#just everything he’s lost just… he’s thinking

[yandere-daydreams]

exhibit #4 - tickling.

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!dick grayson x reader (dc).

length: 1.6k.

warnings: non/con touching, mentions of kidnapping, explicit disregard of consent, tickling, prolonged captivity, and obsessive/delusional behavior. dead dove: do not eat.

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up in this position.

Being held in an underground facility for an indeterminable amount of time, you were starting to grapple with. It helped to think of it as a kind of witness protection program – the city’s ever-expanding network of criminals wanted you dead and buried, Gotham’s most prolific gang of vigilantes wanted you alive and able to provide testimony at an upcoming trial, and the best place to keep you in the meantime was one of the many tucked-away safe-havens they apparently had, where only the damp chill and occasional lost sewer rat would be able to find you. It wasn’t that bad. Your temporary living space was more similar to a high-end apartment than a war bunker, and someone was almost always around to keep you company (even if you could survive without the taller, angsty-er Robin’s board games).  If there’d been a few more windows, you might’ve been able to get used to it. You were still looking forward to getting home, of course, but you knew why you were here.

How you’d ended up tucked against Nightwing’s chest, his arms locked around your midriff and his face buried in the back of your shoulder was… less comprehensible.

‘Bonding time’, he called it. There was a movie playing in the background – some b-rated flick meant to make you scream and flinch and melt further into him – and he’d cornered you in the bedroom, insisted that both of you would be more than comfortable on your twin-sized mattress. Of all the bats, he was the most determined to treat you more like a little sibling than an endangered civilian. Part of it (most of it, even) was guilt. He’d been the one to find you in the back of that big, white van; the one to suggest putting you into hiding to the others. Of course he wanted to make you feel comfortable. If you didn’t, he would be the reason why.

You just wished his bids for your forgiveness were a little less tactile.

The leading lady let out a cartoonishly high-pitched scream as the killer’s axe broke through the ridiculously thin door of her bathroom, and you felt Nightwing’s hand flatten against your stomach, prepared for you to startle and shrink, ready to draw you closer at the first sign of a reaction. It took everything you had not to roll your eyes. A shirt that read ‘Sorry I got you sort of kidnapped, please tell me I’m a good hero!’ would’ve been more subtle.

Sighing, you started to push yourself up. He was quick to stop you, of course, drawing back without loosening his grip. “Going somewhere?”

“Mhm. I just need to—” A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat on your bedside table, an untouched glass of water next to it. You could say you needed to use the bathroom, but you’d already used that excuse, too. Less than ten minutes ago, in fact. “—stretch my legs. I’ll be back in a second.”

He hummed, one of his hands falling to your side, where your oversized shirt had ridden up to expose skin. “If you’re feeling restless, you can say so. I’ll talk to B about moving some gym equipment in – let you burn off some steam while I’m gone.” He paused, laughed. “Or I could be your personal trainer. Promise I’ll go easy on you n’ everything.”

Your tense smile faltered. Great.Then he’d have yet another reason to put his hands on you. “Mr. Nightwing, sir, I’m really just—”

“I’ve told you,” he cut in, tone light and saccharine and so incredibly grating. “You can call me Dick.”

“I really don’t think I should know your real—”

“I don’t mind. It’s only fair, since I know yours.”

“That’s different.” It really wasn’t. You hadn’t wanted him to know yours, either. “I’m sorry, but I really just need a couple of minutes to—”

Again, you tried to pull away, and again, he stopped you. This time, though, the effort was hasty, sloppy, and his fingertips brushed against the tender skin just above your hip in just the wrong way. Before you could swallow it back, an airy giggling slipped past your lips – more reflex than anything. Immediately, you stopped moving, and Dick did the same – his hand clamping down around your waist.

You tried to speak, but he was faster, his delight blatant enough to be audible. “You’re ticklish?”

“I’m not.” And then, more defensively, “It hurts and I hate it.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t let you go, either. His hold on you shifted, one arm wrapping around your diaphragm while skirting his freehand along your lower stomach, his touch nearly too light to be felt. Your reaction was instantaneous, humiliatingly so. A crooked smile, a fractured laugh followed shortly by an awkward, painful wheezing sound. You threw your elbow into his chest, but he ignored you, only nuzzling into the nape of your neck. “Yeah, I can tell how much you hate it.”

He was practically dripping with that self-congratulatory, faux-sympathetic confidence. You grit your teeth, biting back a comment about Gotham’s heroes and their faulty sense of mortality, but it was a waste of breath. He was already moving onto his next target – the inside of your thighs, clamped shut as soon as his hand started veering in that direction. That didn’t matter. All it took was the pads of his fingertips grazing over that hyper-sensitive junction for you to lose your composure, kicking out blindly as you coughed up a sound that swung closer to death gasps than laughter.

Dick didn’t seem to mind. When he laughed, it was light, chiming, genuine. He propped his chin on your shoulder, watching your expression as his hands moved over your stomach, your sides, your midriff. “It’s cute,” he muttered, only half-focused on what he was saying. Most of his attention was dedicated to touching you, tickling you, making sure you didn’t have time to breath in-between thrashing fits – let alone resist. “And it’s good to see you lighten up. I don’t think you’ve smiled since the day we met.” Your recollection was swift, spotty. Darkness, adrenaline, terror, and then, relief, light, a smiling face. You couldn’t remember anything beyond that, not beyond what’d been told to you later on. You couldn’t remember whether you’d been happy to find yourself in Dick’s arms, or devastated that you were still being held at all. “You could afford to let your guard down a little, you know. It’s not like any bad guys are gonna be able to find you here – not with me looking out for you.”

 “I don’t—” It was awful, not being able to spit out a coherent string of words without your own dysfunctional body cutting you off. It was awful, knowing he wouldn’t listen even if you could. “I’m not afraid of any—”

“Of course you aren’t. Not when I’m here to keep you safe.” His voice had taken on a strange drawl, blurring around the edges. You felt him shift against your back, his hands leaving your body for one merciful second before finding your shoulders and jerking you onto your back, the motion forceful enough to knock the air out of your lungs. You were never going to get used to it; the freakish strength, the inhuman speed, the bizarre flexibility that meant he was on top of you long before you’d had the chance to catch your breath. His knees dug into the mattress on either side of your waist, his hips slotted against yours. Against your will, you felt something stiff and warm press into your lower stomach, and choose not to put a name to it.

Your chest throbbed, like it was at risk of splitting open. Your body ached, too little oxygen in too many placed, and it took you seconds to remember how to make any sound other than short, pitchy whines. Dick took it all in from above, only partially cast in shadow. Unlike the others, he never wore his mask around you – something about ‘letting his guard down’ or ‘proving you can trust him’, you were sure. Still, you wished he cared more about his secret identity. Even blank anonymity would’ve been better than being able to make out the deep, scarlet blush spread over his cheeks as he loomed over you, to recognize the raggedness of his own breathing and force yourself not to acknowledge why he seemed so strained.

“You’re not smiling.” It was true. You weren’t. Your expression had fallen into a distinct, pathetic grimace – only a touch less strained than the alternative. “Are you going to fix that, or do you need my help?”

In your own defense, you tried. You did your best to force it, to contort your lips into something that could pass for an easy smile, but whatever mangled offering you managed to pull together wasn’t up to Dick’s standards. He sighed, bowing his head and raising his hands. For a brief, terrible second, you pictured his fingers curled around your throat, your body convulsing as you suffocated, but his intentions were elsewhere. The hem of your shirt was caught and drawn up to your chin, far past anything that could ever be considered appropriate. You felt his fingertips drag over the curve of your rip cage once, twice before it kicked in – a searing, full-body laugh tearing out of your chest while you thrashed, your back arching and your hips inadvertently crashing against his. Immediately, Dick buckled – falling against you, hiding his face in your shirt. A second later, you felt something damp start to soak into your shorts, so hot it could’ve burnt.

The minutes passed, but Dick didn’t move, content to keep his body pressed into yours. Teary-eyed and dizzy, you let your head roll to the side, staring blankly at the television just as the credits started to roll.

At least he couldn’t keep you here forever, right?

[satrs]

Say please.

SYNOPSIS. He falls under your control, lost in a messy mix of power, desire, and reckless passion. How far will he let you take him?

TAGS. MDNI! 18+ CONTENT!. unprotected intercourse. subby guys !!! Bréeding. size k!nk(?). a lil' soft in xav's. B job. handjob. guided màsturbation. praising. P job. Bòndage in caleb's. degradation in caleb's. chokíng in caleb's. dirty talk. edging. overstim. nìpple play. riding. Use of "good boy". TEASING. needy/shameless caleb. bratty sylus & rafayel. blindfolding in zayne's. mention of marrige in zayne's ^^.

FEAT. Xavier. Zayne. Rafayel. Sylus. Caleb. xfem!reader

✎ A/N; I'm ovulating so here ya go. D!CK THEM DOWN! D!CK THEM DOWN!. I’ll never beat the gooner allegations Sighhh. Have a nice read and day/night! <3

XAVIER ・❥・Lazybones!?

"You know",

You lean down, brushing your fingers through his golden strands, feeling their silkiness between your fingertips before cupping his face gently, tilting it up so he had no choice but to meet your gaze. His lashes flutter, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as a soft, needy whimper escapes him.

“You’re such a lazy boy, Xav’,” you murmur, your voice both teasing and firm. “I think we need to change that, don’t we?”

His breath hitched, his expression betraying just how much he needed this—needed you.

“Y-yes,” he whispers, voice trembling, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was waiting for permission to reach for you. “Please.”

A small, satisfied smile tuggs at your lips.

You lean down, capturing his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. It's deep but unhurried, your mouth moving against his with a gentleness that belied the control you held over him.

Control you knew he loved.

You let it linger just long enough to leave him breathless before pulling back, a slick line of saliva connecting you both as you relish in the way he let out a soft whine, his body instinctively following, as if seeking more.

His chest rose and fell beneath your touch, his skin warm beneath your fingertips as you trace slow patterns down his torso, mapping the lean lines of his body. You're not in a hurry because, why would you? This is something to be savored.

“I want you to touch yourself for me, Xav'.” you murmur, voice calm but commanding.

His breath hitches again, and he let out the tiniest whimper in protest, his thighs pressing together for a moment before he hesitantly moves his hands. “Baby, please” he mumbles, babbling, even, barely audible, but obeyed nonetheless.

You watch him, every movement, every flicker of expression, your own fingers continuing to trace his skin, teasing, but never quite giving him the relief he sought.

You lean in, lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper, “Good boy, doing so well for me. Keep going.”

A shiver runs through him at your praise, his breath coming in soft, needy gasps as he follows your instructions. His movements become more eager, more desperate, but you not going to give in just yet. You reach down, your hand ghosting over his, guiding him, controlling the pace, making sure he didn’t rush.

“No need to hurry,” you sooth, voice a soft murmur against his skin. “Want you to feel everything.”

He whimpers at that, head tipping back against the pillows, exposing the elegant curve of his throat as another desperate sound escapes him. The sight's intoxicating.

His Hair splashed onto the pillow in a halo, rosey cheeks evident on his porcelain skin. Shallow breath against the shell of your ear as your fingers just barely trace at the base of his pained cock, pre spurting in need.

Your fingers slide down, intertwining with his, movements slow and calculated. He lets out another needy whine, breath stuttering, his body trembling beneath your touch. You take your time, drawing out every moment, the reapearing schlick schlick, schlick sound of his hurried wrist turning his brain into a mindless goo.

“Look at me, Xav'.”

His heavy-lidded gaze snaps to meet yours, pupils blown, lips trembling as he lets out another quiet plea. “Urghhh, P-please, I need—need you.”

Finally, you position yourself above him, thighs caging his shacking ones inbetween them, guiding his hand away and replacing it with your own.

He lets out a broken sigh, his fingers gripping the sheets as he surrenders completely to your touch. His body's yours to command, every breath, every movement dictated by the unspoken rhythm you set.

Your thumb catches onto his sensitive tip, draaaaging along his leaking slit so tortorously slow, wicked even. “Such a sweet boy,” you murmur, tracing the curve of his jaw before pressing soft kisses down the column of his throat. “So good for me.”

His fingers tremble as they clutch at the sheets, his legs shifting restlessly, breath coming in soft, uneven gasps. Every time your fingers catch onto a prominent vein along his shaft, he let out the most delicate whimpers, his body pliant beneath you.

It's a symphony of desperate need, each note echoing his obedience to you and you only.

You move with patience, savoring every tremor, every breathless gasp that leaves his lips. His body arched instinctively toward you, his moans growing more desperate, more pleading. “Please, pleasepleaseplease—”

You hush him with another kiss, deep and slow, sighing into his mouth as your fingers never cease their careful exploration. “Shhhhh,” you usher against his lips, “just let me take care of you.”

His head lolls back against the pillow, exposing his flushed skin, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. The soft, whiny sounds that leave him sent a thrill through you, a heady mixture of power and devotion surging in your veins.

Time seemed to slow, stretching each second into something tangible, something euphoric. His every movement, every sound, is an offering to you, a wordless expression of trust and desire. The way he looks at you, eyes glossy with need, lips parted as if searching for the words to beg properly.

It makes your heart race.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” brushing your fingers over his wet, parted lips. He instinctively kisses your fingertips, sloppy, another soft wail slipping from his throat.

He nods, barely able to form words, his body shivering as you continue to toy with him, drawing out his pleasure, making him feel every ounce of what you're giving him. “Only for you,” his, voice breathless, rushed and desperate.

You reward him with another lingering kiss, swallowing his whimpers, fist twisting around his girth with tender control. His hands cling to you weakly, his body pliant beneath your touch.

Every movement, every sound, tells you exactly what he needs, and you give it to him in slow, deliberate jerks, focusing in on his keen crown, drawing out the moment until he's trembling from the sheer intensity of it all.

And when you finally allow him release, a deep surrender that leaves him panting beneath you, utterly spent yet completely at peace.

Fingers coated in his white, sticky semen, twitching cock still firmly in your hand as you milk him to the last drop, the lewd whines follwing suit. His fingers weakly reach for you, and you pull him close, letting him sink into your warmth, his soft, satisfied sigh filling the space between you.

“Good job,” pressing a kiss to his temple, you brush damp strands of hair from his face. He nuzzles into your touch, a sleepy, contented hum escaping him as he melts against you.

ZAYNE・❥・ So sensitive!

“My gosh, Zayne,”

you muse, fingers dancing over his glistening skin. Zayne shudders beneath you, his breath shaky as he grips the sheets. The warm glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows over his flushed form, every inch of him betraying his need.

You’re perched right above him, hips rolling just enough to tease, to keep him on edge. God, he's about to loose his mind.

He’s always so composed, so in control in every other part of his life, but here, with you, he’s wrecked, bare to your mischevous antics.

“Now, now, what’s got you so worked up, hm?” Your voice drips with amusement as you drag your fingers along his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering beneath his skin.

"You know damn well—"

His lips part, but all that comes out is a heavy groan. You smile, leaning down to brush your lips against his jaw before whispering, “You can use your words, can’t you?”

Zayne swallows, hard, hands twitching like he wants to touch you but knows better than to move without permission. “Y-you—” His voice is barely a whisper, so wrecked already.

You tilt your head, “I-I -I what?” you mock him, stern, comanding voice almost startling him if it doesn't only make him grow harder against your tummy.

“You’re teasing me,” he breathes, heavy, piercing gaze of his making you giggle.

"Mhm," you hum in agreement, tracing his jawline before suddenly slipping a silk blindfold over his eyes, his vision going dark.

He inhales sharply, body tensing before melting beneath you. He loves this—loves the way you take away one of his senses, making him focus only on your touch, your words, the warmth of your body against his.

“So sensitive tonight,” you murmur, your fingers dancing lower, tracing his hipbones before ghosting over his eager, angry cock, not quite touching, just enough to make him whine.

He shifts beneath you, trying to get more friction, but you lift yourself just out of reach. “Patience, love.”

"Please." Zayne’s head tilts back against the pillow, a soft sound of frustration escaping him followed by a silent plea, making a smirk dance across your features, running your nails lightly down his chest. “Please what?”

He lets out a small, needy sigh. “Please, my darling wife. T-touch me.”

“Gladly.” you muse, pressing a soft kiss to his throat before finally wrapping your tender fingers around him. His breath stutters, a deep, broken moan slipping past his lips as you stroke him slowly.

His body twitches with each movement, and you can tell he’s already close—so responsive, so beautifully sensitive to every little touch.

“My husband 's doin' such an amazing job,” you whisper against his ear, your voice sending a shiver through him. “Had such a rough day, didn't you?”

“Y-yes,” he gasps, his hips twitching up into your hand.

You reward him with a slow, deep stroke, relishing the way he trembles beneath you. But then you stop, pulling your hand away entirely, leaving him aching.

Zayne lets out a soft whimper, his hands gripping the sheets tighter. “D-darlin'—”

You interrupt him with a light chuckle, dragging your nails down his stomach. “Relaaax. M' gonna take good care of you, yes?"

Before he can even think to answer, a whine slips from his lips as you shift, finally lowering yourself onto his lap, his tip catching your clit, robbing a shriek from you. He shudders violently at the sensation, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you glide along his length, slow, savoring, teasing.

“Feels so good,” you murmur, your hands sliding up his chest as you lose your patience, hand grasping the base of his throbbing cock before you align it to your flexing hole, sloooowly sink down onto him.

Zayne lets out a deep, broken moan, his head falling back against the pillow as you begin to rock your hips at a steady pace, thirsty hips claiming him, leaving him breathless. His hands twitch at his sides, wanting to hold you, to ground himself, but he knows better than to mess this up.

“That’s it,” you praise, rolling your hips just enough to drive him wild. “Taking it so well. C'mon, don't be shy now. Touch me. M' your wife, no?”

His hands finally reach for you, fingers digging into your thighs, his desperation evident in the way he clings to you. You let him have this, let him hold on, because he’s been so good, so obedient.

Breath hitching, his entire body trembling beneath you as his fingers twitch, desperate, in search for your hips now, delicately wrapping them around your waist, careful and wary.

He can feel the blindfold slipping slightly from his face, his intense breath turning him light-headded— he can't do noting but releash in the pleasure of your compressed hole choking him as if you've forgotten he's your husband— as if you wanted to kill him.

“I— I don’t— Can't-"

“You can,” you whisper softly, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips, a broken whimper from you following suit “You’re doing sooo good, doctor.”

The teasing nickname only adding fuel to his spurting fire, fingers ironclad on your hips, just resting there, trying to give his mind some sense of control despite the barbarous whine of your hips and him barely able to keep up, hell— even to hold on.

The pleasure builds between you, slow and intoxicating, and Zayne is unraveling beneath you, his body shaking, his voice breaking as he gasps your name.

“I have such a sensitive husband, hm?,” you murmur teasing evident in your voice even with his eyes blindfolded, hips rocking against him in a tantalizing, almost selfish way, trailing kisses along his jaw as you guide him toward his release. “C'mon, fill me up.”

And he does.

He lets go with a shuddering cry, his entire body tensing before his cock spurts inside you with greed.

You're pressing soothing kisses to his skin as he comes down from the high, slown rocking of your hips draaaging it out further, thick spurts of cum never ending, his breath still uneven, you coo at him.

You finally remove the blindfold, letting him blink up at you with dazed, glassy eyes.

He looks so beautiful like this—flushed, spent, utterly at your mercy.

“Did so well,” you whisper, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead.

He exhales shakily, his hands still holding onto you. “You’re going to be the death of me, dear” he mutters, voice hoarse.

You laugh softly, pressing one last kiss to his lips.

“Only in the best way.”

RAFAYEL・❥・Watch but don't touch!

"Nuh uhhh. Hands to yourself."

Your bottom lip cages between your teeth at his frustrated whine, eyes closed shut as your delicate hand swats his away.

Kitten licks against his angry cock head make his eyes roll to the very back of his skull, thigh clenching at any slight movement of yours. Teasingly, you blow against his stiff length, giggling at his hip stuttering up into the air.

"N-No fair", he says with such an adorable pout on his handsome face, you almost feel sorry.

Almost.

"M' just having a little fun, don't be a kill joy now", you muse, tongue lolling out with a wicked grin to your face that just screams you're up to no good.

His head falls back against the backrest of the couch with a loud groan once his senses get engulfed by your mouth throating his cock whole, sloppy gagging sounds reapeating over and over again- going on for hours now.

His head hurts.

Your warm mouth and his cockhead prodding at your tight throat with each headbop of yours. But once your hand sneaks under his thigh, goosebumps arising on his skin as you begin to fondle his hefty, cum-filled balls—

He's losing it.

"Urghhh, js' like that, m' gonna—"

A hitched breath gets caught in his throat, hips stuttering up into your mouth. Your hand firmly presses down onto his hip, plastering him still onto the couch so he wouldn't move.

"Do it, I dare you." you spit before resuming to your sloppy assault between his legs.

His head falls back, hand brushing over his face in frustration because he knows it's a threat.

"Please, baby. Pleaseee, pleaseplease, lemme'—"

"I told you. Do it."

His neck falls down, huffy breath hot as he meets your gaze, whining. And he knows what's about to dawn uppon him at the fierce look you shot him.

He knows he's fucked.

"No. Nononono, please don't be such a meanie, cutie. C'monnnn—!"

Your wicked smirk deepens as his chest heaves, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a bowstring about to snap.

His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to grab you, to tangle into your hair and ram into your mouth, but he knows better. He knows the rules you've laid out so cruelly, and the punishment that awaits if he dares to break them.

Hell— if he acts up, he might not be cumming at all tonight.

His cock throbs against your tongue, the weight of it heavy and hot in your mouth as you pull back just enough to flick your tongue over his slit, swirling the tip with slow, deliberate swipes, milking his poor swelling, mushroomy tip to it's limits, leaking pre indicating the brewing storm to soon come.

"Ohhh, baby, babybabybaby—"

Your hand tightens around the base of his cock, squeezing just enough to make him whimper, his hips desperately seeking the friction you're denying him. You pull off with a lewd pop, a thin trail of saliva connecting your lips to his flushed tip.

"What was that?" You ask innocently, tilting your head, fingers lazily stroking along his length, lewd moisty sounds ringing in his ear making him go dizzy. "Did you say something?"

His jaw clenches, the veins in his neck standing taut as he tries to reign himself in. But he’s losing the battle, his restraint unraveling with every teasing touch, every breathy giggle that escapes your lips.

"Y-You know damn well," he pants, frustrated, his fingers curling into fists on the sheets. "Need it. Need it soooo damn bad, cutie— nghhh!"

"Need what?" You interrupt with a tight head lock of your hand around his cock, sufforcating him, feigning confusion, as you pump him slow, torturous. His head slams back against the couch, almost snaping his neck with the force, a broken groan spilling from his throat.

"Use your words."

His breath shudders. "I need to cum."

"Mmm." You hum, considering. "You know, I don’t think you've earned it yet."

His eyes snap open, dark with desperation. "W-what? H-hahhh— c'mon now! S-stop it, js' fuckin'— godddd—"

Your free hand trails up his abdomen, fingers dancing over the sculpted ridges of his stomach before pressing down against his chest, pinning him in place. His heart hammers beneath your palm, each erratic thump evidence of just how close he is to unraveling.

"You wanna cum so bad?" You coo, leaning in, breath hot against his ear as you pump him faster, the slick sounds of your hand working him over making him whimper. "Then hold it. Don't you dare let go until I say so."

A strangled noise escapes his throat, his body shaking with effort. The need to release is overwhelming, every nerve in his body screaming for that final push over the edge. But he knows you're testing him, dangling his pleasure just out of reach, and he wants, no, needs, to be good for you.

"Ohhh, you're struggling, aren't you? Cute." You purr, dragging your tongue along the length of his swelling cock, reveling in the way his cock jumps in your grasp. "Poor thing, trying so hard."

"F-Fuck, I— I c-can’t—" he stammers, his voice wrecked with restraint, muscles locked in place as his climax hovers agonizingly close. So damn close he can taste it at the tip of his tongue.

Your smirk deepens. "Not yet."

His entire body seizes, his thighs trembling violently as you suddenly stop, your grip loosening entirely. His hips jerk up on instinct, desperately seeking the friction you’ve just denied him.

A choked whine spills from his lips, frustration darkening his gaze as he watches you lean back, tortured cock throbbing with need, reddish tip pulsating angrily, hefty balls squeezing in desperate need of release, you're licking your lips, savoring the taste of him.

"Awww, did you think I was going to let you finish?" You taunt, fingers dancing along his twitching thigh. "How silly of you."

His breath is ragged, cock twitching against his stomach, still leaking, still aching for the release you've stolen from him.

"You look so pretty like this," you muse, tracing idle circles against his hip. "I could do this all night. Over and over."

A shiver runs through him, his pupils blown wide because he knows you're not bluffing.

Your fingers brush over his cock one last time, teasing, just enough to make him shudder before you pull away entirely, standing up with a satisfied smirk.

"Who knows," You stretch, letting him see the full curve of your body as you climb onto his lap, casting him one last teasing glance, before you align his oozing tip to your entrance, pussy clenching around the hefty tip in excitement.

"Maybe you'll get to cum in me. How 's that sound?"

A broken groan escapes him, his hands gripping the couch in frustration. "Yer' evil."

With one last grin you sloooowly sink down on his length, lips caged between your teeth at the tantalizing strech, his hands brushing over his face at the immense pleasure and the sheer frustration of it all.

"And you love it."

Failing in trying to bite back his loud whine, his hips stutter up into yours, fully burying himself into you with one thrust, satisfied sigh rushing from his tense chest.

"I do."

SYLUS・❥・You were saying?

Sylus was a handful— a gorgeous, infuriating handful.

Cocky smirk, sharp tongue, and a tendency to push every single one of your buttons just to see how far he could get. But that was fine because tonight, he was going to learn exactly what happens when he teases too much.

"That's all you got? C'mon sweetie, you can do better than—"

You cut him off with a sharp grind of your hips, dragging yourself along his restrained form. The friction was intoxicating, your clit catching onto his silver happy trail, pulling a sharp moan from your lips.

"You were saying, Sy?" you mock, voice dripping with amusement.

Sylus squirms beneath you, his arms bound to the headboard, wrists tied tight with burgundy silk.

His cock twitches against his stomach, already leaking precum, but you aren't ready to give him what he wants just yet. You savor the sight of him, muscles tense, face twisted in frustration and pleasure.

"C'monnn," he muses, the brat in him still pushing. "I know you can do it."

Your hips never relent, never flatten, keeping a teasing pace that has him groaning, his body desperate for more. The tight clench of your velvet, silky walls around him, caging his crown so tightly in the depth of your pussy. And then—

A whine.

The Sylus just... whined?

You pause just enough to hear the hitch in his breath, the frustrated little sound he makes, like he's about to throw a tantrum. It makes something wicked curl in your stomach.

"Just—h-hahh, just—urghhh— slow down."

A cruel smile tugs at your lips. "Slow down? But didn’t ya' wanna tell me somethin'?" You tilt your head, faux innocence dripping from your voice.

Sylus tugs at the restraints, hips bucking uselessly. "You're driving me insane, sweetheart," he mutters, and you can hear the slightest edge of desperation creeping in.

"Good," you purr. "That means I'm doing a good job."

Oh, he's loving this.

You lean down, your breath ghosting over his throat before you press a lingering kiss there, your tongue flicking against his pulse point. He shivers beneath you, but when he tries to roll his hips up, seeking more friction, you immediately lift yourself off him, denying him entirely.

"C-come back." he gasps, eyes flying open, staring at you in sheer disbelief.

"Did ya' forget who's in charge here?" you coo, running a single finger down his abdomen, stopping just above where he wants you most. "Yer' not the leader of Onychinus when you're such a desperate mess under me, my darling Sy'."

His jaw clenches. "You can’t just—"

"I can do whatever I want."

Your voice is laced with authority, leaving no room for argument and he might bust right there, you're strict words sending more and more blood pumping to his already stiffened cock. "And right now, I think you need to learn some patience."

Sylus huffs, but the way his body trembles betrays his excitement. You trail a teasing hand lower, barely brushing over his cock before pulling away entirely. His frustrated groan sends heat straight to your buttony clit.

"You wanna be a brat, Sy? Then you get to wait."

His head falls back against the pillows, exhaling sharply. "You’re an evil woman."

You hum thoughtfully. "Maybe. But m' your evil woman. Besides," You lean down, eye to eye with those rubies of his, voice barely above a whisper and mere inches away from his moist lips, "you fucking love it."

And judging by the way his body quivers, the way his cock twitches in protest, you know you're absolutely right.

Shifting, you settle between his legs, your hands bracing against his thighs as you slowly press your slick folds against his length—not letting him inside, just rubbing yourself along him, teasing. His breath shudders, head tilting back, arms flexing against the restraints as his hips jerk.

"F-fuckkk," he breathes, voice strained.

"Language, Sylus."

His groan is almost pained, and you can’t help the way your smirk deepens. You drag yourself along his length again, letting your clit catch the head of his cock before rolling back down, watching him squirm beneath you.

"Please," he finally murmurs, voice breathy and wrecked.

"Hmmm?"

His jaw clenches, but the fight is draining from him. "Please, let me feel you."

You press a slow, deliberate kiss to his rosy cheek. "Do you really think you deserve it?"

His frustration bubbles over, his muscles tensing as he tugs at the restraints again. "I—fuck—I'll be good. Just— please."

That’s all you needed to hear.

Finally, you sink down onto him, inch by inch, letting yourself stretch around his length as he groans beneath you.

His head presses back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut as a long, desperate moan spills from his lips. His body trembles beneath you, entirely at your mercy.

You waste no time setting a pace that has him unraveling, your hips rolling with practiced precision, walls tightening around him just enough to keep him teetering on the edge. He’s panting, groaning, cursing under his breath, everything, really.

"H-hahh, honey, please—" he chokes out, muscles flexing with restraint.

You grin, knowing he’s barely holding on. "Not yet," you murmur, dragging your nails down his chest. "I’ll tell you when."

His entire body trembles, and you can feel his cock twitch inside you, warning you that he’s so damn close. You clench around him, but keep your pace steady, greedy walls contracting around him, hitching his breath each time, teasing him, holding him on that delicious edge.

You grind your clit against his pelvis, your own pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, and your moans start to mix with his. The build-up is intoxicating, and you can feel yourself tipping closer to release.

Fingers finding his nipples, you roll them between your fingertips, drawing a sharp growl from him, soon latching your mouth onto one sensitive bud with a wicked smile, his body arching into yours.

"J-just a little longer," you whisper, voice aswell as your movement stuttering as he rams at your cervix, leaning over him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Don't give up on — fuck!— on me y-yet."

Those words only worsen his condition as his cock jumps inside you, his moans turn into desperate whimpers, his body tensing beneath you. "I—I can't hold it anymore," he gasps, voice aswell as his confident, dominant facade cracking with need.

"You will." you command, biting down on his earlobe.

Tears threaten to well at the corners of his eyes, his body shaking, every muscle locked in anticipation. You almost feel bad.

Maybe you should cut him some slack.

"Now, Sylus," you finally whisper, voice thick with pleasure, "cum for me."

The command shatters him. His hips jerk as he spills into you with a deep, guttural moan, his entire body wracked with trembling aftershocks. The sensation of him pulsing inside you pushes you over the edge, pleasure crashing through you in waves as you cry out, body clenching around his.

For a moment, all you can hear is heavy breathing, the aftermath of pleasure settling into your limbs. You brush a hand down his chest, soothing him as he slowly comes down, his eyes hazy, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

"Told ya you could do better," he murmurs, breathless and wrecked.

You chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss against his jaw. "And I told you I'd put you in your place."

His laugh is soft, spent. "Guess I should nudge you off more often."

You grin, fingers tightening around the restraints still holding him in place. "Careful what you wish for, Sy'. You might not be able to handle it."

"Try me."

CALEB・❥・Lovin' it.

Caleb is a man of discipline, restraint, and quiet devotion, a gentleman in the streets and, well, something else entirely when you have him beneath you like this—fully at your mercy. Wrecked and ruined.

And loving every second of it.

You straddle his waist, watching the way his chest rises and falls, his breaths shallow and desperate. His wrists are tied to the headboard, rope digging deliciously into his milky skin, and his flushed face is a sight to behold.

Disheveled brown hair clings to his sweat-slick forehead, his lips parted as he pants beneath you, his body trembling with overstimulation from the aftermath of his previous orgasm, his sticky semen clinging to your walls.

"P-please, baby. Yer' killin' me here."

Your nails drag down his chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake, your hips still grinding mercilessly against his overstimulated cock, dragging out every last ounce of pleasure he has left to give.

"Oh, come on," you purr, tilting your head as you roll your hips with slow, deliberate intent, hand forcefully pushing him down onto the bed.

"You're being a fuckin' liar. You love it. Just look at yourself."

His head tilts back against the pillow, exposing the elegant column of his throat as a broken groan spills from his lips. His body twitches, trembling, and his bound hands flex, fingers curling as though searching for something to hold onto.

Oh yeah, you’ve got him.

"You like being used like this, don’t you, Caleb?" you continue, dragging your fingers up his throat, thumb pressing into the side of his jaw just enough to make his breath hitch. "Like my own personal toy."

His entire body jerks beneath you, another wrecked sound slipping from his lips. The way he responds so beautifully to every single thing you do is intoxicating, so lovestruck and utterly in love with you, falling victim to each of your antics, making the heat in your belly burn hotter, the wetness between your thighs even slicker—if that's even possible.

"Fuckin' perv," you murmur, your grip on his throat tightening just enough to make his pulse quicken. "All spread out for me, taking everything I give you, hm?"

A strangled whimper escapes him, his hips bucking helplessly. His cock twitches inside you, still sensitive, still aching, but he’s at your mercy. There’s nothing he can do but take it.

"S’too much," he slurs, voice thick with pleasure, his body trembling with each roll of your hips. "I—fuck, I can't—"

"Can't what?" you taunt, your free hand moving to tug lightly at his nipple, relishing the way his breath stutters. "Can't handle how good I make you feel?" You tighten your grip around his throat, just enough to make him whimper. "I think you can. I think you fucking love it."

His moans are nothing short of sinful, his body arching into you as if begging for more despite his protests. His flushed chest rises and falls, his bound wrists struggling against the silk restraints, but there's no real fight left in him.

He’s too far gone, drunk on the sensation of you using him like this, taking what you need over and over again, he can barely count how many times he's spurted weak shots of his cum into you. But he can't have enough. He wants more.

"Look at you," you coo, easing the grip on his throat only to drag your fingers down his jaw, thumb tracing his bottom lip. "So desperate. So needy. And you call yourself a gentleman?"

His eyes flutter open, glassy and desperate. "M'—nghhh!, m' a gentleman—"

You let out a cruel little laugh. "Not right now. Right now, you’re just a needy, pathetic mess."

He groans, the sound dissolving into something dangerously close to a sob when you shift your hips, grinding your clit against him, drawing another pulse of pleasure from his already overstimulated cock.

"I—baby—" he gasps, eyes squeezing shut as he trembles. "I'm gonna—"

"Gonna cum?" Your voice is firm, commanding, and his entire body stiffens, obeying instinctively. "You're gonna pump me full like a good boy, hm?"

His breath shudders, his fingers clenching into tight fists. "Y-yeah. Yes. Fuck! Yesyesyes. M' yer' g-good boy. All yers'."

"Mhmmm. All mine. My sweet boy."

The praise alone makes his cock twitch, balls swelling, and you smirk, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his throat before biting down just enough to make him whimper.

"Js' a little longer, mkay?"

He moans again, his entire body thrumming with desperation.

"I bet you’d let me keep you like this all night, wouldn’t you?"

He lets out a broken, gasping sound, barely able to speak. "Yes—fuck! — yes, please. Pleasepleaseplease use me. All of me. I—"

You keep riding him, gyrating your hips against his in harsh rams, watching as he grows more desperate, thighs trembling beneath you, his moans turning into pleading little whimpers.

"Please, pips," he finally gasps, his voice barely above a breath. "Please let me cum. I'll be good. Gonna- fuh-fuckkkk! Gonna take it. M' yer' good boy, right?"

Your fingers tighten around his throat again, your other hand reaching down to trail across his chest, biting back a moan as his cock smooches your womb with his twitch alone. "You wanna cum, Caleb?"

"Yesyesyes- Wanna- need ta'," he whines, his entire body tense, voice cracking under the weight of his desperation, hands scrambling against the tight rope around his wrist. "Please—please, I need it, I need you."

"You need me?" You smirk, dragging your nails down his chest again. "Yeah, I know you do. Look at you, fuckin' ruined. It's almost p-pathetic, really."

You're right there with him, your own climax coiling hot and tight in your stomach, and you lean down, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "Cum for me, Caleb. Fill me up real good, yeah?"

The command is all it takes to break him.

His entire body tenses, back arching off the bed as he spills thin spurts of weak cum inside you with a deep, shuddering moan, his bound hands flexing uselessly above his head, almost ripping the headboard with his sheer strength.

The feeling of him cumming, the heat, the pulse of him inside you sends you over the edge, your own release crashing into you like a tidal wave. Your walls clench around him, milking him for everything he has left, and your own moans mix with his, filling the air with the sound of bliss and ruin.

When you finally regain your senses, you glance down at him, watching the way his chest still rises and falls in heavy pants, his golden hair sticking messily to his forehead. His wrists are red from pulling against the restraints, lips swollen from where he's bitten into them.

You smirk, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "See? You can handle it."

His breathy little laugh is hoarse, his voice completely shot, tugging at the rope binding his hands. "D-don't know if I can survive another round, pips."

You grin, trailing your fingers over his chest, feeling the aftershocks still running through his body.

"Guess we’ll have to find out."

©︎SATRS. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[ham1lton]

EVERYTHING IS EMBARRASSING ?

pairings: max verstappen x podcaster!reader

faceclaim: taylor russell

summary: you run the number one podcast on spotify, agonyauntie, and your dream guest is max verstappen. too bad for you that he hates podcasts.

or the one where your podcast is max’s guilty pleasure.

author’s note: clearing out drafts.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by yourbestfriend, alexandrasaintmleux and 1,837,892 others.

yourusername: after a month long hiatus, agonyauntie is back with bigger and better stories. i’m excited to share the newest episode with you on all of the available channels.

please tune in so my mom won’t regret letting me drop out of university to pursue airing people’s dirty laundry on the internet. thank you xoxo

view all comments

user1: WE WON WE WON HELLO!!!!!

user2: will you ever top mango man? i don’t think so.

-> yourusername: trust me user2. we will.

user3: the way during the hiatus the podcast was still #4 on the spotify chart is crazy.

-> user4: WE COMIN FOR THAT NUMBER ONE SPOT YUP!!!

user5: prettiest girl ever. you need a youtube channel so we can see that facecard.

-> user6: she said she prefers podcasting to making videos because she’s awkward asf 😭

-> user7: real omg

-> user8: she’s so me.

user9: who is this 😻

-> user10: yn yln! she’s the creator and host of agonyauntie, which she started back in university. it was originally a radio show in which people would email her their problems and she’d tell them advice. it went viral when she did the episode of ‘mango man’ (just google it, it’s hilarious) and then she moved to a podcast format so it was more accessible. it went to number one and she’s halfway through s2. it’s so good!!! honestly you need to listen to the episodes.

landonorris: SO EXCITED YESSSS 🤩

-> user11: always at the scene of the crime

-> user12: how many fandoms is this guy in? 🤨

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

AGONYAUNT! season 2, episode 7.

[soft jazzy intro music fades out]

yn: okay, this next email is… wow. honestly, when i read it, i had to sit back, take a sip of tea, and whisper, “what the actual hell?” to myself. so naturally, i had to include it in the episode.

let me just read it for you.

[mock-serious tone as she reads aloud]

“hi yn, first off, i love the podcast. you’re literally the only person i trust to handle this because everyone else would either call me crazy or tell me to dump him, and honestly, neither of those options feel right (yet). anyway, here goes: i think my boyfriend is trying to become a bird.

i know that sounds like i’ve lost the plot, but please hear me out. it started small—like him watching a lot of bird documentaries and casually saying things like, ‘owls are the wolves of the sky’ (which i didn’t think about at the time because men say weird things constantly). but then he started doing… bird things. he whistles now. a lot. not cute whistling, yn. it’s more like he’s calling for backup.

then last week i caught him eating sunflower seeds—not out of a bag, but cracking them open with his teeth and spitting the shells on the carpet. the carpet, yn. he’s also been spending suspicious amounts of time sitting on the windowsill ‘for the breeze’ and called a pigeon his ‘mate’ the other day like they’re friends now??

but the final straw? he built a nest. like, an actual nest. i came home from work to find him on the couch surrounded by twigs, string, and what i think might’ve been my missing socks. he said it was ‘just a joke,’ but when i asked why there were eggs in it, he got all defensive and said i ‘wouldn’t understand.’

so now i don’t know what to do. do i confront him and risk him flying away (literally)? or do i just let him… become whatever he’s becoming? pls help me yn. i miss my normal boyfriend who used to just binge-watch love island and occasionally make me toast.

cheers, girl who might be dating a parrot.”

[pause for comedic effect]

yn: okay. wow. first of all, thank you for this email. genuinely, it’s given me a lot to think about. like, this man has gone full National Geographic, and you’re just… casually living with it? incredible. i’m so glad you came to me because i don’t think your friends would’ve taken this seriously enough, and frankly, neither will i, but we’ll do our best.

so. is your boyfriend trying to become a bird? honestly, yeah. sounds like he’s halfway there. whistling, befriending pigeons, eating seeds like he’s at a football match—this man is leaning in hard. and i have to say, the nest? iconic. horrifying, but iconic. he built an actual nest in your home. he didn’t just think about it; he did it. that’s commitment.

but here’s the thing: you have to ask yourself, are you okay with this? like, if you imagine your life five years from now and you’re still with him, is he going to be perched on top of the fridge, squawking about how you don’t appreciate him? or is this just a phase? because maybe it’s temporary. maybe he’s stressed, and this is his way of coping—some people journal, some people go bird-mode.

what i suggest is this: sit him down for a chat. calmly ask, “babe, are you going through something? or are you genuinely preparing to molt?” like, we need clarity here. and if he doubles down on the bird thing, you have a choice to make. either support him and start buying bulk birdseed, or set him free—preferably in a park, not near any major roads.

also, maybe keep your eye on those eggs. i don’t know where he got them, but i’d be concerned.

anyway, good luck with your pigeon-man. i wish you nothing but the best, and if it escalates, please email me again. i have to know what happens.

[transition music fades in]

yn: right, let’s move on before i spiral into a full TED talk about men and their inability to handle hobbies normally. honestly, this man saw blue planet one time and said, “that’s my personality now.” unbelievable.

[music fades out, next segment begins]

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by landonorris, ynsfanpage and 1,727,908 others

agonyauntie: our newest episode is out next week, here are three clues about what it will include.

(hint: the middle one is that our host will be involved. spoiler alert! 😉)

view all comments

user1: omg it’s MAX VERSTAPPEN

-> user2: who tf is that

-> user3: exactly like yn said celebrities as guests

-> user4: he’s literally famous? he’s a formula one star???

-> user3: okay congrats

-> user4: ??

-> user3: girl idk what u want me to say idgaf abt that man 😭 good for him getting the krabby patty formula one or wtvr

user5: OMG MAX AND YN…

-> user6: new ship name needed asap

-> user7: new job application needed ASAP!

user8: omg what if yn and max get together? he’s her dream guest and she seemed a little into him om the live she did watching the f1 race.

-> user9: um he’s literally gay i just googled it…

-> user10? HUH?

-> user9: his fiance is charles leclerc i just read how they met on this gossip website called ao3. very cute. it also told me more about obama’s secret lover, some guy called harry styles. you should check it out.

-> user10: u grown as hell and u can vote. the world is a scary place.

user11: AND NEXT GUEST WILL BE LANDONORRIS LETS PRAY TOGETHER 😎

-> user12: lando we know it’s you take them glasses OFF!

-> user11: 🥲 🕶🤏🥲

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

author’s note: hi :) just looking for some feedback. send me an ask with what sort of fics u guys like. idk what to post. have a lot of drafts. also idk this will get a pt2. i just want it GONE! sorry <3

[invincibledc]

⋆˚🐾˖°𝑩𝑨𝑻𝑩𝑶𝒀𝑺 𝑿 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑪𝑨𝑻!𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹⋆˚🐾˖°

★ Dick

“Are we fighting, or flirting?” Is the whole thing of the relationship between you two. You could be a protege of Catwoman, and he’d be like,

“Hey, this kinda reminds me of something..” with a clear smirk.

He thinks this finna be an another catwoman x Batman generation. If you wanna play along with it (wink wink)

Either way, with your acrobatic ability like his, I can just imagine the way you two battle is like dancing. You’re not harming each other, but trying to stop the other from stopping the goal of this night.

“You really need to stop trying to stop be bird boy.” You said with a slick tone. Nightwing, aka Dick raises a brow as he blocks one of your strikes. “Why? Scared to hurt me?” With a small huff, you did a backhand spring. “Nope, just badluck.” With that, a potted plant from an old lady’s fire escape dropped onto his head. Nightwing grunted, rubbing his head as he blinked away any unconsciousness. Looking up to get back to fighting, you were gone.

“Damnit… was hoping he’d stay longer”

No worries, the chase is still on.

★ Jason

100% sexual tension. Bickering, is on the table.

Literally, you could be trying to do something, and he would pop up leaning against the wall looking the bad boy he is.

“Did the kitty lost his leash?” You can just hear the tease in his voice. Turning around, with a small smile. You placed a hand on your hip, “Why? Wanna tame me?” “If you let me.”

LIKE HELLO??? Get a room.

Either way, he’d be the type to be like,

“Oh blackcat? I don’t really care for him.” Knowing damn well he watches you from afar, making sure no one gets you. Your his to tease, already called dibs. Whoops!

Okay so maybe he has checked you out, it’s just that tight ass suit you wear. It makes him wanna ravish you right there and then.

But he has to remember who he is and be civil while he patrols crime alley.

He’s not forgetting that one time when you used your bad luck on him the first time.

He chasing after you, you moved like silk, moving through thigh spaces as you laughed.

“Getting tired red hood?” Jason grumbled under his helmet as he keep trying to catch up. This has been lasting for almost an hour. He’s still human, but damn were you quick.

“Me? Never.” He said for you to hear as he was so close to grabbing you. You slide into the street, standing still before turning around.

“Aww… shucks. You caught me. I’m out of things man.” You said, raising your hands up as if you were being arrested. Jason walked slowly towards you, sensing something was up, he stopped moving.

“What are you up to?” You dropped your hands and crossed them.

“Me? I’m up to nothing, but you may wanna watch where you’re standing.”

Jason raised a brow before a bright light flashed on him, that’s when a massive moving truck hits him, flying him away to hit hard ground.

Snickering, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“CYA SUCKERR!!” You then ran off.

★ Tim

Surprisingly, you’re calm to Tim. You know who he is, you’re not dumb, but he’s not either.

“Y/N L/N, aka blackcat.” He says as he sat down on the booth of a fast food place you were at. You couldn’t help but giggle, placing the milkshake down as Tim has his hands intertwined.

“Tim drake. Aka, Red Robin. What pleasures do I have with you?” You lean back with a charming grin.

Tim had to hold everything back from staring at your face hard.

“I just need your help with a case, and I found out that you were part of it.” A serious expression and tone came over Tim as you could only hum.

“Ahh you’re talking about the one with the man who had the joker gas?”

“Yes.”

“Sure. But only if I get something out of this.” Tim’s eyebrow raised up.

“Like what?”

“I know you’re some rich boy taking care of your daddy’s company.. soooo I want like some new devices for more of my own heists.”

Tim sighs, running his fingers through his hair. You were checking your nails before smirking. “I’m waiting~”

“I’m not helping a criminal.”

“Oh please, I’m an anti-hero Timmy boy.”

The family all looking at Tim crazy when they see the infamous anti hero with him, you would be playing with his hair as he is doing detective work.

“Stop that.” “Nahhh, you’re cute with messy hair timmy.”

And now his face is dusted with pink.

When will this nightmare end for him. (He doesn’t want it to end)

★ Damian

Damian says does NOT fuck with blackcat. Says he hates him, says he’s a nuisance, says he hopes he gets locked in a cage.

But that’s just teenage love when literally when you were hit, he went rapid and took down whatever hurt you.

He could say he hates you, with venom in his voice. But the moment you smile at him, god he’s putty.

His green eyes staring into your [color] eyes, he grabs your hand. The moment is soft, he feels like he could try and talk to you about anything. Despite you doing bad things for the good use, he understands.

“You’re such a softie for me birdy.” You chuckled, squeezing his hand. Damian scoffs, “tt, please.. you’re just holding me back.”

“Does this so called, 'holding me back' require you to hold my hand and kiss me?” You said teasingly as you started to notice Damian coming close to you.

“Yes, but the kissing hasn’t begin yet.”

“Now it does.”

You two kissed, it short but passionate. But it holds what he wants to show to you.

Later on, Bruce catches Damian sneaking in the manor. Damian hides how he is seeing someone, especially a young anti-hero that holds his heart.

IN SECRET! He isn’t telling a soullll, not even Titus. Who knows what those barks can do.

Bruce smirks, he understands that when you’re a Wayne, you have game.

Game is game.

Bruce and Damian having a talk, and it’s just Bruce talking about Selina.

It’s just funny to imagine Damian is hoping to die in this moment as his father talks about Catwoman, realizing he really is his father’s son.

Like father like son.

[lunarxcity]

Why now? (Part III to Why Me?)

azriel x rhys' sister! reader

angst/eventual comfort (Reader is in her healing era, finally being able to process the mating bond, growth may not always be exciting but it is very necessary )

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

Parts I and II if you missed them

-

The first few days in the Autumn court were dreadful to say the least. You couldn't open your blinds for the first day, couldn't open the blinds for the second, and couldn't get out of your room until the third. Being in love with Azriel and having to watch him pursue Elain was one thing, but finding out Azriel had been your mate this entire time and watching him possibly invoke a Blood Duel with one of your friends over Elain was something completely different.

Eris in all his cruelty had actually backed off and left you alone to sulk for the first few days. An enchanted tray of food that never goes empty was brought with a cup that magically replenished itself. You didn't even begin to process all that had happened, you've just been allowing yourself to sulk in your misery.

The shadow had tried to make sure you ate and drank, bringing you the cup and insisting you drink water to replenish the liquids you had lost from crying. You drank the water and then proceeded to launch the cup at the shadow which swiftly caught it and put it back on the tray. Even in your absolute misery, Azriel was still taking care of you and you hated him for it.

By day 3 your melancholy had been replaced with fury and you were angry. Angry at the Mother for putting you in this situation, angry at Azriel for not reciprocating your feelings or even noticing, angry at Elain for being so perfect.

On this day, you actually opened your door to allow in a visitor. The visitor was the fox you had initially chased down, and yes, you let it in so it could terrorise the shadow, but it was company nonetheless and provided you with some form of entertainment.

Day 4 you had sat in your room and stewed in your thoughts. Where did your feelings for Azriel end, and where did the mating bond begin, or had they been one and the same this entire time? Some cruel, desperate part of you contemplated telling him, only to see the hurt on his face when he realises the damage he has done to you. Another part, tells you that maybe he has known this entire time, but hasn't cared about you enough to tell you, or worse he cares so much that he can't reject you.

You wanted to hate him, but most of all you wanted to hate Elain. Sweet and lovely Elain, who was always compassionate and brave, but you didn't have it in you to hate her for being what you weren't. You couldn't hate her because she wanted a choice in who she gets to end up with, after everything she has been through, she deserves to be happy with someone whom she loves. The same goes for Azriel, and if that isn't you, you're going to have to find a way to make peace with that because you would never want him to be shackled to you by a mating bond when his heart yearns for another. Keeping him bound to you for any reason outside of his will isn't love that's a prison. You couldn't be the reason that he would be bound to another against his will, not after what your father did to him in the War. You could never do that to him, not matter how badly you wanted to be with him

The first time you had noticed something was going on between them is when you had been on a shopping trip with Nesta and Elain. She gravitated towards this one pair of sapphire earrings and had asked you how you think she would look like in blue, it wasn't her normal choice of colour, but she wanted to try it out. Alarms started blaring in your head, but you decided to think nothing of it not wanting to entertain the idea of her going after Azriel.

Then you saw Azriel gaining a sudden interest in gardening and spending time with Elain in her garden. He is allergic to pollen. He has always disliked gardens, they leave him with watery red eyes and an itchy throat. He would never take you to the gardens of Velaris, but he would tolerate them for Elain.

The final nail in the coffin was when he started to do all the things he would normally do with you with Elain. At that point you knew and you didn't need any evidence to confirm it. Yours and Azriel's coffee runs and bakery crawls became far and few in comparison to him and Elain's plant nursery trips and walks in the garden. When she came back gushing about how lovely the gardens of Velaris were, you had to leave the room and immediately head to training for the safety of yourself and everyone around you.

Yes you still saw Azriel every day. Yes you guys would still train together. Yes you were still close, but the it was never just the two of you anymore. It was family game nights, training with Cassian, or debriefs with him and Rhys. As second in command of the Night Court, you had many duties and threw yourself into your week to deal with this. You went on trips to Dawn and Day back to back when you first started realising that maybe Azriel's priorities were shifting and that maybe you weren't his number 1 anymore.

-

It was now day 5 and Eris has had enough of your sulking. He barges into your room, opens the blinds and yanks off your covers. "Get up. You've had your days to wallow in self-pity, it's time to get back to the real world and stop moping around . You're making the place very grim, you know." You could kill him. How dare he-

"I will set the bed on fire if you don't get up." How dare he? That bastard- "Move." You get up at the first sight of flames emanating off of his fingertips.

You assumed that you looked as awful as you felt. Finding and losing your mate will leave you caring very little about your appearance. "Give me time. I am going through a lot have patience-" You grumbled at Eris, pouting like a child.

The fire that had previously danced between Eris' fingertips was nothing compared the fire now flickering in his gaze. "I had patience 400 years ago when I first began to hear about this whole ordeal. I had patience watching you pine after this male for hundreds of years while you threw yourself into different things, whether it be family or work. I had patience when you lied to me a hundred times over, saying you were done with this." He swiftly walks up to you, making sure you don't shy away from his tough love that feels almost like cruelty at the moment.

He grabs you're shoulders, almost as if he was trying to snap you out of whatever trance you had been under for the past few hundred years. "My patience ran out the second he became your mate, and yours should, too. I refuse to sit and watch you fall apart over the prospect of a rejected mated bond, and I refuse to watch him kill my brother because he can't be bothered to deal with his own feelings and would rather die a martyr because he feels like he doesn't deserve to live out a happy life. You deserve better, and frankly, if you want to let yourself fall to his depths, I will let you drown. "

His gaze is cruel and unwavering, but you know Eris well enough to know that he is trying to bring out the worst feelings in you. All the anger and resentment and hurt to try to force you into action. It's hurtful but it fully might be working.

"I had begun to think that you abandoned the mask of a villain. Good to see you still have it in your arsenal." You respond cooly, just because you saw his point doesn't mean you were happy about it. Siding with Eris over Azriel feels like a betrayal in its own right.

"Fine. It appears that I've been so focused on him for so long, that I forgot to shift the focus back on myself. Now, what do I need to do to move on?

Eris' fox-like grin returned and you immediately regretted agreeing to whatever plan he was scheming up.

-

Apparently the key to dealing with a one-sided mating bond is focusing on yourself and becoming your own individual that isn't dependent on anyone else. Shocker.

Everyone says it, but it's like when you were sick and your mom would force you to drink this disgusting medicine saying it would make you feel better. You would fight her with everything you had to not taste that gross liquid and you would fail every time, immediately after drinking it all your symptoms are relieved and you end up feeling much better. It's a terrible feeling really.

Even though you had hobbies, you rarely did anything for yourself anymore. When Eris asked you what it was that you liked doing in your free time, you just kind of blanked and were about to respond telling him that you read a lot.

"Reading doesn't count. I mixed up our novels and I still cannot get the deplorable scenes I had read out of my head. I barely think it counts as literature at that point." You were about to offer a retort about how all forms of literature are valid and that you actually do read educational texts when an arrow came nearly flying at your head.

"First hobby we're trying, Archery." Eris says excitedly, much to excited for someone who nearly killed you. You look at him, appalled, "Archery? How is this going to help with anything?" He leads you around the hedges of his gardens to an archery range and hands you a bow from a storage shed that appears to house weapons. Where he got his bow from who knows? It's Eris.

"Trying new things is a good way to find out what you like and don't like. When was the last time you did something that put you out of your comfort zone? Besides, I haven't had anyone to compete with in a while, and Lucien refuses to play with me after I shot him in the shoulder." He says this so casually like he didn't shoot an arrow at his brother because he was probably winning.

"You don't have many friends do you?" You ask half sarcastic because really who is he spending his time with? "It's not my fault. I confused the red of his hair with the red of the bullseye, truly a mistake anyone could make." You send a prayer to the Mother to help you and to get Eris more friends to terrorise, so his focus isn't on you.

He shoots an arrow, and it lands perfectly on target. You guys go back and forth for hours. You struggle at first, but finally win the 27th game. You don't care that its' because one of the foxes decided to run interference by biting on Eris' pant leg. You will take the victory where you can get it.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you guys fell into a routine. You would begin to feel useless if you were just sitting in Autumn, not doing anything, so Eris put you to work. You would help Eris with his plan to overthrow Beron, actually doing your courtly duties and gathering intel from your spies. You would balance out the work with new hobbies that you guys would try because while you needed help shifting your focus back to you, Eris needed some fun in his life.

The next hobby you guys did was painting, which you were terrible at, and Eris excelled. Then baking, which you were surprisingly amazing at, leading to Lucien, who was visiting, getting into a sparring match over the last cupcake with Eris. You had to intervene and cut the cupcake in half when you saw flames being thrown. You accidentally exploded a lab during potions making which led to a temporary hobby ban. You learned how to sew, which Eris was terrible at as he kept accidentally poking his hand with a needle. Blowing glass, origami, gardening, curses, card tricks, candle making you guys had done everything you could name and before you knew it 3 months had gone bye.

Yes you still thought of Azriel, but the mating bond had gone from feeling like you had been stabbed in the chest to the feeling of a fly landing on your arm. Slightly annoying and you know that it's there, but if you aren't focused on it you weren't able to feel it.

After the first month, you had saved the shadow that followed you here from the fox's reign of terror. It had been keeping an eye on you, but it was giving you space. You wore it as a bracelet from then on, it was actually so nice having a little helper you could see why Azriel liked them so much.

You wrote to Rhys almost every day, missing your brother more than anyone. You guys even talked mind to mind whenever you both were free, which was not as often as you liked. He told you how things were and how everyone was doing well. He tiptoed around Azriel and Elain, not wanting to bring them up for obvious reasons. When Cassian heard that you had been writing to Rhys, he demanded to have a weekly letter as well, and when he told Nesta she needed to be included in his, which led to Mor finding out, which led to Feyre, and well, now you're regularly corresponding with all of the inner circle except Azriel and Elain. Amren will leave a sentence or two on someones letter if you're lucky.

You missed your family, but you're glad you left. In your time away you rediscovered an old passion of yours that had been long forgotten, learning. You were able to read and research to your hearts content, which you hadn't had the time or energy for in over 150 years. You are always so preoccupied on the things that you do know that you forget about how much there is that is out there waiting for you to learn. You learned about botany and even created a new type of Autumn maple tree that you planted on Eris' estate. You talked to one of Eris' healers when you fell of your horse during your trial with horse jumping and she told you about there is steal a lot to be uncovered in how fae magic reacts to healing and how the healers don't know why they can't heal certain wounds. Wounds that take longer to detect, illnesses of the body that slowly deteriorate it, unlike a swift arrow wound that one could easily see, were almost immune to magic relying on pure medicinal healing. While medicinal healing is a lot better than nothing, it was not on the same level as magic and could not always heal.

You read every fae magic anatomy book you could get your hands on, every healing book in the Autumn Court library. You even took a trip to the Dawn Court for a week to conduct your research with their healers. You guys actually hit a real breakthrough and the high healer of Dawn said she was going to meet with the other courts to discuss your findings. Nothing tangible yet, but it was looking good.

This leaves you right now, looking at a letter from Madja. She heard about your research and wants you to come back to Night and continue working with her. She says she has the resources to possibly find the answers you're looking for. You've had this letter for a while, almost two weeks now, and you have yet to respond. When you first got it, the prospect of even seeing Azriel again put your head in a tailspin. Then you realised, you didn't care as much as you would've. You have found a passion for something bigger than yourself, something that could help your court and the fae of Prythian. You've had your ups and downs and yes you have missed Azriel more than you have ever imagined, but you have been able to grow into your own person.

You're comfortable with yourself and being alone in a way you never have been before, always so preoccupied with the fear of Azriel not wanting you, you never questioned if you had even wanted yourself. These past 3 months had forced to you grow. You never considered what life would be like post-Azriel or post-when-you-find-your-mate, being alone was something you had equated to failing, especially when Rhys found Feyre and Cassian found Nesta. The idea of not having someone became a fear that was in the background of your mind. Now you realize, that it is okay to not have a mate. You can still have a fulfilling life filled with doing the things you love and being around the people you love. Just because your mate had found another didn't mean you had to fall apart. You had found the peace within yourself. Damn Eris and his ways.

You pull out a piece of paper and begin to write out your response. Your time in Autumn has ended, looks like it's time to go back to the Night Court.

part iv

-

taglist: @alimarie1105 @chaosabroad @bbontenswhhore @tele86 @ashblooddragons @circe143 @i-am-infinite @princesssunderworld @thestartitaness @tiffany-xx @cpfantasybooks @lucia-valentinaa @jennigsonl

note: This story is really going a lot slower than I thought, I think I'm going to turn it into a full-blown series now since I really want to do justice to this relationship. I know the chapter is a bit of an annoying self-help arc and is uneventful compared to the last two, but sometimes the key to finding a fulfilling love is self-acceptance. Thank you for all the support on this series I can't wait to see where this takes us <3

note note: I wanted to get this part out quick so it is unedited...

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Y/n vs. Lando’s Simulator Addiction

Word count: 620

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Y/n is tired of Lando prioritizing his sim racing over romantic dates.

________________________________________________________

Y/n leaned against the doorway of Lando’s gaming room, arms crossed, watching him with an unimpressed expression. His eyes were glued to the triple monitors, fingers effortlessly working the wheel and pedals as if his life depended on it. The sound of tires screeching and engines roaring filled the room.

This had become their routine. Lando had free time? Straight to the sim. Morning? Sim. Afternoon? Sim. Midnight? Still sim. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his dedication—God, she loved how passionate he was—but she was starting to feel like she was competing with a machine for his attention.

“You know,” she finally spoke, making Lando flinch slightly, “I think I deserve some quality time that doesn’t involve me watching you pretend to drive a car.”

Lando barely spared her a glance. “Babe, this isn’t pretending. It’s training.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Training for what?”

“This is serious business,” he said, still hyper-focused. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Oh, that did it. Y/n straightened, jaw tightening. He wouldn’t get away with dismissing her like that.

“Okay, McSimBoy. Let’s make a bet,” she declared.

That finally got his attention. Lando paused the game and turned to her with a smirk. “Oh? You wanna bet me? On the sim? You’ve never even raced before.”

“Exactly,” she said, playing up her inexperience. “So, if I win, you owe me five romantic dates. I get to pick them, and no complaining.”

Lando laughed, tilting his head back. “This is the easiest bet I’ve ever made. And when I win?”

Y/n shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

He grinned. “Alright, then. You’re on.”

What Lando didn’t know was that Y/n had been training in secret for weeks—with none other than Max Verstappen as her coach.

“You know,” Max had said during their first training session, “this might be the most fun I’ve had in years.”

Y/n huffed, gripping the wheel as she tried to keep up with him on the Red Bull simulator. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or scared.”

“A bit of both,” Max smirked.

Every day, Y/n had dedicated hours to perfecting her skills, learning everything from racing lines to braking techniques. Max was relentless, but she loved every second of it. The best part? Lando had no clue.

Lando sat in his usual seat, all confidence, fingers flexing over the wheel. Y/n took her place beside him, cool and composed.

“Ready to lose, love?” he teased.

She simply smiled. “We’ll see.”

The lights went out, and the race began.

Within the first lap, Lando was concerned. By the second lap, he was nervous. And by the third? He was absolutely terrified.

Y/n was fast—not just “surprisingly good” fast, but “how the hell did you get this fast?” fast. She nailed every corner, executed flawless overtakes, and blocked him with zero hesitation.

Lando, gripping the wheel in disbelief, finally shouted, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!”

Y/n grinned. “Guess I do get it after all.”

Max, watching the whole thing from Y/n’s phone on FaceTime, burst out laughing. “Lando, mate, you’re getting cooked!”

Lando’s eyes widened. “MAX?! YOU TRAINED WITH MAX?!”

“Oops,” Y/n said playfully. “Forgot to mention that part.”

Despite his best efforts, Lando couldn’t recover. Y/n crossed the finish line first, throwing her hands up in victory.

“YES! YOU OWE ME FIVE DATES!” she cheered.

Lando sat back in defeat, running a hand down his face. “This is the most betrayed I’ve ever felt.”

Y/n leaned in, pecking his cheek. “You’ll live. Now, start planning date number one.”

And just like that, the simulator had finally lost its grip on Lando Norris.

[22ayla21]

Imagine Amphoreus men who's very close to reader (and is secretly inlove hoho) but because of an incident that happen they thought they lost reader before they even had a chance to confess, but they suddenly came back, very much alive!

I was thinking about reader as part of kremnoan detachment to mydei's, then a childhood friend from aedes elysiae to phainon's and someone from the grove to anaxa (you can easily tell which incident i was talking about here hehe)

That's all thank you!

The Return of a Ghost from the Past

He thought he had lost her before he could even confess, but years later, he found her alive and well.

The rain poured as if the sky was weeping for those long taken by war. Mydei stood on the edge of Okhema, watching his people slowly settle into their new home. Kremnos was left behind—along with its bloody traditions and shadows of the past. But the shadows of the past never truly go away.

He pulled up the hood of his cloak, hiding his face from the wind, and headed down the winding streets, where the scent of fresh wood and wet earth still lingered. Okhema was different—warm, full of life, unlike the harsh Kremnos. Here, no one feared each other, no one plotted for power.

And yet, even here, in a foreign land, his past found him.

Her voice echoed like a long-gone day.

"I never thought I'd meet you here, Mydei."

He froze. That voice. Clear, ringing, but imbued with the same weariness as his own. He slowly turned around.

She stood before him—as defiant as ever. The face he remembered in minute detail had changed slightly—sharper cheekbones, scars that weren't there before. But the eyes... Those same eyes that once looked at him with the confidence of a comrade, and then disappeared in the bloody chaos of war.

"...You're dead," he breathed, unable to find other words. She smirked, crossing her arms.

"As you can see, I'm not."

Years of training, iron self-control—all vanished in an instant. He stepped forward but froze, unsure if he had the right to touch her.

"I... I looked for you. I mourned you."

"And I survived," her voice softened. "I woke up among strangers, weak, with no memory. I returned to life—but not the one I had."

Mydei clenched his fists. He wanted to ask why she hadn't looked for him. Why she hadn't come. Why she left him in the dark. But he knew the answer. War left no room for farewells.

"I should have told you... back then," he looked up at her. "I loved you."

She froze, then smiled—softly, sadly.

"I know."

Mydei took a step closer, and this time she didn't pull away.

Anaxa always considered himself a man of logic, but even logic couldn't help him accept the loss. She disappeared the day the Dark Current engulfed everything. Many scholars were scattered, and he was left among the survivors, not even able to reach her. He thought he had lost her forever.

He never got to tell her.

Now, some time later, he and the remaining scholars lived in Okhema—a new home, a refuge after the fall of the Grove of Muses. The world was no longer the same, but they tried to live on as best they could. Anaxa immersed himself in research, allowing himself to believe that reason would conquer chaos.

But, as it turned out, fate had something more than cold acceptance in store for him.

He saw her by chance.

That day, he was walking through the market stalls of Okhema, lost in thought. And suddenly, his gaze caught a familiar silhouette. Hair, gait, even the habit of lightly touching her chin when she was thinking.

It's impossible.

But his body moved faster than his mind.

"…You…" The words caught in his throat. She turned around.

In that moment, his whole world seemed to freeze. Her eyes widened, and her face reflected shock.

"Anaxa?"

That voice. So alive, so real.

And he didn't think anymore. He didn't analyze, didn't look for a logical explanation. He just stepped forward and hugged her tightly, not giving her a second to disappear again.

She froze in his arms before returning the embrace.

"I thought you were…" she swallowed.

"And I thought I had lost you," his voice was hoarse, barely holding back too many emotions. "How? How did you survive?"

She pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"It's a long story. I... I fell into a rift. I woke up far from where the Dark Current caught us. I was found and cared for... but there was no way back. Until I found my way to Okhema."

She spoke, but he barely heard the words. Because the only thing that mattered was that she was here. Alive.

He looked at her, and only one question spun in his head: should he tell her now? He had carried it inside for so many years, allowing time and loss to extinguish the fire that once burned in his chest. But now that fire burned brighter than ever. And he wasn't going to lose her again.

Phainon never forgot her.

Memories of childhood, of the village of Aedes Elysiae, where he grew up under the care of his grandparents, were warm but also filled with pain. Because on the day the Dark Current fell upon his home, he lost everything. He lost his family, he lost Cyrena... and he lost her.

She was his friend, the one he shared his dreams with, the one who laughed at his antics and supported him when he stumbled. He never got to tell her how he felt. He thought he had his whole life ahead of him, but fate decreed otherwise.

When he became The Chrysos Heir, his heart didn't let go of the pain of loss. He vowed to cleanse this world of the threat that took his home and loved ones. He saw darkness, burned it with the light of his will... but the past could not be returned.

And then, in Okhema, he saw her.

Amidst the human bustle, somewhere in the distance, for just a second, he noticed a familiar silhouette. Phainon stopped. His heart skipped a beat.

No... impossible...

He couldn't help but follow her. He pushed through the crowd, not caring about the path, ignoring those around him. His mind screamed that it was a mistake, that it was just a trick of his consciousness, which had been searching for her face among strangers for so many years.

But when he was close, when her eyes met his... the world froze.

"You..."

She had changed, matured, but her gaze was the same. She looked at him first with confusion, then her eyes widened in shock.

"Phainon?"

He couldn't speak. His throat was dry. It was unreal, impossible.

"But how... You... you're alive?"

She stepped towards him, and he, as if in a trance, reached out, afraid it was an illusion, that she would dissolve like all his dreams. But her fingers touched his, warm, real.

"I thought I had lost you..." his voice was hoarse, full of emotions he had been trying to suppress all these years. She shuddered, and her lips trembled into a smile.

"And I thought I had lost you..."

They stood there, amidst the noisy city, not hearing a single sound around them. Years had passed, but they still remembered each other. And perhaps now he would have a chance to say what he never got to say back then.

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Part 19

Summary: Wanda plans a proposal.

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

It’s hard to believe what you’re hearing.

“I’m sorry, just one more time. I want to make sure I’m getting this right” you plead, trying really hard not to scream.

“I cut my finger in a broken glass” the man explains, calmly. And then he adds the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard. “I cauterized it with a lighter”

Of course! Why would anyone go to the ER when they can just burn their skin off.

“Right. So… let’s try to not do that when medical care is nearby. I’ll apply a bandage and give you a cream”

You work in silence, until he speaks again.

“While I’m here, could I get circumcised?”

With a sigh, you stand up, asking Bucky to finish off for you. Tale as old as time, people thinking that the ER is open for anyone with a strange mole or pain that is not life threatening.

Your phone rings and your shoulders relax immediately.

“Hey, love”

“Hi. Boy, you sound tired” Wanda says, surprised that you’re so defeated after a few hours into your shift. You rarely complain.

“I’ve had the weirdest day, that’s all. People testing my patience, putting nail glue instead of eyedrops”

“Yikes”

“Guys asking if we perform circumcisions”

“Gross. But do you?” she jokes and you laugh.

“Dear God, no. As a lesbian, I’d rather not deal with that area unless it’s truly an emergency”

“Mmhm, and yet you’re so good when you’re wearing the strap” she teases, making you crash against the vending machine. Fortunately, the force knocks a bag of chips and you smile, picking it up.

“Number one, tease. You still owe me over that lap dance. And two, wanna go out tomorrow?”

Wanda’s entire demeanor changes after that, and it’s really hard not to get worried. She’s been like this ever since you mentioned Sokovia.

“I have a lot of work to finish, you know the book release is soon, plus Wendy…”

“Yeah, no. I get it. That’s fine. Maybe I can take the kids out to give you some peace and quiet”

“You know what, my mom loves bowling. Why don’t you all go?”

“Sure” you say, agreeing to anything Wanda suggests. “Alright, I’m getting paged. Hope it’s an actual emergency this time”

“I hope so too” Wanda says, smiling,

“Love you” you say, a bit worried she won’t say it back, but she does and there’s nothing different about the way she replies, adding a soft “my love” before hanging up.

So, maybe it’s all in your head.

Right?

—

Wanda hates lying to you.

The thing is, she still has to figure out a way to propose. It’s technically not hard to get everything ready without you noticing, considering your shifts can take more than a day. If she only knew exactly what to do.

She’s looking around her studio, thinking about the things you like. Her eyes eventually settle on a copy of her latest book. Thankfully, Laura never had the dedication changed, so she could still give it to you.

Or, she could give you a special copy with something entirely different.

As her mind begins to come up with a plan, Wanda smiles to herself.

Finally, she knows where to start.

—

It feels weird to have the entire Maximoff gang, minus your beautiful, stunning, out of this world girlfriend.

Darcy would call you a simp if she could hear all your thoughts.

But you miss Wanda and even if you knew she wasn’t joining you tonight, you’re still following her like a lost puppy.

“You’re absolutely sure?” you say, your hands around her waist.

“Yes, detka. I’m sorry. But we’re going to the wedding tomorrow and that’s going to be fun, right? You’ll have me all to yourself”

“Ok” you sigh dramatically, sinking your face in the crook of her neck. “I just miss you”

“Me too. If I’m not too tired we could watch an episode of The Golden Girls when you’re all back” she promises and you squeeze her waist, kissing behind her ear.

“Maybe I can persuade you with my very charming personality…” you place another kiss in her neck, sucking lightly on the skin. “Or with my very skilled fingers”

Wanda moans your name, melting in your arms and you are about to call victory when her mother opens up the door, shouting that it’s time to leave.

“I may have left out a very important piece of information” Wanda stops you before you go out to the foyer to meet her mother. “She gets very competitive…”

“So that’s where you got it from”

“Hey!”

But Wanda can’t continue the argument as Ekaterina walks in, handing you what looks like bowling uniforms. You’re surprised to see it has your name embroidered, and the Maximoff name on the back.

“How did you get this made so soon?”

“I know a guy” she replies cryptically, and you gulp.

Will she scream at you when she sees you know nothing about bowling?

“Come on, we’re going to be late, girls!”

“Oh, I’m staying. I have work to do” Wanda explains, lowering her voice when her mother gives her a stern look.

“Then the teams will be incomplete!”

“I don’t have to play” you jump, hoping that this can be your out.

“You have hands?”

“Y-yes”

“Then you play. Let’s go. Pietro’s meeting us there”

Billy and Tommy are excited as they follow their grandmother out, and you stall in the kitchen.

“You sure you don’t need someone to clean your brushes? Sharpen your pencils?”

“Detka, go” she says, laughing.

“I’m scared” you whine pathetically. She kisses you, her lips moving against yours. It’s so good it makes you forget the reason for your little meltdown.

“I’ll see you later”

—

Pietro is already waiting for you, knowing that his mother loves to jump right into the game. He’s set two bowling allies, and you split into teams.

You’re pleasantly surprised to see Bucky approaching you.

“Pietro promised me a beer if I joined so you could complete the teams”

Everyone takes a couple of shots to practice and you try to follow their movements. Bucky notices how lost you are, offering his guidance here and there. Your shots are not particularly powerful and the ball leans towards the gutter more often than not.

The point system is beyond your comprehension so you can only nod and cheer when Bucky completes a strike.

Beyond that, the doctor in you is looking at everything in the space (heavy objects, lots of movement, oily floors) and considering the possible injuries.

This is why, when Billy walks past the lane line, you go after him, afraid that he’ll fall. But you’re the only one on your ass as he lets go of the ball a second later, smiling.

“Y/N! That’s not how you play!” Ekaterina admonishes, and you sigh, crawling back to them.

“I’m going to get us more food”

Bucky is right behind you, chuckling as the woman keeps her winning streak.

“Is she a pro?”

“Seems to me” you say, ordering more fries and another soda for you. “Hey, can I ask you about Darcy? Do you have something against her or…”

“I like her”

“See, I told her she was just imagining things and… wait. Like her how?” you realise he’s looking away, a soft blush tinging his cheeks. Your hand flies to his arm and you jump around excited. “You have a crush on Darcy”

“I don’t”

“Nu-uh. You do. Why didn’t you tell me? Or better yet, her”

“I don’t know what to say when she’s around. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I don’t speak a lot and she does”

“Right” you nod your head. Truthfully, Bucky is different than the guys Darcy dates (in the best possible way) and it’s been a while. “Well, do you want a wingwoman?”

“Not really” he says, almost looking mortified. “It’s better if she thinks we’re enemies, honestly”

“Sure” you nod, pretending you’ll let the subject go. Bucky’s too naive, though, if he believes you won’t do anything about it.

For a bit, you watch the kids play in silence, while Pietro chats with a woman, obviously flirting while he pretends to correct her posture. Ekaterina, unaware that he’s flirting, comes over and scolds him on his bad technique.

Bucky and you laugh as he comes back to her side, and she forces him to do a couple of exercises.

When you get your orders of fries, you walk back to the group, smirking at him.

“Mama’s boy got cockblocked” you whisper.

“Hey, сука!”

“Pietro!” Ekaterina turns to glare at him, and you poke your tongue out as he gets an earful for the second time in the night.

This is a lot more fun than bowling.

—

Best part of coming back is that the kids are pretty tired, so they head straight to their room. When you go check on them, they’re both fast asleep, and Sparky pushes the door open a bit wider so he can jump on Billy’s bed.

“Better that than you sleeping with my girl” you say, closing the door.

You think it’s strange that Wanda hasn’t shown up to greet you, so you walk up to her study, knocking once. After the second time, you worry and open the door just a tiny bit.

“Wands? You ok in there?”

“Oh, hey! You scared me!” you notice she’s wearing your headphones, and you smile, opening the door wider.

“We just got back, the kids are asleep already”

You try to step inside but Wanda’s quick on her feet, standing right in front of you.

“Good to hear that. Was Mom good? Didn’t yell at you too much?”

“Nah, she was fine. Pietro got the short end of the stick. What you working on?” you smile, trying to get a look at her sketches.

“Nothing. Are you tired?”

“Not really. I could sit around while you keep working if you haven’t finished yet…” you say, approaching the table. One more step, and the surprise will be ruined. So, Wanda does the only thing that comes to mind.

“Why don’t you fuck me, then?”

That makes you turn.

“Say that again”

“If you’re not too tired, why don’t you fuck me?” Wanda smiles, amused at how easy it was to get your attention.

“Well, I definitely can do that” you walk back to her, carrying her bridal style. “Since you asked so nicely”

—

The big day is finally here.

One of the brides is not.

Or so Darcy says when you walk into the venue, hours before the ceremony. You’re wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking as people finish decorating and setting up everything.

Your friend shows up, wearing one of those radio earpieces.

“Nice one, Britney”

“Bitch” she snaps, but then closes her eyes, breathing in and out. “I need you to go get Carol”

“Sure, is she in the dressing room?”

“No. She is at the hospital. Working”

“What? The wedding’s in four hours, she should be getting her hair and makeup done” you look at your phone, thinkig maybe there was an emergency and you had to be at work too.

“Just bring her, please. Abduct her if necessary” Darcy changes into the earpiece, shouting. “No, I requested mauve. Mauve!”

You wished Darcy had told you to get Carol before you even got here. Now you’ll have to drive all the way back to the city, as the wedding is happening at a small inn close to the mountains.

Racing against time, you walk in to ask around for her.

“She’s in OR 3” one of the nurses tells you, with a loaded look. “Doing a carpal thunnel decompression”

“Thanks”

You scrub in as fast as you can, pushing the door to the OR. Everyone stares at you, clearly on edge over Carol’s presence. She’s acting like it’s just another day, and like she’s not two hours behind on Darcy’s very detailed, strict schedule.

“Hey, bride to be” you greet, hoping she stops what she’s doing. With a sigh, you stand up next to her, smiling. “Are you excited?”

“Nope, it’s just another day”

“Well, I call bullshit”

One of the nurses laughs and the rest of the surgical team visibly relaxes.

“You’re getting married today. We still need to do your hair and makeup and a shower wouldn’t hurt either”

“Hey!”

“As maid of honor it is my duty to tell it like it is. Now, let someone else close up, and let’s go”

“I was supposed to do an arthroscopy after this”

“Darcy’s waiting in the car” you lie, knowing fear will be the only driving force to make Carol change her mind.

Sure enough, her eyes widen and she gives instructions to the rest of the team. When she’s washing her hands and scrubbing out, you join her, smiling.

“You ok?”

“I… it’s all so real. For months, we were planning and picking cake and decorations but it’s happening today and it feels like… a part of me is excited, another part of me is scared. Like really, truly terrified. And I don’t know what to make of it”

“It means you have something to lose” you say softly. “But a lot more to gain. It’s gonna be fine. You’ll forget all about it when you see Maria, I promise”

Finally, you get her to leave the hospital. A couple of people wave as you walk back to the parking lot, some of them saying they’ll see you at the party. Carol rolls her eyes when she realises you lied about Darcy, but you just shrug your shoulders.

“I guess I deserve it for being difficult”

“Yeah, you do” you laugh, driving back.

Of course, Darcy ushers you to the room to get hair and makeup, glaring at Carol and asking you to not leave her alone.

“I feel guilty for making Darcy help with everything” Carol says, and you let out a laugh. “What?”

“Did you actually ask her to do anything? She loves bossing everyone around. Should be taking Fury’s job at this point”

“Why are you still here? Makeup, go, go!” Darcy appears behind you a second later, making you yelp.

“Tyrant”

“Lazy ass”

Of course you do as she says, mainly out of fear.

Wanda arrives a little early, checking in as you had decided to stay at the inn instead of driving back home when the party was over.

“Finally, someone who understands the importance of punctuality!” Darcy says as she runs into your girlfriend. “I barely finished and I have to get my makeup and hair done”

“Would you like some help?”

“It’s fine, I’m low maintenance” Darcy declines, but Wanda’s not having it.

“I actually have something I want to ask you… so we could talk while I help”

“Mmm, I do love an efficient approach. Come on then” Darcy says, ushering Wanda into her own room.

She’s wearing a low cut burgundy dress that displays her very generous assets.

“Eyes are up here, Maximoff” Darcy jokes when Wanda’s stare travels a bit lower.

“Right. Let’s begin”

Wanda tells Darcy everything. How she found the ring, but decided to keep it to herself instead of putting pressure on you.

Your casual mentions of a wedding, the trip to Sokovia.

“Finally, she told you. She was terrified you’d be mad” Darcy comments.

“Well, that’s when I realised. Maybe it’s my turn to take the lead. Ask her to marry me” Wanda says, and she can see Darcy’s a bit shocked.

“Interesting. So why do you want to talk to me?”

Wanda smiles, telling her the proposal idea she came up with it. It’s simple, it’s unique, but she has a feeling that it’s something you’ll love.

“Honestly, Wanda? You could get down on one knee while she’s in the toilet and she’d be giddy about it” Darcy says, making Wanda laugh. “But I do think it’s cute and she’ll never ever shut up about it. Was that all?” she says after Wanda stays silent.

The woman sits in front of your friend, checking her makeup one last time, and with a sigh, asks the final question.

“I need your blessing”

“What am I? The Pope?”

“Darcy!”

“The lesbian godmother. First Carol and Maria with their wedding planning and now you…” she rambles, clearly amused.

“Darcy!” Wanda interrupts her, trying to keep it serious. “We both know her mother is the worst person. She’s starting to connect with her siblings. You’re her real family. The one person who’s stood by her through everything. So, it would mean the world to me, to at least know you’ll think of me as worthy of Y/N”

Darcy leans back, eyeing Wanda up and down. It’s hard not to feel intimidated, but the woman holds her ground, staring back.

“Fine, the Lord be with you or whatever it is you want me to say”

“Thank you” Wanda hugs her, excited.

“If you hurt her…”

“I know” Wanda says.

“As long as we agree. Now, let’s get out and see who’s already here so they can get seated”

Wanda helps out as much as she can with incoming guests, showing them where they can grab some refreshments while the ceremony begins.

She’s so focused that she misses an arm around her waist, until she hears your voice, happy as always when you greet her.

“Hey, love”

“Detka, hi…” she turns, but whatever she was about to say next is forgotten when she takes in your beautiful appearance.

Unlike most of the time, your hair is flowing down your shoulders and back in waves, framing your face perfectly. You’re not wearing a lot of makeup, but it’s enough to make your beautiful eyes stand out in contrast to the pink dress you’re wearing.

Don’t even get Wanda started on the dress. There’s a slit on the side that shows your leg everytime you take a step.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a dress”

“Not my style, but I’ll take one for the bride” you joke, adjusting the straps. “Heels too, I’m in agony”

“You look stunning” Wanda says, unable to look away.

The way you blush makes her bite her lip.

“Thank you, baby. Though I can’t wait to take it off”

You mean you’re eager to go back to wearing comfortable clothes, but Wanda’s eyes darken.

“Yeah, I can’t wait either” she says with a playful look, which makes you blush again.

“Hey, quit flirting and get on your spot. Music is about to start” Darcy says, nudging you at the begining of the aisle.

“Damn, Lewis, you’re taking the girls for a walk” you point at her rack, and she flips you off.

“Sorry, I'm late!” someone says behind you and you turn at the familiar voice.

“Belova!”

“Hey, you!” she pulls you for a hug that is much too strong for someone so little. “Missed ya”

“Missed you too. Go, find your seat before Darcy goes insane” you point at Kate, who’s looking around, impatient.

You’re supposed to walk down the aisle with Carol’s older brother, and he joins you a second later, bossed around by Darcy.

“She’s a firecracker” he comments. You nod, standing still and waiting for the music to begin. He leans forward, smiling. “I hear weddings are a great place to meet people”

“Really? I wouldn’t know. I met my girlfriend when I crossed the street to check on her son” you joke, sparing him from taking the flirting any further.

“Right”

“Maybe a lesbian wedding isn’t going to be for you, mate. Well, the firecracker over there is definitely straight, but I’m trying to set her up with someone else”

“Shall we?” we offers his arm, and you accept it with a nod.

Both brides look stunning, and though it’s a very short ceremony, everyone’s crying or at the very least, moved by their vows.

Wanda can’t keep her eyes from you, though. She can’t help but imagine you in a white dress, probably sneaking a very corny joke as you promise to love her for the rest of your lives.

It isn’t long before the drinks start to pour, the food served and the brides take their place at a special table, chatting and laughing.

By the time they have their first dance as a married couple, you’re at the edge of the dance floor, clapping when some fireworks and confetti are set off. The light glow reflects in your eyes and once again, Wanda is enthralled by the view.

Which is why, when more people begin to dance, she approaches you, offering her hand.

“A dance, m’lady?”

“Why, I couldn’t possibly say no” you smile, allowing her to lead.

“Have I mentioned you look beautiful, detka?”

“Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it again” you blush, your hands going around her waist. “Now, I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but have you given any thought to that trip to Sokovia?”

“Well, I… I’m not sure yet” Wanda lies, but almost gives in when she catches the disappointment in your face. But if she tells you the answer, it will ruin the surprise. Instead, she does something that will surely distract you.

Bumping her nose against yours, Wanda leans forward to kiss you. You smile against her lips, pulling her closer. The both of you are so caught up in your own little world that you don’t notice the bouquet that is flying in the air and crashes against your heads.

“Aww” Wanda laughs.

“What the fuck?” you turn around, noticing everyone’s clapping as Wanda takes it in her hands, admiring the flowers.

“Looks like we have two future brides” Carol says, smiling as she waves at you. “Now move so Maria can toss her flowers”

“Wait! I need to get Darcy! Be right back”

To your surprise, she’s still wearing her earpiece, arguing with catering about things no one really cares about.

“Hey. You’re not enjoying the party” you say, trying to take the earpiece away from her.

“I’m working”

“You’re a surgeon, not a party planner. And I don’t see anyone needing a limb removed, or anything of the sort. Come on” you take her hand, leading her to a table. You tap on Bucky’s shoulder, and he pales when he sees Darcy right behind you.

“Please tell me you didn’t”

“Darcy, why don’t you and Bucky dance?” you cut him off, smiling innocently.

“Pass” Darcy says, but you shove her right into his arms, stealing her earpiece. “Hey!”

But you walk away before she can chase you, going back to Wanda. She waves the bouquet and you accept it. Your girlfriend has taken it as a sign to set a date for her plan.

“Hey, there’s a private party for the book release next Friday. Are you free to go?”

“Absolutely, anything for you, my love” you pull her close, kissing the tip of her nose.

You keep talking and drinking, catching up with Yelena and you also notice that Darcy is still dancing with Bucky. They’re actually talking, and you hope that Darcy can at least let go of the idea that they are enemies.

Most people leave to drive back to the city, but you hang around until Carol and Maria are ready to leave for their very short honeymoon in Cabo.

“Wear lots of sunscreen and drink margaritas” you say goodbye to them. “And don’t think about work. We’ll be just fine”

“Oh, trust me, our phones will be off” Maria says, smiling as you hug her. “Thanks for everything. Have you seen Darcy? We want to say goodbye to her”

“She’s… huh” you turn around, looking as she’s chatting with Bucky in the bar. “Busy, I guess?”

“Someone just lost five dollars” Carol makes fun of Maria.

“I won’t pay until we settle that other one”

“What other one?” you ask, curious.

“If your wedding will be the next one we attend” Carol laughs.

“Well… yeah, no comment. Come on, leave before you miss your flight”

Luckily, you have a room at the inn because you absolutely don’t feel like driving back to the city.

“Did you hear from your mom? Are the kids doing ok?” you ask Wanda, sittig on the bed and removing your shoes with a sigh. “I am never wearing heels again”

“Yes, detka. Relax, everything’s fine” she says, coming back to the room wearing a bathroom robe that looks beyond comfy.

“Help me with the zipper, please?” you say, pushing your hair out of the way. She pulls the zipper down, releasing you from the fabric until the dress is pooling at your feet.

“Not so fast” she says, hands around your waist.

You laugh when she kisses the spot between your neck and shoulder, tickling the skin.

“Had fun?” you sigh, melting in her arms.

“Yes. I drew us a bath, come on”

When you’re finally in the bathtub, Wanda goes in, relaxing against your front.

“I like weddings” she says suddenly, and you chuckle.

“Yeah? Were you dreaming about your wedding when you were little?”

“Oh, I used to do this ceremony with my teddy bear. He was real handsome. We got married a couple of times” Wanda says, smiling at the memory.

“Guess I’ll have to fight Mr. Bear to set the record straight” you mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open. Between Wanda’s warmth, the water and the candles she lit, you could pass out any minute now.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you ever think about your wedding? As a kid, I mean”

“Not really. My parents weren’t married, so I guess I only thought that people had kids. Learning what being married meant came later. But I like it. As a concept, I mean. Having someone to be your partner, through everything… it doesn’t sound bad”

“Right” Wanda agrees, smiling as she imagines what the future holds for you two.

“Surgeons are terrible spouses, though” you warn her, which makes her laugh.

“I don’t believe that. Not from you, at least”

“Mmm, time will tell” you yawn, making Wanda turn. “Sorry. Just tired”

“Come on. Let’s get to bed”

Just as Wanda thought, you’re asleep the minute you settle in bed. As she watches you dream peacefully, her heart beats faster at the prospect of the future.

She can’t wait to propose.

[dilf-docs]

Saturday But in Your Sunday Best

bfd!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel has a co-worker's wedding in las vegas. everything that can go wrong, does.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., creampie, oral (f. and m. receiving), breast play, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation kink, ANGST (as in i've suffered so will my characters. this wasn't at all what i had envisioned at first for this part), hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff (that's new), pls be nice this writer's block shot me in the foot

word count: 11,121 words

side note: sorry this took so long. between movie watching for the oscars, my other works, midterms, pedro pascal horny hours, my wattpad fic, the max fic you citizens let flop (ĉüřşę ÿoụ āĺļ), the brat taming fic that made numbers among my oomfs on twitter, a very shitty date (the situational irony of letting a man ruin my women's day) a ptwt fic gc in twitter (love u frens), and uni again, i let the ttdik series collect dust, my bad. as compensation, take this girthy chapter altho it makes me kinda insecure IDK. this is why i don't do series okay!! i'm my worst enemy and i fear procrastination is a chronical disease of mine atp

part: prev | masterlist | next

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas

His foot taps anxiously against the marble floor, sound drowned by the bustling crowd.

People come and go. Some hug, others cry. And Joel? Well, he's just waiting for you to come.

He checks his watch, the one Sarah gifted him, and sighs. Should've known better.

It's been two months since the pregnancy scare, and ever since then, you have put a bit of a distance between yourselves.

It was slow, gradual: first the excuses then nights were you wouldn't stay or ask him to. And, even if your affair was that, just an affair, he missed sleeping in the warmth of your embrace. He also missed the way your nose would crinkle when you laughed. You didn't laugh that often anymore, and if you did, it sounded like you were holding in: as if you were afraid to let loose and let him see through you. And to be honest, it was killing him.

So when he reached out to you for this, he should've expected for you to say no. That you wouldn't show up after that I'll see if I'm free text: no, Joel Miller simply shouldn't have harbored that much hope for his daughter's bestfriend he happened to be banging.

If he hadn't confirmed his invitation, he'd probably gone home and layed down. Watch some garbage TV with Sarah and some beer in hand, but here he was, like a lonely loser, luggage in hand.

(Sarah helped him pack. He didn't even know what to wear to a wedding, and then she showed up with his old suit-- that still fit, somehow, albeit a bit more tight, from the dry cleaning. Joel would be lost without her)

The speaker announces his flight is about to leave. Joel gets up, trying not to be dissappointed about the whole thing. He's got no right to, after all.

"Joel?"

He'd end up breaking his neck by how fast he turned.

There you are, and it's like the weight he wasn't aware of, settling on his chest, had been removed.

"You made it" is the first thing that makes it out of his lips.

You softly laugh, "Hello, Joel"

He gets closer to you, slowly, like if he where to do it faster, he'd scare you off. Or you'd be gone, as if a dream.

(It'd be a nightmare, though, because you wouldn't be here)

"Sorry. I-" he cuts off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. There's some tension lingering in the air, the same when you left his house a week ago. Joel had been too much of a coward to invite you then, rather hiding behind a screen.

But now you were here.

"I didn't think you'd come" he says after a beat of silence.

You tilt your head to the side, eyebrow up as if you hadn't been acting weird at all.

"Why wouldn't I?"

(Because it seems like being in the same room as me tires you. That your eyes don't shine anymore, and the starry sky looks like a storm when you dare search my gaze as we fuck. Every time you breath, its like breathing the same air as me burns)

He rather not press, so instead, he says:

"I'm jus' glad ya' came. 'S all"

You nod, not adding anything at all. Then, both you walk to your gate, side by side in silence, the same that had seemed to seep inside your romance for the past weeks.

Well, romance was definitely a stretch. An affair seemed more like it.

Of course, you're aware the change it's on you. It would've been dumb of you to think Joel wouldn't notice your withdrawal, or how more often than not you'd be stuck in your head. But still, he didn't comment on it, and like you, danced around the subject, afraid for different reasons as yours. Or the same. Yet, you'll never know. No, you're aware you both are too stubborn, and that whatever it started on that day, had settled in between like a burning flame.

(Had you been engulfed by the fire yet?)

You try not to think about it. After all, you had the option not to come. But a weekend away in Las Vegas after midterms? Too tempting to let go.

(And it's not like images of a stood up Joel in the airport, looking miserable, had made you restless the last couple of days after his text)

"Ya' can take the window" he says, even if it's his seat.

He knows you're nervous about flying, a little detail that came up during a post-sex small talk.

(What're you're dreams? Joel asked. You had answered that you'd love to travel the world after graduating, but that you had a fear for flying, despite having only done it once. It may have been because the first time you did, it was to fly for your grandma's funeral. Perhaps it was by association then, that the bad feelings about boarding a plane could be related to that)

"Thanks" you mumble, sitting down. You're avoiding his gaze, but know he's looking at you.

"What?" a little harsher than intended.

He looks taken back, looking at his lap as he let's out a soft whisper, sheepishly:

"Nothin'. Jus' thinkin' you look pretty today"

A light blush creeps up your cheeks as you huff out a Whatever.

Joel let's a breath of relief out his tight chest and allows himself to smile.

(At least, he's still got an effect on you)

The wedding Joel was supposed to attend is in the Ángel De La Guarda cathedral. You'd be staying nearby, at a hotel room Joel's coworker had paid for, the same where the reception would take place.

Being in the same room as Joel one night should be the least of your worries, but then the space is even smaller than it was supposed to (given by Joel's cursing as he paced around, anxiously), and the strain of your relationship settles in the air, physically so, tight around your throat.

Then, it's the bed issue: there's only one. It's not like you haven't slept in the same bed before, obviously, but there's a certain dread deep in your stomach about sharing the enclosed space when you're at your most vulnerable. He moves around a lot during night, and something tells you you'd wake up to his strong arms and hot breath fanning over your neck, hairs rising at the proximity, making it harded to calm your heart.

"You okay?" he's asking, dropping the bags in a corner.

"At what time is the wedding?" you ask.

He checks his watch. "In about seven hours"

The glass bounces a ray right into your face, and you have to close your eyes at yet nother reminder of why this is all so wrong.

Sarah.

"We should rest..." he says, plopping on the bed. His plaid t-shirt rises up at the same time the color of your cheeks does, when the glimpse of soft tanned skin reveals itself. He looks up to your stiff standing figure, bulk arms behind his neck as he rests his head on his biceps. "Don't 'cha think?"

Lay with me. Not outloud.

"No" you say, hastily so, not missing the way a flicker of dull akin to the pain of rejection finds its way to his brown eyes. "I..." your voice softens. "I'd rather take a tour of the place, you know? It's not like I'll come every weekend here"

He's about to raise up. I'm coming with you, again not out loud, in case you'd reject his offering again.

Which you do.

"I'm fine" you say, grabbing your purse. "Just... I need a moment"

Away from you.

"Suit yourself" but there's a sharp edge on his apparent kindness.

Closing the door behind you, it takes all of you to not turn around and see his face one last time.

You wander off through the bright lights and noisy hallways, walking until the sun of the outdoors filters a ray over the carpet through the glass doors. Strides take you to the pool area, kids giggling, parents sunbathing and youngsters chilling.

You sigh, dipping your feet in the pool, chlorine up your nose and water baterly grazing your sundress.

But you're drowning.

Drowning on his presence, every room he's in now smaller. Walls of the room collapsing, as the ones of your lungs, every breath tight if your nose catches a whiff of his scent lingering in the air. You'd wash the sheets almost immediately, crying when your head hit the pillow and it smelled like lavender and not Joel.

It was the only right choice: to erase him out of your life, because with every new kiss and thrust, he'd take another part of you with him, and you don't know how much more you can give of yourself without dying. A part of you dies every time he walks out the door, anxious heart pondering when will he walk out for good. When he'll realize the thrill is gone, that your escapades were all but a product of his crisis, and what started as a mutual use of bodies, ends in the waste of your heart.

Joel has become a drug for you: knowing it's destructive, but the high so addictive, you don't mind the crash. It's unevitable, and a small treacherous voice in the back of your head says you're just postponing a foretold death.

Yet Joel Miller makes you feel alive. Alive as a spring, grassbed full of blooming flowers. As sun carressing your skin: if you stay too long, the warm becoming burning.

A kid walks up to your sad lonely pensive corner, splashing water onto you.

"Hey!" but he's gone, and it's Vegas, so his parents are three mojitos down from the open bar, asleep under the sun. You curse, getting up and back to your room to change.

When you get to your room, is eerily quiet. And dark, the curtains closed.

You rumage through your suitcase, pulling out a change. The dress slips off, falling to the carpet with a pathetic drowned sound. You're about to change into the t-shirt when the lights flicker.

"You back?"

You scream, trying to cover yourself.

"Woah!" Joel covers his eyes, both your reactions ironically funny. Your cheeks burn as you finish dressing yourself up, and if he takes a small peak between his fingers, well, you'll never know. "Jesus, doll. If ya' wanted it so bad, could've asked"

Something akin to anger and deception morph into a burning flame in the pit of your stomach. Even after all this months, after this imminent fight, Joel can't bring himself to ask, dancing around the fragile line that barely holds on with the clap of skin against skin and sweat, as to replace the tears that will never see the light of the day.

"Right, because that's all I want"

He raises an eyebrow at your tone. "S' a joke"

"Jokes are supposed to make people laugh"

He shoots you a look, before standing from the bed.

"What's gotten into ya'?"

He walks closer, yet you give him your back, tossing the sundress with too much force in your bag.

"Don't know what you're talking about" as nonchalant as you can muster.

"Look at me" you keep the harsh packing going on. Joel grows impatient at your confusing demeanor, not just from today, but days ago. He's had enough. He spins you around, losing his cool as he shouts. "Damn it, y/n, stop actin' like a brat!"

"Don't touch me!" you yell back, pulling away.

"So that's how's it now?" Joel lets out a scoff. "Y' get on ma' bed but the moment I put a finger in ya', y'act all coy and angry?"

"Right, 'cause I'm a slut. That's what sluts do: we get on lonely men's bed and fuck them"

He grabs the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily. His voice is laced with frustration, and you know it's your fault.

"Never said that"

Why not talk it like adults? No. Too much of a coward to do that.

"Jus' tell me, doll. What's goin' on?"

I think I love you, and I'm fucking scared.

His voice is soft, pleading. In your lifetime, you never thought you'd see Joel Miller beg. You did once, but it wasn't like this. Please, he'd say. Now, here he is, standing before you like the smallest man who ever lived and not the unstoppable force you made him out to be.

It should be easy. But words never come easy. Not to you. Neither love, so foreign it makes you shiver with fear. So natural, one day you opened your eyes to him laying next to you, Sarah staying in another city for a soccer tournament, and decided that was what you wanted. All his mornings. His bed voice, thick from sleep. His droopy eyes and tired smile, facil hair tickling your face as he says Good mornin', Southern drawl never more prominent, kisses in between. Let's get sum coffee after, because he always had to drink the bitter liquid out of his owl mug or wouldn't be able to make it through the day.

You want him to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes.

You want Joel Miller. Want. Want. Want.

"I hate you"

You have ruined me.

He probably expected anything but that, given his crestfallen face. Joel wishes for time to go back, at the beach. He'd say no, push you away. Fought a little harder. Never gotten into your bed.

The worst part is, he's a fucking liar: he'd probably still choose the same, even if the end is near.

"You ain't mean that" not knowing if he's trying to convince you or himself. "Jus' wanna hurt me"

You don't humor him with an answer.

"I shouldn't have come" is what you say instead, the bitter taste of defeat and hurt etched in your voice.

Would've been easier to stop when we should've.

His words run through the tense air like a bullet.

"I agree"

Weddings had always made you cry.

You weren't even a romantic, but the whole thing-- the promise of forever, it seemed to move your heart a bit.

So, if your eyes shimmer when the bride makes her entrance and the groom, Joel's co-worker, tears up, you feel your chest tight and stomach drop. It clenches with something akin to dread and want, as if suddenly, all that mattered to you was love. A year ago, if you told yourself-- the one who got on her knees to suck Joel's dick at the beach that night, that you'd be here?

You would've laughed.

Falling for the grumpy old man who also happens to be your bestfriend's dad?

Right. Imagine that.

Except there is nothing to imagine. All of it is real.

From his quiet laughter, the sound foreign and not frequent by the way it rasps against his throat. But now the wrinkles around his eyes are more prominent, forbidden laughs marking his blushing face. as he looks away, embarrassed. You can laugh, you had said, I won't tell anyone, yet he made you swore like the sight of Joel Miller laughing was the worst thing in the world. So had become the grey strands on his hair, more sprouting each time, as his damp curls twisted in your fingers.

It is also in the way his sweat that drops over your body as he tries hard to last longer, to his grunts that fill the room as he fills you to the brim with his warm cum. How his rough seems to meet every inch of your soft skin, like pieces of a puzzle.

Something clicks when you're with Joel, and you can't help but feel it's your fault this rift has been created, aggressively peeling the white off your nails as some form of anxious torture. But, he too, aside from his initial Just glad you came, hadn't said a word about it again. Even if he had noticed it all, before Vegas too. Nothing. And then Joel told you it was best if you didn't come. Fucking great.

You feel him tense next to you, body stiff when your arm accidentally brushes his when you stand up from the bench, making you roll your eyes.

The fallout had been awkward. The elevator ride took forever, and then the space on the cab felt too small. He took you to the back, on the benches near the exit, like he didn't want to be seen with you. It got you fuming: why bother to invite you at all?

In all truth, you could've picked up your bags and left after the fight, yet you stayed. You wonder who's more of a coward. In this weird dancing around you've got going on, walking in circles over the words Stay and Leave, like both are too delicate to say out loud. Even as the couple speak their vows, amid the claps and tears, your mind keeps drifting back to one question: Which would hurt less?

It's not until it ricochets on your arm that you realize the tears are also your own. You brush it fast, but by the corner of your eye, you know Joel notices. Still, he doesn't say anything, which contributes to your spite.

The ceremony is over, and just as you can feel the anticipation of the reception's drinks to buzz your nerves down, someone blocks you the exit. A couple, more like it.

Before fully registering their faces, Joel's hand flies to your back, pressed in a firm manner that oozes protectiveness. It makes your heart flutter, no matter how much you try to suffocate the treacherous butterflies in your stomach. You try not to think too much about it as you take them in: a man, looking in his middle forties, probably around the same age as Joel, so as the woman next to him, who smiles warmly. Not like the man, who seems unwelcoming.

"Joel" he pronounces his name, manners coming out cold. "It's nice to see you made it"

His grip on your back becomes more firm.

"Mark" he uses the same tone. "Well, when ya' confirm, y'gotta come"

"And who may this be?" Mark's wife asks, not thinking there's harm in her words. You swear you can hear him snicker next to her.

"She's-"

Joel stops midtrack. How is he supposed to even call you?

"I'm his girlfriend"

You don't know why you did that but you did. You also don't know why it causes you such satisfaction to see their wide eyes and Mark's disdain.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a girlfriend. How lovely!"

His cheeks go pink. "Thanks, Laura"

"Yes, Joel. Didn't think you'd move on" but his tone isn't like his wife's. "I just assumed that being with someone wasn't on your list anymore, you know, at your age. Especially one so... young"

Laura shots him a look.

Maybe it wasn't your place to get angry, not after how you've subjected Joel to your silent treatment this past months. Not after the fight you've just had hours ago. But he is also the same man who held your hand after you thought you were pregnant. He was the one who stayed. It is too how his shoulders slump, like he believes it to be true. You can't bear to see him sad, as contradictory as that may sound.

"Mark, right?"

The man nods, still sickly smiling.

"To me it sounds like you're jealous. Which is awful, because you've got a lovely wife" she looks away embarrassed while Mark fumes. "Also, when I turn around, try not to stare at my ass. I saw you when we arrived"

There's nothing left to say, so you walk past them.

"I think that was funny. Don't you?"

He avoids looking at you.

"I called a cab. Should take us back to the hotel"

No thanks. Nothing.

"Alright" your tone is dry. "Do as you please"

He opens the door for you, but his movements seem stiff and unnatural. Like he's second guessing every breath and step.

The car begins to move. You lean against the window, seeing the hues of neon through the glass. Joel's eyes burn holes on your head, a glimpse of brown in the reflection.

"I liked the wedding"

Joel looks at you properly for the first time since the fight. Your hair falls gracefully in cascades, hinting at an effort that tries to pass as a nonexistent one. Your makeup is soft, but your lips are in a shade he can't quite name, yet manage to make them even more fuller than usual. God, he thinks of it smeared on his clothes and mouth, feeling dumb all of the sudden. Then there's the dress. He doesn't have a favorite color, but as of now, it may be red: specially if its the red that hugs your curves, pushes your tits up and gives a little peak of your leg with its open cut, dangerously close to the start of your inner thigh. Not appropriate to wear at a church, maybe not a wedding either, but fuck didn't he care. He'd even rip it off, if it was such a problem.

"It was beautiful" he agrees, softly. "Never been to one. Maybe's why I think so"

You remove yourself from the window, now holding his gaze.

"What?" your mouth drops in surprise. "What about yours? Weren't you married?"

He smiles, but it appears to be sad. "Never got time for a wedding thought"

Joel has told you things. Things he'd never say outloud to anyone else. So whenever he opens up, letting you in, you let him, feeling that familiar pleasing ache in your chest at the thought of being enough: enough to be trusted with a piece of him. Of Joel Miller's heart.

The rest of the ride is silent, your mind still on Joel's hand on your back, on his words, and how the sting never goes.

In every thought of yours, he is.

"What'appened to your nails?"

The question catches you off guard. You're surprised he even noticed at all. But your hand lays in the space between his and your dish, stiff, as if waiting for him to hold it.

"Oh" you remove it from the table, placing it in your lap. "I chipped the polish off"

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, brown eyes examining you curiously, as if he didn't know you. Like he hadn't almost whisper those three words you had been tettering around as well.

"Why what Joel?" tone brash.

He scoffs at the change again, shoulders slumping a bit. Probably in annoyance, perhaps in defeat.

"Dunno" he goes back to his dish, cutting the steak with a bit too much force. I thought we were okay again. "S'rry I asked"

Your chest tightens, as it had been doing lately.

Was this the only thing you knew how to do now? Hurting Joel?

"No, I'm sorry"

It's his turn to get back at you. "Sorry for what?"

You swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, avoiding his gaze.

"I-"

Your eyes nervously dart across the room, trying to ignore the churn of your stomach and knot on your throat. You then catch the perfect distraction.

"I think Mark is staring at us again"

"What?" Joel asks in disbelief at your change of topic.

"Mark is staring" you sigh, getting up and dusting your dress off. "Wanna put on a show?"

"I didn't come to a wedding and wore this dress to be seated all night" you extend your hand. A quiet truce settles in between. "Let's dance"

At some point he gets up and takes your hand. It feels good. For a moment, be it childish or foolish, your mind thinks this is how it is: with no one around to know you, you're his and he's yours. It's just the two of you, dancing and laughing under the lights. He'd know the song that's playing, and when you'd ask, unfamiliar, Joel would joke: how could ya' know it, if you ain't even born yet?

For just a moment, it feels like it could be.

The music is soft. It's some sort of rendition of Lady, Lady, Lady by the band Jim hired to play at his wedding.

Joel's clammy hands slip against your cold palms as you walk to the dance floor.

"Nervous?" you ask, biting back a smile.

He squints his eyes at you. "I'm just outta practice, 's all"

You laugh. "I would've never guessed"

He shakes his head, but the ghost of a smirk hides in his lips.

"Cheeky baby. Now you actin' funny?"

Joel's hand finds its place in your waist, holding firmly as the first verses go by.

Dancing behind masks, just sort of pantomime.

But images reveal whatever lonely hearts can hide.

"Maybe I'm just tired" you reply, placing your head against his chest. His heart starts drumming faster, and you hear him gulp.

"It ain't even midnight yet"

You close your eyes, feeling every breath of his chest against your cheek.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

I know it's in your heart to stay

"Y/n-"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

"I'm sorry" this time clearer.

His body rocks yours slowly to the tempo of the music, and for a brief moment, amongst the sea of guests and the voice of the singer, time stops, and it's just him and you.

"Don't"

He can't bear it. Not tonight.

When will I ever hear you say

I love you

Not when your body feels so well against his, your head resting on his chest like all those nights ago, where Joel held you close, the silent promise of never letting you go on his warm strong embrace. Not when just the thought of losing you is too unbearable to even think of. Not when today, he can let his mind drift away and heart beat, dreaming of things that'll make him the butt of the joke. For a moment, you're not wearing this red dress that's making him insane. You're all in white and there's a ring in your hand, just as there's one in his. You'd dance and say I'm yours, forever. A giggle. You can't get rid of me. And he'd smile and reply a Good, wasn't plannin' to.

But now he feels like he's going to lose you forever.

"I missed you" it's your way of trying, again.

His head is a whirlwind of emotions.

"Yeah?"

You lean closer, until his cologne burns in your nostrils.

"Yeah"

Time like silent stares, with no apology

"Joel"

Move towards the stars, and be my only one

This time, he finds it impossible to shut you up. Not when you've raised your head until your eyes meet his, and the constellations he very much loves are ever present in your stare.

Reach into the light, and feel love's gravity

"Yeah?"

You pull in closer, and he can feel the whiff of champagne coming out of your mouth. Your lips are parted, and a shaky whisper is all it takes for his head to spin, drunk in love.

"Please"

That pulls you to my side, where you should always be

Your lips are so inviting. All he has to do is cut the centimeters separating your mouths.

But it's a wall. One filled with doubts, fear and the quiet rage of rejection.

His voice wavers when he starts speaking.

"I think-"

He hasn't even finished his sentence, but your heart is already broken.

No wonder why you've always treated it like a burden: nothing is worst than a heavy heart.

Maybe he'd come to realize just how absurd this all was. Him, much older than you and Sarah's dad. How could he let his daughter's bestfriend go this far. That he was a forty something guy, dancing with a twenty two year old girl. That love comes in all shapes and sizes, but there's no name for this you have going on since last summer. Perhaps, there'll never be.

"Please" you hear yourself repeat.

It started as a plea for a kiss. You don't know what you're begging for anymore.

"No, baby-"

And Joel is the first to step back.

Lady, lady, lady, lady, I know it's in your heart to stay

The cold water of rejection hits you in the face, far from his warm embrace, the contour of his face, centimeters away, now meters.

"We can't"

An ocean away.

"Joel-" your throat tightens, panic bubbling in your chest.

"I think we should stop"

The whole world around you does as soon as those words leave his mouth.

Sorrow is quick to turn into anger, and all those months of guilt, rush, thrill, labored breaths, broken rules and promises you held to your heart as an oath, sweet whispered cons in your pillow that smelled like him. It all comes crashing down with force.

A dry laugh escapes past your lips. Joel winces at the sound.

"A bit too late for that, isn't it?"

"Baby-"

"Don't call me baby" you hiss, feeling your vision blurry. "Don't call me like you meant it"

"I do" the music has reduced to a buzz in the back of your head. His firm voice borders between desperate and pathetic. "Which is why am making 'tis"

"Fucking coward" you spit, feeling your skin on fire.

Don't give up. Please.

Fight for me. Fight for this.

For us.

"Coward?" it's Joel's turn to laugh. His dark chuckle sends shivers through your skin. "Y' shouldn't be talkin' 'bout that"

"Don't put all of this on me" you raise your shaky finger, accusing. "Don't you fucking dare"

"Thought Mark was watchin'. Or 's that 'nother one of y'r lies?" Joel seethes. "Or maybe ya' don't give a shit 'bout it. Jus' like you ain't give a shit 'bout us!"

"You think this is easy?" your voice raises. "You think I wanted this?"

You think I don't care? That I'm doing well? That I wanted to pull away from you? That I knew things would got as bad as they are?

You think I wanted to fall for you?

His eyes darken. "You started this"

Your heart stops beating. People laugh, the band is still playing and chatter bubbles like the champagne flutes waiters carry by.

But all you can hear is the moment your palm meets his face.

"I wish I never met you, Joel Miller"

And then you rush out the door, your heels burning as much as your eyes and chest. Far from the party, far from the world.

Far from him.

"We ain't done yet!"

You hear him bark behind you, yet your legs don't stop, despite the buzz in your ears and the slight stumble in your walk.

Your voice sounds like it doesn't belong to you when you hear yourself speak, without turning around.

"I think we are"

But Joel doesn't give up, making you feel trapped between wanting to hit him again and let yourself be held.

"Y/n!" he calls out just like he used to when you were a kid. Like you knew no better. Reckless. Berating. But now the taste of bitter mingles with his punishing demeanor.

You spin your heel, walking menacingly towards him.

"Don't call me that" you seethe, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"That's your fucken name!" he shouts.

Tears spring in the corner of your eyes. "You know what I mean"

"Enlighten me, doll" the nickname feels like a slap to your face, and for a moment, you wish he called you by your name again, instead of tainting the always sweet calling with his vitriol, as if the four letters meant something sacred he had profaned. "S'a matter of fact, why don't y'enlight me 'bout everythin' that's goin' on. 'Cause guess what? I'ont know what the fuck is happenin'!"

And it terrifies me.

His shout probably ran across the empty hallway. The music coming from inside sounds like a muffled heartbeat, mirroring your own.

To lose you. I might as well have.

"I don't know why you seem'a hate me now" quiet this time, like every word coming from his mouth take his voice little by little. "Why ya' get all sweet on me after weeks of leavin' me, pushin' me to the side... I'm old, doll. I ain't capable of takin' this anymore"

I'm not capable of surviving a broken heart.

The possibility of losing Joel, foever, had never crossed your mind, not even as you closed off, ignoring the way his brown sad eyes would search yours to try and find answers, maybe scraps of the... whatever it was you shared.

Now, it was real, and it shook you to the bone.

"Was fun while it lasted" closing off, trying to shut the doors he let you in, clawing back to that Joel Miller who couldn't be bent. The one Sarah deemed unbreakable. But it's the same that didn't know when to back down, now praying the price of his foolishness.

I don't regret it, but Joel doesn't have it in him to give you more of his heart for you to take. If he cuts it now, from the root, he'll spare his brain from saving more seconds of the image of you he'd have to get rid off: you, taking your coffee with two bags of sugar because you hated uneven numbers, and three seemed too much for your latte. You, standing on his room like you belonged there. You, on his car, the leather having absorbed some of the floral scent you seemed to carry with you. In your clothes, your skin, your hair. He'd have to go to bed knowing he'd never get to feel your strands in his fingers, tickling the remmanents of desolation he'd been carrying like a second skin ever since Sarah's mother walked away.

Your blood runs cold.

"Fun?" the words spill in a bitter incredulous tone, all the while you're trying to hold to him without raising your hand for him to take it, like just the thought of it would be enough to choose you. Words seem to fail you, and grasping at him feels like holding sand: it keeps falling from your fingers, a cruel reminder of your borrowed time. "Joel"

"Fun" he repeats the word, feeling sick. "As in, you'd marry someone who's worth for ya'. Probably choose Texas, maybe you'll stay away. 'Cause you're smart, and know what's good. But if ya' came back, livin' at the same neighbour, in the house across mine, you'd glance up and see my porch, thinkin' 'bout us, and this will become a joke with y'r husband, 'bout your rebel days. To your kids, summ cautionary tale. To you? An'scape of summ sorts of y'r other wise boring life"

Your shaking at this point, not knowing if it's anger, humilliation or sorrow.

I'm sorry. Please, don't give up on me. Stay.

"I'd be an experience. But to me? Doll" Joel chuckles, humorlessly. "You were everythin'"

A choked up sob bubbles from your chest.

"So that's what you think of me?" you laugh, a sound so hollow it makes his skin shiver. "That this is for the thrill? For the fucking anecdote?!"

"Trust me. I've lived long 'nough, kid. You'll understand later"

It's like all those months next to him meant nothing. Like pulling away from your lips was the easiest thing to do.

"Don't you fucking dare call me a kid!" you push him. "I'm not a kid"

"I know you ain't!" he roars back. "But you don't know shit!"

"Neither do you!" your quick to counter. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh? Bet you think that I'm some helpless naive idiot who doesn't know what I want. I don't know what I'm doing, that you're right. But I do know what I signed up for, the price I would pay" losing you or Sarah. Both. "I wanted it, and newsflash: so did you" you breath, running your hands through your hair, trying to comb some sense of normalcy to ground yourself while you try to recover your composture. His arms lay weakly by his sides, restraining himself from running to you and craddle you on his arms. "You chose this. You chose me, Joel Miller" each word pronounced with contempt. "I'm not a victim. Neither are you"

A dry chuckle escapes past his chapped lips. "What are we, then?"

(Two lonely souls who seek warmth. People who fell into the same bed. Shared time they shouldn't have. Selfish. Living on borrowed time. Always tettering around the edge, so easy to fall. History repeating itself. The dancing around. Dirty, like the Texan roads: and they all lead back to his bed)

"So do it" you shove him again, as if by doing so, you could push him away forever. From your mind, from your heart. From your life. "Say it"

He shakes his head, as if you'd insulted him.

"Sweetheart-"

"Say. It" you bark, tasting the venom on your tongue. "Say it!"

"I can't" looking so small, your resolve almost crumbles. Almost.

"Coward" you spit, repeatedly punching him feebly on the chest as tears stream down your cheeks. He tries to grab your hands, to stop you. "Don't touch me! Let me go"

"I can't" this time louder.

Tears sprout with more intensity at the desperate weight on his tone.

A single drop runs down when you say, defeated: "Quit me"

"I can't!" he shouts in your face, voice breaking slightly.

"Why?!"

"'Cause I fucking can't!" Joel breaks. He crumbles in your arms, body shaking as he buries himself in your reluctant embrace. He speaks again, this time softer, "I can't lose 'cha, baby. If that makes me sum goddamn coward, then so be it"

Something in you stirs. Like a lost boat, finding a lighthouse during a storm. Arriving to shore with gentle waves. Home, where it belongs.

"Joel-"

"I'm sorry for bein' selfish" between agitated and terrified, afraid of the silence and what you may say. "For noticin' your quiet and still carryin' on"

"Joel"

"Believe me, doll. I tried to stop. To leave ya'" he swallows, "but then I got invited and my mind went to ya'. Fast. You were the first person in my mind. Always are. I think that's when I knew. S'okay if you don't-"

"Joel!" you shout this time.

He raises his view from his little spot on your chest.

"It isn't just you" in a whisper that could easily pass as the wind that sweeps inside from the main door. Voice so fragile it hurts like glass. "I feel this too"

Just like that, he's both gone and back. His heart beats on his throat, voice raw when he searches for your eyes and asks:

"You do?"

The big unbreakable Joel Miller, looking at you not like a force to be reckoned with, but as a man, worn down by years of solitude and the weight of a secret.

You smile through the tears. "I've been many things, but a liar never"

He chuckles, softly. "Always was a bad one"

"See?" softly teasing, "you can attest to that"

"Twenty one years seem 'nough"

"Soon to be twenty two" pause. "And I would love it if you were there to see it"

A breath hitches somewhere in the middle of the new aphonia that's settled.

"You don't mean all'at. Think 'bout it-"

"I do" you interrupt him, firmly. You hold his gaze while cupping his face, the fright on his face mirroring your own. "You asked before, remember? There's your answer"

Joel is at loss for words. Was never good with them, less when it came to you: like your presence unsettled him in the same way tornadoes made him quiver when he was a child, rattling him to the bone. But there was a morbid fascination to them, in their destructive nature. Like beauty could be horror too, and he had learnt it thanks to your unforgiving winds that had swept him away from his feet.

He was flying. Fucking flying. Never quite landing. Afraid of the fall.

"I'm scared"

Joel leans in, forehead touching yours. His skin is warm, something about it soothing your nerves down.

"Me too"

You bite back a smile. "Big broody Miller, scared?"

"Y' know how'da disarm a man. I'll give ya' that"

You laugh, eyes crinkling while you swat his chest playfully. It's the same sound he missed so dearly. Joel can feel himself breath with relief.

"Now that's the story I'll tell my kids" could be our own. "The one where I won over Joel Miller"

A deep, rich rumble erupts from his chest as he pulls you even closer, this time, your head the one on his chest.

"I'll do you one better" he slowly moves his leg closer to the inner part of your thighs. "Wanna hear how it ends?"

"Jesus, Joel" laugh tense. Your heart pulses like his cock. Hard. "You sure are a mood killer"

He presses further. "But ya' want it, don't 'cha?"

You whimper, weakly. Truth is, you've been wet since you saw him dress on his rather tight suit. Now, after what you just confessed, you're not sure you can hold back any longer.

"Use y'r words, baby"

"Our room" the possesive adjective making his stomach rumble with need. "Now"

Stumbling feet. Whispered breaths oozing with drunk desire. Giggles. Buttons of an elevator pressed forcefully. A crammed space that felt even smaller. More giggles in a hallway full of doors that looked the same. Some mumbling, trying to remember the room. Grabbing the card from his pocket. You somehow make it to your room. Fumbling fingers. One swipe. Two. Try slower, but his voice is as urgent as strained. The door gives in. Finally, couldn't wait any longer. And he's chastising you, for being so impatient. Yet his eyes are all dark and sweet when looking it at you.

"We're here" and then the door closes with a loud thud. And Joel is yours again, just like he was that night, and forever was since.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back fervently. You open your mouth and let his tongue get inside as you moan his name.

"Please" you whine.

"Please what?" Joel chuckles, enamoured at your hanging mouth and heaving chest. Fucking tease. "Use y'r words, doll"

"Please, Joel" and hearing your name fall out of your lips like it's the most sacred prayer brings him weak to his knees. "I need you"

(I need you, as in I need you here. With me. Now. To never let go and hold my hand, not only when we fuck, but also when we walk, side by side, hands brushing like a touch it's too much to bear. Because if we held hands, I'd never be able to pull back. I need you to look at me as you undress me, because I'm bearing all of me for you, scars, body and secrets, trembling like a scared child, because no one's ever had me. Not like you. Not like you)

"'S right, sweet thing" he drawls out in a husky whisper, like his slick tongue was coated in honey. He pulls your head back, nipping and sucking on your skin. "Say ma' name like 's the only thing you know"

And in a way, it is. Because you'd always call Joel, fingers itching at a number you've memorized until it's burned in your eyelids, like when you close your eyes, you can see him standing in front of you, Texan accent and heavy boots in your doorstep, later to be discarded and hidden beneath your bed.

He pulls back, making you involuntary whine at the loss of his lips and tongue on you.

"Tell me you want this" he's saying, and for a moment, past the fire and the need, you see Joel as not the man who can bring you to come two times in a row, but your bestfriend's dad, who's slept in a bed alone for the past two decades, who can't meet you in the eyes when he undresses himself, looking like the one who's got the more to lose when his lips press aginst yours in a soft manner, not out of tenderness but out of fear.

"I do" without hesitation, as if you would tattoo your promise and wear it like your heart on your sleeve. "I want you, Joel"

You want all of him: from his boring Sundays sprawled on the couch watching a rerun of some old sitcom to his greying hair, aching joints and creaking bones, that despite so, would still kneel and eat your pussy like a man starved, tongue sliding through your folds with a learned ache, pouring the same yearn, longing and hunger that he wears on his eyes when they land on you, no matter if his brown are miles away, because they'd always find your own, like a boat lost in translation and a sea of sorrow coming back home, as if you're the only important thing in the world. His anchor. The lighthouse of his vast ocean of forlorness.

"That's my girl" but no smirk adorns his face, rather a small smile that warms your chest, right as he pulls you back in. There's a shift in the aire as he kisses you know, as if not only his tongue is in your insides but his soul, without holding back this time, like all limits have blurred and melted into a pool of desire and affection.

Joel pushes you down onto the wide bed, climbing on top of you as he kisses your jawline, leaving wet kisses along your warm skin. You moan as every contact of his mouth sends shudders to your body, him taking his time as he works over your jaw, down to your chest.

"Such'a pretty doll. And's mine" his calloused fingers fiddle with your bra, unclasping the lingerie until it falls messily discarded next to the bed. "Got summ nice tits on you, baby" and Joel's eyes sparkle with excitement, lighting up like the neon lights of the Vegas sign, "don't 'cha think?"

Your back arches with his touches, mouth ghosting over your nipple, already pebbled at just Joel's breath.

"Fuck, Joel" you mewl his name, dragged with difficulty as he laps his tongue over your breasts greedily. You can feel Joel's cock pulse and throbb in your thigh as his body hovers over yours, lips still wrapped around your nipple as he suckles and nibbles at the tender flesh.

"'S sorry, doll" he's apologizing in a mocking manner as you whimper at the contact of him against you, suckling hard, tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive bud as he drew it deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. "Ain't know you'd be so fucken responsive with just a lil' lick at y'r pretty tits"

As your body trembles and quakes, he speaks again.

"Open y'r mouth" you do so, because honestly, you'd never deny him a thing. "Want 'cha to suck on 'tis fingers, like the slut ya're. Get them wet so they feel good against 'tis greedy pussy"

You take the fingers as you'd take his cock, sucking on the skin that tastes like salt and gasoline, a slight bitter taste but you take them as deep as you can, until your lips brush his rough knuckles.

"Good greedy whore" he praises. "Now let me help ya' with that"

Joel gestures your damp panties, taking them off and putting them up his nose, inhaling like he did the first time you ever fucked, back at the beach house that summer that feels a life ago, seawaves crashing onto the shore as they drowned out your moans.

"Sweet" as if your arousal was his favorite dessert, gripping the sticky lingerine until his knuckles turn white. "Fucken wet and drippin', and s'all for me"

He feels your greedy hands fumble with his pants and belt, pulling him closer as the feeling of unfairness at his clothed figure dawns upon you.

"I like how you look in a suit, but right now-"

He laughs, a deep rich sound bubbling up from his chest.

"Ma' baby wants it that bad, huh?" you nod your head feverishly, a beg threatening past your lips.

"Please, Joel. I want to suck your cock" the dirty words come out as quick as a breath. "I missed it so so bad" not caring at all about how desperate you come across or the pitiful begging that's a plea away from drooling out of your mouth with an aching hunger.

"'S that what you want? Draggin' me out'a reception 'cause y'r greedy dirty mouth couldn't keep still? Bet you'd crawl on da' floor just to get a taste of this dick" every word makes you mewl. "Might have to see ya' beggin' for it"

"I'll do it" you beg, voice a wanton plea. "I'll do whatever, I just need to-"

"I see ya' really do"

He removes your hands from his body, chuckling as you pout and whine like a baby.

"Love hearin' ya' so eager fo'me" Joel says, tugging the pants finally down. Through the cloth of his underwear, it's impossible not to see the silhoutte of his hard throbbing dick.

The sight of him, hair disheveled, pupils blown wide, white button shirt now wrinkled and sticky with sweat, tie loose and that faint smell of champagne that clung to his mouth and scent like a second layer of his skin.

"Get on the floor. Now" he commands, and you're quick to obey. "Gonna fuck that dirty mouth of yours until my cum dribbles outta your cheek. S' now? Be obedient if ya' want a taste, slut"

You let out a small whimper as Joel frees his cock from his underwear.

"That's right, baby. Like what ya' see?" his cock is straddling your face in your current kneeling form. "Need that mouth to open wider"

You obey in an instant.

"Good girl"

Joel shoves his cock inside your mouth, giving you a few seconds to adjust before pushing a little further. You bob your head forward but the task proved to be hard when he was thrusting at the same time. His big hard dick hits the back of your throat, a gag dying past your busy lips. 

"'S it bad if I tell ya' I like watchin' you squirm and struggle with my cock? 'S fuckin' hot"

You narrow your eyes, struggling to keep your throat relaxed as he thrusts forward, fucking your mouth and throat. Your thighs clasp together, the slick pooling down your legs in the absence of underwear.

Joel's groans become raspier as his body begins to tense.

"'M gonna fuck y'r throat raw, doll. And then, I'm gonna cum. Down y'r greedy throat. 'S my girl okay with that" he can see the plea in your eyes as you choke on his cock once more. "S'alright then. Ya' know I love to spoil ma' girl"

As his body starts to edge closer, his tongue runs loose.

"Love watching you suck ma' dick" he looks down on you, eyes glossy, probably because he was drunk in alcohol and you. "Love how it feels. Love how you feel. Love- I love you"

(There's an involuntary gag somewhere)

Joel's body tenses and it doesn't take that much for you to feel the warmth of his cum go down your throat.

You choke again and he brings his dick out of your throat and let you swallow the rest. 

There's a beat of silence, as dense as his fluids down your throat. You avoid his gaze, heart drumming on your chest.

"Doll..." he whispers, the last bits of climax sweating off his skin; all that's left is shame. "C'mere"

(Say it back, he should plead. I know your eyes don't lie, but if I heard those three silly words out of your mouth, I could die happy tonight. A bigger man would beg, but he's never been good, even if he tried)

He helps you get up, wobbly legs not being of help when it comes to the shock of his confession.

I love you.

As much as a tender touch as a knife slitting your chest open in a clean cut.

(You're bleeding love)

Love.

Such a foreign word, one you've never felt before. Yet, what's scary is recognizing that latent warmth on every stolen glance; brush of a hand. The tingles provoked by getting the largest serving, even if his daughter sat at the same table. The flutter of your chest when he tried to be there for you when you thought you were pregnant, even if he was as scared as you. In every little thing he had done since you first started playing with fire, how you wore his heartbeat as an echo and his skin like a second layer to your own.

His lips are swollen when they take yours.

"'S fine" some kind of tiredness seeping through the cracks of his gruff exterior and composed rejected posture. "Ya' don't have to-"

"I love you" you croack out.

His voice comes out impossibly small as he whispers. "What...?"

A fireworks show explodes out somewhere in the background.

"I love you" you repeat, words dripping with an adoration only known to captain's going down with their sinking ships.

You're drowning, but the water doesn't burn your lungs anymore.

"Lemme help with that sore throat of yours" he's tugging down your bottom lip, fingers playing with your mouth to open it. He gazes at you with a look that tugs at your heartstrings. "Open, baby"

Your dry throat and warm mouth welcomes the spit he lands inside.

"There ya' go" and you swallow it, making him curse. "Fuck. 'S so hot seein' you do that, my lil' sweet slut"

"Joel" you whine, hands curled up in white fists as you grab him by the collar of his button shirt.

"Whoa, baby. What's goin' on?" he chuckles softly. "Use y'r words"

"Y-You made a mess-" you blabber, the wet slick between your thigh sticky. "I-It hurts, Joel"

"Hurt?" he cocks an eyebrow. "Care to show me where?"

You sit in the bed, parting your legs, finger pointing out the moist zone.

"Here"

His adam's apple bobs, and the gulp reverberates against the walls of the room.

"Fuck... I see" each word strained. "Don't worry, doll. I can help ya' with'at"

It's his turn to kneel, knees burying on the carpet.

He places one of his big hands on your knee, his calloused fingers tracing absent patterns over the skin. His other hand drums slighty against your trembling leg, so close yet so far. You're so impossibly eager, and a part of him, that fragile ego, is boosted to the roof at your (actual and very real) want for him.

All that glistening pussy was his work. Joel really disarmed you like that.

"If I do this, maybe it won't hurt anymore" his mustache and recently trimmed beard tickle against your sensitive folds as he presses a kiss to your core. You writhe, throwing your head back as your hands fly to his hair, gripping the greying loose curls tightly at the contact. "Will ya' let me eat out this pretty pussy, doll?"

"Please" you let out, breathlessly.

"Love hearin' ya' beg" and he dives in, strong hands holding your thighs on place as he sucks your clit lightly. Your hips buck, his face burying into your cunt to the point his nose touches the warm folds. You moan at the feeling, his tongue now circling against your center.

"J-Joel"

"Feels s'good, right? As good as I feel feastin' on this tight little cunt" and his deep voice sends jolts when it echoes against your walls. You squirm at the sensation, stomach tight with his sucking and licking, misntrations sending you to the edge.

"Joel?"

Barely above a whisper, voice tight.

He looks up to you, pupils blown wide. "Yes?"

"C-Can you finger me, please?"

"Fuck, baby" he whistles. "You really know how'da bring a man to his knees"

And you chuckle at his lame attempt of a joke, not laughing at him but with him.

Joel slides one of his thick, calloused fingers through your soaked folds, feeling the velvet softness of your inner walls clench down on the invading digit, a demonstration of how impatient they were to take his cock. He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight, slow circles.

"Wanna hear you, y/n" just your name alone on his mouth makes you writhe, and Joel's encouragement as his finger dips lower to tease at your entrance. He slides a second finger into your cunt, pumping in and out of your tight walls in a steady, driving rhythm. You roll against his hand as he curls his fingers. "Fuck yourself on my fingers, baby. Wanna see you ride 'em 'til you come undone. Wanna taste your cum on my tongue as you scream ma' name"

He can feel your body start to tremble, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks you with a relentless pace.

"Shit" he groans, tongue lapping firmly at your clit, "s' fucking tight"

"I-I can't help it" you feel the burning sensation in the corner of your eyes, "I-I feel every inch of you in me"

(Up to your body, head and heart)

"And you ain't even had my cock yet" he's quick to tease. "But I know you'll feel s'good, baby. Takin' my cock like da' good girl y'are"

Tears begin to stream down your face freely, the salty drops hot against your warm skin.

You sniffle, and Joel's movements stop for a bit.

"You cryin'?" but you know damn well he's aroused, by the way he licks his lips absentmindedly as his brown orbs stare back at you, dilatated. You still remember the last time you cried during sex, and how his reaction was practically the same, except this time, it's received with a grateful welcome home. "Fuck, baby- I love when you cry like a lil' cocksleeve over ma' dick"

Despite the lewd words, he's wiping your tears away with his thumb in a soft gentle touch.

"S'okay, baby" he coos, kissing up your throat and onto your chin. Then, you feel a wet sensation on your cheek: but it isn't the tears, yet his tongue, licking the hot stream. "I'll give ya' ma' cock if you want it so much. Now quit your cryin', yeah?"

But you keep sniffling, impossible to close the dam once it's broken.

"My sweet crybaby" Joel mumbles, "I love ya', doll"

"I love you too" each time you said it, a new flower blooming in your heart. It could be. "I do, Joel"

He smiles, the kind of smile that is painful to watch. The kind that says: Is this real? Do I deserve this?

"Y'know I'm bad with words, so lemme show you instead"

He's climbing on top of you as you push yourself into the middle of the bed, lips tangled into a demanding kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth like he wants to tame it. He drops his underwear again, but he's still wearing the goddamn shirt. You whine, and for a second, while over you, he stops.

"What is it, baby?" Joel pants.

"T-take it off" you huff, worked up. You let the tie loose first, starting to unbutton his shirt after. "I want to see you, Joel"

His hand is quick to fly and stop you from taking it off. Even in the dim lit room, you can see the faintest of a blush covering his cheeks.

"Sweetheart..." he mumbles, "I dunno-"

"Please" trying to remove his hand.

"You really wanna?" but behind his teasing smile there's both a hopeful and vulnerable glint to his voice.

You extend your hand, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it's just you, your ragged breaths and the light tickle of his growing beard on your palm.

It could be.

"Because I love you" holding his gaze firmly. "All of you"

"Fuck, baby" Joel starts to get off the shirt, "ya' really made those fuckers downstairs drop their damn mouths when ya' walked in with me. Couldn't believe it, such'a pretty girl could be mine" he snarls, grabbing your face by the chin. "Hell, I'ont believe it either. That you could wanna be with me"

But then you're touching his now naked form before you, fingers slowly tracing through his face to his tense jawline. Then across his broad shoulders to his tummy, feeling the soft swell against your stomach as he leans over your eager form. It's the way you look at him, as if he's the most beautiful man in the world, that makes his breath catch on his throat, staggering.

Your sweet broken voice rings in his head.

It isn't just you. I feel this too.

(Scared. Confused. Happy. Grieving. Loving)

It should be his ego boosted and cock stroked, but when his eyes find yours, it's his heart that feels the fullest.

Fuck, he was too old for this shit.

"Look at 'cha, making lame ol' me a sappy motherfucker" he laughs, the same blush from earlier now more prominent. He leans down to kiss you, his moustache brushing your lips. "If ya' don't stop, I'll take ya' right now and we're gettin' married tonight by summ random Elvis guy"

"What If I wanted that?" you challenge as your mouth presses fluttering kisses to his caging arm, lips stopping on each spot and mole peppered through his thick bicep.

"Then get dressed" you feel him squirm under your insistent lips, "'cause I ain't gettin' married again while naked"

"Where you married, Joel?" you can feel the salt air up your nose of the first night again, asking the same questions. The fact that he's opening to you warms your chest in a pleasant way.

He looks at you absentmindedly, humming as to confirm.

"We were too damn young. Had to, for the baby on the way" he tells. You remember Sarah's aversion to the topic, and given his next words, it makes sense. "Then she left"

I would never leave.

"I'm sorry" you offer instead.

"Don't" the atmosphere is quick to change again as thise words leave his mouth. "Now, where were we?"

You're quick to spread your legs to him, gilstening cunt on full view.

"Good girl" he smirks, lining himself with your warm entrance. "If ya' keep behavin', I might give ya' my cum"

His tip against your clit for a few seconds before pushing down against your hole. Joel groans as his length sinks in your gummy walls, feeling the tightness from before.

"You feel s'good" grunting as he slowly pushes in, letting you adjust to his girth. "Always do" 

He presses a gentle kiss to your sweaty hairline. 

"Tell me how it feels"

"Good" you mewl. "Big"

"Ain't that right" he chuckles.

"Need it all. Please" and you grip his neck tightly, arms around it. His nose brushes against yours as he grunts out a You little minx. "Want it, Joel. I can take it"

He bottoms out. "Then do"

"Fuck" you curse, cunt stretched to adapt to his girth. You breath in painfully, and Joel's eyes lace with concern. "I-It's fine"

"Sure? I can wait"

"I’m okay" you assure him, moved by his care for you. You buck your hips. "You can move"

He starts by setting a slow pace, taking all the space insade your clutching heat. Joel groans at the sensation, your walls gripping him like a vice as he continues to move in a slow motion, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes. Yet, as his arms cage you by your sides and you look at him with certainty, he picks up a brutal pace, just as you like it, slamming into you over and over again, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small bathroom.

"K-keep going" you grip his left arm. Joel lets out a hiss as your nails dig on his skin. "Feels so good"

"Good'nough for you to cum on m'dick?" he groans huskily in your ear, breath ghosting on your skin like a hot kiss. "Gonna fill you up, doll. I'll mark you as mine, now and for da' rest of y'r life"

The way his voice drips with dominance as he commands you, filled with a rough rich baritone tinted with a possesive hunger, his hips moving faster as he drives into you with force, pistoning harder is enough to set you on edge.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

"Cum f'me, baby. Let me hear ya' cryin' over my cock"

Tears. Stars. Grunts. Moans. Cum.

Your cry for his name against his lips is how you announce your orgasm, washing over you. Your walls flutter as Joel lets you ride slowly through your climax.

"There ya' go, baby. Go on, ride it" then, he pauses. His face strains. "Hold on tight. I'm gonna- I'm gonna cum. Right there, baby. Stay"

Somewhere along the moans and the writhes of your soft skin against his hard planes and soft belly, Joel asks where you want it. Inside, you hear yourself say, eager to feel all of him again, filling your insides, invading every inch of your body until a part of himself leaks into your heart. He's then blabbering as your walls and heart flutter, about kids and other things you both want but can't have. Tonight, though, as he Joel buries himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come, grinding against you, making sure you feel every last spurt, every last bit of his release, you allow yourself to believe.

He pumps some shallows thrusts inside of your slick dripping cunt, emptying himself, before pulling out and looking down at you with a tired smile.

"I love you" he says again in fervent whisper, as if by repeating it, he could materialize it. "I love you so fucking much, y/n. And if ya' can't accept that, can't believe in that, then... then I'ont know what the fuck I'm gonna do. 'Cause I can't lose ya', baby. I can't"

"You won't" you don't know why it comes so easy, or why the promise slips as natural as a breath. "I'm here, Joel Miller. You won't lose me"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

[writesvani]

Dear Me | 03

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TWs (for this chapter): emotional distress, unresolved feelings, unspoken grief, jealousy, insecurity, avoidance, mentions of lost friendships, nostalgia, mild self-deprecation, strained relationships, anxiety, bittersweet memories

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter | next chapter (pending...)

wc: 3,4k // date: 25th of March

CHAPTER THREE — Saturdays are for Yoongi; happy reading my gummies...

AN (DON'T SKIP): this chapter was so much fun to write, and i genuinely hope you all love it as much as i do! starting now, my new update schedule is officially in motion, and with that comes my note goal: 200. yup, you heard me right, two hundred. am i being ambitious? maybe. am i manifesting? absolutely. but hey, dear me usually hits that, so let’s keep the streak alive!

and here’s the deal—once we hit that goal, chapter 4 will drop faster than y/n dodging her feelings. so, leave your comments, send me asks, scream in the tags—I’m dying to hear your thoughts!

also, yes, i know these first few chapters are on the shorter side, but they're just here to introduce you to the story and its dynamics! i promise, longer chapters are coming soon

— love, vani ♡

The best part of your week is Saturday. There’s something about it—a sense of idle calmness, as though the world has momentarily slowed down. It’s the one day where you can embrace doing absolutely nothing, soaking up your unproductivity like a ray of sunlight. Saturday is the calm before the storm of the week, and that’s why, despite your constant need for structure and routine, you let it unfold naturally.

It’s funny, really. The simplicity of having one messy, unplanned day brings an unexpected thrill. You find joy in the uncertainty of how the day will pass, how it’ll surprise you. It’s a break from the usual schedule, a breath of fresh air in the middle of your carefully organized life.

Yoongi sits across from you, his usual aura of coolness interrupted by his bizarrely slouched posture. His hair is a mess—tousled and looking as though he’s been trying to tame it all morning, but it stubbornly refuses to cooperate. In front of him sits a caramel latte, the steam curling lazily as he takes occasional sips, his eyes flicking between you and your phone.

“Damn, that looks good,” he says, his voice a low murmur, but his gaze is anything but casual. He’s practically staring at the picture on your phone like it’s holding the secrets of universe.

You smirk, knowing exactly what he’s thinking. “Mhm, that’s what I’m talking about,” you reply, practically grinning from ear to ear. The pride you feel is almost tangible as you show him the picture—a shot of the crème brûlée you recently made at work. It’s perfect, golden, and just begging to be devoured.

Yoongi’s eyes are wide, his expression a mix of admiration and hunger. “I’m not even gonna lie, I’d eat that straight off the screen if I could,” he admits, a little too eagerly.

You chuckle, leaning back in your chair. “Well, you can’t. But if you want, I’ll make you one next time.”

His face softens into a grin, and he leans forward, his hands wrapped around his latte like it’s his only lifeline. “Deal. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I think I do,” you say, the ease of afternoon gently swallowing you.

You lean back in your chair, tapping your fingers lightly on your cup, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of your lips. “But seriously, Yoon, I could teach you how to cook. You might actually impress someone with your skills for once.”

He raises an eyebrow, the amusement in his eyes barely hiding his disbelief. “Me? Cook? Please, I can barely make instant ramen without setting off the smoke alarm.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head in mock disbelief. "I remember the last time you tried cooking. The whole apartment smelled like burnt toast for days."

He slouches slightly in his chair, shoulders tensing as he glances away, a sheepish expression crossing his face. “Okay, that was one time. I may or may not have gotten distracted by my playlist. But I’m definitely not cut out for the kitchen.”

“You say that like you’ve given up entirely,” you tease, leaning forward with a playful glint in your eye. “Come on, hun. Everyone can cook if they try. Even you could pull off something other than cereal or microwaveable noodles.”

His hands wrap tighter around his latte, and he shrugs slightly, eyes flicking to the side as though he’s mentally weighing his options. “What’s the point? You’re the one with the magic touch. Every meal you make is basically a Michelin-starred dish.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling the pride swelling in your chest despite your modest shrug. “You’d be surprised.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair, his head tilting just slightly as he observes you. His lips curl into a small smirk, though there’s a hint of skepticism in his eyes. “Yeah, right. Last time I tried, I couldn’t even boil an egg without making it look like a science experiment gone wrong.”

Your eyes widen, and you nearly choke on your drink. “That’s because you didn’t even know the difference between boiling and frying! You can’t just throw an egg in a pan and hope for the best, dude.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning slightly forward as he feigns annoyance, but the playful gleam in his eyes betrays his true feelings. “Hey, I was improvising!” His lips curl into a mischievous grin. “It’s not my fault the egg didn’t cooperate with my vision.”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the amused smile tugging at your lips. “I’m sure the egg was just terrified by your lack of culinary expertise.”

Yoongi’s posture stiffens as he glares at you, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward, giving him away. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’m a cooking disaster. I’ll just leave the meals to you, Chef Extraordinaire.”

You sit up straighter, tilting your head slightly, the teasing glint never leaving your eyes. “Smart choice,” you reply, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. “But, just so you know, next time I’m cooking, you’re the official taste tester. And trust me, you don’t want to disappoint me.”

He leans back again, hands resting on his lap as he stares at you with mock seriousness, though his lips are still twitching into a grin. “Challenge accepted,” he says, his tone a bit more dramatic than necessary. But you know he’s secretly terrified of the idea of cooking for himself.

A soft shift moves through the air, a gentle shift of calm that settles between you and Yoongi. Quietness. His fingers dance over the screen of his phone, tapping at the surface with practiced ease. You can guess he’s texting someone—maybe Nina, maybe a friend, maybe… Jungkook. The thought makes a knot tighten in your chest, but you push it away. It’s not something you want to think about right now. Instead, you pull out your own phone, your fingers flicking through the screen aimlessly.

Nothing exciting. Nothing new.

You let out a soft breath, your eyes drifting up to meet Yoongi’s. There’s a quiet comfort in the air now, the type that doesn’t feel awkward or forced. It’s the kind of silence that wraps around you like a blanket. The kind that settles into your bones, making your muscles relax and your fingers stretch out in a lazy ease. It’s the kind of quiet that only comes from familiarity, from knowing someone well enough that you can just be—no words needed.

The thought makes something soft bloom in your chest.

Yoongi’s presence brings a sense of grounding, like you’ve known him forever and there’s nothing that could change that. The fact that, despite everything, there’s still someone you can rely on, someone you can lean on when the world feels too heavy. It’s a rare comfort.

You haven’t seen him much lately. The demands of his job as a publisher, your own strict schedule—it’s hard to make time. Too hard for regular drinks or coffee, even calls. But somehow, there’s always that one day of the week that pulls you two back together, a day when the chaos of your lives fades just enough for you to enjoy each other’s company.

And that day is usually Sunday.

Maybe that’s why you love Sundays so much. The way everything slows down, the world becomes a little softer. The way Yoongi's presence feels like a breath of fresh air. It’s those moments, those quiet moments, that you cherish more than anything else.

You glance at him again. His eyes flick up to meet yours for a brief moment before he looks away, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You feel it, the shared understanding between you two. And in that second, you realize that, even though you can’t always be together, these Sundays are enough to keep you close. To remind you that, no matter what, you have this.

You have him.

But alas, the silence, unfortunately, can’t last forever. A small motion, a sound disrupts the calm, and you find yourself briefly flinching at the sharp ring of Yoongi’s phone. You blink, your attention drawn to the screen before you can stop yourself. It’s ringing, and without thinking, your eyes are already glued to the name flashing across it.

“Nin 🫶🏻,” it says.

Your throat tightens, a lump forming that you can’t swallow down. Of course, there’s nothing strange about Nina calling him—she’s his sister, after all. It has happened countless times in the years you’ve known the twins.

Nina has visited him more times than you can count, and you’ve met up with her, too, shared easy conversations and laughter like before. But this… this is different. This time, seeing her name on his screen feels like a punch to the gut.

It’s the first time you’ve seen it since that day—since the day you saw it written in beautiful, flowing cursive on that damn envelope sitting in your desk drawer (well, except the day you saw it tangled in your emails from the past you, but you're choosing to ignore that).

The one you’ve kept hidden, locked away.

The one that still reminds you of a friendship that’s lost.

A friendship with Jungkook that once meant everything but now feels like it belongs to another lifetime.

A friendship that has been broken, shattered beyond recognition.

That envelope, that name, that moment—it's a reminder of the bond between you and Jungkook, the one you once cherished, now reduced to something unrecognizable. And it stings. It always stings. The ache doesn’t go away, even though you try to heal it.

Desperately.

Eagerly.

You force yourself to move on, to pretend like you’ve moved past it, but the wound is still there. Still fresh, deep beneath the surface.

You inhale sharply, trying to mask the uneasiness threatening to bubble up inside you. You flash your teeth at Yoongi, offering him a soothing smile—one that feels more like a mask than anything genuine. You can feel the tightness in your chest, but you push it down.

"I gotta take this. I’ll be back," Yoongi says, his voice breaking through your thoughts. His movements are quick, almost hurried, as he stands and brings the phone to his ear.

You nod, though it feels like a distant gesture, your eyes still locked on his phone screen even as he turns to leave. The words “Heey” drift back to you just before he’s out of sight, and suddenly, the space between you and him feels much larger. Much emptier.

You’re left in the quiet once more, but this time, the stillness feels heavier. The silence is louder now, pressing down on you as the ache grows, gnawing at your chest.

You’re reminded again, in the simplest of ways, that you’re not the number one in Yoongi’s life. That place is always reserved for his sister, Nina. And though you know it’s natural, normal even, a small part of you can’t help but envy her—for being the priority in the lives of everyone you ever cared about the way you always wished you could be. It’s irrational, you know it is, but it still stings in the way that only silent truths can. The hurt lingers, no matter how much you try to reason with it. You push it down, bury it beneath the smile you’ve perfected over the years.

Yoongi’s footsteps return before you can fully process the pain, the familiar sound of his shoes brushing against the floor, and he moves past you with an energy that immediately pulls your attention. There’s an excited gleam in his eyes—bright, almost too bright for his usual self. It’s contagious, but you can’t quite bring yourself to smile the way he does.

He’s joyful. Too joyful for Yoongi. And it’s a little too much, but you lean forward instinctively, elbows planted on the table, your hands cradling your face.

“You won’t believe this,” he says, his voice light with excitement as he takes a sip of his latte, the warmth of the cup seeming to match his newfound energy.

You stare at him, curiosity piquing despite the heaviness in your chest. “What happened?”

“Nin and Kook are coming to town next week, to check the venues,” he continues, his words rushing out of him like a wave breaking against the shore.

And just like that, the names—Nin and Kook—splash over you like ice water. They burn, sharp and familiar. The names of people you loved, people who are no longer yours to love. The uneasiness quakes through you, a familiar sting at the back of your throat. You try not to let it show, though. You won’t let it show.

Yoongi keeps talking, trying to act oblivious to the weight his words carry. “And they want us to grab a coffee together when we’re free,” he adds, a casual air to his voice, as if the idea of sitting in a café with them—laughing, reminiscing about high school, pretending like everything is fine—doesn’t rip at the edges of your heart. It feels wrong, the thought of being in the same room as Jungkook again, when so much has changed, when so much has been lost.

You swallow, forcing yourself to sit up a little straighter, letting the fake calmness wash over you. “Really? How did that plan come to life?” you ask, your brow quirking in an exaggerated show of curiosity, anything to mask the storm bubbling inside you.

Yoongi shifts, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, his gaze flitting between you and his empty cup. “Nina asked where I was… I told her I was grabbing coffee with you,” he rambles, his voice quieting slightly. “Then she mentioned that she and Kook were coming to town next week to check the venues. And, well, yeah, the rest is history.”

You nod slowly, trying to pretend that the mention of Jungkook doesn’t twist something deep inside you. The urge to respond, to say something that doesn’t betray the knot tightening in your gut, claws at you. But you just nod again, this time with a tight smile.

“Sounds… fun,” you manage, though the words feel foreign in your mouth.

“Could at least try sounding a bit more excited,” Yoongi says, giving you that look—the one that knows you too well. It’s the look that cuts straight through the act, the one that makes you feel like you’re not hiding anything at all. It’s funny, in a way, how he can pick up on your discomfort so quickly, but still, for all his sharpness, he never seemed to notice that you used to be in love with his sister’s fiancé. Or maybe, a small part of you wonders, he did know. And chose not to bring it up. Because acknowledging it would make it real, and if it was real, things would get messy. Yoongi would have to choose a side, and both of you knew exactly where his loyalty would lie.

You shift uncomfortably, forcing a smile, but it feels like the most unnatural thing in the world. “I am, I swear,” you say, but your fingers twitch against your cheeks, a small gesture as they trace the scar you’ve long since tried to forget.

Yoongi watches you closely, his gaze softening as he picks up on the subtle shift. “You don’t have to pretend for me,” he says quietly, almost too quietly. But the weight of it lands in your chest, sending a quick flutter through your heart. "I know this is gonna be a lil weird for you."

You blink, trying to clear the lump in your throat, but the words feel too heavy, too loaded. The silence lingers for a beat, thick and raw. Then Yoongi’s voice breaks through again, a little more careful this time.

“I mean, the four of us haven’t been in the same room together in years. I get it. I know you haven’t seen Kook in a while.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” you say, but your voice catches just slightly. “But it doesn’t make it weird...”

Yoongi tilts his head, the tiniest smirk curling on his lips. “You know, Nin says he mentions you a lot.” He leans back in his chair, watching you with those eyes that know too much, the ones that see past all the masks you wear.

Yoongi's words linger in the air, sinking in slowly, creeping up on wounds that you thought had healed. The fact that Jungkook still mentions you, still thinks about you—it shouldn’t sting this much, but it does. It really does.

Two years have passed since you last saw him, and the memory of that moment is sharper than you’d like to admit. The last time you sat down with Jungkook was after an awkward run-in outside his parents' house, where he invited you in for a drink. And it was… weird.

You both were strangers by then, with too much history between you to ignore, and yet not enough common ground to feel like you truly knew each other anymore. It was like trying to force something familiar into an unfamiliar shape. The conversation, stilted and uncomfortable, quickly drifted to small talk—safe topics about childhood and high school memories, things that kept the ground beneath your feet solid, even if it felt like you were both standing on shaky ground.

You blink, breaking out of the fog of that memory. Yoongi’s eyes are still on you, waiting for you to say something. Anything. You open your mouth, but the words falter, unsure of where they’re going. “Look, Yoon, okay, maybe…” You pause, trying to form the thoughts swirling in your head. “Maybe it’s a little weird because I haven’t talked to both of them in a while. But so what?” You shrug, trying to play it off, but the unease bubbling inside you is hard to ignore.

Yoongi tilts his head, studying you with that familiar, knowing gaze. “So what?” he echoes, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re telling me you’re not worried about it?”

You don’t answer immediately, your fingers tapping lightly on the table as you try to steady yourself. The truth is, you’re not sure what you’re worried about. The past? The present? The strange space in between?

Yoongi's buzz slowly fades, and you can’t help but feel the weight of it. The joy that had been on his face when he finished that call, the spark in his eyes—it all starts to slip away, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve somehow extinguished it. He was so eager, so excited for the four of you to hang out again, and now, with all your overthinking and awkward thoughts about Jungkook and the thing that happened between you, you’ve managed to ruin it.

You glance at Yoongi now, watching him carefully, as if he’s trying to decode something that’s impossible to read. His eyes are focused on you, sharp and observant, like he’s piecing together a puzzle with every little shift in your expression.

Your eyelashes flutter, and instinctively, your tongue darts out to wet your lips, but they feel dry, a little too dry. You take a sip of your coffee—cold, bitter, the taste of it almost mirroring the ache in your chest.

"I have nothing to worry about," you say, your voice a little softer than you intend. You scratch the back of your head. "I know that once we get past those first five minutes of awkward hell, it'll be like back in the days."

Yoongi shrugs, and a small, almost nostalgic smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah... like when we were young," he agrees, his voice carrying a bittersweet edge.

Your eyebrow quirks up, and you let out a short laugh, though it’s not entirely a pleasant one. "Dude, are you seriously quoting Adele right now?"

He looks at you, unbothered. "What? I’m just trying to lighten the mood."

"With a depression anthem?" you joke, the corners of your mouth lifting despite yourself.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Don’t kill my creative vibe, okay?"

You shake your head, but the tension loosens just a little. Maybe it’s stupid, but his attempt at humor, however ridiculous, makes things feel a little less heavy. The fact that Yoongi can still make you laugh, even in the middle of all this weirdness, is oddly comforting.

The conversation shifts, both of you silently agreeing to steer clear of Jungkook, Nina, and the storm their arrival will inevitably bring. No mention of wedding venues, no talk of Nina with a ring on her finger—the ring you haven’t even seen, don’t even know what it looks like.

And maybe that’s for the best.

So instead, you devote yourself to Yoongi again, clinging to the safe space he provides. You let him pull you into a discussion about a new book he’s reviewing, something he’s beta reading for a supposedly famous writer. Supposedly being the key word, because despite his insistence that they’re a big deal, you’ve never heard of them. Then again, maybe that just says more about you than it does about them—about the fact that you haven’t picked up modern fiction in a while, about how your shelves are still filled with books from a past version of yourself.

You laugh at his dramatic retelling of the plot, roll your eyes when he insists the main character is "literally the most annoying protagonist ever written," and for a while, it works. You manage to push the conversation from earlier to the back of your mind.

But not far enough.

Because the weight of it still lingers—heavy, unfiltered, sitting right there in your heart. And no matter how hard you try to ignore it, no matter how fast you try to outrun it, the truth remains.

It’s still there.

Just like Jungkook.

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @santiiagopopegarcia @jadaocon1 @asyr97 @gukieater @themwordsblog @whatevevrerr @amarawayne @tititania @guwol @reallygenerouskoala @bgfdcvbnjk @kyljjk @whoa-jo @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @upo1313 @polnaraffsrack @tatzzz-25 @orphicepiphany @coletaehyung @bjoriis @epiphany-n @kimyishin @eegyo @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @parkinglot-nights @mar-lo-pap @evrsncenewyork @jjeonjjk7

[littlelamy]

title: he catches you at a party

warnings: 18+, language, angst, part 1 part 2 part 3

you down another shot, the burn sharp on your tongue, making you a little tipsy. jj’s eyes glint under the pink and red haze, cocky and amused as he watches you. he swipes his tongue over his lip, chasing a stray drop of tequila.

“damn, princess....almost forgot you know how to have fun.”

you roll your eyes but take his hand anyway, pulling him onto the dance floor. it’s messy, probably but exactly what you need. his grip tightens on your hips, drawing you against him, moving in sync like this isn’t the first time. his breath is hot at your ear, saying something really dirty, but you don’t hear it—

because the air shifts.

you feel it before you see it, that heavy weight settling over you, pinning you in place.

rafe.

you don’t stop. if anything, you press closer to jj, tilting your head back just enough to let him mouth at your neck, let his fingers dig in a little harder. let rafe watch.

and he does. for about three seconds before all hell breaks loose.

one minute, jj’s laughing against your skin, the next he’s on the floor, lip split open, blinking up at the ceiling with wide, shocked eyes. it happens so fast you barely register rafe’s fist still clenched, his chest heaving, his face twisted in pure rage. he doesn’t even glance at jj before his hand is wrapping around your wrist, yanking you toward the exit.

“what the fuck, rafe?” you spit, struggling against his grip, but he doesn’t let go, dragging you outside and into the cool night air.

he shoves a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “what the fuck are you doing?”

“what the fuck am i doing?” you laugh, shaking your head. “i should be asking you that! you lost your damn mind?”

his jaw clenches, muscles jumping as he swallows hard. “weeks, baby. weeks away from you, and i—I don’t know how to fucking breathe without you.” his voice cracks on the last word, something raw in his eyes. “i was a complete fucking idiot. i fucked up. i don’t deserve you, i know that. and if you never want me again, i—”

the bitch starts crying.

actual tears glisten in his stormy blue eyes, his hands twitching like he wants to reach for you but knows he can’t. “but i can’t stand seeing you with him. with anyone that isn’t me.”

something in your chest squeezes, but you shove it down, clenching your fists at your sides. “good.” and then, before he can say another word or sink his claws into you again—

smack.

his head snaps to the side, jaw tightening, a slow exhale leaving his lips as he blinks hard. you’re breathing heavy, nostrils flaring, fists still clenched at your sides. then—

you grab his face, fingers pressing into his jaw as you yank him forward, slamming your mouth against his.

it’s fire, it’s so so wrong and it’s everything you swore you wouldn’t do, but fuck it. for a second, just a second, you let yourself drown in it—the way his lips part for you, the way his hands instinctively find your waist, the way he whimpers into your mouth like he’s starving for you.

you pull back and slap him again, harder this time.

his eyes snap open, breath ragged, lips swollen, with a dazed, hungry look on his face.

“stay the fuck away from me,” you spit, turning on your heel, walking back inside without another glance.

rafe just stands there, jaw ticking, watching you disappear into the crowd, already thinking of how the fuck he’s going to get you back.

tags (lmk if you want to be removed): @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Pt 6

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: The aftermath of the night on the bridge.

Warning: emotional turmoil!!, angst

Authors Note: I'm trying to be more consistent guys I promise!! also I had severe writer's block

***************************************************

Azriel had been pacing the room, waiting for you to return. The rest sat in tense silence, the weight of guilt pressing heavily on their shoulders. There was no way any of them could sleep—not until you were back.

He hated this. Hated sitting here, waiting, when every instinct in him screamed that something was wrong.

Azriel didn’t care about space anymore. He needed to find you.

Just as he stood, his entire body seized. A sharp, searing pain slammed into his chest, stealing his breath. His knees buckled as a ragged gasp tore from his throat.

Then it hit him.

A surge of emotions crashed through the bond—overwhelming, suffocating. And then, pain. Pain so raw, so brutal, it had him collapsing to the floor.

The bond was severing.

“Az!” Cassian shouted, rushing to his side, Rhys close behind.

Azriel clutched his chest, his breathing ragged. “Something’s wrong,” he choked out. His vision blurred as realization cut through him like a blade to the heart.

The pain could only mean one thing.

You had severed the bond.

Even through your fights, your grief, you had never done this before. You had blocked him out, but the bond had always been intact, a lifeline—no matter how fragile. But now… now there was nothing. Just a hollow emptiness where you should have been.

Azriel stumbled towards the door, his entire body trembling. “I have to find her,” he rasped.

Rhys, Cassian, and Mor were already on his heels as he staggered out into the night. His breathing came fast and uneven, the agony of the broken bond coursing through him like fire in his veins. His shadows had already spread out, desperate to find you, and when they did, when they grew frantic near the bridge—his heart nearly stopped.

No. You wouldn’t.

But as he neared the bridge, his worst fear became reality.

“Y/N?” Azriel’s voice cracked as he spotted one of your shoes on the ledge.

Cassian shot into the sky, already heading toward the healer’s, needing no further instruction. Time was slipping through their fingers like sand, and every second mattered.

Azriel didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

He dove into the freezing water, the impact shocking, but nothing compared to the icy terror gripping his soul. He fought against the current, his wings useless in the water as he searched, his lungs burning.

Then, he saw you.

Sinking.

Drifting further from him.

A broken, strangled sound tore from his throat, lost to the water as panic surged through him. He forced his body to move faster, his every muscle screaming as he pushed himself forward. The distance between you felt endless, unbearable, but he pushed through it, he had to.

With one final, desperate push, he reached you, his arm locking around your waist, pulling you against him. You were too still, too cold. Azriel’s breath came in ragged bursts as he kicked upward with everything he had, the weight of both of you dragging him down, but he forced himself to keep going. 

His muscles screamed in protest as he swam toward the riverbank, his arms trembling from the effort of keeping you above water. Each stroke felt heavier, his body threatening to give out, but he didn’t stop. 

Finally, his feet found solid ground.

He stumbled onto the shore, collapsing to his knees as he pulled you onto the damp earth. His hands trembled as he brushed wet strands of hair from your face, his vision blurring.

.He laid you down on the damp grass, his hands already moving, pressing against your chest.

“Is she breathing?” Mor’s voice was barely above a whisper, thick with fear.

Azriel didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“Wake up,” he begged, his voice breaking. His hands pushed down again, steady, desperate. “Come back to me, Y/N.”

He tilted your head back, sealing his mouth over yours, breathing air into your lungs.

No response.

His hands trembled as he resumed compressions. “You can’t just leave me like this!” His voice cracked, raw and choked with emotion. He forced another breath into you, pressing against your heart over and over.

Tears blurred his vision, spilling down his face as he whispered, “There’s so much I didn’t get to tell you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice broke completely as a sob tore through him. “Please don’t do this.”

Mor was crying, hands over her mouth as she shook beside Rhys.

Rhys took a hesitant step forward, his own grief barely contained as he placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Az…” His voice was nothing more than a broken whisper.

Azriel shook him off, desperation clawing at his insides. “No.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked. “She wouldn’t leave me.”

He pressed down on your chest again. Again. Again. His hands shook, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Azriel’s hands were trembling as he pressed against your chest again, harder this time, his voice nothing more than a wrecked plea. “Come back to me.” His vision was blurred with tears, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. “Please.”

Another breath. Another push.

Then—

A sharp, ragged cough.

Your body convulsed slightly as water spilled from your lips, sputtering past parted lips in a wet, choking gasp.

Azriel froze, his breath catching mid-sob.

Then, again. A weak, fluttering beat beneath his palm.

“She’s breathing,” he choked out, his entire body going still as he leaned down, pressing his ear to your chest. It was faint, fragile, but it was there. “She’s breathing.”

Relief slammed into him so hard he nearly collapsed. Mor let out a broken sob, her hands clutching her chest, while Rhys exhaled sharply, already reaching out with his power to let the others at the house know.

“We need to get her to the house—now.”

Rhys held onto Azriel and Mor as they winnowed straight into the house.

“Is she okay?” Feyre’s voice was the first thing they heard, urgent and trembling. But the moment her eyes landed on you, limp and unmoving in Azriel’s arms, her hand flew over her mouth, her head shaking in silent devastation.

“Her heartbeat is faint,” Azriel muttered, barely able to form the words. His grip on you tightened as he turned to Cassian. “Where’s Madja?” His voice was raw with desperation.

“In the family room,” Cassian said, but Azriel didn’t even wait for him to finish before he was moving, the others right on his heels.

The moment they entered, Madja was already prepared, her tools laid out, her sharp eyes assessing the situation in an instant. “Put her down,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Azriel reluctantly laid you on the bed, his fingers lingering for just a second before Madja was by your side. Her hands moved quickly, assessing, diagnosing.

“She’s too cold,” Madja announced. “I need hot towels, now.”

The others rushed to follow her command, disappearing to fetch whatever was needed. But Azriel didn’t move. He couldn’t. He just stood there, staring at you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his chest heaving with the weight of it all.

“This is my fault,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes never left your face, his heart pounding with every agonizing second that passed.

Madja paused, her sharp gaze flicking to him. “There is no room for self-pity right now, young man,” she said firmly. “She doesn’t need that. Not right now.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his throat thick with emotion. He nodded, but the guilt still sat heavy in his chest, crushing, unrelenting.

The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity as Madja worked swiftly, her hands moving with purpose and precision. She worked tirelessly to stabilize your body, bringing warmth back into your cold skin, forcing your body to respond. Slowly but surely, your heartbeat began to pick up, faint but steady. It was the only sign of hope they had.

Azriel watched, unwilling to look away, his heart still lodged in his throat, his every instinct screaming for you to wake up. He hadn’t known how badly he needed you to breathe, to open your eyes, until the moments had dragged on in painful silence.

“Her body is stabilizing,” Madja finally said, her voice hoarse from the strain of her work. “Her heartbeat is stronger now, her body is responding, but...” She trailed off, looking at Azriel, knowing exactly what that ‘but’ meant.

“But her mind isn’t,” Azriel finished for her, his voice low and raw. He stepped closer to you, his hand gently brushing against your cheek as if he could will you to wake up. His heart ached as he watched your face—still too pale, too distant. 

It seemed as though you were fighting with yourself,your body clinging to life, but your mind slipping away, not quite ready to fully come back. 

Madja stepped aside, letting Azriel kneel beside you, her voice soft but firm. “She’s not fully conscious yet. It’s a matter of her will now—whether she wants to wake up or not.”

Azriel’s eyes burned, his hand now gripping yours, hoping that in some small way, you could feel the strength he was pouring into you, the desperate plea without words. “Please, don't leave me” he whispered, his voice cracking. 

He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but his voice trembled with the weight of everything that had led up to this moment. “I should have been better. I should have protected you, but I... I was too late.”

Azriel leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath shaky. “Come back to me.”

***************************************************

Azriel had spent the entire week sitting across from you, his eyes never leaving your still form. It had been nearly two weeks, and you still hadn't woken up, and every moment without you felt like a cruel, unrelenting weight on his chest. He couldn't understand it, how the love of his life, the one person who made him feel whole, could be lying in front of him, barely breathing, and he could do nothing to pull you back from whatever darkness held you.

Every day, he would talk to you, his voice hoarse and ragged, begging you to wake up. He’d share everything, telling you about the days without you, about how much he missed you, how every inch of his soul ached for you. But no matter how much he begged, no matter how many times he told you he loved you, nothing seemed to reach you.

Some days, when the grief became too much to bear, Azriel would break down, tears slipping silently down his face, his body trembling with the weight of his own helplessness. He hated seeing you like this. He hated that he couldn’t make it right, couldn’t undo whatever had led to this moment. It hurt him too much, knowing you were there and he was still here—alive, breathing, and yet so desperately empty without you.

He missed everything about you. Your laugh, the way it could light up the room, the way it could pull him out of his darkness, make him forget everything just for a moment. He missed your scent---how it wrapped around him, how it lingered even when you weren’t near. The warmth of your presence, the lightness you brought to him every day, the way your eyes would always soften when you looked at him.

Azriel couldn’t remember what it felt like to not need you. Every inch of him longed for you. The nights without you felt endless, like he was drowning in the silence of your absence. He couldn’t bear the idea that this might be his reality, that he might never hear your voice again or feel your touch. It was a reality he refused to accept, no matter how long it took.

But even in the dark hours, when despair almost swallowed him whole, Azriel clung to one hope: that you were still there, somewhere in the vast, empty space between your body and your mind. That one day, you would hear him and wake up, and the bond between you both would be whole again.

**************************************************

Madja had come by daily to check on you, and each visit seemed to bring more weight onto Azriel’s already-burdened soul. The days dragged on without any significant changes, nothing that would offer him even the smallest glimpse of hope. The uncertainty of your condition was a slow, agonizing torture for him. He was becoming a shell of the person he once was, living only for the moments when he could sit by your side and pray that you might wake up. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Now, he sat in a chair beside your bed, his hand never leaving yours, the only connection he had left to you. His body felt hollow, his heart echoing with the emptiness that had taken root in his chest.

The door opened, but Azriel didn’t acknowledge it. Feyre stepped in, she was farther along in her pregnancy now, her belly noticeably rounder, but the weight of her joy seemed muted against the overwhelming sorrow that consumed the room.

Feyre walked silently over to the chair beside Azriel, her gaze briefly flicking to his drawn face before landing on you. Her expression tightened in quiet anguish, and she settled into the chair across from Azriel, her eyes never leaving you.

They sat in silence. No words were spoken. There was nothing either of them could say that would change the reality they were facing. The pain was too deep, too consuming. 

Feyre had been coming here regularly, sitting beside Azriel without saying much, and that was how they both preferred it. The silence felt almost sacred because it was a silence born of shared understanding, of an unspoken bond forged through grief. Neither of them needed to explain themselves. They knew what the other was feeling.

Feyre’s hands gently folded in her lap, but her eyes were distant, unfocused as they lingered on you. Her thoughts were heavy. She was acutely aware of how everything had unfolded. How, in the chaos of her own life, she had failed to notice your pain, the weight you had carried and the battles you had fought alone. And now, seeing you like this, seeing Azriel like this, she couldn’t ignore the sharp pang of guilt that gnawed at her every time she thought of it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care. But she had been blind to the extent of your suffering. She had been so caught up in her own struggles, her own joys, that she hadn’t been there for you the way she should have been. She couldn’t even tell Azriel that she was sorry. She wasn’t sure if words would be enough anyway.

The quiet between them was broken only by the soft sounds of your breath, still faint, still fragile.

Feyre reached out, her hand resting gently on Azriel’s, offering silent comfort. The gesture spoke volumes in the stillness of the room. She didn’t need to say anything. Neither of them did. 

After a long pause, Feyre finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile and breaking. “I should have been there for you… for her.” The words felt foreign in her mouth, heavy with the regret that had been eating away at her for days now. “She was so strong,” Feyre whispered, tears glistening in her eyes as they slid down her cheeks. “But I didn’t see how much she was carrying. I didn’t see how hard it was for her to keep going.””

Azriel’s eyes flickered to her for a brief moment, the words that had been sitting on his tongue falling away. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. He understood her pain, he knew the guilt she carried but he was too deep in his own. There were no words to offer that would ease it, no comfort he could give. All he could do was remain silent, his hand still firmly wrapped around yours.

Just as he was about to speak, he felt it—a soft twitch in your hand.

His breath caught, his body going still as he stared at your fingers, still wrapped loosely around his. He felt the smallest flicker of hope in his chest, a wave of disbelief and longing all at once. For a moment, the world seemed to freeze, his focus entirely on you. Was it real?

He held his breath, watching intently as your hand twitched again, and then—

Your eyes fluttered open, faintly at first, barely more than a whisper of movement.

"Az..." Your voice was so soft, so fragile, like a memory carried on the wind.

Azriel’s heart slammed into his chest. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His entire body went rigid as the shock of your words and the sight of your eyes flickering open overwhelmed him. His pulse roared in his ears, the rest of the world vanishing in the wake of your awakening.

You—you were awake.

“Feyre,” Azriel breathed, his voice raw and filled with urgency. His grip on your hand tightened, a rush of adrenaline flooding his veins. “Get Madja. Now.”

**************************************************

You weren’t supposed to be here. No..there was no way you were still alive after what had happened.

Your surroundings were bathed in an endless, ethereal white glow, soft and warm, yet eerily unfamiliar. The last thing you remembered was the crushing weight of darkness pulling you under, the world slipping from your grasp as Azriel’s voice called your name.

And yet… you woke up here.

The overwhelming serenity of the place settled into your bones, a deep, unnatural calm that made you uneasy. It felt too peaceful. Too final.

"Hello?" Your voice was barely above a whisper as you took in the figures moving around you, people who seemed content, at ease. They smiled and laughed, their presence light, almost weightless. But something was wrong. You called out again, louder this time, but it was as if they didn’t hear you.

A shiver crawled down your spine.

“Y/n.”

The voice was soft, melodic, and when you turned toward it, your breath caught.

A woman stood before you—the most stunning woman you had ever seen. Her beauty was almost unnatural, otherworldly, as if she had been sculpted by the gods themselves. Everything about her, from the way she held herself to the effortless grace in her movements made you feel small, insignificant. Wary.

She approached, her golden eyes warm but unreadable.

"Where am I?" you asked, your voice barely steady as you glanced around, searching for answers, for anything familiar.

The woman smiled, and something about the way she did made your stomach twist. It was kind, but there was an understanding in her expression that unsettled you. Like she knew what you were feeling before you did.

"You are in the Afterworld, my dear."

No, that couldn’t be right. If this was the afterworld… if you were here…

Your breath hitched, panic tightening in your chest. That means Azriel…

Your mind raced, piecing together what little memory you had left before everything went dark. Azriel had been calling for you. He had been there. You had tried to reach him, to respond, but the darkness had swallowed you whole before you could.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, stepping back instinctively. “No, I have to get back.” Your voice was more frantic now, desperation creeping into every syllable. “I promised him, Azriel, he-he’s waiting for me. I have to go back.”

The woman tilted her head slightly, watching you with something like understanding. She didn’t argue. She didn’t tell you it was impossible. She simply extended her hand toward you.

“Y/n,” she said softly, beckoning you forward. “There’s something I need to show you.”

You hesitated, wariness prickling at the edges of your mind. Who was she? Could you trust her?

But something about her presence was… steadying.

Slowly, hesitantly, you reached out and took her hand.

The world around you shifted in an instant. One moment, you were surrounded by an endless expanse of white; the next, you were standing in the middle of a vast, sun-dappled garden.

Lush greenery stretched in every direction, filled with towering trees and vibrant flowers in full bloom. The air smelled of fresh earth and something sweet, something warm and familiar.

Laughter rang through the space, high-pitched, bright, innocent.

You turned, your breath catching as you took in the sight before you.

Children.

Dozens of them, running through the fields, their giggles and delighted shrieks echoing through the air. Some chased each other in games of tag, others sat in circles, weaving flower crowns with nimble fingers. There were children of all ages, of all features and sizes, their faces alight with unfiltered joy.

Your brows furrowed as confusion settled over you.

“Why are we here?” you asked, glancing at the woman beside you.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she led you forward, past the children playing, past the ones sitting beneath the trees, until your steps slowed—until your gaze landed on him.

A young boy stood apart from the others, his small fingers skimming over the petals of a pale blue flower. His dark, tousled hair shifted as he moved, the familiar inky shade catching the sunlight.

Your heart stopped.

Slowly, almost as if he felt your presence, the boy turned.

And you nearly collapsed at the sight of those eyes.

Hazel.

Azriel’s eyes.

Your breath shuddered, the realization slamming into you with the force of a wave. 

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

The boy blinked up at you, his head tilting ever so slightly in quiet curiosity. His fingers clutched the flower he had been holding, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He was just watching you.

The woman at your side finally spoke, her voice laced with something deep, something knowing.

“He has been waiting for you.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

You didn’t need to ask. Didn’t need her to clarify.

You already knew.

This was your son.

Tears burned your eyes, your body trembling as you took an unsteady step forward.

The boy didn’t move. He just watched you, those hazel eyes filled with something unreadable, yet achingly innocent.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you slowly knelt before him, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like an unbearable tide. Seeing him now, seeing what could have been, what should have been, shattered something deep inside you.

He was everything you had never gotten the chance to hold. The life that had been stolen before it could even begin. And yet, here he stood. Whole. Real. Alive in a way you never thought possible.

A sob tore from your throat as you reached out, your hands shaking. The moment your fingers brushed against his small shoulders, something inside you shattered. Without hesitation, you pulled him into your arms, clutching him as if he might disappear.

The boy didn’t resist.

He melted into you, his tiny arms wrapping tightly around your neck, as though he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. As though he had missed you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice broken, shaking. Tears streamed down your face, soaking into his soft curls as you held him tighter. “I’m so, so sorry.”

For not knowing him.

For not protecting him.

For never getting the chance to love him the way you should have.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, locked in an embrace that transcended time, grief, and fate itself. 

You swallowed hard, blinking through your tears as you slowly pulled back just enough to look at him. “What’s your name?” you whispered, brushing his dark curls away from his face.

The boy tilted his head slightly, as if considering his answer. “I don’t have one,” he finally said.

Your breath hitched. No name. No identity. Because he had never been given the chance.

You bit your lip, struggling to keep yourself together. “Can I—” Your voice wavered. “Can I give you one?”

His eyes lit up with something you couldn’t quite name, something soft and hopeful. He nodded.

You swallowed, thinking, but the answer came to you as naturally as breathing. A name that carried meaning. A name that felt right. A name you and Azriel had once spoken about, dreamed about, if you were ever blessed with a son.

“Caelan,” you whispered.

The boy—Caelan—smiled. A small, soft thing that made your heart clench.

You let out a trembling breath, running your hand gently over his curls. “Caelan,” you repeated, committing it to memory, to your soul.

The woman beside you hummed approvingly. “A beautiful name.”

You looked back at her then, your mind still spinning, still struggling to comprehend what was happening. “Why is he here?” you asked, your voice raw. “Why—why am I seeing him?”

The woman’s expression was kind, yet unreadable. “Because you needed to,” she said simply. “Because he needed to.”

Your throat tightened. You turned back to Caelan, your fingers ghosting over his cheek. He leaned into your touch. “I—” Your voice caught. “I should have—”

Caelan shook his head before you could finish, his small hands reaching up to hold yours. “Don’t cry, Mama.”

A broken sound caught in your throat at the name—Mama. He had called you Mama.

Your hands trembled as you cupped his face, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, breathing him in. “I didn’t get to meet you,” you choked out, voice thick with sorrow. “I didn’t get to hold you.”

Caelan’s little brows furrowed as he reached for your hands, squeezing them. “But I knew you,” he whispered, tilting his head as he studied you. “I’ve always known you.”

Your breath hitched, your entire world tilting at his words.

He reached out then, pressing his small palm over your heart. “I was here,” he said simply. “I was always here.”

A sob broke from your lips as you pulled him back into your arms, holding him tightly, desperately. You had always felt the absence of something, an emptiness you had never been able to explain. And now, hearing those words from him, it all made sense.

You had never been alone in your grief.

You had carried him with you, always.

The stunning woman who had brought you here stood silently nearby, watching the exchange with something like sorrow and understanding in her gaze.

After a long moment, she finally spoke, her voice gentle. “It is rare for souls to meet like this,” she said. “But your bond… it is strong. Stronger than most.”

You held Caelan close, your mind whirling with emotions too big to contain. “Is he… is he happy here?” Your voice wavered. “Has he been alone?”

The woman smiled softly, shaking her head. “No, my dear. He has never been alone. And yes, he is happy.” She looked down at Caelan with a fondness that made your heart ache. “But he has always watched over you. And his father.”

Your heart clenched painfully. Azriel.

The thought of him, of his pain, his grief, nearly brought you to your knees.

Caelan seemed to sense your shift in emotions. He pulled back slightly, his small hands finding yours again. “You have to go back,” he said, his voice serious in a way that no child’s voice should be.

Panic flared in your chest as you shook your head. “No, I can’t leave you. Not again.”

Caelan squeezed your hands, his golden eyes filled with something impossibly wise. “But I was never really gone,” he whispered.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you looked at him, at this beautiful, impossible boy who had been taken from you too soon.

“Will I ever see you again?” you asked, voice barely holding together.

Caelan lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You will,” he said softly. “But not right now.”

And then, before you could say anything else, before you could hold onto him for just a little longer—

The world around you began to fade.

“No, wait—” You reached for him, desperation clawing at you.

Caelan didn’t look afraid. He didn’t cry. He just smiled at you, that soft, knowing smile.

The last thing you heard was the sound of his voice, ringing in your heart like a promise.

“I love you, Mama.”

You watched as he slowly faded away, his form dissolving into the distance, leaving you with nothing but the emptiness of his absence. You were left in a place you couldn't name, alone with the woman who had brought you here.

“Who are you?” You finally asked, the question hanging heavy in the stillness of the space. Your time here felt as if it was running out, slipping through your fingers like sand.

The woman smiled, and then something incredible happened. She began to glow, her form radiating a brilliant, unearthly light. She doubled in size, her presence growing even more powerful, and if you had thought she was beautiful before, now she was indescribable—an ethereal being that seemed to transcend every word you knew.

The very air around her hummed with an ancient energy, one that made your heart race and your soul tremble in recognition.

“You called out to me, the night on the bridge,” the woman said, her voice soft yet filled with a weight that made the ground beneath your feet feel like it was trembling.

By the Cauldron…

You pieced it together in an instant, the truth crashing down on you like a wave. Your breath caught in your throat as the realization settled within you, heavy and undeniable.

You were standing before the Mother herself.

Her presence was overwhelming. Sacred. You had always heard the stories, the legends. The Mother, the source of all creation, the one who shaped life and death. But standing before her, feeling the weight of her power, her eternal wisdom—it was impossible to comprehend.

“I… I didn’t call for you,” you whispered, still stunned, your mind struggling to grasp the enormity of what was happening.

The Mother’s smile deepened, a warmth in her gaze. “You did, my child. In the depths of your grief, you called out for guidance, for strength. You may not have realized it then, but your heart reached for me.”

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, but only one question emerged from your lips. “What happens now?”

Her expression softened, and she stepped closer to you, her presence filling the space around you with a peaceful, all-encompassing energy. “What happens now is entirely up to you,” she said gently. “You have the power to choose your path. To heal, to return, or to remain here.”

Tears stung your eyes as you thought of Azriel, of everything you had left behind. But you also thought of Caelan, the boy you had never been able to hold, the child who had shown you so much love in such a short time.

The Mother’s voice echoed in your mind, “No matter what you decide, you are never truly alone.”

You swallowed, your heart torn between the world you had known and the one that now lay before you. "I want to be with Azriel," you said quietly. 

The Mother nodded, her eyes full of understanding. "Then return to him, child. Your bond has been restored. It is strong, and it will guide you both through the pain. But remember, your strength is in your love for him, for Caelan, and for yourself."

The light around her began to fade, and she took a step back, her form blurring as if made of light itself. “Go now,” she whispered softly, “and know that I am with you always.”

With one final look at the Mother, you felt yourself being pulled back, her warmth lingering in your soul as the world around you blurred. The serene light, the comforting presence, all began to fade, and with it, you felt yourself slipping, fading from the afterworld, back into the realm you had left behind.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as you were suddenly aware of your body again—the weight of it, the ache, the pulse of life flowing through you. You felt everything, your chest rising and falling, your fingers twitching at your sides. The world around you was blurry, disorienting, but you could feel the faintest hint of warmth, the unmistakable touch of someone’s hand holding yours.

Your eyes flutter open, the blinding light forcing you to blink as the world slowly comes into focus. The room was unfamiliar, hazy except for him.

Azriel.

His face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief, and in that moment, all you could do was breathe, your heart thundering in your chest as you tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

"Az," you whisper, his name fragile on your lips, as if testing the feel of it, as if speaking it for the very first time.

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, and the shock in his eyes melted into a raw, overwhelming relief. He froze, unable to speak at first, and then the words spilled from him in a rushed, desperate whisper. “Feyre,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “Get Madja. Now.”

And in that instant, you knew—without question, without doubt.

You were home

[azzibuckets]

letters from dallas part 1

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: in which i neglect all the other series and fics im supposed to be writing to send more angst ur way <3

lfd masterlist | main masterlist

May 1, 2025

Dear Azzi,

It fucking sucks here.

I know I’m supposed to be thankful for this opportunity. And I am, I swear. My teammates are nice. Arike’s been showing me around downtown. Nai and Lyss are funny. They’ve adopted me, called me their child. They remind me of us.

My therapist said it’s good to write down my feelings. Not sure how she’d say if it was letters, letters to you, but hey, something is better than nothing.

I saw a trailer for Frozen 3 last week and I thought of you. I hope you’re doing well. I called KK the other day. She was so excited - I felt bad. I haven’t been as good as I wanted to be with talking to our team - well, your team now - but it hurts too much knowing that they get to spend every day with you and I can’t. I asked her about you. She seemed hesitant to tell me. But I kept nagging her and she told me you’re good, spending a lot of time reading and stuff. Said they finally got you off Colleen Hoover. She wants me to move on, I can tell. It’s killing both of us, how I can’t let you go. But I guess writing these letters and stuffing them in my closet are how I’m trying to get my closure and deal with my feelings, so maybe this will help.

You’re on my fucking mind all the time, and I wish you weren’t. I miss you so bad sometimes it hurts to exist. If you saw the amount of melatonin I take every every night just to avoid you in my dreams, you’d probably yell at me.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 7, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Have I mentioned that Drew hasn’t been talking to me? He blames me for our breakup, and he misses you like hell. I do too.

I played like shit in the game yesterday. I can’t believe we lost to the Sparks. It was nice seeing Cam again though. I don’t know if you remember, but it’s our anniversary. I saw that you were at the soccer game with the girls. You looked really good, really happy. I guess it doesn’t affect you like it affects me. And I know that should make me like, mad, or jealous. But I’m glad at least one of us is healing?

Honestly? it sucks having to see your face all over social media. It sucks even more whenever I go on my Instagram page and you’re all over it too. I could be salty and delete all of it, but that would start too much drama. Besides, that would mean deleting like half my posts

I wonder how Jose and Jon are doing. Jon unfollowed me the other day. That one hurt pretty bad. I miss my little brothers, and I miss your parents.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 28, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Yesterday was a fucking shit show. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to even show up when I heard you guys were coming. It was weird, seeing you in the audience. It was everything I’d always imagined, you coming to my games, but it also made me feel sick, knowing this is what could’ve been. What should’ve been. I was nervous the last quarter thinking about what to say to you after the game, but god, Azzi, you couldn’t even look at me. I tried to talk to you after the group pic but you disappeared.

Maybe it’s a good time to tell you that Katie and Tim were at my game last week, against the Mystics. I’m gonna be honest, when I saw they were there, I avoided them, and I’m not proud of it. I ran to my car straight after the presser but somehow they found where I parked and were waiting next to it?? If this was a different circumstance I would’ve laughed.

All they told me was great game before I started crying. I don’t even know what came over me. But your mom hugged me and that made me cry even harder. They told me I was their daughter no matter what, and they loved me. I wrote it down as soon as I left because I didn’t ever wanna forget.

Azzi, we didn’t even marry each other like we promised, and I still feel like we left a broken family. I didn’t mean for this many people to get hurt, for this many relationships to shatter because ours did.

It makes forgetting you so much harder, and that’s what pisses me off. That I’ve injured my knee and gone through months of rehab and moved across the country to a brand new city, yet this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 2nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I was calling KK again and I didn’t ask about you this time. I think I’m making some progress.

Arike keeps trying to get me with some of her friends, but it still doesn’t feel right. I think I need a little bit more time.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 20, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I turn 24 today. Damn I feel old. I’ve spent a third of my life now loving you.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 22nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I just got your present in the mail. You didn’t have to. I love it. Thank you.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November 11, 2025

Happy birthday big head. I think you probably received my gift by now. I debated on writing a card, but you didn’t write me one, and I’ve decided to leave the cards (haha) in your hand. So I’m just following your lead. I hope you enjoy 23.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 7, 2025

Azzi,

Hell of a game yesterday. Proud of you. National player of the year performance

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 5, 2026

Az,

LET’S FUCKING GOOOO. Shit, man. Two peat natty champs??? Unbelievable. My hands are tweaking out, I can’t even read my own handwriting. I knew you could do it, Az. Thank you for not forcing me to wear irish merch..I never look good in green like you do

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 13, 2026

Azzi,

Drafted to the Sky????

See you so fucking soon

Nice fit at the draft btw

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May 16, 2026

Dear Azzi,

Fuck, the way you smiled at me after that game. Maybe I’ll have the courage to finally text you. I know it’s probably not the best idea but…I still regret everything. It’s been a little bit more than a year and it still hurts as bad as it did the first day. Is this normal?

Love,

Paige

[plethorawrites]

Okay, first of all, I genuinely love your blog, your writing, everything, it's so great

Second, would you be willing to do a Jason todd x reader where it's basically a boxing au and Jason got injured, so reader is taking care of him and they end up sleeping together? It can be anything else you want, just thought this would be cute

Love you (platonically, you and your blog are just really amazing)

Boxer Jason would be AMAZING, I think. Especially if it's after he came back from the dead.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

He'd be angry, rightfully so, after climbing out of the Lazarus pit. Feeling shunned, it wouldn't surprise me at all if he needed an outlet for that rage and since Bruce's golden rule of never killing stuck in his head too deep to forget it, he had to find something less violent. Not by a lot, of course.

Boxing was good.

At first, at least. He'd go to a gym, get a decent amount of his anger and frustration out. Not enough though. He needed to hit something that wasn't moving.

So, despite not entirely trusting himself, he signed up for a few fights. He was good. Stupidly good. To the point the owner asked him if he'd want to get paid for it. Originally he'd been doing it just to blow off some steam, but this was Gotham, so of course there was something darker and more illegal nearby.

An underground boxing ring wasn't all that surprising to him, neither was the number of people who took bets.

Really, the only thing that surprised him was you. The owner's kid, who... really didn't seem to belong in a place so dirty or gritty. You were always dressed so much nicer than the creeps that were crowded around the ring, yelling and screaming. He'd watch you get hit on time and time again only shut down any advances or have your father do it for you.

He'd see you, sometimes, in the gym on your own at night when no one was around, just boxing for fun or to destress. Not the way he fought, which was typically to maim someone. He was good at that. Always had been. It took a lot for him to lose.

But watching you in the crowd, as some guy you clearly didn't want to be near tried to grab your ass, that caught his attention long enough to get pummeled. It wasn't the first fight he'd lost (even if it was rare) but it was the worst.

That's why you were sitting with him, in the empty, dim gym after everyone left, pressing a towel to his busted face. It burned as you wiped the blood from his brow, but at the same time you were so damn sweet about it he almost felt the cavities forming when you smiled.

He couldn't say he wasn't attracted to you, because he obviously was. It seemed most people were. But you were off limits according to your dad and since he paid Jason's check every fight.... he'd try to listen.

It wasn't easy though, and that little voice in his head telling him to back off grew weaker and weaker the longer he felt your soft hands on him, listening to your steady breathing as you gently wrapped bandages around his wrists.

"What happened?" You asked, slowly pulling at the gauze. "You're never caught off guard." Overpowered? Occasionally. But never distracted.

He didn't want to admit the truth, that he'd been so caught up in watching you that he forgot about the fact that someone was about to punch him. But you were impossible to lie to. "I just...saw some guy harassing you," he confessed quietly, resisting the urge to ask if you were alright from it.

"Oh." Your voice was equally quiet as you tucked the bandage in and picked up the towel again as his lip started to bleed once more from how hard it got hit. "So... I'm the reason you're bleeding."

He could tell you felt guilty, not only because he lost but because he was hurt and you were the cause of it. He shook his head as you pressed the rag firmly against the corner of his mouth. "No, no I just- I had a bad night. They happen."

He could see you thinking through his words, reluctantly nodding as you pulled the towel away and ran your thumb over the edge of his lip. "I'm sorry," you whispered, suddenly very aware of how his hand fell on your knee after you'd finished bandaging it. "I wish I could make it better."

You meant that, truly. You cared about him in more ways than one, even if you'd never told him that before.

His heart beat felt a bit faster as he felt you touching his lip and he hesitated, the voice in his head shouting at him to pull away, gather his stuff, and go home. But he couldn't help but lean in a bit closer.

"Maybe...maybe you could," he breathed, his breath warm on your lips which were closer to his than ever.

Your mouth fell open for a second, before it met his, kissing him gently out of fear that one of you would stop or that you might hurt him. When neither seemed to be the case, the towel fell from your grasp, and you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

His hand squeezed your thigh, the other finding your waist, digging his fingers into your skin as it moved back and forth trying to find the best grip possible.

Out of breath, you pulled back, resting your forehead against his. "My father is going to kill me," you muttered, fussing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

Despite your words, there was little regret behind them. In fact, none.

Jason knew that he was probably out of a job now, but if he was going to lose his source of income, it wouldn't be over one damn kiss. "That's not worth killing you over," he replied, his hand tugging at your shirt, seeking approval. "This could be."

You knew as well as he did that it was a bad idea, but you'd liked him since he first stepped foot in the gym, since you saw how passionate he was and watched his tired, lonely eyes every night he tended to his own injuries.

Bad idea or not, you wanted it. Wanted him.

You didn't resist when he pulled your shirt off, just reached back to hold him again as soon as it was off. With your arms around his neck, his large hands roamed your ribs and waist for a moment before pulling you off the bench and kissing you again as you walked backwards towards the ring.

"So unhygienic," you mumbled as he lifted you with ease until you were sitting on the edge of it, laying back as your head fell below the ropes. He lifted one, ducking under it as he always did.

"You're in an illegal boxing ring," he reminded you, his hands wrapping around your wrists as he pinned you down gently, his lips near your ear. "Nothing about this place is clean."

Least of all what you were doing.

But that didn't seem to matter nearly as much as the feeling of his lips on your jaw, peppering kisses along it as he held you down, his weight settled on you as his legs rested on either side of your hips.

"Guess not," you agreed, a breathy sigh falling from your lips and you closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of his touch. Perhaps the only gentleman to ever exist in this place.

The place was dark, dirty, violent. So was he, in a lot of ways. But the boxing ring you always considered so grotesque seemed much more beautiful when you were in it with him.

[daxisyzz]

Lost for words

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Bucky can't keep his hands to himself while your on a call with Yelena, wanting all your attention, making you lose your focus.

Based off this prompt from Pinterest

Word count: 3.1k+ (I kinda got too into it lol)

Warnings and tags: Clingy Bucky, he's a menace, Yelena mentioned (bestfriend), neck kisses, more kisses, Bucky is basically touch starved, cute relationship dynamics, Bucky can't keep his hands off of you.

A/n: this is my little treat for my 100 followers milestone. Thank you guys!! Enjoy the fic!!

Love you guys <3

Ps. Go read chapter 1 of my new series Business Proposal ♡

You liked to think of your apartment as a sanctuary. Sure, the walls were a little thin, and the paint on the windowsill was starting to peel, but it was yours. A cozy home that smelled of vanilla-scented candles, fresh laundry, and the faint aroma of Bucky’s cologne that seemed to linger everywhere these days.

Most days, Bucky Barnes, your sometimes frustrating, always handsome boyfriend—respected that sense of peace. After all, you’d established a routine of sorts: quiet mornings sipping coffee together, mid-day breaks where he’d slip away for a run or to tinker with something mechanical in the spare room, and lazy evenings spent on the couch binge-watching the latest Netflix series.

But today, it seemed, he had other ideas. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, your phone pressed to your ear, talking to Yelena Belova—your best friend, occasional partner-in-crime, and the only person who could drag you into the most unexpected of situations. Today’s phone call was nothing dramatic, though. She was simply updating you on her day, complaining about a near-disastrous grocery trip, while you nodded and made little sounds of sympathy at all the right times.

It started out innocently enough: Bucky roaming into the kitchen, glancing your way, flashing you a quick grin. You raised your eyebrows in greeting, mouthing I’m on the phone, which typically was code for don’t do anything weird. He gave a small salute, as if to say Understood, ma’am, and disappeared around the corner.

But then, just as Yelena began launching into a story about the horrors of supermarket lines and fighting an old lady for pickles, you felt the faintest brush of warmth at your back. At first, you thought you were imagining it. You continued listening, your phone tucked snugly against your ear. But then a hand—large, warm, and far too confident, settled on your hip. You startled, nearly dropping the phone in surprise.

“Bucky,” you whispered, craning your neck to look at him. He was standing behind you, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “I’m on the phone,” you mouthed.

He only grinned in response, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His voice, when he leaned in, was barely above a murmur. “I know.”

You shot him a pointed glare, one that said Behave yourself. But Bucky, of course, had never been particularly good at following that order.

Yelena’s voice in your ear continued, completely unaware. “So anyway, the cashier looked at me like I was some kind of weirdo for buying that much hot sauce. But it’s not my fault the best brand was on sale—are you even listening?”

“Yes,” you managed, voice slightly strained, “I’m listening. Sorry, I just—”

Bucky took that moment to press closer, his chest aligning perfectly with your back. The warmth of him was impossible to ignore. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, a barely-there touch that sent a chill of awareness down your spine. The phone nearly slipped from your fingers.

“Everything okay?” Yelena asked, clearly catching the odd shift in your tone.

“Fine,” you said too quickly. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force yourself to focus. “Just, uh… I spilled something. Go on.”

You felt, rather heard Bucky’s chuckle against you. His arms slid around your waist, locking you in place. Slowly, he lowered his head to the crook of your neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. It was so light you might have imagined it—if not for the way your entire body tingled in response.

You could practically hear Yelena’s eyebrow arching on the other end of the line. “You sure you’re not busy? I can let you go if you’re… preoccupied.”

“No, no,” you insisted, ignoring Bucky’s soft hum of amusement. “I’m not preoccupied. Really, I’m—” You sucked in a sharp breath as Bucky’s lips dragged across your skin, teasingly slow. “I’m good,” you finished, sounding decidedly not good.

Bucky was a menace. You realized that with startling clarity. He was enjoying every second of this, too—the way your breath hitched, the way your shoulders stiffened when he kissed just behind your ear. If he’d come in loud and obvious, you could have pushed him away, shot him a glare, or at least excused yourself from the call. But this was worse. He was stealthy, methodical, lulling you into a trap with that soft voice, gentle kisses, and the faint scrape of his stubble against your neck.

And oh, you were definitely trapped.

“Let me guess,” Yelena said, suspicion in her tone, “Bucky’s there, isn’t he?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Bucky took advantage of your silence, kissing a trail from the base of your neck up toward your jaw, each press of his lips making your heart pound harder.

"Uh,” you managed, “maybe.”

Yelena barked a laugh. “That’s a yes. Put me on speaker. I want to say hi.”

You stared at Bucky, who gave you a quizzical tilt of his head, as if to say What’s she saying? For a second, you debated whether or not to do as Yelena asked. If you put the call on speaker, she’d hear every little sound: the rustle of Bucky’s clothes against yours, the husky laughter you were certain would spill from his lips at any moment. But you couldn’t exactly refuse her, not without raising even more suspicion.

Reluctantly, you tapped the speaker icon. “Yelena, you’re on speaker,” you said, trying to sound composed. It was a losing battle.

“Barnes,” Yelena said, her tone mocking, “are you bothering my best friend again?”

Bucky cleared his throat. You felt the rumble of it against your back. “I wouldn’t call it bothering,” he said. His voice was low, smooth as silk. “I’m just showing her a little attention.”

You could practically see Yelena rolling her eyes. “She’s on the phone, you know. With me. Some people might say that’s rude.”

Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Rude, maybe,” he allowed, “but she’s been ignoring me all day. I had to get her attention somehow.”

You wanted to defend yourself, but the words lodged in your throat as Bucky nuzzled against the side of your neck again. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you had to bite your lip to keep from making any embarrassing sounds.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Yelena said, her amusement obvious. “You’re tormenting her.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a smirk against your skin. “Torment’s a strong word.”

“That’s because it is torment,” you finally managed, your voice shaky. “He’s being insufferable.”

Bucky hummed. “You don’t sound too unhappy about it, doll.”

You could hear Yelena snort. “I’ll let you two figure this out. Call me back when Barnes isn’t acting like a cat in heat.”

You tried not to laugh, but the giggle bubbled up anyway, half from the absurdity of the situation, half from your own flustered state. “Okay, okay. Talk to you later.”

The moment you hung up, Bucky wasted no time. He spun you around in his arms so that you were facing him, your phone clutched tightly in one hand. He wore a cocky grin that made you want to kiss him and slap that grin away, all at once.

“You have the worst timing,” you scolded, although your voice trembled with laughter.

He shrugged, not the least bit repentant. “You looked too adorable not to bother.”

You tried to arch an eyebrow in disapproval, but your heart wasn’t in it. Not when Bucky was looking at you like that, with those soft eyes and that infuriatingly handsome smirk. “I was on the phone.”

He leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “I noticed.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” you grumbled, but you didn’t pull away when he ducked his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

His hands settled on your hips, drawing you closer. “I learned from the best.”

Despite yourself, you melted into the kiss, letting the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips chase away your frustration. It was impossible to stay mad at him for long. Not when he kissed you like he was savoring every second.

When you finally pulled away, you were breathless. “I swear, you’re worse than Yelena sometimes.”

He laughed. “High praise.”

You tried to scowl, but the affection in his gaze made it impossible. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He pressed a playful kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’ll take it.”

Later, you found yourself curled up on the couch, scrolling through messages on your phone. Yelena had sent a few texts, each more teasing than the last. You alive? Surviving Barnes’s torment? You typed back a quick reply: Barely. But yes. Thanks for leaving me high and dry.

Bucky appeared in the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets. “Need any help fending off Yelena’s jokes?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the one who gave her ammunition.”

He smirked, coming over to flop onto the couch beside you. “True. But I’m also the one who can help you forget about it.”

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “How exactly?”He reached out, plucking your phone from your hand. “By stealing your phone, for starters.” He tossed it onto the coffee table, far out of reach.

“Bucky!” You reached for it, but he caught your wrist, tugging you closer until you fell against his chest.

“You work too hard,” he said, settling you against him. “And you spend too much time on your phone. I’m just making sure you take a break.”

You snorted. “A break from Yelena’s teasing, or from your own mischief?”

He shrugged, running a hand up and down your arm. “Maybe both. Besides, I like having your full attention.”

“You had it in the kitchen,” you pointed out. “Remember? You nearly made me drop the phone.”

His smile widened, and you felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he laughed. “That was different. Now you can actually enjoy it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his fingers slid beneath your chin, guiding you into a kiss. It was slow, deep, and achingly sweet, every bit of teasing replaced by genuine warmth. Your annoyance melted away, replaced by a comfortable haze that made you forget anything beyond the two of you.

When you finally broke apart, he traced a thumb across your cheek. “I’m sorry if I bothered you,” he said softly, though there was still a playful glint in his eyes. “You know I can’t help it sometimes.”

You brushed your lips over his knuckles. “I know. And… I don’t actually mind.”

His grin turned lopsided. “You say that now, but wait until next time.”

You let out a mock groan, shoving him lightly. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Never,” he promised, though the twinkle in his gaze suggested otherwise.

A little while later, you found yourself in the kitchen again, rinsing dishes from a late lunch. Bucky hovered nearby, drying each plate you handed him. The domestic routine was soothing—until he decided to nudge you with his hip, nearly making you drop a fork.

“Seriously?” You glared at him, though you struggled to keep a straight face.

“What?” He feigned innocence. “My hand slipped.”

You snorted. “Sure it did.”

He set the plate aside, then stepped closer, the warmth of his body pressing against your back. You felt his breath on your neck again, and your heart kicked up a notch, recalling how he’d distracted you earlier. His lips grazed your ear.

“You’re adorable when you’re annoyed,” he murmured.

“Funny,” you replied, fighting a grin, “I was thinking you’re adorable when you’re not annoying me.”

He laughed quietly, nuzzling into your hair. “You still love me.”

With a soft sigh, you turned in his arms, letting the water run. “I do,” you admitted, resting your hands on his shoulders. “But you have to promise not to sabotage any more phone calls.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I can promise to try.”

You knew that was the best you’d get. Rolling your eyes, you leaned in to kiss him, the warm press of his lips sending a pleasant hum through your body.

A sudden buzz echoed in the kitchen, and you both turned to see your phone vibrating on the counter. Yelena’s name flashed across the screen. Bucky grinned, lifting a brow. “Round two?”

You huffed, reaching for the phone. “Don’t you dare.”

He put his hands up in surrender, stepping aside with an exaggerated show of good behavior. You picked up the call, putting it on speaker before you could change your mind.

Yelena’s voice came through loud and clear. “Hey, troublemaker. You done making out with Barnes?”

Your cheeks flamed. “That was quick. And you’re the troublemaker.”

“Details, details,” she quipped. “Anyway, I was thinking about that recipe I mentioned earlier—”

“Oh, right. The spicy pickle challenge,” you said, glad to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

“Exactly. I need your help. I can’t figure out if I should make them into some kind of hot sauce, or if I should try a marinade. But I need to test it on someone who’s not me. You in?”

You glanced at Bucky, who mouthed, Absolutely not. Smirking, you replied, “Sure, why not?”

Yelena laughed. “Perfect. I’ll text you the details. And by the way, I’m bringing extra pickles so no old ladies can steal them from me.”

Bucky cleared his throat, stepping closer to the phone. “You’re not going to drag her into any fights, are you?”

“No promises,” Yelena shot back, then paused. “You being nice to her, Barnes? Or do I need to show up and save her?”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to you, a playful challenge in his eyes. “She doesn’t need rescuing from me.”

You decided to intervene before Yelena got any ideas. “Alright, enough bickering. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Fine,” she replied with a dramatic sigh. “But if he bugs you again, you call me.”

“Will do,” you said, rolling your eyes affectionately.

The call ended, and you braced yourself for another round of teasing, but Bucky just slipped his arms around your waist, looking surprisingly thoughtful. You looped your arms around his neck.

“You know,” he murmured, “I like seeing you happy. Even if it means occasionally getting on your nerves.” A warm flush spread through you. There was that sincerity again, the undercurrent of genuine care that anchored all his playful chaos. “You make me happy,” you said softly.

He brushed a stray hair from your face. “Good.”

That evening, you and Bucky ventured out for a walk. The late sunlight gilded the buildings, and a gentle breeze ruffled your hair. With your hands intertwined, the two of you wandered the streets, content to let the conversation flow.

He told you about his latest hobby—fixing up an old motorcycle he’d found cheap online—and you filled him in on Yelena’s plan to experiment with spicy recipes. Every so often, he’d nudge your shoulder or lean in to press a quick kiss to your temple, as if he couldn’t go too long without touching you.

Eventually, you ducked into a small corner café that you both loved. You ordered dessert first, justifying it with a laugh: “Life’s too short not to have cake for dinner.” Bucky agreed wholeheartedly, paying for your order and guiding you to a cozy table by the window.

Once seated, he studied you from across the table, fingers drumming idly on the surface. “So,” he said, “am I forgiven for earlier?”

You tilted your head. “I don’t know. You did cause me a lot of embarrassment in front of Yelena.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling. “Try it and see.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice that made your heart flutter. “For distracting you while you were on the phone.”

Your smile widened. “And?"

He reached across the table to take your hand. “And for enjoying it so much.”

You squeezed his hand, unable to keep the fondness out of your eyes. “Apology accepted, menace.”

The café door chimed, and a few more customers wandered in. You sipped your drink, relaxing in the warm atmosphere. Bucky kept your hand in his, occasionally rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

When your cake arrived, you split it, laughing as he stole the larger piece. He offered you a bite from his fork in apology, and you leaned forward, letting him feed you.

“Good?” he asked, eyes bright.

“Delicious,” you managed, savoring the sweetness.

He watched you with open admiration. “I like seeing you happy,” he repeated again, his voice softer now.

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “I’m happy because I’m with you.”

He held your gaze, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away. You saw the man beneath the mischief—the one who cared so deeply, who’d learned to laugh again despite the shadows of his past.

“You know,” he said, clearing his throat, “I never thought I’d have this. Someone to tease, someone who gives it right back. Someone whom i could becso free with.”

Your heart clenched with affection. “And now you do.”

He nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “Now I do.”

When you finally left the café, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in dusky blues and pinks. Bucky’s arm looped around your waist as you headed home, the city lights flickering on around you.

You strolled in comfortable silence until you reached your apartment. Once inside, you both kicked off your shoes and made a beeline for the couch. He settled in first, patting the cushion beside him in invitation.

“Come here,” he said, and you sank down, letting him pull you into his side.

He grabbed the remote, but instead of changing the broadcast, he clicked it off. The apartment went quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic through the window. You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling his steady breath.

After a moment, he turned to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For this. For us.”

You smiled into his shirt. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

He tilted your chin up so you could meet his gaze. “I want to,” he said, and the quiet sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten with emotion.

You reached up, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Well, you’re welcome, then.”

He bent down, capturing your lips in a kiss that felt like a promise—of laughter, of mischief, of all the little moments that made up a life together. You let yourself sink into it, letting the warmth of his body and the softness of his mouth fill your senses.

Eventually, you both pulled back, breathless. He smoothed a hand over your hair, cradling you against him. “We should do something fun tomorrow,” he said. “Before you go help Yelena with her spicy pickles.”

You chuckled, snuggling closer. “Sure. But only if you behave the next time I’m on the phone.”

His laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’ll do my best, doll.” You didn’t quite believe him—but then again, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In the end, Bucky was a whirlwind of affection and playfulness, and though you sometimes pretended to protest, you secretly relished every teasing moment. Because beneath the jokes and the stolen kisses, there was a profound sense of belonging that tied you together.

As the evening came by, you drifted off in his arms, content and warm. The memory of his soft laughter echoed in your mind, reminding you that even when he was a menace, he was yours—and you were his. And that was all that mattered.

[noyasmashing]

rimming with sakusa who thought it was disgusting at first but actually ended up liking it?

Sakusa had always been… particular. Cleanliness, routine, control—he thrived on it. So when the topic of rimming came up, his reaction was immediate.

“Absolutely not.” His nose scrunched, and he looked at you like you’d just suggested licking the floor. “That’s—unsanitary.”

You didn’t push. Just shrugged and let it slide, even if the idea of getting Sakusa to unravel like that lingered in the back of your mind.

But now? Now, with his face flushed, chest heaving, and his legs spread wide as he gripped the sheets beneath him, that initial resistance felt like a distant memory.

“Fuck,” Sakusa’s voice was barely above a whimper, his usually composed demeanor long gone. His face was buried in his arm, trying to hide the deep flush staining his cheeks. But he couldn’t hide the way his hips kept tilting back toward your mouth, betraying just how much he was enjoying this.

“Still think it’s gross, Omi?” you murmured, your breath hot against his slick skin before you dragged your tongue over the sensitive ring of muscle again, slow and deliberate.

He shuddered, a broken sound slipping past his lips. “N-No…” His voice cracked, so soft it was almost inaudible. “Feels… good.”

You smirked, circling the tip of your tongue around him just to make him squirm. “Good?”

Sakusa’s fingers clenched tighter in the sheets, his breath hitching as you pushed a little deeper. “So—so fucking good,” he choked out, his body trembling.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The man who swore up and down he’d never let you near him like this was now falling apart, hips rocking back into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough.

“Such a hypocrite,” you teased, giving his inner thigh a playful nip before soothing it with a kiss. “All that complaining, and now you’re practically begging for it.”

Sakusa’s whine was muffled, but the way his back arched, pushing himself further against your tongue, said everything you needed to know.

“Maybe next time,” you purred, dragging your tongue along him again, slow and filthy, “you’ll be a little more open-minded.”

Sakusa didn’t respond—at least, not with words. But the way his thighs trembled and the desperate little moans falling from his lips told you that he was already hooked.