.

It was always him.

Their breaths tangled in the charged space between them, shallow and uneven, like they’d both run miles only to stop just short of the finish. Their lips hovered, barely apart, neither willing to surrender first, both waiting, daring the other.

“Good thing I’m not afraid to get burnt,” she whispered, her voice low and velvet-soft, brushing against his mouth with every word. “I missed you too, by the way.”

That was all it took.

Harry closed the distance, crashing into her like a wave pulled too long by the tide. His mouth found hers with a heat that trickled through her system and she met him there, fingers threading through his hair, the other hand locking around the back of his neck to hold him close.

A quiet whimper slipped from her as his tongue slithered past her lips, insistent and hungry, tasting the sugary remnants of the candy she’d had in front of the tv before he arrived. He groaned low in his throat at the sweetness, and the sound of it unravelled her, hips moving instinctively against him.

They acted with fluid precision, like two pieces made to fall into place. Her fingers tightened in his curls, pulling just enough to draw another sound from him, and before she knew it, she was back on her feet with Harry pressed against her and his hands grasping the dip of her waist to lead her.

She didn’t remember the walk to her bedroom.

Maybe it was because her frame never left the wall of his chest, or maybe because Harry’s mouth never once left her body—trailing down her jaw, along the curve of her throat, kissing and nipping at the skin until her legs turned jelly. She walked backwards, trusting Harry to lead her in the right direction. The door creaked open behind her, and the next thing she knew, her back was pressed to her velvet comforter and Harry was hovering above, his eyes hooded and stormy with want. Her jumper rose up to her midriff, just a pair of plain pink cotton panties with a bow on beneath. She wasn’t expecting company, not that she’d have dressed differently even if she knew he was coming.

“Look at you…” he murmured, more to himself than to her, tracing the outline of her collarbone with a calloused fingertip. “Laid out all pretty for me, like some dream I haven’t earned the right to wake up from.”

She arched towards his touch, her breath hitching when he leaned in and pressed a slow, reverent kiss just beneath her ear. “Maybe you haven’t,” she whispered, breathless but teasing, her voice trembling with the effort not to beg. She said she wouldn’t crack, yet here she was.

Harry’s grin was all sharp teeth and wonderment, but his gaze softened as it swept over her face. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, “I’d spend the rest of my life tryin’.”

Then he kissed her again, slower now, deeper. It wasn’t just need anymore. It was months of silence, of missing glances, unanswered calls, aching spaces where the other used to be. It was apology and forgiveness, grief and hunger all tangled into one breathless moment. His hands moved with purpose, mapping out the skin he’d gone too long without, relearning every dip, every scar, every shiver he could draw from her with just the brush of his thumb.

“I can’t wait, I need you right now, Y/N, can you feel my cock? It’s fucking aching.” Harry grunted out, pressing his hips down against her core to prove his point. She could feel the outline of him, rock solid for her, straining against his jeans.

She whimpered at the friction, a damp spot already present against the fabric of her panties from the second he walked through her front door and looked at her with those eyes of his.

“I’m going to indulge in you properly later, take my time, bury my head between your thighs like your pretty pussy deserves after bein’ so neglected. But right now? I just need to fuck you.”

Harry’s hand slid beneath the back of her thigh, pulling her leg around his waist and tugging her panties to the side as he breathed heavily into her neck, his lips trailing hungry, greedy kisses along her skin.

“Then fuck me already.” Y/N bratted through deep breaths, her hands finding the hem of his shirt and tugging, needing him unclothed and fast.

Harry’s jaw clenched as he sat up just enough to look down at her. She was absolutely sinful like this, her pussy glistening with arousal, her eyes hazy with that smug, lustful expression. He scoffed out a breath as he ripped his shirt off from over his head, tossing it across the room as his fingers nimbly found his belt buckle. “Get it all out now, Bunny. S’not gonna be so funny when I’m pounding into you so hard you can’t breathe, and you know it.” He growled, his eyes meeting hers with stern warning.

The metal clinking sound of his belt coming undone echoed in the small space, and he pulled it from the loops of his jeans with one smooth tug. He looked into her eyes as he looped the leather in half before snapping it together, the sound crackling the room. “Behave,” he warned.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her mind flashing back to the time that Harry had tied her wrists behind her back with that exact same belt. She gulped, a glimmer in her eyes as she nodded, deciding this was her time to be quiet if she wanted to get her way.

A devilish smirk coated Harry’s lips, the dimple in his cheek protruding. “That’s my girl.” He murmured as he tugged down his boxers, his hard cock now resting heavy in his palm. He leaned down, the head pressing against her entrance. He slicked through her folds, each of them sighing in relief at the feeling. Without warning, he thrust in, hard and deep. She cried out, her back arching, her head tipping back against the mattress as he tore through her without remorse.

“That’s my fucking girl.” He growled as his body rocked into hers. The pace was unhurried but purposeful, like he was trying to relearn her from the inside out. Their sweat-slicked skin was sticking where they touched, their breaths loud and shallow in the dim light of her bedroom.

Every move he made felt like a question. Are you still mine? Do I still fit here?

And every answer came from the way she held him, close and needy, her nails dragging angry red lines down his spine, her hips rolling to meet his like she was trying to etch the shape of him into her bones. She wanted him to remember. Each time he caught a glimpse in the mirror, or the hot water of his shower cascaded over his back, he’d remember her and the marks she’d left him with.

It was messy. A little unsteady. Every shift, every gasp, threaded with the weight of what they were too stubborn to say out loud. She whimpered when his mouth found that sensitive spot beneath her ear again, the one that always made her body quake.

“Fuck,” he groaned, dragging his teeth across her jaw. “You feel the same. Still so tight f’me. Still so fuckin’ perfect.” Harry thrusts his hips forward, burying his cock deep within her. Each movement had her bed creaking, the sound of her arousal gushing around the base of his cock obscene and lewd in the best possible way. It coated his pubic bone and thighs, sticky and wet.

Y/N bit her lip, her head lolling back against the pillow, exposing the long line of her throat. “You think saying shit like that makes this less complicated?”

Harry didn’t stop. Couldn’t. “No,” he admitted, voice rough and low, “but maybe it’ll make it easier when I leave.”

Her chest hitched, a shiver rolling through her—not from his words, but from the ache in them. That aching little crack in his voice that sounded like regret finally catching up to him.

She shouldn’t have answered. She knew she shouldn’t have. But her voice came anyway, soft and breathless. “You’re the one who always comes back.”

That struck somewhere deep within him. His rhythm faltered for half a second, just long enough for the truth to land. But then his mouth crashed into hers again, hungry, silencing the sting with his tongue. He kissed her like he could steal her words, bury them inside his lungs so they wouldn’t echo back at him later.

And she let him.

Because she needed to feel something that wasn’t heartbreak. Something real. Something alive.

Her legs tightened around his waist, and her back arched into him, her body shaking under his touch as her release crept closer, hot and consuming. Y/N’s moans were nothing short of pornographic, breathy and sultry whines.

Harry cursed under his breath, the sounds she made unraveling his restraint thread by thread. He reached his hand between them, two fingers finding her clit with ease, puffy and swollen for him. He hissed at the way her jaw dropped open, immediately moving his fingers in fast, tight circles around the bundle of nerves. He knew how sensitive she was, her thighs trembling in their position around his hips. His thrusts never stopped, the sound of wet skin slapping wet skin echoed her bedroom as he fucked into her. Harry watched the way her tits bounced beneath her jumper, each of them still half clothed, having been too caught up in the moment to worry about undressing fully. He didn’t need her nude to know how her body looked, how she felt. Her soft, blissed out features and the warm squeeze of her cunt around his cock would be plenty for him.

“C’mon, Bunny,” he murmured, voice shaking, forehead pressed to hers. “Wanna feel you. Let go f’me.”

The weight of him pressed down, grounding her, anchoring her to the moment, where nothing else outside the walls of her flat existed. Just Harry, just Y/N, and the quiet crackle of something neither of them dared name.

She could feel every inch of him, his breath against her collarbone, his fingers rolling over her clit with eagerness, the slow, torturous grind of his hips as he buried himself deeper, like he belonged there.

Maybe he did.

Maybe he always had.

“Say it again,” she whispered, her voice a velvet thread in the darkness.

Harry blinked, chest rising and falling against hers, lips ghosting over the curve of her jaw.

“Say what?”

“That you missed me.”

His throat bobbed with the swallow. His voice, when it came, was rough with more than just lust. “I did. I do.” His forehead pressed to hers. “Every fucking day I miss you, Y/N.”

That admission cracked something open inside her. Not all the way, just enough to let the ache bleed out, soft and messy. Just enough to let him in again.

She arched into him, her arms circling around his back as if she could pull him beneath her skin, as if she could memorize the weight of him and keep it when he left again. Because he would. That much she knew.

Everything about Harry was too much yet perfectly enough. His teeth nipped at the column of her throat before his tongue soothed the ache, his panted breaths hot and heavy against her neck as he fucked into her.

Y/N was practically mewling, whimpering and trembling as she got closer and closer. Her stomach coiled up tight with each deep thrust, the head of his cock punching through her walls, rough and gentle all at once as if he couldn’t decide which half of himself to give into. Harry’s cock twitched inside of her, a telltale sign he was close.

“Fucking hell…this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it, Bunny? C’mon, tell me who’s pussy this is and I’ll let you cum.” His voice was shattered, deep and sultry as his fingers slowed against her clit to a barely there pressure.

Y/N whimpered, the noise near pathetic as she tried to roll her hips upwards, desperately chasing her high. “It’s yours, Harry. I belong to you.”

Harry puffed out a breath as if her words were too much to handle.

“Good fucking girl. My girl.” He whispered against the shell of her ear, his tongue flicking out to lick a strip against her jaw before, without warning, he sat up, his hands gripping the backs of her calves and pushing her legs up towards her head for an entirely new angle.

She gasped, feeling his cock slip out to the tip in their shift. Harry smirked down at her, his grin devilish. He knew how much she loved this position, how perfectly it let his cock hit that spongy, sensitive spot inside of her. He didn’t waste a second before he tightened his grip and pulled back his hips before slamming them forward.

Y/N cried out his name as he rocked into her with fervent need, groaning at the way her walls clamped down around his cock, desperate to milk him dry. He let one of her legs fall from his grasp, only to slip his hand between their bodies, his thumb rubbing messy, relentless circles over her clit. He drove into her again and again, burying himself to the hilt, never letting her forget exactly how perfectly she took him. His breaths were mixed with shattered low groans as he watched the way her chest rose and fell, how her cheeks had pinkened and her lips hung parted in a perfect, petal pink pout of pleasure. The headboard slammed against the wall in a frantic rhythm, just barely drowning out the filthy wet sounds of his cock plunging through her slick, stretching her open and claiming her in every way. He found his home deep inside her pussy—exactly where he belonged, exactly where he was meant to be.

His Bunny let out a string of whined moans, her thighs quaking, and he knew she was right on edge. “That’s it, sweet girl. Cum all over my cock, show me how much you missed me.” He panted.

Between the desperation in his voice and the way he slammed into her, it only took seconds for Y/N to come crashing down. Her pussy pulsated around Harry’s cock as she let out a low, breathless moan, the sound like music to his ears. The way her walls clenched around him had him thrusting in as deep as he could possibly go, his body surging forward to capture her lips in a hungry kiss. His orgasm hit him hard, pouring into her in long, hot spurts that left him whimpering against her mouth. Sounds of raw yearning and need spilled from him, muffled by their kiss, as her nails dug into the muscles of his lower back. His hips stuttered against her, his body desperate to stay as close to hers as possible, every last drop of him filling her completely. He rolled forward, pushing his cum impossibly deeper as if it would keep it there, keep him there.

Harry stayed buried inside of her, his forehead dropping to press against hers again as they both struggled to catch their breath. Their chests heaved together, sticky skin sliding, the heat between them nearing unbearable. He pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the hollow just beneath her ear, murmuring sweet nothings too soft and slurred for either of them to really understand.

“Fuck, Bunny,” he panted, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure. “Missed you. Missed this. Missed being inside you.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, still feeling every delicious throb of him, every aftershock rippling through her sensitive body. She tilted her head back just enough to meet his blown, dazed gaze, smirking despite the lingering tremors in her thighs. She’d missed it too, but she wasn’t about to say it, not now, not when she hadn’t gotten her chance to have the upper hand and remind him why he kept coming back here, back to her.

“You better catch your breath, pretty boy,” she whispered against his damp temple, her voice a low, teasing purr. “Because it’s my turn.”

Harry blinked slowly, still half drunk off the high she had just pulled him into. “Your turn?” he repeated, the lazy smile that tugged at his mouth making her want to kiss it clean off.

Y/N grinned, sliding her hands down the damp, muscular plane of his back before giving his hip a playful little squeeze that made him grunt against her. “Mhm,” she hummed, shifting her hips beneath him just enough to make him hiss, his sensitive cock twitching inside her pussy. “You think you can just come in here, fuck me like that after three months, and not deal with the consequences of your actions?”

He let out a rough chuckle, his body still twitching with sensitivity, but his hands found her hips again on instinct, holding on like he already knew she was about to wreck him.

“You’re playing with fucking fire.” She murmured in a mock of his earlier words against his jaw, nipping at his scruff with her teeth, loving the low growl it dragged from his chest.

“Is that right?” Harry rasped, the words barely a thread of sound. “Well…It’s a good thing m’not afraid to get burnt.” He mused, humming out her own response to the same question.

“Mmhm,” Y/N purred, and before he could say anything else, she rolled her hips up into his with a slow, devastating grind. His whole body jerked, a broken moan escaping his throat. “And you, Mr. Styles, are about to find out exactly what happens to bad boys who don’t think they can be outmatched.”

She tightened her legs around his hips, flipping them with a surprising surge of strength and adrenaline that made him grunt out a startled, breathless laugh. He fell back against the mattress, wide-eyed and grinning even as he tried to process the shift.

Y/N straddled him now, hands splayed on his chest, hair wild around her flushed face, a gleam in her eye that promised nothing short of absolute, blissful ruin.

“You think you can handle it?” she teased, rolling her hips again, slow and purposeful, making him gasp and clench the sheets beneath him from the overstimulation.

Harry let his head fall back, the cords in his neck straining as he fought for control. “Fuck, Bunny,” he groaned, voice breaking on the nickname. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She leaned down, brushing her nose against his before catching his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging gently, making him groan again.

“Good,” she whispered against his mouth. “That’s the idea."

538 notes · View notes

cbeargyu · 20 days ago

Text

fOoL fOr YoU

beomgyu’s been in love with you since you were kids — even when you had your heart set on someone else. but he's just a fool for you.

pairing: childhood friend(?)!beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, childhood friends to lovers, one-sided love (but no really), high school au-uni au, unspoken feelings, first love energy, beomgyu simp, slow burn (slooow fr), second chances in soft light, beomgyu soft guy, fool for you by zayn = emotional backbone.

warnings: emotional angst, mention of unrequited love, a stolen kiss (consensual vibes unclear, followed by regret and confrontation), light jealousy, childhood heartbreak, healing arc included, soft cry-potential.

w/c: 7,2k

notes: hi!! thank you for reading this story, it means the world ♡ english isn’t my first language, so i hope you can forgive any grammar mistakes or weird phrasing — i’m still learning! i just wanted to share a soft, emotional story about loving someone for a long time… and being brave enough to tell them.

you met choi beomgyu when you were six.

he had braces and messy hair, and the loudest voice in the classroom. you were the quietest one in the back row, always too shy to speak, too nervous to raise your hand. but he found his way to you on the second day of school, sat beside you, and never left after that.

“you don’t have to talk,” he once whispered, sliding his lunch tray next to yours. “i’ll talk for both of us.”

and he did. for years.

you were always beside him—his little shadow. he dragged you into games, made excuses for your silences, defended you when someone called you weird. he was everything you weren’t: vibrant, chaotic, fearless. and in his whirlwind, you found a kind of safety. it was easier not to speak when someone was already speaking for you.

sometimes he even called you “my mini manager” because you always carried tissues, band-aids, or whatever he forgot to bring. and sometimes you called him “too much” when he danced in the rain or shouted your name across the hallway just to see you roll your eyes.

you didn't know when he fell in love with you.

maybe it was the day you held his hand after he scraped his knee, or the time you cried during a school play and he wiped your tears with his sleeve. maybe it was the time you laughed—really laughed—until your shoulders shook and your eyes disappeared into your cheeks, and he thought you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

he loved you in silence. he loved you in your quietest days, in your loudest ones. and he loved you when you started to pull away.

because that’s what happened, right?

somewhere between growing up and growing apart, you changed. you stopped waiting for him after class. you stopped answering his messages as quickly. you stopped sitting next to him during lunch.

you started focusing on your grades, on your future, on building a world where you didn’t need anyone to speak for you. not even him.

and beomgyu... he didn’t know how to follow you there.

you never told him why. you just slipped away—slowly, gently, but completely. and he didn’t stop you. he couldn’t.

he tried forgetting you. dated girls who laughed too loud, girls who wore your perfume, girls who were nothing like you and everything like you. he smiled in their selfies, whispered things in their ears, but none of it mattered.

because none of them were you.

"this love is tainted... but i need you..." he’d play that line on repeat in his room at night. headphones on. lights off. a lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow.

"i’d move the earth, but only if you’d promise me you’re mine..."

he would’ve given you everything. but you were already gone.

and you? maybe you felt it. that quiet ache between you. that tension in the hallway when your eyes met. maybe there was a flicker of something, once. or maybe you just never looked back.

but for beomgyu, you were still the same girl who once held his hand and promised to sit beside him forever.

and no matter how many girls kissed him, no matter how wide he smiled— you were the only one he saw.

you were sixteen now.

last year of high school.

supposedly the year to collect memories, make decisions, fall in love... but you had done none of those things.

not that you cared.

you sighed when you saw kang taehyun—he looked handsome even when he was lost staring out the window. his foot tapped nervously on the floor, and just then, your eyes met. blood rushed to your cheeks and you quickly bowed, but almost tripped forward in the process. taehyun blinked in surprise at the sudden movement but didn’t say a word. he didn’t even flinch.

behind you, you heard choi beomgyu’s distinct laugh. of course, he was laughing at you. you clenched your fists in irritation.

beomgyu smirked arrogantly and walked into the classroom where taehyun was. you muttered a few curses under your breath, just loud enough for beomgyu to catch them. he laughed even louder, clearly amused. nothing in the world seemed to bother him—sometimes you wondered how you’d managed to put up with him all these years. after all, you’d known him since elementary school.

you had always been close. then, halfway through your second year, kang taehyun transferred into your lives—a shy boy with a soft voice and eyes that avoided yours. beomgyu was the first to speak to him, naturally. but the first time you saw taehyun, something clicked. your heart stuttered. since that moment, he became your silent crush.

unfortunately, your quiet nature, paired with taehyun’s shy behavior around girls, meant you never had the chance to get close to him the way beomgyu did. you often wondered how beomgyu made friends so easily, how he seemed to shine in every room, while you barely had anyone in your own class.

“lee y/n, someone’s looking for you!” called na jaemin from the doorway, one of your classmates. you turned your head instinctively—and there stood your older brother, lee juyeon.

“you forgot your breakfast. again,” he scolded softly, handing you a paper bag. you scratched the back of your head and looked up at him.

“mom worries about you, you know that, right? don’t make her sad, okay?” you nodded, feeling a little embarrassed.

“yo, juyeon!” beomgyu’s voice—forever annoying to your ears—rang out. he slapped your shoulder and bumped fists with your brother. “did y/nnie forget her breakfast again?” he asked, pouting in mock concern. juyeon chuckled, but you rolled your eyes.

“hey, beomgyu. yeah, she did,” juyeon laughed, then waved goodbye to both of you and walked off. you harshly brushed beomgyu’s hand off your shoulder and walked down the hallway without a word.

“free period’s almost over,” he reminded you, still standing where you’d left him.

“fine,” you replied flatly, not even glancing at him.

“fine,” he repeated in a teasing tone, falling into step beside you.

“don’t follow me, choi. i’m going to the bathroom.” you shot him a cold look, but he only shrugged and kept walking beside you anyway.

once you reached the restroom, you didn’t ask him to wait or say anything—you just walked in and disappeared behind the door.

you sighed deeply, overwhelmed. how long were you going to keep lying to yourself? maybe... maybe it was time to ask beomgyu to help you get closer to taehyun. but you just didn’t have the courage. you were sure he knew about your feelings. and yet... he’d never said anything.

at least you were good at hiding them. nobody ever teased you about it.

“beomgyu! say hi to taehyun from jinri!” a girl’s voice rang out from outside the restroom, and you froze in place in front of the mirror.

“oh, i will!” beomgyu laughed.

“hyejong, don’t yell!” another girl’s high-pitched voice joined in.

“why not? aren’t you happy you’re finally dating him?” your heart sank. you barely whispered an ‘oh’ and felt a sudden hollowness in your stomach. a lump formed in your throat.

so this is what heartbreak felt like. but why hadn’t you noticed it before? since when had taehyun been seeing someone? and who was that girl?

“you two are so shy, it’s adorable,” one of them giggled as beomgyu pinched her cheeks. “i hope you guys last long, you look so cute together.” you heard their footsteps fade. and suddenly... you felt betrayed. was she really better for him than you?

you stepped out of the restroom at last, your expression unreadable. beomgyu had just put his phone away and looked like he was about to say something, but you cut him off with a low, shaky voice.

“since when has taehyun been dating that girl?”

beomgyu paused, caught off guard by your question. he stayed silent for a moment. he knew. he knew how you felt. but taehyun... he didn’t feel the same.

a week had passed since you found out about taehyun’s relationship with jinri. the confirmation hit harder than the whispers ever did. unlike you, jinri was everything soft and easy to love—pretty in that gentle, unthreatening way, always smiling, always speaking just enough. she was younger, too. of course she was.

you hadn’t said a word about it to anyone. not to your classmates, not to your brother, and definitely not to beomgyu. you just... let it settle. like a bitter taste at the back of your throat you couldn’t spit out.

across the schoolyard, beomgyu watched you from his classroom window.

you looked so small, sitting alone on that bench, arms crossed tightly, face blank. but he knew you. he knew that blank look meant you were swallowing too much. the same way you always had—quiet and distant, like your silence would protect you from the ache in your chest.

he clenched his jaw. maybe taehyun never noticed you. maybe jinri had the smile and the laugh and the shine. but beomgyu had been there since your scraped knees and clumsy braids. he had loved you through all your seasons. and it still wasn’t enough.

"i'd move across the world for you," he thought bitterly. "but you wouldn’t even look sideways for me."

he tried—he tried so hard to play it cool, to let you come to him, to make you laugh again. but he was growing tired of being invisible in your world. a fool for you. always had been.

and yet, the part of him that still hoped—that still remembered the way you clung to him when you were little, how you used to hide behind his back when you were scared—wanted to scream. wanted to shake you out of that self-imposed exile and say, i’m here. it’s me. it’s always been me.

he exhaled sharply, the sound sharp in the silence of the classroom. you hadn’t moved from that bench, hadn’t even looked at the time. he narrowed his eyes. if he didn’t say something, you were definitely going to miss class.

he opened the window, not caring that the hallway was full of students now.

“yah, lee y/n! class is starting! don’t even think about skipping, i’m not waiting outside detention with you again!”

heads turned. yours included. your eyes widened in horror, and your face lit up red with embarrassment. you stood up immediately, shooting him a murderous glare that only made him smirk wider.

“mind your own business, choi!” you hissed, storming off toward the building. of course. he always pushed the wrong buttons. always said the wrong thing. always, somehow, made it worse.

he winced when you disappeared from view.

smooth, idiot.

you, meanwhile, were fuming. he always did this. always found a way to tear into your fragile calm and leave you feeling raw and exposed. you were already trying so hard not to spiral after hearing about taehyun and jinri. and now, choi—no, beomgyu—had to go and humiliate you like that?

your steps were fast and sharp on the tile. you could still feel the sting of people’s stares, the heat of shame crawling up your neck.

he knew. he knew you had feelings for taehyun. and he never said a damn word. never warned you. never tried to protect you from the fall.

the ache settled back into your ribs, heavier now. you didn’t cry—but you wanted to.

by the time you stepped into the classroom, mr. lim was walking in too. and of course, beomgyu was already seated, watching you with that stupid half-smile like he hadn’t just ruined your morning.

you avoided his eyes. didn’t even look his way. but beomgyu’s smile faltered.

because even if you ignored him—he’d still only ever have eyes for you.

you glanced sideways at your companion and let out an irritated huff.

"i told you i was going to walk you home, whether you like it or not," he said, half-laughing, half-serious. his sarcasm only stirred your frustration.

"i never asked for your company, choi," you snapped, clenching your fists. but something in his eyes made you falter—dark, intense, unreadable. you looked away and mumbled, "you can turn around and go home."

you pulled the red scarf tighter around your neck, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your face.

beomgyu didn’t answer. he simply stepped closer, close enough that you had to look up.

“y/n,” he called.

“hmph,” you answered, dryly.

"do you still feel something for taehyun?"

your breath caught in your throat. what the hell was he saying? why now?

“w-why do you care?” you muttered, barely audible, your voice trembling.

your cheeks burned, and you tried to cover them with your sleeve, avoiding his gaze, but his eyes were too much—sharp, searching, like he could see straight through you.

“no…” you whispered. It was a lie, and a poor one. the truth was still tangled up inside of you. that flicker of hope hadn’t quite died out, and it made you feel pathetic.

beomgyu chuckled softly and lowered his head. you caught a glimpse of his smile, and for some reason, it made you uneasy.

“what’s so funny, idiot—?”

“that you still haven’t realized how i feel about you.”

the world went silent.

your heart felt like it stopped mid-beat. you blinked, trying to process what he had just said. no, it had to be your imagination.

he didn’t just—

“i’ve waited so long to say this. it hurts watching you break for someone else, when i’d give you everything,” he said, voice rising, hands trembling slightly as he placed them on your shoulders. “I wouldn’t hurt you, y/n. i’d hold all your broken pieces if you let me. i just don’t get it—why can’t you see me?”

your mouth opened, but nothing came out. he looked at you like he was falling apart in front of you. and you? you were frozen. paralyzed by fear, by shock, by the weight of what he just confessed.

and then—he kissed you.

his hands wrapped around your back, pulling you into him. his lips were warm, desperate, trembling like his heart had been waiting for this moment for years. you didn’t know what was happening until it was already happening. your stomach flipped violently. your skin crawled.

the contact was strange, as if the kiss wasn’t coming from the person you thought you knew. beomgyu, your friend, your companion for life, who had always been there… now he was kissing you without warning, without any preamble, as if everything you shared until that moment meant nothing more to him. without thinking, you tried to pull away. at first, it wasn’t just the physical struggle—there was confusion, disorientation. you wanted to reject it, but his hold on you felt too firm.

you shook your head, trying to push away, but he was stronger—too strong—and the kiss kept going, too long, too sudden. too much.

you slapped him.

hard.

it was the only way to get him off, to create a boundary that was never supposed to be crossed.

it echoed in the stillness.

he stumbled back slightly, one hand on his cheek, eyes wide—not from the pain, but from the heartbreak.

your own hands trembled. you looked at him with wet eyes, unsure when exactly the tears had started falling.

"why… why would you do that?" you whispered, your voice broken, fragile.

he stumbled back, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged as he stared at you. but the pain wasn’t just in his gaze; it was in your chest too. you were shaking, not sure what was worse: the fact that your body had reacted to him at all, or the betrayal that this moment felt like. he knew you were in love with taehyun, and yet, he kissed you anyway. you felt small. you felt exposed. it wasn’t just about the kiss—it was everything that came with it. the confusion. the vulnerability. the fear that your friendship had been nothing but a disguise for something much more painful and unspoken.

beomgyu didn’t respond right away. he just looked at you. his breathing was uneven, lips parted. then, in a voice that cracked in the middle:

"because i’m a fool for you. a damn fool for all the things you do.”

your chest tightened.

this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. you didn’t know what you felt, you couldn’t understand anything—not his words, not his kiss, not your own tears. the glass wall you’d built around your heart, the one you’d spent years reinforcing, was beginning to shatter—and that terrified you more than anything.

because maybe, just maybe… you weren’t as indifferent as you pretended to be.

but right now, all you could do was cry.

in the following days, you withdrew into yourself. it wasn’t just the kiss that haunted you—it was everything that came after it. the uncertainty, the disarray of emotions, and the feeling of being exposed in a way you never had before. you tried to bury yourself in your studies, bury yourself in any distraction that would keep your mind off what had happened. you couldn’t even look at beomgyu without feeling an uncomfortable twist in your stomach. it was as though the world had tilted in a direction you hadn’t been prepared for, and now you couldn’t figure out how to get back to where you were before.

beomgyu, on the other hand, seemed to be in a constant battle with himself. he tried to reach out to you, to apologize, but each time you saw him, the weight of what he had done was too much for you to bear. he wanted to explain himself, to tell you it wasn’t meant to hurt you, but the guilt was eating away at him. his usual confidence, the one that made him so easy to talk to, had been replaced with an anxious, almost desperate energy.

one afternoon, as you sat alone in the library, you felt the familiar presence of beomgyu standing behind you. you could tell he had been following you for a while, hoping to catch your attention. you didn’t look up immediately, not wanting to face the reality of his gaze on you.

“y/n…” his voice was quieter than usual, carrying a softness that you weren’t accustomed to. “i need to talk to you.”

you didn’t respond, pretending to focus on the book in front of you. the silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.

“i’m sorry,” he continued, his voice laced with regret. “i don’t even know what i was thinking… i never meant to make you feel that way. i just—”

“stop.” you finally looked up, locking eyes with him. the expression on his face made your heart ache, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel sorry for him. “why did you do it? why did you kiss me, knowing… knowing how I feel about taehyun?” your voice cracked slightly, betraying the vulnerability you had been trying so hard to suppress. “why did you make me feel like i don’t even know who you are anymore?”

beomgyu’s face contorted with pain. “i—” he sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i’m so sorry, y/n. i’m a fool. i knew how you felt about taehyun, but… i just couldn’t help it. i’ve been carrying these feelings for so long, and when i saw you with him… i felt like i couldn’t hold back anymore. i thought… maybe, if i kissed you, things would change. that you’d finally see me. but now, i realize… i’ve only made everything worse.”

his words hit you like a punch to the stomach. the ache in your chest deepened, but it wasn’t just the pain of the kiss. it was the weight of everything that had been left unsaid, all the years of unspoken feelings, and now it was spilling out in a mess of confusion and regret.

you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor as you walked away from him. you couldn’t stay there any longer. his presence, so close, was making it harder to breathe.

“i don’t know what you want from me, beomgyu,” you said, your voice trembling. “but i don’t know if i can forgive you for this. not yet.”

beomgyu didn’t move. he watched you walk away, his face contorted in pain. but deep down, he knew that the kiss—no matter how much it had meant to him—had been a mistake. and now, the distance between you felt like an insurmountable wall. he had ruined it all, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

as you disappeared from his sight, beomgyu slumped against the table, his heart heavy with guilt. “i’m such a fool,” he whispered to himself, knowing there was no easy way out of this mess he had created. the worst part wasn’t the rejection—it was realizing that he had lost you, and he couldn’t undo the damage. the realization that the kiss, that stolen moment, was the start of something he wasn’t sure he could repair.

and you, as you walked away, couldn’t escape the memory of the kiss either. it was your first kiss, yes, but it was so wrong, so stolen, that the idea of it left you reeling. you had never expected something like that from him—your friend, the one who had always been there, the one you had trusted more than anyone else. and yet, here he was, breaking that trust with something impulsive and unthoughtful.

but still, despite your confusion, your heart raced every time you thought about it, the warmth of the kiss still lingering on your lips. and that, more than anything, scared you.

you sat at your desk, half-focused on the homework spread out in front of you. the room was quiet except for the faint scratching of your pen and the occasional sound of cars passing outside your window. your mind kept drifting back to the kiss, to beomgyu’s face when you walked away, to the way his voice cracked when he said your name. no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push it all out.

you didn’t even hear the door open.

“yo,” juyeon said casually as he stepped inside, holding a small stack of old manga volumes in his hands. “found these in the garage. they’re yours, right?”

you blinked and looked up. “uh… yeah,” you said, recognizing the familiar covers. they were pastel-colored, all romance manga you’d devoured in middle school—full of blushing confessions, accidental kisses, and dramatic love triangles. you had forgotten they even existed.

he placed them on your desk, flipping one open as he sat on the edge of your bed. “beomgyu lent you these, didn’t he?”

you nodded slowly. “a long time ago…”

juyeon hummed, flipping through the pages with vague interest. something thin fluttered out from between the pages and drifted to the floor. both of you watched it land.

it was a folded piece of lined notebook paper, yellowed at the edges.

he picked it up before you could react. “what’s this?” he asked, already unfolding it.

“wait, juyeon—” you reached out, but he had already begun reading. his eyes scanned the page, then his eyebrows lifted. a low whistle left his mouth.

“wow. this punk really had it bad for you.”

you felt your heart stop. “what are you talking about?”

he grinned, holding up the letter dramatically. “this is the most cringe, over-the-top, middle-school love confession i’ve ever seen. do you want me to read it out loud or—”

“no!”

he chuckled and handed it to you. you hesitated before taking it, then looked down at the handwriting you immediately recognized.

dear y/n,

i know this is really lame but i wanted to write it down because i get nervous around you and my brain forgets words when you’re looking at me. i think i’ve liked you since the first grade. you never talked much, but i always noticed you. you’d sit alone during recess with your books, and i always wanted to sit next to you… i thought, “she’s the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

i like everything about you. the way you tie your shoes weird, the way you always read manga under your desk during math, even when you get mad at me for not finishing group projects. i don’t know if you’ll ever like me back, maybe you’ll think i’m weird, or annoying. but it’s okay. i just wanted to tell you. you make my chest feel warm.

please don’t hate me.

sincerely, beomgyu

you stared at the letter, your fingers tightening slightly as you held it. something in your chest shifted. it wasn’t just what the letter said—it was the fact that he’d written it. that he’d felt that way for so long. and you never knew. or maybe you did, and you just never let yourself see it.

“he’s been following you around since you were like six” juyeon said with a shake of his head. “remember when he showed up to your piano recital with a bouquet of dandelions? or when he joined your library club even though he hates reading?”

you did remember. and more kept coming to you. the way beomgyu would wait for you after class, even when his friends left. how he’d always give you the last snack in his lunchbox. how he’d look away quickly when you caught him staring.

you looked down at the letter again, your heart beating unevenly.

“he’s always been like a little puppy, wagging his tail just to get a smile from you, always looking at you with that goofy grin like you hung the moon. i’m pretty sure this kid’s been in love with you for ages.” juyeon added, standing up and stretching. “anyway, you’re too young to have a boyfriend. so don’t get any ideas.”

the words hit you like a truck. your mind reeled. you thought back to all those moments with beomgyu—the small gestures, the times he’d gone out of his way just to make you laugh or cheer you up, the way his eyes would soften whenever he looked at you. you had always thought it was because he was your friend, because he cared. but now, seeing it all in this letter... hearing juyeon’s words... it made you realize that it was more than that. It had always been more.

you closed your eyes, trying to process the weight of what you were feeling. was it possible that beomgyu had been in love with you all this time? and if he had been, how could you have been so blind?

he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

you sat there in silence, the letter still in your hands. it felt like something had cracked open inside you, a dam holding back years of memories you’d brushed aside.

you leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort through the whirlwind of emotions that were suddenly flooding your mind. beomgyu had liked you for years. he had kept this hidden, carried it in silence all this time. but now, everything had changed. the kiss... his confession... it was all so sudden. so overwhelming.

you thought about beomgyu's voice. the way he said your name. how he looked at you like you were his whole world—even when you were ignoring him, even when you were in love with someone else.

you thought about the kiss again. how wrong it was. how confusing. but also… how fast your heart had been beating afterward. how your lips had tingled. how you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he held your face so gently, like you were something delicate he couldn’t believe he was touching.

you pressed your fingers to your lips, your breath catching in your throat.

your heart pounded in your chest. beomgyu had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember, and now, the weight of his feelings was crashing down on you. you felt so... confused. part of you was angry that he hadn’t said anything sooner, that he had kept it all inside. another part of you, though, felt a strange pull toward him—one you didn’t know how to understand or accept.

you ran a hand through your hair, your mind spinning.

could you ever look at him the same way again? was there a chance, even a small one, that you could feel the same way about him? or would this change everything between you two?

your emotions were all over the place. you hadn’t even realized how much you had come to depend on beomgyu—his presence in your life, the way he made everything seem easier. the thought of him being in love with you, all these years... It made your stomach twist, your heart ache in a way that was difficult to explain.

for now, though, you needed time. time to process everything, time to figure out how you truly felt, and time to understand what this all meant. but for the first time, you couldn’t deny that there was something deeper between you and beomgyu, something that had always been there, hidden just beneath the surface.

the spring air was soft that afternoon. petals floated lazily from the cherry trees scattered across the school courtyard, painting the sky in shades of pink and white. under one of them, you sat alone, your notebook resting forgotten on your lap, eyes lost in the distance.

the gentle crunch of footsteps over grass made you turn your head.

“hey,” beomgyu said quietly, his voice hesitant but kind. “mind if i sit?”

you gave a small nod, heart skipping a beat the moment he lowered himself beside you. neither of you spoke for a few seconds, letting the silence settle like dust on your skin. the breeze swept between you, carrying a whisper of unspoken things.

the silence stretched between you, filled only by birdsong and the rustling of leaves. your heart wouldn’t calm down. It hadn’t, not since that moment — your first kiss. stolen. wrong. but... your chest still fluttered every time you remembered it. no one had ever looked at you the way he did in that moment. no one had ever felt like that.

“i… i found the letter,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. offering the old note with a small, unsure smile.

beomgyu froze slightly beside you.

“in the manga you lent me,” you clarified. “it fell out when my brother opened one.”

his cheeks flushed instantly, the tips of his ears turning red. he looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “wow. that’s… old.”

you smiled softly, despite everything. “you were thirteen.”

he groaned into his hands. “oh god, i was so lame back then.”

“it was sweet,” you said honestly. “kind of cheesy. a lot dramatic. but sweet.”

his eyes met yours — full of that soft, scared, vulnerable look he always gave you when his guard was down.

“i'm sorry,” he said suddenly. “for the kiss. for not asking. i shouldn’t have done that.”

you looked away, biting your lip. “i was shocked. and confused. I still am. but i don’t… hate that it happened.”

he blinked. “you don’t?”

you shook your head. “it was wrong… but it made me realize how much i never saw. how long you’ve felt like this. how many times you tried to show me, and i just… i never noticed.”

beomgyu took a shaky breath. his voice was softer now, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard.

“i’ve been in love with you since I was six,” he said, eyes on his hands. “back when you beat me at every single math test and made fun of my hair. i thought, ‘she’s so annoying’... and then i just wanted to be around you all the time. so I became annoying too, just so you'd keep looking at me.”

you laughed — gently, quietly, your cheeks warming. he smiled too.

“i used to count how many times you laughed in a day,” he continued, his voice trembling. “i memorized your schedule just so i could pass you in the hallway. every group project, i fought to be with you. i learned your coffee order. i even started watching that boring drama you liked just to talk about it with you.”

he chuckled to himself, glancing at you with the fondest eyes you’d ever seen.

“do you remember that time in middle school when i stayed outside in the rain because you forgot your umbrella and I wanted to walk you home?”

you nodded slowly.

“you told me it was stupid.”

“it was,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. “you caught a cold the next day.”

“still worth it.”

the wind picked up again, swirling a few petals around the two of you. one landed gently on your hair, and beomgyu reached over instinctively to brush it away. his hand lingered for a second longer than it needed to. your cheeks deepened in color.

“i know you don’t feel the same,” he whispered, his voice more serious now. “or maybe not yet. and that’s okay. i don’t need anything from you. just… having this moment, sitting here with you, getting to say all of this out loud—it’s enough. you make me feel like the dumbest person alive, y/n. but in the best way.”

you blinked, your throat suddenly tight.

“i’ve waited a long time to tell you,” he added. “and i'd wait again, even if it takes forever.”

you didn’t know what to say.

there were still so many thoughts swirling inside you—confusion, memories, flickers of warmth you hadn’t let yourself fully feel until now. but somehow, sitting there under the tree, next to beomgyu and the scent of spring in the air, it didn’t feel so scary. it felt... safe.

he smiled faintly. “being around you, even if i was annoying you or just carrying your bag or letting you copy my notes… that was the best part of my days. i think i’ve always kind of lived around you.”

you looked at him then, truly looked. his hair danced slightly with the breeze, and there was that same gentle, vulnerable expression you’d seen a few times before—once when he waited outside your house for hours in the rain just to walk you to school, once when he defended you during a class presentation when someone laughed at your pronunciation, once when he silently passed you his scarf because he noticed your hands were shaking from the cold.

“i didn’t mean to ignore how you felt,” you murmured. “and i’m sorry for not noticing. the letter… it was really beautiful. it made me feel something. i’m still figuring out what that is.”

he looked down, his voice quiet but full of everything. “i don’t expect you to feel the same. not now, maybe not ever. but… just being able to say it out loud—to tell you that you’ve always been the person i looked for in every room, every morning, every second—it makes me feel like i’m not hiding anymore. even if i still feel like a fool when you smile at me.”

you smiled then, small but real, and maybe a little breathless. your heart beat just a little louder in your chest, not in panic, but in something unfamiliar and warm.

“you’re not a fool,” you said softly. “not even close.”

he turned to you, hopeful, and for a second, time stilled. no confessions, no promises—just two hearts, slowly inching closer under a cherry tree, learning how to speak the same language.

later that night, you lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling as the pale moonlight poured through your window, casting long shadows across your room. your chest felt heavy, like it was full of fluttering things—tiny, delicate, impossible to catch.

you hadn’t been able to focus on anything since you got home. not homework, not music, not even the manga you used to love reading before bed.

his words played on a loop in your mind.

“you’ve always been the person i looked for in every room.”

you hugged your pillow tightly.

why did it feel like your heart was trying to tell you something, and you just weren’t ready to listen?

you remembered his voice, the nervous laugh he let out when he brought up cherry, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you—like you were something he didn’t believe he deserved to hold.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, frozen in your thoughts, until a sudden knock on your door pulled you back to reality.

“y/n,” juyeon peeked in, a plate of fruit in one hand and that familiar annoying-smile-slash-big-brother look on his face. “you’ve been super quiet. thought maybe you got possessed.”

you rolled your eyes. “thanks for the concern.”

he walked in anyway, setting the plate down beside you and sitting at the edge of the bed. “so… you and lover boy talked, huh?”

you blinked. “what?”

“beomgyu. don’t act clueless.” he chuckled. “he looked like a kicked puppy when he came to class earlier, and now he looks like a puppy that got a pat on the head.”

“we talked,” you admitted, voice low.

juyeon just smirked knowingly. “did you kiss again?”

“juyeon!” you threw a pillow at him, cheeks flaming.

he dodged it effortlessly, laughing. “okay okay, sorry! i’m just saying—if i didn’t know better, i’d think you’re starting to fall for him.”

you didn’t reply.

because maybe, just maybe… he wasn’t wrong.

when juyeon finally left, muttering something about “teenage romance being a disease,” you sat up and pulled open your drawer. you reached for that letter—the one from years ago, folded unevenly, still smelling faintly of pencil and dust.

"dear y/n, i don’t really know how to say this, so i’m writing it instead. i think you’re the prettiest girl in the whole school, maybe in the whole world. even when you’re mad at me or call me annoying. i like you. i’ve liked you since the day you shared your umbrella with me in sixth grade. i didn’t know someone could make my heart beat that fast. even if you don’t like me back, i just wanted you to know."

your fingertips brushed over the words.

you were so young back then. so was he. but the way he felt—those words—felt so pure it almost hurt.

and now, all these years later, his feelings hadn’t changed.

your heart clenched.

you didn’t know what to call this thing blooming inside you, but it felt like spring.

slow and delicate.

a new beginning.

then, you were twenty-four.

the late afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of the campus café, casting soft golden hues over the small table where beomgyu sat, one leg crossed over the other, hands lazily wrapped around a warm cup of tea. soobin sat across from him, his brows lifted in curiosity, and yeonjun was leaning forward, utterly hooked.

“so you’re telling me,” yeonjun said, incredulous, “you were in love with her since middle school?”

“since i was six,” beomgyu said with a nostalgic grin, his gaze distant, lips curling faintly as if the memory still made his heart flutter. “i wrote her a letter once. stuck it inside one of my old romance mangas i’d lent her. never told her about it. i figured she’d never find it.”

“but she did,” soobin said, connecting the dots. “and then what happened?”

beomgyu let out a breathy chuckle, fingers tapping absentmindedly on his cup. “then everything changed. slowly. painfully. beautifully.” he paused for a moment, a soft smile playing on his lips. “i think that was the first time she really saw me.”

“damn,” yeonjun muttered, shaking his head. “and you stayed friends all that time? with all those feelings?”

“we weren’t just friends,” beomgyu said cryptically, his eyes twinkling. “but we weren’t anything else, either. not for a while.”

beomgyu gave a small laugh, fingers combing through his hair as he stared up at the sky, a smile creeping in despite himself. “there was a time,” he added, voice softening, “when she was in love with my best friend. taehyun. i hated it. not because taehyun was a bad guy — he wasn’t. he was kind, steady... everything i wasn’t. but watching her cry over him, watching her choose him over and over without even realizing it... it broke me. one day, when she was hurting the most, i kissed her. not because she asked, not because she was ready — but because some stupid part of me thought it would fix everything. that maybe, if she felt what i felt, she’d finally see me.” he paused, swallowing hard. “but all it did was push her further away.”

both soobin and yeonjun were quiet for a moment. the weight of the story settled between them like the end of a song. soobin looked over with a new kind of softness in his eyes. “but you’re still talking about her like she’s everything.” said soobin.

“she is,” beomgyu said, without missing a beat. “she always has been.”

“you’re killing me, man,” yeonjun laughed. “what happened next? did she ever feel the same?”

before beomgyu could answer, a soft voice called from behind.

“gyuya!”

the moment the nickname hit the air, his entire demeanor shifted. he straightened immediately, turning around with the most radiant expression either of his friends had ever seen. you stood there, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair tousled from the wind, a small, tired smile curving your lips.

“baby,” he said, voice drenched in affection as he rose to his feet and wrapped you in a quick, tight hug before kissing your cheek without hesitation. “you made it.”

you chuckled, squeezing his hand as you looked at the two boys staring at you, mouths half-open.

“guys, this is y/n,” beomgyu said, still not letting go of your hand. “she’s the one i was telling you about.”

“oh,” soobin said, eyes wide, trying to process what just happened. “oh.”

“wait— you— you’re together?” yeonjun asked, pointing between you and beomgyu like he was witnessing the plot twist of a k-drama.

you laughed, taking the seat next to beomgyu as he dropped down beside you, still holding your hand like it was something sacred. “we’ve been together for a while,” you said, resting your chin on your hand. “since before college, actually.”

“how do you survive the long-distance?” soobin asked, still stunned.

“it’s not easy,” beomgyu said, turning his gaze to you, eyes soft. “she’s studying economics at hanyang, i’m in the music program here… our schedules almost never match. but we make it work.”

“worth it,” you added quietly, glancing at him, your expression full of something deeper than words.

the boys watched in awe as beomgyu leaned into you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing yours.

“so... all those years,” yeonjun said slowly. “all that pining... paid off.”

beomgyu smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “every second of waiting. every stupid joke. every heartbreak.”

outside, the sky was shifting into twilight. the world felt slower, softer, suspended in something warm and right.

later, as you leaned against beomgyu’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut from exhaustion, he whispered into your hair, “i was such a fool for you.”

you smiled sleepily. “you still are.”

and god, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

472 notes · View notes

shaiyasstuff · 1 month ago

Text

ever after | sylus | sequel

synopsis : Fate may draw the lines, but it is choice that colors the heart. content : soulmate!au, zayne x reader x sylus, zayne x non-mc!reader, unrequited love, angst (light or not, you decide) note : here is a short peek into reader’s life after the events of through the fire and red. This was super short because I kinda just ran out of ideas, forgive me lovelies🥹

“Ow,” you groaned softly as the tiny needle pricked your wrist.

A low chuckle came from beside you. Sylus leaned back in his chair, holding up his arm. “I already got yours tattooed. Besides, this was your idea.”

“I know,” you muttered, trying not to flinch. “But it hurts.”

The tattoo artist grinned beneath her mask. “Won’t be long now.”

“That’s what you said thirty minutes ago,” you grumbled, earning laughter from both of them.

—•

You stared at your wrist, eyes wide with something between awe and disbelief.

There it was. His name. Sylus.

Written in bold black ink, permanent against your reddened skin.

Beside you, he smirked and slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you close without a word.

“How’s it feel?” he asked.

You glanced up at him. “Itchy.”

He laughed.

“At least it’s my name,” he said, looking ahead with a rare softness in his voice.

You followed his gaze, then grinned, bumping your shoulder against his.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I guess so.”

Suddenly, the world around you fell quiet.

The hum of the city faded into a comfortable stillness as you and Sylus walked side by side beneath the soft glow of the evening lights.

There was no rush. No need to fill the silence. Just the sound of your steps, the breeze brushing past, and the warmth of his hand resting gently at your waist.

He turned to you, eyes softer than usual, the sharp edges of his expression dulled by something quieter.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You looked up to meet his gaze—those deep crimson eyes that had once unsettled you, now familiar, mesmerizing.

You reached down, letting your hand rest atop his, grounding yourself in the moment.

“To be honest,” you began, your voice calm, steady, “it was empty at first. I had to get used to not feeling the pull… the ache.”

You smiled gently, not bitter, just honest.

“But I’m here with you now. And it’s my choice.”

You paused, the weight of those words settling between you like a vow.

“It’s… liberating.”

Sylus said nothing at first—just looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours, steady and sure.

And in that silence, you both understood.

This wasn’t fate.

It was something better.

You leaned your head gently against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded as the quiet between you settled deeper.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips.

“Haven’t you thanked me enough?” he drawled, voice low, amused.

You chuckled softly, the sound warm against the cool evening air.

“I don’t think a lifetime of ‘thank you’s will ever be enough.”

He glanced down at you, the teasing glint in his eyes softening just slightly.

“Good,” he said, a hint of fondness lacing his words.

“Guess I’ll stick around to collect them all.”

It had been almost a year since you walked away from it all.

The heartbreak.

The mark.

The unbearable weight of loving someone who could never choose you back.

Now, your days were quiet. Peaceful in ways they hadn’t been in years.

Life with Sylus wasn’t perfect—nothing ever truly was—but it was real.

There were still nights when the past reached out with ghostly fingers.

Times when you’d turn away from his touch, not because you didn’t want him, but because the emptiness still echoed too loud.

Your body had been trained to ache for someone else.

To mourn.

To burn.

Choosing Sylus hadn’t been easy.

But he never rushed you. Never pulled when you needed space.

He waited. With the kind of patience only someone who understood pain could offer.

And little by little, you let yourself lean into him.

You let his hands steady you, his voice soothe the cracks, his presence remind you what it felt like to be wanted—not by fate, but by choice.

Now, there was no one you trusted more.

He knew you in ways no one else did.

He understood the quiet battles. The loneliness that crept in when the lights went out. The guilt that lingered like a scar.

And still, he stayed.

Not because he had to.

But because he chose to.

Just like you did.

Shaiya still called, every now and then.

The first time, you had finally felt strong enough to answer. To explain why you’d vanished without a word.

You remembered sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, the phone pressed against your ear as her voice broke on the other end.

She cried.

She apologized—again and again—for something that was never hers to carry.

You had only listened.

Because what could you say?

That it hurt more to know she cared? That her kindness made the healing harder?

You never once blamed her. You never could.

But Zayne…

You hadn’t spoken to him. Not once.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because some things are better left untouched—like old letters in a drawer or wounds that have just stopped bleeding.

The surgery had taken away the physical pain—the pull, the burn—but not the years of quiet devotion.

That kind of love didn’t vanish with ink or tissue.

And that was enough.

For you, and for him.

Shaiya had mentioned they got married. No fanfare. Just a small gathering, vows exchanged quietly with people they trusted.

You’d smiled faintly at the news.

“Congratulations,” you’d said softly, fingers brushing over Sylus’s as he sat beside you.

He didn’t say anything—just watched you with that ever-present smirk, his thumb lazily tracing slow circles against your palm like he was reminding you of his presence.

And now, things were steady. Familiar. Whole.

Until Shaiya’s voice rang from the other end of the call again, “I’m going to be in town for work. Do you wanna meet for coffee?”

You glanced at Sylus. He’d already heard.

He arched an eyebrow, not saying a word—just letting you choose.

You smiled into the phone.

“Sure. I’d like that.”

Shaiya clapped, the sound muffled but full of joy. “Okay! See you soon!”

The call ended.

You lowered the phone, and Sylus leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder, his fingers still tangled with yours.

No questions. No tension. Just presence.

And for the first time in a long time, you were at peace with the past.

Your eyes drifted down to his wrist, to the place where your name was inked in dark, permanent lines—etched into him like a promise.

You reached out, running your finger over it gently, tracing each letter with a quiet kind of reverence.

“I’ll never get used to seeing it,” you whispered, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Sylus chuckled low in his throat, the sound warm as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against the curve of your neck.

“I know,” he murmured, as if he’d been waiting for you to say it.

And you both stayed like that—entwined in each other’s warmth, your heartbeats slow and steady beneath the quiet hum of the room.

No strings pulled by fate.

No ache left behind.

Just two people, holding on.

Not fate.

Choice.

—•

“Sy, stop it.”

“What?” he replied innocently, even as his fingers continued their relentless mission—pinching your cheek with maddening precision.

“Stop doing that!” you huffed, swatting at his hand, your pout deepening as you tried to glare at him.

He just laughed, completely unfazed. “How intimidating,” he teased, his voice low and amused.

You groaned in defeat, crossing your arms dramatically as he leaned back, clearly proud of himself.

The two of you were sitting outside a quiet little coffee shop, tucked beneath a striped awning, the afternoon sun filtering through the trees.

You were waiting for Shaiya, but somehow, with Sylus next to you, it didn’t feel like waiting at all.

Just another soft, easy moment—with a side of cheek-pinching torment.

He only stopped when he caught movement from the corner of his eye—Shaiya, approaching with a bright smile and an excited wave, her footsteps light as always.

Sylus lowered his hand, finally releasing your cheek, though his signature lazy smirk remained firmly in place.

You turned at the same moment, catching the familiar warmth in her expression, and your features softened.

You lifted your hand to wave back, fondness blooming quietly in your chest.

Beside you, Sylus leaned back in his chair, still watching you, but now with something gentler behind the teasing glint in his eyes—like he could see the weight of everything this meeting meant.

And for a moment, the world felt still again.

Steady. Safe.

You stood as she reached you, pulling her into a hug that was tighter than expected—tight enough to steal a bit of your breath, but you welcomed it all the same.

“How are you?” she asked, her voice laced with concern and hope all at once.

You pulled back just enough to smile, then glanced over your shoulder at Sylus, who was still lounging in his seat with one arm lifted in a lazy wave.

“Never been better,” you replied, the words easy, true.

Shaiya’s face lit up, her smile blooming wide as she took your hand and gave it a squeeze.

Then the three of you sat, the air light with something like peace.

No ghosts. No ache.

Just the quiet comfort of healing, and how far you’d come.

“Zayne couldn’t come,” Shaiya said, reaching into her bag, “but he asked me to give you this.”

She placed a small box on the table in front of you.

You stared at it, unmoving. First at the box, then up at her, then finally at Sylus.

He met your gaze calmly, offering only a small shrug, as if to say, It’s okay. If you want to open it, do.

With a steadying breath, you lifted the lid.

Your fingers stilled.

Inside was your doctor’s tag.

The one you hadn’t seen since the day you left. The one you were sure had been lost in the shuffle of your quiet escape.

Your breath caught.

Shock flickered across your face, tangled with confusion.

Shaiya’s expression softened. “He said you’d need it. If you’re going away.”

Your eyes lifted to hers again, searching.

She smiled gently. “He had me search your old apartment top to bottom to find it.”

You looked down at the tag again, the weight of it suddenly heavier than its size should allow.

Memories pressed at the edges, but beside you, Sylus reached out under the table, resting his hand on your knee—grounding, steady.

You exhaled.

Not everything had to hurt.

Some things could just be part of the journey you left behind.

And maybe, a small piece of it could come with you as you moved forward.

You understood what he meant.

This was his way of saying goodbye—quietly, gently.

Of apologising, to tell you he’s let go.

There was no letter, no grand parting speech. Just a small, familiar tag. A memory returned, so you could finally move forward without looking back.

You blinked back the emotion gathering in your chest and turned to Shaiya with a soft, grateful smile.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

She only nodded, eyes warm and knowing.

And beside you, Sylus gave your hand a gentle squeeze—no words needed.

You were free now.

And finally, you were ready to be.

—•

Soon, you returned to work.

It felt strange at first—stepping back into that world, but something inside you had settled. Healed.

With your resume and years of experience, the hospital welcomed you without hesitation. Chief surgeon. Yeah, just like that.

You were still wrapping your head around it when Sylus let something slip, far too casually, over dinner.

“I might have made a few calls,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass with a smug tilt of his head.

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.

“You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?” you teased, leaning forward. “First, you lied about your soul mark. Then you decided to casually reveal that you own this city.”

He arched a brow, unbothered.

“Is there more I should know?” you asked, grinning.

He smirked, that signature lazy curl of his lips.

“Oh, probably.”

He leans in close.

“Like how I’m exceptionally good in bed,” he said with a straight face, though his eyes gleamed with mischief.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I know that already.”

He smirked, undeterred. “How I ride bikes?”

You raised a brow. “That too.”

He leaned in closer, grinning now. “Then that means you know everything already.”

You chuckled, resting your chin in your hand as you met his gaze.

“Hardly,” you said, lips curling into a smirk of your own. “You’re an open book with missing pages, Sylus.”

He tilted his head, clearly amused. “Guess you’ll just have to keep reading, won’t you?”

You tilt your head back laughing as he smirks at you.

Your heart felt warm.

There was someone who finally saw you.

And you aren’t ever letting that go.

Soul marks be damned.

That night, as you lay in bed with Sylus, wrapped in the quiet hush of the room, you couldn’t remember a time you’d felt more at peace.

His arm was around you, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek in a slow, steady rhythm. You listened to the sound of his heartbeat—calm, unwavering—like the world outside couldn’t touch you here.

Then, you felt the soft press of his lips against your wrist.

You let out a quiet chuckle, warmth blooming in your chest. “What are you doing?”

He smiled against your skin, not lifting his head. “Kissing my name,” he murmured, voice low and fond. “The one that’s on my love.”

Your breath caught.

And for a moment, the world disappeared.

Just his voice, his touch, and the way your heart skipped a beat—reminding you that this, here, with him, was real.

Not fate.

Not obligation.

But love.

Chosen, freely and entirely.

“Sy?”

He turned to you instantly, eyes softening the moment they met yours—gentle, steady, like he was always ready to listen when it came to you.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated for only a breath, then reached out, fingers brushing lightly against his cheek.

“I love you,” you whispered.

The words settled in the space between you like they belonged there.

His eyes didn’t widen. He didn’t freeze.

He just smiled. Slow, warm, and so full of something that made your heart ache in the best way.

“I know,” he murmured, voice quiet with affection. “I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

And he pulled you closer—like you were already home.

Perhaps you were.

#lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lnds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lnds #l&ds x reader #sylus x non mc #sylus x y/n #sylus qin #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #lnds fluff #lads sylus x reader #lads sylus

1K notes · View notes

dameronspector · 20 days ago

Text

“Happy New Year, Honey.”

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Set during the New Year’s party where Joel protects Ellie and Dina from Seth. Aka you comfort Joel and don’t let him spend the new years alone.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of panic attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Cursing, Joel deserves to be doted on, Reader and Joel are married, Reader is in her late 30s-early 40s, Reader is kind of upset with Ellie for hurting Joel, Reader just wants her family back but is stuck as the mediator (PS: I fucking love ellie, she’s my sister. This is no hate against her. This is just my depiction of a parents-child relationship dynamic.)

AN: i saw the episode and my heart broke for joel and his sad, warm brown eyes :(

It was finally New Year’s Eve and there was a little party being held in Jackson. Maria had assigned you to food service so you were helping the kitchen team with the plating and to set the buffet. You had to leave the house a little early for that. Joel was pouting because he didn’t want to arrive alone to the party. It was difficult enough to convince him to come, and now his big brown eyes were staring at you like he was a kicked puppy. You stalled for a good 10 minutes before parting with a sweet kiss, with a promise of saving him a dance.

Slowly, the community area of the church started filling up with people. There was a quiet murmur of people chatting and laughing. The air was perfectly warm inside the main house and crisp-cold outside. There was no snowfall today, thankfully, which meant everyone could enjoy the bonfire. The food smelt good and the band was playing soothing tunes.

The area was decorated with lovely fairy lights that made it look like the stars had come down. Overall, it was a very cosy scene. You were actually enjoying yourself. You had finished serving the food into containers and were now setting up the buffet. Gradually, the number of people gathered around increased and now you were 4 hours away from ringing in the New Year.

Joel was not still nowhere to be seen but you did spot Ellie with Dina and Jesse. Maria and Tommy were welcoming the newcomers meanwhile Benji was playing with his friends.

You were thinking of going back home and bringing him with you but you knew he just needed his space. You knew how badly the separation with Ellie was affecting him. Everyone could see that. Hell, even he could see that. It got so bad, that he had resorted to seeking therapy. You were so shocked when he admitted that to you but you encouraged him because he was finally willing to open up. You just hoped the therapist-Gail-wouldn’t breach his boundaries and make him isolate from others again.

He was trying so hard. It broke your heart into a thousand pieces to look at his dejected and sad face everytime she ignored him. He asked for Ellie during breakfast, lunch and dinner without missing a beat. He kept aside some food for her everyday. He built her a new chair because her old one had a broken leg. He would find something to gift her on patrol every time and would ask you to give it to her so that she accepts it.

It was heartbreaking.

You tried to talk to Ellie about this but she shot you down quickly. That’s when you decided you wouldn’t get involved because it’s not your place. It’s something that only the two of them should be talking about. And truthfully, you’d never admit to Ellie that you didn’t think he did anything wrong because you would’ve done the exact same thing for her. Any parent who denies this is a hypocrite.

So, you gave him space. You were patient with him. And you could see the gratitude in his eyes and his actions. How he would hug you longer. How he was more open with his affections. How he freely shared his thoughts and feelings. And that was everything that you’d ever want.

He’s all you have and you were all he has. You would do anything to protect him, just as he would for you.

The band was playing a cheerful song and everyone was laughing and dancing to the fullest. You were busy serving everyone so you didn’t notice Joel enter the area. You were talking to the town’s beekeper Jude while making her a plate when you felt arms snake around your waist. You jumped.

“Hey, honey”, his low baritone voice murmured in your ear.

Your face broke out in a loving smile.

You excused yourself from Jude who gave you a teasing smile and asked Kat to take over. Joel shifted the two of you slightly away from the table and you turned your neck to look at him. You rested your hands on his left hand and played with his ring.

“Hey, baby. Welcome to the party”, you greeted him softly and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. You broke apart and he turned you around.

He rested his hands on your waist and rubbed it gently. His brown eyes looked like they were sparkling in the fairy lights. He ran his eyes across your face. Like he was reading you.

“You look so beautiful, darlin’”, he complimented you shyly, even though you were wearing a simple sweater that would’ve been considered as a ‘going out top’ with some jeans. He thought you looked good in anything.

You grinned brightly at him.

“Yeah? Well, Mr. Miller, you don’t look too bad yourself”, you replied cheekily and caressed his chest. You saw his cheeks turned into a tinge of pink. Even after being married for 4 years and being together for a decade, he would still get shy whenever you complimented him.

He gave you a meek smile and brought you closer to kiss your forehead. You closed your eyes and let out a content sigh before raising your head to look in his eyes.

“I’ve got to help with the serving, you think you’ll be okay without me for sometime, baby?”, you asked him softly and put your hand on his stubbled, soft cheek.

You could see him deflate a little as he let out a sigh. He leaned his head against your palm and rubbed your lower back with a hand.

“Yeah, okay. But, you’re saving me a dance, remember?”, he smiled.

You smiled at him sweetly and nodded your head.

He drank in your smile before pressing a kiss to your palm and planting a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I’ll see you, wife”, he smirked before pulling away.

You just giggled and waved him off.

God, you’d do anything to see this man happy.

An hour to go before you all rang in the New Year. You were almost done with serving desserts and now you could finally dance with Joel. The band was playing softly and while everyone was slow dancing.

You turned away to put away the last container into the kitchen and you came out to see the music was stopped and everyone was huddled around- Ellie and Dina?

Something was wrong. Your maternal instincts kicked in and you immediately pushed your away to the middle. You stood next to Ellie and held her arm gently.

“Ellie? What’s up? What happened?”, you asked her carefully. Her face was red and her eyes were bloodshot with tears. Dina was in the same condition.

“Dina, hey. What’s wrong?”, you asked her gently and put your hands on her shoulders. She sputtered but said nothing. She looked embarrassed and she was drunk, you realised. You turned to look at Ellie again but she looked away from you.

What the hell happened?

“What- hey. What’s going on?”, you raised your voice slightly and looked around. You couldn’t see Maria or Tommy or-

“Where’s Joel?”, you asked out loud, hoping he’d hear you incase he was around. “Ellie, where’s-”

She turned around so quickly that you jumped back from her. She pointed at you.

“Tell your fucking husband to stay the fuck out of my business.”

You froze. Her tone was so harsh. Her body language was aggressive and agitated. You’ve seen her like this before but it was never directed at you. And she never spoke to you like this.

“Ellie!”, Dina’s eyes widened and she pulled Ellie back.

“Hey, relax. I’m just-”

“I don’t need your fucking help, (Name). So don’t tell me to relax and I don’t fucking know where Joel has gone. I don’t care where he is and if you’re so worried then don’t stand here and-”

“That’s enough”, you cut her off firmly and held out your hand to stop her. “I just wanna know what happened.”

Ellie’s mouth fell open and she looked away in shame.

You clenched your jaw. You took a deep breath in to calm down. You registered how everyone was still staring at the three of you.

“Do we not have work to do? Y’all want some popcorn?”, you sternly questioned the crowd.

Everyone averted their gazes before clearing the area and leaving the three of you alone.

You turned to Dina.

“Dina, where’s Joel?”, you asked her with urgency in your tone.

“I-I don’t know. He just left”, Dina stuttered. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her cheeks were red.

Joel went to two places frequently when he was not ready to face the world- either his workshop to work on his projects or he’s in the office looking over the blue prints. But now that you know something happened between him and Ellie, you really didn’t know where he could’ve gone. It was a very fragile situation.

Ellie furiously walked away from the two of you to stand outside the hall. You closed your eyes to compose yourself and to stop the tears from flowing. She was drifting further and further away from you. And not just physically.

You looked at the door tearfully before turning back to Dina. “Don’t let her do anything stupid, okay? Get home safely.”

Dina nodded at you. You patted her shoulder and ran out of the hall to check the office first. He wasn’t there. You felt your stomach hurt at the thought of him being alone and having a panic attack. You needed to get to him now.

You ran all the way from the community hall to your house. The cold, dry wind hit your face and turned it into a bright shade of pink. Your eyes were watery and your breath was uneven but still, you continued to run.

On your way, you passed people wishing a happy new year to each other and lighting fireworks. Your heart twisted painfully. This is the first time in a decade that you and Joel weren’t together for New Year’s Eve.

Your lungs were aching by the time you finally saw your house in the distance and noticed the porch lights were on. And that’s when he came into view.

Joel was sitting on the armchair with his guitar on his lap. You could hear the soft strumming of the guitar along with your loud breathing and the whistling wind.

He looked so small.

Your husband was a hulking man of 6 foot tall height with the broadest shoulders. You didn’t know it was possible for a man of his stature to look so small and dejected.

The sight of him alone on the porch, while listening to the muffled cheers of the other residents, brought tears to your eyes. He didn’t deserve this. You felt guilty for leaving him alone.

You made your way to the porch and he looked up as soon as he heard your footsteps. His eyes shone in the light and he stopped strumming. He furrowed his eyebrows when he looked at the state of you. He quickly set down his guitar and got up from the chair.

“Honey? You okay?”, he approached you and held out his hand for you to join him on the porch. Acting as if his heart wasn’t hurting right now.

Your vision blurred as eyes filled with tears and your face scrunched up before you let out a soft cry. You stepped on the porch and buried your face in his chest while tightly wrapping your arms around his back.

Joel simply encased you in his warm arms and brought you closer. “Baby? What’s wrong? You’re scarin’ me. Did someone say somethin’ to you?”, he rambled worriedly and laid his cheek on your forehead. He winced. “And you’re s’cold. Where’s your jacket? I keep tellin’ you to not go out like this”, he scolded you gruffly before wrapping his jacket around you and hugging you closer. He was fussing over you even when he was the one who needed to be comforted.

You gently pulled away and settled your hands on his bicep. “Where did you go? I’ve been looking for you all this time. I ran all the way from the community hall and I even checked the offi-”

“You ran all the way here?!”, he asked incredulously. He was clearly changing the topic to avoid your questions. He huffed out a scoff and wiped your tears gently. “Now, why’d you do that? Are you crazy-”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you spend the New Years alone”, you furrowed your eyebrows.

He opened his mouth to argue.

“What happened back there?”, you cut him off.

You observed the way he froze and averted his eyes from your intense gaze. He swallowed thickly before clearing his throat. “Nothin’. I just came back home because I was bored. Thought I’d let you have fun. Didn’t wanna ruin it for ya.”

You cupped his cheek and turned his head towards you. His eyes were tearing up. He clenched his jaw tightly to keep the tears at bay.

You scrunched your brows and caressed his cheek gently.

“Joel, I went into the kitchen for a moment and came back to a scene. Everyone was looking at Ellie and Dina. Tommy and Maria weren’t there. You weren’t there. Ellie….”, you trailed off before letting out a sigh. “She seemed disturbed. So was Dina. Ellie didn’t wanna talk to me, either. What happened, Joel?”, you whispered.

You saw how he was trying his best to hold it together. He closed his eyes and let out a weary sigh. A tear slid down his cheek and you wiped it with your thumb. He held your wrist gently and leaned into your palm.

“Ellie and Dina were dancin’ together. Seth was bein’ an asshole. He said this is a family event and called them a slur. I happened to hear it and I pushed him down. Told him to get out”, he murmured. Your eyes widened.

You knew Ellie and Dina liked each other and you were so happy because they’re adorable together and they made each other happy. But you had no idea that even in an apocalyptic world, some people were still a fucking dick about who’s kissing who.

“Oh god”, you murmured in disgust towards Seth. Joel nodded. “Yeah. Pissed me off real bad. But Ellie…”, his voice cracked.

“She..she didn’t like it. Told me she doesn’t need my fucking help”, he choked out.

“Oh, Baby..”, you whispered and held his face in both of your hands. Like he’s something precious.

That did it for him and he broke down. He let out a shaky breath. Your palms were damp with his tears.

“I just…I was just trying to protect her. It hurts so much. No matter what I do…I’ve lost her. I can’t-”, he cut himself off, his breathing uneven.

You quickly removed your hands from his face and helped him sit down on his chair.

His entire body stiffened up and he pressed his hand to his chest-near his heart. He was having a panic attack. You didn’t touch him to avoid startling him and kneeled in front of him instead.

“Hey, Joel. Tell me 5 things you can see?”, you asked him quietly.

He closed his eyes before taking in a deep breath and looked around.

“The…the porch light..the snow..the door…my shoes…you”, he whispered.

“Okay, now 4 things that you can touch?”

“The chair, m-my jacket…my jeans…my watch.”

“Good, now 3 things you can smell?”

“Smoke…wet soil…your shampoo.”

“That’s good, baby. Now 2 things you can hear?”

“The wind….your voice.”

“And now tell me 1 thing that you can feel?”

“My heartbeat”, he responded quietly before taking in a deep breath and letting it out.

“Good job, baby. Do you want some water?”, you asked him gently.

He weakly shook his head no before burying his face in his hands. You got up to get away from the freezing floorboards but he mistook that for you leaving him and snapped up his head. He held your wrist.

“Don’t go, please.”

He looked like he was pained by the idea of you leaving and it broke your heart all over again. You softened and stood closer to him, taking that as a sign to touch him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Joel. I was just bringing you some water”, you whispered to him and rubbed his back soothingly.

He released your wrist and slowly leaned his head against your stomach, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly.

You hugged him back and buried a hand in his beautiful curls and rubbed his back with the other.

“You did the right thing, honey. You protected her. And gave her space when she asked you to. I’m so proud of you. She’s just…she needs time to accept it, yeah? It’s not easy for her either. Plus, she’s growing up now. It’s just how the kids act like when they’re 19, we were probably the same as well”, you chuckled softly.

He let out a shuddering breath and kissed your stomach before propping his chin up on it to look at you. You stared back at his gentle eyes and brushed his curls back before caressing his forehead with your thumb.

“I’m sorry for the way she acted towards you, Joel. I know I said I’m not going to get involved but I will try to talk to her again, okay? I know you hate being away from her and you worry about her every second but you have to respect her boundaries too, Joel. Promise me?”, you asked him gently before cupping his face in your hands.

He swallowed and nodded his head.

“I understand.”

You gave him a smile. “Good. Now, I believe I saved you a dance?”

He smiled weakly. “There’s no music.”

“Who said we needed it anyways?”, you teased him and he let out a chuckle that showed his pretty dimple. You kissed his cheek.

You pulled away and held his hands in yours. He stood up and towered over you before winding an arm around your back, holding your free hand in his. You held the bicep of his arm that was around you and laid your head on his shoulder. He brought you closer and leaned his head on yours before swaying the two of you gently.

After a while, he nudged you to face him and delicately held your face in his hands before leaning in. The two of you share a sweet, loving kiss. Your lips gently massaging each other and your noses nudging against your cheeks.

You came away for air and leaned your forehead against his before circling his neck with your arms. His went around your hips and he pulled you impossibly closer.

“Happy new year, honey. I love you so much”, you whispered to him and nudged his nose with yours.

He flashed you his charming, dimpled smile. His cheeks were flushed.

“Happy New Year, Mrs. Miller. I love you with everything in me.”

The two of you were so intertwined with each other that the world disappeared around you.

Both of you didn’t notice Ellie standing in the darkness, observing and listening to everything with tears in her eyes.

AN: i can’t take their separation anymore please they’re so sad.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us season 2 #joel miller x you #husband!joel miller #joel miller x wife!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #pedro pascal #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort

590 notes · View notes

uarmygguk · 21 days ago

Text

BACK TO YOU

ıllı . . . . . TWIRL ME TWICE — i'll treat you like a holiday and don't say you're over me baby, it's too late ⨾༊

brief, you always seem to go back to him, what about now? starring, drummer!jk x rich f!reader tags/warnings, smut. mdni. dry humping, dirty talk, cursing, oral (m) receiving, slight degradation(?) not pronounced, oc is an entitled rich girl, and jungkook falls for her antics basically, but don't get it wrong— he craves it. usage of drums during intimate moments (he's a drummer and he's jungkook so cut me some slack HAHHA) nicknames, pov shifts (clearly mentioned), emotional push and pull, kind of slow burn, characters are messy in their own ways but everything ties together— if something is unclear, send me an ask/comment !, angst (sorry babies). word count, 6.7k love diaries music rec, "if you lie down with me" — lana del ray, "heartbreak warfare" — john mayer, the party & the after party — the weeknd note, this started as an idea from js a simple thought of mine, can't spoil rn cuz what's the fun in that,, loved writing this because i accidentally js spewed all my need for a slow burn BUT not so slow (iykyk) in here. i edited this so many times its not even funny how i hyperfixated. did i mention how obsessed i am with drummer!jk? yeah that's it.

────୨ৎ────

“1,2,3.. stop!” the man, in his mid-twenties and ginger hair, which is the only color he stuck to for about 4 months straight now, practically yells into his mic.

“Jungkook you actually have to lock in, mate. This is not doing you any good, y’know.”

“You can clearly see I’m fucking trying, Jimin. I told you I needed to step out like right now, we’ve been at this for hours.”

Jeon Jungkook. Lead drummer, easily a handsome lad who could be mistaken for a very successful celebrity. He’s got that aura, the charm to waddle into the hearts of numerous girls and guys alike, just like he does at those tiny desk concerts— the original miniature set-ups with a lot of sweaty bodies and headbanging.

The raw stuff. Pure music. Flatlining passion.

“ ‘kay just go take a drag or something, but remember, return back by 7. Or I’m actually going to go hunt for someone else with no hard feelings.” Jimin passes on a complacent grin to which Jungkook rolls his eyes, he knows the latter cannot evade the decade long friendship they shared, nonetheless.

Jungkook walks over to the wooden door of the cramped studio where the duo was practicing, and since this very day consisted of rumbled musings and adjusting tones of the new release because the other members of “Seom” haven’t shown up and Jimin could only get hold of his dear brother to pour sweat into the new album along with him.

“Seom”— island in Korean, grounded the boys to their Southern roots, and tied them to the strings of reverberating music, just like how water expands and ripples around an island. It was mostly Jimin’s idea, to which Jungkook agreed immediately as he wanted their essence to be a part of this whole game.

Ping.

Classic notification beep. The message is far from the “class”, however.

[shortcake] 5.57pm fuck you.

Oh he wishes. Start of the day so hellish all he wanted to do was be balls deep inside you.

He shifts, leaning against the tattered door frame, locking his phone, shutting out the cascade of profanities filling up in your chat. The blob of silence that followed seemed to dissolve into thin air as a puff of smoke hindered his obscure view of people bustling about through the narrow alley.

Utter contrast to where he met you for the first time.

Back to : 6 months ago.

Jungkook wisely controlled the awe-filled sounds that threatened to leave his mouth, while Jimin and Hyunjin on the other hand, straight up wow-ed at the dazzle of golden chandeliers, polite service of umpteen number of waiters and waitresses catering to every other person, cold air that refreshed the scorching heat outside this magnificent yacht as soon as their lot entered the foyer.

“We’re looking for Conference Room 3” Jungkook referred to his emails before making a request at the reception, tapping his fingers on the crafted marble desk and adjusting the instruments on his shoulders.

In the meantime he luckily notices Hyunjin slide to the left, initiating loose talk with the other receptionist, thus pulling him by the collar to the latter’s unpleasant surprise.

“I was just shootin a shot, okay?” His lack of understanding was not the mood, especially for today.

They must remain composed and professional until the band’s first official performance for a crowd with more than a 100 people came to a successful end.

There was barely time for aimless flirting and fun. This was the foremost opportunity to grab a place and set the stone for Seom.

Hundred, however, is more than a few for a birthday party. But what more could be expected from a full-fledged family of chaebols.

“We don’t have much time, but Kook, you need to brush up a few beats before the stage. I’ll go ahead with Hyun to get the set done by then.” Jimin unpacked his guitar set and signaled Hyunjin to follow him outside to the stage area.

Finally done setting up the drums and arranging the kit, Jungkook tests it for a few beats, before flipping through the music book for a brief second to make final touches.

Click.

The door unlocks and closes, assuming it’s Jimin and Hyunjin, he continues to maneuver the stick through the booming plates of the drum.

“Y’all back already? They set up the stage for us too or did something fancy?” He passes a casual joke, unbeknownst of the fact that you were on the receiving end.

“That was quite a faulty pun, Jungkook Jeon?”

You read off of the rear of his chair that had his name on it for identification.

Perched on a personalized chair paired with such a comment rolling out so smartly didn’t sound as cute to you.

His head whipped and almost cracked, turning around at the words that flowed so elegantly, as opposed to what he was expecting.

Hands folded against your chest, slightly bunching up the fabric of the baby pink satin body-con hugging your well-built figure, doing a bad job at leaving much to one’s imagination, especially with the thin straps as sleeves.

Composed. Professional. He reminded himself.

Having seen you during the meeting where Seom was selected to set sail and perform at your birthday bash, he deemed you as a handful when you chanted numerous details into your dad’s ears and when you disagreed with most of the proposals they had for the final track list. As mentioned, fancy was the alternate last name for the Choi family.

He could deal a handful.

Or so he thought.

The damn look in your eyes. It propelled him forward, leaving the wooden seat behind, walking towards you ever so slowly but steadily.

“Careful, pink princess. Your dress boutta get messed up, don’t want those personal butlers to curse at you.”

The corners of your lips twitch ever so testingly. As if a single smile could give it all away.

“Were you playing ‘Heartbreak Warfare’? Thought we finalized the track list accordingly.”

You briefly look around the dingy room with dim lights and concrete walls, unpainted— fit to be a green room, he watches you closely.

Fairly enough, it was an embarrassing accident you wouldn’t admit. The yacht was genuinely too sophisticated and you lost your way to the ladies’ room.

Coincidentally, you hear your favourite song being played live on the drums from a nearby room titled “Staff Only.” No one could stop you from entering anywhere around on the yacht your dad booked for the big day. 21st birthday bash. And you knew you had everyone wrapped around a pinky.

With him, though? You don’t know.

Don’t know why a look at his face, seconds ago screamed “Not today.”

His smirk yelling at your senses to keep your power to yourself.

And his unfiltered comment at the beginning? Perfect starter.

You, nonetheless, took pride in your ability to bring what you craved for, at your fucking feet. Only, this one would take a lot more solo effort.

Consider it done because— goddamn was he a man. Sleeveless tank-top hugging his miniature waist ever so tightly, projecting whatever toned muscle that hid beneath, tattoos twirling around his left arm.

“Lined up our songs for princess’ birthday while she shares pretty strawberry cake with her friends.”

He leans on the backrest of the chair, with his name printed across a piece of white paper, tainting your eyes with dripping taunt.

“Can’t wait to hear it.” You spit, but surely you wanted to explore their band and music.

“Would you give me some cake too, huh?” He slips the mockery in every fucking word with practiced ease, just like how he handles those drums.

“That doesn’t explain you playing ‘Heartbreak Warfare’.” You clawed at the previous question, ignoring the sly ask, genuinely curious as to why he chose that particular song minutes before an actual performance.

“Why, favorite?” He muses, flipping the book to a certain page yet again, positioning himself in front of the instrument.

“None of your business. Can you play it again?” Latter part of the sentence ever so feebly and hesitantly left your mouth as if it was tightly wound against your vocal chords, barely finding strength to be pushed out as a request.

A wish. One that you don’t know— for the first time— would be granted. Having everything served on a platter from Day 1, this is a new deal for you. The doubt, the anticipation felt confusing to say the least.

Seeing him steer through the papers and almost giving in to what you said, it seemed like a win.

Until it wasn’t.

“Afraid not, it’s my cue to be back on stage. That was my warmup song and I’m done.”

He sits forward, actions biting back on his words, as he looks least interested in hurrying to “be back on stage.”

“You’re literally performing for my party. It’s my crowd out there and they’d be forgiving if a drummer’s late.” Diving head first into this pointless banter was never on your agenda for today.

“Feeling entitled much?” He seemed calm, fidgeting around to pack up necessities.

“Says the one who’s owning that little wooden chair with his name on it like a throne.”

You were done. All restraints broke, a spiteful remark was nothing. None. Nada.

To your utter disbelief, it actually did nothing to him.

Jungkook finally got up from the damned chair, moving towards you and painfully looking into your eyes before gracing your ears with his raspy, raspy voice.

“Too bad, I do own my name. My own name. It’s my only throne.”

You weren’t stupid to miss the disdain laced stress on that particular word. Like he was throwing daggers at you.

Tongue poking behind the smooth walls of your cheek, you watch him fucking leave.

His resistance to you was instantly delicious.

Were you crazy for wanting him to be completely into you? Forget the back and forth and fall face first into the waters from a height to test your limits, when all you loved and have ever experienced was a cozy, elevating and classy cold plunge.

___

“Yeah, wine’ll do for today. You don’t wanna get too drunk.”

You nudge at Jessi, best friend, ride or die, whatever. Having known her since private kindergarten —the ones where a couple of selected children get tutored alone unlike the actual ones— she’s been a tad bit crazy, especially with alcohol and parties, as you grew up together.

“Why, you planning to get wasted and use me as your chauffeur because you can’t get your dad’s car sent?” She deadpanned, adjusting the MiuMiu purse that clung around perfectly on her honey skin.

“Spot on.” You squint your eyes at her, ridiculing, as you walk towards the venue.

“Look at herr!” Taehyung hoots in glee as you enter through the grand doors, starting a poor rendition of “It’s your birthday” as he pulls you by the hand, into the chaos.

Taehyung was the unavoidable guest at any party. He brings life with him, even if it mostly makes you question the invite.

“Guess what flavour of cake i got for your special dayy-“

Taehyung’s words blurred into the horizon as you were consumed by certain thoughts.

Kim Taehyung was no one distinct, just another man from your dad’s friends’ family who owned a bunch of inherited businesses like most of the people present in the party today.

Except the ones on stage.

The one, among them.

His name never left your mind, unusually so, because you don’t hold on.

Don’t build connections, never chain the beads of relationships with bare hands.

It always came with something.

But him?

A puzzling, faint secret.

Jeon Jungkook.

“Stop avoiding me just because I ordered strawberry shortcake, I wanted to give the new bakery a try too, now c’mon and clink clink bitch.” Tae was already tipsy and it was-

What did he just say?

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Kim fucking Taehyung. You literally took freedom for granted.” You shoot a sharp look at his red face, snapping back from the trance, but he just pouted in response.

“My bad I let you buy the damn cake, asshole.” You watch him pay no heed to you, going back to being an utmost social butterfly.

Everyone applause.

Birthdays were not supposed to be this humiliating.

“Lined up our songs for princess’ birthday while she shares strawberry cake with her friends.”

You recall Jungkook’s words and everything and beyond you want right now would be the ability to sink into the fucking ground.

Courtesy : Kim Taehyung because he literally made way for Jungkook’s assumptions to come to life.

He didn’t have to be so lively, y’know.

“I need another cake there, in 5 minutes.” You whisper to Jessi, but she didn’t seem to notice, eyes glued to the train of texts being exchanged with her boyfriend.

___

21 wasn’t supposed to be as humbling.

The 20 somethings were to be full of cruises through picturesque islands and a possible girls’ trip if Jessi was into it. She’d be, but you wanted it to be a bit more relentless and intriguing.

You wanted to explore.

Maybe your wish was granted— partly— earlier than you’d please.

“Seom” as you learnt from their introduction was nothing less than a fucking wave. One to explore. To indulge in, especially the lead drummer.

Even if you’d hesitate to admit, seeing Jungkook go all out on the drums, setting a bar so high and then hitting the lows before springing back up with just the taps of two sticks and a determined mind, he looked insane.

Sweat clinged onto his forehead, wispy stray hair falling to the sides and god the tank top.

One that didn’t go unnoticed by you during the backstage shenanigans.

The music ends with thunderous applause from the audience, and you see Jungkook reach for the mic from Jimin, clearing his throat into it before speaking.

“We really enjoyed performing here today, but there’s a special ending note I’d like to play.” He signals for the others to exit the stage, claiming it alone with undeniable presence, blasting a beat into the speakers with those damn skilled fingers.

He was playing the background score of “Heartbreak Warfare.”

You weren’t exactly subtle with the reactions, eyes widening as the tune grew familiar.

“He’s so fucking good at this,” Taehyung slurred from behind. “But missing only one thing.”

“— a grammy nomination.” The man looked so proud of his witticism.

His luck, you were too engrossed in how Jungkook completed the rendition with absolute perfection, doing justice to every single nuance of your favorite song.

“Do we have any of the strawberry cake left?” Your unhinged doubt in the middle of the performance— consuming the premise, and people— makes Jessi chuckle from behind.

“Weren’t you the one who made me go place an order for another one? We literally cut the chocolate cake I had to run last minute for, and this boy is damn upset.” She points at Tae, who was mindlessly chugging another shot of his alcohol, looking farthest from upset.

“___, we’re going to the dance floor now, c’mon” Taehyung started testing the material of your dress between his sloppy fingers, trying to grab your attention like a carefree kid.

“Can you ask them to send a piece over to Seom’s green room? Meet me at the dance floor after.” Running a hand through well-set hair, you look back again— eyes catching sight of his unrelenting drive towards music that almost topples you over on those fucking louboutins— before catching up with Taehyung’s jittery steps towards the party room next door.

Jessi was cent percent sure you were on to something.

Because, one piece of cake for 3— math wasn’t tallying up right.

And you taking personal interest to have it delivered?

Weird.

his pov.

The trio stands around the now droopy cold, untouched piece of sweet goodness dressed in baby pink icing, as if it was about to be convicted in court.

“Whoever sent it in, they could’ve packed three more.” Jimin sulks, as if more pieces somehow equals to finding whoever this anonymous confectioner is.

“But we’re only 3 people and one’s here already, dumbass.” Hyunjin analyses the situation as though satisfying their sweet tooth is the only problem here.

“An extra piece wouldn’t hurt you right?”

The trial about a damn piece of strawberry shortcake ceased abruptly, hanging over the edge through Jimin’s harmless remark.

However, someone in the room seems to have attained enlightenment— precisely not so— because he was praying, hoping to whatever higher power that it wouldn’t be what he thought it was.

The conclusion was inevitable.

“I’ll be back.” Lead drummer, guides his own way to the adjacent ballroom.

It wasn’t some sort of cinematic appearance— he didn’t enter in as the prince who aimed to claim his princess.

He was a walking mess. Like a literal strained bunch of bafflement.

At your fucking audacity.

Like you were mocking his service. His team’s hard work.

There was no way to sugarcoat it.

You were being an asshole.

And just like a rifle zeroes in on its target, Jungkook’s gaze pinpoints yours among the sea of people. He moves further, a mild hurry outlining his steps through a bunch of sweaty bodies mixed with the expensive scent, lingering on, making it easier to distinguish the crowd as ones from high-end families.

He remains aware of the surroundings— the lap of luxury sprawled out and highlighted each speck of dust around— even in the air.

Nevertheless, that was gotten rid of.

His presence of mind packs a suitcase and makes a bolt out of its abode, as soon as your eyes meet his.

As if an urgent sense of victory ziplined through, he watches you slowly bite your lip, trying to hide a smile.

Not the one that looked like a perfect crescent moon, one that radiates joy, though. Yours was synonymous to that of a fucking Cheshire Cat on a mission.

“Knew you’d come.” Your red glossy lips mouth, and he caught it amongst all.

Jungkook was furious, but he was dissolving.

It was as if an imaginary string connected the both of your bodies, the pull growing stronger by the minute.

Slow and steady, wins the race.

But his libido takes over, avoiding all the speed bumps.

And then he realized. As if it wasn’t so obvious.

He wanted you.

However, you didn’t have to know that.

___

If it was the Jungkook 30 minutes ago —who fired up from backstage to ballroom in less than 2 strides to catch hold of the fucking menace of a woman for trying to deride his performance— he would’ve laughed at the face of anyone who tried to tell him, that he was holding that very woman by the waist in the middle of a dance.

Breath.

“Your heels are about to punch a hole in my feet.” He shifts you forward so swiftly with one hand on your waist, legs finally coming alive again after 2 minutes of torturous dancing.

“Tryna hold you together, if you fall apart. I can distinguish between a good dancer and a bad one, y’know.”

“I’m gonna leave if you keep running that mouth of yours.” He whisper-yells into your ears, above the 165 bpm party music.

His jaw twitches at the reason he’s still anchored in the same spot.

Another request. One that took flight way easier than the previous one. Your pretty mouth asked for help.

“Don’t wanna look alone in my own party. Dance?” You had asked, peeking at his anger infused red eyes 30 minutes ago, through your angel-like lashes, which had him expressing distaste, but quickly securing him behind you.

Ass pressed up against his crotch, he knew you were testing his boundaries. He knew you were careful, measured, as your hands rhythmically made its way around his neck, adhering to the beat.

His hands still around the small of your back— unsure if it was to steady you or himself.

Minx.

His hands find solace in your swaying hips, pushing you forward, trying to maintain distance.

Because this was supposed to be a nice gesture. An act of goodwill so a girl won’t feel alone on her birthday.

Why the fuck was he sporting a semi?

“You’re enjoying this too much aren’t you, shortcake?”

This time, he didn’t have to push you away.

You sprang off, akin to how the like-poles of magnets repel.

“The fuck did you just call me?” You had to yell, some of the drunk dancers sending weird glances.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? You pulled that act to-”

“Shut the fuck up.” You whisper, moving closer to his ears, dragging him out, swerving through to the common restroom.

____

your pov.

“What’s all this, __?” The sudden silence echoes his deep voice throughout the entire place, making you dizzy at its amplification as opposed to the hushed noises coming from outside.

“Huh?” You pant a little, looking up at him yet again with those eyes.

He hoists you up, cold marble coming in contact with your supple, exposed thighs making you wince in the faintest voice.

“What do you think you’re doing, ___?”

His face is dangerously close. Breaths colliding.

“You played it for me, Jungkook.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re kidding me, shortcake.”

He jerks back, hands placed on the table, caging you in them but it wasn’t enough.

Jungkook’s head falls next to your shoulder, barely touching as his eyes remain closed throughout.

“There’s nothing I’m joking about here, Jungkook.”

He slightly looks up, still hesitant to catch your eyes.

“I think the fuck yes. You’ve been diminishing my presence the entire night, and that whole cake situation felt embarrassing, __. In front of my fucking bandmates, I felt like nothing.”

His head falls again, as if some inner beast caught his breath, sighing.

“I don’t see a reason for that.” You shrug, in genuine confusion this time.

“Yeah you wouldn’t. Because I made the mistake of agreeing to perform here, when Jimin and Hyunjin clearly had no reason to.”

“Is it ‘cause you owe my dad?” A sly smirk creeps up into your lips, as Jungkook finds it in himself again to look at you.

“Do I have a fucking choice?”

“You should’ve thought before wandering into our territory, asking for help.” You swing your legs, still on top of the restroom table like you’re on some play-date, enjoying ice cream on a sunny Saturday.

“I needed it for survival. Seom was falling apart, and we really required that sum of money. And oh, you’re talking about Mr. Choi, the ever so generous man, huh? Your dad has put me through it even if I was a minute late to pay him back each month.”

“I can help.”

You offer. Simple, cut through. It was always the simplest of suggestions that seemed like the end of the world.

“You? You’re holding on by a thread to your family, but except your thread— it’s made of money. Mine isn’t.”

“Bingo.”

Oh.

“Be with me for a month and I’ll help you relieve some stress. Know you need it. In return,”

You pause, meandering your vision to his, watching his expressions twist, lightly.

“I’ll tell dad about your situation.” This was your cue to pull him closer by the ends of his tank top.

“Best believe, you think I’d be on my knees, accepting your offer right now” He tears himself apart, now fully on two feet, the distance between your bodies increasing.

"Remember the name you own that you boasted about, back there? Don't forget about the price you have to pay my dad, to uphold it." Laid-back, pausing for a moment, you could feel the gears turning in his head, back facing your frame now.

“There’s only one exit, to every entrance.” You say, as he was headed for the door, coming down from the table, you had your hands folded, yet again.

Always the same.

The sound of his resolve snapping, was another alarming echo, as two worlds collided.

It was the answer to your proposal.

His lips taste like unadulterated need. Those roamed around yours, in a hurry, like a telltale of passion. He occasionally presses your foreheads together, taking as much as he wants before dipping in again.

There you knew.

This was about to turn into a constant cycle. An endless war against sanity.

You, him— one heated glance, two bodies meeting to fight it.

____

Present.

his pov.

It feels quite deranged to think about.

Approximately a year ago when Seom was in the trenches, Jungkook, unbeknownst to his bandmates, found himself in front of Choi Enterprises. Even though the sum he got from your dad was useful in a way, it was hell to pay off. He handled it all alone, and wanted it to be a secret deal.

He still remembers that day, where you sat in front of him, flaunting the information like it bothers you.

He still remembers the way you thanked him.

Two simple, simple words. The ones that were taught as basic manners in school, ones which are usually ignored.

Two words he never saw coming his way, even with years of hard work and struggle, living in small dorms and surviving off of convenience store food for a dream.

No one ever appreciated him, except the person who he least thought would.

“Thank you.”

It held the fucking weight of the world when you elicited it from your posh voice.

It took him here. Landed into this mutual succour, drove him into the heights of insanity, shared nights and whatever remnants of passion he had.

It's been six months and a few.

Yet here he is, still tangled up in need for you.

You asked him for a month, but that was just a feeble fabric to mask how you both just wanted to have a good fuck after everything going on in your lives, seeking whatever you missed.

However, Seom was on its success grind. After the storm of hardships, you did keep your promise. Continuous shows, a few sponsorships.

There were clear boundaries in this mad game of push and pull.

It always remained a casual fuck, right after his gigs or sometimes in the closed walls of your luxurious penthouse that he thought he’d never see.

Because, you were mostly travelling, going on trips with god knows who.

He finds himself concerned about your company to these getaways, more than you’d given him the right for.

He opens up his messaging app again, briefly glancing at the time before opening your chats.

Finally.

Three dots appear, leave for a minute— not to be mistaken— as it comes back again with a bang, bringing in hot trails of new messages.

It was as if you were waiting for him to see your previous string of profanities.

[shortcake] 6:10 pm Asshole, where the fuck are you? [shortcake] 6:10 pm It’s been a week, Jungkook. Send me your location or you know I have my ways.

[jungkook] 6:11 pm I’m at the studio. Come to my room, behind. You know it.

He wondered why you didn’t bother checking in for a week, and clearly popped out of nowhere.

It’s just a casual hook-up with a rich girl who helps, sometimes. Who’s a menace, mostly.

He reminds himself, yet again.

Reality is so fucked up.

___

your pov.

You barge into the small practice room, a sense of knowing wrapping around you, ‘cause you’ve fucked almost everywhere at this point. It’s filthy, but it somehow keeps you together.

There was not a living soul here.

Huh.

“Shortcake?”

Honey coated voice— the one you hadn't heard for almost a week— engulfs you, heating you up like molten lava.

You simply walk over, throwing your bag on his couch, now acting as if the entire place’s yours, before piercing on the stool behind the drums.

“Where were you?” He casually sets up the aircon, closing the door as if he knew what’d happen any moment from now.

“Not your business. But guess.” You extend your hands, flaunting a set of rings made of sea-shells.

“Maldives? You went on tour again?” He asks, placing your tender fingers on his, examining the rings before abruptly taking them off.

“The fuck are you doing?!” You round up, trying to get hold of one of your favorite pieces.

“This’d look good in our studio. We’re sea themed, and I’m starting to think you got these for me.”

“You fucking wish, Jeon. Give. them. back.” You try to reach for his hands behind his back, slightly urging the both of you to the walls behind, but he wouldn't budge.

And then he does.

He turns around, crashing his lips on yours in a frantic kiss, pushing you against the walls, hands still holding your rings behind his back. Clutching together.

Your hands free run to his face, bringing him impossibly closer.

Somehow, his lips roaming around yours, pacing back and forth between consuming your edged gasps, felt like the end of something.

You can’t pinpoint what, though.

Standing tall, head straight to catch a breath, he throws your damned rings off.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Especially when you have him, diving down again to catch your lips in his, running tongue through its seams, ever so furiously.

“Fuck, you’re even better after each trip, __.”

The contempt tastes bitter on your freshly patched up lips.

You knew he didn't mean that.

Last week, before Maldives, you parted ways after a fiery argument about your 'big girl adventures' like he called them.

All it took was you to post a picture with your dad's friend's son, Minho.

He’s about to kiss you again, when those freshly done nails of yours press lightly against his chest, halting the actions.

“Go sit there for me, Jungkook.” You muse into his ears, pointing at the stool behind his instrument.

“Why do you have such a thing for those drums? Hm, shortcake?" His demeanor seemed out of track, eyes blazing into yours.

He’s always been vocal about what he wanted, the clear boundaries and whatnot. But today was in your hands.

You pull him forward, pushing his chest, forcefully getting him to sit on that little chair.

And the next thing you do, takes his breath away. Snatches it, visibly.

You sit on his lap, legs wrapping ‘round his torso— his hands instinctively moving to your hips, holding you in place.

“Your hair has grown so much, kook.” You scramble about, untying your own silky locks that cascade down, bringing the piece of hair tie to his wavy ones that fell ever so prettily over his forehead, arching your chest into his face in the process of crafting a man bun.

You could figure out his fucked up state under you, but the coherence lasts no longer than a second as his mouth envelopes your hardened nipples, from over your flimsy skims top, the friction sending a zap of electricity through you.

“Wearing nothing underneath, you’re always so planned, huh?”

He goes back, trailing slight kisses around your smooth, buttered up neck, grazing the one spot he knew would send you in spirals, as soon as you finish tying his hair up.

“Uh-huh, wanna see you.” You bring him up, his forehead displayed, skin shining under the lights that illuminate the room.

“Hmm, proud of myself.” You grin, as he pushes you forward, hastily, that makes you helplessly choke out a moan.

Because, he’s already hard, and amidst all of this, you’d almost forgotten the purpose of this visit.

“Show me more things that you’d be proud of, shortcake.”

He guides you again, folds delicately parting at the feeling of his hard on, hidden behind the slacks.

Stupid pants.

“Off. I need these off.” He lets you pull down the sweats, catching you off guard after, by stopping you with a grip on the wrists.

“Don’t have much time. Just— fuck— just sit on me, okay?”

Oh.

You inch forth, capturing the supple skin of his neck, sucking on it gently, and you swear he elicits a deep guttural sound that you’re so used to, but he pulls you back by the forearm, halting your actions.

“What is it now?” You roll your eyes, clearly tired of the way he stops you at every fucking step.

“Don’t leave marks, __. I’m serious.” His eyes mirror red-hot warning, which provoked your otherwise vague intentions of actually giving him a hickey.

But all you do is move on his growing hard-on, desperately, because,

Fuck trying to work him up when you can clearly see him snaking into your arms, your actions.

His hands fly to your hips, holding them against his own yet again as you set a rhythm with this entire thing, whatever the fuck it was— it was sure getting him riled up beneath you.

“Fuck, yes- sshit- just like that, shortcake.” He groans into your ears, hands frantically tugging down the white skims top to finally reveal your bosoms. He presses a light kiss to the very ends of your nipples that pebbles under the cold air of the room, making you hiss into his ears at the sensation, head falling back as your torso never fails to ride into his.

You could see how close he was, with just a look at his outline pressing ever so deliciously into the tight Calvin Klein's you were sitting on— claiming as yours with every stroke of friction felt in between your thighs.

“Just fucking want my- goddamn- performance to get over so that I can fuck you backstage, angel.”

Your stomach tightens at the idea, strings of what could be his name, and a few profanities slipping out of your mouth.

“You want someone to catch us, don’t you?” His doe eyes look up at your figure on his, and you just dip down in response, sucking on his neck again, purposefully leaving a dark, purple mark on it.

Maybe, you wanna see him mad.

“Fuck, __. You can never stop being a brat and listen to me for once.” You were achingly close to snapping that knot coiling in the pit of your stomach, the traction from the rough fabric of his boxers giving you life, just about to send you over the peak.

But he just— as cruelly yanks you off his lap.

“Down. On your knees now.” He gets up, pulling his tee away from his body with just one hand.

This shouldn’t be turning you on.

But it was, so you do.

Drop down on your knees, behind the fucking drums, your frame hidden behind.

The thought of someone barging in at the sight of Jungkook and you behind, seemed so enticing to you, but it vanishes as soon as it takes form, when the man right in front of you, grabs your open hair tightly in a pony-tail, before you could even pull them boxers down and take him in your grip.

“You’re not gonna utter a word, and do as I say.”

You look at him through lidded eyes, too far gone to even retort now.

“Use your mouth, __.” He spills out your full name, and that means it's done. Your part is over.

“Yes.” You state simply, his face contorting in amusement, before pulling his boxers down just enough for his fully hard cock to come up.

However, he was wrong, in thinking he had the full advantage of being the upper hand.

“What happened to having no time, baby?” You huff, too fast to let him catch the tone, before taking his tip in your glossy mouth, and all that came out from him in response was a lucid groan.

You knew he wanted to curse at you, sputter pure despise at your audacity to ignore his words.

Best part is, you also knew what your mouth did to him.

Something that sounded like a hushed out moan rumbled out of him, as he pulled your hair, guiding you well.

“Fuck, you love taking me, don’t you? Filthy girl doing so well for me.” He seems to have entirely forgotten your words amidst the mirage of pleasure your mouth enveloped him in.

“Can you look at me, __?” He sputters, hands hovering over your glossy cheeks, hollowed out around his cock.

He lets go of your hair, brushing it to the side and tucking it behind your ears, the blazing pull that burnt your scalp deliciously all along, finally coming to rest.

His voice was gentle, the one you could feel everywhere, so you continued, without adhering to his wish.

Because, you were taken aback by the soft call.

Terrified.

What happened to the harsh monotony he put through minutes ago?

The sting on your scalp hasn't fully died out, yet.

How the hell did things transition so quickly?

Like he had a mid-sex awakening, purely due to some blood flow issues?

Hormones?

Focus, __. Your hands presses on the muscular flesh of his upper thigh, as movements grow confident around his cock, slightly stroking the base with your fingers now and then, teasing, the jerk of his hips against you so sudden, you mumble a hushed fuck that travels all the way up his breaking point.

“Yyes- ffuck- shortcake do you not hear me? Look up at me, __.” He forces your chin up, as your eyes follow his face, contorting in gleaming pleasure.

“You’re so f- pretty nghh-” Those sounds. Desperate and splintered.

“I’m c- god fuck, where do y’want me, shortcake nghh-” He makes the prettiest sounds, sure, but you were still dazed.

“Wherever.” Your blunt response caught him off-guard, as he slowly pulled out, his own hands taking over, desperately and rushed.

“I’m- fu- shortcake, you’re gonna be the end- ssshit- of me” He snaps, like its been forever, cumming so fucking hard, as it leaks onto your chin that he’s still got a hold of.

At one point, he’s gasping, panting, riding his high like it’s the last time, stamina completely thrown off.

But the next minute, his hands are on your forearms, nudging you up, manhandling, imposing, lifting you up by the waist with the ease of his tatted arms, onto his drums.

Your ass presses far too much onto the rim of the drum pad, its nuances nudging your soft flesh as he clings his body onto yours.

“What the fuck was the attitude you gave me, __?” He rasps, bold and unrelenting into your face.

“I’m leaving today.” You say in a breath, wanting to close your eyes and hide from his questions that you knew would follow after.

“You were the one who texted me, called me and came in here. Now you’re leaving? Is it because of the trust fund baby you posted last day? Minho?” He speaks into the afterglow that glistened your face, the lights more brighter as the evening transitioned into the fall of night.

“I won’t come to your concert this week.” You just keep on spewing these sentences, knowing that he’d get mad, but it was inevitable.

He pushes away, the sudden loss of proximity and warmth almost propelling your body forward to chase it again, but you control.

“I’ll use your restroom, yeah?” You grab the bag and rings that lay forgotten.

His lack of response was definitely novel, but you don’t dwell.

Jungkook plops down on the couch, hands slowly untying the man bun that knotted his hair tightly, ruffling the now free curls, raking his palms slowly through them.

You come back, hands washed and freshened up, seeing him sprawled out on the couch.

Those lingering moments and conversations weren't a part of the deal. As much as you wanted to explain— how you had to urgently leave for London and why you're missing his concert— the way his features softened during sex, while he had you on him, all over and consuming.

That was new.

Bemusing.

You wanted to say anything, really.

But what was there to tell him, that doesn't sound like a goodbye now?

So, you quietly gather your things— the only things filling up the space being the hum of the aircon and the sofa creaking with his legs shaking in somewhat an anxious tone— and leave the studio.

────୨ৎ────

note, endingment and all who am i lmao BUT

part two?

the post oc made with minho here

────୨ৎ────

567 notes · View notes