#there is just the moment where she says ‘this is my life. this is what I have. and I will take it. all of it’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ducktoo · 2 days ago

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Until Cold Do Us Apart

fromis9's Jiheon x Reader

Note: fromis9 supremacy. Jiheon my bias supremacy. Like Me Better is such a pretty song ngl.

You don’t remember much about the ceremony, and you’re pretty sure that’s a trauma response.

Your mother had cried—though you still weren’t sure if it was joy or guilt. Your father, tight-lipped and straight-backed in his suit, shook hands with Jiheon’s manager like this was some brokered truce between warring companies. It was quiet, not in a peaceful way, but in the kind of way that felt like everyone was walking on eggshells because someone might snap.

The bride didn’t wear white. She wore black slacks, a blazer, and a look on her face that could’ve made the sun rethink shining that day. Jiheon didn’t even look at you as she signed the marriage registration—her gaze focused just over your shoulder, as if she was mentally somewhere far, far away.

Honestly, you wouldn’t have minded being there with her, if only to escape the suffocating weight of what had just happened.

An arranged marriage. In this day and age.

You weren’t royalty, or chaebol heirs, or reality show contestants. You were just… the unlucky child of a powerful real estate family, and Jiheon, the idol of a company that was barely having its first step in entertainment.

Business ties. Contractual benefits. Media coverage. Whatever the real reason was, it clearly wasn’t love. Hell, it wasn’t even like.

It reminded you of the first (and the only) meeting before the arrangement was final. At a company dinner, where she sat three seats away and didn’t even acknowledge your existence beyond a polite nod when her manager introduced you.

Her fans would’ve called her elegant. Reserved. Maybe even cool.

You, on the other hand, saw the exact moment she looked at you and realized she was going to be tethered to you legally for the foreseeable future. Her eye smile barely twitched. But her eyes—those adorable yet sharp, unreadable eyes—darkened like storm clouds right before thunder hits.

After that dinner, your parents tried to convince you. They brought up her reputation—how she was smart, how she always carried herself well, and how this alliance would benefit both sides.

You tried to push back. She was a member of fromis_9, for god’s sake. She was active, popular. You were some half-baked heir who hadn’t even figured out what you wanted to do with your life yet. What would she gain from marrying you, outside of a bullet point on a corporate merger document?

“Jiheon agreed,” they said.

You still winced how that sentence stung more than it should have. Not “she wanted to.” Not “she likes you.” Just—“she agreed.”

Like she was tolerating this.

Like she was tolerating you.

Anyway, back in the present, she walks ahead of you as you step out of the city registry office.

Her pace is fast and exact, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement, not once glancing back to check if you were keeping up. The car is waiting at the curb, black and sleek and silent, much like her.

You slide into the backseat beside her, trying not to let the awkwardness crush your lungs. Her gaze is glued to her phone, thumb scrolling with surgical precision. Probably messages from her group chat. Probably better people to be around than you.

“Should I, um… move my stuff into the guest room when we get back?” you ask, voice embarrassingly unsure.

Jiheon exhales. Not a sigh exactly, just... a long, slow breath like she’s reminding herself she still has to breathe near you. “Do what you want,” she mutters.

You nod. Stare out the window. Try not to drown in the silence.

The apartment is new. Too new.

White walls, untouched counters, and everything smelling like plastic wrap and a showroom catalogue. You’d picked the unit together during one of those “family obligation” weekends, though she didn’t say more than three full sentences the whole time. Still, she gave a small nod when you suggested this one—slightly bigger than necessary, with two bedrooms and a view of the Han River.

You don’t know why she agreed. Maybe because it let her avoid being near you more than necessary.

As you step inside, she kicks off her heels and heads straight to the larger bedroom without a word. The door shuts behind her before you can say anything.

Not slam-shut. But final.

Like a period at the end of a sentence you weren’t allowed to finish.

You sigh and roll your suitcase into the guest room.

It still smells like fresh paint.

You flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out where to begin when your partner—your wife, legally—is the kind of person who barely tolerates being in the same airspace.

You thought marriage wasn’t supposed to feel like a contract between strangers.

But maybe that’s what you two are. Strangers, now wearing rings you didn’t pick, in a home that doesn’t feel like yours.

You think about the way she avoided your eyes the entire time you said your vows. Cold. Untouchable.

So you made yourself a quiet promise, lying on the unfamiliar mattress with the ceiling fan humming above you. A vow you didn’t say out loud—not to her, not to anyone. Just to yourself.

If this marriage was inevitable, then at the very least, you weren’t going to make her feel like she was trapped.

But for now?

You settle in the guest bed, alone.

And the house remains just as silent as the ceremony.

You started small.

Fresh towels on the rack before her shower. Her side of the fridge stocked with her favourite drinks—those weird fizzy kombuchas you noticed she drinks all the time. Slippers left by the front door facing outwards, so she wouldn’t have to turn them around when she came home exhausted.

She noticed. Of course she did. You could tell by the way her eyes lingered for half a second longer on the table when you left out her coffee just the way she liked it—black, no sugar, no comments.

But that didn’t mean she liked it.

One morning, you were plating up toast and eggs—nothing fancy, but warm and ready—when you felt her eyes on your back.

“You don’t have to do all this,” she said, her voice flat, more exhausted than angry.

You turned around, spatula in hand. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her hoodie, hair still damp from the shower.

“It’s just breakfast,” you offered with a small shrug. “You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday’s schedule.”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “And how would you know that?”

“Um…You left your lunch in the fridge. Still untouched.”

That made her flinch slightly—barely visible, but you caught it.

She scoffed, brushing a hand through her hair. “I didn’t ask you to keep tabs on me.”

“I’m not,” you said, gently. “I just… noticed.”

“Then stop noticing.”

That one stung. You looked down, pressing your thumb into the edge of the counter just to ground yourself.

“I’m not…I'm not trying to pity you, Jiheon,” you said, carefully, like every word might be landmines. “This is your home too. I’m just… trying to make sure you feel that.”

She stared at you for a beat too long, and you weren’t sure if she was about to throw her mug at you or leave again.

“I don’t need your comfort,” she said finally. “Or your kindness. Especially not if it’s because you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” you replied, softly. “But I do feel responsible—for making sure you don’t feel alone here.”

She shook her head, lips tight. “You don’t get it.”

“Of course I don't. Help me understand.”

Her shoulders dropped just slightly, like she wanted to argue, wanted to fight, but was just too tired. She turned around instead, muttering under her breath as she walked away.

“I never asked for any of this…”

Still, you didn’t stop, and she didn't even try to hide her disdain.

You heard it in the frustrated sigh she let out when she opened the fridge and saw the labelled containers: ‘Dinner (spicy, for Jiheon)’.

You caught her rolling her eyes when you left two umbrellas by the door during the rainy week.

Once, during a particularly long day, you’d seen her struggling to adjust the strap of her bag before heading out.

You reached forward, gently fixing it for her without a word.

She jerked away like your touch burned. “Don’t.”

You froze mid-reach. “Sorry,” you murmured, taking a step back. “Just… trying to help.”

She glared. “You’re not my manager.”

“No. I’m not,” you said quietly. “I’m just your… husband.”

The word tasted bitter when you said it. Like it didn’t belong in your mouth.

She didn’t respond. Just left. The door clicked shut behind her.

The first real crack happens over laundry. Literally.

You’re carrying her load out of the washer—because she’s forgotten it for over six hours and you figured it’d start smelling otherwise—and as you pull out one of her dark stage outfits, a delicate black top with pearl detailing catches on the corner of the machine.

You freeze.

Then you hear her door open.

“What are you doing?” she asks, sharply.

You turn slowly, the top in your hand, pearl hanging by a thread like a guillotine about to drop.

“I—was just moving your stuff to the dryer,” you say, holding your breath. “I didn’t mean to— It got caught—”

“Don’t touch my things!” she snaps, stepping forward and yanking it from your hand.

You flinch, but she’s already glaring down at the snagged fabric like it personally betrayed her. Her fingers tremble, and you realize—she’s not just angry. She’s upset.

You exhaled before choosing your words carefully. “I’ll pay - I'll pay for the repairs.”

Her voice is low this time, not yelling—just cold. “You think money fixes everything?”

"N-" You want to say no, but that’s exactly how this marriage started, isn’t it?

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She turns and disappears back into her room, laundry abandoned.

So that night, you stayed up late watching YouTube tutorials on how to sew, practicing on your old T-shirt like it’s your final exam. Even on the break of dawn, you rushed to the craft store the next day and buy a matching pearl kit.

And when you finally fix it—clumsy but careful and attentive—you leave it folded outside her door with a note:

“Didn’t mean to touch your stuff. Just didn’t want it to gone bad. Sorry for the pearl. I tried. (Also, the washer’s a bitch.)”

She doesn’t say anything.

But one day, you find your favourite hoodie, the one you thought went missing, folded neatly on your bed.

One night, you came home late after pulling an all-nighter at work.

Your muscles ached, your brain felt like it had been replaced with mashed potatoes, and all you could think about was diving face-first into the couch. You barely even registered the lights were still on in the living room until your hand brushed something soft—warm.

A blanket. Neatly folded at the corner of the couch. Yours, but you hadn’t left it there.

Blinking, you sat up. On the coffee table sat a plate of food—kimchi stew and rice, still faintly steaming. A post it note stuck on the side of the plate read:

“Don’t let it get cold. — J”

You stared at it for a long second.

It was the first time Jiheon had referred to you by anything other than passive-aggressive silence or the occasional "you."

And somehow, the ‘J’ felt more personal than if she had written her full name.

You stood there dumbly for a moment, holding the note between your fingers, your stomach growling in agreement with your disbelief.

You’d been married for over three months now.

The start was a disaster. She was an idol. You were a nobody.

Okay, not a nobody, but to Jiheon—whose schedule was booked months in advance with music shows, practices, radio appearances—you might as well have been a money bag couch cushion with a pulse. A necessary condition of this ridiculous contract between your families. You weren't even a fan of fromis_9 when the proposal came through. In fact, you barely listened to idol music. So you weren’t dazzled by the glamour or the idea of being married to "the Jiheon of fromis_9." If anything, that made things worse.

She thought you were pretending. Faking indifference to gain favour. But you weren't pretending.

You were just... trying to exist.

And slowly, she must've started to see that as you found her in the kitchen the following morning, hair tied up messily with strands escaping around her face. She moved quietly, careful not to disturb the stillness, grabbing a smoothie from the fridge. The sunlight filtered softly through the window, casting gentle shadows across her face—softening her usual stern features.

She didn’t look up when you entered, but her voice startled you.

“I added tofu,” she said, voice casual but not unkind. “You said you liked it.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest like slow sunrise light. “Thanks. It was really good.”

She shrugged, already turning away. “Don’t expect it every time.”

You laughed softly, the sound light but genuine.

Days turned into weeks, and the ice around Jiheon began to chip away—not with grand gestures or words, but in small, almost imperceptible ways.

She stopped sighing audibly when you were around. She ceased glaring at you when you accidentally left a dish in the sink overnight. And sometimes, when she thought you weren’t looking, she would watch you with something softer in her eyes—like a slow dawn creeping over a mountain peak.

One evening, she came home from dance practice limping slightly, the usual confident grace replaced by quiet pain. You noticed immediately, heart tightening in your chest.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said too quickly, brushing past you.

You followed her anyway, watched her sit on the edge of the bed and grimace as she untied her sneakers.

“Is it your ankle?” you asked.

“I said I’m fine.”

You didn’t respond. Just quietly knelt down, reached for her foot.

Jiheon moved her ankle away. “Don’t—”

“I’ll be gentle. Please?”

She didn’t stop you. Just watched.

Your touch was tentative at first—fingers tracing the warm, swollen skin beneath her sock. You could feel her tension slowly melting away, her breathing evening out.

"That must've been painful."

"Thanks, Sherlock…" She murmured, but there were less snarky as usual.

“I’ll get ice.”

She didn’t say anything as you left the room, or when you came back with a towel-wrapped pack. But when you gently rested it on her ankle, she let out a small sigh.

Not pain. Just relief.

You looked up.

She was watching you.

And for the first time since your wedding day, Jiheon looked at you like you were real.

Like maybe you weren’t just a stranger forced into her life.

Like maybe she didn’t mind the thought of you being in it.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

And this time, you didn’t pretend not to hear it.

The rain came down steady one night, light tapping against the metal railing of the balcony. You sat beside Jiheon (couldn't sleep, the neighbour got a bit too loud), each of you holding a mug, steam curling upwards and vanishing into the cold air. She wasn’t looking at you. Just out — past the apartments across the street, beyond the rows of windows lit in soft yellows and whites. Her legs were drawn up loosely to her chest, chin resting on her knee, hoodie sleeves covering her hands.

Neither of you had said anything in the past ten minutes. And honestly, you were okay with that.

Then, quietly, she spoke.

“I hated this, you know.”

You turned slightly. “The rain?”

“No,” she said, eyes still forward. “This whole arrangement. The marriage. You.”

It didn’t sting. Not really. You’d figured that out ages ago — the way she avoided you, the way she barely let you exist in her orbit unless it was necessary. But hearing it out loud… that was a different kind of weight.

You didn’t say anything. Just let her keep going.

“I felt like I was being forced to open a door I didn’t want to walk through. I didn’t know you. Didn’t want to know you. And yet I had to wake up with someone else’s breathing in my space.”

She paused, then let out a short breath. It wasn’t a sigh exactly — more like she was sorting through the rest of her thoughts before deciding which ones were worth saying out loud.

“But you weren’t… what I expected,” she said finally. “You didn’t push. You didn’t hover. You just… stayed.”

You watched her fingers tighten slightly around the mug.

“I kept waiting for you to be selfish about it. To ask for something in return. But you never did.”

You blinked, surprised. “You make me sound a lot more noble than I actually am.”

Jiheon snorted. “Don’t get cocky. You still microwave the fucking fish like a war criminal.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Okay, rude. I was hasty that one time.”

She finally turned to look at you then — not fully, just a glance. But there was no sharpness in her eyes tonight. No cold barrier. Just something calmer.

“I’m can't promise you anything,” she said, voice lower. “I’m still figuring things out. Still figuring this out. Still figuring you out.”

You nodded. “I’m not asking for anything, either.”

Her gaze lingered on you a second longer before she looked down at her tea.

“…I don’t hate it anymore,” she sipped her tea. “Coming home and seeing you here.”

You swallowed. The rain suddenly felt like background noise, faint and distant.

“I'm glad you don't,” you said.

She nudged her mug against yours lightly. Not a toast. Just contact.

Then, almost like it was nothing, she added, “Also, you can stop pretending you don’t know I’ve been eating the dinners you leave in the fridge.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So it was you. I thought we had a polite ghost. It even washes the dishes as well.”

She looked at you again. No smirk this time, just a small twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“Gosh, you’re such an idiot,” she murmured.

“But a tolerable one?” you offered.

Jiheon didn’t answer immediately. She just nudged your knee with hers — subtle, barely there — then went back to sipping her tea.

"…maybe."

Her murmur was more than enough.

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lowkey into girls that hate you....at first-

#kpop #fromis 9 #jiheon fluff #jiheon #baek jiheon #jiheon x reader #fromis 9 fluff #fromis x reader #jiheon fromis 9 #kpop x reader #kpop fluff

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starryeyed-apple · 2 days ago

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a sunday morning

small town au xavier series part iii

synopsis: when you help your friend out at the sunday farmer's market, you try to do more than just admire xavier from afar.

★pairing: xavier x fem!reader ★wc: 6k ★content: fluff & light humor, slice of life. small town dynamics, childhood to adulthood crushes, pining, awkward tension. mention of reader's heart issues, she feels faint at one point from high emotions/excitement. ★an: I genuinely do not know how this chapter got so damn long, but uhh here it is!! I'm excited for the way it's heading hehe. hope y'all enjoy! <3 ★part ii ★read on ao3 ★series masterlist

In the early morning light of a lazy Sunday morning, there's nowhere better to be than tucked in your own bed, wrapped in your warm and cozy blankets, sleeping in to your heart's content.

Unfortunately for you, you're not in your bed. You're half-awake outside, shivering in the early spring breeze that refuses to let up, surrounded by carefully organized chaos and chatter on all sides.

The only relief to your half-lidded eyes and tired, overstimulated mind is the the warm coffee cup passed into your hands.

"Finally," you mutter with no bite, only exhaustion that begins to slip away the moment you sip the latte.

"Hey, I used my barista powers for evil to make this for you," Aarya responds as she nudges your shoulder, settling in beside you in the two chairs set up underneath the booth's canopy.

"You mean you used your shop keys to break in before opening in order to make these?"

Aarya takes a long drink from her mocha, making a satisfied sound when she pulls back.

"Exactly," she draws out with a little mischievous glint in her eyes. "You better hope I don't lose my job for this."

"You're not going to get fired," you reply, sipping your latte and humming a happy sound to prove your point. "You make the best drinks in town."

"Damn right."

"And you did promise me free coffee for a weeeeek," you draw out, grinning at your friend with a shimmy of your shoulders.

"Ugh. Stop that." She smacks at your shoulder halfheartedly, and you laugh, sipping more of your warm drink, made to perfection. "And it's a free drink once per day. Refills don't count, so don't even try it."

You both fall into a peaceful quiet as you sit together, enjoying your coffee with no need for idle conversation. The constant chit chat and bustling around you from the other farmer's market vendors doesn't let up, but it's easier to tolerate it with some caffeine in your system.

With each sip of your coffee, you find yourself grateful for Aarya's call dragging you out of bed this morning. The air is still crisp from winter's stubborn, lingering hold, but fresh with the scent of spring's arrival, sweetened by the carefully cultivated flower beds that surround the town's plaza.

It feels like home, and you didn't realize how much you missed just that scent until you came back.

Aarya sets her finished drink down with a sigh, then plucks your half-finished one right from your hands to put next to it.

"Hey—"

"It's already almost 6:30," she says with a sigh, standing up and stretching. "Market opens at seven. We gotta get to it."

You push yourself up with a groan, turning to the boxes of carefully packed crochet and needlework products. All vibrant colors to sharply contrast the black denim jacket and ripped jeans that Aarya was sporting today.

"Just let me know what goes where," you say cheerfully, feeling your mood already start to brighten when you kneel to rifle through the assorted sizes and color patterns of crochet rainbow ornaments.

"Doesn't really matter," Aarya responds as she moves about the booth around you, setting up the stands and racks along the tent walls to hang pieces for display. "I like when they're all over the place. People have fun hunting for different stuff."

You move together in old, familiar patterns, the rhythm reminding you of late nights studying for college entrance exams, or pulling together the final parts of a presentation project the next day. It makes you smile, listening to Aarya quietly hum songs she's loved since high school under her breath, while she frowns in concentration at the row of floral needlework she was hanging up.

Thirty minutes of diligent work passes as the morning churns on and the breeze warms with the rising sun. You're so content for a change, that you almost forget just what day it is, and where exactly you are.

That is, until you hear a chipper voice ring out from across the plaza, "Xavier! Over here!"

You jump, fumbling with the moon and star designed needlework in your hands, trying desperately to stop it from falling onto the ground. When you manage to hug it to your chest, clean and safe, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Then you whip around, shuffling to peer around the edge of the booth towards the cheerful shout.

You scan the market, a woman on a mission, and lock in when you catch a head of fluffy silvery hair gleaming almost golden in the sun's rising rays.

"Oh," you sigh as you watch Xavier move effortlessly along the stalls.

He nods towards each person that greets him as he passes—and it's nearly every damn person, making you wonder how exhausting all those idle chats might be.

As if on cue, he covers a yawn with the back of his hand after waving at someone, strolling through the market until he ends up with the vendor that called for his help, an older woman with knitted hats, and a booth not set up yet.

You sink into your chair, elbows on the display table, chin propped up on your hands as you watch Xavier roll up the sleeves of his ridiculously soft looking beige cardigan. Subtle muscles flex under flawless skin as he lifts each leg of the canopy, and you bite your lip.

He extends them one by one, showing little to no visible exertion despite the weight and effort, other than a small furrow of his brow when he reaches up easily with his height to lock each leg into place.

Xavier turns back towards the vendor when it's fully set up, and you watch them dote over him. A smile grows on your face as he nods intently or shakes his head gently at whatever they're saying, his long fingers brushing his hair from his eyes.

You swear a golden ray of light catches on the blue of his eyes, shining like peaceful waters you would gladly sink in, and you melt.

"He's so pretty," you murmur with a soft smile.

"He's alright," a voice chimes in next to your ear, and you yelp.

You turn to see Aarya raising her pierced brow expectantly, a teasing smirk curling up her lips, and you glance away with a nervous laugh.

"Still keeping that old flame alive, hm?"

"I don't know what you mean," you mutter, all but sticking your head in the last box of merchandise, just to find it empty.

"Mm, sure," she hums, and you push yourself to your feet, distracting yourself from her searching gaze by making sure each crocheted little forest critter on the table was priced correctly. Her voice is monotone as ever, but you know her well enough to recognize how it softens slightly when she asks, "What about your guy? Back in the city?"

Your shoulders stiffen, and you hope she doesn't notice. But you know better than to try and hide anything from her clever gaze.

"Didn't work out," you mumble, restlessly fidgeting with a little crochet bunny.

Thankfully, Aarya senses your discomfort enough to not push it. And you know she'll give you the space to come to you with whatever worried you.

Too bad you may end up just bottling it all up inside forever, your favorite go-to trick.

"How's Harper?" you ask, desperate to change the subject. "You two still together?"

"She's good," Aarya replies, and you turn back just to see the little lovesick smile that matches the rare warmth in her voice whenever she talks of her girlfriend. "Yeah, we're good. Really good."

"That's great," you say with a grin. "Is she still working on her mom's farm?"

"Yeah, she is." She checks her phone by reflex, and you catch a glimpse of the background photo of her kissing Harper's freckled cheek flash before she slides it back into her jeans pocket. "We do a joint booth sometimes. She brings fresh eggs to sell, and people go crazy for them."

"Is she stopping by today?"

"Nah, she's swamped with work on the farm. That's why you were enlisted."

"Well, I need to see her soon," you huff, hands on your hips to make your point. "It's been way too long, we need to catch up."

"She's been saying the same thing. She's super excited to see you." Aarya informs, and you grin. "But she's going to want to hear about everything you've been up to, and you know she doesn't take no for an answer."

The look in her eyes is a subtle way of letting you know she caught you switching the subject from yourself, but then she pats you on the shoulder and changes the topic again.

"Market's starting," she says, and you whip around, putting your best customer friendly smile on. "Look alive, I have a feeling it's gonna be a busy one."

When noon rolls around, Aarya's stall is already more than halfway out of stock.

Her prediction had been right, with not only familiar faces, but those from neighboring towns circulating the market all morning. By the time you manage to sneak in a break, your coffee has long gone cold.

Everybody seems more alive and chipper with the transition into spring, and nearly every vendor is having good business.

The only person who looks busier than you, or any other vendor around you, is Xavier.

He moves back and forth between booths, on odd jobs that have him constantly on a circle through the whole farmer's market. You haven't seen him get even a moment to sit down, and the more you see his eyes start to droop, the more concerned you get, even as nobody else seems to notice.

Maybe it's the way that he moves that has nobody suspecting he might be getting tired. He's always walking at a leisurely pace anyway, so it'd be hard to tell if you weren't really looking (and you were really looking). Even though somebody's almost always calling his name or has him sent on an errand, he stays calm, unhurried.

You never hear the gentle rhythm of his voice over the conversations of the market, even if you see him talking to someone. He's ever soft and in-control, which is probably why panicked small business owners always turn to him for help with so many mishaps.

With a rush of business at Aarya's booth, you lose sight of whatever Xavier's doing, the thought of him slipping your mind as you deal with customer after customer.

When you see her helping out the last one with their rainbow ornament of pink, purple and blue that makes you both smile happily, you let out a sigh in the moment of calm that follows.

You take the opportunity to scurry to the back of the booth, making yourself look busy by reorganizing the wall of leftover ornaments, just so you can take the time to breathe.

And thank god you could finally breathe.

"Hey, Xavier."

You jump with a squeak of surprise, whirling around to see him standing in front of the booth, pulling a rolling cooler along with him.

"Hey."

His eyes move from Aarya, scanning the booth to where you stand stiffly among the crochet ornaments in the back.

"Hi," Xavier says to you, and you tell yourself his voice is not softer, it's already soft and you're just crazy.

"Hi," you reply quietly with a wave, pressing your hand against your chest to calm yourself when he leans down to reach into the cooler.

Get a grip, girl! you mentally berate yourself, pinching your elbow to try and shock some sense into you.

When he straightens back up, it's with two wrapped sandwiches in one hand, and water bottles with condensation dripping down the sides in the other.

"Lunch," he offers simply, that calm, intent gaze of his fixing on you again.

You step forward, his attention drawing you in like a magnet. Not to mention your stomach's already growling when you reach for the sandwiches, but Aarya catches your hand.

"Who made them?" she challenges with a squint of her eyes at Xavier, and you blink in surprise when his eyes narrow back.

"Rob."

"From the sandwich shop?"

Xavier nods.

"Promise?"

He nods again, but not without a quiet huff under his breath.

Aarya assesses him for a moment longer before she releases your hand finally, taking the waters with a sigh of relief.

Xavier turns to you. He holds out the sandwiches, innocent and expectant, and you take them in each hand with a smile.

"Thanks, Xavier." It comes out quieter than you wanted, but his eyes widen a little anyway, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"You're welcome," he says with a nod, picking up the cooler handle and moving on to the next booth.

You melt a little when the breeze picks up and tousles the back of his hair, causing the soft looking strands to stick up.

And you freeze when he pauses halfway, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

Your feet shuffle in place, feeling the strongest rush of déjà vu for every glance you stole in high school, only for him to catch you looking. The fact that he still had that instinct with you was impressive.

Also worrying, solely based on how much you still sneak glances of him now.

The moment feels like eternity as you just stand there, caught red-handed and frozen like a deer in headlights.

But Xavier just waves before turning back around. He stops at the neighboring booth and reaches into the cooler again, with another quiet offer of "lunch."

You can already feel Aarya's smug look as you sink back into the chair next to her, and you quickly rush out before she can point out your obvious infatuation again, "I didn't know they gave lunch to vendors."

"They didn't used to." She opens her sandwich, holding it out wordlessly for you to put your unwanted tomatoes on it. "One year, a vendor got so busy that they didn't eat, and they almost passed out. Xavier convinced his dad to set aside a fund to give out basic meals after that. A lot of local restaurants pitch in just because the guy asks."

"Mayor Shen?"

"No." Aarya snorts at the suggestion, shaking her head. "Xavier."

She nudges you, and points at a booth for handmade soaps, lotions and bath bombs. The married couple that runs it is trying to give Xavier a little bag of merchandise in exchange for the sandwiches, stubbornly insisting as he shakes his head.

You watch with a smile on your face as he attempts to push it back. But just a minute later, he ends up holding it in one hand anyway as the other pulls the cooler.

It's a cycle that continues with each booth he ends up at. Little freebies are crammed in his arms; from handmade paper craft cards, to locally sourced crystal bracelets, to ornaments carved from wood. It gets to a point where his hands are so full that he's struggling to pull the cooler.

"Happens every market Sunday," Aarya says.

You begin to rise from your chair, hover, and sit back down.

When you do it for the third time as he tries to balance his gifts and tug the cooler along the next aisle of booths, Aarya elbows you in the side.

"Ow!"

"Oh, don't be dramatic," she teases, and pokes you again, jerking her chin towards where the owner of the knitted hat booth he helped earlier is now cramming two hats onto his head. "Go help him."

"But—" you look towards him as he denies a third hat, and then back at Aarya. "What do I even say?"

She shrugs. "Nothing. Xavier's chill, I'm sure he won't mind if you don't have anything to say at all."

You hesitate again, then take a deep breath, setting your half-eaten sandwich down.

Rising from your chair, you take a few steps forward, then stop. You immediately look back at Aarya to see her smiling faintly, gesturing for you to go.

So you do. You steel your nerves and ball your hands into fists at your sides as you walk.

"You can do this," you mutter, trying not to fidget or turn tail and book it.

You breathe deeply to calm your racing heart, and turn onto the aisle where Xavier is stuck with the two hats nearly pulled down over his eyes, trying not to drop anything and grab the cooler at the same time.

"He's just a guy," you murmur under your breath, hyping yourself up.

An impossibly cute guy whose cheeks you wanted to pinch and squish and smooch all over.

Still. A guy.

Maybe the illusion would be shattered if you actually did manage a full conversation with him. Maybe he'd say something that would make you cringe, or your personalities wouldn't mesh well together at all, and you'd finally move on. Quick, easy, simple. Painless.

"Xavier?"

His head snaps up, trying to see you over the brims of the hats, and you barely hold back a breathless chuckle as nervous energy sweeps through you.

Oh god, you were actually doing this.

"Um—" You reach forward towards the hats, then stop yourself. "Can I…?"

Why were you actually doing this!?

"Yes," Xavier answers immediately, shifting the goodie bags in his arms to hold them tighter as he leans his head towards your offered hands. "Please."

You slowly lift the top hat from his head, and gingerly adjust the second one until his eyes are free. Floppy bunny ears hang from the top of the fabric, and you bite your lip to hold back a smile.

Xavier sighs in relief when he can see again.

And he instantly sees you, eyes as bright blue as the clear spring sky above you, snapping up to meet yours.

You freeze, and he smiles faintly, half his mouth turning up in it before it's gone again in a blink.

But even when he's not smiling, his eyes still glimmer, like the stars you always doodled around his name in notebooks.

Xavier's head tilts to the side when he asks, "How does it look?"

You blink to clear the stars from your gaze.

"Huh?"

"The hat," he clarifies, his voice soft and nothing but patient with you as your wandering mind comes back to the moment.

Your chest begins to feel all warm, and your face along with it.

"Oh!"

You lean back, taking in the whole effect of his fluffy tufts of hair sticking out from under the white knitted fabric.

Hesitantly, you reach out to one of the strings dangling next to his face. Xavier watches you closely, almost scattering all your last nerves to the wind, but you brace yourself against the familiar urge to flee as you give an experimental tug of the string.

When one of the bunny ears lifts, you laugh, heart skipping a beat when his eyes light up.

"It's…good." You nod, quickly letting go and taking a step back. "Cute," you add, and try not to wince.

Cute? Oh, god, why did you say cute?

What if he hated being called cute? Some guys don't like that. He might not. What if he hated you calling him cute? Sure, he knew your name, but he didn't know you. What if—

"You should wear the other one."

"What?"

You look down at the matching hat with its own bunny ears in your hand, and start to shake your head.

But Xavier's already kneeling down, shifting his arms carefully so all the little assorted gifts land on top of the closed cooler lid.

When he stands, he takes the hat from you, then pauses with a question in his eyes.

Any refusal instantly flies from your mind at his searching gaze, and you lean your head down. There's no way you can keep eye contact, so you stare instead at the peek of his collarbone under his white tee when he leans in, before quickly looking away from that too because oh god oh no he's so handsome (no keep it together girl)!

His hands carefully brush any stray strand of hair back into place as he sets the hat onto your head. He does it so gently, ensuring that the fabric is snug enough without messing up your hair, and gives a light tug on one of the strings when he's done.

Xavier smiles when the ear lifts, a pretty curve of his full pink lips, and your breath catches in your throat.

"Cute," he repeats with a satisfied nod, and you just about explode into a million different lovesick pieces. "You should keep it."

"I couldn't—"

You cut yourself off, hands held out when he tries to scoop all his gifts back into his arms.

"Wait!" you exclaim, plucking the ornaments out of his stilled hands. "Let me help."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," you interrupt hastily, already starting to balance the bag of bath bombs with the crystal bracelets, then adding a little pair of earrings made from salvaged sea glass to the mix.

You try and sneak a peek up to see if his ears are pierced, then quickly look back down when you see how closely he's looking at you.

"Ah—sorry," you mutter, awkwardly shuffling the gifts in your arms when you straighten. "I should've asked. Do you not want me to—"

"No," he interrupts you quickly this time, taking the cooler handle. "It's okay. Thank you."

You nod, daring to try and look at him again. When you do meet eyes, you can't help but laugh a little at how silly you both look with your bunny hats on, and he gives a tiny chuckle before you both quickly glance away.

Silence stretches between you as you follow him. Awkward, but not unbearable, at least.

He hands out lunches, and you readily accept any more gifts that the vendors have to offer. When they see you trailing after him, their eyes light up. They exclaim about not knowing you were back in town, and starting making small talk with you too.

You're all too aware of Xavier's attention on you whenever somebody asks how your grandpa is doing since coming back from the hospital.

In the lull between one booth and the next, your longtime crush quietly admits, "I didn't know your grandfather was sick."

You stiffen by reflex at the topic, and force yourself to relax with a slow exhale.

"Yeah."

He hands out another lunch, and the silence as you reach the end of the aisle is more tense than before.

But the atmosphere eases when Xavier offers gently, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you answer automatically.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

You pause, and look back at him in surprise.

Your eyes meet his for the first time since you started helping him, and you feel the breath stolen right from your lungs.

Xavier's always been hard to read. You're sure it's part of his charm; that air of mystery, the feeling that you could only get so close to him while still feeling so far. That untouchable star in the sky. It made admiring him unattainable, but safe.

But when he looks at you now, his gaze is open, honest. The dip in his furrowed brow shows concern, but his eyes are more than sympathetic. There's understanding in those pools of blue.

And it suddenly hits you why every vendor has a gift ready for him, why each one calls to him for help.

Because he responds, without a question. He helps without complaint. He delivers meals that were his idea in the first place, just because it's the right thing to do.

You stop your trail of infatuated admiration, shaking your head before you look back at him. Xavier's still waiting patiently, not bothered one bit by how long you were taking to answer.

In this light, he is just a man.

But he's a kind one.

"I…don't think so," you admit quietly, blinking rapidly as you suddenly feel overwhelmed with indescribable emotion.

Because Xavier has been the first person who didn't just ask about Gramps, but offered to help.

The next words come easier than they ever have around him. Your voice is soft, as if this tender moment may break when you say, "But thanks, Xavier. I appreciate it."

"Of course," he murmurs, glancing over your face. Your chest feels lighter, butterflies dancing in your stomach when he tilts his head. "Just let me know if you ever do need help. Okay?"

"Yeah," you croak out, then clear your throat. "Okay."

He nods, turning onto the last aisle of booths.

And even though you know the moment is over, the air between you feels softer. Warm.

He gets another little gift, stickers from a local artist this time. When Xavier hands them to you, he says, "Keep them."

A glance tells you that they're all space themed. One sticker of a moon even has a little bunny on it, and you hold them close, not even trying to argue.

At the last booth, they ask about your grandpa again. The words come easier when you say he's doing better, the impossible knot in your chest since you'd come home a bit less tight at the thought of him.

"Here," the old man who runs the dairy farm says as he tucks an extra bottle of fresh milk into your arms. "Give him this from me, I know how much he likes his damn cereal."

A warmth rushes into your heart, and you laugh, feeling lighter than you have in days.

"I just restocked them the other day."

"She did," Xavier offers beside you, and your head snaps towards him in surprise. "I checked her out."

Greg, the dairy farmer, arches a bushy gray eyebrow at Xavier. "You did what now?"

Xavier's face is blank as yours gets hotter, watching you as a cough gets stuck in your throat.

Then he says quickly, head whipping back around, "Oh, no—at the store, I mean. I was working."

A loud guffaw leaves Greg's mouth, and he smacks Xavier's back with glee. Even in all your embarrassment, you can't stifle your snort when he stumbles forward with the motion.

Xavier's brow pinches together, rubbing the back of his head as he looks to the side, and you wonder if he's blushing again. You imagine his ears getting pink under the bunny hat, and smile to yourself.

"I know what you meant, son." Greg shoots you a not so subtle wink, and you quickly look down at the chilled dairy bottles in your arms, face burning as he laughs cheerfully again. "Tell your good ol' gramps to get back to bingo soon. I miss beating him at it."

"I'll pass the message along," you assure with a nod before scurrying ahead, beating Xavier to the end of the aisle so you can collect yourself.

You still feel hot, embarrassed and all out of sorts when he's back by your side. But somehow, the feelings ease a bit when his eyes meet yours.

That was…new.

"So is that why you're back?" he asks, following behind you now while you start the walk back to Aarya's booth. "To help your grandpa?"

"Mhm," you hum, skin buzzing just from the weight of his gaze on you.

"How long do you think you'll be here?"

"I…hadn't really thought about it," you answer honestly, slowing down in your pace.

You turn, allowing Xavier to catch up beside you, and you walk side by side through the stalls.

"He hasn't told me if anything's really wrong," you find yourself admitting, your voice hushed.

Xavier leans a little closer, shoulder brushing yours as you stroll through the market.

"I just need to make sure he's okay, and I can't do that from another city."

"That makes sense," Xavier hums, his gentle validation offering a warm rush of comfort to you.

"He's stubborn, you know?" you laugh fondly, even if it's a little strained, and look up to see Xavier smiling at you.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I know."

The way he says it is warm, a look in his eyes that you can't make sense of as he glances over your face, and you quickly look away.

"So, yeah," you stutter, trying to clear your head. "I might be here for a while, I guess."

"Okay," he mumbles. Then he adds, in a softer tone, "Good."

Your head jerks back up at the casual way he says it, and you stare at the side of Xavier's face.

When he catches you staring, his head tilts to the side at your wide-eyed gaze.

And when he doesn't attempt to elaborate, your mouth opens, then shuts. Your lips form around words that all flee you the instant his eyes drop down.

"Xavier!"

You both turn towards the large booth of fresh produce nearby, and the older women waving him over with big smiles on their faces.

"We have fresh carrots today!" One of the ladies beams as she beckons him closer, and you follow him, feeling like you're burning up so hot you're about to self destruct.

"You have fresh carrots every day," he replies gently, and the women grin and laugh, gushing over how handsome and kind he is.

You can't help but smile at the praise and affection he gets, watching them take turns patting his head or his cheek while they put the little bag of vegetables into his hand.

"Oh," he says softly, glancing back at you, and towards them again. "Can I have a carton of strawberries? They're her favorite."

Your mind goes blank.

All three of the ladies glance towards you, and you freeze up further at their sharp attention.

Then in a blink of an eye, they're all smiling at you, the two in the back sharing a look you don't even want to think about as the one in charge moves towards the bin of fresh strawberries.

"How much—"

"Oh, it costs nothing for you, Mr. Shen."

"No, really, I insist—"

They banter back and forth, and you stand there, malfunctioning as your heart races so fast you worry you might just pass out. When Xavier eventually turns back to you with the carrots and strawberries, concern flashes over his face, and he rushes towards you.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs, hesitating before he gently presses a hand between your shoulder blades to steady you. "Do you need to sit down?"

"Oh, no, I'm—" you try and protest, flustered under the warmth of his large palm on your back.

But he's quickly and carefully extracting the gifts from your arms, juggling them in his own again, all while you're still trying to process what just happened so casually.

"I'm okay, Xavier, really," you insist, hating how your high emotions could trigger your heart arrhythmia. It'd been a while since you'd fainted from it, and you'd be mortified if it happened now.

He pauses at his name, looking up at you and oh, his eyes are so big and blue that you might just drown in them.

"I just got a bit overwhelmed," you explain sheepishly, pressing your hand to your chest, willing yourself to calm down. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Xavier says softly, and that same rush of warm, indescribable emotion washes over you again. "Have you eaten? Did you drink your water?"

"I ate half of the sandwich you gave me," you admit, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't think I opened the water."

"Here, lean on me," he offers, and after a moment of hesitation, you allow yourself to rest against him, quickly grabbing the cooler as you walk. "I'll get you back to Aarya."

You let him help you, too embarrassed to ever try and explain that it was him making you get overly excited (even if feeling how soft his cardigan really was under your hand was not helping).

You walk slowly, in silence, until the words that don't stop flashing in your mind like neon lights rush out of your mouth in a jumble, "How did you know that?"

"What?"

"Strawberries," you say bluntly, mind still playing catch up to that moment. "How did you know I liked strawberries?"

He looks at you, then down quickly, and off to the side.

"You don't like them anymore?" he asks quietly, not meeting your eyes.

"No," you say quickly. "No, I do. I just…didn't expect you to know that."

"You used to drink strawberry milk with your lunch every day," he mumbles and, yeah, you must be dreaming. Or, like, dead.

Because in what fucking alternate universe did you just slip into, where Xavier Shen knew which damn drink you were obsessed with all throughout high school?

Xavier glances at you from the corner of his eye, then looks ahead and announces, "Oh, there's Aarya."

She's darting up from her chair the moment she sees you, urging you to sit down as you're still stuck in your moment of shock.

"What happened?" she asks, glancing over you, twisting the cap off your water bottle and putting it in your hand.

"Nothing," you mumble, embarrassed again as her usual indifference disappears in hovering over you. "Just felt a little faint, is all."

Your friend huffs, putting the rest of your sandwich in your other hand. "You need to hydrate. And eat, you didn't finish your sandwich."

You almost laugh at the fact that she and Xavier both thought the same thing.

Sipping at your water and taking a few bites out of your sandwich, you look over to see Xavier dividing his gifts into two piles on the table. You watch him put the strawberries down on one side, staring at the fruit as what he said repeats in your mind.

"Damn, Xavier," Aarya whistles, looking over it all. "Still most popular years after high school, huh."

Xavier scratches the back of his head, pouting a little. "I wasn't popular."

He…what?

You and Aarya exchange a look of disbelief, then turn back to him.

"Here," he says when he realizes he has your attention, pushing the bigger pile closer to you. It's led by the strawberry carton, along with the bath bombs, crystal bracelets, and the stickers he'd already given to you. "These are yours."

"Oh, I can't—"

"Yes, you can," he interrupts gently. "It's to thank you for your help. I insist."

Somebody calls his name from across the market then, and he frowns. His eyes dart over your form, hunched in your chair as you recover from too much excitement, and he hesitates.

"Are you okay?" Xavier asks you, and you blink in surprise.

"Yeah," you reassure him with a smile, and his shoulders relax. "Yeah, I'm good."

He nods. "Let me know if the strawberries are good," he insists gently, eyes so wide they were almost pleading. "Okay?"

You manage a nod, and then he's gone.

"So what was that all about?" Aarya asks as you watch him disappear further into the market, and you lean against her shoulder with a groan.

"He knew I liked strawberries and I swear I almost passed out," you mumble, face hot in embarrassment. "I never want to talk about it ever again."

Aarya laughs as she pats your back, then tugs on one of your hat strings, making you groan because oh god you almost passed the fuck out in this bunny hat!

"Oh, girl," she sighs fondly as you yank the fabric off your head, and she taps over your heart. "Wouldn't be the first time you passed out from too much excitement. Don't be too hard on yourself, it happens."

You groan as you remember the other incident, the memory flashing in your mind as you look at the little carton of strawberries.

"I probably looked like the biggest fool."

"Maybe," Aarya says, and you punch her shoulder, making you both laugh. "But a cute one. Now hush and eat your damn sandwich before I steal all your precious Xavier Shen strawberries."

"Don't you dare!"

taglist: comment here if you want to be added! blank blogs will be blocked ⭐️ Xavier fics: @santaluna @itsmysmut @onigiriinthecorner @inzayneforaj @biblioth-que 💖all fics: @frostbitten-cherry @asiatic-apple @heartyluv @floatinginaer @sweetcalebb @princessofenkanomiya @lazygelpen @deepspacebunnieblue @cherryartchaos @kireeen @stargirlygirl @draftbeerbibi @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @slovesyouuu @ineffabl-y @grlyeetswrld @toelady @asiaticapple @aenishas series taglist: @peascribbles @beaconsxd @plasticcardholder @mochibunnies3 @sylusgirlie7 @creator-freak (let me know if you just want to be tagged for the series!)

#xavier x reader #xavier x you #xavier x mc #xavier fluff #love and deepspace #lads xavier #lads x reader #lads #lads fanfic #xavier x reader fluff #xavier love and deepspace #lads xavier x reader #lads xavier x you #lads xavier x mc #lnds xavier x reader #lnds xavier #lnds x reader #lnds x you

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kdh-tally · 2 days ago

Note

Hii! May I request for your headcanons on the Huntr/x girls and the Saja Boys when they receive hate and what their partners(Rujinu, Zoestery, Miromabby) would react when their partner receives hate(not criticism)? Sorry if it’s doesn’t make sense, I’m looking for smth similar to the one u did on their reactions when someone flirts w their partner

Saja Boys Coping with the Idol Life

Prompt : Huntr/x helping Saja Boys against the haters

Author's Note : So i already kind of completed the angsty part of the request a while ago but I never wrote how Huntr/x would help so here this is!!!

Can be read as a part 2 to -> Saja Boys Struggling with the Idol Life

Going on hiatus wasn’t easy. They had received back lash, k-netizens accusing them of not being committed to their idol careers. It seemed like everyone was against them. Well, except Huntrix.

The girls had been their biggest supporters, quietly fighting against all hatred being thrown the boys' way. The girls had urged them to fight back. And it was finally time.

Rumi lay sprawled on Jinu’s bed. The two had returned from their short date, Jinu tense the entire time till they returned to the privacy of their dorms. He smiled softly at her before laying down beside her. She immediately turned to face him, admiring his features as he pulled out his phone.

Unlocking it, he was instantly met with another post from a hate account. They had clipped the photo, Jinu’s hand hovering just a bit too close to Rumi’s waist. It was innocent, a complete accident. But the headlines didn’t care.

The comments were ugly. Possessive. Fans demanding he apologize for his ‘perverted’ behavior. Others screaming betrayal, claiming he must have been in a relationship with the female idols. However, there was a general consensus that he needed to remain “professional”.

He had immediately turned the device off but Rumi had already taken notice. “You’re still reading those?” she asked gently, not wanting him to close up.

“I don’t mean too, I just…” his voice trailed off, unable to find the right things to say. Rumi took the phone from him and threw it across the room where it landed on a plush beanbag.

“I know what you mean,” Rumi hummed as she traced along the patterns on his chest. She’d been in a similar situation. Accused of over acting around male idols for attention. However, she’d learned that most of the voices were just people who had nothing better to do that criticize others out of jealousy.

It took her months to understand this but she didn’t want Jinu to fall into the same headspace. She unlocked her own phone, scrolling through the many selfies they had with each other before stopping on one Mira had taken of both of them.

It was Jinu peacefully sleeping on her as they rested on the couch, her hands brushing through his hair as though he was a pet cat. Jinu watched as she uploaded the image to her professional instagram story, captioning it my soulmate.

Once the image was uploaded, she tossed her phone across the room as well. “They’re going to come after you too, Rumi,” he said after a moment of silence.

“I don’t want to hide us anymore. They made you feel ashamed of loving me and I won't let them do it again.” She responded.

Later, both Hutr/x and the Saja Boy’s company released an official statement. It was short and concise.

“We confirm that Saja Boys’ Jinu and Huntrix’s Rumi are in a private relationship. They have been close friends and partners long before their respective debuts. Please respect their privacy.”

And to their surprise... many fans did.

Romance had gotten quiet again.

After the dorm conversation, he’d curled back into his shell. Though he promised to take care of himself, and had been during their hiatus, he was still unable to produce any music. He spent hours sitting on the balcony, notebook open but pages blank.

Until Mira found him. She didn’t knock, she never really did. She simply walked up behind him and sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against the railing. They looked over the city as a silence filled the space between them. It was comfortable.

“You know,” she said eventually, “if people are gonna ship you with anyone, they should at least get it right.”

Romance glanced up. She was half-smirking.

He laughed. It was a real one. The first time he’d done it in months. Mira always seemed to be able to make him do that.

“I used to panic about who they thought I was into. Now I’m just... mad I wasted so much time worrying about it.”

Mira didn’t say anything, but she stood to move behind him, playing with his long hair and tying it up into a ponytail.

He turned to her after a moment, eyes fully locked on hers. “I love you.”

She blinked in surprise, not expecting the sudden confession but accepting it regardless. She sent him a smile, one of her rarer facial expressions.

“And I think I might love Abby too. Or I did. Or maybe I still do. I’m not sure.” He let out a confused sigh.

She nodded, staring out at the dusk. “Okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m not a random fan, Romance. I understand how you feel. You’re allowed to be confused about who you want.”

He reached over, hand brushing hers. He felt at peace for the first time in a while.

Then Abby appeared in the doorway, holding a tray of snacks, a confused frown across his face. “Did I miss something?”

Romance blinked and Mira smirked. The three of them made their way back into Romance and Abby’s joint room, the biggest one in the dorm, and relaxed on Romance’s bed. Abby insisted on feeding both of them as they played some movie.

Later that night, Abby stared at himself in the mirror. His shirt was off, his abs defined but a little less sharp than before. He had crept away from the other two, assuming they had both fallen asleep. He hadn’t eaten much that week. He seemed to have formed a habit of feeding others in order to avoid eating himself.

He still heard their words echoing in his mind. The hashtags. The edits comparing him to old photos. The DMs saying he’d let himself get too comfortable.

He sighed, about to pull his shirt off before screeching as cold hands wrapped around him. “WHO THE FU-”

“Calm down you big baby,” Romance mumbled, still half asleep, his hair falling against the shorter boy's neck.

“What is wrong with you,” Abby grumbled, hands unconsciously trying to shield his chest from view.

“You left the bed,” he murmured. Abby rolled his eyes before attempting to put on the shirt once more.

“Why are you trying to hide the goods?” Mira spoke from the doorway. She too was half asleep, her hair tussled and frizzy. “I could eat a meal off those,” she yawned, hugging him from the front, leaving him sandwiched between the two.

He couldn’t even get a word in, the two of them seemed to be double teaming him with affection. “You know they don’t deserve you, right? Your body’s not a product.” Mira reaffirmed, poking into his firm skin.

Romance nodded, breath hot against his neck, “We love you. Not your muscles. You.”

Abby tried not to cry but ultimately failed. Mira laughed, wiping the tears out of his eyes and cupping his face. “Lets go eat some junk food yea?”

Abby nodded.

Romance trudged along behind them, “I still wanna go to bed you guys :( “

Mystery nearly threw up before his scheduled live stream. What was the live for? It was to clear his name. The groups had seen Rumi’s post of Jinu on her story and it gave many of them the courage to face their fans haters.

It had taken some time, but the girls finally taught the boys that anyone who tried to dictate their lives or tell them how to live was a hater. Someone who constantly chose to criticize or try to bring them down was an absolute abomination of a human being.

His palms were sweating. His heartbeat was erratic. Every nerve in his body screamed don’t do it.

But Zoey was there.

She sat cross-legged on the practice room floor behind the camera, holding her phone and calmly listing reasons why he had every right to speak.

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” she said. “Especially not the people who prioritized their own delusions over the truth.”

He nodded. She handed him the phone.

He went live.

When fans had gotten the notification of Mystery going live, they were quick to clock in and watch. The boys were still on hiatus, and this was the first form of social media presence anyone had received since Rumi and Jinu’s confirmed dating rumor.

“Hi everyone,” he said, voice quiet as he pulled on his hoodie sleeve. “This’ll be a short live. I’m only here to clarify a few things.”

He swallowed hard, but one glance at Zoey’s encouraging smile gave him the strength to continue. “I’m not dating anyone. The photos of me at the gym with a worker was just me accidentally bumping into her.”

His voice grew more confident. “And even if I was dating someone, it's truly none of your business. My love life is exactly that. Mine. I’d still be the same person you liked yesterday. And if that’s not enough for you, you were never really my fan.”

With that, he ended the stream after just six minutes. The silence afterward was deafening. Then Zoey pulled him into a hug so tight, he finally let himself cry.

Baby didn’t come out of his room. He seemed to live there. He had seen his band mates' progression, the way they were slowly regaining their confidence. He was happy for them, they had people to motivate him. He didn't think he had that. He didn’t want to be a burden.

He lay on his bed, half-heartedly scrolling through random apps on his phone. He planned to take another nap and was already falling into that sleepy state when suddenly, all three girls were knocking on his door, barging in with strawberry milk, a blanket, and spicy chips.

Before he knew it, they were already getting comfortable. Rumi sat on his bed, Zoey pulled him into a side hug and Mira crossed her arms as she sat on the floor.

“This is an intervention. Now talk,” the pink haired girl said bluntly.

“I don’t want to be annoying,” Baby muttered, eyes downcast. The girls swore their heart broke a little. The one Saja Boy that never seemed to let things get into his head sounded so dejected.

“You’re not,” Zoey replied immediately.

“I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“We know.”

He hesitated. Then it all poured out.

The paranoia. The self-consciousness. The way he couldn’t bring himself to do certain things on camera. The guilt of feeling like a burden on his hyungs. The crushing fear that he’d grown out of being the “cute one” and was now just… useless.

Rumi pet his hair. Mira nodded solemnly.

“We’ve all been there,” Zoey said. “Even us.”

“You’re not a doll, Baby,” Mira added. “You have your own personality and can be whoever you want”

“But I liked who I was already,” he frowned. He didn’t admit it but he kinda enjoyed playing into the baby act. Who didn’t enjoy being pampered? “What if they grow tired of me?”

“They’ll like you because you’re you. Or they’ll leave. And we’ll still be here.” Rumi smiled at him.

The hiatus was over. The boys were back with a new album and they felt better than ever. They had regained their confidence and the girls were proud. They were all sleeping over in the girls pent house, rewatching their old music videos and laughing at the silliness of it all.

“I can’t believe the three of you flew out of a plane and onto stage and no one questioned it,” Baby chuckled as he sat between Rumi and Jinu. Jinu was glaring at him the entire time but he didn’t really care, just sending him a cocky smile.

“Yea well we also killed you all in front of millions of people and no one seems to care,” Mira shrugged. Abby had his hands wrapped around her waist as Romance fed them both.

They stayed up too late that night, curled into piles of limbs and pillows. Their videos played quietly in the background as they laughed. There was no social media, no reading articles, just the eight of them having fun.

Things weren’t perfect. The boys were still afraid. The industry hadn’t changed. But something in them had.

They weren’t demons trying to be idols anymore. Matter of fact, they weren’t demons at all.

They were humans. They were loud, messy, anxious yet brave, creative humans who just so happened to be idols.

And together, they were ready to try again.

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thelov3lybookworm · 2 days ago

Text

Alone (part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: The morning is bleak, business as usual. Nothing new. Nothing fun. Until someone decides to make it fun.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1568

Warnings: just yn being depresso espresso and done with life and az lol, some vague descriptions of the previous part i think, and kidnapping teehee 🤭 ig you could also say angst? idk tho lol you decide

A/n: GUESS WHOS BACK MY GUYSSSSSSSS 🥹🥹🥹 ive been SO DESPERATE TO WRITE SOMETHING THE PAST FEW MONTHS but couldnt cus of exams and stuff and then had a bit of writers block lol but OMG IM SO HAPPY RN

this is like. a sequel to Alone, a ficlet id written for starfall week hehe. ALTHOUGH THIS IS A SEQUEL, IT CAN STILL BE READ AS A STANDALONE!! so go ahead and pls comment hehehehe i love reading comments <3

this purely exists because of the amazing people who commented on the previous part, and also people who asked to be tagged in part 2 hehe: @blessthepizzaman @vanserrasimp @sophieliz and @saltedcoffeescotch

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

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Brows furrowed, Y/n pushed her face into the pillow, her annoyance slowly rising.

Why did every morning have to start with sunrise? Why couldn’t she wake up and it be night outside for once?

This had become a routine, almost. Her, lying in bed, then glaring out the window at the sun that didn’t seem to care, and then rolling as far away from the rays as she could without tumbling over. Nothing was fun anymore. Nothing to be excited about, nothing new. Only fatigued nothingness remained.

The only time she left her bed was when the rumbling in her stomach became too loud to ignore.

Which, as was evident by the slow but steady feeling of her stomach starting to cramp up, Y/n figured would be happening sooner rather than later.

Lungs expanding, air filling them, Y/n shoved the covers off of her body, scowling at the soft material, then swung her legs over the side of the bed, huffing. A small moment passed, and then two, as she stared down at the grainy planks of wood.

Somewhere outside the small apartment she had rented out a week after starfall, children played amongst themselves. The sounds of loud, free and innocent laughter that would have made her smile once now only served to grate against her nerves.

Eyes closed, breathe in, breathe out.

A flick of her wrist, and the house was covered in a sound barrier, suddenly silencing any and all sounds that before penetrated the walls. Quietly, Y/n stood, pushing strands of hair away from her face and then tying it up in a bun with the small strip of leather lying on her bedside table.

Feet bare, Y/n traipsed down the hallway to the kitchen, trying to remember if there were any leftovers she could have as she splashed her face with cold water from the tap. But the clean, empty counters told her that no, there were no leftovers.

Checking the cabinets, Y/n realised that the two slices of bread she had stored away to eat someday when there was nothing to eat had caught mold and now looked like the sadistic announcement of doom.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, trying desperately to find something, anything to satiate her needs for the day, she looked around. But alas, not even a dust particle dared to show face.

Having had her mental health on a downward tumble the past few weeks, Y/n disliked doing anything, much less cook for herself the first thing in the morning, and so, caving, she walked back out and towards the main door of the apartment, pulling off her thick coat from the corner where a lone shoe cabinet stood haphazardly.

It had been one of the things the homeowner had left for her in the partially furnished house. Granted, it looked older than the mother herself, much like everything else in the building, but it held up, and that was all that mattered.

It wasn’t that Y/n couldn’t afford to rent better living quarters. She could probably buy around three of the buildings in the area and still live out her life comfortably from what she had acquired. It was just that she didn’t want to get anything fancy.

What was the point in pretty things, anyway?

After all, she had lived her whole life bathed in riches and jewels and luxury, and yet, the thing that mattered most in life stayed just out of reach. All the warmth she craved, the comfort, the feeling of belonging, remained contained in books and soft bedding.

All the love she craved right in front of her eyes. Always there, never hers.

Glancing in the small mirror covered in questionable stains that for some reason refused to budge when taken to with a rag and soap, Y/n deemed her hair to be… fine, for an errand that was meant to be quick. She just had to walk a few blocks down, grab a few necessities, bread, and maybe a cup of coffee from the shop across the street that always tasted way more watered down than it should, and then it was just her and the comfort of the apartment against the world.

Preparing herself mentally, Y/n quickly pushed her feet into the boots set in the corner, tugging up the hood of her jacket, and pulled open the door. As she stepped outside and began to lock the door, a stale breeze from the cracked window in the far end tickled her nose, making her scrunch her face in distaste.

She always wished they would repair the thing, because not only did it make her cold sometimes, it often brought in smells of alcohol and everything else that disgusted her, and she hated it with every fibre in her being.

Not to mention, the stench also reminded her of cold nights alone on a high peak, surrounded by lights and glitter and stars, bottles and tears and liquid that made her throw up in the Sidra when walking all by herself in the snow while a party raged in her wake.

Y/n shook her head, shoving the icicles on her hands into her pockets as she walked down the steps, glad no neighbour of her seemed to be out and about.

Going unnoticed in the streets was almost too easy, considering she blended well in with the crowds of people going to work. All of them wearing dark coats, so bleak and ordinary. It would be a lie to claim she did not prefer this over the fur and jewels her friends decked themselves in.

Well, most of them anyways.

The tiny little building of the bakery was easy to spot, not because of the peeling colours and cracked steps, but because of the scented smoke billowing out of the chimney first thing in the morning, announcing the making of new, fresh bread.

The door creaked open under Y/n’s stiff fingers, blasting her in the face with the warm whiff of freshly produced goods, and she sighed, letting the door fall shut behind her. Instantly, the air warmed up her skin.

The bakery was fairly crowded, mostly filled with some buying smaller packages of cakes and muffins to eat on the go, and others bringing bigger packs of bread, likely to feed their families. Ignoring all that, Y/n walked over to the small old lady behind the counter, calling out orders at the younger female running about in the back visible through a small window, likely baking more.

"Good morning, darling. What can I get for you today?"

Y/n tried her best to offer her a smile, she really did, but she was ready to bet her small toe that it looked more like a grimace than anything else. "Just a roll of white bread, please."

The lady quickly put the bread in a brown paper bag, then paused, before adding in a small muffin. Y/n began to protest, but one wink from the lady and a secretive smile later, Y/n once more stood in the bustling streets of Velaris’ almost forgotten square.

Its on the house. You look like you could use a bit of sweetness, child.

The words were so simple, yet they swirled around Y/n’s mind like a whirlpool.

Maybe I do need some sweetness.

With the thoughts in her mind, Y/n began trekking back to the ramshackle apartment. One foot in front of the other, an occasional sidestep, and repeat. Until a pit opened up in her stomach, making her pause.

Y/n looked up, scanning her surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet…

Am I just hungry?

She continued on, shaking off the concerns. But with each step, the pit deepened, spreading, and encompassed all her insides with unshakable dread.

Maybe… this isn’t hunger.

But just as she had the world breaking intervention from the mother, there was a crunch behind her. A whoosh, and then a bag was thrown over her head.

The first thing she noticed, even in her panic- aside from the sudden darkness, of course- was the stench coming from the threadbare bag.

A stench she, as part of the inner circle and one of the more skilled chemical researchers of Prythian, was quite familiar with.

Faebane.

Faebane, mixed with something more…acrid, something she recognised but couldn’t quite put a finger on, but knew it was meant to put someone in a deep, uninterruptible slumber for the very least of a day, or something similar to that.

Way to go down, I guess.

Y/n decided, then and there, as the bag tightened on her head and she was pulled back and to the side towards her captor- and what she assumed was into the small, dark alleyway, away from sight- that she wouldn’t fight back. What was the point in trying to overthrow someone who undeniably had you in captivity?

At least I can say I went with dignity. No kicking feet and screaming.

The bag tightened, and tightened, and tightened, and gradually, her head became lighter, and whatever limited vision she had began fading, her limbs loosening, falling limp. With barely any consciousness left in her, she felt her body being jostled, thrown over someone’s shoulder, maybe, before the person started walking off.

Into an adventure, I hope.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

ACOTAR taglist <3

@bubybubsters @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

@hijabi-desi-bookworm @dnfhascorruptedme @littlest-w01f

@eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @riddlesb1tch

@buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@dnfhascorruptedme @fuckingsimp4azriel @moonchildlv @12358

149 notes · View notes

bratzkoo · 2 days ago

Text

keep your enemies close | yjh

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: spy! jeonghan x spy! reader (afab) Genre: angst, fluff, smut, e2l Rating: NC-17 Word count: 3.4k~ Warnings/note: filthy hate sex, i am so sorry. also, enemies to lovers and spy! jeonghan... jeonghan himself should be a warning. is this what you call pwp, because it might me. lemme know if you want part 2??? LISTEN TO BEDROOM WARFARE by ONEOKROCK if you want to know the vibe. summary: Jeonghan finds you on a mission in Vienna trying to get the same thing as him. He hates you, you hate him, but then somehow you end up in his bed or anywhere else he can bend you over, apparently.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries , @kwonhs96

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

Y/N moved through the crowd with effortless grace, her black dress tailored to blend in with the high society she was infiltrating. The identity of "Eva Park, art curator" fit her like a second skin, perfectly pressed, professionally distant.

She was examining a haunting piece, a war-torn cityscape rendered in blood reds and smoky greys, when she felt it. The undeniable sensation of being watched. Slowly, she turned.

There he was.

Standing across the room in an immaculate black suit, Yoon Jeonghan raised his glass in a mock toast. His lips curved into a smirk that was both irritating and unfairly attractive. Her heart gave a traitorous thud.

Of course he's here. And of course he's... She shut the thought down before it finished. The enemy didn't get to be beautiful.

Predator met predator. Her gaze narrowed. His smirk deepened. And somewhere beneath her skin, something dangerous and uninvited sparked to life.

He approached like a man who knew the room would part for him. She didn't turn her head as he came to stand beside her, both of them now facing a new painting—an 18th century battle scene, brutal and glorious.

"The brushwork is exquisite," he said, voice smooth and laced with something sharper. "Though I’ve always found battle scenes a touch... predictable."

"Have you?" Y/N replied without looking at him. Her tone was sweet, but her words were blades. "I find them fascinating. The moment before the decisive strike, when both sides think they have the advantage."

"Ah, but the truly skilled warrior knows the battle is won before it even begins." His English was precise, softly accented. Calculated.

"Wouldn't you agree, Miss...?"

"Park. Eva Park." She extended her hand like a challenge.

"Han Yoon. Cultural attaché." His grip was firm, his palm warm. He held on just long enough to make it feel like a test. "I deal in... acquisitions."

She didn’t flinch. "How interesting. I imagine you're quite good at taking things that don’t belong to you."

He chuckled. "Only when they’re worth the trouble. And you, Miss Park—what brings you to Vienna?"

"The same thing that brings every collector here. The thrill of the hunt."

They drifted through the gallery like a pair of dancers locked in a duel. Jeonghan’s every step was measured, his charm weaponized. Y/N matched him move for move.

"You have excellent taste," he said, pausing at a painting of an elaborate chess match. "Do you play?"

"I prefer games where I can see my opponent’s face when they realize they’ve lost."

His smile flickered wider. He stepped closer under the pretense of admiring the painting, his shoulder brushing hers. Her skin burned where they touched.

"Confidence is admirable," he murmured, low enough for only her to hear. "But premature celebration has ruined many a promising player."

An elderly collector approached, forcing them to retreat into the personas of polite strangers. But beneath every comment about brushstrokes and auction houses, the subtext pulsed: I know who you are.

"The Korean collection is particularly strong this season," he offered casually.

"Yes, some impressive acquisitions. Especially pieces thought to be... permanently out of reach."

He looked at her. "The most valuable items often have extensive protections."

"Only makes the victory sweeter."

Y/N slipped away under the guise of a phone call, heels clicking against the marble floor as she entered the gallery’s lavish bathroom. She locked the stall, whispered into her comms: "Target confirmed. Proceeding."

When she emerged, she found him waiting.

"This is the ladies' room," she said, spine straightening.

"I’m aware." He locked the door behind him.

"We need to talk."

"I can’t imagine what we’d have to discuss."

"Cut the act. CIA? Or MI6? Doesn’t matter. Walk away from the Pandora Files."

She stepped forward, chin lifted. "Or what? You’ll stop me?"

Their bodies were inches apart now, the air between them electric. His eyes dipped to her lips.

"I think you’re not as immune to me as you pretend."

"You’re right," she whispered. "I’m not immune. But that doesn’t change anything."

His hand came up, brushing her cheek. Thumb tracing her lower lip.

"Doesn’t it?"

Their mouths hovered, breaths mingling. Just before contact, voices echoed in the hallway.

Y/N shoved him back. "Don’t touch me."

"You were going to let me kiss you."

She lied with practiced ease. "I was going to let you think you were winning. Stay away from me, Jeonghan."

His name, his real name, cut through the room like a thrown knife.

She exited first, face composed, but her hands shook as she texted her handler: Target identified. Proceeding as planned.

Jeonghan waited, watching the door she vanished through. Then he stepped to the sink, splashed cold water on his face, and cursed softly.

Back in the gallery, they avoided each other, orbiting in the same space like opposite charges. Every glance was a challenge. Every smile a threat.

Later, she stood in her hotel mirror, fingers grazing her lips where his thumb had been. She hated that she could still feel it.

Across the city, Jeonghan poured himself a scotch, eyes fixed on the glowing skyline. Eliminating her would be the smart move. But something told him she wasn’t going to be easy to forget. This isn’t over. -

The morning after the gallery, Vienna wore its beauty like a blade—clean light, cold air, and the steady hum of a city used to secrets. Y/N sat in the corner of Café Sperl, a steaming cup of coffee untouched in front of her. Dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, she blended perfectly with the tourists and students who frequented the historic coffeehouse.

She looked casual. Relaxed. But every muscle was alert. Her eyes skimmed the newspaper while her real attention stayed locked on the man three tables away—her target for the morning.

Then came the second interruption.

Yoon Jeonghan slid into the seat across from her with the ease of someone who believed the world would make room. He wore an immaculate navy coat over a dove-gray shirt, his expression infuriatingly calm.

"Good morning, Eva," he said like a man greeting a lover.

Y/N didn’t lower her paper. "Better before you arrived."

"Stalking’s a strong word. I prefer ‘professional interest.’"

"I prefer you gone."

"You're in my city. I should be asking what you're doing here."

She finally met his eyes, a flicker of frustration rising at how smug he looked this early in the morning. "Public space, Han. I’m allowed to sit wherever I want."

"So am I. Though I imagine you’re used to taking whatever you want, too."

"Only if it’s worth the effort," she said.

His smirk deepened. "Tell me then—am I worth the effort?"

Y/N’s mouth twitched, betraying the start of a smile she did not give him permission to earn. "You’ll never know."

They parted ways an hour later, but it was far from over.

By midday, the game resumed—this time in the streets. Both had tracked the same courier to the city center. Their mutual target was subtle, careful. But not careful enough.

Y/N watched from a narrow alley as Jeonghan made contact at a newspaper stand. The conversation was effortless, the handoff nearly invisible. She knew the move. Recognized the technique. Damn it.

She slipped into a bookstore, regrouping. In the reflection of the glass, she saw him look her way.

Twenty minutes later, she approached the courier again—this time at a tram stop, disguised as a lost tourist. Her hair pulled into a lazy bun, scarf trailing down her coat. Her laughter came easy as she asked directions, brushing his arm, leaning in.

From across the street, she could feel Jeonghan watching.

Her phone buzzed.

Jeonghan: Nice technique.

Y/N: You're not bad yourself. For an amateur.

That evening, the Korean Embassy shimmered with wealth and power. Diplomats mingled beneath chandeliers, flutes of champagne balanced like grenades.

Y/N moved through the crowd in a red dress designed to distract. Her press credentials hung around her neck, a perfect cover.

And yet, she felt it before she saw him.

Jeonghan appeared at her side, tuxedoed and dangerous. "Ms. Park," he said smoothly. "Enjoying the exhibition?"

"It’s illuminating." She accepted a glass of champagne, fingers brushing his. "Though I find some pieces more authentic than others."

"Discerning eyes are rare. Would you care to see something... exclusive?"

She knew the trap. But the mission required access. And, if she was honest, so did something deeper. "Lead the way."

The tango demonstration began with applause. The ambassador introduced the dance as one of passion and precision.

Jeonghan offered his hand. "Shall we?"

Y/N hesitated. "I lead."

He smiled like a man who already knew the ending. "We'll see."

They moved together like fire and gasoline. His grip on her waist was possessive, controlled. Her steps defiant. Their bodies fit too well. Their proximity, too familiar.

"You're tense," he murmured against her ear.

"You're arrogant."

"You're still dancing with me."

She hated how true it was. Hated that the moment his hand pressed lower on her back, her body forgot who he was. Forgot who she was.

The guests applauded at the finish. She didn’t remember the last steps. Only his eyes. Only the way her breath came faster.

She needed air.

She slipped away, ducking into the coatroom. The coolness of the dark, quiet space steadied her.

Until he followed.

"Quite the performance," he said, closing the door behind him.

"You trying to grope me in front of fifty diplomats? Classy."

"You didn’t stop me."

She turned, jaw clenched. "You think this is a game?"

"I think you want to lose."

He was closer now. The smell of his cologne, the heat of his body—it was too much.

"My body doesn’t make my decisions."

"Then tell it to stop responding."

She grabbed his tie and yanked him down.

"I hate you."

"Good. Keep hating me."

Then their mouths collided. It wasn’t romantic. It was war. A brutal, breathless tangle of teeth and hands and heat. He pushed her back against the coats. She pulled him tighter.

When footsteps approached, they broke apart. She straightened her dress. He adjusted his tie.

They returned to the party as if nothing had happened. Their masks flawless.

But the air between them had changed. Every look across the room was heavier. Every smile, calculated.

She interviewed the ambassador. He toasted trade deals. And the whole time, they tracked each other like snipers.

That night, alone in her hotel room, Y/N stared at her reflection. Her lips were raw. Her hands trembled.

In his apartment, Jeonghan sat in silence, tie undone, glass half full. His body remembered hers.

Y/N's report: Target remains engaged. Proceeding as planned.Jeonghan's report: International agent identified. Situation under control.

This is getting out of hand. -

The warehouse stank of dust, oil, and something metallic underneath. Shadows clung to the steel beams, thick and suffocating. But none of that mattered. Not when her back was pressed to Jeonghan’s side, his hand settled low on her waist, a possessive gesture that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with strategy.

"Stay close," he murmured, breath tickling the shell of her ear.

She stiffened. "Don’t get any ideas."

His hand tightened slightly, thumb tracing a slow circle on her hipbone through the silk of her dress. "Just like how you’re not leaning into me right now?"

She immediately straightened, cursing internally. Every nerve in her body buzzed with the need to push him away, and the even more dangerous need to press closer.

"Focus on the mission," she said.

He didn’t respond. But his smirk said enough.

The weapons dealer’s men were already on alert. The handoff was scheduled in ten minutes. Their covers, husband and wife clients from Singapore, required constant physical closeness. Kisses on the cheek. Lingering touches. She’d barely made it through the first brush of his fingers against the back of her neck earlier without shivering.

They entered the main floor together, every step calculated. Jeonghan’s hand on the small of her back, her fingers curled loosely around his wrist. To anyone watching, they were a high-class couple shopping for black market munitions. But beneath the polished exterior, everything inside her screamed.

The mission itself was uneventful, clean. Almost too clean. He handled the conversation and she watched the guards. They moved together like they’d done this for years, like they'd trained together. Her glances were his signals. His touch meant stop, go, watch.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

By the time they exited the back door with the USB drive in her clutch and the exchange complete, her pulse was thundering, not from fear. From something much worse.

Adrenaline. Proximity. And the fact that Jeonghan was grinning like a man who knew exactly what he was doing to her.

The safe house was tucked in an anonymous building on the edge of Vienna’s 9th District; concrete, beige, and entirely forgettable.

Inside, it was a single-room apartment with a bed, a kitchen counter, and one grimy window. Functional. Quiet. Secure.

Y/N slammed the door behind them and immediately crossed to the far wall. "That was too smooth."

Jeonghan unbuttoned his coat. "Should I apologize for being good at my job?"

"You were enjoying it."

He leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, shirt open at the collar. "You weren’t?"

She paced, chest tight, her limbs buzzing with energy that had nowhere to go. "Don’t start."

"I’m not starting. Just stating facts. You looked like you were having fun."

"Fun isn’t the word I’d use."

"No? What would you call it?"

She stopped pacing. Turned.

"The fact that we functioned like a well-oiled machine out there doesn’t change the reality. We’re enemies. You’re a threat to my entire op."

"And yet here you are, in a safe house with me, not pulling a weapon." He stepped closer. “Interesting.”

"You think I won’t?"

"I think if you were going to, you’d have done it already." He was closer now, voice lower. "Tell me, does your pulse always do that when you’re angry?"

She realized he could see her throat, see the way it moved when she swallowed. Her body betrayed her in every possible way.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," she said.

"So are you." He stepped even closer. "I think you’ve been wondering what it’d be like since the gallery."

She didn’t answer.

"You want to hate me. You want to stay in control." His hand brushed her wrist, and she jerked away like she’d been burned. "But you can’t stop imagining it, can you?"

"Fuck you."

He smiled. "Is that an invitation?" The question hangs in the air between them. Her chest is heaving, his pupils are dilated. They're standing so close she can see the pulse hammering in his throat.

She moved first.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, slamming him into the nearest wall hard enough to rattle the frame. His mouth crashed into hers like a storm,violent, breathless, devastating. Their teeth knocked, their lips bruised, their hands everywhere at once.

"I hate you," she growled, ripping open the last buttons of his shirt.

"I know," he said, pulling her closer by the hips. "I hate you too."

There was nothing soft about it. No romance. No warmth. Just the raw, burning need to consume and dominate and forget everything else.

He spun them around, slamming her against the wall now, thigh sliding between her legs. She gasped as she ground down on him.

"This doesn’t mean anything," she panted.

"Nothing at all," he murmured, fingers already at her underwear, dragging the lace aside with practiced ease. "Just getting it out of our systems."

The first stroke of his fingers made her head fall back with a choked moan. She was already soaked, already throbbing, and it made her furious.

"Bedroom," she managed.

He lifted her easily, legs locking around his waist as he carried her across the room. They didn’t make it cleanly. They crashed into the wall, into the edge of the mattress, but neither cared. They fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and desperate touches. Clothes are torn off rather than removed, buttons scattering across the floor. When she finally gets her hands on his bare skin, muscles flexing under her touch, she digs her nails in hard enough to leave marks.

"Fuck," he hisses, but his hips buck forward at the sensation. "You're going to be the death of me."

"That's the plan."

She tries to flip him onto his back, to take control, but he's stronger and keeps her pinned beneath him. His mouth is everywhere - her throat, her collarbone, her breasts - marking her as his while she writhes beneath him.

"Let me up," she demands, but her voice is breathless.

"No." He captures her wrists, holding them above her head with one hand while the other traces down her body. "You're mine right now."

"I'm not yours. I'm not anyone's."

"We'll see about that." His fingers find her center, and she cries out despite herself. "Look how wet you are for me. For someone you hate."

She wants to deny it, but she can't form words when he's touching her like that, when he's looking at her like she's something he wants to devour. All she can do is move against his hand, chasing the pleasure he's giving her.

When she's close, trembling on the edge, he stops. She makes a sound of frustration that's almost a growl.

"Say please," he commands, and she can see the satisfaction in his eyes at having her so desperate.

"Go to hell."

"Say it, or I stop completely."

She stares up at him, at the man she's supposed to destroy, and realizes she's never wanted anything more than she wants him to touch her again. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please make me come, you bastard."

He grinned and gave her everything.

When he finally enters her, they both freeze at the sensation. She's tight and hot around him, and he has to fight not to lose control immediately.

"Move," she demands, her nails raking down his back. "Don't you dare be gentle with me."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He sets a punishing pace, and she meets him thrust for thrust, their bodies slapping together in the small room. It's rough and desperate and exactly what they both need.

"You feel so good," he groans against her throat. "So perfect. I hate how perfect you feel."

She can't respond because he's hitting that spot inside her that makes her see stars. All she can do is hold on as he drives into her, over and over, like he's trying to brand himself into her memory.

When she comes, it's with his name on her lips, her back arching off the bed as pleasure crashes through her. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep as he spills inside her with a curse that might be her name.

They collapse together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin. For a moment, there's only the sound of their ragged breathing and the thundering of their hearts.

Then she rolled away.

"This was a mistake," she said, staring at the ceiling.

"The biggest mistake I’ve ever made," he agreed.

Beat.

"Same time tomorrow?"

She threw a pillow at his face.

The light was different in the morning. Soft. Golden. Unforgiving.

Y/N sat up slowly, the sheet tangled around her waist. Jeonghan was still asleep beside her, one arm draped over the edge of the mattress. His face was peaceful. Human.

It made her stomach twist.

She slipped from the bed, quietly dressing. One shoe. Two. Shirt buttoned. Hair tied. She was almost to the door when,

"Running away?"

His voice was hoarse with sleep, and something else she couldn’t name.

She turned. "This was a mistake."

"So you said."

"It can’t happen again."

He sat up, the sheet falling low. God help her, she looked. Again.

"Because we’re enemies?"

"Because I can’t want you."

He stood, completely unbothered by his nakedness. "But you do."

She flinched. Just slightly.

"It was just sex," she said.

"Did it help?"

"What?"

"Get it out of your system."

She looked at him, at the marks on his chest, at the way her body still hummed with the memory of his touch.

"No," she whispered. "It made it worse."

He closed the space between them, his hand lifting to cup her cheek. She leaned into it, just for a second, then pulled away.

"This changes nothing."

"It changes everything."

"I’m still completing my mission."

"So am I."

"May the best agent win."

She opened the door. Paused.

"See you around, Jeonghan."

"Count on it."

Y/N’s report: Target compromised. Proceeding with caution.Jeonghan’s report: Operative contact unavoidable. Situation escalating.

One time was a mistake, but once won’t be enough.

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vineofwar · 2 days ago

Text

Spotlights and Silences (Part 2-ish of Dresses and Disguises)- paigebueckers x fem!reader

summary: after weeks of silence following the moment you shared in the dressing room, you show up to Paige’s WNBA draft after party... wearing that dress.

warnings: angst, slow-burn, mutual pining, kinda lore accurate, (somehow) not proofread

word count: ~2.2k

a/n: sorry it took me so long but here she is!

You did an impeccable job of avoiding Paige after that day.

Forgetting about it– her, was something else entirely.

The end of the semester was coming up sooner than you expected, with exams, projects, and prepping for your goodbyes. Meanwhile, March Madness was ramping up for Paige. She was everywhere.

There wasn’t an app you could open, a TV you could watch, even a person you could talk to without being reminded of her. Interviews. Highlight reels. Stats. Predictions. WNBA draft projections. You tried to scroll past, turn off, and disengage, but it was no use. You were overdosing on her.

But there was simply no way of avoiding her as the championship game rolled around. Besides, your best friends were playing, and you wanted to support them. Or at least that’s what you told yourself… Sitting on the living room floor, 30 minutes before tip-off, wearing a worn-out #5 jersey. Burning with anticipation.

Paige, on the other hand, could not get enough of you. It was like you completely disappeared from her life, overnight. And no amount of flashing lights, confetti, or stadiums full of fans could shake that gnawing feeling. She needed a fix– of you.

But that didn’t stop her from winning the national title.

Paige played like something was burning beneath her skin– a fiery determination. When the buzzer sounded and the confetti rained down, Paige let it in. The noise, the celebration, the joy. She let herself feel it– the emotions, good or bad. Something that she wasn’t used to. She let herself be present in something she didn’t have to question. Something that didn’t ache.

There was nothing else you could feel in that moment besides pride. A breathtaking sort of pride bloomed in your chest when you saw her lift the trophy high above her head, eyes glistening under the stadium lights.

You facetimed Azzi and some of the team shortly after.

“National champions! I have never been happier for you guys!” You beamed as they showed off their piece of the cut net, screenshotting a moment and sending it off to your Instagram story.

“Where’s the trophy? Let me see it!”

“Uh- It’s with Paige and coach, actually,” Azzi said, trying to sound too casual as she flipped the camera back around to herself. “You know. Press stuff.”

“Ah, right. Well, send me a photo.” You changed the subject before anyone else could say a thing. “Go out and enjoy the rest of this win okay? Tell… everyone, I say congratulations.”

Azzi just nodded her head before you said goodbye.

The championship high hadn’t begun to fade before Paige was thrown into the spotlight again. She was hours away from her life changing all over again. Not even a second of turnaround, a second for her to catch her breath, before she was on another flight, sitting in another hotel, doing another round of interviews with questions she’d already answered a hundred times. The draft.

She’d foolishly thought that tonight would bring you out. More than the championship game did. She heard your congrats through Azzi. She saw the blurry photo you posted on your Instagram story, captioned: 'proud of my girls <3.’ It was the most that she's gotten from you in weeks. She thought of liking the story– her finger hovering over the heart at the bottom of the screen– but she thought better of it and kept tapping through instead.

Another moment. Missed.

The lights were hot and brighter than she expected, but Paige never faltered. She was good at this part– the public part. The polished part. Calm, cool, confident. She stepped onto the red carpet and the crowd erupted. A wave of noise and flashing lights crashed over her. Cameras snapped in rapid fire, as if the world might blink and miss her. Her name echoed relentlessly from every direction with a particular urgency, like everyone already knew they were staring at the number one overall draft pick.

Paige was buzzing beneath the surface, beneath the perfectly packaged smile, eyeliner, and black sequin suit. Buzzing with something hard to name– something lonely. Far from nerves or excitement.

She never used to imagine being with you, because you were always there—or you used to be. But now she caught herself lost in thought, picturing you on her arm as you walked down the row of flashing cameras and back-to-back interviews, showing you off, sporting that sweet, shy smile you saved for her. Your eyes meeting like there wasn’t anything to question, like none of it intimidated you. You whispering something in her ear, like “I hope you’ve practiced your autograph” in the quiet moments, cutting through any sort of nerves that started to rise. Your hand finding hers under the table, fingers laced—anchoring her.

She imagined her name being called and the thing she’d be most excited for, something she was dying to do– to kiss you. There. In front of everyone. Like she wasn’t scared of it all.

The buzzing was so loud now that she barely heard her actual name being called.

“In the 2025 WNBA draft,” The voice sounded far away. “The Dallas Wings select,” And fully trailed off, swallowed by the roar of the crowd and the rush in her ears.

It wasn’t till Azzi nudged her arm that she registered the words.

“Paige Buekers.”

Now, standing on stage, the crowd, white jersey in hand, her future ahead of her, she wasn't thinking about the win, her team, or her new contract– she was thinking about you.

This was the part she hadn’t prepared for– that success would taste just a little sour when you weren’t there to share it with her. All her hard work and dedication finally paying off, and… it didn’t feel right.

She knew what the fame and adoration felt like. The quick fire photos, the headlines, the glory. It all felt shallow. She craved your quiet devotion.

In any capacity. You both needed to be with each other again.

And that’s precisely why you were in New York, in Kk’s hotel room, applying a red glossy lipstick in the bathroom mirror.

Initially, you weren't planning on coming– even with the growing, insatiable need to see Paige in person again. You were used to that by now. The wanting. And for the last few weeks, you had become better at managing it. But it wasn’t until Kk, Sarah, Azzi- practically half of the damn UConn women’s basketball team, nearly on their hands and knees, begging you to come celebrate with them, that you even entertained the thought of being at the draft after party.

You realized somewhere along the line that you were being a bad friend. Especially to Paige.

Regardless of the complications– of your feelings, Paige was someone you cared for. Deeply. You acknowledged in your complete avoidance, that you claimed was self-preservation, was really a cover. Cowardice. And in that, you were abandoning the only thing you knew you were to each other. Friends. Even if it was hard to admit because you wanted more, you were always, at the very least, going to want to be friends with Paige.

And friends support each other. Especially when they are the number one overall WNBA draft pick.

You waited to get dressed till Kk told you the ceremony was over, sending you the location for the after party.

You eyed the familiar black sparkling dress, laying on the contrasting white bed sheet. It felt like the knife was being twisted as you stepped in and slipped the fabric up your body. It clung to your frame like a second skin, like memory.

And suddenly, your willpower was starting to chip away. Each step you took towards the venue was another piece flaking off, and by the time you crossed the threshold of the party, you were one gust of wind from falling apart.

You, thankfully, immediately spot Nika and some of your friends before you could change your mind and turn around and walk out the door.

“I have no idea where Azzi went, last time I saw Kk and Sarah they were with Paige somewhere.” She pauses. “I don’t think anyone told her you were coming,” Your heart sank. The last thing you wanted to do was ambush her.

“Shes barely had time to talk to us, I’d catch her as fast as you can to say hey.” She tried to sound as relaxed as one could, tipsy and shouting over music. “Then we can take shots!” She adds, clearly picking up on the uneasy look on your face. “Matter of fact, I’ll go get some right now!” She was gone, disappeared through a crowd before you could even object.

But she was right, you wanted to get it over with and then just enjoy yourself. You wanted closure.

There wasn’t a moment for Paige to stop- to slow down. She smiled until her jaw ached, shifting from handshakes to hugs, and from congratulations to thank-you’s. Her name echoed off the walls. She was being pulled in every direction without a moment to take it all in.

Until she saw a familiar shimmer from the corner of her eye. She jerked her head and froze. Her gaze fell on you, clinging to a quiet corner of the room, wearing that dress.

She blinked, hard, thinking that maybe the champagne was getting to her, like she'd open her eyes and you would be gone. Vanish, again, into thin air, and she’d be without you.

She drifted through the room, not knowing her next move, just felt her chest pull towards you like a magnet she had been resisting for too long.

And when your eyes finally met, neither of you looked away.

You froze when you saw her in that black, sparkling suit. You hadn’t realized it was the perfect, almost matching counterpart to your dress.

You watched the gold lights perfectly bounce off her blond waves, the way her black eyeliner brought out her blue eyes. You were scared that if you even flinched, your heart would take over and you’d hug and tackle her to the ground.

Now there she was. Two feet away from you. After weeks, that felt like months, of no contact. And now there you were, entirely undone in front of her once again.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

And just like that, Paige lost the upper hand. Her cards were showing. But she finally didn’t care. She wanted you to know she was thinking about you. How she already accepted that you weren’t going to be here. How she was not coping with it well. How relieved, and scared, she was that you were within arm's length of her.

How just 5 words could mean so much without having to admit what she was really feeling. A game of how truthful she can be without just saying it.

“I almost didn’t.” You admitted back.

She wanted to ask why you changed your mind, but the lump in her throat was making it hard to speak at all.

Then that all too familiar silence stretched between you like it always did. Taunting you.

She glanced at your dress again. Your stomach was doing flips.

“You wore it.” Paige says, gesturing to you. What she meant to say was, ‘I remember the last time you wore that dress.’

“Yeah,” It came out breathy and uneasy. “Well, it fits better to wear at a party. Definitely not a graduation.” Your lips slightly turn up at the edges in a cautious smile.

A smirk appeared on her face as she shook her head.

“Honestly, I still kind of hate it.”

“I don’t.”

Paige saw the moment your breath hitched in your lungs. It set her skin on fire.

The way you looked at her was dangerous. You had to remind yourself why you were there. To support your friend.

“Well. Congratulations, Paige.”

Hearing her name from your mouth again felt like a jolt of lightning. A shiver went down her spine.

“You deserve all this. I’m proud of you.”

That is when it all sunk in. The whirlwind of the past few days finally caught up to her and hit her right in the gut. But she didn’t care about that right now.

Paige’s lips parted as her eyes drifted to yours.

The space between you began to shrink. You didn’t even realize it till you felt the warmth of her body and the sweet, musky scent of her perfume.

You held your breath as her hands slid their way onto your hips, pulling you closer.

“I missed you.” Page said, more like an admission. You watch something shift behind her eyes, like relief.

“I missed you too.” You replied with ease.

The first thing you’ve said to her in months that didn’t feel like a roundabout truth.

You leaned in slowly- still somewhat scared that this was one of your daydreams- hesitating, giving her a chance to back away. But she didn’t. She closed what little space there was left and kissed you. Tentative at first, but then more sure as you melted into each other.

Paige slid her hand up your lower back to your shoulder, then to your neck and stopped at your jaw, cupping it. Like she needed to make sure you were real. Like this was finally happening.

And just like that, the noise of the party faded, the lights dulled, and all that existed was the way her mouth moved against yours— easy, effortless, and too soft for something that had burned for so long.

Like an exhale.

a/n: wow. let me know if you liked it! i kind of hate it!

#paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige x reader

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maddamoiselle · 1 day ago

Text

The Weight of Wanting You

Pairing: Caleb x NonMC!Reader Synopsis: You fell for each other in pixels and whispers—never realizing you had already crashed into each other every day in real life.

Tags: Ennemies to lovers, friends to lovers, university AU, slow burn( I hope) Author's nonsense : Here is the next chapter. I won't lie, i really enjoy it even if it was difficult to write everything in that chapter. I hope you will enjoy. it. Words: 6769 <- Previous Chapter

Chapter III: Weightless, For a Moment

“ What do you think, doctor? What can you tell me about these?”

Zayne was staring at your pills, moving it between his gloved fingers. His eyes were cold as usual, not showing any information that would make you feel better or worse. His impassible face never betrays any thoughts.

”What are they for? I see no name on it.”

”Yeah. My dad gives them to me. Says they help with focus and stabilising my Evol. But… I don’t know.”

You could see it already— the shift in his posture, the fickler in his eyes. He was reading between the lines.

”You think he is lying?”

You paused. There was no judgment in his voice, just curiosity. You didn’t want to say it out loud, but since Caleb had said that your father was working with Ever….

Why were you trusting his words more than your own father’s?

”I don’t know Zayne…”

Zayne stared at you before going behind his desk. His finger flew on his keyboard, watching his computer’s screen seriously.

“Then leave this with me until tonight. I’ll run a full analysis at the lab.”

You smiled at your best friend before hugging him, your arms wrapping around his shoulder as he kept his eyes on his computer. He tapped your arms twice with a slight smile before you back away.

You took your bag, getting ready to ride back to Skyheavan. Why did Zayne's office have to be in Linkon? It would be easier to meet with him if he was closer to SkyHavan..

After finally being back on campus, you put your earbuds in your ears and went for a walk. You checked on your phone if you had any notification from discord but the last message you had gotten from your friend was that he was sick.

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (5:23): im sick

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (5:23) : can you believe that ?

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (5:23): i couldn't finish my jog because i almost faint

WindQueen.exe (6:12): sorry I just woke up :( i didn't see your message

WindQueen.exe (6:12): no you need anything?

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (7:00): holding your hand tonight? :(

When you had received this message this morning, you had chuckled. But it was already past noon and you still haven't received any message since.

Was he feeling that bad?

Maybe you could ask him where his sister was, and maybe you could bring him something to eat..? Or maybe—

“ There she is ! Quickly, Caleb!”

You turned your head toward the voice that shouted your name. You couldn't help but frown at the view of Caleb and his girlfriend. She was waving at you with a big smile, rushing toward you while Caleb was staring at you.

He didn’t seem to feel good…He looked pale. Jaws tensed. There was a faint sheen on his forehead, like he was sweating despite the wind.

But who cared?

“We were looking for you! I wanted to invite you for dinner at our place.”

Huh?

”Huh?”

You took off one of your earbuds. Did you hear correctly?

Your gaze drifted to Caleb. He was staring at you, then looked away. He wasn’t saying anything. Didn’t argue. But something about the way he was holding himself screamed: that wasn’t my idea.

You couldn’t help but smirk.

Time for revenge.

If Caleb thought you wouldn’t get revenge for his words from yesterday and that he went through your stuff? He was greatly mistaken.

”I would love to!”

Caleb’s brow twitched. Just for a second but you caught it. The look he gave you made you smile brighter.

”R-really? I’ll send you the address, it’s in Linkon! We will use ou— my grandma’s house!”

“Linkon? No worries, I know my way there.” You smirked, letting his girlfriend add your number in her phone. You glanced at Caleb, giving him your most innocent smile.

He didn’t say a word.

His eyes narrowed slightly. Like he was trying to figure out what kind of game you were playing. You winked at him before taking back your phone from his girlfriend.

”Then, I’ll see you! You can come around 4pm!”

4pm? Wasn’t it too early for dinner?

You nodded at her while she was trying to send you a message, making sure she noted your number correctly. Caleb leaned toward your ear, his lips stretching in his usual polite smile while his girlfriend was yapping to the two of you, her eyes on her phone.

“Didn’t take your pills today? You’re more of a pain in the ass than usual.”

You beamed at him before bringing your hand to his forehead. He wanted to play? Let’s play then.

“Awn, Caleb, are you okay? You look a bit sick…”

You didn’t expect to feel him burning against your palm. Not just a little warm. Fever-hot.

Your eyes widened while he took a step back, quicker than you expected. He was looking at you like he was daring you to say anything. You glanced at his girlfriend before nodding at him.

He did not want his pipsqueak to worry… That was cute in a way.

“You’re seriously ill,” you said quietly. “And you’re just pretending you’re not?”

He shrugged.

“You’re seriously annoying. And you’re not pretending at all.”

But the edge was softer than before. A little… off-balance.

And you knew he felt it too — that split second when your fingers touched his skin and his walls almost dropped.

Just for a breath.

“Then, should we go?”

You didn’t know how it happened, but Caleb’s girlfriend tugged you with them asking if you were okay with coming with them to do some groceries shopping. You wanted to refuse but as soon as you spotted Caleb’s expression, you accepted with a huge smile.

Then your body tensed.

Fuck, you were supposed to meet with your discord’s friend tonight! You checked your phone and couldn’t help being even more worried as you still haven’t received any message from him.

The wind has picked up again. You were walking slowly, half-listening to his girlfriend chatting beside you. Caleb was a few steps behind, as usual — quiet, unreadable.

But your fingers were already in your pocket, wrapped around your phone.

You opened Discord like a nervous tic.

Still no reply from Grav1ty.D3n1ed.

That last message—

"Grav1ty.D3n1ed (7:00): holding your hand tonight? :(?"

It had been hours.

You hesitated. Then type:

You hit send and tried not to overthink it.

WindQueen.exe (12:59): still alive?

WindQueen.exe (12:59): should i start drafting your digital memorial post?

You almost pocketed the phone again when the typing bubble appeared.

Your chest fluttered — ridiculous, but real.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. You were so relieved he had answered so quickly but it also meant he wasn’t resting properly.

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:00): barely alive. 3% battery and 1% human

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:00): but your message just boosted me to 2%

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:00): congrats. you’re medicinal

WindQueen.exe (13:01): wow. my therapist would be so proud

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:01): seriously tho

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:01): it’s dumb how much that helped

A pause. Then:

WindQueen.exe (13:02): yeah well

WindQueen.exe (13:02): i’d kinda rather you didn’t die

WindQueen.exe (13:02): even if you are insufferable

You bite your lip. The smile couldn’t go away. How could his words make you feel so at ease when you were currently with Caleb and his girlfriend going to the shop to prepare dinner.

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:02): i’ll stay alive

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:02): if only to keep being insufferable to you

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:02): deal?

Weren’t you supposed to be the guest? Why were you here already?

You slid the phone back into your pocket, heart lighter.

WindQueen.exe (13:03): deal.

WindQueen.exe (13:03) but i’m raising the price soon.

WindQueen.exe (13:03) emotional labor ain’t cheap

For just a second, everything feels less heavy.

You were still smiling when you slid your phone into your coat pocket, the wind brushing lightly over your face like it’s caught your mood.

You turned, instinctively, your gaze flicking behind you—

And froze.

Caleb was still a few steps back.

Head slightly bowed. Shoulders more relaxed than usual.

He was looking down at his phone.

And he was smiling.

Not the smirk he wore when he was being smug. Not the sarcastic grin he threw you like a knife.

A real smile.

Small. Quiet. Private.

The kind you didn’t think he was capable of.

Your heart skipped a bit. Just a little.

Because whoever he was texting… must have been someone truly special. You knew Caleb was loved, from his friend to anyone on campus. But you couldn’t help but think he was living for others' expectations. That was why his smile always seemed… fake? But right now…

You’ve never seen him look at anyone like that. Not even his girlfriend.

Then he noticed you looking.

The smile vanished in a blink. His posture sharpened. His walls snapped back into place.

“What?” He muttered.

“Nothing,” you lied, turning away too fast. “Just surprised your face doesn’t crack when you smile.”

He didn’t answer.

But you didn’t miss the way his fingers tighten around his phone before he slipped it into his pocket — like he was protecting something precious.

Your head turned toward his girlfriend who had a fond smile on her face. You looked at her hands and noticed she had her phone between her fingers.

Maybe they were texting each other.

That explained everything. Mystery solved.

His girlfriend looped her arm through yours the second you stepped into the store.

“We need snacks, something sweet, and something spicy,” she announced. “That way, dinner reflects all our personalities.”

You glanced behind you.

Caleb was trailing a few steps behind, dragging the wheeled cart like it personally offended him.

“What does that make him?” you asked, nodding toward Caleb.

She grinned. “The spice. Obviously.”

“Please,” you muttered. “He’s the bitter aftertaste.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow as he passed you.

“And you’re what, air-popped popcorn? All hiss, no bite?”

“At least I don’t ruin every dish I’m in.”

“At least you admit you belong in the microwave.”

You glared. He smirked. His girlfriend, oblivious or pretending to be, hummed as she dragged you down the candy aisle.

“You guys have such a dynamic,” she beamed, “It’s like watching a live drama. Except the leads would rather kill each other than kiss.”

You and Caleb spoke at the same time:

You cringed while Caleb messed with his girlfriend’s hair while she was laughing. What kind of girlfriend jokes about her boyfriend being in a relationship with another girl..?

“Exactly.”

“God, no.”

You trailed behind her as she scanned for snacks. But then, you felt your phone buzz again. Your fingers twitched for it. You wanted to check if he replied again.

Then you glanced over.

Caleb’s leaning against the freezer section, trying not to look like he's shivering, his phone in his hand. You narrowed your eyes.

“Are you still burning up, or is that just your personality?”

He didn’t even look up from his phone.

“Worried about me, wind girl?”

“Nope. Just checking if I need to buy ice for your face.”

He gave you a lazy once-over and muttered:

“I’m just sick of you, nothing to worry about.”

Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.

His pipsqueak bounced off with a dramatic gasp about “the perfect brand of noodles” and vanished around the corner, leaving you and Caleb alone in the aisle.

You were glaring at him over a bag of rice crackers. He was pretending to compare two brands of instant soup like it’s a life-or-death decision.

“You know that one has fake protein, right?” you said, pointing at the one in his hand.

“So do your insults, but you still serve them.”

Some years in jail might be cosy. Or after killing him you could maybe go in the 109Zone, start a new life–

You were mid-eye roll, about to roast him over his tragic soup choices, when you both heard it:

Creak. Creak…

You turned at the same time.

The cart was rolling.

Then it picked up speed — those cursed little plastic wheels clicking faster and faster as it turned the corner.

“Wait—”

“You let go!” you accused.

“You were standing closer to it!”

Neither of you thought— You just ran.

Full sprint.

Down the aisle, around the corner, nearly colliding with a stack of discount marshmallows.

“Left! Go left!” you yelled.

“I know how to chase a cart, thanks!”

“Do you? You look like a dying giraffe!”

“I hate you.”

The cart was now flying down the sloped aisle, heading straight toward a precarious wall of fruit juice boxes.

“If it crashes, it’s your fault!”

“We are literally chasing this together!”

In a blur of limbs and questionable decision-making, you both reached it at the same time.

You slammed into his side, lost your footing, and stumbled forward. Caleb was already crouched low from the momentum, and as you hit him—

Caleb lunges for the cart handle, a second before you did.

He got one hand on it — yanked it sideways to slow it down.

You dived too, going for the side to stop the cart from tipping.

You fell on top of him, arms instinctively braced on either side of his chest.

The cart wobbled... but didn’t fall.

Neither did you.

Instead, you both hit the floor in a tangle, your legs bent awkwardly, hands still gripping the cart from opposite sides.

You were half-kneeling, one leg over Caleb’s lap, your palms flat on the floor to keep from collapsing all the way. He was partially sitting, elbows behind him, one knee up, his free hand still holding the cart upright.

Your faces were way too close — like inches apart. You could count each other’s freckles. You could feel the heat of a blush.

You were still half-on top of him, arms braced, his hand still gripping the cart handle like it wronged him personally.

Panting. Sweaty. A little stunned.

For a second, you just blinked at each other.

Your noses were way too close.

“…Well,” you muttered breathlessly. “Teamwork.”

“You elbowed me in the ribs.”

“And saved your life. You’re welcome.”

You both scrambled up, pretending nothing happened, brushing off imaginary dust. You looked at the cart, making sure everything was still inside while Caleb was rubbing his knees.

You glanced at him—

And then you lost it.

The laugh tears out of you — loud, full, unstoppable. The kind that made you bend forward and slapped your knee. You tried to stop, but it just kept coming.

Caleb stared at you like you’ve finally snapped.

“...Are you broken?” he asked, blinking.

You gasped through laughter, barely able to breathe.

“We—we chased it! Like idiots!”

“Because it was moving!”

“We have evol!”

That was when it hit him.

His face scrunched. His mouth twitched.

Then he started laughing too — lower, rougher, shaking his head as he leaned against the cart.

“We could’ve stopped it in two seconds.”

“I can literally move air. You control gravity!”

“Why did we run like civilians?!”

You were both wheezing now, practically leaning on each other from how hard you’re laughing. You could see Caleb’s cheeks getting redder and you wondered if he was truly laughing at the situation or if his fever was getting the best of him.

“Oh my god, we’re so dumb,” you managed to say, wiping your eyes.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said, still laughing.

You were still laughing, both of you breathless, when a wicked little grin curled onto your face. You straightened up, adjusted your hair dramatically, and said in the most innocent voice possible:

“This was fun. Can’t wait to tell your girlfriend how you heroically almost died saving canned soup.”

Caleb froze.

“Don’t.”

Your grin widened. You took a step back.

“Oh no. I’m definitely telling her.”

“I swear on–.”

“I’m going to open with: ‘He screamed when it wobbled.’”

You ran.

You bolted down the aisle like you’re chasing victory itself, giggling, heart pounding.

Then — the air shifted.

Suddenly, your feet felt heavy. Not stuck, just... slowed.

Your steps dragged for a second before you glanced back over your shoulder—

Caleb’s hand was raised. His Evol was active, subtle, but definitely there. He would not use his evol to stop a moving cart, but of course he would use it against you.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”

He walked toward you, unbothered.

“You started it.”

You laughed again, stumbling forward with exaggerated effort.

“Abusing gravity to protect your pride? That’s low, even for you.”

“You threatened to tattle. That’s war.”

The moment he got close enough to reach, you ducked behind the cart, still laughing, using it like a shield.

“I’ll tell her you cried for my help.”

“I will float you.”

“You wish.”

Caleb stared at you with a mocking smile while you sneakily took an item from the aisle behind you. He was stalking toward you, slow, calm, with that infuriatingly smug face like he already won.

“Come on,” he said smoothly. “Take the L. Just admit I’m faster than you at reacting.”

You grab a pack of rice crackers and toss it in his direction. He catches it midair without flinching.

“You’re not faster,” you huff. “You’re just cheating.”

“It’s not cheating if it’s strategy.”

“You pulled me back using gravity.”

“You threw snacks at me.”

“That was self-defense.”

You squinted at him. He was smirking. And you were still crouched like you’re guarding treasure.

And that’s when it happens.

You both just... laughed.

Not mockingly. Not sarcastically.

Just—honestly.

You were still sitting on the floor, and he’s got his hands in his pockets, watching you with something softer in his eyes now. Something unsure.

“You’re kind of fun when you’re not acting like a brick wall,” you said, breathless.

He shrugged, chuckling.

“You’re kind of tolerable when you’re not trying to….”

A beat of silence.

Your eyes meet.

You were smiling shyly. He wasn’t looking at you with those cold eyes he always seemed to wear when you were nearby. And for once—neither of you looked away.

“...Are we seriously having a good time right now?” you asked, almost whispering.

“I’m not ready to admit that,” he answered quietly.

You stood up again, smiling to yourself. You weren’t ready to admit it either. It was better to be an enemy than… whatever that was.

After five more minutes, his girlfriend came back. Of course, you tried to tell him about how Caleb kneeled in front of you, thanking you for saving the cart but he had already his hand on your mouth, making sure you couldn’t tell anymore lies.

You could see his girlfriend beaming at the two of you. She pushed Caleb and you to the register where Caleb paid for the groceries, making his girlfriend pout. He gave her a soft smile, rustled her hair before holding the bags.

They truly seemed to love each other.

You were staring at the couple who was deciding if it wouldn't be better to eat at Caleb’s place. Caleb didn’t want the frozen food to heat with the sun but his girlfriend really wanted to go to Linkon. Your eyes were on Caleb and you couldn’t help but notice that he was sweating more than a few minutes ago.

His fever.

You finally said to his girlfriend that it would be better for you to stay in Skyhavan and that you would come to her house another day. She sighed but didn’t say anything else. In the end, the three of you took a cab to Caleb’s apartment.

You weren’t expecting his place to feel so... normal.

Clean, quiet, lived-in — a soft scent of citrus and something warm already coming from the kitchen. You watch from the bar counter, arms resting lazily over the surface, as Caleb stood at the stove, sleeves pushed up, brow furrowed like sautéing onions was a life-or-death mission.

“Never thought you’d be the type to cook,” you teased lightly.

He didn’t even look up.

“Did you think I survived on sheer rage?”

“Instant noodles and … I don’t know, Apple juice?.”

He snorted

“Close.”

His girlfriend appeared beside you with a drink in hand and a dreamy little sigh.

“He’s always like this,” she says. “All serious when he’s focused. It’s kind of hot, right?”

You gave her a sideways smile and sipped your water to avoid saying something like, unfortunately, yes.

“He burns everything when he’s distracted though,” She added with a wink. What was she trying to do?

You glanced back at him.

He’s got a little smudge of sauce on his jaw. His face is slightly pink from the heat, or his fever, hair messier than usual. And for once… he wasn’t trying to glare a hole through you. He was just existing. Focused. Calm.

And it’s weirdly—

Endearing.

“You gonna stand there judging or be useful?” he muttered without turning around.

“I’m excellent at moral support.”

“Great. Morally support the chopping board.”

He slid a knife across the counter to you without looking.

You blinked.

“Giving me a knife? Can I use it on you?”

“ Is that your kink?”

“Wha–”

“Quickly, cut the vegetables,” he ordered you.

So, here you were; chopping vegetables like a somewhat-functioning human, stealing glances when you thought he wouldn't notice.

Caleb stood just beside you, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, forearms tense and smooth as he stirred the pan. His movements were precise, efficient — and annoyingly, really nice to look at.

You watched the subtle flex of muscle when he tilted the skillet, the way his veins show faintly as he grips the handle with practiced ease.

You blinked, realizing you’ve been staring. You quickly look back down at the cutting board before he—

“You’re gonna slice your fingers off if you keep looking at me like that.”

You froze.

“I wasn’t—”

“Sure.”

He didn’t smirk. He didn’t gloat.

Just glanced at you from the corner of his eye, calm and unreadable.

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re not that interesting.”

“You stared at my arms for a solid ten seconds.”

“I was judging your lack of seasoning technique.”

“Right. And blushing because?”

You were not blushing. Probably. Maybe a little.

“It’s warm here.”

“Sure.”

You threw a carrot slice at him but he caught it without looking and tossed it into the pan. You hated how smooth it was. You hated that Caleb was good at almost everything… even sick.

“Show-off.”

“Flustered.”

“Keep talking and I’m adding hot sauce to everything.”

“Joke’s on you. I like it spicy.”

You hated that your stomach flipped. What was that?

You chopped faster.

What the fuck was happening? Were you affection-starved? Since when were you feeling soft for Caleb? Remember? He thought of you as … someone dangerous. He was mostly being nice because his girlfriend must have asked him to. You felt your body relaxed.

Yeah, that was the reason.

The food was done.

Somehow, you haven’t set anything on fire or launched anything into the ceiling, which feels like a miracle in itself.

Caleb reached into the cabinet for plates. You’re beside him, arms crossed loosely, trying to pretend your heart isn’t racing from the way he said “spicy” earlier like it was a challenge.

He slid the plates onto the counter. You reached to grab one—

And so does he.

Your fingers brushed.

It was barely a touch. Just skin against skin, knuckles against palm. But neither of you pulled away. Not right away.

Your hand still. His did too. Warm and solid against yours.

The hum of the stovetop. The clink of his girlfriend’s mug in the other room. But all you heard was your pulse in your ears.

You glanced up.

Caleb was already looking at you. Not smirking. Not mocking. Just... looking. Like he noticed something too. Like maybe this — whatever this was — was scaring him a little bit, the same way it was scaring you.

“You gonna move or make me carry the whole plate with your hand on it?” he says, voice low.

You blinked.

Snorted softly.

“Tempting. But I don’t want to be gravity-slammed into your fridge.”

You both pulled your hands back at the same time.

He cleared his throat.

You grabbed the plate and turned to grab silverware — heart in your throat, fingers tingling.

It meant nothing. Nothing. He was being nice for his girlfriend, and he was mostly making sure you weren't a threat.

You tell yourself that.

But you were still smiling.

You stepped into the hallway for a second, phone already in your hand before you realize you’re reaching for comfort. Or distraction. Or him.

Grav1ty.D3n1ed.

You opened Discord. Stared at the blinking cursor.

Then you type:

WindQueen.exe (19:54): help

You hesitated. Then sent. You needed to find your safe comfort zone with him. Maybe he would help you understand what was going on in your head… or heart?

A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared.

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:55): oh no

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:55): do i need to call for backup

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:55): my wind queen down??

WindQueen.exe (19:56): i’m in enemy territory. WindQueen.exe (19:56): if i die, tell my story

WindQueen.exe (19:56): tell them i fell victim to forearms and homemade pasta

You smiled down at the screen.

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:57): noted.

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:57): gravestone will read:

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:57): “she never stood a chance”

The irony hit you like a quiet wave.

You were texting the one person who made your heart feel safe… While standing just feet away from the one person who made it race.

WindQueen.exe (19;59) : okay real question

WindQueen.exe (19;59) : what’s the difference between lust and a crush?

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;00): damn jumping straight into philosophy huh

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;00): is this a test

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;00): do i need to submit a 3-page essay?

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;01): ah. the “do i want to kiss you or punch you or both” dilemma

WindQueen.exe (20;00): nope. i’m just confused

WindQueen.exe (20;00): because like... how do you know if you like someone

WindQueen.exe (20;00): or if you just think they’re hot 😭

WindQueen.exe (20;01): EXACTLY

WindQueen.exe (20;01): i don’t trust my brain

WindQueen.exe (20;01): or my face. or my hands. or my taste in people

WindQueen.exe (20;03): horrible… What if it’s both?

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20:02): okay okay

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20:02); lust is mostly about wanting someone physically

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20:02); a crush is when they breathe wrong and your brain short-circuits anyway

WindQueen.exe (20:04): great. love that for me. i’m gonna die surrounded by stupid emotions and nice shoulders

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;03): if you’re both mentally and physically down bad, congrats

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;03): you might be doomed 💀

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;04): ...whose shoulders 😐

WindQueen.exe (20;04): 👀 you jealous?

You couldn’t help but bite your lips, were you too straightforward? But you were both flirting right now right? You so wanted him to… desire you. Were you greedy?

WindQueen.exe (20;05): you always are

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;05): depends

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;05): am i still your favorite?

WindQueen.exe (20;05): im blushing too hard right now, stop making me pathetic

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;05): then yeah

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;05): definitely jealous

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;06): good

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;06): because i’m not planning on losing you to some random guy

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;06): even if he does make good pasta

He was jealous. Like... really jealous. And not hiding it.

Your stomach flipped. Your toes curled in your socks. Your cheeks were so hot you almost wondered if Caleb had given you his fever.

You were now sitting on the cool floor in the hallway, knees drawn up, back against the wall. The light was soft here — just enough to make shadows curled at the edges of your legs.

Your phone sat warm in your palm, Grav1ty.D3n1ed’s last message still lingering on the screen:

“Good. Because I’m not planning on losing you.”

Your breath caught.

There was no name. No face. Just words.

But he always knew exactly how to say them.

You glanced around, pulse tapping beneath your skin like a drumbeat. Caleb was still in the kitchen, you hoped, you didn’t hear any noise from the kitchen for a while now. His girlfriend was still humming in the living room down the hall.

You raised your phone.

No face. Never your face.

Just a glimpse of your shoulder, the curve of your neck, your fingers lifted into the frame to form a crooked, soft half-heart again.

The shadows did most of the work. Your shirt slipped just slightly to the side. A little breeze from your Evol lifted a strand of your hair into the shot — a whisper of who you are without giving anything away.

You snapped the photo.

Then, you typed slowly.

You hit send.

WindQueen.exe (20;07): tell me,

WindQueen.exe (20;07): if i drive you crazy like this

WindQueen.exe (20;07): is it lust?

WindQueen.exe (20;07): or am i just a crush you haven’t solved yet?

…

Why did you do that? Just because a man was jealous over you didn’t mean you could just.. What if he thought you were desperate? What if he was just friendly flirting like you have been doing since you knew each other? What if–

Your head snapped up when you heard dishes crashing in the kitchen. What was Caleb doing? Did his fever make him fall? You should go and check.

You looked at your phone and froze.

You punch the air with your fist, pressing your forehead against the wall, giggling to yourself. You were basically jumping while trying to keep quiet. How could he make you feel so good at yourself?

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): it’s both fuck its both

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): you’re a crush that won’t leave my head

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): and a touch i have felt only once but already miss

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): and if you keep doing this, i will lose sleep tonight

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): remember im sick i almost faint at your picture, dont do this to me

You turned around and almost shot out in fear when Caleb ran past you. He didn't even look at you, his face was so red and yet his eyes seemed… hungry. He opened a door– you guessed it was his bedroom– before slamming the door shut.

You went to his girlfriend, asking if everything was okay but she just smiled brightly at you. She asked you to sit as the dinner was ready. You both put the silverware on the table and waited for Caleb. After ten minutes, his girlfriend went upstairs to check on him white you took your phone from your pocket with an excited smile.

He had sent you a picture.

You opened the image, breath caught somewhere between curiosity and something you wouldn’t name. The photo loaded slowly, like it knew it was about to knock the air out of your lungs.

His hand was there, fingers curled into a half-heart — just like yours.

But what drew your eyes was what’s around it.

He was clearly shirtless.

The edge of his bare chest was just visible in the shot — cut off carefully, but not by accident. You could see the lines of his collarbone, the faint slope of muscle leading down from his neck, just a shadow of where skin curved into his shoulder.

His forearm was resting across his bare stomach, where the light hit soft against the defined outline of his abs — nothing graphic, but enough to make your heart tripped.

There was a towel slung low at his hip, like he’d just dried his hands. It clung to the frame like it wasn’t meant to be there, like the photo was taken fast — impulsively.

But the half-heart was steady.

His message came seconds later.

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;15); fair’s fair

Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;15); now you’ve got a piece of me too ;)

The air felt warmer than it did before.

You stared.

Eyes wide.

Mouth parted.

You didn’t notice when Caleb and his girlfriend joined you on the table. Caleb was still red and he kept checking on his phone. His girlfriend asked him to stop so he could join the conversation but you were also too busy staring at the picture.

The dinner ended pretty quickly, you managed to let go of your phone and have a nice discussion with the two of them. You didn’t want to stay too long, you still had stuff to do–

Your eyes fell on your phone when you heard its ringing.

Zayne.

You excused yourself, taking your phone while going on the balcony. You answered before the second buzz.

“Zayne?”

He didn't waste time.

“You were right to be suspicious.”

Your pulse spiked.

“What do you mean?”

You heard him shuffle through something — papers? Digital reports?

“They’re not supplements. They’re not even legal. These pills mess with cognitive-emotional pathways. They suppress fight-or-flight, long-term emotional memory, even empathy in certain thresholds.”

You leaned against the wall, wind stirring around your ankles. You weren’t even sure you were understanding everything he was saying.

“You’re saying they were trying to make me—what—less emotional?”

“Less human,” Zayne said quietly.

You felt your breath catch. Less human…?

“How did you test it so fast?”

Zayne hesitated. Then:

“Because it wasn’t the first time they were used.”

Silence.

You gripped the phone tighter.

“...What?”

“The same compound came up in another report. Another patient. Same structure. Same imprint mark. But that subject didn’t make it past phase three.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Phase three of what?”

He didn't answer.

But you already knew.

You’ve heard your father say it before. In passing. In clinical tones you never paid attention to.

And now, it felt like the ground under you wasn't real.

You whispered a thank you to Zayne, you lowered the phone slowly, hand trembling, the wind curling tighter around your legs like it wanted to wrap you up and carry you far away. You could still hear your best friend’s voice trying to call for you but you couldn’t even understand his words.

You stared at the sky like it might hold an answer.

That’s when you felt it — a shift in the air. A pull behind you. Not the wind.

Gravity.

Your spine stiffened.

“You heard that, didn’t you?” you whispered, not turning.

There was a pause.

Then Caleb’s voice — low, unreadable:

“Every word.”

You turned. Slowly. He was standing a few feet away, hood down now, dark hair messy from fever-slick sweat, but his eyes…

His eyes were clear.

Not angry. Not smug.

Just… sharp. Watching.

You shook your head, something cold curling in your chest.

“So what now? You think I’m just another project Ever messed with? That I’m broken?”

He stepped closer. Not enough to scare you. Just enough that the night air buzzed between you.

“No,” he whispered. “Now I think you didn’t know.”

You froze.

“I thought you were like him,” Caleb murmured. “I thought you knew what he was doing to you. I thought you were on their side… that's why I was mad when you hurted her in your first year.”

Your throat tightened. You didn’t know what to say. That was why Caleb hated you since day one. He thought you were just a tool that could be used… that you hurted his girlfriend because Ever asked you to?

Then he added, quieter:

“But watching you shake like that just now? That wasn’t fake.”

You looked away, blinking hard. You were so lost, like you were inside a storm where you couldn't find solid ground. Slowly, your body slid to the ground until you were sitting against the wall, staring at the night sky.

“What am I supposed to do, Caleb?”

You felt sick. Cold.

You didn't realize you were trembling until something warm wrapped gently around your wrist.

You flinched, startled.

It was Caleb.

He didn’t say anything at first.

He just crouched down in front of you where you’ve sat against the wall, head buried in your arms. His hand stayed there — not grabbing, not forcing — just anchoring you back to this moment.

“You didn’t choose this,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him. His voice didn’t sound like it usually does — not sharp, not sarcastic. Just steady. Heavy with something he was holding back.

“They fed you lies. They used you. That’s not on you.”

You tried to laugh, but it died in your throat.

“I took them willingly, Caleb. I… I trusted him.”

You didn’t need to say who. He knew..

He didn’t flinch, but you could see in his eyes. He was looking at you like he knew your pain. Like he already lived this kind of suffering you were going through.

“And I hated you for it,” he said, softly but without shame. “I thought you were one of them. I thought you knew. But you didn’t.”

He shifted, kneeling now in front of where you sat.

“You’re not weak for believing in the people you loved.”

His hand moved gently — his gravity tampering down around you like a safety net. You felt the subtle weight of the world settle, not to crush, but to hold you still. Like he was saying:

You’re not floating away. I won’t let you.

Your breathing evens out. Slowly.

You whispered, broken:

“I don’t know who I am anymore… I don’t know who I am without them.”

He met your eyes, gaze steady.

“Then we’ll find out together.”

You looked at him, his face blurry because of the tear in your eyes. You gave him a soft smile before his eyes fell to your phone. You realized Zayne was still there. Caleb frowned before gently taking your phone from your hands, watching if you made any moves that showed you didn't want it.

He put your phone on speaker.

“Zayne..?”

“Caleb? Why are you here? Is she okay?”

You stared at the scene. Caleb was talking with your best friend, Zayne, like they were childhood friends. You couldn’t help but chuckled when Caleb blushed a bit at Zayne’s remark about how he comforted you.

“And you’re still bad at pretending you don’t care,” Zayne replied in his stern voice.

“Wait. Are you two... friends?”

“Absolutely not.” they both said at the same time.

“Zayne, Caleb and I are childhood friends."

You turned around and noticed Caleb’s girlfriend smiling softly at you. You quickly wiped your tears but she offered you tissues with a smile full of understanding.

“ Well, it has been a while since we saw Zayne, because of his work but…” She said, blushing a bit and playing with her hair.

You were so lost, what was happening right now?

You felt her lips against your ears as she whispered to you.

“I’m sorry, I kind of spied on you and Caleb. I’m sorry about what you learned but…I truly want us to be friends.”

You turned your face toward her with a sorry smile. She was truly adorable, looking at you with big hopeful eyes.

“Being friends with your boyfriend’s enemy isn't for the faint of heart.”

“Oh, Caleb isn’t my boyfriend.”

Okay, what the fuck was happening? Too much information, not enough emotional capacity to understand all of this.

You stared at her with big eyes, your mouth wide open.

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” She giggled, blushing a bit. “He just needed a girlfriend to be left alone. I volunteered. And now he has to cook dinner for me each time we see each other." She looked at you before blushing even more and whispered in your ears. “I am in love with someone else…”

You followed her gaze that fell on your phone. Zayne’s voice was still coming out of the device.

Oh my—

“Well, now that we are all friends! Should we make a plan to take down Ever?”

---

Taglist: @xyzbeloved @deepspace-fishie @floofycookie @silmeria-lafleur @pagesfalling @noxus123 @sylusgirlie7 @anuncalledbridge @napforalifetime @starlitkitten @floofycookie

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orellazalonia · 2 days ago

Note

orella,

Hey hey! Could I request a bucky x reader where Bucky is the head of HYDRA but the reader doesn't know about her husbands business and what it actually entails even though she visits his office every day? I was also wondering if maybe it could be set around the 1940s time period where the reader is a housewife and she's good friends with Steve and Peggy, who know about Bucky and his line of work?

Thank you so much I love your work 👏👏👏 it's so beautiful each time I read a new story I jump with happiness :)

Hello, dear. Thank you for the kind words! I’m so glad to hear you’ve been enjoying my work so far. I have been so eager to get to your request, it sounded so interesting! I absolutely loved Bucky in this one honestly. So, I hope you enjoy it as well! Happy reading!!!

To Love and Lie

Summary: In 1940s Brooklyn, you're a devoted housewife blissfully unaware that your charming husband, Bucky Barnes, is secretly the head of HYDRA. As small cracks begin to show and your curiosity grows, Bucky works to gently steer you away from the truth while your friends Steve and Peggy, who know everything, say nothing. (1940s AU | Soft!Dark!Bucky Barnes x Housewife!reader)

Word Count: 2.1k+

Main Masterlist

The smell of fresh bread clung to your coat as you walked down the quiet Brooklyn street, gloved fingers clutching a thermos of chamomile tea.

The morning’s chores were already behind you: laundry hung, dinner planned, and the floors scrubbed until they shone like war medals. The sky was overcast, but you didn’t mind. You had a routine, and routine made you feel like everything was right. It was just past noon, and as always, you were on your way to visit your husband at work.

The building was tall and gray, tucked discreetly between a hardware store and an old war bond office. The sign out front simply read "Strategic Resource Development." It sounded vague and official, the way most government-related work did these days.

You didn’t know exactly what your Bucky did. Something to do with security or defense. That’s all he ever said, and you never pushed. It wasn’t a wife’s place, not during wartime.

Every day, the men at the door greeted you politely, their uniforms sharply pressed with their expressions unreadable. You smiled sweetly at them in return. They never asked who you were. They knew. You were Mrs. Barnes, always dressed neatly, always carrying something small and homemade for your husband, and always punctual like clockwork.

You didn’t work or have a job. Bucky wouldn’t have it, not when he could provide. So most of your days were spent tending the apartment, writing in your little journal, swapping recipes with the older women down the hall, and sometimes having tea with Peggy or Steve when they were in town.

They were good people, old friends of your husband. They always smiled when they saw you, always asked if you were well. But sometimes… there was something tight in the way Steve’s jaw would twitch when you asked how he and Bucky have been at work. And Peggy, sharp as a whip and confident, always seemed like she wanted to say something she didn’t.

But you didn’t dwell on it. You were happy and you loved your life.

You rode the elevator to the top floor, heart fluttering in that familiar way it did whenever you got to see Bucky in the middle of his busy day. You imagined the way his face would soften when he saw you, how his eyes would crinkle, how he’d take the tea from your hands with a quiet thank you and brush a kiss over your temple.

That’s what love looked like. That’s what a good marriage felt like.

You paused outside the door to his office, noticing the usual receptionist wasn’t present at the moment. So, you smoothed out your dress and made sure your lipstick hadn’t smudged. You didn’t knock just yet. You listened first to make sure you weren’t interrupting. Most of the time, it was quiet. Today… it wasn’t.

You could hear voices, low and tense, and something metallic. A clink, or a slide of machinery. You furrowed your brow but didn’t linger long. You stepped back and turned toward the secretary’s desk, just as the door suddenly opened.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky’s office didn’t feel like yours.

You couldn’t quite explain the shift in air, the way the men in the room turned to look at you not with recognition, but curiosity. They were dressed in black, not navy or green, and there was an odd symbol carved into the wall, not a flag or an eagle. Something colder. A skull that looked like it had tentacles coming out from it. You blinked.

And there was Bucky. Standing at the head of them all.

He wasn’t startled. He wasn’t smiling. He was… composed. Unmoving. Like he’d expected you. Or like you were a problem he needed to solve.

“Sweetheart,” He said, stepping forward, his voice soft but layered. “You’re early.”

Your fingers tightened around the thermos. Suddenly, it felt heavier than it had an hour ago.

“I… brought your tea.”

He took it from your hand, his smile small, almost indulgent. Behind him, the men remained silent. They didn’t move. They didn’t speak. You felt eyes on you from every corner of the room.

Bucky looked at you gently, the same way he always did.

“Come in,” He said.

And like a good wife, you did.

You stepped inside, heels soft against the dark polished floor, the familiar weight of your coat suddenly stifling. The air in the office was colder than usual, the lights dimmer that cast long shadows behind the broad shoulders of the men in black.

You tried not to look too long at them, at the strange octopus-looking symbol, at the quiet tension that seemed to hum in the air like static.

Bucky closed the door behind you with a soft click. The sound made you flinch. He noticed.

He moved toward you, his posture easing as he reached out to gently take your hand in his. “You alright, doll?”

You blinked up at him, nodding once. “Yes, I just… I didn’t know you were in a meeting. I thought your secretary would–“

“She had just stepped out,” He interrupted smoothly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You didn’t interrupt anything important.”

You glanced past him at the men who hadn’t moved. “It looked like–”

“Just some internal policy talk,” He tilted his head to meet your eyes. His voice was calm, soothing. “They get a little stiff about it, that’s all. Nothing you need to worry your sweet little head about.”

He let out a short, warm laugh like the tension hadn’t just shifted in the room.

“Besides, you’re the best part of my day. I needed a break anyway.”

You smiled a little, because he was the best part of your day. He always had been. Bucky was the steady center of your world. And even now, when the room felt off and your chest felt tight, he looked at you with the same eyes that tucked you into bed every night, kissed your forehead every morning, and held your hand when the news from overseas got too grim.

Still, something about that strange symbol behind his desk lingered in your mind.

“What is that on the wall?” You asked quietly, nodding toward it. “It looks… new.”

Bucky glanced back over his shoulder, then turned back to you with that practiced, lazy smile. “Just some branding, part of a new division I’m managing. Defense contracts are getting more complicated lately. Gotta look sharp for the boys upstairs.”

You tried to smile back, though your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your gloves, trying to ignore the men who were dead silent. “You never really told me what you do, you know.”

He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “That’s because I’d rather spend our time talking about you.”

You opened your mouth, unsure of what you even meant to say. But he touched your chin lightly, guiding your gaze back to him.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” He murmured, eyes locked with yours. “What I do… it keeps you safe. That’s all you need to know.”

Your breath caught, and you nodded again. “Of course. I didn’t mean to–”

“Shh.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “It’s alright. You’ve never asked before. Just caught you off guard today, huh?”

You leaned into him, resting your cheek against the warmth of his chest. The tension began to slip away. His heartbeat was steady, familiar.

“I guess so,” You mumbled. “You always seem so calm in here. I didn’t expect it to feel so… serious.”

His hand smoothed down your back. “Well, that’s work. You don’t get to the top without learning how to act the part.”

You smiled at that, eyes closing. You liked hearing that. Your husband who was smart, steady, and respected. Powerful. He always made you feel like the luckiest girl in Brooklyn.

Behind you, the door opened again. A voice, quiet and respectful, murmured something about clearance codes. Bucky turned his head but kept one arm wrapped around you.

“I’ll be just a minute,” He stated firmly. Then, more gently, to you: “Why don’t you wait in my lounge, huh? I’ll bring you home when I’m done.”

You nodded, stepping away slowly.

“Alright, but only if you let me spoil you and our friends for dinner tonight.”

He smiled, eyes warm. “I’ll hold you to it.”

You kissed his cheek and slipped into the side room he kept for private guests full of soft chairs, a small bookshelf, and a radio he’d installed just for you. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the softness faded from Bucky’s face.

He turned back to the men waiting silently.

“Clean this up,” He commanded coldly. “And find out why the damn secretary left her post.”

The dining room was warm and glowing, lit by soft amber lamps and the flickering of two tall candlesticks you'd pulled out for special occasions. Bucky had brought home your favorite flowers, peonies and roses, as they sat in a small vase at the center of the table. You’d spent the afternoon preparing everything just right: the roast perfectly browned, the potatoes buttery and soft, and the pie cooling on the windowsill like something out of a magazine.

Steve arrived first, coat draped over one arm, and cheeks pink from the walk over. He gave you that same boyish smile he always had, a little tired around the edges, but genuine.

“You didn’t have to go all out, you know,” He said as you took his coat.

“You always say that,” You replied, nudging his arm affectionately. “And yet, here you are.”

Peggy followed soon after, elegant even in a simple dress and coat. Her lipstick was a bold red that only she could wear so effortlessly. She kissed your cheek and complimented the smell in the kitchen, but there was something keen behind her eyes, something she always carried when Bucky was in the room.

You didn't see it. Not really. You just figured they were all wound up from the war.

By the time dinner was served, Bucky had joined the table with the rest, freshly washed and changed into his off-duty clothes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his tie was loose. He was good at this. At shifting between warmth and command, between softness and strength. You only saw the former.

Steve and Peggy, however, knew both.

Conversation stayed light for a while. You laughed with Peggy about the disaster that had been your attempt at knitting a sweater, and Steve offered to help fix the radio you kept in the guest room. Bucky chimed in only when you touched his knee beneath the table or when your hand brushed his on the way to refill drinks. He watched everything. He always did.

Eventually, the topic turned as it always did toward the war. Steve asked Bucky something vague about his “department,” and you didn’t catch the full meaning, only the way the two men locked eyes for half a second too long.

You were pouring coffee when you asked, lightly, “Do either of you even know what it is Bucky does, really?”

There was a pause.

Steve looked at Bucky, then at you. His jaw twitched, subtle but not invisible.

“I know enough,” Steve said finally.

You laughed. “That makes one of us.”

Peggy gave a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You trust him. That’s what matters.”

“Of course I trust him,” You replied, glancing toward your husband. “I’m just saying… I walk into that building today and I feel like I’m the only one in the world not in on the joke.”

Bucky reached over, brushing his fingers over yours.

“You don’t need to be in on it,” He said gently. “That’s the point.”

Steve watched the exchange carefully. Peggy took a sip of her coffee, her expression unreadable.

You looked between them. “Do you two know something I don’t?”

“No,” Bucky answered at once, his voice smooth and disarming. “They just know the world’s not always as clean as we’d like it to be. You know how much I’ve worked to make sure you don’t have to worry about all that.”

“I wasn’t worried,” You muttered quietly, pouting almost. “Just… curious.”

Bucky’s thumb traced the back of your hand. “Curiosity’s dangerous in my line of work, sweetheart.”

You felt the heat creep up your neck, but not from fear. From the way he looked at you when he said it. Possessive and protective.

Steve shifted in his chair. “We’ve all got our roles to play and might I say, this roast is divine,” He added, voice taking on a lighter tone.

Peggy caught on, gently changing the subject with a compliment about dessert. You followed the lead easily, slipping back into warmth and comfort, even though something still tugged at the back of your mind. A feeling you couldn’t quite name.

But Bucky held your hand beneath the table the whole time.

And somehow, that made it easier not to ask any more questions.

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel fic #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #soft!dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes #Hydra!bucky barnes #Housewife!reader #1940s bucky

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gilbertscurls · 2 days ago

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parental guidance — matt sturniolo

You had survived many things in life:

A 10-page essay with a 12-hour deadline.

The time your sister cut her own bangs and blamed you.

A near-death experience involving a rogue shopping cart at Costco.

But nothing, nothing, could have prepared you for the emotional rollercoaster of meeting Matt Sturniolo’s parents.

It started with what Matt called “a chill lunch.”

Just “grab a bite with my parents,” he said.

“Nothing serious,” he said.

“You’ll love them,” he said.

And because you were in that disgusting stage of new relationship happiness where you’d agree to go on a 4am hike if Matt asked with a smile, you said yes.

You’d tried to prepare — emotionally, mentally, spiritually — but the moment you stepped out of the car, your brain short-circuited.

Matt, on the other hand, was as chill as ever. "You'll be fine," he said, patting your back with one hand and texting Nick with the other, probably about something deeply important like if they still had that box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the pantry.

"You say that," you whispered, "but what if your mom hates me and your dad challenges me to a duel?"

Matt blinked. "Okay, first of all, this isn’t Bridgerton. Second, even if my dad did challenge you to a duel, it would probably be over whose meatballs are better. You’d win if you brought garlic bread."

Comforting.

You took a deep breath and followed Matt up the steps. MaryLou opened the door before he could even knock.

"Hi honey!" she beamed, immediately pulling Matt into the kind of mom hug that could repair broken bones and emotional trauma. Then her eyes landed on you. “Matt told me so much about you. He said you were beautiful, and he was right. He really loves you.”

Cue internal panic.

He what now?

You glanced at Matt, who was suddenly very interested in the bread basket. The man looked like he was reconsidering all his life choices.

“Uh—” you stammered, because, what was the protocol here? “T-That’s so sweet. I—I love him too— I mean— not that I— I like him! Very much. Like. Deeply. In a non-threatening way.”

Matt physically winced.

MaryLou, however, was glowing. She had zero chill and all the warmth of a Christmas Hallmark movie. She gave your hand a pat-pat like you were a nervous puppy.

“Oh honey,” she smiled, “you’re adorable.”

She pulled you in for a hug, and for a second, it felt like you had passed the final boss of a video game. You were in.

The house smelled like a bakery and looked like Pinterest exploded in the best way. There were seasonal dish towels and a “Live Laugh Love” sign in the kitchen that seemed to stare into your soul. Jimmy was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like he was about to offer life advice or a dad joke. Possibly both.

He shook your hand, strong and warm. “You must be the girl Matt won��t shut up about.”

You blinked. “He talks about me?”

“Oh yeah,” Jimmy grinned. “Says you’re smart, hilarious, keeps him in check—though I’m still not convinced he listens to anyone—but most of all,” he winked, “he says you’re beautiful.”

Your heart did a double backflip.

“And he was right,” Jimmy added sincerely. “He really loves you.”

You stared at him, stunned, while Matt choked on his water behind you.

“DAD.”

Jimmy ignored him, still smiling at you like this was a completely normal, casual Tuesday.

You turned to Matt, your cheeks on fire. “You told them that?”

Matt was red. “I mean... yeah? I wasn’t gonna bring you around if I didn’t—like—y'know—”

“If you didn’t what, Matt?” MaryLou said, crossing her arms and enjoying the show. “Say it.”

Matt groaned. “Oh my god.”

“She already knows you love her,” Jimmy said helpfully. “She just found out ten seconds ago.”

“I’m going to hide in the basement,” Matt muttered, grabbing a cookie from the counter like it was a survival ration and retreating toward the stairs.

“So,” A while later, MaryLou leaned in with the gentle intensity of a therapist who knew you were hiding something, “how did you and Matt meet?”

Matt visibly froze mid-sip of water.

You grinned. “Well, technically, I almost hit him with a door.”

Jimmy blinked.

MaryLou gasped. “No!”

“Oh yes,” you said. “He opened it too fast, I panicked, and accidentally whipped my smoothie at him.”

Matt nodded solemnly. “It was mango. It burned.”

“I offered to buy him a new hoodie,” you added. “And somehow, he agreed to go on a date with the person who mango-assaulted him.”

MaryLou clutched her heart like this was the plot of Titanic.

“That’s— that’s so romantic,” she whispered.

“Romantic?” Jimmy said. “She assaulted him with produce.”

“It was a liquid fruit-based accident,” you clarified.

“Sounds like love at first pulp,” Matt muttered, and you kicked him lightly under the table.

For the next hour, it was a whirlwind of questions, stories, and MaryLou pulling out photos of Matt as a baby that absolutely no one asked for.

“He was such a serious baby,” she said, showing you one where Matt stared directly into the camera like he was about to declare war.

“Bro looked like he was already paying taxes,” you whispered.

“He was born with a furrowed brow,” Jimmy added. “We thought he’d come out quoting Nietzsche.”

You were laughing so hard, you nearly choked on your water.

Eventually, as the meal wound down, Matt finally spoke up. “So... not a total disaster?”

MaryLou reached across the table and took your hand again, eyes warm.

“You’re funny, you’re charming, and you clearly care about my son,” she said. “I can see why he fell for you.”

Matt cleared his throat and looked down, cheeks pink.

Jimmy looked between you and Matt. “You roast him regularly, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” you said.

“Good,” he nodded. “He needs that.”

As you stood to leave, MaryLou hugged you like you’d just passed a sacred rite. Jimmy gave you a firm handshake and a nod of approval. And Matt?

Matt walked you to your car and stood awkwardly by the door.

“Sorry about the whole... ‘he really loves you’ thing,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled. “You told your mom I was beautiful.”

“I mean... yeah.” He shrugged. “You are.”

“And you love me?”

He groaned, but didn’t deny it. “Can we pretend I said it in a less intense way?”

“Nope.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “But I love you too, mango-boy.”

He blinked, then beamed so hard, you almost saw sparkles.

And just like that, meeting the parents wasn’t so scary after all.

(Although you were slightly traumatized by Baby Matt in a diaper and sunglasses. Some images never leave you.)

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming, @backwardshatnick, @whore4chris, @ivysturnss

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wakandamama · 2 days ago

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Wading Towards Shore Part. 5

A/N: Yes! Yall hoes are getting back to back chapters. My heart couldn't take putting my girl Annie through the fucking ringer and not give her a quick turnaround towards happiness. ALSO! Translations at the bottom 😁

Another collapse, another conversation. The final confession before Smoke and Annie can move on to a new stage of life together once and for all

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

When Smoke decided to pour all his faith and trust into Annie, he wasn’t surprised when little odd shit started to happen or follow him. Like the urge to duck, or to avoid a little thing or pick something up. It was never hard for Smoke to trust his gut, he’d done it all his life, Annie simply improved his judgement with her special ways.

What really threw the man off was the dreams.

Smoke was used to nightmares or nothing before meeting Annie and letting her do her thing. But it seemed with just the proximity of sleeping next to her every night did the tune and tone of his dreams change.

Something sinister of his past would chase into Smoke’s mind then suddenly it would become nothing but rain or of him laying in the meadow with his head on her chest. Those lonely nights in Chicago became passionate dreams of Annie riding him and chasing away his blues with her soft touch.

Smoke always made it a point to tell Annie about his dreams, so she could interpret them or put his mind at ease with her wisdom about it. There were only two dreams Smoke hadn’t told his wife about; the first one was the one he had while on the verge of dying from that one klan bullet after their night of Hell. He thought Annie had been killed when Remmick threw her headfirst into the wall of the Juke Joint after she blessed the pond that led to his trap with Sammie. Smoke was completely ready to follow his woman into peace.

Next thing Smoke knew, he was waking up in pain with a bloody, swollen-faced Annie patching him up and pleading for him to come back to her in the harsh noon sun.

Annie sat right by his side, beautiful in the golden hue of the sunset dressed in white with their baby girl on her chest. But instead of handing Mariah over to Smoke’s outstretched arms, Annie had placed her hand right on top of the bullet hole and screamed in his face.

Smoke didn’t need to understand the language of dreams to know what that one meant.

Elijah finds himself alone driving on a long stretch of dirt road in the car away from the Juke Joint. The sky is clear, the heat is mild, the fields full of carnations and lemon trees instead of the delta’s cotton rows. A cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, grey plumes steaming from it. He doesn’t know if he’s been driving for a minute or a million years at the moment, just that he blinks and suddenly a little brown hand is waving him down to pull over.

The next dream he wouldn’t tell his wife about?

A little girl stands on the cross road and starts to wave both hands at him. She is a cute little thing, chubby, chocolate skin dressed in white frills and carnation buds sprinkled in her halo of an afro. Elijah stops the car and she gets in like she owns the vehicle. He spits out the cigarette when her face wrinkles, once it is gone she smiles at him then guides the steering wheel so he turns around the car and starts to the Juke Joint.

He does so. Why didn't he question the little girl? Elijah doesn’t know. The little girl hums gently, kicking her bare feet from where they dangle. Elijah notices she had turquoise beads and cowrie shells wrapped around her ankles and wrist, she even had some around her waist that matches Annie’s.

“Stop the car Poppa.” the girl says softly, her voice wispy like a head of dandelion seeds and Elijah is quick to do as such. They pull over and she points to the Mill pond; it was full of dark rolling water, steam wafted off the surface. Tons of dragonflies skipped on top of it, and two golden fish constantly jumped high then dived deep. Elijah’s breath hitches to see Annie’s shoes, dress and one of her baskets were on the shore of it, tossed carelessly.

After a while the little girl places her hand on top of Elijah’s, it feels much smaller than it appears. And she looks right to his soul with her dark doe eyes. (eyes like her Momma) The pull up the Juke and Smoke is tempted to just drive them straight into the building.

Mariah stands on the seat, she grabs both sides of her father’s face and forces him to look her in the eye. His own grumpy pout reflected at him on a chubby little face.

“Momma drownin’, Poppa. You gotta get her and let hers know ya here.” Mariah instructs, ignoring Elijah’s tears flowing over her little fingers.

“Ma-Mar, babygirl.” Elijah chokes out in realization. Mariah grins at him brightly but shakes her head.

“I ain’t baby girl anymore, Poppa.”

“What?”

Mariah leans in close until her forehead rests on his, her skin is cool and he feels the tiny curls of her baby hair.

“I ain’t the baby no more Poppa.”

“Ma-mariah, please.” Elijah chokes out and he is answered with a light kiss to the cheek.

“You gotta help Momma, Poppa. Hers drownin’ and she don’t wanna know it.”

“I-I, okay.” he breaths. Mariah leans back and gives him a big Mississippi smile with a cute little gap to the left.

Mariah hops out the car and runs towards the pond with a giggle, Elijah races after her. His suit jacket and hat dissolve off him and his pistol crumbles off his hip, leaving him in just his white undershirt and pants.

“Good. Let’s go.”

Mariah’s giggle bubbles around him as he dives in and sinks deep. Elijah quickly spots Annie with a black cloth covering her face as she screams under the water. Two giant golden fish gently circle around her and try to bump her body towards the surface, yet she fights to sink down further. Pleading to drown.

Elijah kicks fiercely through the hot water until he can wrap his arms around Annie round middle and pull her close. Annie flailing arms are like lead but Still Elijah places them around his neck, braces her with an arm around the waist.

Then pulls them both back to the pale blue surface.

Smoke wakes up abruptly with a gasp, sitting up ramrod straight in the chair pulled over to take watch over Annie’s at her bedside. He looks over to Annie and sighs in relief to see she was breathing just fine. Her chest and pulse steady and even, a cold sweat across her neck and forehead.

With a gentle touch Smoke reaches over and cups Annie’s face, frowning to see her brows drawn down in pout of pain. Smoke uses his thumb to gently press it out until Annie sighs.

He rubs his thumb over her cheek, finally aware of the new fullness added to it. Her bottom lip is plumper as well, nose a touch wider, just like they were eight years ago when she was pregnant with Mariah. He can’t help but to kiss her in that order: cheeks, lips, nose. Annie sleepily hums at it but is eased when Smoke rubs her ear.

He gets up, shedding his undershirt and pants, finally able to relax after finding her flushed out and collapsed only a few hours ago. Smoke gets into the bed behind her, pulling her to his chest. Annie snuggles back into him instinctively, the ride of his chest properly settles her back to the deep sleep she was needing.

Smoke ghosts his hand down her side a few times to ease the lingering tightness before sliding his arm around her waist to palm the front of her belly. Annie was still plump, soft and warm but there was a solidness to be found on her stomach, the touch of weight growing to pressing out. A sensation of Annie that scared him just as deeply as it enthralled him. It was a feeling he’d never forget (Eights years erased nothing) and felt utterly blessed by Annie to feel again.

“Oh, Annie. I’m sorry ya been carrying all that by ya’self.” he whispers into her hair, before finally closing his eyes and finding his sleep again.

----------

Annie swallows nervously, eyes darting to the doorway of her and Smoke’s bedroom when her man walks through the door. He is quiet, a bit solemn but deliberate in his current task. Smoke sits on her edge of the bed, he makes sure to turn until they were mostly face to face and hands the items to Annie one at a time.

In one hand, is a mug of warm water with mint and chamomile steeped into it because tea was still too harsh.

In the other was a bowl of cut up pineapple, on top of peeled and quarter lemons and limes, the salt shaker resting on a napkin on top. Her top craving besides smothered neck bones on a bed of red beans and rice.

Annie shyly takes the mug first, let’s Smoke settle the bowl in her lap for her to get to in a moment.

“You shouldn’t be here, it’s only two in the morning. It’s too early for you to be back from the Juke ‘nd dealin’ with them white boys that’s suppose to pop up.” Annie says and Smoke shakes his head.

“Stack is watchin’ out, he’ll call on the radio if they pop up. They ain’t come at sunset, so they’ll be there at sunrise. I can get ‘em then.” Smoke answers her. Annie goes to give Smoke another excuse but is hushed by him tapping the lip of her mug for her to drink.

She does so. Both of them relax another inch when it quells her queasyness.

“Annie. When was you gonna tell me, ya pregnant?” Smoke asks directly and Annie just looks at her mug.

“You been workin’ too hard for too many folks lately. Ya not doing your prayers and personal rituals like ya always be doing. And ya definitely not eating enough, Mary told me you’ve been hidin’ gettin’ sick everyday from me.” Smoke reveals

“ I eat.” is all Annie says. It’s a weak affirmation, a desperate argument really. Annie moves quickly to scarf down a chunk of pineapple but Smoke stops her by gently snagging the bowl away and placing it to the side.

“We both know you gotta finish that mug first or anything you eat just gonna be up again in 20 minutes I remember that, Ann.” Smoke tells her and Annie frowns but finishes her drink in a protesting silence. Smoke settles back a bit, just watching her shrink in on herself, hiding herself from him in a way she’s never done. Not even when they were still strangers passing each other on the street. It hurt his heart to see that he had driven her to that point.

“Annie Moore, talk tah me.”

“Ain’t nothing to talk ‘bout Smoke.”

“Yes, there is Annie. You’re pregnant.”

“I ain’t with child! My only baby girl is buried.” Annie argues sharply. The words make Smoke tighten up, but he quickly shakes his hands out and keeps going.

“Annie. I felt it on ya stomach when I held you, that little bit startin to push-.”

“You married a fat woman Smoke! Been big since 16 when ya first pic’ me up. Don’t tell me them skinny hussies up North done made you forget that? Did you forget this heavy?” Annie dares him, forcing that fury from her second year alone to spit the accusation at him. She even slams the mug to the table side to solidify it with a falcon's glare. Smoke matches it with a cock of his head.

“Never, and you know that. Not a woman walking on earth or wherever else ever gonna compare to you Annie. My body will always be yours,” Annie sucks in a breath as Smoke suddenly comes in close. His hand sliding up from her thigh, to her side, past the swell of her waist to possessively cup her heavy breast only to balance it with a tender flick of pressure over her nipple. His other hand tips her chin in so they press cheek to cheek and he’s in her ear.

“Elijah.” Annie sighs at the bliss that threatens her denial.

“Ara re si ni temi.” he reminds her.

“There we go, that’s the name you say. Now talk to me.” Smoke affirms, both of his arms sink down and rest on her hips. Annie gives a small flinch as his thumbs rub in gently swoops over both sides of her stomach.

“I can’t be pregnant. I-I- what if I can’t carry it?”

“Yes, you can. You did so well carryin’ Mariah. I’ll make sure ya get all the stuff you need to take care of yaself. I’ll take care of ya when you can’t. Yo’ body good, Ann. That ain’t it.”

Annie blinks and blinks but still tears well, she shakes her head making her nose bump his, “My root ain’t gonna be strong enough, again.”

Smoke shushes her gently cooing comforts to Annie’s cries, “Yo root enough baby. Always was, always will be.”

“I still don’t know why it ain’t work! I couldn’t save my baby girl!” Annie cries out and Smoke shakes his head.

“Mariah… is where she needs to be. It’s okay.” Smoke says, pulling Annie in for a hug so she can’t see his own eyes tearing up.

Annie clutches the front of Smoke’s shirt then curls in to cry a bit harder.

“It’s not! I gotta know, or….. Or…. you gonna leave me again. I think imma die if you leave me alone like that again Elijah. I tried so hard but I failed! I failed her an-and I failed you. Fuck I think I failed me” Annie admits. She feels the shift of Smoke’s chin on the top of her head as he shakes his own in disbelief at the words.

“Annie, baby, you ain’t no failure.”

“But -”

“You work hard, too hard. I’m ya man and I am gonna take care of ya. And I ain’t going anywhere!”

“Not to Biloxi?” Annie croaks out. Smoke pulls back a bit so he can hold her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Raw, and open, Smoke needed her to absorb in his truth.

“I. Ain’t. Going. Anywhere, not with Stack and not wit’out you. Not again… I’m sorry I hurt you leavin’ like that, baby. I never wanna hurt you unless you command me too. You more than everythang to me, let me prove it to ya. Dontcha ever think you gotta be more than just what you is for my sake. Love’in you. Being witcha, caring for you will never be too heavy. Yous never too heavy, anyone make you feel like that again I’ll fuckin’ kill them.” Smoke pleads.

“But ya did.”

“Then ya best tell me where to put the bullet. Yous the only one with that permission.” Smoke whispers like a prayer and Annie presses the Mojo bag hard into his chest.

“All I ask is that you won’t leave.” Annie demands and Smoke nods. Both are quiet for a moment, Annie gently pulls out of their embrace, reclining until her back rests against the pillows. Smoke tracks her movement, tentatively, Annie sets her hands on top of his on her stomach.

Her man was right, that bloat on her belly was starting to firm and push back.

“I’m scared. I’m scared inna way I ain’t wanna be again.” Annie says in a shaky but determined tone.

“I wasn’t scared that first year you left, worried but never scared. It was by the second year…when I had to face our babygirl’s grave alone. When ya came back to visit that winter just to say you was gonna be gone for another year… that’s when I got scared. Cus’ how many more years? I started thinking about just what I could do to make you never step on that train again. By the time I got the courage you was gone.”

“You ‘s never the reason, Annie. Not a thing you could ever do ta make me quit ya.”

“Then why you leave me? I know it wasn’t to find another woman, wasn’t for some damn money, cus mobbin’ was Stack’s idea. So it had to be me.” Annie cries.

“It wasn’t. Oh, my Annie, it wasn’t you. It’s cus’ I got scared!” Smoke looks so hard at Annie his eyes go out of focus, his jaw aches to confess in wait for Annie to allow it.

Annie licks her lips nervously before taking her hands off his and opening her arms out. Smoke folds into her hold this time. Head to her shoulder, one arm slips between her back and the pillows while the other curls around her middle. Annie turns her head in towards him to listen, bracing herself as his breath hitched before speaking. .

“I killed Big Eli and nearly got shot out of Mount Pleasant. I went tah war and got nothin’ back but Noid and bad nerves. Robbing banks and running liquor was just drops in the bucket but it was all I figured out how ta do. I was scared I couldn’t provide for ya how you deserve to be provided for Ann… but then there was Mariah…. And then she wasn’t. I was mean when I blamed ya roots, Ann. Cus really I blamed myself. You ‘s right, I had to leave because I needed to run. Won’t nothing you coulda done that gonna heal that parta me and I’m sorry.” Smoke confesses. He leans in and kisses the stay tears off her cheek before resting his head into the cove of her neck and shoulder again.

“So what do I do then?” Annie whimpers.

“Just relax. Cause I ain’t runnin’ this time. Imma be right by ya no matter what. If we lose it, if we don’t, if we have a million more babies. I am here with you Antonia Moore. You bring me to life.”

“I do?”

“Always have… taking care of Stack was my reason to live but… you make me want to live.”

Both go quiet at that, Annie hand creeps between them and lays over her heart, she settles another inch when Smoke’s hand moves from her side to cover her hand as if to press that affirmation into her. Annie starts to tear up again.

“I wanna be a good momma, Elijah.” Annie admits. Smoke hums at that and drags their hands down from her chest to her stomach.

“You already good. A good woman, a good wife, a great momma.”

“And you make a great poppa. Mariah had you butter soft and never said a word.” Annie says with a tearful laugh and Smoke grins at that.

“Yeah, she was lil boss.” Smoke says, thinking about that beautiful chubby little girl from his dreams with her cheerfully quiet commands and points.

They both remember that little baby, who refused to let go of their fingertips even while she ate, even while she babbled, even in her last breath. That little girl was the center of gravity for both Annie and Elijah.

“Elijah, I’m pregnant. Over two months, almost three.”

Both of them sigh in relief when she says it.

-------------------------

Translations:

Ara re si ni tem = And your body is mine.

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#sinners movie #sinners 2025 #sinners fanfiction #smoke x annie #annie x smoke #smoke moore #elijah smoke moore #annie sinners #annie moore #smoke and stack #stack moore #mary sinners #pregnancy fic #hurt/comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending #emotional #dream sequence

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robinavich · 2 days ago

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dani where do I even BEGIN!!!!!!!!!!! TRULY!!!!!!!

found a place

can we PLEASE hear it for the girlies that get turned on by banter. by witty exchanges. by sarcastic remarks!!!!!! the little “you like the back and forth a little too much. and so does she, you can sense it radiating off of her” is so BASED!!! plus the freaking way she was fr about to like set herself on fire when reader was complimenting her is like. why is she so. yeah. I neednt elaborate.

in that same interaction, u wrote, Christ, you’ve accidentally unleashed a monster, which genuinely made me chuckle. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you. but I needed to tell u anyway. ok moving on.

OKAY THE HUMAN CAR CRASH SCENE INSIDE THE TRAUMA ROOM!!!!! dear lord. reader pressing the resident against robby and robby holding her and locking eyes with reader. I……need that….?…. and then robby verbally assaults some dude which is so real LMFAO

harassing robby was also so good. actually the entire dynamic between robby and reader was so class. in the bar scene, when robby was just being sweet and like a kind human being not wanting to make you uncomfortable and you added little details like You reach up, take the folded-over collar of his shirt between your fingers to feel if the fabric is as soft as it looks (it is) and then follow it with teasing “So, unless you’re this slow in bed,” you tease, “should I go present our case to her?” like hell yes!!!!!! it feel so REAL. like natural u know what I mean. unforced I guess. idk if that makes sense. the complexities of human interaction have been captured and distilled into small moments in your fic and it makes the relationship and the plot feel like all natural free range organic fiction.

furthermore (academic essay ass transition), the dynamic between robby reader and resident was so fun. it was fresh. it had moxy. I love robby and reader being like-recognises-like and resident being like. a sexual sleeper agent that was unleashed when presented with them two. classic. but I really loved how resident had them both twisted around her finger, reader wanted to kill and fuck robby at the same time, and robby had such a crush on both. I shook my head typing that right now and laughed a single ha. I was INVESTED.

regarding the bar scene, I love the like easy camaraderie between robby and reader. it’s truly like the strongest bonds are forged in the harrowing experience of someone’s life in your hand or however the saying goes. maybe something about fire. doesn’t matter. btw the line Your eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in a way that says, Sorry I even considered it! literally get his ass bro. as if reader is the villain. ok. sure michael. hold reader accountable for thinking that thought when you look like that and the resident looks like that. sue.

jesus ok anyways so you wrote that sex really well. idk what more to say on that. frankly I’m unsure if I even possess the vocabulary. bad transition time, anyway when you said (holy trinity):

He’s attempting to lull you into a false sense of security and it instantly has you on edge and then referred to it as dislocated shoulder voice

You realize what exactly she’s asking for, and everyone is just fuuuuull of ideas today, apparently?

Who the fuck is he right now?

I know u know this about me but I’m such a fucking fan of narration like this LMFAOOOO it got me. it really made me chuckle. I really felt like I was apart of the reader’s mind. I think you pretty consistently do this in ur fics but the way you weave reader’s inner thoughts into the actual story (description of robby’s voice, for example) AGAIN makes it feel so natural. like I’m reading a memory of mine that was lost in the wind. that’s so dramatic LMFAO u know what I’m saying though. I’ve known you for years and I know that you’re funny but when I read the things you write sometimes I’m like fuck that was good. that was funny. do you know what I mean??

probably could have started with characterisation but I really love how u wrote robby. like it felt so in character even beyond dialogue. his little mannerisms. like his little “Today if you can.” immediately followed by the Robby says, before raising an eyebrow as if to say, Anyway, what’s in the four-factor PCC? omg he’s so bitchy and it’s so true!!! also at the bar the “‘Saw the little…,’ he gestures at your feet, ‘…pep in your step as you came over.’” but for me. TO ME!! he was so fucking robby when he went “Good job, team.” after a fucking threesome? HELLO???? HE IS SO EMBARRASSING LMFAOOOO god dani I’m obsessed with ur mind

and man I was so invested in this story and so when reader was applying for a JOB at ptmc and robby was like I would fucking die for you (he essentially said that I think basically) I cheered. cheered!!! the “was almost late to work” also made me go OH-HO-HOOOOOO out loud btw.

also shoutout to lame ass abbot!! what is he tripping over!!!!! the roof was empty!!!!!! god hes so pathetic I need him. carnally. anyway.

literally did any of this make sense. what the fuck am I writing right now

Pulling a Double

Michael “Dr. Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader x unnamed f!resident | 11.6k words | explicit.

Summary: When Doctor Abbot breaks his collarbone, you come in from Presby to cover as attending on PTMC’s night shift until he’s fit to come back. During your time there, you meet Robby and one of his female residents. After a couple of tense situations, you pitch an idea to Robby on your last day.

Tags/Warnings: fem reader (female anatomy, has at least shoulder-length hair, bisexual), canon typical medical jargon and emergency department horrors (including car accidents, head trauma, drug overdoses, death of a child (mention), water ski accidents, injuries from glass) (but it’s me just saying shit because I’m not a doctor), alcohol consumption, power imbalance (two attendings vs. one resident), smut (including f/f/m threesome, protected piv, dirty talk, spitting and more) - let me know if I missed anyhthing!

Notes: Woke up one day and thought: What if Robby and Reader double teamed a pretty resident? One thing about me is I will find a way to serve the bisexual agenda. Big thank you as always to @javier-pena for jumping at every chance to read this, serving as my very speedy editor and leaving comments that make my writing better, and to @robinavich, not just for enthusiasm but also for reminding me Abbot probably had fall training as a former military medic...

– – – – –

It's Monday morning, on your day off, when you get a call about filling in for Jack Abbot.

Apparently, he tripped and fell post-shift on the roof of the hospital. Landed on his shoulder. Split his collarbone clean in half.

Turns out that accidents happen, even if you've had military fall training–though 5'9"ish is probably nowhere near the altitude he trained at.

It's nice as far as breaks go; needs no surgery, just a sling and some rest. He's out for at least six weeks. Most likely twelve.

The call surprises you, considering you work for a different hospital, but they've given you the all clear if you want the job.

UPMC Presbyterian has enough personnel, they can absolutely afford to miss you, but they’re usually more hesitant about temporary replacements. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center is… struggling, not just with the general nursing shortage and budget cuts, but rumours have long been flying about the hospital “being up for sale”, and that doesn’t exactly make physicians want to apply for a job there. Your best guess is that Presby’s only lending an attending out because they’re not fully prepared for the swarm of patients it will bring to them should PTMC’s emergency department really shut down over staff shortages.

You wonder if they know you’re personally invested.

You met Jack when you did a rotation at the VA years ago, when you were in medical school and he was a military medic freshly torn apart by war. His medical background made him a little different from the other vets you’d met up to that point, and he had a certain calm around him, even though he had every right to want to curse the world. Throughout your rotation, he told you both the best and most harrowing stories about emergency medicine in the field. If you were being honest, it’s probably what inspired you to pursue the specialty.

Though it might be best he never knows, he already won’t stop saying he has “permanent stock in your medical degree” after helping you with a particularly tricky biochemistry exam.

With that in mind, and considering there's a chance, albeit a very slim one, it might shut him up, you accept the offer.

– – – – –

You meet Robby on your second day at PTMC.

It’s right before change of shift, when you’re swamped with two separate patients in Trauma 1 and 2. You’re making your way from one trauma bay (26-year-old female, car vs. pedestrian, then face vs. pavement, A and O with good vitals, but significant facial fractures) back into the other (42-year-old male, ataxic breathing, nasal discharge, and a dorsal head wound after a fall down the stairs during a sleepwalking episode), and bump into him. Or rather, your shoulders bump when you try to take the same place by the bed to assess the next steps.

Once you figure your patient is probably bleeding more than expected because he’s anticoagulated, Robby orders history and a four-factor PCC to be on standby before you can even speak.

Then he asks what’s in it.

You don’t reply, figuring his question is for one of the residents surrounding you and focusing on the atrial fibrillation on the monitor instead. But then he nudges you, “Today if you can. This is a teaching hospital, so let’s hear it.”

“I’m not a– I’m the attending taking over for Abbot,” you say.

He takes you in, trailing from your crown to your toes, then back up to your eyes. You curse inwardly when you realize your badge is hidden beneath the disposable white scrubs you have on over your regular ones. “Could have fooled me,” Robby says, before raising an eyebrow as if to say, Anyway, what’s in the four-factor PCC?

“Clotting factors two, seven, nine, and ten,” you grit out, because there’s no time, and because you might have just worked a 12-hour shift, but you could answer that in your sleep.

“Excellent,” is all he says.

And you both get back to work.

After, when your patients are in the clear, shipped off to reconstructive surgery and neurosurgery respectively, you get properly introduced and Robby realizes you are in fact the attending taking over for Abbot. He apologizes for his slip-up and compliments your work on the trauma patients. He does so with his hands buried in the pockets of a hoodie he wears over his scrubs, his shoulders drawn up to his ears and a set of brown eyes that silently ask for you to accept his apology.

It’s not worth the argument; you’re too fucking tired and his apology seems genuine, like he’s a hardass purely for teaching purposes and not because he actually enjoys grinding people down, unlike some other doctors you’ve come across.

“Don’t worry about it.” Learn to live with it, learn to accept it, and find balance if you can–you heard that somewhere once. “Comes with emergency department chaos, right? And with first–fuck, no, second days,” you correct with a shake of your head.

Robby looks at you with a quick narrowing of his eyes, a corner of his mouth turning up and his eyes crinkling around a careful smile. Finally, his shoulders slump, a little relaxation slipping into his frame as he exhales.

The board overhead flickers with change, and both your heads turn up to read it – test results from someone in Central 6 that are back – probably a UTI, nothing too exciting. Robby makes his way to one of the computers to check, fishing a pair of round reading glasses from his pocket along the way. Setting them on his nose when he arrives, he clicks around a couple times with the computer mouse, before leaning down on his forearms to look at the results.

“All right,” you say, dragging a hand down your face. “Time to go home. Have a good shift, Doctor Robinavitch.”

“Just Robby,” he reminds you, eyes still slipping from left to right as he reads.

“Right. Robby,” you nod.

“I’ll let you know if it was a good one,” he sighs, before pocketing his glasses again and finding his back with his hands, shoulders drawing together as he straightens. When you frown, he elaborates, “This shift, I mean… When I see you tonight at the next change of shift? I did see you on the schedule, right?”

“Yes. I am on schedule. Sorry about the brain fog.” You yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand, then using the same hand to point a finger at the ceiling with a twirling motion. “Must be the 12 hours of flickering lights, and screaming, and… general fucking agony.”

Robby snorts. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

You both look up when an announcement message echoes through the emergency department. “Attention, code STEMI. Attention, code STEMI. ETA 3 minutes.”

Something immediately changes in Robby’s demeanour, eyes flicking towards the ambulance bay before excusing himself to make his way to Dana, no doubt to figure out what room’s open.

“Get some sleep!” he shouts over his shoulder.

Aye aye, captain…

– – – – –

You quickly fall into a routine of three on, four off, and every morning after work, you come home exhausted, but also weirdly satisfied. During one of your three’s, you’re asked to pull a double; Robby spoke at some conference in Chicago two days ago, his flight has a significant delay, PTMC is swamped…

You like the idea of it – as much as one can like the idea of being in the emergency department for that long. It’s just that everything at PTMC is a rush in a way things at Presby aren’t. Presby is safe. Everything is by the books–everything. But emergency medicine can’t operate that way and it’s like everyone at PTMC knows that, takes calculated, sometimes even creative, risks, and gets results.

So, you agree to the double. It’s not like anyone’s waiting for you at home, anyway.

As night shift becomes day shift, you meet her. Or rather, you see her.

She comes sailing by on a gurney, on top of a patient, face scrunched up with effort as she delivers deep, steady chest compressions, presenting to you all the while as you rush after her (32-year-old male, came in with chest pain, collapsed as soon as he walked into the waiting room, no pulse).

As soon as he’s rolled into one of the rooms, you help her off him, one of the med students taking over on compressions. Everyone works fast, you hear yourself yelling out for a crash cart, one of the nurses hooks the patient up to check vitals, and as soon as you identify his rhythm as v-tach she is next to you, on standby with the paddles and waiting for the charge, voice steady when she says, “Clear.”

It’s all it takes to get him back into normal sinus.

Over the course of the day, you discover the morning isn’t a one-off. She’s a third year resident, quick to react, smart as hell, a bit of a blabbermouth, which she needs to work on as a professional but it mostly just makes you laugh. She sticks close in the Trauma rooms, seems to know exactly when to step in and when to let you take the reins. While waiting for surgery to come down, you talk her through an emergency REBOA on a guy with NCTH after a car accident, and she aces it.

By the end of shift, you’re running on fumes, discussing the state of the department with Shen when he arrives to relieve you, your voice rough from all the talking you did today. When you finish up with Shen, you do a quick round to make sure your dayshift is getting relieved, and find your R3 in Central 8. She’s finishing up her stitches on a guy who fell through a glass door. You take in her slumped frame, her frazzled hair, and the heavy blink of her eyes.

Knowing when to quit is something she also needs to work on.

You pluck one of the med students from the hall, verbally walk her through bandaging the patient up and handling the discharge with Doctor Shen, then poke your head back in the door of Central 8.

“Sir, we’ll have one of the student doctors finish up with you, is that all right?” you ask, giving the girl a little push inside when he agrees. You turn your attention to your resident. “You got a minute?”

She nods, switches places with the student, and drags a hand over her face once she’s out of her patient’s view.

“Thanks. Thought this day would never end…,” she says as you lead her into the empty hallway. She looks at you then, like she suddenly realizes she said that to someone who has been here for over 24 hours. “Shit, sorry–”

“Don’t sweat it,” you say with a wave and a chuckle. “I did come to make sure you get some rest. And because I wanted to let you know that I think you’ve done a fantastic job today.”

She perks up, shoulders dropping, eyes wide as saucers. “You think so?” she asks. Her voice is laced with a little too much enthusiasm to just be from the adrenaline of the day. “Thank you.”

You nod, “You really impressed me.”

And, oh, the addition might be a mistake. Because after you say it, she flashes you a bright smile, like all the effort she put into today has suddenly become worth it because of your praise. She’s fucking gorgeous. You already noticed before, but it’s worse this close up; freckles dusted along her nose and cheeks, a set of sparkling, green eyes set on you. You wonder if she knows, or if she’s one of those women who have no idea how beautiful they are. And then she blushes. It’s devastating.

You can’t help yourself. Delirious on being on the receiving end of all of that, and on the hours you’ve worked, you feed her ego further, “Sorry, is Robby– Does he not tell you how great you are at this?”

“Oh, no, no, don’t worry! He does, but in his own… disgruntled way,” she laughs, then takes a step in your direction. “But I um, I really like hearing it from you.”

You wobble where you stand, wanting to step back, but feeling like doing so gives this more weight than it should have. More than she might mean. Though deep down… you know, have gotten better at sussing it out over the years. You can tell from her airy little laugh, the hairs on her arms standing up straight, goosebumps disappearing under the sleeves of her scrubs, the way she bats her lashes while waiting for what you’ll say: she’s flirting with you.

“From both of you.”

It unlocks something–something your fried brain can’t really provide you with a name for. Instantly, you wonder how many times a week that face gives Robby pause. How often he is on the receiving end of that smile and, fuck, this is bad. You need to keep your head on straight, you can’t let your co-workers get to you like this.

Just teach. You are teaching. This is a teaching hospital.

With a heavy blink, you pick your conversation back up. “But you do um, need to know when to take a break, all right? At the end of shift, find someone to take over for you. Don’t run yourself dry.”

She swallows thickly, then nods.

“Okay, so–”

“When’s your next shift?” she cuts in.

You bite your cheek, then say, “I don’t plan on making a habit of being on the day shift.”

She hums, sweet, high pitched, then clicks her tongue. “That’s a shame, I really like…,” she pauses, has the audacity to bite her lip and narrow her eyes at you as she scans your face, “...your teaching style.”

Christ, you’ve accidentally unleashed a monster. Or, well, not exactly accidentally, but it’s hard to hold yourself responsible when you’re spread so thin after such a long day. And when you have a pretty thing like her making advances at you. You like it, though. Like the back and forth–like it a little too much. And so does she, you can sense it radiating off of her, and you have to end this before you do something stupid, like find a rare, empty on-call room to show her exactly what your teaching style could do for her.

“That’s great to hear,” you say instead. “I’ll be sure to give Doctor Robby some pointers.”

“I’d like that,” she says.

“I bet,” you huff out, too much of a mumble for her to hear. “All right, get out of here, it’s end of shift. Go get some sleep,” you say, gathering your composure and sending her off with a jerk of your head.

As she walks away, you realize that Robby will be back tomorrow, even more disgruntled after his conference, his delayed flight, the general stress of the emergency department… and he’ll have to deal with that.

Maybe you should pity him, but you find yourself smiling instead.

– – – – –

Labour Day weekend is a shitshow. While dealing with all the madness a regular night shift entails, including a feverish toddler whose screams reach decibels previously unknown to man, and a burn victim from a house fire, there’s also the dozen or so attendees from an end of summer houseparty, where some ritalin pills were spiked with fentanyl. You see enough naloxone to last you at least a month – a lifetime if you’re honest. Four accidental overdoses don’t make it to sunrise.

One of them is the 8-year-old brother of one of the partygoers, who had been asleep upstairs, snuck down, and most likely mistook the pill for candy.

Right before change of shift, you spot Robby by the central hub, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck while assessing the damage of the night via the board above him. Once you’ve updated him on everyone, you ask, “Do you need me to step in and help?”

He scoffs, because of course he does, especially now that he knows exactly what’s waiting for him this morning. He folds his arms in that way he always does, where they don’t quite cross and he holds one of his elbows. “Should tell you to go home.”

You open your mouth–

“But I won’t,” he says pointedly, leaning down a little to be at eye-level. “Two med students called in sick, there’s still no beds upstairs, it’s…,” he gestures at the board, “...a fucking nightmare here. Could really use an extra pair of capable hands.”

“Thought so. I’ll stay,” you nod.

Before you walk off, he grabs your arm, and when you turn… he asks if you’re okay. It catches you completely off guard. Not the question itself, but the way he asks; in a voice that’s so genuine and soft it cracks on every word, and with a little squeeze of his hand that makes the reassuring warmth of his palm bleed through your scrubs. Tears spring into your eyes, making Robby’s go soft in return.

“The night was um, rough,” you admit, blinking rapidly.

“Thought so,” he echoes. Then, carefully, “You should… let yourself feel it, it’s better if you let it out.”

Your head tips down with a knowing sigh. It’s not new information, but the reminder is nice. And, in a way, it’s a relief that you still haven’t become desensitized to all of this despite how many hours you’ve spent doing this job.

“Go get some cold water from the fridge in the staff lounge, sit, and don’t come back until at least an hour from now. And if you still want to stay, you can stay.”

You concede, nodding and inhaling slowly. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” he squeezes your arm, makes you look at him, eyes widening when he says, “Come find me, if you need me.”

It’s decidedly a declaration, and not a question. You blink up at him, hold his gaze for longer than necessary–longer than you should, because you can practically feel Dana’s stare and you don’t want her babying you all day because she’s worried.

“I will,” you promise.

Robby releases you, turning back to the board, and you make your way to the break room.

Exactly one hour later, you’re back on the floor.

Robby’s talking to Dana, hands in the pockets of his pants, nodding along to something she reads off her iPad. When he spots you, he cranes his neck and gives you a look. You give him a thumbs up in return and a fake smile, something that says, I’m still not okay, but doing well enough to be able to work. His reply comes in the form of a narrowing of his eyes and a huffed out breath. As soon as Dana is finished up with him, he approaches you until you’re standing shoulder to shoulder by the ambulance bay.

“We’ve got two en route, waterski vs. waterski,” Robby says.

You roll your shoulders and nod once. “I’ll take Trauma 1, you take Trauma 2?”

From the corner of your eye, you see his head turn to you, and you swear he smiles.

It’s a whirlwind after that, of screams and orders, blood, fractures, trauma. It’s a miracle you get your guy’s vitals to stabilise. The other room’s still frantic, and when you sail through the sliding doors between Trauma 1 and 2, you find it’s mostly because of how packed it is; there’s two nurses, an R1 on the phone, a med student taking notes, Robby’s listening in as Garcia from surgery fires away questions at Mr. Waterski 2, with his R3 by his side.

You announce yourself by saying. “Other room’s stable, what can I do to h–”

“Got the blood!” comes from behind you. Another med student walks in, puts a brake on the speed with which he enters the room a little too late, and he steps on the back of your shoe as he hands the bag to one of the nurses.

You trip– or, rather, you’re shoved up against Robby’s resident. She squeaks out an, oh! when you collide with her, and your hands find her waist to keep yourself from tumbling over further. It’s no use. You’re like two dominos, your shared momentum making you crash into Robby. Her hands land on his chest to keep her own balance, and Robby stumbles backwards into the wall, a tray of medical supplies clattering to the floor. Your front is pressed against her back, your hold on her tightening as you essentially pin her up against Robby. His hands are up, blue gloved digits trembling slightly as he looks down at her, his pupils dilating, his next intake of breath sharp between his teeth.

“Whoops,” she says between you, voice breathy, and you might have laughed, even just from the tense nerves fluttering through your body, if Robby hadn’t chosen that moment to flick his eyes up to yours over her head.

A deep, dark flush colours his cheeks, the tip of his nose, creeps down the protruding tendons in his neck and into the collar of the shirt he wears under his scrubs. Without your permission, your lip finds its way between your teeth, unable to look away from how affected he is.

Guess you aren’t the only one nursing a little crush.

But duty calls, and you untangle from each other as fast as you’d gotten pressed together. Robby sends the med student away with a curse and a barked out order that’s a little too sharp for the poor guy.

The alarms around you are still blaring, doing wonders to tuck your collision somewhere in the back of your mind and snap you back into attending physician mode. Taking the head of the bed, you keep Robby and his residents updated on vitals as they work on figuring out why they’re dropping.

Both water skiers make it.

– – – – –

After 12 weeks of alternating the night shift with Shen, you find yourself in one of the bars down the street, where the usual post-shift drink had turned into somewhat of an unofficial going away party. It's early evening and the mood is mellow, with people trickling in and out all night depending on change of shift.

Halfway through the night, when things have significantly quieted down, you spot Robby by the bar, freshly showered by the looks of it. It’s the first time you see him out of his scrubs. He’s swiveled around on his stool, bottle of beer in his hand. The moment your eyes find his, he turns his gaze away, staring straight ahead instead. He looks sad, but not in his usual puppy dog way, more like he’s… pining. When you follow his line of sight, it lands directly on–

Of course.

Before you know it, you’re making your way over with quick strides, a grin you can’t hide plastered on your face. When you reach him, you open your mouth–

“Don’t,” he begins with a scoff, “even start.”

“What?” you say innocently, tucking yourself between him and the open stool next to him, leaning back against the bar. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“Saw the little…,” he gestures at your feet, “...pep in your step as you came over. Can’t imagine what’s swirling around that head of yours.”

“Can't help it, you have no idea what working the night shift with Ellis and Walsh as much as I have does to a person.”

“I do, that’s what’s got me worried,” he laughs. “You only have Mohan down there to keep you sane.”

Air puffs out your nose at that. “Speaking of.. What’s her deal? Sometimes she gets this… look on her face; Ellis describes it as looking like she just made the saddest realization.”

“She works in the emergency department,” Robby reasons.

“No, it’s more than that.”

Robby sets his beer down with a hum, then folds his arms like he’s hugging himself and closes one eye in thought, “Is it after someone brings up Abbot?”

Your time to think. “Now that you mention it…,” you say, going over your interactions in your head, “yes.”

He picks his bottle back up with a knowing nod. “She switched to the night shift a couple weeks before Abbot’s accident, looked real sad about his injury and the prospect of not seeing him for months. Think she’s harbouring some… warm feelings.”

“What about you?”

Robby grins. “I do not harbour warm feelings for Doctor Abbot.”

You give him an exaggerated fake laugh. “Just for someone else.”

Robby takes a swig from his bottle, giving you a long look and swallowing thickly. It’s enough to make you straighten up, confused eyes narrowing before you use them to gesture at his resident.

“Are you gonna make a move on her, or are you just gonna keep staring at her?”

He sighs deeply, like he knows better than to answer, but he does it anyway, “It alllll depends.”

“Oh, yeah?” You bring your drink up to your mouth. “On what?”

“If you are going to make a move on her.”

It makes you spit your sip back into your glass with a choked sound. Fuck, okay, he’s more observant than you gave him credit for, noted. Robby smiles against the rim of the beer bottle pressed against his lips.

You gather your composure with a shrug. “It is my last day.”

“That it is,” he says with a slow nod.

Silence stretches between you when your mind prompts you with something–something you haven’t been able to stop thinking about since Labour Day weekend. This is kind of the perfect day to bring it up, to gauge Robby’s temperature and act on the tension that’s been present between the three of you ever since the incident.

You need an extra sip of your drink first, though.

As you do, you flick your eyes to the side and find Robby fidgeting with the collar of the brown button down he’s wearing.

“We could both make a move on her,” you broach carefully.

“Absolutely not,” Robby snorts immediately, turning his head to face you. Then, more seriously, “We are not… competing over one of our residents.”

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Pff, my job, maybe,” he puffs out quietly.

“C’mon, you were with Heather and that didn’t cost you your job.”

“How do you even..? That was diff–” Realizing he took your bait, he licks his top lip, then swipes a hand down his face, scratching nervously at his beard before pointing back and forth between the two of you, “Because we’re not 20-somethings in med school, that’s why.”

You roll your eyes, take another sip. Like you need the reminder. “No one said anything about being each other’s competition.”

That catches him off-guard. The hand holding his beer hovers in the air, forgotten in its journey from his lap to his mouth.

You continue, “We could, I don’t know… double team he–”

“Please, don’t– Fuck. We can not fucking,” he lowers his voice to a hiss, “double team her.”

Your eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in a way that says, Sorry I even considered it! With a large gulp, you finish your drink and put the glass on the bar behind you, willing the dent he put in your ego away. If Robby doesn’t want this, that’s fine, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. “Message received. I’ll make my move then.”

After two steps, a firm hand closes around your bicep, slowly dragging you back. Your pulse jumps as he twists you around.

“Wait… a minute. I just…” Robby’s gaze darts between her and you, and back. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable because I’m there.”

He signals with his eyes, implies… something, but what, you have no idea. Puzzled, you look at him, your brain going over the possibilities as your tongue passes over your bottom lip. If it’s not about you, and not about her, is it a self-esteem thing? Does he not know his whole… well, everything, does it for a lot of people?

A little flush creeps up his face the longer you wait, until he can’t take it anymore. “Oh, for the love of– I’m a man.”

Air escapes out of your nose at the comment. He can't even look at you after he says it. A smile threatens to curl at your lips, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep it from morphing into a full blown grin; you don’t want to make him feel bad because god, that’s actually really fucking cute…

“Robby,” you begin, stepping closer so that you’re standing in between his legs. You reach up, take the folded-over collar of his shirt between your fingers to feel if the fabric is as soft as it looks (it is). Robby’s breath hitches when you do, eyes flicking to your exploring hand for a moment. “Man, woman, anything in between… I don’t care, I like everything.”

Something changes in his eyes, like your words flip a switch in him, but not the usual switch that flips in men when you tell them you’re bisexual. This isn’t excitement over the prospect of potentially seeing you with another woman, even though that is on the table right now. It’s more about… the realization that you’re attracted to him, that you are included in the deal. It makes you shiver, more so when his eyes drop to your mouth, only for a second.

“So, unless you’re this slow in bed,” you tease, “should I go present our case to her?”

The hand around your bicep tightens, and you swear he growls. “No. I’ll settle our tabs and then I’ll fucking go to her. You go say your little goodbyes to everyone, it'd be rude not to.” He’s so close you can feel his warm breath fan out over your lips, “And once we get to yours, or mine, or hers–I don’t care where, I will show you exactly–”

“Easy,” you say, dragging the word out with a chuckle, his change in demeanour making you feel warm. “She goes first. And then we’ll see what happens.”

– – – – –

“Are you sure you’re sure?” you ask her on the way.

Robby’s behind the wheel of her car, driving towards her address she rattled off to him; he put the two of you in the back to catch up on what he told her. He hums in agreement. “Cause I can just… drive you home, we’ll get a cab, it won’t be a big deal.”

“And let you two have all the fun without me?” she laughs. Her hand finds your thigh. Unfair. “No.”

You stop her. “I’m serious.”

“And I appreciate that,” she says, voice losing its teasing lilt, turning her hand under yours and taking it with a squeeze, “but I want it, so you can stop worrying and start kissing me.”

“Okay,” you nod, watching her as she cups your cheek and leans in, a waft of her perfume, or maybe it’s the shampoo she uses, making it to your nose. Focus. “But um, anytime you want–”

“I know. I will. Now, kiss me,” she whispers, close enough that her eyes cross a little. “Please?”

A deep sigh sails from you the moment you finally close the distance, weeks of piled up tension finally coming to this moment–clearly inevitable, now that it’s here. Her lips are soft, and when you swipe your tongue over the seam of her lips, you taste a hint of some fruit-flavoured drink she had earlier tonight. She parts for you immediately, moaning as you close your lips around her bottom one with a suck, before letting your tongue meet hers.

“Fuck.”

It comes from the front seat. Robby’s brown eyes look at you via the rearview mirror, flick to the road, and then back.

“Are we far out?” you ask, kissing down her neck, enjoying the way she sighs, cups the back of your head, and tilts hers to give you more room.

“Almost there,” comes the gruff reply.

“Then step on it.” You make your way back up to her mouth. “You’re gonna want in on this.”

– – – – –

Her apartment is cute, quaint in an old-fashioned way, and you like it, it suits her. You stumble into the living room positioned much like that day you crashed into them in the hospital; Robby walking backwards, led by her steps as much as her kisses, and you at her back, hands on her waist and pressing your lips to her neck, her shoulder.

Before you can fully consider if her bedroom is anything like the rest of her place, Robby trips, the three of you landing on the couch instead, and you realize you’re not gonna make it to the bed. It’s impractical with three people, but there’s gentle laughter and the soft, yellow light of a lamp she flicks on, and you make it work. She certainly makes up for it in eagerness, dividing her time between you equally.

Robby manoeuvres her against one of the armrests, pulling at her clothes until her bottom half is bare, and pushing her top up to expose her tits. In no time, they’re glistening in the dim light, the skin rubbed slightly raw from the time he spends with his face all over them. Just as you've pulled your shirt off and rolled your jeans down, Robby's satisfied with his work.

He pulls his hand from between her legs and drags you to them with a, “Got her nice and wet for you.” And as he starts unbuttoning his shirt, he moves back so you can take his place.

To say you’re dying to taste her might be a bit of an exaggeration, but you do feel spit pooling on your tongue at the idea. You make your way down her body, soothing Robby’s assault on her skin, pressing kisses to some of the cute little freckles scattered across her torso and then on the curls that cover her pussy.

Her legs widen to give you more room, and it really shouldn’t make you feel as smug as it does. Under other circumstances you would have taken some more time with her, but when you use two fingers to spread her open, your eyes glaze over a little at the sight of how Robby's prep has her dripping, and you can’t help yourself.

You drag your tongue up between the V of your fingers, flattening it against her opening with a groan to really taste her. She’s sweet, soft yet slippery in a way that makes your blood pump. And she’s vocal, a little sigh or moan escaping her lips with every pass of your mouth. But it’s nothing compared to the pleased grunt she lets out when you tell her how much you’ve wanted to taste her for weeks.

Robby hovers behind you, the sound of his clothes rustling after the clink of his belt buckle filling your ears. Then the couch dips, and slowly, he plants a knee between your legs, scooting forward until his thigh meets the fabric between your legs. You can feel the line of his boxers, the press of his bulge against your ass. His hands close over your hips, pulling you harder against him and then he just… stays there, holding you in place.

You slow down with a frown. It feels good, the little barrier between you beginning to soak through with the pressure, but–

“Just… keep going,” he says, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear.

He’s using that voice, you realize. The kind of soothing tone that he’d use on a patient… right before pulling a dislocated shoulder back into place. He’s attempting to lull you into a false sense of security and it instantly has you on edge.

“Fuck, please, that feels amazing,” comes from in front of you when you gently circle the tight bud under your tonue. Her hand reaches down to cup your face and hold you in place, while the other pinches at her own nipple. “Stay right there.”

Giving her your best attempt at a nod, you concentrate on keeping your rhythm instead of on Robby’s dislocated shoulder voice, to give her enough to please, but not enough to get her off just yet. But it’s hard, because Robby is still toying with the elastic on your hips, fingers dipping underneath and back out in a pattern you can't quite discern, and it’s fucking distracting.

When your resident’s hips begin bucking up, Robby’s hand finds the back of your head, his whole palm big enough to cup it, which is also very hard to push from your mind. His fingers twist into your hair and move you until you’re shaking your head between her soaking thighs, your tongue lolled out as you pass it over her clit again and again.

It helps to get lost in her, how wet your chin is getting, how her arousal is smeared across your lips, your cheeks, your nose… until, without letting go, Robby shuffles back a little. You let out a whine, instantly chasing the pressure.

“Give me…,” he yanks your underwear down to mid thigh, “...a second,” then presses his bare thigh against your soaked folds.

You jerk against him, the surprised moan it tears from your throat filthy and loud, echoed by your resident only moments after. Robby chooses that exact moment to let go of your head, hands finding your waist to put an arch in your spine and angle you down using his bodyweight, and you’re helpless to stop it. It makes you slide along the hard muscle of his thigh, grinding you against him in a way that rubs your clit just right, and…

You come.

It isn’t anything big, just a steady throb that comes with the friction on your clit after all that continuous pressure. It does nothing to douse the twinge of arousal pooling in your belly–borders more on the painful side of pleasure. Most of all, it pisses you off.

“I said her first,” you snarl, your head snapping back at him as you let two fingers take over for your mouth.

“Could’ve just waited,” Robby shrugs, and he looks so annoyingly smug, smiling down at you, still holding you tight against him–he can probably feel you fluttering. “I can’t help it that you’ve got such an eager pussy.”

Jesus fucking Christ, maybe you underestimated him. Maybe you should have left him in the bar.

Then again, you’re more turned on than you ever remember being.

“When you get a taste of her you’ll see why it’s so hard to concentrate,” you attempt to quip.

“Make her come and I will,” Robby challenges, and this time when he pulls his leg back, it feels like relief.

With a huff, you turn your attention back to the woman in front of you, attempting to find your bearings by pouring equal parts arousal and frustration into doubling your efforts. Your middle finger slides inside of her with ease, and with the next thrust, you fold your ring finger over it and curl up to massage the soft walls of her cunt. The sound she makes in return is exactly what you were looking for, irritation making room for desire–to make her feel good, to make her come undone.

Having done this plenty of times, you don’t need any pointers, and you’ve barely started or she’s already begging for it. This is your favourite part, when they plead with you not to stop, ask for your mouth and “just a little more,” when you’ve got them on the precipice and it’s up to you to tip them over the edge. So, you do, sucking her clit back between your lips, and watching her intently while your fingers find that spot inside of her and push until she’s crying out.

You can feel Robby leaning over you, moving closer and closer, and if you weren’t so preoccupied with the grinding against the push of your tongue, you’d be able to come up with a clever comment about his reading glasses. After a few more passes, you pull back with a smack, her answering desperate sound music to your ears.

“Come here,” you say, and you reach for Robby, grabbing him by the jaw to draw him in.

Taking the spot to the left of you, he shuffles closer until her calf rests over his shoulder and you’re both on your stomach with a premium view. His large palm slowly travels along your back, sliding from left to right, fingers flitting over your ribs, using his grip to keep you pinned to his side. He’s helping you keep your balance, you realize, making sure you don’t roll off the side of the couch. It makes your eyes flutter when he takes advantage by letting his touch ghost along the side of your breast.

“It’s not every day you see something like that,” he says, effectively redirecting your attention from his wandering hand to the two fingers that are still curled inside your resident.

Carefully, you pull them out, the both of you watching as little strings of milky-clear arousal web between your digits. You use them to find her clit, mixing your saliva with her come, watching her spit-slick hole twitch when you do. She gasps, trying to squirm away, but quickly realizes she has nowhere to go when two different hands shoot up to keep her in place.

“Stop teasing,” she protests hoarsely.

It’s hard to take it to heart when she looks dizzy with arousal, her chest still rising and falling at a rapid pace, and makes a weak attempt at closing her legs.

“You’re fun to tease,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh that's both meant to soothe and to keep her spread open. It makes her muscles jump under your touch. “So sensitive.”

Robby lets out a shaky breath. “Can’t blame her after seeing what your mouth can do.”

The small victory makes something hum in your brain, but it’s short-lived when his fingers flex against you again.

“I want to see what your mouth can do,” you confess, head turning and watching as his jaw ticks. Your thumb strokes along his beard, nail scraping over some of the greys between the dark hair, and you struggle to fight a smirk when his lips part. “I can guarantee you she’ll love this.”

A soft little, Oh, please, sails up from above you, and you grin, using your grip on Robby to push him against her soaked folds.

He shuffles closer after the first contact, mouth falling open to engulf her pussy when you let go of him. Pinned in place, you watch with quiet curiosity as he gets to work.

Though there’s overlap, his technique is different from yours. Where you’re more about spit, long lines and swirled circles, using the flat of your tongue, he’s more… rigorous, harsh sucks to her clit that make her keen, quick flicks to it that he can keep up for an impressive amount of time before pushing his tongue inside of her.

Oh, he’s… He’s good at this.

Before you can think too hard about the added sensation of the bristle of his beard on her entrance, her hand fumbles for the back of your head, pushing you down when she gets a good grip. With a muffled Hmmmpf you collide with her, lips clumsily smearing over her wet skin, your smooth cheek pressed to Robby’s rough one. He grunts when you make contact with him, before pulling away from her clit with a suck and giving you better access.

“No,” she protests, whining as she motions for him to come back. “Together.”

You realize what exactly she’s asking for, and everyone is just fuuuuull of ideas today, apparently? Good ideas… You can't deny she’s kind of an evil genius for making this work so well for her.

It’s new territory for you, but you could spend the whole night between her legs and not complain, so you look at Robby, raising your eyebrow in question to see how he feels.

There’s a lazy grin on his face, and his head cocks with a shrug, “You’re the one who wanted to double team her.”

The chuckle you let out in response is mostly air, and you draw your lip between your teeth while shaking your head. He’s such a bastard for revealing this information to her now, when she’s spread out and desperate, all but begg–

“Fuck me,” she growls. “Then do it. Please.”

It takes a moment to find the right approach, to divide your attention equally without constantly getting in each other’s way.

You don't want to compare it to work, nothing about this is like dealing with trauma patients, but… it is kind of like it. Let's say it’s definitely a testament to how attuned to each other you have become that you make it work.

When he focuses his attention on her leaking entrance, your tongue finds her higher. When his mouth slides back up again, yours travels along the crease between her thigh and pelvis, down until you can suck a mark into the curve of her ass. It becomes this dance, but you're both leading, both anticipating each other's moves and adapting while your resident's moans rise in pitch.

Robby's arm curls around her thigh to keep her down when she arches up. “You wanted it like this…” he says when he pulls back, working his jaw and pursing his lips before spitting down on her, “...so take it.”

She shrieks at the action, cursing afterwards with a shudder in her voice.

Your body, naturally, reacts more like you just got shot in the gut; a pang of arousal in your stomach that pulses and twists, a surprised intake of your breath to match.

Who the fuck is he right now?

What the fuck he does next is chase the glob of saliva as it trickles down her clit.

But you're… locked in place, following his moves until he pulls away and twists his head to you like he's wondering where you are.

His eyes are hooded, pupils pushing out the brown of his irises, and his mouth hangs open, the bottom half of his face damp and shiny. It makes whatever's been brewing between you since the revelation in the bar impossible to ignore. In another momentary lapse of reason, and thinking more with another part of yourself than with your brain, you kiss him–it’s more of a collision really, hard pressed, but that’s what makes it so good–

“Fucking… finally,” Robby growls.

Correction, that’s what makes it so good.

You use the words to lick into his mouth with a slow flick and a sound you're not proud of, but it's all worth it when his tongue glides against yours, and you feel his facial hair brush your lips, and god, you'll never tell him but he's right, you should have done this sooner.

He tastes like her, and there’s a conflicting feeling to it; excitement at the notion that he can probably taste the same thing on you, but also something… possessive, like you want to keep kissing him until you taste him.

The quick reminder of her makes you slip your thumb between the slide of your tongues, before reaching blindly for her, letting Robby take control over your kiss as you press the wet digit against her clit.

“Just like that,” she sighs, her hand finding your wrist, guiding you where she needs it and keeping you there. “‘s gonna…gonna...”

But then Robby makes a protesting sound in reply.

He lets go of your side, pushing your hands away before cupping the back of your neck to direct you both back to her pussy. It’s a dizzying, three-way kiss; messy, and so slippery, and what the hell, for someone who shuddered at the words “double team”, Robby’s pretty fucking exceptional at it.

“Ohhhh, myfuckinggod,” she squeals, clearly in agreement, followed by a giggle that morphs into a groan. “It looks so fucking hot, please– Oh, please don’t stop, please make me come like this.”

The hand on your neck squeezes, holding you down so you can't do anything but work her together–not that you want this to stop anyway, it's a very, very clear winner in the Hottest thing that has ever happened to you-competition.

You keep going until your head is swimming, until you have no real idea whether your tongue curls around his, or around her pulsing clit. Vaguely, you register Robby’s fingers pumping in and out of her, but don’t have much time to wonder how you missed that, because when he pulls them out with a grunt, she’s coming.

You feel her orgasm more than you hear it, warm and wet as she desperately grinds herself against your faces; the vibration of Robby’s answering groan as his hold on you wavers; the thud of your knees against the floor as you slip off the couch, gravity forcing you off her as you heave a desperate gasp.

Robby manages to chuckle, eyes flicking down at you before dedicating himself to working her through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

“Holy shit. That was good. Thank you,” she pants, running a hand through his hair as he nips at her thigh.

She makes an attempt to reach for you, but her arm just rolls limply off the couch, joining the leg that came down with you.

“I need to lie flat. If only there was a doctor around…” she grins, “...it appears I've lost all sensation in my extremities.”

“I gotcha,” Robby laughs. He takes hold of her calf, wincing as he gets up on his knees, and yanks her closer to him.

A bright giggle bubbles up from her throat when she slides down, hair fanning out over the cushions. She’s glowing, with satisfaction and a thin sheen of sweat; she looks even more beautiful than she already was.

You're still kneeling next to the couch, watching as Robby does exactly what you would do: kiss his way up her body until he can press his mouth to hers. After, he whispers something you can’t hear, something that makes her cup his cheek and smile with a nod. He kisses her neck, little brushes of his mouth as he grinds himself against her.

He's still wearing his boxers. They must be ruined by now, if not from his own arousal then definitely from the way he's rutting up against her pussy. You want to see it. Mostly to see what's under it, because he felt big against your ass, and–

You pull your underwear from your legs, giving yourself more room to push a hand between your legs. You can already feel your arousal as your fingers inch up the inside of your thighs, slippery trails of where it’s leaked down in just the short time you’ve been kneeling.

“Get back on the couch,” Robby says suddenly, head turning to you.

“I kind of like the view,” you say, grinning when his eyes drop to where you're touching yourself.

He beckons you closer with a crook of his finger while moving to sit back on his haunches.

You shuffle closer, looking up at him. “I want to watch you fu–”

“I want that, too,” he assures you, and before you can scold him for never letting you finish a thought or a sentence, he's bending down to kiss you again, and your mind goes quiet. He holds you by the neck, thumb and ring finger at the corners of your jaw, pulling until you have no choice but to stand, then murmurs, “So would you just fucking… listen to me? Be good and sit on her face.”

Your shiver at the words, eyes flicking to her, and she responds by opening her mouth and showing you her tongue, and god, yeah, another great idea.

Your legs wobble, and Robby’s hands fly to your waist, guiding you to her with an amused look on his face that shouldn’t turn you on.

You can't believe you worked with these people for a good chunk of your 12 week stint at PTMC. Earlier, you wished you’d done this sooner. Now, you’re certain you wouldn’t have survived if you had.

You can’t help but hiss when your pussy makes contact with your resident’s perfect, warm tongue. She flicks at you once, twice, before she tugs you down on top of her, that mouth that has made you laugh so much opening under you to pull a deep moan from your throat instead.

“There you go,” Robby rasps as he lets go of you.

Their combined attention makes you melt, some of the tension that always comes with this position slipping away, making you slump and take a more firm seat. With your eyes cast down, and a hand cupping your own breast, you watch her, the pink of her tongue peeking out from between your legs every now and again.

After a couple passes of her tongue, she suddenly moans, nails digging into your thighs. Your eyes shoot up to watch Robby, slumped over, his little quiff matted down, one thumb hooking the waistband of his boxers down far enough to have taken himself out. The condom he rolled on while you were occupied gives his shaft a shine, like he’s already covered in her slick; the tip of him pressed to her entrance definitely is.

You were right when you felt him earlier, but maybe thick is a better word to describe him–thick in a way that… yeah, that would have you a little worried for her if you hadn’t spent the better part of this rendezvous with your tongues between her legs. Still, she squirms when he slips the head inside, one moan loud and clear in front of you, another trapped against your cunt.

Seeing them both so affected changes your demeanour, like no longer being the very center of attention is giving you more freedom to play with them a little. To be sure, you lift a knee, plant a foot into the cushions. She gasps when you lift off her, and you can’t help but smile at the way she arches up to chase after you.

“Are you okay, honey?” you ask, stroking her wet chin.

“Yes. It feels– It all feels too fucking good,” she manages.

“Hmm-hmm, I bet,” you nod. “But you can take it,” you say sweetly, before promptly sitting back down. The vibration of her muffled, surprised sound makes you sigh, but the answering moan comes from in front of you.

“Jesus,” Robby says, inching a little further into her. “I didn’t think you’d get… like that.”

You let out an amused huff, because the thing is, you’re not; not often, anyway. You’re content to adapt to what the situation asks of you, and this one has you floating, high on pleasure, on feeling wanted, and watched. And when you think about it, he made it this way.

Your hands find her chest, squeezing at her perfect, plush tits before using her as leverage to roll your hips along her eager mouth. Leaning forward, you let your lips meet that spot in the center of Robby’s chest, the spot where his perpetual flush seems to bloom up from.

“Like what?” you ask anyway, looking up at him through your lashes, dragging your mouth over the coarse hair that’s scattered all over his torso until your tongue flicks at his nipple.

“So…” He hisses when you bite him, hand fisting the hair at the back of your head to pull you off, “...fucking mean.”

“Takes one to know one,” you say, enjoying the way he uses his hold on you as leverage to fuck her, subconsciously matching the rhythm of your hips to his.

With a tug, he angles your head up, kissing a path down the center of your throat. “Got that fucking right,” he murmurs, before moving to where your neck and shoulders meet and biting at the juncture.

It hurts, but the good kind, where it’s on the tip of your tongue to aks for more. The thing is, he’s been creative so far, and you’re not sure you can handle another surprise. You can feel him grin when he pulls away, like he knows exactly what you were thinking, which, at this point, wouldn’t surprise you; he’s smart, should’ve known he’d be a quick study.

Under you, your resident moves one of her arms from under your thigh, reaching between her legs with a desperate sound. Robby’s not the only quick study; you’ve figured by now she needs the stimulation to come. It isn’t surprising, it's the same for you, but it is helpful information. You reach for her, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to her belly, just out of reach.

“Wait,” you tell her pointedly, shushing her whines and reveling in the way they vibrate against you. Heat begins pooling in your belly as she slides her tongue into you, making something promising simmer deep inside.

“Please,” she murmurs between mouthfuls of your pussy, her hand twitching in your grip. “Can I come?”

It takes everything in you to conceal how affected you are by her pleading when you look at Robby. “Ask him.”

Obediently she asks, “Please, can I come?”

A snarl flickers across his features as he contemplates his answer, and without looking away from you he says, “What was that?”

“Robby.” It doesn’t sound like her; an octave higher, drenched in desperation. “Please.”

He waits a second… two… three. “Yes,” he says, eyes glazing over with something darker when she thanks him.

In a flash, you bring your free hand up to your mouth, getting the pads of three fingers wet before using them to strum at her clit, rapid flicks from left to right that make her writhe under you, another shriek landing muffled against your cunt.

Robby’s reaching the end of his rope too, you can tell by the way his thighs shake as he frantically tries to keep fucking her.

You work together, looking down, leaning closer until your foreheads are pressed together, her little moans rising in pitch until she's shuddering beneath you, another orgasm pulling her under its current.

“Fuckfuckfuck, it's– She’s squeezing me so…” Robby trails off with a rumbling sound, eyes snapping shut before he pants out, “I’m gonna come. Tell me w–I need to know–oh.”

You sit up, giving her some reprieve and ask, “Where?”

“Fuck, come on my tits,” she says, pushing them together.

Robby pulls out of her, tearing his condom off with a snap!, scrambling to straddle her waist. He's red all over, his cock nearly purple at the tip, eyes glued to her chest as he strokes himself.

Your eyes zero in on the way his fist moves over his cock, quick, squelching flicks from root to tip. He’s leaking, steady drops of precome oozing from the head of his cock and the more you watch him, the greedier you get.

“Let me do it,” you say, tongue passing over your palm and reaching down.

His free hand catches it, voice straining with effort as he says, “Wait, I–”

“Robby, stop it,” you say, pulling yourself free. “Let me do it, I need to do it.”

Your hand has barely closed around his or he’s coming, a deep surprised moan tearing from somewhere deep in his chest as he twitches in your grip. Your eyes widen, tingles of excitement fluttering through you as the first thick rope of it shoots up against your belly, the rest ending up on your resident’s tits.

He exhales heavily, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace after. “I said wait,” he grits out after a couple of panting breaths, his hand slipping out from under yours.

“Could've just done that,” you retort, still milking him, enjoying the way he grunts as the last dribbles of come ooze from the head of his cock. “I can’t help it that you’re so sensitive.”

“Oh, fuck you.” It comes out half groan/half chuckle, and actually sounds like he's kind of impressed with you. Then suddenly, he's more serious, “Oh, you need to– Slower, slower,” a shaking hand closes around your wrist. “‘s too much.”

“Surprised you held out this long in the first place,” you smirk, following his instructions, slowing to a halt and letting go as he starts to soften in your hand. “Thought for sure I’d end up somehow having to finish the job.”

“Hmm, no, don’t have to worry about that with me,” he says, with a lazy grin. He redirects his attention to your resident. “You okay?”

“I’m fucking great,” she grins, still sounding a little dazed. She reaches for you, grabbing at your thighs. “I just need you to sit back down.”

Before you can properly prepare for it, you’re pulled back onto her mouth, a surprised huf sailing past your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as she laps at your swollen clit, your concern for your own pleasure rushing back to the font of your mind now that everyone else’s is taken care of.

You reach for her hand, leading it up your torso to your chest, where she squeezes your breast, massaging the soft skin before pinching at the peak. The sharp pain mixes perfectly with the swirls around your clit, and with every tweak and swipe, she makes you barrel towards the edge faster and faster.

Your eyes fly open when Robby’s hand cups your cheek. He says nothing, seemingly just… holds you to hold you. And he watches, lets his gaze rove over your face, eyes flicking down the length of your body and back up. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yeah. We–oh, f-fuck–made the right call with her.” You barely get the words out or she wiggles her hand between your legs to let two of her fingers slip inside you.

Robby hums, “We did.”

Slowly, you start rolling your hips, meeting the curl of her fingers. You bite your lip, a little frown forming between your brows when that familiar sense of pleasure starts blooming from somewhere deep inside of you. You don’t even really have to chase it–it’s more like it’s chasing you.

“Oh,” you gasp, clutching at Robby’s wrist to have something to hold on to. “Oh, you’re doing perfect, it’s gonna make me come.”

“Yeah?” Robby’s brow arches. “Gonna show me this time, hmm?”

Fuck. You nod as her tongue flicks faster and faster, making your hips twitch. It’s nothing like the first one–it’s the complete opposite, like it never stops building until it does, suddenly, in a way that seems to push all the air out of you as you gasp, gasp, gasp…

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Robby says, his grip on you forcing you to hold his gaze. “Show me how pretty you look when you come– There we go.”

Goddamn him.

It’s like an avalanche, a loud, vibrating groan rumbling out of your chest as your muscles clench and you push your hips down harder. It seems to reach you everywhere, your thighs quivering, heat tingling up your spine, and your hand scrambles to hold Robby by the shoulder to make sure you don’t topple over. His face becomes a little blurry as you try desperately to keep your eyes open, as the gentle strokes of her tongue start bordering on too much… until it actually becomes too much.

You scramble backwards, overstimulated, ducking down at an awkward angle towards her panting mouth and giving her a sloppy, upside-down kiss. She clutches onto you, licking into your mouth with enthusiasm as you pour praise down her throat, assuring her how good she made you feel, how beautiful she is. After a couple spit-slick kisses, you pull away, taking in her face and stroking a thumb along her freckled cheek, before kissing it and sitting back against the armrest.

Catching your breath, you watch as Robby hauls her up into a sitting position. She reaches for his face, pulling him into a kiss that’s almost chaste in comparison to the one you shared with her.

When they part, his eyes find yours over the top of her head. He calls you over in silence, repeatedly opening and closing his outstretched hand. You take it, and he pulls you closer until you’re kneeling behind her. Then, he brings the back of your hand to his mouth, presses a kiss to it and says, “Good job, team.”

It makes all of you laugh.

The aftermath isn’t as awkward as you feared. You drink a big glass of water, share a snack in her kitchen, take turns showering, listen to her and Robby discussing their schedules to figure out when they’ll see each other next… and then you move to the front door to say your goodbyes.

She kisses you on the mouth before you leave, thanks you as she pulls away.

When you part ways with Robby when you exit her apartment complex, he does the same.

– – – – –

It's Monday morning, a little over a week later, on your day off. You should use the time to sleep in, not to sit behind your laptop in your kitchen before 7am, but you were up the second you were awake. As you're putting the finishing touches on the sign off of the email you're writing, your phone buzzes.

It’s Robby.

That’s kind of freaky.

Ellis told me to tell you she misses you on the night shift, he writes.

the kids always miss the substitute once their teacher is back, you reply. how happy was samira to see abbot?

Had to talk her down from organizing a welcome back party.

A smile pulls at your lips. Of course she’d try that. Sweet. how was he? healed okay?

Busy trying not to smile too wide at the cake Samira brought in anyway. Then, Healed okay, just some expected general discomfort left. And, Why does Abbot say he has permanent stock in your medical degree?

You roll your eyes. So much for that. because he’s an asshole.

He doesn’t reply, and with a quick glance at the clock you realize his shift probably began and chaos is ensuing. You put your phone down, checking if your cover letter is in the attachment of the email, if you spelled PTMC correctly in the email address… and it looks like everything is in order.

Then your phone buzzes again. This time, Robby’s calling.

“Do you want to hear the story that badly?” you answer with a chuckle. “Because I promise it’s not that–”

“I absolutely want to hear it, but… not why I’m calling.” You wait for him to say more, and hear him sigh deeply before asking, “Can I see you this week?”

You suck in some air through your teeth. “Missing me already, Doctor Robinavitch?”

“I uh, had this dream about you, the kind where I…,” he pauses with a chuckle, and you kind of hate how you can picture him; head tipped down, hand scratching at the short hairs at the back of his head, “...had to do something about it when I woke up. Was almost late for work.”

Oh, fuck. You didn’t expect him to say that. Instantly, images flood your mind of a nondescript bedroom, Robby tangled in bed sheets, still sleepy, thinking about you, rutting against the mattress, maybe even with his hand around his–

“Jesus, Robby…,” you huff, snapping yourself out of it while your cheeks begin to feel warm. Then, you think about her, and you bite your lip before asking, “What about your R3?”

“Wasn’t in my dream,” he says simply. “She’s seeing someone from neuro. At least, I believe they're neuro.”

“So I’m just second choice all across the board, huh?” You aim for a joke, but oof, ouch, you actually kind of hurt yourself with that one… Closing your eyes with a sigh, you try to come up with a way to save it, but Robby’s already speaking.

“You know,” he begins, and he sounds amused, and you hate him, “someone as smart as you should know not to make assumptions.”

“Huh?”

“I’m calling you, not her,” he says, then adds quietly, “Ellis told me I looked… sad– Actually, she said I looked like I just made the saddest realization.”

Well, first of all, few times Robby doesn’t look like that. Second, and once again: Huh?

“After she brought you up to me,” he continues.

That makes something click in your brain: He’s talking about the Samira look, the look you told him about in the bar, about her harbouring– Wait. Your entire body goes rigid as the realization kicks in. And then it floods with something pleasant, something that tingles and makes you giddy…

Warm feelings.

Robby’s voice sounds a little unsteady on the other side of the line when he breaks the silence you put between you, “But you can just tell me the story, and we can pretend this conversation was just that. No hard feelings.”

“I’m free tonight, if you want to hear the story. You can come over after your shift, and…” with a hum, you pretend to think, letting your mouse hover over the ‘send’ button on your job application email, then continue, “...who knows what else I might spill should I be… How should I put it, properly motivated? Suitably loose? Nicely–”

“stuffed?” he finishes for you, voice soft, and deep, because he’s at work but he can’t help himself; he’s calling you about a wet dream he had about you that was so good he had to get himself off after, and making confessions, and the whole thing is actually really getting you goi– “Yeah, text me the address, I’ll fucking be there.”

Click.

He hangs up at the same time you press ‘send’.

– – – – –

Thanks for reading! Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with! I originally wanted to post this for Pride Month, but evidently that didn't work out like I wanted, turns out I have a life and responsibilities (bummer...), but yes, anyway, happy belated Pride Month, friends 💖💜💙!

#changed me. I'm a changed man really if u think about it #fic rec #robby x reader

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joelsgoodgirl · 2 days ago

Text

Give You What You Like

Part 2: Just A Mess

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI

WC: 4.6k

Summary: You were never supposed to see Joel Miller again. You'd traded your body for pills years ago, and it had ruined you. Even after you'd found your way to Jackson from Boston, he'd still managed to end up back in your life.

Tags: afab reader, sexual themes, oral sex (m receiving), dry humping, penetrative sex, degradation, mean!joel, drugs for sex, alcohol use/abuse, drug use/abuse, age gap (joel is 50s/60s, reader is 20/30), joel's pov

A/N: I really wasn't going to post the second part until Monday, but f*ck it, I love these two too much to keep them to myself. Please don't forget to comment, it feeds authors! I made a playlist to listen to while you read that fits the vibe well. You can listen to it here. Each chapter is titled after a song.

AO3 Link Masterlist

You weren’t exactly prepared to face this today. Not this far into your “recovery”. Recovery from loving him, recovery from the alcohol, recovery from…life.

You stared at Tommy like he’d told you he’d shot your puppy.

“Are you sure?” You ask, even though you knew this wasn’t something he’d joke about.

He gives you a nod, his expression a mix of concern and caution.

“He’s okay?” You ask, your voice wavering a little.

“A little worse for wear, but yeah, he’s fine.” Tommy sighs, his lips a fine line as he looks over you. “Maria told me, about all of it.”

Your heart fractures just that much more. She promised not to tell. But Tommy is her husband. You’d never keep anything from your own. “I’m sure you think less of me now.” You say dejectedly, avoiding his eyes.

“‘S not my place to judge you. My brother on the other hand…” He trails off, frowning at you. “I’m sorry he did that to you.”

You cringe outwardly, your lips turning to a grimace. “He didn’t do anythin’ I didn’t ask for.” It comes out harsher than you mean.

“You still love him.” He says it as a statement, not a question.

You deflate further, a sigh ripping its way from your chest. “Yeah, well I really don’t want to, but here we are.” You snap, irritation rising as he reads you too well.

He raises his hands, his expression placating. “He’s different now. You should talk to him.”

“Is this why you came here? To try and fix my poor broken heart? I’m not interested right now, Tommy. I need time.” The thought of even seeing him now made you stomach turn,

Tommy shuffles in place, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Come by for dinner this week.”

“Will he be there?” It’s accusatory, sarcastic and bitter. He’d heard what you said; ignored it.

Tommy shakes his head, sighing heavily. “You can’t avoid him forever. I just want what’s best for you. Both of you.”

“Yeah, well I will as long as I can.” Your hand is on the door, ready to shut it. “He was never supposed to be back in my life, Tommy. I need to move the fuck on.”

“It was ten years ago.” His voice bites back, fueling your anger even further. He was tired of seeing the sadness in your eyes, especially now knowing his own blood had caused it.

You want to scream at him, terrible words you’d never be able to take back. You settle for something less. “I was a kid, Tommy. But this is on me, too. Let me deal with my own shit and keep the fuck out of my business.” You close the door without another word. You hear him sigh on the other side of the door before his footsteps sound down the porch.

Alone.

Again.

He knew he’d fucked up the moment you walked out his door the first time. But those big beautiful eyes pleading with him for an escape had made him a weak man. Those beautiful eyes with a bruise forming under one of them, a split in your lip where the blood was still drying.

He tried to be mean, tried to get you to see this wasn’t the path you wanted to go down. Tried to give you cold looks, make himself bigger to intimidate you. But of course, it hadn’t worked. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

And then you’d kept coming back. Offering more than someone so young should be offering him. And he’d gotten weaker.

He’d given you enough pills that he was starting to come up short on ration cards and cigarettes and booze. You’d offered him everything you’d had.

Then you’d offered your mouth. How was he supposed to say no when you looked so desperate. He cursed himself internally as you begged.

“Please, I want to.” You said, your eyes so wanting it made him weak. Yet his cock still stiffened in his jeans, his throat still dried at the thought of those pretty eyes looking up at him while you took him into your mouth.

And he tries to talk you out of it; he wants to talk you out of it. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t want to taint something so innocent. But then you step closer and palm his cock and it was all over for him.

He’d hoped his mean words would be enough to drive you off, but he watches as you shift, your pupils dilating when he calls you a slut. Like you liked it.

He paced his apartment after you left, anger and guilt bubbling in his chest as he replays the way he’d come down your throat, the vision of your watery eyes sending another wave of lust through him.

He didn’t want to get attached, he knew you were too young. Yet he’d still handed you those pills with the harsh reminder to have a proper payment next time.

Next time.

He didn’t want there to be a next time, but he did. He’d felt powerful and wanted. Not that Tess didn’t want him, but not the way you did. Tess knew too much about him and yet not enough. And he loved her in some sort of his own way, though he’d never admit it and neither would she. He craved something sharper, something with a blade instead of comfort. Something that made his gut churn and his cock harden.

Maybe he was sick. Maybe the fungus had somehow wormed its way in without actually taking over. Making him want to be mean, be horrible. Making him want to tear you limb from limb and watch you come undone under him. But of course it hadn’t, not the way he wished it had. He wanted his lust, his need, to be out of his control. Not proof of how lost he was in the harshness of this new world.

You fall back into the bottle like an old lover, drowning in it until you can't think.

But you still think about him with bile rising in the back of your throat at the mere thought of him being so close.

You were never supposed to see him again. You keep repeating that fact in your head as you tip the bottle to your lips over and over.

You’re brooding now, your lips set in a fine line as you mull over the options in your head. You could leave, but giving up the safety of Jackson was not an option. You could stay and ignore him, but knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever. The only option that made sense would be to stay and confront him. Tell him you’ve moved on and want nothing to do with him.

You stop with the lip of the bottle pressed to your lower lip, ready to take another drink.

The sick thought of a life with Joel slams into the forefront of your mind against your own will. Being tangled in the sheets with him again, much older and wiser now.

Early mornings, the sun barely shining through the kitchen window. You’d be at the stove making breakfast while he tends to the baby. A life filled with so much warmth it greys your memories.

You’re up and running to the bathroom before you can process it, violently rejecting half the alcohol you’d drank. You rest your head against the cold porcelain, panting heavily as your head spins.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you have to catch your breath, sucking in a lungful of air as you sob. Every fiber of your being feels sharp, your body overestimated and hot.

You’d never broken down like this, you’d never allowed yourself to fall into the dark hole that is your future. Especially scenarios that involved Joel.

You try to collect yourself, taking a few deep breaths, but the tears won't stop.

You curse out loud, a broken and angry cry.

You don’t want to feel this way. That weak, pathetic girl who gave into heartbreak so easily. That wasn’t you anymore.

You push yourself up off the tiled floor, finding your balance, making quick work of brushing your teeth clean. You make your way back into your living room, a determination you’d never felt before swelling up in your chest.

Youpre going to talk to him.

Today.

Right now.

You grabbed your coat off the rack, almost angrily shoving it on as you build your courage.

One arm in.

You’re going to tell him what, exactly?

The thought causes you to pause halfway putting your arm through the other sleeve.

What were you going to tell him, exactly?

Going into this blind wasn’t a good idea. You shove your arm the rest of the way though, slowly zipping it up as the options rattle though your head.

The sickness inside him grew the longer he used you. A darkness that consumed in him the inside out.

He craved you. Well, not you, exactly. The release, the power, the need. He was addicted to the way you started to relax further around him.

It made his head spin. Alarm bells in his head anytime you were around.

Then he’d seen that look in your eyes.

A dangerous, all consuming heat.

The first three months were easy. Two to three days a week with his cock down your throat. On your knees with such a pathetic look in your eyes it made him sick with need.

So sick he needed to see you undone to ease the pain.

You fell back onto your heels, wiping the cum from the corner of your mouth as he stared down at you, his heart twisting in his chest.

“Up here, girl.” He pats his thigh after he tucks his cock away, watching the bewildered look in your eyes as you stand on shaky legs and straddle his thigh. His hands grip your waist like a lifeline as he pushes you down on his thigh harder, pushing the muscle up into you.

You double over, your head falling against his shoulder. The whimper you let out almost breaks him. “Needy little thing. Bet that little pussy is just drippin’ for me, ain’t she?” He mutters as you begin to grind yourself against him, your breath fanning over the thin material of his tee.

“Gonna come just from humpin’ my leg like the dog you are?” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he refused to be kind. Knows a delicate thing like you couldn’t take the kindness from him without running with it. Because despite what you were doing, he still wanted to keep some semblance of innocence.

He rocks you back and forth, his grip tightening as you gasp and moan into his ear, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. It unfortunately brought him peace knowing you were just as affected as he was.

His name slips past your lips and you’re coming, your forehead digging into his shoulder blade as you cry out.

No words exchanged after, just the baggie of pills, one less than he’d usually give you.

If you noticed, you didn’t say anything.

Your feet carry you down the streets as you get lost in your thoughts. You aren’t exactly heading for Joel’s, you’re just walking. Thinking.

You’re lost in your own memories of the times you spent with him. You’re playing them over and over again, playing the look in his eyes over and over. He’d never looked at you with softness, never with care.

Not until the day he’d fucked you properly the first time. You’d seen the flash of something in his eyes as he’d come, staring down at you.

A flash of adoration, of care. A softness that jarred you so deep you had to choke back your tears.

You swallow as you shake yourself out of the memory, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Anxiety pulling at your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You realize where you are a moment later. Three houses away from his.

You steel yourself as you straighten your jacket, the cool summer night chilling you enough it sends a shiver up your spine.

You march ahead, the alcohol you’d consumed early slowly leaving your system. You had a clear head now.

You knew what you wanted to say.

You’re knocking on his door before you can think, stepping away as you hesitate. You can only hope he isn’t home.

The door swings open, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You feel your throat tighten, your eyes widen, your stomach drop.

He stares back at you with as much shock, his lips parting as he takes you in. Your name leaves his lips on a breath, a question that’s gone unasked.

“Hi.” You say, your eyes flicking up to his after studying his face for a moment, your voice soft and unsure.

“I thought you were dead.” He says, his voice sounding more angry than he means it. It almost sounds like an explanation. But all the regret and guilt bubbling in his chest made him choke on his words.

It almost physically jostles you, your eyes flashing with a multitude of emotions. Anger, hurt, fear. A looping cycle until you can speak. “Well, huge disappointment, ain’t it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He sighs in exasperation, running a hand down his face. “Tommy told me you were here.”

“I don’t even know why I’m here.” You admit, scuffing your shoe across the coir mat in front of his door.

He stares at you for a moment more, his mind processing finally seeing you after so many years. Of course he’d had a few days to prepare, but never did he think you’d show up at his door.

Not after everything that happened.

“Do you want to come in?” He finally asks, breaking the silent tension.

You visibly relax, looking up at his face again. “If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to talk.”

“S’what you deserve.” He adds quietly as he steps aside.

Walking into his bare home felt too much like walking into that apartment all those years ago, anxiety rising in your throat. It wasn’t exciting anymore, not like it had been toward the end.

You pause in the foyer, turning back to him as you swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry.”

The words stop him in his tracks, back turned to you, his hand still on the doorknob. When he finally turns around, his eyes don’t leave yours. “It’s not you who should be apologizing.”

You shake your head at him, wrapping your arms around your waist. You want to scream at him, want to cry. “I know I shouldn’t, but I’m still gonna.”

He takes a step forward, and it takes everything in you to not do the same, your body still somehow drawn to his after all these years. “I was- I’m still an awful man, darlin’. I don’t deserve your apologies. I should be the one grovelin.”

He sounds…broken. It tears you apart against your own will, there’s something in his voice that speaks of even greater loss than the last time you’d seen him. Expected in this world, but never an invited experience.

“Guess we both got things we regret.” You say, a slight bite to your voice you don’t mean.

It’s like you physically watch him build his walls, his body stiffening as the silence stretches.

“That’s not what I meant, Joel.” You say, the few seconds of silence becoming too much. “Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” You can feel the panic rising, knowing that if this was it, this was it.

“But I do.”

“You’re destroying that girl.”

He sets his coffee cup down harder than he means to, his eyes flashing up to Tess. “I ain’t doin’ anythin’ she ain’t askin’ for.” It’s been close to six months of this mess now. And he’d had his cock buried your cunt more times than he could count. He’d claimed it had been for him the first time. And it had, but the thought of having you come wrapped around him had pushed that sickness to the forefront of his mind. He needed it now.

Tess just shakes her head at him, her arms crossed under her breasts. “You know that’s not my point.”

“Then what is?” He bristles, clenching his jaw.

She knows this isn’t a fight she’ll win, but she still needs to make the point. “She needs to start paying.”

“She is.” He snaps, his eyes down on his cup, his chest tightening.

“No, Joel, you are.” She practically snarls, discontent rising in her throat. “You’re gonna hurt her, Joel. Shit, you already are.” She’s watching her best friend, her practical other half, slip to a place she knows she can’t pull him from.

His anger rises further. She’s right. He knows she’s right. But he can’t bring himself to let you go. “She’ll start paying.” He says with finality, meeting Tess’s eyes.

But they both know you won’t.

“I’m going to end it.” The words come out before he can stop them. “Gotta job.” He adds gruffly. “We’ll be gone at least a month. We leave next week.”

Tess stares at him for a moment, her brows furrowing further. “You need me for this one?”

He’s taken aback by the vulnerability in her voice. His eyes flick back up to hers, seeing that sad look in her eyes. A look of forgiving admiration. “I’ll always need you, Tess.”

Those two little words send you spiraling in an instant, your world suddenly shifting. Your eyes flick back up to his, the same pain reflecting in them. “You don’t mean that.” Your voice is weak with tears you refuse to let fall. “Please tell me you don’t mean that.”

“Don’t you?” He asks, his voice lowering just enough it’s almost a growl. He doesn’t know where the anger is coming from. Guilt piles on his chest like a thousand bricks after he sees your face drop.

“I don’t.” Your eyes don’t stop searching his. “I did, at one point. Only thing I regret was not doin it right.”

“There was no right way.” He says; cracks in his walls. He steps toward you again, continuing past you to the kitchen. He’s pulling a beer from the fridge when your brain catches up and you follow him.

“So you regret it all?” You ask, your voice steeled as you try to swallow your emotions, the conversation going a way you’d not thought it could.

His beer bottle hits the counter hard when he sets it down, his eyes landing on yours in return. “I regret the goddamn exchange. I don’t regret fuckin’ you.” He’s frustrated, you see it in the tension in his shoulders. “Christ.” A rough hand musses his curls as he threads his fingers through them. “I regret lettin’ it get so far that you got hurt.”

His admission almost startles you, watching his forehead crease as he realizes what he’s said. “That was inevitable.” You both know it’s true, but it’s the first time you’ve heard it said aloud.

His sigh is laden with guilt, self deprecation. “I was awful to you. I don’t get it, why’d you keep coming back?”

It’s progress; the question. It’s talking. It’s admitting it wasn’t all about the pills.

“It was an escape. You knew that from the beginning.” You admit, shuffling a little, putting space between you again before he’s tilting his head toward the fridge, lifting his beer, your small nod enough of an answer.

He’s pulling out what looks to be a bottle of mead, the silence stretching as he contemplates your answer. You happily accept the glass he pours.

“I wasn’t expecting it to end the way it did. I don’t think either of us did.” You break the silence as he leans back against the counter, still caught up in observing each other.

His shoulders rise and fall in a slight shrug of agreement and acknowledgment. It’s all you get.

“What are we doing here, Joel?” Your words are defeated, fingers clutching your glass like a lifeline. “I just want to know where we stand.”

“You came to me, darlin’.” He points out rightfully. You had, but you were at least expecting something from him too.

So you tell him that.

“I don’t know what I want.” He says gruffly, his eyes flashing with an emotion you can’t identify. Something you’d never seen in him before.

“Friendship?” You offer, but then grimace. “Sounds like we’re breaking up.”

His answer is too quick for you, your throat constring.

“We weren’t ever anythin’ to break up.”

You swallow thickly, your courage swelling. “Why do you deny it? Even all these years later. We know it wasn’t just about the pills anymore.” You watch him stiffen, shuffling on his feet.

“I’m not the type of man for that. I don’t do love, I don’t do relationships.” He’s harsh, the words biting at you and tearing you apart.

“You did Tess.” You want to get a rise out of him, get him mad. You want him to yell, you want to yell.

His eyes flash with something that nearly knocks you off your feet. A deep regret mixed with longing. You’ve seen that look in so many others. It instantly deflates you, your face falling in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Joel.” You mutter, sincerely. “Look, I don’t want to fight, I just want to figure this out so we can move on. I need closure. I never thought I’d get it, but I’m getting a second chance and I need you to just talk to me.” Your voice edges on desperation as he empties his glass, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“What do you want from me?”

You heave a sad sigh, sitting down at his kitchen table, he does the same after a few moments. “I don’t know, Joel. An apology? An explanation? I know I said something I shouldn’t have said, but why’d you leave?”

“I had a job. Took me out for nearly three months. Wasn’t supposed to be that long.” He grumbles, his eyes watching his glass as he swirls the alcohol around in it, not taking another drink. “I looked for you.” There’s a thread of vulnerability in his voice.

Your eyes snap up to his, shock registering on your face. You’d given up after two months, sneaking out with a group to try to find a better life. It had somehow worked, it had eventually led you here to Jackson.

“Why?”

The question leaves him quiet for a few long moments before he finally looks up at you. “I don’t know. I still don’t. I’m bad for you, darlin’. Nothin’ good can come of stayin’ ‘round me.” A heavy sigh before he continues. “I fail everyone. People get hurt around me all the time. I can’t do it to you. Again.”

Your stomach flips at the sadness in his voice, the way his eyes won’t meet yours. You want to reach for his hand, you want to comfort him. But you’ve never been that for him. Comfort.

You’re a mess, grinding your hips down onto his as he slaps your ass again.

He’s got you bare from the waist down, grinding against his erection in his jeans.

He wanted you like this, dripping and needy, begging for him to fuck you.

And you love every second of it. The imbalance. Him still fully clothed while you’ve only got your ratty t-shirt on.

“There ya go, good girl.” Joel growls into your ear, lips barely brushing your skin. “Know how much you like ridin’ me. Make yourself come and you can have my cock.”

Another whimper, a pathetic little sound as your clit catches on the seam of his jeans just right, each roll of your hips skyrocketing you toward your orgasm.

“I’m so close.” It’s mumbled against the fabric at his shoulder, your nose digging into his collarbone.

Another slap to your ass sends you careening over the edge, practically soaking the front of his jeans.

“There ya go, baby.” He mutters, his hands on your hips dragging you through your mess.

You preen at his soft tone, your body shuddering as you ride your high.

He’d gotten kinder in the five months you’d been doing this. He still held harsh words over you, but there would be flashes of moments where you saw flashes of something softer.

There’d be days like today.

Harsh movements and words melting into softness. He’d even started taking you to his bed.

You curl yourself around him when he stands, nuzzling your nose into his neck as he carries you to his bedroom.

Thankful today was one of those days.

You bounce on the mattress when you let go, trying to hide how much it was affecting you. How it made something warm swell in your chest, slowly growing with each passing day.

You’ve got your shirt off in record time, watching him remove his clothes. He was meticulous with it, making you wait as he neatly undoes every button.

You know he likes watching you squirm. Likes having that much power over you.

He tuts at you when he goes to pull off his belt. “Made a goddamn mess on me.”

You can’t help but smirk, letting your legs fall to expose yourself more to him. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

A snort leaves him before he can stop it, a cocky smirk on his face. “Quite the mouth on you today, darlin’. Need me to stuff it full?”

A shake of your head as you scoot up the bed while he kicks off his boxers and jeans is enough of an answer for him. He kneels on the bed, tapping your ankle. “Uh uh, pretty girl. You’re riding it tonight.”

You waste no time clambering to your knees, too eager for your own good.

He clicks his tongue at you again, his eyes filled with mirth. “Little slut likes ridin’, don’t she?”

You gnash your teeth playfully, straddling his hips when he finally lays back. You sink down with no preamble, taking him to the hilt.

It always hurts, but you crave it now. A cruel reminder of how this man was carving his way to your heart.

He lets you move the way he knows you need, his hands finding their home against your hips. With only the sound of skin on skin filling the room.

You’re the first to break the silence when pushes his hips on one of your downthrusts, a gasping cry of his name.

He grits his teeth as your pussy flutters around him, thrusting up harder into you. “That’s my good girl.” He pants, his teeth against your neck.

You’re coming before you realize you’re about to, your head falling back as you cry out his name over and over. The single word repeating in your head through your bliss.

His.

His good girl.

He’s shoving you off of him before you can register, your back hitting the bed. He kneels between your legs, his cum painting your pussy and lower stomach with just a few pumps of his fist.

He cleans you up with his mouth, bringing you to orgasm three more times.

You both know it’s for selfish reasons you’re doing this now.

But you don’t talk about it. He’s given you the same amount of pills for almost two months. Since the first time he’d fucked you properly.

It’s the first time you fall asleep in his bed, curled up.

Alone.

Again.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal #tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel tlou #tlou joel #joel smut #smut #joel x you #pedropascal #angst #fanfiction #queue you mind?

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fratboyrrrry · 18 hours ago

Text

ONE SHOT//18+

Pairing: Harry styles x Reader (y/n)

CW: Unprotected sex, Fluff, Dom/sub, slight breeding kink, cream pie, dirty talk, oral (f & m receiving), slight fingering, slight size kink, slight nipple play (probably more, i do not wanna read it all again.)

Y/N wants a baby, but she didn’t know that harry felt the same way..

౨ৎ

The quiet in your shared bedroom was comfortable. Familiar. The golden afternoon light painted soft lines across the bed, where Harry lay with a book in his hand and a gentle crease between his brows, totally focused on the page.

You were sitting at the end of the bed, legs crossed, pretending to scroll on your phone—but your mind had been miles away for the last twenty minutes.

You had rehearsed the sentence in your head a hundred different ways.

“Harry, I’ve been thinking…”

“What would you say if…”

“So, I saw this baby video today…”

But nothing came out. Not yet.

Because it felt big.

Not just what you were about to say, but how long you’d been quietly holding it inside. Every time you saw him with your nieces and nephews. Every time you walked past the little boutique downtown with the tiny shoes in the window. Every time he laughed and looked at you like you were the only girl in the world.

You wanted to see what his love would look like wrapped up in soft curls and dimpled cheeks. You wanted a part of him sleeping in your arms.

You wanted his baby.

And you didn’t know how to say that without shattering the moment.

“Alright over there?” Harry asked suddenly, voice soft and accented, not looking up from his book.

You blinked.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

He lowered the book slightly, giving you that look—eyebrow raised, corners of his mouth twitching. “Dangerous thing for you to be doing.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but your hands were still nervously twisting in your lap.

Harry sat up fully now, shutting his book and tossing it gently to the nightstand.

“Y/N.”

You looked up.

He was serious now. Curious. Concerned.

And still so beautiful it made your throat tighten.

You took a breath.

“I want to talk to you about something,” you said slowly. “But I’m scared you’ll think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Try me,” he said, already inching closer, his hand finding your knee and squeezing it gently. “I married you, didn’t I? Must’ve known you were halfway to insane.”

You huffed out a soft laugh again, but it cracked just slightly.

Your eyes met his.

And then you said it.

“I want a baby.”

Silence.

Your heart thumped so loudly it felt like it echoed in your chest. You looked down, afraid of the look on his face—afraid he’d be shocked or startled or unsure. You tried to backpedal, words rushing out too fast.

“I mean—not this second, obviously. And only if you want to. I just—I keep thinking about it and I feel like—like something in me aches for it, Harry. But I’d never push it on you, I promise, it’s just—”

He cut you off by sliding his hands to your waist, pulling you gently into his lap.

You blinked at him, startled, as his hands came up to cradle your face.

“I want one too,” he said.

You froze.

“What?”

His thumbs brushed under your eyes like he was afraid you might cry.

“I’ve wanted one,” he whispered. “For a long time now. Was just waiting on you to bring it up.”

You stared at him, breath catching.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“’Cause I didn’t want you to feel pressured,” he said with a small smile. “Didn’t wanna make you think I needed more than this life we already built. I already have everything, Y/N. But if we get to raise something that’s half me, half you?”

His voice went soft. Honest.

“I think I’d lose my mind loving that little thing.”

You burst into tears.

Of course you did.

Harry laughed gently and pressed his forehead to yours, wiping your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, kissing your nose. “We’re gonna be the best parents. You know that?”

You nodded, sniffling. “You think?”

He nodded firmly. “I know.”

And in the quiet that followed, your hands found his. Fingers interlocking. Hearts thudding in perfect sync.

Because for the first time in a long time, something that felt impossible suddenly felt right.

You were still sniffling softly against his chest, his arms warm and protective around you, when he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again.

His smile was crooked.

A little smug.

A little dangerous.

“So,” he said slowly, eyes flicking down to your lips, “does this mean you’re interested in… starting now?”

Your mouth fell open.

“What?” you squeaked, eyes wide.

He grinned—that grin—the one that meant he was about to ruin you in the most loving, emotionally destabilizing way.

“I mean, we’re married,” he said casually, brushing his thumb across your lower lip. “We’re healthy. In love. Mad about each other. You just told me you want my baby.”

Your heart thumped.

Hard.

“Harry—”

“And I want yours,” he added, voice lower now, fingers trailing gently down your side. “So why not now?”

You blinked at him.

You were still in a hoodie and leggings, with tear-streaked cheeks and your hair in a bun that was half falling out—but the way he was looking at you, none of that mattered.

He looked hungry.

Not just for you.

But for the life you’d just asked for.

“For real?” you asked, voice small. “Like… you’d actually try? Right now?”

His hand slid under your hoodie, palm warm on your stomach.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, “I’ve been dreaming about you pregnant with my baby since before we even said ‘I do.’ I just didn’t want to scare you off.”

Your breath caught.

“I thought I’d have to convince you someday,” he added with a laugh, “but here you are, crying in my arms because you want it too.”

You laughed through the emotion—because it was so you, and he knew it, and he loved it.

“God, you’re serious,” you whispered.

He kissed your jaw.

Then your temple.

Then your lips.

“Dead serious,” he murmured. “So I’ll ask again—”

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“You wanna start now?”

Your whole body shivered.

And after a beat of stunned silence, you whispered back:

“…Yeah.”

As she stayed straddling him, thighs bracketing his hips, your palms planted on his chest. His skin was hot beneath your touch, his heartbeat wild, erratic. He stared up at you like he couldn’t breathe without permission.

“Y/N…” he rasped, voice hoarse.

You tilted your head, lips ghosting over his.

Then you sat back on him. Not taking him in—not yet—just grinding down, soft and slow, through the thin cotton of your panties. His cock, hot and heavy, pressed right against you.

His head dropped back. A strangled moan escaped him.

You rocked again.

And again.

Letting your eyes fall shut, savoring every flicker of friction, every twitch of him beneath you.

“This what you wanted? you want to feel me ontop of you as imagine me getting pregnant?”

He whimpered, hands clutching her hips, aching to fuck you, but he learned to let you take control sometimes in the bedroom and he loved it.

You leaned in, finally kissing him.

It was filthy—tongues and teeth and gasps between your lips. Desperate and slick and too much.

Then you pulled back, breathless.

You slowly grinded on him as you watched his face, his cheeked flushed from want, and desire. His veins in his arms poking out from him holding your hips hard, not guiding you, just there as if he needs to ground himself.

“that feel good, baby?” you ask a little breathlessly, and he nodded as he leaned forward to kiss your neck, just anything to maintain some control as you grinded on his cock very teasingly, he knew better than to rush you.

And then, after one particularly slow, hard grind, you moaned his name.

“Harry…”

He broke.

“Fuck—I can’t—I’m gonna come—” he panted against her throat as he sucked on it and growled quietly as his hands were now guiding her movements slowly.

“not yet—i want something else first..” you said as you pulled your panties to the side and he immediately got the hint, “Put that mouth to use.”

And he did.

He devoured you.

Dragged you down onto his face like he’d been starving for years and finally had his first meal. Groaning, gripping your thighs, tongue lapping, lips sucking. You sat up, one hand in his hair, rocking against his mouth with a moan.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, sounding wrecked and needy. “God, this is the best fucking pussy i’ve ever had.” he groaned as he added two fingers into the mix, slowly pumping them in and out as he sucked on your clit.

“Y’gonna come for me? make a mess of my face? hm? cmon darling, be a good girl and make a mess for me..” he begged as he pulled his fingers out and fucked his tongue into you.

When you finally came—shaking, loud, pulling his curls tight in your fists—he moaned beneath you like he had come, too.

“there we go.. my good fucking girl..” he praised as he slowly guided her through her orgasm.

He sat up after you got overly sensitive as he rubbed over your inner thighs with his larger hands splayed out and keeping your thighs separated.

“think we need to take this off..” *he said as he helped you sit up and pull your shirt off, as he admired your braless state, your perky breasts perfect and waiting for him.

“harry..” you whined quietly, he almost missed it, but his dark green lust filled eyes looked up into yours.

“what is it baby? use your words for me.” he said in his now raspy and slightly husky voice.

You instead reached forward and tugged on his sweatpants, as you looked at him with needy eyes.

“you gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.” he said as he ran his hands up your sides as his thumbs rested just on the underside of her breasts, not touching, just waiting for her words.

“want your cock.” you said.

He didn’t know if he could get any harder, but if he could, he probably would’ve right now.

“Yeah? Want me to get you pregnant?” he ask as he pushed off his sweatpants and the could see the thick outline through his boxers—hard and heavy, pressed against the fabric of his briefs with a pulse of desperate need. Thick, hot, and aching, it strained for attention, for touch, for her. Every throb of just how badly he wanted to be inside her.

“take it out for me baby.” he said rather huskily.

Your breath caught as you settled between his legs, the room quiet except for the low hum of his breathing. Harry leaned back against the headboard, legs parted just enough, eyes hooded as he watched you every move like you were the only thing tethering him to this moment.

Her fingers trailed down his bare stomach, slow and deliberate, until they hooked into the waistband of his boxers. He hissed through his teeth, hips twitching at the first brush of her knuckles.

“Go on, love,” he rasped, voice thick. “Take it out. You know it’s all yours.”

She swallowed, heart pounding as she tugged the waistband down slowly. Inch by inch, his cock was revealed—thick, flushed, and impossibly hard, heavy against his lower abdomen. Your eyes widened slightly, not because it was unfamiliar, but because somehow, every time felt like the first.

Veins traced along the length, the tip already slick, pulsing with quiet urgency. He was beautiful like this—bare, wanting, unashamed.

You wrapped your fingers around him gently, the heat of him startling, the weight familiar. He let out a low groan, his hand fisting the sheets, hips twitching again as your thumb slid across the head in a featherlight stroke.

“You drive me mad,” he murmured, eyes never leaving hers. “Just like that.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around him, stroking once, twice, before you leaned forward, lips parting as your breath warmed the sensitive skin of his tip. Harry’s hand shot out to grip the back of your neck—not to stop you, but to feel grounded. Anchored. Because the second your mouth touched him, he knew he was in trouble.

You were slow. Devastatingly slow.

Your tongue traced a lazy circle, teasing him, tasting him, before you finally took him into your mouth. Just the tip at first—gentle, deliberate. Your lips wrapped around him, cheeks hollowing slightly as you sucked with just enough pressure to make his eyes roll back.

“Fuck, Avi,” he groaned, head falling against the headboard. His abs flexed under your palms. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You hummed around him, smug, your eyes flicking up to meet his—and that look alone almost undid him. He couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think.

You took more of him, inch by inch, letting him slide deeper, your tongue swirling with every movement, keeping eye contact the entire time.

His thighs tensed. His breath caught.

And just when he felt the burn start—that overwhelming rise in pressure, the dizzying loss of control—his hand fisted in your hair, tugging gently but firmly.

“Stop,” he rasped.

You froze, looking up, lips still wrapped around him, confused and flushed.

“Not like this,” he panted, pulling you up. “I wanna finish inside you. Where it counts.”

Your breath hitched.

And the way he kissed you then—wet, deep, full of everything he was holding back—left no doubt about what was coming next.

Harry didn’t waste a second. He grabbed your hips, lifting you just enough to line himself up perfectly, then slammed into you hard and deep. The force stole your breath, your body arching instinctively beneath him.

“You feel that, baby?” he growled, voice rough and thick with desire. “You’re so fucking tight, taking me so damn well.”

You gasped, trying to catch your breath, but all you could manage was a shaky moan. your hands clenched into fists on the sheets as he hammered into you, relentless and merciless.

“Look at you, whining already,” Harry whispered in your ear, teeth grazing your skin. “Can’t handle me? I’m just getting started.”

He leaned down and took one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth as he sucked on it and flicked his tongue over your nipple, as he pounded into with great force that left you squirming and crying out.

Your throat tightened, words slipping away with every brutal thrust. You wanted to speak—to beg or curse or scream his name—but the raw pounding left you gasping, barely able to form a single syllable.

“That’s it,” he hissed as he took his mouth off of her nipple leaving a red mark, voice low and filthy. “Let the fuckin’ feel take over. You’re mine—gonna ride this hard cock until you’re begging for mercy.”

You shook your head weakly, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

Harry’s hands gripped your hips tighter, slapping skin against skin as he drove into you with merciless rhythm. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “So wet and fucking desperate for me.”

You bit your lip hard to keep from crying out, your body trembling, mind swimming in a haze of pleasure and pain.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice snapping like a whip. “Say you want me to fuck you harder.”

“Fuck me,” you gasped finally, voice raw, barely audible.

“Good girl,” he snarled, thrusting deeper, faster, every movement shattering the space between them. “I’m gonna make you scream my name so loud the whole damn neighborhood hears.”

You tried to speak again, tried to tell him how much you needed him, but all that escaped was a broken, breathless whisper.

Harry’s lips curled into a dark smile as he captured your mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pounded into you with every ounce of hunger.

“Come for me,” he growled, voice ragged. “Come all over my cock.”

And with a cry that tore through you, you did—shaking, trembling, drowning in the storm he unleashed.

He followed moments later, filling you completely, shuddering deep inside you as he rode out every last pulse.

They collapsed together, sweat-slick and breathless, the only sounds their ragged breathing and pounding hearts.

His hips slowly moving still as he groaned against your throat as he slowly pulled out, them both gasping at the loss, as he watched his cum slowly pool out of your still clenching hole.

“look at that fuckin’ beautiful sight..” he said as he rubbed a hand over your belly.

“Are you doing alright, gorgeous?” he ask as leaned up to kiss your temple.

All you could manage was a weak nod, and had your eyes closed still in ecstasy.

“i’ll be right back, gonna clean you up.” he said as he kissed your forehead and got up, still gloriously naked and walked to their bathroom to get a washcloth.

He came back with the slightly damp washcloth as he gently cleaned you up as he kissed her inner thighs and whispered praises.

After he finished cleaning you up he threw the washcloth into their laundry hamper and got back into bed, pulling you close to his side as he kissed your forehead again, pulling the blankets up.

“I love you, my girl.” he said as he rubbed his hand gently up and down your back.

“i love you too…” you mumbled back sleepily as you let him hold you to sleep.

౨ৎ

A/N: Fuck this took too long, lmk what you think!!! goodnight.

#harry styles #harry styles one shots #fanfiction #harry edward styles #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles hs1 #smut #fluff #one shot

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