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sweettu1ips · 15 days ago

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PAIGE BUECKERS x SINGER!FEM READER

SYNOPSIS: "Between tangled sheets and whispered apologies, they find each other again—lost in heat, regret, and the promise of something new."

WARNING(S): (18+) ⋮ smut ⋮ fuck buddies gone wrong(idfk) ⋮ explicit sexual content ⋮ oral r!recieving ⋮ strap usage ⋮ pnv ⋮ edging(ish) ⋮ overstimulation ⋮ rough(ish) ⋮ dom!Paige ⋮ sub!Reader ⋮ teasing ⋮ praiseing ⋮ light choking (if you squint) ⋮ soft aftercare ⋮ angst ⋮ reconciliation ⋮ aruging ⋮ situationship

WORD COUNT: 18.8k [ yes, I went over board....]

| MAIN MASTER LIST ⋮ PURPLE LACE BRA[P1] |

PAIGE'S POV | THIRD PERSON POV:

THE ECHO OF THE BASKETBALL thudding against the polished wood reverberated through the near-empty gym, a hollow, rhythmic pulse swallowed by the cavernous space.

Overhead fluorescents flickered faintly, their sterile glow casting elongated shadows across the court, the hum of electricity a quiet, nagging presence.

The air smelled faintly of sweat, old rubber, and the lingering trace of cleaning solution, a scent so familiar it should have been grounding.

But Paige felt anything but grounded.

Her body moved on autopilot—elbows tucking in, follow-through clean—but the ball clanked against the rim, bouncing off at an awkward angle, a sound that gnawed at her nerves.

Her rhythm was off. Her mind, untethered.

Her thoughts stretched thin across miles, pulled toward a place where the lights burned hotter, the air buzzed electric, and a voice—low, raspy, a whisper against her skin—now belonged to a stage, to an audience, to a world that wasn’t hers anymore.

"Paige."

KK’s voice cut through the haze, sharp but laced with the ease of someone who had known her long enough to recognize when she was spiraling. "You look like shit."

Azzi, cross-legged on the floor, barely glanced up from her phone, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, brows drawn in a mix of amusement and mild concern.

"Like, actually. I was gonna let it slide last week, but we’re two weeks deep now, and you look like a sleep paralysis demon."

Paige exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes, though even that felt exhausting.

The ball slipped from her hands, bouncing lazily toward the sideline, its rhythmic patter swallowed by the quiet. "Thanks for the support. Really feeling the love tonight."

KK raised a brow, arms crossing over her chest. "Nah, for real. You good? ‘Cause ever since you got back from–– whatever the hell that trip was, you’ve been off."

Paige dragged a hand down her face, the heel of her palm pressing into her eye socket like she could physically rub away the exhaustion clawing at her. "I’m fine, just tired as fuck."

Azzi snorted, finally looking up. "Tired, my ass. You barely miss free throws, and you’ve bricked, like, five in the last ten minutes."

Paige clenched her jaw, the tension so tight it ached.

She didn’t want to talk about it.

Didn’t want to say that every shot that missed felt like another way she was unraveling. That her head wasn’t in the game because it was still trapped in a dressing room somewhere across the state, waiting for something—someone—that never came back.

KK studied her, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Or maybe this has something to do with Y/N?"

The name hit harder than she expected, like a punch to the ribs, sharp and unexpected. Paige stiffened, her breath hitching for just a fraction of a second—too fast, too subtle for most people to catch.

But KK and Azzi weren’t most people.

Azzi sighed, locking her phone and resting her chin against her knee. "Listen, we don’t need the details. But if you wanna talk—"

"There’s nothing to talk about," Paige cut in, too quick, too clipped. Her hands found her hair, fingers gripping at the roots, grounding herself in the pressure. "We fucked, fought. She left. End of story."

KK let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "Damn, man. Y’all really did a number on each other, huh?"

A bitter laugh scratched its way out of Paige’s throat, short and humorless. "She’s fine. She’s out there, killing it, selling out arenas, living the dream. She’s—" Paige swallowed, forcing the words out like they didn’t taste like ash. "She’s good."

Azzi watched her, her voice quieter now. "And you?"

Paige dragged in a breath, held it, then let it out slow. "I’m playing basketball."

KK clicked her tongue. "That ain’t an answer."

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy, pressing against Paige’s ribs like a weight she couldn’t shake. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching with the urge to check her phone.

To see if maybe—maybe—Y/N had left something for her. A text. A call. A sign that she hadn’t imagined it all, that she hadn’t been just another fleeting moment in a life too big, too loud, too unstoppable for someone like her to hold onto.

But she knew better.

She had waited in that dressing room too long, let the seconds drag into minutes, let hope stretch thin and fragile in her chest until it finally snapped.

She had checked her phone too many times since then, only to be met with silence.

She had never known silence could be so deafening.

"It doesn’t matter," she muttered finally, voice tight. "We’re done. Plus–– it ain’t nothin’ serious anyways."

KK and Azzi exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between them. They didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, KK jerked her chin toward the ball rolling idly near the sideline.

"Well, at least get your head out of your ass before practice tomorrow. Geno’s gonna eat you alive if you play like this."

Paige forced a smirk, but it barely touched her eyes. "Wouldn’t want that."

Azzi stood, stretching. "Let’s head back. Maybe you’ll get some actual sleep tonight."

Paige nodded, trailing behind them as they made their way out of the gym. The moment the doors shut behind her, she yanked her phone from her pocket, her chest tightening at the sight of the notification blinking up at her.

@lexington_y/n

New city. New show. New pictures.

Paige stared, thumb hovering over the post, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The images would be the same as always—Y/N bathed in golden stage lights, a crowd screaming her name, a world that Paige had never been a part of.

She locked her phone before she could look.

Before she could wonder if Y/N ever hesitated the way she did. If she ever hovered over Paige’s name, fingers itching to type something but never following through.

The world thought Y/N had left her behind, untouched and unaffected.

Only Paige knew the truth.

She was wrecked.

… and she knew she needed to do something about it.

Y/N’S POV:

The hum of the jet was constant, a soft vibration that lived in my bones, steady and unwavering—so unlike the storm inside my head.

It was the only sound in the dimly lit cabin, save for the occasional clink of my wine glass against the polished wood of the table in front of me.

The turbulence outside was minimal, but inside me? A different kind of turbulence brewed, thick and relentless, curling around my ribs and refusing to let go.

I leaned back against the cool leather seat, exhaling slowly, willing the tightness in my chest to loosen.

The rim of my glass pressed against my lips, the deep, velvety notes of the wine resting on my tongue, but I barely tasted it. It was expensive—I knew that much.

A ridiculous, aged bottle that probably had some sommelier waxing poetic about its oaky finish and hints of blackberry, but to me, it might as well have been water.

My gaze drifted to the window, where the night stretched endlessly, a vast ocean of black speckled with distant city lights and constellations too far away to touch.

Dallas had been electric, the kind of high only a sold-out stadium could bring, the energy of it still clinging to my skin like static.

My body still hummed with the aftermath of adrenaline, but the crash had begun. And with it, the thoughts returned.

Her.

Paige.

My jaw clenched.

God, why?

Why did she still live in my mind like this, creeping into the quiet spaces, filling them with echoes of things I swore I had left behind?

I was the one who finally walked away. The one who ended it. The one who told her we couldn’t keep pretending that this thing between us was something it wasn’t.

So why did it still feel like she was holding all the strings?

I closed my eyes for a moment, pressing my temple against the glass, the cold a stark contrast to the warmth burning beneath my skin.

The tour was exhausting, an endless loop of flashing lights, deafening screams, and hotel rooms that all started to look the same after a while.

I had convinced myself that it would be enough—enough to drown out the lingering ghosts, enough to forget the way her name still tasted like something sweet and forbidden on my tongue.

But it hadn’t been.

And now I was here, in the sky, suspended between destinations, trying to outrun a feeling that had already caught up to me.

At least I didn’t have to worry.

Paige wouldn’t be in Connecticut.

The team was in Ohio tonight—some game, some tournament, some obligation that kept her far enough away that I could breathe.

Far enough that I could let my guard down, even just for a day or two, without the risk of seeing those sharp blue eyes and that maddening smirk that always made me forget what I was supposed to be running from.

I sighed, setting my wine glass down, watching the way the liquid swayed inside it—deep red, rich, curling against the sides of the glass like ink bleeding through water.

I stared at it, the way the light hit it, the way it moved, fluid and restless, a mirror of the thing inside me that refused to settle.

And then my phone buzzed.

A single vibration against the wood, barely a whisper of sound, but it may as well have been a gunshot in the silence of the cabin.

I flinched.

My eyes dropped to the screen, my fingers hesitating for just a fraction of a second before I reached for it, flipping it over.

And just like that, all the air left my lungs.

@paigebueckers liked your post.

The words were simple, harmless even. Just a meaningless notification. A tap of a finger. A fleeting acknowledgment.

But to me, it was a match dropped in gasoline.

A sharp inhale lodged itself in my throat, something heavy pressing against my ribs, spreading through me like wildfire.

It was nothing. It was everything.

It was a ghost of something unfinished. A whisper of a connection that refused to sever completely.

My fingers tightened around the phone, the pad of my thumb hovering over the screen, as if clicking on it would give me something—an answer, a sign, a reason.

But I already knew better.

I set the phone down, flipping it facedown like that would make it disappear, like it could erase the sudden, all-consuming awareness that I was still tethered to her, still caught in the gravitational pull of something I had spent months trying to escape.

The jet hummed around me, steady, relentless, indifferent.

I closed my eyes, trying to breathe past it.

But all I could see was her.

Laughing. Touching me. Kissing me.

And then—slowly, painfully—turning away.

Her fingers, once tangled with mine, slipping free like grains of sand through my grasp, leaving nothing but an aching absence in their wake.

Her shoulders, tense at first, then relaxing, as if she had made peace with something I hadn't. The subtle hitch in her breath, the fleeting hesitation in her step, before she forced herself to move.

And then she did.

Walking away with the kind of quiet finality that didn’t need words, her silhouette shrinking with every step, swallowed by distance, by time, by everything I wasn’t ready to let go of.

Not once looking back.

I drifted off without realizing, the hum of the jet and the gentle sway of the clouds lulling me into a soft, unspoken surrender.

The seat, which had once felt stiff beneath me, had now molded to the curve of my body, and the wine glass I had held in my hand had long since gone forgotten.

Time slipped through my fingers like water, and before I could even blink, three hours had passed in what felt like mere moments.

The jet, with its pristine leather seats and velvet curtains, became a cocoon, a world that moved at its own pace, indifferent to the world below.

The city lights of Dallas had long faded from view, and in the haze of sleep, the only thing that anchored me was the weight of my thoughts—the ones that were always there, always waiting in the corners of my mind. Paige. That damn blonde.

The one who had never truly left me, no matter how much I tried to move on.

And then, just as I was lost in the flicker of half-conscious dreams, a soft voice broke through the fog of my mind.

“Miss Y/N?”

I blinked my eyes open, the sudden rush of reality hitting me like a cool wave. Maddy, the flight attendant, stood beside me, her gentle hand on my shoulder, her face lit by the soft glow of the cabin’s lights.

She had a warmth about her, a kindness I had grown accustomed to during our flights.

She was always so poised, so effortlessly graceful, but tonight, her expression was a little softer, like she knew I needed a nudge back into the world.

“Sorry to wake you, but we’re almost there. You might want to gather your things.”

I nodded, my body sluggish as I sat up, the remnants of sleep still clinging to my eyelids.

I glanced out the window, and for the first time in hours, I saw the skyline of Connecticut rising like a beacon. It was surreal, the way it hit me in a wave. Time had passed, and the night was creeping forward, inching into the early hours, a place I wasn’t sure I was ready to be.

The jet had barely touched down before my mind was already rushing ahead. I stood up, gathering my carry-on with clumsy fingers, the exhaustion weighing heavy in my chest.

The quiet hum of the engines seemed louder now, the finality of it all settling in my bones. Connecticut. An hour ahead of Texas, and now, here I was. 1 AM. The darkness outside the plane felt colder somehow, more real, like it was waiting for me to re-enter it.

The doors to the jet opened, and the cool Connecticut air greeted me like a breath of relief. Maddy followed me down the stairs, offering a final, quiet smile as I made my way to the ground.

The pilot waved from the front, his face still unreadable in the dim light, but there was a comfort in the routine of it. These people, these small moments—strangers who had become familiar—had woven themselves into the fabric of my life, even for just a brief stretch of time.

“Thanks again, Maddy,” I said, my voice a little hoarse, but sincere. “I’ll see you next time.”

“Of course,” she replied, her tone warm and steady. “Safe travels, Y/N.”

I turned to the pilot, offering a quick nod, my muscles still sluggish as I adjusted my bag over my shoulder. The cool night air wrapped around me, and I made my way toward the awaiting car, the sounds of the airport already starting to fade into the background.

As I reached the car, my phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration cutting through the stillness of the night. I glanced down, my heart giving a small jolt when I saw the name.

My mom. Of course.

I answered the call with a soft sigh, trying to steady my breath. “Hey, Mom.”

“Y/N? You made it?”

“Yeah, actually,” I replied, stepping into the car and sliding the door shut behind me. “Just landed.”

“Good. You sound tired, honey. Long flight?”

I let out a small laugh, a touch of irony in my voice. “You could say that. But, yeah, I’m exhausted. Gonna head back to the apartment and crash for a bit. Connecticut’s always a bit of a wake-up call after Texas, you know?”

She chuckled, the sound familiar and comforting. “I bet. Well, take it easy. When you’re up, come on by. I’ll make us something to eat. You know how it is.”

“Mhmm,” I said, leaning back into the seat, letting the warmth of my car wrap around me. “I’ll drive down in the morning. Thought I’d spend a couple of days. Bother you guys.”

The words felt good, slipping out like a secret I hadn’t realized I needed to share. My laughter came easily then, a lightness I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in too long.

It was something I hadn’t done in what felt like forever—let myself enjoy the simplicity of being home, of being surrounded by the people who knew me best.

“Alright, honey. I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I ended the call, the quiet hum of the car filling the space between us, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I let myself exhale.

Tomorrow would come. It would be messy, it would be complicated, but for now, I had this—a moment of peace, a fleeting one, but it was enough. The city skyline of Hartford glowed in the distance, like a soft pulse in the dark, beckoning me home.

The wheel in my hands felt familiar, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. I could already feel the fatigue setting in, my mind heavy with the weight of the past few days, but I pushed it down, keeping my focus on the road.

The late-night quiet was almost too perfect, the night cradling me in its gentle arms.

The tires hummed steadily beneath me as I veered onto the highway, and I let myself drift for a moment. The city lights twinkled like distant stars, each one a promise, a memory of the home I’d come back to.

There was something about the cities of Connecticut at night—its streets always quieter, its corners always darker, yet the heart of it still pulsing with life. A small comfort, one I didn’t know I needed until now.

I could almost taste it, the familiarity. The places, the streets, the air—I knew them all, and for some reason, that felt like enough for tonight.

Then, without warning, Frank Ocean poured from the speakers, smooth and haunting, the first notes of Moon River filling the car and curling around my thoughts like smoke.

The deep, rich timbre of his voice carried me, a lullaby for the restless. I sighed, one hand still steady on the wheel, the other resting against the window, my fingers tracing the cool glass.

The wind outside caught against the car, brushing through my hair, a soft reminder of the night, of everything I was trying to escape from.

But then it happened.. again.

the ghost of her.

Her presence slipped in beside me like it always did. A whisper of blonde hair floating in the air beside me, the breeze curling around us, carrying her scent with it.

I could almost feel her hand on my thigh, warm and familiar, the subtle pressure of her touch making my heart skip in a way I hated, a way I had come to both love and resent.

The memory of her fingers grazing my skin lingered like the faintest shadow, and for a moment, I allowed myself to sink into the feeling.

But then reality slammed into me. I remembered us—or more accurately, what we weren’t. We weren’t the kind of people who could just exist in a space together, letting the quiet stretch between us, letting the little moments settle in.

No, we were desperate.

We always had been. Our time together was a series of fleeting touches, stolen moments, like we were always on the edge of something—something that neither of us dared to cross.

We weren’t in the car to enjoy each other’s presence, to laugh or linger in the warmth of shared smiles. No, we were there to burn, to need—to satiate a hunger that never seemed to quiet.

The thought of it made my chest tighten.

I couldn’t do this anymore. Not the way she wanted, anyway. I had spent so long pretending that the flashes of passion, the late-night rendezvous, were enough. They weren’t.

And as much as I missed her, as much as I could feel her presence like a phantom beside me, I couldn’t keep lying to myself. I was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally.

A year of this, of whatever this was, had drained me more than I realized. And it wasn’t even just the frustration of endless hookups, of empty promises wrapped in lust. It was the ache of wanting more, of needing something that wasn’t just skin-deep.

I wanted her—not just in the way she would slip into my bed, leaving with the scent of her still clinging to me. I wanted more than just the raw, desperate need that only came in the dark corners of the night.

I wanted the little moments—the ones that didn’t require a bed or an empty apartment. I wanted her to stay past the hour she always slipped out of, her departure as fleeting as she was.

I wanted to care about her in a way that went beyond wanting her. I wanted to share more than just the surface. I wanted her here. With me.

For more than a night. I wanted to wake up beside her, talk to her in the morning, laugh with her like the world wasn’t collapsing at the seams.

And yet, here I was, still stuck in this dance, still lying to myself, pretending that the desperate moments we shared were all I needed.

How did I let myself slip so far into this? Into her? Into the lie that I could pretend this was all I ever wanted?

Why did I bother answering her DM? Why did I keep coming back, every single time? Was it the thrill of the chase? The danger?

The way she made me feel like I was alive, like I was seen, but only in the ways that made me feel empty in the end? I had promised myself I wouldn’t get attached.

I had promised that it would be nothing more than a passing thing, something that didn’t ask anything of me.

But somewhere, deep down, I knew that promise had broken the second I let her back into my life. And now, I was the one paying for it.

I glanced at the rearview mirror, my face reflected back at me—tired, confused, a little worn, but still here. Still alive.

The city was growing closer now, and I could feel the weight of the moment pressing against my chest.

The road stretched out before me, endless and unwavering, but I was no longer sure where I was headed. Hartford? Yes. But even that felt like just another place to run away from the thing I didn’t want to face.

I gripped the wheel tighter, the song in my ears fading into the background as I let the rhythm of the road take me.

The soft hum of the tires against the asphalt was all I could hear now, my thoughts swirling like storm clouds above a calm sea. One step at a time, I told myself. One step. But the road ahead felt long—too long.

The city lights on the horizon flickered, a constellation of possibilities that seemed so far away. And yet, they were right there. Within reach, if only I could hold on long enough.

The exit to Hartford appeared in front of me, the sign flickering in the glow of the streetlights. My heart beat a little faster as I veered off the highway, the familiar roads beneath me pulling me closer to home.

The city wrapped itself around me like a well-worn sweater, the streets I had walked so many times now feeling like an old friend that I hadn’t seen in too long.

The familiar hum of the city at night filled my ears, but it didn’t feel comforting—it just felt… there. As though the world was moving on around me, and I was stuck in place.

I drove through the streets of Hartford, past the coffee shops and streetlights, past the bars and restaurants that were closing for the night.

The city was quiet now, save for the occasional car or the distant sound of laughter from a group of friends lingering on the sidewalk.

It was the calm after the storm, and for a moment, it felt like I was the only one awake, the only one still carrying the weight of the day.

When I finally pulled into my condo building’s parking lot, the security guard waved at me, opening the gate with a press of a button, like it had done a hundred times before. The metallic squeal of the gate echoed in the silence, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was slipping back into the routine of it all.

The night was supposed to feel different, but it didn’t. The familiar sights—the guard waving, the low hum of the parking lot lights—felt like a song I had heard too many times. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to turn it off.

I parked my Bronco in its usual spot, taking a slow breath before I opened the door. The air was crisp, cool against my skin as I grabbed my carry-on bags, the familiar weight of my luggage heavy in my hands. It felt like a thousand tiny reminders of where I was—who I was, and what I was running from.

I made my way to the elevator, the soft click of my boots against the concrete echoing in the underground parking garage.

My hand brushed against the elevator button, pressing the number five without thinking. The elevator doors slid open, the faint hum of the machinery filling the small, quiet space as I rose upward, toward the floor where everything I had been avoiding waited for me.

The door opened to my floor with a soft ding, and I stepped out, the familiar hallway stretching before me. The soft carpet beneath my feet was a small comfort, but it didn’t stop the weight of everything that had been building up inside me.

My hand shook slightly as I fumbled for my keypad, my fingers lingering for a moment on the numbers. When the door finally clicked open, I stepped into the condo.

Home.

I hadn’t realized how much I had missed the smell of it—the light fragrance of fresh flowers and the faint undertones of something sweeter, something comforting.

It enveloped me like a hug, familiar and safe. I shut the door behind me, the soft thunk of it closing resounding in the quiet apartment.

I flicked on the kitchen light, the soft glow of the bulb spilling across the counter, casting long shadows in the dimness. The city below seemed far away now, the lights twinkling like stars scattered across the black sky.

The world seemed small from up here—almost too small. And yet, I felt lost in it.

I stood there for a moment, leaning against the counter, my eyes tracing the outline of the city below. The noise of the world was muted here, in this space that I had made for myself.

But even now, in the silence, the questions lingered. The uncertainty. The ache. The longing for something more.

I set down my luggage and carry-ons beside counter, my movements slow and deliberate. There was no rush now. No one waiting for me, no one to answer to.

The weight of the day—the weight of everything—pressed down on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to unpack just yet. I needed a moment. A breath. A chance to feel like I wasn’t drowning in it all.

I took another step, walking to the large windows that framed the city below. The lights sparkled, distant and cold, like a world I was no longer sure I belonged to.

I stood there for a while, my hands pressed against the cool glass, watching as the night stretched on. It wasn’t enough to make me feel whole again, but it was something. It was a moment of calm. Of clarity.

I sighed deeply, my breath heavy with the weight of everything that had built up inside me during the day, during the months, during the years.

The familiar hum of the apartment was a dull comfort, but it felt foreign, like a memory I was trying to hold onto but couldn’t quite grasp.

My hand lingered against the frame of the window for a second longer than necessary, the cool metal grounding me in the present before I moved on.

My feet made the softest sound against the hardwood floor as I walked through the apartment, checking the locks on the front door with automatic precision, as if these rituals could shield me from the restlessness swirling beneath my skin.

The lights flickered off one by one, leaving the apartment in shadows that wrapped around me like a second skin. My purse hung loosely from my arm, the weight of it so small, yet it felt like an anchor, like everything I carried in it—the past few weeks, the exhaustion, the unfinished conversations—was pressing on my chest.

I moved toward the stairs, my body aching, each step a reminder of the stiffness from the long flight, the hours spent cramped in a chair, the echoes of the concert still hanging in my bones like some distant memory that refused to fade.

The smell of airplane air, sterile and empty, clung to my clothes, mixing with the faint remnants of the concert—the noise, the people, the rush of adrenaline. It was all too much, too close, too loud. I needed space. I needed silence.

By the time I reached my bedroom, I was already starting to feel the weight of the day melt off of me—just a little, just enough for the edges to blur.

My room was just as I had left it: neat, untouched, almost too still. It had been two weeks since I had last stepped through the door, and in that time, everything had moved on, yet nothing had changed here.

The same soft light from the bedside lamp. The same bed, untouched by anything but the fabric of time. The silence was thick with a thousand unsaid things, and for a moment, I just stood in the doorway, letting it all settle around me.

I dropped my bag onto the bed, the soft thud echoing in the quiet room, before letting out a long, exhausted sound, my shoulders sagging with the release of everything I had been holding in for far too long.

It was like stepping into an old, worn-out pair of shoes—comfortable, yes, but so very, very tired.

My clothes felt too tight, too heavy against my skin. The material clung to me as if reluctant to let go, still holding on to the remnants of the day.

The air inside my clothes was suffocating, the lingering scent of airplane disinfectant mixed with sweat and the faint traces of the concert—a place where I had poured every ounce of my energy, but now it felt so far removed from the person I was here, in the stillness of my bedroom.

I needed to shed it all, to strip away the layers of exhaustion and confusion that clung to me like the weight of my thoughts.

With a soft, almost absent gesture, I pulled my clothes off, one piece at a time, until I was standing in the center of the room, my body bare and exposed.

I felt a fleeting sense of vulnerability, but it was different now—like the vulnerability had been there all along, just waiting for me to acknowledge it.

I wasn't sure whether it was the weight of the day, the weight of the weeks of silence between Paige and me, or just the constant ache of being too much and never enough, but I couldn’t stand being in my own skin any longer.

I walked into the bathroom, the cool air of the room brushing against my bare skin as I turned the handle of the shower. The sound of the water starting to run was a relief, like the first breath after holding it in for too long.

I stood there for a moment, just watching as the steam began to rise, filling the small space with the promise of warmth.

I didn’t know why, but the sound of the water rushing over my skin always made me feel like I could wash away everything that had been holding me back.

I reached for the shower gel, the familiar scent of lavender and vanilla filling the air, soothing the sharpness of my thoughts.

The rhythm of my routine was mechanical, each motion automatic, as though the very act of cleansing myself would somehow make everything else disappear. I lathered the soap between my hands, letting the bubbles form before running them over my shoulders, down my arms, across my chest.

The sensation of the warm water and the smooth gel was comforting, but it didn’t erase the tension from my body. The tightness in my chest. The exhaustion in my bones.

As the last streams of water cascaded down my body, I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the day swirl down the drain with the steam.

My skin was flushed from the heat, my muscles finally unwinding in a way they hadn’t in weeks. With a tired sigh, I reached for the dial and twisted it off, the sudden absence of water leaving behind a silence that felt deafening.

I stepped out onto the soft bath mat, droplets clinging to my skin, catching in the dim glow of the bathroom light. The mirror was fogged over, a blurred reflection of myself barely visible through the condensation.

I dragged a hand across it, but the moment my fingers left, the fog returned—like it didn’t want me to see myself too clearly. Maybe that was for the best.

Reaching for the plush white towel hanging on the rack, I wrapped it around my body, securing it just above my chest before moving to my sink.

My fingers worked methodically, reaching for the cleanser on the marble countertop, twisting the cap open with a soft click.

The cool gel foamed between my palms as I massaged it into my skin, small circles over my cheeks, my forehead, my jawline—washing away the remnants of the day, the exhaustion, the tension buried in my bones.

Patting my face dry with the towel, I reached for my toner, pressing it into my skin with slow, deliberate motions, letting the calming scent of rose water settle my nerves.

Next was my serum—three drops onto my fingertips, warming them between my hands before pressing them gently into my face, feeling the way my skin drank it in. Finally, moisturizer—rich and thick, sealing everything in.

A touch of lip balm. A swipe of eye cream. Routine. Predictable. Safe. The only thing I could control in a world that constantly felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

I let my towel drop to the floor, reaching into my dresser for the first set of lingerie I could find.

My fingers brushed against lace, soft and delicate, a contrast to the quiet storm inside me. Black. Lacy. The kind of set that made me feel something—powerful, maybe, or just put together in a way I hadn’t felt in a while.

The thong sat high on my hips, the delicate straps hugging my skin, while the matching lace bra fit perfectly against my chest, a teasing hint of sheer fabric that was for no one’s eyes but my own.

I ran a fresh towel through my damp hair, squeezing out the excess water as I padded barefoot to my bedroom. The air was cool against my skin, sending a small shiver down my spine.

I reached for my body lotion—warm vanilla and sandalwood, something soft yet deep, something that smelled like home.

My hands moved slowly, spreading the lotion over my arms, my legs, across my stomach, taking my time, savoring the moment, grounding myself in it.

With a sigh, I made my way to my bed, pulling back the plush duvet, already craving the warmth of the sheets. But just as I was about to slip in, the sharp ding of my doorbell sliced through the silence.

I froze.

Every muscle in my body tensed, the sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. My heart lurched against my ribs, a sudden, erratic rhythm that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with fear.

My breath caught in my throat as I reached for my phone, fingers hovering over the keypad, ready to dial 911. But something inside me hesitated. Who the fuck would show up at my condo at 2:25 a.m.?

My eyes darted to the clock on my bedside table, the glowing numbers confirming what I already knew—this was not the time for casual visits.

I had watched way too much Criminal Minds to take this lightly.

My mind raced with worst-case scenarios as I silently reached for my nightstand drawer, pulling out my taser with steady hands. The weight of it was reassuring, even if my pulse was anything but.

The doorbell rang again.

I flinched. A sharp inhale. My grip tightened around the taser as I moved quietly, my bare feet soundless against the floor.

The condo was dark, save for the silver slivers of moonlight streaming in through the windows. Shadows stretched across the walls, making everything feel larger, deeper, more uncertain.

Another ring.

Fuck.

I sucked in a breath, slipping into the kitchen. My fingers wrapped around the cool steel of a knife before I even had time to think about it.

I really need to invest in a Ring cam, I thought bitterly, my grip tightening around the handle as I moved toward the door.

I didn’t plan on entertaining whoever was on the other side. In fact, I wasn’t even sure why I was creeping toward the peephole instead of calling the cops.

But curiosity—or maybe sheer stupidity—had me stepping forward, pressing onto the tips of my toes, peering through the tiny glass lens.

And the moment I saw her, a breath of relief escaped me, mixed with frustration so thick it almost choked me.

I let out a groan, my head dropping against the wood for half a second before unlocking the door.

I swung it open, eyes narrowing as I glared at the woman standing before me.

“Why the fuck—”

Paige stood in the dim glow of the hallway lights, wrapped in an oversized hoodie and regret. A mess of contradictions.

Her eyes flickered—hesitation, exhaustion, something unreadable—but it didn’t matter. Not anymore. I swallowed down the bitterness rising in my throat, gripping the doorframe just to keep steady.

"Is this how you open your door now?" Her voice was sharp, but beneath it, something else—softer, unspoken, maybe even shaken.

Her gaze raked over me, dragging from my damp hair to the black lace barely covering me, lingering a second too long before landing on the knife in my hand.

Her lips parted slightly, the muscle in her jaw clenching like she wanted to say something, but I was already scoffing, already done with this before it could even start.

I moved to shut the door in her face, the finality of it sweet on my tongue—but then her hand shot out, fingers curling around the edge, voice suddenly quieter.

"Wait."

I stilled. My teeth ground together as I stared at her, waiting, because that was all I had ever done when it came to Paige—waited for her to come around, waited for her to give a damn, waited for her to realize that I was always right here.

This time, she hesitated. Swallowed. Her fingers tightened on the frame, eyes darting over my face like she was searching for something—something I refused to give her.

"Can I—" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. She exhaled sharply, blinking hard. "Can I come in?"

I scoffed, shifting my weight, exhaustion settling into my bones like a slow ache. "Why are you even here?" I demanded, arms crossing, fingers tapping against my bicep. "Actually, how the fuck did you even know I was here?"

Her gaze faltered. Guilt flashed across her face, quick but unmistakable.

"I—" She exhaled, dropping her shoulders. "I asked Renee."

Of course, she did.

I shook my head, laughing humorlessly. Disbelief curled in my stomach, bitter and sharp. It was two in the morning.

I was standing in my damn hallway, barely dressed, exhausted beyond belief, and the girl I had spent the past weeks trying to forget was just standing there like she had every right to be.

I should have slammed the door. Should have told her to go to hell, to find someone else to ruin, to stop haunting me like she didn’t even know she was doing it.

But instead, I exhaled through my nose and widened the door.

Because I was stupid.

Because I was weak.

Because despite everything—despite the ache she had left me with, despite knowing exactly how this night would end—I still wanted her.

Paige stepped inside, slow, careful, but I didn’t miss the way her gaze dragged over my figure, the way her throat bobbed when she caught the scent of my body wash wrapping around her like a taunt.

Her eyes fluttered closed for half a second, inhaling.

I hated that it made my stomach tighten.

Clenching my jaw, I turned and locked the door behind us. The condo was mostly dark, save for the silver glow of the city bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Shadows stretched long across the hardwood, over the countertop, over Paige’s silhouette as she stood there, hands stuffed into the pocket of her hoodie like she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with herself.

And for the first time since I opened the door, I became fully aware of how little I was wearing.

It was nothing new—Paige had seen me in far less. Had touched, kissed, devoured. Had mapped out every inch of me like she was the only one who had the right to.

And yet, standing here now, her eyes flickering between me and the floor, something about it made my skin prickle.

I turned away sharply, scanning the counter for something—anything—to throw on. Placing the knife I had in my palms onto the counter top as I searched.

My lips pressed into a thin line as I grabbed the oversized hoodie draped over the stool, tugging it over my head before facing her again.

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

Paige shifted on her feet, glanced at me once before looking away, exhaling like she had something to say but didn’t know where to start.

I broke the silence first.

"Paige," I said, arms crossing over my chest, voice flat. "Why are you here?"

She hesitated. A muscle in her jaw twitched, her lips parting like she was going to say something, then thinking better of it.

"I wanted to talk."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Seriously? This couldn’t wait until morning?"

Her mouth pressed into a tight line. "Look, I’m sorry for how—"

"There’s nothing to talk about," I cut her off, voice sharp, cold. "You were right, though. I mean, it’s what we agreed to in the beginning, right? No strings attached?" My laugh was bitter, hollow. "It’s my bad for getting too deep."

She exhaled, frustration laced in the breath she let out. "Listen, please."

I shook my head, glaring at her. "Why would I, hm? When all I ever asked was for you to do the same? When all you’ve given me is shit."

Paige winced. Just slightly. But it was enough. Enough to tell me she knew I was right. Enough to tell me that maybe—just maybe—she was feeling it too. Whatever this was.

Her hands twitched at her sides, her tongue running over her bottom lip like she was trying to taste the words before she spoke them.

"I—I don’t know what I’m doing here," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loud would make it real.

"One second, I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and the next I was…" She sighed, shaking her head. "Standing at your door."

I swallowed down the lump rising in my throat, shoving my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. "And?"

Her brows furrowed. "And what?"

"And what do you want, Paige?" My voice was quieter now, something softer lurking beneath the edges. Dangerous.

She blinked, looking at me like she didn’t have an answer. Like she hadn’t thought that far ahead. And maybe she hadn’t.

Maybe she really had just ended up here on autopilot, driven by some force neither of us could name.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her shoulders rose and fell. My heart hammered in my chest, and for the first time since opening the door, I wished I hadn’t.

"Y/N…" She breathed my name like it hurt, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it anymore.

I shook my head, stepping back. "No," I said, voice trembling slightly. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to show up at my door in the middle of the night and expect me to just—"

"I don’t expect anything," she interrupted, stepping forward, closing the space I’d just put between us. "I just… I don’t know."

I let out a humorless laugh. "That’s your problem, Paige. You never know."

Her breath hitched, and for a split second, I saw something crack behind her eyes. Vulnerability. Uncertainty. Maybe even regret. But I couldn’t let it be my problem anymore.

I turned away, exhaling sharply. "You should go."

Paige hesitated, and I could feel her looking at me, feel the battle waging in her chest. But she didn’t move. Not for a long moment.

And when she finally did, it wasn’t toward the door.

Paige stood there for a heartbeat—just one, but it felt like a thousand years of silence wrapped in a veil of unspoken things.

Her shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world, the weight of the tension between us, and every single word that hung in the air but never found its way out.

I could feel her eyes on me, tracing the lines of my body like they were searching for something lost.

She wasn’t looking at me—no, she was looking past me, through me, to the place we used to occupy in each other’s lives. It was suffocating.

The air thick with memories we’d tried to bury, yet they kept creeping up on us in the quietest moments, like shadows in the corner of a room we couldn’t escape.

She exhaled a shaky breath, as if her lungs had forgotten what it felt like to breathe freely in my presence. I watched her throat work, the muscles in her neck tightening as she swallowed whatever it was she wanted to say but couldn’t.

And then, with a small, hesitant movement, she stepped forward, closing the gap between us, one inch at a time.

I felt the shift in the air as her presence filled the space around me, the familiar scent of her perfume—something musky, something floral, like fresh rain on dry earth—lingering in the room.

My heart skipped, once, twice, before sinking, pulling itself back into my chest like a piece of me was being pulled away.

I wasn’t sure if I hated it or wanted to drown in it.

Paige’s hand reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they hovered in the space between us, a silent invitation, or maybe a plea, for something I wasn’t sure I could give her anymore.

Her palm wasn’t open, but it wasn’t closed, either—just hovering, a tentative truce waiting to happen, a touch waiting for permission.

My breath hitched in my chest. “Don’t,” I whispered, not trusting my voice, not trusting myself to say the words any louder, any more forcefully. It was a plea and a command all wrapped up in one broken syllable.

But she didn’t stop. Of course, she didn’t.

Her hand gently brushed against my arm, just barely a whisper of skin on skin, but it was enough to send an electric current through my veins, through every nerve I had buried so deep inside me for so long.

Her touch was a memory—one I had spent months trying to forget—and now it was flooding back, too familiar, too raw, too everything I didn’t want to feel.

I jerked back, but my feet were rooted to the floor, frozen by some invisible force.

Paige’s face softened, the sharp edges of her expression dissolving into something vulnerable, something real.

She was searching me, every inch of me, as if she was trying to read the broken lines on my face, the shattered pieces of who I used to be when she was everything to me.

Her voice broke the silence, a whisper that felt like glass, fragile and cutting. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but it felt different this time. It felt like the first time she meant it. “I know I’ve hurt you, Y/N. I—I never meant to, but I did. And I—”

She faltered, and for a moment, she seemed so small, so uncertain, like a shadow of the girl I had once known so well. I opened my mouth to speak, to say anything—don’t apologize, it’s too late—but the words tangled in my throat, too heavy to lift.

I couldn’t do it. Not with her standing here, not with that look in her eyes.

I turned away, needing space, needing distance, needing something to stop the aching, bleeding mess in my chest from spilling out all over the floor.

I stumbled toward the windows, where the city’s lights flickered below us like distant stars, too far to touch, too far to reach.

The silence stretched between us again, thick and suffocating, but this time, it felt like an ocean, pulling me under.

I could feel her watching me, feel the weight of her stare on my back like a brand. “Why are you here, Paige?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them, jagged and raw, as if I had been holding them in for far too long.

She didn’t answer at first. She just stood there, her fingers twisting in the hem of her hoodie, unsure, waiting for something, for the right moment to speak. But the right moment never came.

Finally, she spoke, and it wasn’t what I expected. “I came because I wanted to be here. Because I thought… maybe I could fix this. I thought maybe if I could just find the right words…”

Her voice wavered, a tremor in the quiet. “But I don’t even know what I’m supposed to fix.”

It was a punch to the gut, the truth of it, the way she admitted she didn’t know, had never known, that the brokenness between us wasn’t just my fault or hers.

It was both of us, tangled together in a mess of misunderstandings and mistakes, and now we were just two people standing in the wreckage, pretending we could still build something from the ruins.

My hands balled into fists at my sides. “You can’t fix this, Paige,” I said, the words spilling out sharp, desperate. “You don’t get to waltz back in like suddenly something matters. You don’t get to—”

But I didn’t finish. I couldn’t.

Instead, I turned back toward her, and there she was, standing in the same spot, eyes wide and glistening, her lips trembling like she was trying to keep it together, trying to hold herself together long enough to get through whatever this was.

I wanted to scream. To yell. To do anything to stop this pain from bleeding out of me like a wound I couldn’t close. But there she was, still here, still in front of me.

I stepped closer, closer than I had intended, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let my gaze soften. “I don’t want this,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, barely even mine anymore. “I don’t want you to hurt me anymore.”

Paige’s breath caught, and the vulnerability in her eyes was enough to break me. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”

But the truth of it, the harsh truth that both of us knew, was that we had already hurt each other too much to ever go back to what we were before. We were too broken, too fractured, too caught in the gravity of our own mistakes.

And as she took a tentative step forward, a single tear slipping from her eye, I knew, deep down, that this was the last time we would ever be standing this close again.

But I couldn’t make her leave. Not yet.

So, we stood there in the silence, the air thick between us, and I hated every single moment of it—yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself from breathing her in once more.

The air felt like it was wrapped in a fine, invisible web, delicate and stretching thin, pulling tighter with every passing second.

We stood there, both of us, a breath apart, yet separated by miles of unspoken words. The tension between us was a quiet storm, one I could feel pressing in on all sides, suffocating, overwhelming, yet somehow familiar.

It was the weight of everything we hadn’t said—the things we’d buried underneath layers of silence, of quick kisses, of moments stolen in the dark.

Her eyes never left mine, but there was something different now. A shift, a crack in the armor that had once felt impenetrable.

Paige’s hand, still hovering in the space between us, slowly fell to her side, like she’d realized the touch she had longed for wasn’t just a reflex anymore.

It had been something she needed to let go of, something that no longer fit in the puzzle of who we were.

But I wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet. Not when I could still feel her lingering warmth like a bruise on my skin. Not when I had spent the last few weeks pretending I didn’t care—pretending I hadn’t caught feelings, pretending this wasn’t as real as the beating in my chest that seemed to echo every time she said my name.

“Y/N,” she whispered again, like it was a prayer, like it was a plea, a question she was afraid to ask but couldn’t keep silent anymore.

I looked away, unable to hold her gaze any longer. My heart hammered in my chest, a staccato rhythm that matched the panic clawing its way up my throat.

I didn’t know how to respond to the weight of her stare, to the question in her eyes that I hadn’t been able to answer before.

I was supposed to be indifferent, detached, just another name in a long list of names she had danced through. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. I wasn’t supposed to want anything.

But I did. And that was the part that hurt.

I took a step back, trying to find the space between us, trying to reclaim what was mine before she got too close. “You should have never done this,” I muttered, more to myself than to her, as the words spilled out like regret—too fast, too sharp, too real. “I was fine. I was fine before this. Before you—”

She winced, the pain flashing across her face before she could hide it, before she could shut it down with that same defensive wall she always put up, that wall I had come to recognize but had never wanted to face.

It had been easier, safer, when we didn’t feel anything—when we were just two bodies in the dark, nothing more than a brief, heated exchange of desire that was never supposed to linger past the morning.

But now, here we were, caught in the aftermath of something that neither of us had planned for.

Paige took a breath, steadying herself, and I could see the fight in her, the fight I knew so well, the one where she refused to let anyone see her break.

“I know,” she said, her voice tight, rough with emotion she was trying to swallow. “I know I shouldn’t have pushed you away, Y/N. I never should have done that to you. But it was easier to leave before I—”

She stopped, closing her eyes as if the words had cut too deep, too quickly. I could hear the pain in her voice, the rawness that she tried to hide behind her bravado, but it wasn’t enough to cover the cracks. Not anymore.

I couldn’t help it. My chest tightened, the urge to close the distance between us pulling me forward even though every rational part of me screamed to keep my distance.

“Easier to leave?” I asked, my voice cold, trying to put the distance between us again, trying to keep my emotions wrapped up tight in a box where they belonged.

“Easier than facing me? Easier than facing what we were?”

She shook her head, her hair falling in waves around her shoulders as she took another step closer, a slow, hesitant movement, as if she was waiting for me to reject her again.

“It was easier to walk away before I realized I—before I realized how much I was hurting you.”

My breath caught in my throat. I could see it then—the vulnerability in her eyes, the one she never let anyone see.

“You didn’t think you were hurting me?” I asked, the question dripping with disbelief, the irony of it stinging my tongue. “You didn’t think I’d be hurt when you used me like that?”

The truth was, we were both using each other in ways that pained us both.

She winced again, like my words had pierced something deep inside her. “I didn’t mean to use you. I thought I could handle it. I thought we could just... keep things casual. No strings attached, no feelings.”

Her voice faltered on the last words, and I saw the truth in her eyes. “But then... you kept looking at me like that. Like I was more than just a body. And I—”

Her hands trembled as she reached out again, this time not hovering but fully extending toward me, a plea that wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just the echo of the lust that had driven us together in the first place. It was more than that.

I wanted to pull away. I wanted to step back, keep myself safe, keep my heart locked away from her. But I couldn’t.

Her fingertips brushed against my arm again, this time lingering, as if they were silently asking for something I wasn’t ready to give. But my walls were crumbling, piece by piece, and I could feel it.

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” I admitted, my voice low, breaking in the middle of the sentence like it was a confession, like it was a sin I couldn’t wash away.

“I don’t know if I can go back to what we were. But I can’t just—forget, Paige. I can’t just walk away from this.”

She pulled back then, sharply, like I had burned her, like my words had stung too much. But I saw the vulnerability in her eyes.

The realization that she had messed up, that this was a mess of her own making. And for the first time in this broken dance, I saw her desperate to fix it.

“I wasn’t supposed to care, either,” she said, her voice small now, quieter than I had ever heard it, filled with regret. “I wasn’t supposed to let this get to me. But it did. And now all I want to do is make it right, make you see that I wasn’t playing you, that I—”

I reached for her then, my hand finding her wrist, holding her in place, the skin of my fingers burning where we touched. “I don’t know if you can.”

She swallowed hard, the words so much heavier than either of us had expected. Neither of us was ever supposed to want this, want each other.

But here we were, tangled in the mess of our own desires, unsure whether we could ever untangle ourselves. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath against the storm between us. “I never meant to hurt you.”

And as the last bit of the distance between us vanished, I couldn’t help but wonder if the damage had already been done.

Would we be able to fix what we had broken, or were we destined to fall apart in the spaces we had made for each other?

The tension between us was palpable, a charged silence that seemed to stretch out endlessly, heavy with all the things we hadn’t said, all the things we couldn’t say.

I could feel the weight of her gaze on me, every flicker of emotion she didn’t let herself express—how her eyes betrayed her strength, showing the cracks she thought she could hide, how the uncertainty in them mirrored the chaos in my chest.

I could feel her heart pounding through her chest, the rhythm of her pulse matching the thrum of my own.

It was as if the air between us was charged, filled with the kind of electricity that made every touch, every glance, every movement feel like an explosion waiting to happen.

Yet, somehow, it felt fragile—like a delicate thread holding us together, only waiting for one wrong move to snap it in half.

We stood there, locked in an unspoken battle, neither of us willing to give an inch, neither of us knowing where to go from here.

The weight of everything—of the nights we spent tangled in each other, of the words left unsaid, of the hurt we hadn’t acknowledged—pressed down on us.

“I didn’t mean to—” she started, her voice shaking slightly, a quiet confession in the space between us.

But I couldn’t hear it anymore. I couldn’t keep listening to her excuses, to her guilt, to the echo of all the things she wished she could take back.

I was tired of the push and pull, tired of being caught in the back-and-forth, in this constant cycle of wanting something that would never be more than what it was supposed to be.

Something casual. Something temporary.

I wasn’t sure how we got here, but I knew I was done being patient with the uncertainty. I was done pretending I didn’t care, pretending I didn’t feel the ache in my chest every time I saw her pull away.

I wasn’t going to let her keep running from this, from me.

I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was too late. My body moved before my mind could catch up, before I could think it through, before I could stop myself from doing what I knew would hurt but also felt so damned right.

In an instant, we were crashing into each other, the force of it as wild as the storm raging inside me.

Her lips pressed to mine, barely a whisper at first—clumsy, hesitant—but then it deepened, and I couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t a kiss anymore, not like before. This was something heavier, something realer.

This was a reckoning.

Her hands, shaking at first, slid over my chest, pressing against the heat of my skin like she was trying to pull herself closer, like she was desperate for something more than just this.

My hands moved instinctively, fingers tracing over the curve of her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her shirt, grounding me in the moment.

There was no space between us anymore. No distance. We were wrapped up in each other, breathing each other in, every inhale sharp with the need we couldn’t deny any longer.

And yet, even as the kiss deepened, the intensity rising like a tidal wave, I could feel the weight of the past pressing in on me.

I could feel it in the way her lips trembled against mine, in the way her breath hitched in the space between our kisses.

We had both been here before—caught in the heat of the moment, tangled in the confusion of everything we had tried to bury—but this time, it was different.

This time, there was something raw, something unspoken, that neither of us could escape.

Her body pressed against mine, her chest heaving with every breath, and I could feel the frantic urgency in her touch, in the way she grabbed at my hoodie, pulling me closer, as if she was trying to erase all the distance between us, all the walls we had put up.

Her hands moved over me, frantic and unsteady, like she was searching for something she didn’t know how to find.

I could feel the heat of her skin seeping into mine, every touch igniting something deep inside me, something that felt dangerous, something that felt like it might burn us both.

But I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.

We were lost in each other now, lost in the moment, in the intensity of the kiss, in the desperation that had taken over our bodies.

It was a new kind of intimacy—familiar yet strange, like we were finally seeing each other for the first time in a way we never had before.

Every movement felt like a step closer to something we hadn’t been ready for, but now couldn’t escape.

My hands roamed over her back, feeling the shudder that rippled through her as if she was trying to ground herself in me, trying to anchor herself in the chaos.

Her lips left mine, breathless, and before I could think, I found my hands on her neck, pulling her closer, guiding her down to my level.

She lowered herself to me, her forehead resting gently against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

For a moment, we were silent. But the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things we hadn’t said, all the things we hadn’t allowed ourselves to feel.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet that surrounded us.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head, eyes searching mine, her breath still coming in uneven gasps.

“Neither do I,” she confessed, her voice soft but laced with something raw, something vulnerable. “But I know I can’t keep pretending.”

And in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no more confusion, no more questions.

Just the two of us, tangled up in the mess we had created, and the quiet realization that we couldn’t go back. The thread between us, fragile as it was, had already snapped.

The moment Paige's lips found mine again, it was as if the world fell away completely.

My breath hitched, a soft sigh escaping me as her hands tangled in my hair, fingers threading through the strands of my blond locks with a tenderness that belied the tension between us.

There was a pull to her touch, an urgency, but also a sense of reverence, like she was trying to memorize every moment, every second of our closeness.

Her hands slid beneath the fabric of my oversized hoodie, the warmth of her fingertips brushing against the exposed skin of my hips.

I couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through me, her touch igniting a fire inside that burned brighter with every second. Her fingers, so deliberate, so careful at first, traced the line of my skin before dipping lower.

The thin elastic of my black thong caught between her fingers, a whisper of tension that made my heart race. Her touch became more daring, more possessive as she ran her hand farther down, pulling me closer to her.

I could feel her every movement, the way her hands shifted, finding their way around the curve of my ass, squeezing softly as she groaned into our kiss.

I pulled away slightly, my lips just a centimeter apart from hers, breath mingling heavily in the space between us.

My chest heaved, the weight of everything crashing down on me, and all I could manage was a quiet, desperate "Fuck me," slipping out of my mouth like a confession, like a plea.

The words hung in the air between us, raw and vulnerable, yet undeniable. Paige’s breath caught, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.

Her hands paused, her fingers still buried in the fabric of my hoodie, the weight of her touch as heavy as the silence between us.

But that silence shattered when her lips crashed against mine once more, this time with a hunger that made my knees weak. She pulled me closer, closing the space between us, her body pressing into mine with a force that left no room for doubt, no room for hesitation.

The intensity of her touch sent waves of heat through my skin, every inch of me coming alive beneath her hands.

She gripped my hips, pulling me against her, and I felt the unmistakable hardness of her body beneath the thin layers separating us. Her hands were everywhere—sliding up my back, cupping the back of my neck, fingers tangling in the strands of my hair like she couldn’t get enough.

Her lips left mine only to trail down to my jaw, my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Each kiss felt like an imprint, like she was marking me as hers, like I was hers—trapped in the pull of her gravity, unable to escape even if I wanted to.

I gasped as her hands moved lower, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin just above my waistband before dipping beneath it, slipping past the fabric of my underwear with a smoothness that made my pulse spike.

Her touch was steady, sure, like she knew exactly how to make me burn without ever needing to ask.

My breath hitched again as her hand slid over the curve of my ass, groping, squeezing, pulling me closer still, as if she couldn’t get enough of the feel of me, of the way our bodies fit together so perfectly.

I moaned softly, unable to hold it in, my hands falling to her chest, pressing against the hard planes of her body, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath the fabric of her shirt.

The sensation of her skin under my fingertips made my thoughts scatter. She was everywhere—her lips, her hands, the heat of her body. I wanted her. I needed her.

"Paige..." My voice was barely a whisper, thick with need, my hands tugging at her shirt as I pulled her even closer, if that was even possible.

She didn’t wait for me to finish, her lips pressing against mine again, her tongue pushing into my mouth with a force that left no room for anything but her.

"Jump," Paige murmured against my lips, her voice low and filled with intent.

I didn’t hesitate. Without a word, I wrapped my legs around her waist, my arms around her neck, clinging to her as she lifted me effortlessly, her muscles flexing beneath me.

The air around us felt thick, every movement heavy with the weight of what we were about to do. We didn’t need to speak anymore.

There was no room for doubt. We were here, caught in the gravity of each other, and nothing else mattered.

As Paige carried me toward the stairs, it was as if our bodies knew the way.

Even in the pitch black, she navigated her way through my condo with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

Every step was instinctual, every movement fluid as she guided us toward the bedroom. I could feel her pulse beneath my fingertips, the rhythm of her breath matching the frantic thrum of my own.

My mind raced, my thoughts scattered, but all I could focus on was the sensation of her touch, of the heat radiating from her body, of the way she made everything else disappear.

Her hands were everywhere—running along my back, sliding down to my hips, her fingers digging into the flesh of my thighs as she carried me.

Her touch was possessive, as if she was claiming me in a way that left no room for anyone else, as if she needed me in the same way I needed her.

The world outside of us was nothing but a distant memory, the noise of the city muted by the sound of our heavy breathing, the pounding of our hearts.

The moment we reached the bedroom, she set me down gently on the bed—but as soon as my body met the softness of the mattress, I was back in her arms, her lips crashing into mine, as if even a second apart was unbearable.

She hovered over me, her breath mingling with mine, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging just enough to make me shiver.

My hands were frantic, pulling at her clothes, desperate to feel more of her. Every inch of her skin was like fire against mine, every kiss a promise, every touch a declaration.

I was lost in her, in the pull of her gravity, in the undeniable need that had taken over both of us.

I could feel the world slipping away, unraveling around us as the distance between us closed. The air, thick with the scent of desire, clung to my skin like a second layer.

Every brush of Paige’s fingers, every press of her lips, sparked something inside me—something primal, something fierce. She was a wildfire, a storm I could never outrun.

She consumed me, and I let her.

Her hands—strong and sure—were everywhere. Tugging at the fabric of my hoodie with a desperation that mirrored my own, the fabric slipping easily from my body, falling to the floor like leaves caught in a windstorm.

She kissed me again, harder this time, her lips urgent against mine, as if trying to force me into the same frenzy that was building in her.

Her tongue, hot and demanding, slid against mine in a dance we’d perfected over the months, and I found myself lost in it, in the way our bodies fit together like two halves of a whole.

My breath hitched as her fingers ghosted over my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Then, she pulled away just enough to look at me, her gaze dark, nearly predatory.

Paige was practically drooling at the sight beneath her—the way the lacey thong clung to my hips, the delicate bra pushing my breasts together so nicely.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, eyes drinking me in like she’d never seen anything so perfect.

I spread my legs just a little more, inviting her in, watching the way her jaw clenched as she moved up the bed, positioning herself between my thighs.

“Look at you,” she whispered, voice thick with hunger. “So damn pretty.”

And then, she was on me again—touching, tasting, making it impossible to think about anything other than her.

"God, I need you," she murmured against my lips, her voice raw and ragged, thick with emotion. Her breath was hot against my ear as she pressed her body into mine, every inch of her warmth seeping through me, setting me ablaze.

I could feel her heartbeat under my fingertips, steady and strong, as my hands moved over her skin, memorizing every curve, every inch of her.

My fingers trailed down the hard lines of her arms, her sides, grazing the soft skin of her waist, before slipping lower, finding the familiar curve of her hips.

She was a map of desire, every part of her calling to me, pulling me closer, deeper into the orbit of her body.

"Paige..." I gasped, my voice trembling, my fingers curling around the drawstring of her gray sweatpants. There was no room for hesitation now—only raw, desperate need.

I wanted her, wanted to feel every part of her, to melt into her completely. Words felt useless when my hands could say so much more.

She let out a low, guttural sound, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she watched me. Her eyes—dark, smoldering with hunger—never wavered. She didn’t stop me, didn’t rush me.

Just watched, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

The moment I tugged at the tie, loosening it with deliberate slowness, her breath hitched. I slid the soft fabric down her thighs, my touch lingering, savoring the heat of her skin beneath my fingertips.

Paige exhaled sharply, her own impatience surfacing as she kicked the sweatpants off the rest of the way, tossing them somewhere into the room without a second thought. Her movements were fluid, unbothered, like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

My hands roamed over her, tracing the curves of her hips, the smooth expanse of her stomach, every inch of warm, inviting skin.

And when my fingers skimmed the waistband of her boxers, barely brushing the fabric, she gasped—sharp and sudden.

Her eyes met mine then, locked in a silent challenge, an unspoken dare. An invitation.

And I wasn’t about to turn it down

“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, the weight of the moment pressing into my chest.

My hands found her again, pulling her closer, desperate to feel every inch of her against me.

Every touch, every glance, was a promise—a silent confession that neither of us was going anywhere, that we were caught in this storm together.

Her breath hitched as I let my fingers trail lower, slipping past the waistband of her boxers, teasing over the soft warmth between her thighs.

A quiet gasp left her lips as I traced my fingers through her folds, feeling the heat, the slickness, the way she trembled under my touch.

"Don’t stop," she breathed, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me to her again, her lips crashing into mine in a kiss so intense I thought I might lose myself in it.

Her hands were everywhere now—pressing against my waist, guiding me closer, urging me to forget the world outside of us, to forget everything but her, but this moment, this feeling that was consuming us both.

I could feel her warmth, the steady pulse of her heart, and the shallow breath she took as it synced with the frantic beat of my own.

Every inch of her was an electric current running through me, pulling me in closer, as if our bodies were desperate to become one.

The air between us was thick with the heat of our desire, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, but still, neither of us could get close enough.

I slowly pulled my hand away from Paige's boxers, my fingers brushing against her skin as if reluctant to let go. She stood before me, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

My hands found the familiar curve of her back, my fingers gently gliding up her spine as I pushed both her shirt and her hoodie over her head.

Her skin was smooth and warm, illuminated by the soft glow of the room's light.

Now standing before me in nothing but her Nike sports bra, Paige's abs were perfectly defined, each muscle a testament to her strength and dedication.

I couldn't help but trace the subtle lines of her body with my eyes, marveling at how effortlessly beautiful she was.

She let out a soft sigh, and without hesitation, I leaned forward, my lips brushing the curve of her neck.

I kissed her slowly, savoring the feel of her pulse against my mouth as I moved down to her collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth behind. Each kiss was a mark, a promise, staking my claim on her in the most intimate way possible.

Her hands were back on me, pulling at the waistband of my thong, and I couldn’t stop the moan that slipped from my lips as her fingers skimmed the bare skin of my inner thighs.

She was always so sure, so confident in everything she did, and I loved it, loved how she knew exactly how to touch me, exactly how to make me lose myself in her.

She knew my body the way a painter knew their canvas, and each touch, each caress, felt like a stroke of genius.

She paused for a heartbeat, her hands still on me, as though she were savoring the feeling of me beneath her touch.

Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, a softness in her eyes that only made her intensity more magnetic.

“Are you sure?” Her voice was a low murmur, a vulnerable question that tugged at something deep within me. Despite the hesitation in her tone, there was an undeniable fierceness in her gaze, a fierce need I could feel just as strongly as she did.

I reached up, my hands trembling slightly as they cupped her face, my thumbs brushing the softness of her cheeks.

The warmth of her skin burned through me, making my heart race.

"Yes," I whispered, the word thick with need, with desire, with everything I couldn’t hold back. “Please, baby. I want you.”

Her eyes softened at my words, and I saw the shift—the sudden deepening of the heat between us. It was as though something had cracked wide open, something neither of us could hold back anymore.

The world seemed to narrow, just the two of us, the air between us charged with the promise of something we both needed desperately.

Then, with an urgency that took my breath away, Paige tore the thong from my body, the fabric tugged roughly from my skin.

My breath hitched as she widened my legs, a groan escaping her lips as she took in the sight of me laid bare for her– glistening with desperation.

Her eyes drank me in, hunger evident in every glance, her heat matching my own. I whimpered, the sound slipping from my lips before I could stop it.

“M’gonna take my time with you,” she whispered, her voice thick with raw desire, and there was something about the way she said it, like a promise that sent a shiver down my spine.

Slowly, deliberately, she lowered herself, never breaking eye contact, her lips trailing over the curve of my body.

Every touch was a caress, a teasing kiss, a nip that sent jolts of electricity through my veins. I gasped, my body arching toward her as she kissed, licked, and nipped her way down, her lips hot against my skin.

She paused just above my hips, pressing two gentle kisses against my hip bones, before trailing lower still, teasing me with the lightest touch, until her lips brushed over the most sensitive part of me.

The sensation hit me like a tidal wave, the rush of heat flooding my veins, pulling every breath from my chest, leaving me dizzy with longing.

Each touch, each kiss, was a jolt of pleasure that surged through my body, igniting every nerve. The intensity was overwhelming—an insatiable craving that I couldn’t escape, couldn’t contain.

The air around us felt thick, almost suffocating, as the weight of our need pressed in from all sides. My heart raced, my chest tightening as I fought to breathe, and in that singular moment, nothing mattered but her—her touch, her presence, the way she made me feel.

Paige moved slowly, deliberately, settling between my thighs with an ease that was both possessive and tender. She draped my legs over her strong, muscular shoulders, the warmth of her skin radiating against mine.

I could feel the roughness of her hands as they slid up my thighs, her touch firm but gentle, tracing the sensitive lines of my body like she knew exactly where to make me shiver.

Her lips were warm against my skin, and as she shifted, I felt her breath against me—soft, almost reverent, before she pressed a long, slow kiss against the inner curve of my leg.

Then her tongue—oh God—her tongue slid up my skin, slow and smooth, until it reached its destination.

Every inch of me seemed to pulse with the sensation, my body aching with an intensity I couldn’t name. Her groan, deep and guttural, vibrated through me.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with raw, unfiltered desire. It wasn’t just words—it was a confession, a promise, something that was carved into the air between us.

A shiver ran through me at the sound, my entire body responding to her touch, my skin tingling with need.

“Paige… please,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper, the words thick with desperation.

I didn’t know if I was asking her to stop or begging her for more; all I knew was that I needed her, needed this, needed her to feel just as consumed as I was.

She didn’t hesitate.

Her tongue flicked out, teasing me with long, languid strokes that made my back arch and my breath catch in my throat.

She moved with an expertise that made it feel like time was stretching, each second lasting an eternity as she lavished me with her touch.

My entire body was alive with sensation—heat pooling low in my stomach, my pulse thrumming in time with her every move.

When her tongue circled around my clit, the world tilted, spinning out of control.

My breath hitched, my hips rising instinctively toward her as I felt the first surge of pleasure ripple through me, a wave of warmth that made my body tremble in her grasp.

But she was steady, her hands gripping my thighs, her lips never leaving me, as if she had all the time in the world to make me feel every inch of her. And I wanted it. Needed it.

Her touch, her breath, the quiet intensity that passed between us, felt like the universe had narrowed down to just this, just us, connected in ways that were raw, beautiful, and endlessly consuming.

Her lips were everywhere, teasing, tasting—each movement calculated but dripping with desire.

Paige’s hands held my thighs firmly, her fingers pressing into my soft skin as her mouth worked over me, lips wrapping around my sensitive clit, pulling gently, then flicking with quick, precise motions. Each time, I gasped, a desperate sound falling from my lips, my back arching slightly in response.

She alternated between dragging her tongue slowly across my folds and lapping at me with quick, heated strokes, her tongue now darting, now pressing against me, just enough to send tremors through my entire body.

I tangled my fingers in her hair, my other hand gripping the edge of the bed, barely able to hold on as she continued to drive me wild. I could feel the warmth of her mouth, the sharpness of her movements, and I wanted more.

"Fuck," I breathed, unable to stop myself as she sucked on my clit, her mouth fully enveloping me. "Don’t stop."

Paige hummed against me, the vibration sending a wave of heat through my core, and I moaned loudly, pushing my hips up in response.

Her eyes met mine, dark with want, a slow smile curving her lips as she pulled back for just a second.

“You like that, huh?” she asked, her voice dripping with confidence, though it was breathless.

“You like the way I make you squirm?” Her tongue flicked over my clit, just a quick pass before she pulled back to stare at me, her face inches from mine. She loved watching me unravel.

"God, yes," I gasped, the need coursing through me. "You—" I couldn't finish the thought, my words cut off by the sensation of her tongue plunging deep into me, flicking inside, then pulling back, teasing me just enough to make my head spin.

My hips bucked, desperate, as she pressed into me, finding the perfect rhythm, sliding in and out with precision, her lips wrapping around my clit, sucking it, pulling it, making me forget everything but her.

Her mouth moved against me like it was an art, a need, every flick, every thrust of her tongue taking me higher.

"You taste so fucking good," she murmured against my skin, and her voice—low, guttural—sent a fresh wave of heat through me.

Her tongue flicked back to my entrance, teasing the sensitive area with just enough pressure before pushing in again, her lips kissing my folds as her tongue slipped deeper.

“Shit, Paige," I gasped, my fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her closer. The way she moved, relentless, her tongue flicking in and out of me, then circling my clit with maddening speed... I couldn’t take it much longer. "Please, I need—"

She cut me off with a sharp, deliberate thrust of her tongue, her mouth pressing harder against me as she moved with precision, lips wrapping around the bud once more.

The tight coil in my stomach tightened, and I couldn’t hold back any longer.

"You're gonna make me cum," I whimpered, my voice rough with need. I felt her smile against me, smug satisfaction radiating from her as she hummed in approval.

“Then do it, baby,” she urged, her words muffled as her tongue flicked across my clit once more, pressure building with every pass. "Let me feel you come all over my face."

And with that, my body gave way. I cried out, my hips jerking as I came undone under her, waves of pleasure crashing over me, my hand gripping her head to keep her against me as my orgasm tore through me.

Paige didn’t stop, not even when I begged her to. She kept going, her tongue still working against me as I shuddered, my breath coming in gasps.

Only when I tried to push her away, my hand finally urging her back, did she pull away, her lips glistening with my slick, eyes locked on me with a satisfied grin.

"Fuck," I panted, breathless, utterly wrecked. "You... you know how to make me lose control."

Paige pulled away slowly, her lips still glistening from the mix of my arousal. Her eyes locked onto mine, a smirk spreading across her face as she wiped her thumb over the slick on her chin, collecting it.

Without breaking eye contact, she slid her thumb into her mouth, sucking it clean, all while keeping that smug, almost predatory grin.

“You taste even better than I remembered,” she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. “I’ve always known, baby. Jus’ too good.”

Paige hovers over me, her lips finding mine with an urgent heat, a hunger that I can’t help but feel deep in my bones.

Every kiss she gives me feels like a promise, a slow burn of need that echoes through every part of me. Her mouth on mine is intoxicating, and I feel every inch of it.

My body is still humming from the pleasure I just felt, the bliss lingering in my core.

The sensation of her lips against mine only makes it more intense, like a beautiful reminder of what just passed and what’s still to come.

My core aches with that emptiness, the quiet pulse that calls for more, even as I try to savor the moment.

When her tongue slides between my lips, I taste myself on her, a raw, sweet flavor that sends another wave of heat through me.

The realization hits me, and the thought of her carrying my taste on her tongue, the way her lips move against mine, makes my breath hitch. It’s almost too much, the connection, the way it feels like we’re melting into one another.

,Paige’s hands move with purpose, slipping behind my back to unclasp my bra. When the fabric loosens, I feel the heat of her fingertips against my skin, sending shivers all over me.

The moment my bra falls away, her touch doesn’t stop—it lingers, tracing fire over my skin. But even as the bra drops away, our lips stay locked, refusing to break the connection.

I feel it in my chest, in my breath, the way she consumes me in every kiss.

I can’t help but return the favor, my hands sliding down to touch her, to feel her.

My fingers find the waistband of her boxers, already pulling them down, but before I can go any further, she stops me. I look up, confused, and the look on her face is intense.

Her breath is heavy, and her voice is low, full of desire. “Ride me,” she breathes, her eyes locked on mine with that same hunger, and it shoots straight to my core.

I stare at her for a moment, my brow furrowing. “But what about—”

Before I can finish, she silences me with another kiss, a soft, quick peck that shushes my concerns.

“Don’t worry about it,” she whispers, her lips brushing against mine as she pulls away. Without another word, she leans over to the bedside drawer, her movements smooth and fluid.

I watch, feeling my heart race in my chest, my anticipation growing with every motion.

She pulls open the drawer, retrieving the strap-on, and I can’t tear my eyes away from her.

My breath catches as she begins to slip it on, her legs shifting beneath her as she adjusts the harness, pulling it up her thighs.

The sound of the strap tightening against her skin fills the room, each deliberate motion heightening the tension between us.

I watch her, feeling my pulse quicken. The heat in the room is thickening, and I can feel the desire between us, an undeniable pull that I can’t escape.

My body buzzes with the need for her, the ache in my belly growing again as I take in the way she moves, how she looks, how she’s getting ready for what’s to come.

I swallow hard, my breath coming quicker now, my stomach fluttering with excitement and anticipation. I feel that familiar warmth deep within me again, the longing that never seems to fade.

The bed shifts beneath me, the sound of the sheets rustling as Paige settles back onto it, her back sinking against the headboard, her body relaxed but her eyes burning with something dangerous.

She pats her thigh, the gesture casual but commanding, like she knows exactly what it does to me. “C’mere baby,” she murmurs, the tone rich with unspoken need.

I don’t hesitate. My body moves on instinct, trembling slightly as I climb over her, straddling her thighs.

My skin tingles, the cool air hitting me while the heat between us is palpable, thick enough to taste.

Paige’s gaze trails over me, from the way my chest rises and falls to the slickness pooling between my legs, and I can feel the pressure of her eyes on me like a physical touch.

She’s watching me carefully, waiting, like she’s savoring the moment before she makes her next move.

I feel the weight of her gaze as I reach down, my fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the strap. With a quiet breath, I spit into my palm, slicking the strap with my saliva.

The action feels so simple, yet so intimate, like it's the most natural thing in the world, and yet it stirs something deep inside me.

I stroke it once, twice, feeling the warmth of my hand glide along the silicone, the motion steady and confident. Her breath catches, sharp and shallow, her eyes locked on mine as she watches every movement with hungry anticipation.

“Fuck, ma,” she whispers under her breath, the words thick with desire, sending a shiver down my spine.

"You're so fucking wet," Paige says, voice low and thick. "Look at you baby, want you to ride me." Her words hang heavy in the air, but it's the dark hunger in them that makes my pulse quicken.

My mind spins, a tight knot of desire and uncertainty twisting in my stomach. "Paige, are you sure..." I start to protest, but she cuts me off, her lips brushing over mine in a soft kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s a claim, a promise.

Her hand slides up to grip my waist, urging me forward with an urgency that stops any further thought.

"Shh," she whispers against my lips, "don’t worry ‘bout me, baby."

Her hands are everywhere—on my hips, guiding me forward, pulling me closer, and I feel myself obeying without question.

My breath quickens, the tip of the strap brushing against my entrance. The sensation is already so much, yet it’s nothing compared to the aching emptiness inside me.

I lower myself slowly, inch by inch, each movement deliberate, as the strap stretches me open.

The fullness is immediate, overwhelming, and I gasp, trying to adjust to the slow, steady pressure.

Every inch fills me more, deeper, until I’m fully seated on her, and I can't help but moan at the sensation—the way it fills me so completely, the way I feel every inch of the length inside my walls.

“S-shit, baby.”

I stay there for a moment, letting the waves of sensation crash over me, feeling the stretch, the heat, the way my body pulses around her.

Paige’s hands don’t leave my waist, holding me still as her eyes watch me with a mixture of lust and satisfaction.

“Good girl,” she growls, her hands gripping tighter as I begin to move, rocking my hips slowly at first. "Take it all, baby. Show me how much you need it."

Her words break something in me, and I begin to ride her, the motion slow at first but quickly growing desperate. I feel my brow furrow, the way my jaw slackens as I lose myself in the pleasure.

My body is responding to her, each movement pushing me closer to the edge. The strap slides in and out, the friction making my insides tighten around it, the sensation of fullness overwhelming me.

I bite my lip to hold back a moan, but it slips out anyway, quiet and needy.

Paige’s gaze is fixed on me, her eyes dark with hunger, watching every inch of me, every little shiver that runs through me.

“So fucking perfect. The way you move for me, the way you ride my dick—God, you drive me crazy. You’ve got no idea how good you look right now.” She licks her lips, eyes never leaving mine, her voice low and commanding.

“Could watch you fall apart like this for hours, baby. You're fucking breathtaking."

The words send a thrill through me, and my hips move faster, harder, as I try to chase the feeling, that deep ache in my core that won’t stop building.

“Fuck, Paige,” I mewled, moaning as I felt every inch of the strap stretch me open, the pressure building inside me. I moved with it, desperate for release, each thrust making my breath hitch.

My chest rose and fell with the rhythm, my hands gripping her thighs for balance as I rocked against her, craving more of the sensation, more of her.

My body is trembling now, on the verge of losing control, the pressure mounting with every second.

“Look at you,” Paige growls, her voice rough with need. “So fuckin’ wet f’me. So desperate.” She grips my hips tightly, her fingers digging into my flesh as she helps guide my movements.

“You love the way I make you feel, hm? Love this pussy, fuck– can’t get enough of you.”

The rawness in her voice pushes me further, and I feel the wave of heat build between my legs. My body is betraying me, aching for more, moving faster on its own as I reach for the release I’ve been desperately chasing.

My legs tremble, the tension coiling so tightly inside me that I feel like I’m about to snap. My lips part, desperate to form words, but all that spills out are breathless, broken moans.

Paige’s thumb finds my clit, pressing down in slow, deliberate circles, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure through me, dragging me deeper into the overwhelming bliss..

A low, needy whimper slips from my throat as I press harder onto her, my head tilting back slightly, eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure crashing through me.

I can’t stop now, not when I’m this close—my hips grinding desperately, each movement drawing me closer to the edge.

“You’re perfect for me, baby. Just like this,” she pants, her voice dripping with praise, her eyes wild with lust.

“You take me so fucking well. Keep going.” Paige continued to mewl, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she groaned at the sight of me clenching around her.

“Don’t stop, just like that. I’m never going to get enough of you, not when you’re this fucking beautiful.”

"Paige—I can't," I sigh, my words breaking off as my movements grow more erratic. The sensation of her inside me is overwhelming, too much, too fucking good. My hips grind down harder, chasing the intensity that’s building deep in my core.

My breath comes in shallow bursts, lost in the frenzy of it all. I can't think, can't focus—only the feeling of her filling me, the sharp edge of desire that pushes me forward, deeper into the bliss I crave. Every inch, every movement is too much, yet I can't stop, can't slow down.

“This dick too much for you, ma?” she mocks with a grin, pressing her lips to one of my nipples before pulling away with a soft pop. The heat of her mouth lingers on my skin, and I shiver, my body reacting before my mind can catch up.

“C’mon, baby,” she growls, her hands tightening on my hips, guiding me as I ride her. “So close, I can feel it. You’re so fucking tight, so perfect." Her voice dips low, sending a shock of pleasure through me. "Be a good girl and keep ridin’ me. Move with me, baby—just like that.”

Her words spill from her lips like a command and a promise, urging me to find the rhythm, to move faster, deeper.

Every thrust is a jolt of electricity, and her hands help pull me closer, pushing me harder onto her. I feel every inch of her inside me, the heat building, and my breath comes out in soft pants as I chase the pleasure she promises.

I obey, my body responding to her command as if it's the only thing that matters in this world. The air around us seems to vanish, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of her filling me, the stretch of the strap deeper than I ever expected.

The rhythm of our bodies colliding sends shockwaves of pleasure through me, every thrust pulling me further under her control.

I can hear the slap of skin against skin, the desperate, breathless gasps that escape my lips, and it only makes me want more.

Each inch of her pushes me closer to the edge, the heat between us like an inferno, smoldering beneath the surface.

The strap is a thick, unrelenting force inside me, and with every stroke, I feel the pressure build, that tight coil of tension winding inside my belly, threatening to snap.

My legs shake, trembling with need, my body so close to release I can already taste it. The pleasure is a wave, building higher, and my entire being is focused on that one beautiful moment where I can finally let go.

"Shit—baby, I’m gonna come," I gasp, the words spilling from my lips without any thought as my body burns with the need for release.

Paige groans, her grip tightening on my hips as she thrusts harder, faster, making my whole body jerk with each motion. "Yeah? Gonna come on my dick, ma?" she growls, her voice rough, sending an electric thrill through me.

Before I can answer, just as I’m about to lose myself, to surrender to the bliss that’s been building within me, Paige pulls out with a sharp motion, lifting me effortlessly and tossing me to the side.

The sudden emptiness inside me is a shock, and I can’t help but whine in protest, my mind hazy, still clinging to the remnants of pleasure.

I open my mouth to argue, to demand that she finish what she started, but my words dissolve into a breathless moan, high-pitched and desperate.

“Paige, please…” I start, but the words catch in my throat, swallowed by the sensation that still lingers in my core.

Before I can say anything more, Paige’s hands grip my thighs, and in one swift motion, she’s back inside me, sliding deep with a single, forceful thrust.

My legs are immediately lifted, thrown over her shoulders, and my body trembles beneath her power. A gasp escapes my lips, a primal sound that I can't control.

“Oh my fuck!” I yell, my eyes slamming shut as my jaw slackens, the shock of her re-entering me overwhelming every other thought in my mind.

My body burns, every inch of me pulsing with the deep, heavy sensation of her inside me again, rearranging my guts.

The new angle has me seeing stars, my vision blurring as pleasure crashes over me in dizzying waves, leaving me breathless and utterly undone.

My moans become louder, more guttural, rising from the depths of my chest as I feel the delicious ache of fullness.

The pressure builds again, only this time it’s faster, more frantic. I can feel her deep in me, her movements deliberate and slow at first, but I can’t stop myself from pushing against her, desperate for more, aching for release.

Every snap of her hips slams into that devastatingly perfect spot, the one that has my vision blurring, my mouth falling open in a silent cry, my entire body surrendering to the waves of bliss crashing over me.

"Fuck, Paige!" I whine, my voice strained, filled with need. "Don’t stop, please!"

Paige’s groan fills the room as she picks up the pace, her thrusts deep and relentless. "You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re mine, you hear me?" She growls, each word like a command, making me ache even more. "You’re gonna come all over me. I can feel it, ma."

The pornographic moans echo through the room, and my body arches involuntarily, lifting as if I’m trying to take every inch of her, desperate to lose myself in the sensation.

Paige keeps me trapped beneath her, driving into me with a relentless precision that leaves me trembling, completely at her mercy—my body hers to command, my pleasure hers to ruin.

Each thrust drags me deeper into a haze of overwhelming sensation, my mind slipping further as she moves against me like she was made for this, like I was made for her.

“Come for me, baby,” she grits out, her voice thick with need, her grip on my hips tightening as she drives into me.

The tension inside me snaps, and I break with a choked sob, my entire body seizing as a rush of pleasure consumes me.

Liquid spills between us, soaking everything—sheets, skin, her lower abdomen. I barely register the wrecked sound Paige makes, nearly undone herself at the sight of me falling apart for her.

“Oh, fuck,” she groans, grinding into me as she helps me ride it out, dragging out every last wave of bliss until I’m nothing but a trembling, breathless mess beneath her.

“Shit, ma— look at that. Jus’ squirted everywhere.”

Paige pulls out slowly, deliberately, as if she knows exactly how fragile I am in this moment. A soft whimper escapes me, melting into a breathless moan, my body still trembling from the aftermath.

My limbs are useless, boneless, my chest rising and falling in uneven, heavy breaths as I lay beneath her, utterly wrecked—flushed, spent, undone.

She lingers above me, eyes roaming, drinking me in with something raw and possessive.

I can feel the heat of her gaze mapping every inch of me, lingering on the way my skin glistens, the way I’m still dripping from her, the way the sheets beneath us are damp with the evidence of her destruction.

Paige exhales, a low, shaky sound, her fingers trailing over my thigh, barely grazing, teasing—because she can. I twitch beneath her, too sensitive, and her lips curl into a smirk before she leans down, capturing my mouth in a slow, languid kiss.

It’s teasing, indulgent, her teeth grazing my bottom lip just enough to make me exhale a quiet, breathy laugh against her mouth.

Paige chuckles too, the sound deep, warm, sending a shiver down my spine as she melts into me, pressing closer, stealing another kiss, and then another—soft, lazy, unhurried.

And then she pulls back just slightly, lips still brushing against mine, voice nothing more than a hushed murmur.

“Is it too late to tell you I’m releasing another song about you… in an hour?”

My words take a second to sink in, her mind too dazed, too hazy, before I force my eyes open and glance at the clock on my bedside table. *3:00 AM.* The realization has me groaning, too exhausted to be annoyed but awake enough to tease her.

“So “Purple Lace Bra was about me,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, thick with exhaustion.

Paige’s lips curl into a playful grin, her teeth grazing my jaw with a soft, teasing nip before she presses another kiss there—gentle, featherlight, almost too tender for the intensity we just shared.

Her eyes flicker with a quiet satisfaction as she pulls back, her hands reaching for the strap-on.

The movement is slow, deliberate, and somehow reverent as she carefully slips it off, tossing it aside with a casual ease that contrasts the wildness of the moment.

“Obviously,” I hums, my voice laced with amusement as Paige rolls onto her side, pulling me against her chest. Her arms settle around me, warm and firm, her fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against my damp skin.

We settle into a quiet lull, our laughter fading into something softer, something more fragile. Paige exhales, her hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear before she stills, her touch lingering.

“Hey,” she murmurs, so soft it’s barely above a whisper, as if anything louder might shatter me completely. “I just want you to know that I’m truly sorry.”

I blink up at her, my breath catching slightly.

“I’m sorry I was being a dumbass,” she says, her tone edged with something raw, something real.

I don’t hesitate. I lean in, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, not to distract, not to avoid, but to answer. She melts into it instantly, her fingers tightening on my waist as if grounding herself in me.

And when I pull back, just enough to press my forehead against hers, I murmur, “Why don’t we—” I pause, considering, letting the thought take shape before I say it aloud. “Why don’t we take this slow?”

Paige exhales, something deep and unspoken passing between us before she nods. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Slow.”

The moment lingers, stretching into something infinite, before she pulls me closer, wrapping herself around me completely.

The tension fades into something softer, something warmer, as her hands continue their slow, soothing exploration—tracing, praising, worshipping.

She whispers against my skin, her voice a low, reverent murmur. “You were so perfect for me, baby. So good. So fuckin’ beautiful.” Her lips find my temple, my jaw, the shell of my ear.

I hum in response, too exhausted to do anything more than nuzzle into her warmth, and Paige only holds me tighter, whispering soft praises against my skin—again and again—until we finally drift off, tangled in each other, in the quiet, in the aftermath of something that feels like a beginning.

No note today, I go sleep now.

P.S I haven’t written smut in a shit long time, but I hope you enjoyed <3

xoxo,

#paige bueckers imagines #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x y/n #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x you #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers x singer!reader

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seungfl0wer · 7 months ago

Text

*𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕*

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Dom!Chan, Brat!Reader, Hair Pulling, Spanking, Unprotected Sex, CreamPie, Degrading, Mentions Of multiple rounds, Studio Sex, P in V, Sir Used, Slightly proofread.

You can find this beautiful request (here)

-🖤

You had been testing Chans patience all day today, but what broke the straw was you getting a little too handsy with Changbin. You were sitting in the studio with Chan when Changbin had come into grab something. Somehow you ended up feeling his muscles making him all blushy. When Changbin left for the gym Chan shot you a death glare. He was always so patient, way more than he should be honestly. Today though? He had enough.

He got up locking the door, he hovered over you looking down at you. You stared at the ground not wanting to meet his gaze. That gaze, you knew damn well he was done with your bullshit. He sighed loudly before sitting beside you. Yanking you over his lap making you yelp at the suddenness. He laid your body over his lap ass pushed up. He pulled your shorts down with your underwear as you squirmed at his touch.

“Don’t move.” He said in a low voice. “You know the rules, count and do not look away.” He said staring daggers down at you.

You nod only for him to let a quick slap to your ass. “Words.” He said with a growl.

“Yes- sir, I’m sorry sir” you said voice trailing off a bit at the end.

“And what happens if you don’t keep eyes on me or don’t count?” He said rubbing his hand over the area he had slapped.

“Starts over” you all but whimper out looking at him with big doe eyes.

“Good girl” he said softly before letting another slap hit your ass. “Now start counting”

“1” the first (third) slap hard, his hand soothing it a bit before another smack.

“2” you groaned out eyes staring deep into each others gaze.

A few minutes had passed, with a whimper you kept going. “8.” Tears pricked at your face as you blinked the tears away.

“You gonna learn your lesson next time hm? Or are you gonna keep testing my patience.” He said another spank hitting your ass this time harder. The area was red, sensitive and getting sore. He normally did it on both sides but this was a sort of punishment he did when you were really bad.

“M’sorry sir, I didn’t-“ a louder yelp left your lips as another smack connected. “N-nine” you stuttered out.

“You didn’t what? Be a brat all day and then feel up my friend’s arms like a dirty little whore? You didn’t mean to do all that?” His voice was low but also a mocking tone. Another hard smack came down to your ass connecting with the sensitive spot once more.

“10!” You basically screamed. This slap the last one, was hard. Full of all the anger you had made him feel through the day. It stung, it hurt, it sure was gonna bruise. He ran his fingers over your ass looking down at your tear stained face. He spread your legs slightly running his fingers down your folds slowly. The sensation made your body jump, Not expecting it.

“You took your punishment so well, I’m proud” he said voice a bit softer than it had been. The slight pain dying down now you could feel how wet you were. He ran his fingers across your clit before pulling them away. You wanted to whine out but you knew it was a bad idea. So you bit your cheek trying to be good for him.

“Up” he said patting your ass, and you did so. You stared at him while he unbuckled his pants pulling everything down letting his cock slap back against him. He was rock hard, pre cum dripping from his tip. “Over the couch now.” He demanded.

You obeyed taking position, as soon as he made his way behind you he was already pushing into you. He gave you no time. No time to adjust and definitely no time to think. He was pounding into you mercilessly, balls slapping against your skin as he bottomed out. A string of curse words and grunts left his mouth as you moaned below him.

He gripped your hips harshly as his nails dug into the sensitive soft skin. You could feel his cock so deep into you, he was twitching already. He slapped your ass this time on the other cheek before bringing his hands up to wrap around your neck. “Tell me how much of a slut you are, tell me how you were probably bad cause you’re a needy whore and just want my attention. He growled.

“M’need- always need your attention. Always want all of you” he groaned. You could feel your legs becoming jelly. Your cunt squeeze around him. “G’onna cum!” You moaned out spit dripping down your chin.

“Did I say you could? You think you’ve deserve to cum?” He said as he took a chunk of your hair pulling it harshly. Your head came back where he could whisper into your ear. “Think I should let you?” He said almost a chuckle.

“Please sir I’m sorry- I- I’ll behave just- aah” you moaned out. Chan grinned as he pulled out before quickly flipping you over.

“You’re gonna keep eye contact with me until I cum got it? Then maybe I’ll let you cum” he said pushing himself back into you. His pace was fast he was hitting every spot inside you. Your body shook under him, in return making him laugh. “So pathetic” he said as his hand found its way to your clit. He rubbed small circles as he drilled into your eyes never leaving one another’s.

“Sir! Mm fuck- so good- only you. Only you make me feel so good.” You babbled out. You were seeing stars and so was Chan. His high washing over him faster than he thought it would. His cock pumped deep into you as he groaned. Hot liquid filling you to the brim as his movements start to stutter.

“Shit princess” he said he leaned down leaving sloppy kisses to you as he rubbed you clit. “Cum for me princess, I wanna watch you come undone from me” he groaned out. It didn’t take long for you to let go. Gushing all over his long cock as you arched your back.

“Thank you sir” you said panting out. “M’sorry for being bad” you said softly looking up at him.

“I know baby” he coo’d rubbing your head as he came down from his high. A few moments had passed before either of you said anything else, But you were the first one to break the silence.

“Chan” you said softly. “Chan! The recording sound was on! You recorded this whole-“ your eyes went wide looking at him. He couldn’t help but laugh, he just shrugged “maybe I’ll put it in a song” he said smiling at you as you rolled your eyes.

He cocked an eyebrow “attitude back already?” He teased making you pout “no..” you said softly “don’t worry baby I’m not done with this punishment yet, I think I got 2 more rounds in me” he said before kissing you as he wrapped his arms around you. Those 2 rounds? Yeah, turned into 1 more at the studio and 2 more at your house.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat

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hoshifighting · 7 months ago

Text

gym rat roommate!seungcheol

— WARNINGS: smut, seungkwan accidentally catch you naked (seungcheol's fault), oral (f. receiving), seungcheol cums untouched, ''begging'', reader tries to be unbothered as seungcheol eats her out, mentions of anabolics jokes and etc. — WC: 3.2k

you never thought sharing a dorm with a leo would be this damn exhausting. when you both got assigned to the same room, you thought it’d be fine—no big deal, just another dude trying to get through college, right? wrong. seungcheol is the textbook definition of a gym rat, spending half his life lifting weights, and the other half driving you insane.

“can you not leave your towel on the bed?” you huff, staring at the damp mess he’s made.

“it’ll dry,” he shrugs, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

“not the point,” you mutter, tossing the towel into the bathroom.

and then there’s the cabinets. oh god, the cabinets. every time he makes his stupid whey protein shake, it’s like he forgets how to close them. it’s a small thing, but it drives you up the wall.

“are you allergic to shutting doors or something?” you ask, eyebrow raised as you gesture at the open cabinets.

“didn’t realize it bothered you so much,” he says, smirking, which only makes you want to strangle him more.

but the stove? that’s where you draw the line. the dude can wash dishes, sure, but he leaves the stove looking like a battlefield, grease splatters and all.

“seriously, seungcheol, you gonna clean that or what?” you snap, pointing at the mess.

“i’ll get to it,” he replies lazily, which means it’s gonna sit there until you can’t take it anymore and do it yourself.

you two bicker like this all the time, the tension simmering just below the surface. it doesn’t help that he’s constantly complaining about your hair everywhere, or the makeup you leave on the sink when you’re rushing out the door.

“do you shed on purpose?” he grumbles, vacuuming for the third time that week.

“do you have to be such a neat freak?” you shoot back, rolling your eyes.

and don’t even get started on the tv. whenever you switch from his boring sports channels to something decent, like a reality show, he acts like you’ve committed a crime.

“i was watching that,” he says, voice low and annoyed.

“yeah, well, this is more interesting,” you retort, settling in for your dose of drama.

the only time you get any peace is when he’s at the gym, and those hours are like heaven. just pure, blissful silence. and for him? the few hours when you’re at your dance classes must be the only moments he’s not silently cursing your existence.

you always wished for a quiet roommate. not that seungcheol was loud—no, he wasn’t a screamer or anything, but his friends? they never left. you couldn't catch a break from the constant parade of guys stomping through your shared dorm like it was their second home. jihoon, one of seungcheol’s quieter friends, was looking for a new roommate at one point, and you almost packed your bags right then and there. the guy was a dream—silent as a ghost and didn’t have a herd of dudes wandering around the place like it was a frat house.

but nope, you were stuck with seungcheol, who never bothered to warn you before letting his friends take over the living room.

and that’s how you ended up in this mess.

seungcheol had left a few minutes ago for the gym, and you were enjoying the peace, taking a long, hot bath. everything was fine until you realized—you forgot your towel. with no one home, you figured it’d be safe to dash to your room and grab it. big mistake.

thinking the coast is clear, you slip out of the bathroom, water dripping off your skin, and make a dash for your room. just as you reach the hallway, freezing your ass off, you hear it—a rustling from the kitchen. before you can even react, seungkwan rounds the corner, a cup in hand, and both of you freeze.

“AHHHHH!”

you both scream like you’ve just seen a ghost, or, you know, each other naked. you bolt for your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

you can hear the guys in the living room getting startled, their conversation cutting off abruptly as seungkwan yells, “don’t come in here! for the love of god, stay put!” you imagine him standing there, one hand clapped over his eyes, traumatized for life—or not lmao.

from the safety of your room, you yell at the top of your lungs, “CHOI SEUNGFUCKING-CHEOL!”

you don’t leave your bedroom until you’re absolutely sure they’ve all left. you can hear them shuffling around, and then, finally, silence. when seungcheol knocks on your door, you yank it open, eyes burning with rage, and immediately start pounding on his chest.

“what the hell did i do?!” he asks, bewildered, as you keep landing blows on him, your fists connecting with his chest repeatedly.

“what the fuck, seungcheol! i’m going to fucking kill you!” you hiss, your voice barely keeping it together.

the boys who are just leaving freeze at the front door, eyes wide, before they scramble to get out, closing the door behind them in a hurry.

“whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” he stammers, trying to catch your wrists, wincing with each hit.

“what’s going on?! you seriously asking me that right now?” you shout, not giving a damn that he’s confused. his clueless expression only makes your blood boil more.

“i wasn’t even here, what are you talking about?” he says, sounding defensive, and it nearly makes you explode.

“you didn’t even fucking bother to tell me your friends were still here! i thought i was alone, seungcheol!” you scream, your voice reaching that pitch where even he starts to look worried. “and now seungkwan’s seen my fucking ass!”

his eyes go wide, shock written all over his face as he stares at you. “wait, what? seungkwan saw you naked?!”

“yes, you idiot!” you practically screech, your face flushing red with embarrassment. “he saw everything, and you’re to blame!”

“alright, alright, calm down,” he says, though his voice is anything but calm. “just… stop screaming for a sec, will you?”

“don’t tell me to calm down!” you snap back, but your hits start to lose their strength. “i can’t believe this is happening. fuck, i’m never gonna live this down.”

“it’s not that bad,” he tries, but you can hear the strain in his voice, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“not that bad? not that bad?!” you glare at him, hands on your hips now, chest heaving. “seungkwan saw my naked ass, seungcheol! you have any idea how fucking mortifying that is?”

he bites his lip, and you can see him holding back something—probably a retort, maybe even an apology. but it doesn’t matter, because deep down, a part of him is seething for a different reason altogether.

“you’re not getting off that easy. i swear, if this ever happens again, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. i don’t care if i have to tattoo a schedule on your forehead, you’re gonna tell me when your damn friends are over!” you snarl, storming back into your room and slamming the door shut, leaving seungcheol standing there, more than a little terrified.

your luck was that seungkwan kept his mouth shut and didn’t tell anyone. he even apologized to you, which, honestly, wasn’t necessary since it wasn’t his fault to begin with. when he showed up at your door, looking sheepish, you waved off his apologies.

“it wasn’t your fault, seungkwan,” you say, sighing. “i don’t even know why you’re apologizing.”

“i know why,” seungkwan mutters, and you catch the way his eyes flicker toward seungcheol, who’s hovering behind him, looking a bit too innocent.

“he made you do this, didn’t he?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at seungcheol.

“are you really gonna scold me in front of my friend?” seungcheol whines, crossing his arms.

“it was your fault,” you and seungkwan say in unison, causing seungcheol to groan dramatically, dragging a hand down his face.

the next few days, you’re still so mad—the embarrassment has lightened, but the irritation lingers. you ignore seungcheol’s existence entirely, which seems to throw him off more than your usual bickering. but the result? the boy falls right into line. cabinets? closed. towels? hung up neatly. the stove? spotless, along with the dishes. it’s like he’s scared to mess up again.

he even starts working out at home, right in the middle of the living room, just so there’s no risk of his friends dropping by when he’s not there. every time you walk by and give him a dismissive huff, he sulks, pouting like a kicked puppy.

“you’re really not gonna talk to me?” he asks one day, mid-push-up, his voice a little too whiny for someone who usually acts so tough.

you don’t even bother to respond, just let out another huff and keep walking.

“come on, y/n, i’m sorry! what do i have to do, beg?” he calls after you, his tone half-joking, half-desperate.

you pause, glancing back at him, his big eyes pleading with you. you almost crack but manage to keep your composure.

you huff, slumping onto the couch, grabbing the remote to turn on the tv. seungcheol scoffs as he watches you, getting up from his spot and kneeling in front of you. you ignore him, your eyes glued to the screen, but you can feel his presence, and it’s hard not to notice how ridiculous he looks, sarcastically begging for forgiveness.

“y/n, come on, forgive me, pleeease,” he drawls out dramatically, hands clasped together like he’s praying, his voice dripping with mockery.

you finally tear your gaze away from the tv, raising an eyebrow at him. “go drink your protein shake, cheol,” you say, your tone dismissive.

he rolls his eyes, placing his hands on your knees, and there’s something in his touch that makes you pause. “okay, okay, for real now. can you please forgive me?”

your eyes drift down to his hands, warm and firm on your kneecaps. he notices the way you’re staring and moves his hands to rest on his thighs, waiting for your response. you stay quiet, taking in the sight of him kneeling in front of you, looking almost vulnerable.

when he thinks you’re going to ignore him again, you finally speak up, your tone dripping with mockery. “do you really want my forgiveness, cheol?”

he hums in frustration, rolling his eyes again, as if he’s bracing himself for another sarcastic remark.

you let a small smirk play on your lips. “then why don’t you make the most of being on your knees, and put that mouth to better use?”

his eyes widen in shock, your unbothered expression leaving him stunned. you can see the gears turning in his head, but before he can even respond, you slowly spread your legs in front of him, your attention casually returning to the tv.

seungcheol nearly freezes on the spot, almost losing his balance as he processes what you just said. but the sight of you, open and inviting, has him swallowing hard, his throat bobbing as he struggles to maintain composure.

he doesn’t know where to start, caught between the shock of your command and the thrill that’s been building up inside him for ages. he hesitates for a moment, then reaches under your dress, his fingers grazing the edge of your panties—the ones he’s already had a peek at earlier. you keep your eyes glued to the tv, acting like you didn’t just ask him to do what he’s been fantasizing about for far too long.

seungcheol’s never been one for preliminaries; that’s just not his style. so instead of teasing, he pushes your dress up, exposing more of your thighs, and hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, tugging them down. his breath catches when he realizes you weren’t prepared for this—you’re not wearing the usual lacy things he often sees in the laundry, and you’re not wet—yet.

his hands are firm under your legs as he spreads them wider, leaning in closer. the anticipation coils in his gut as he spits on your pussy, watching the wetness slowly glide over your folds. you squirm just a little, the sudden sensation making you shift, but your eyes stay focused on the tv, pretending this isn’t affecting you.

the sight of you like this—so casual, so indifferent—only makes seungcheol more determined. he dips his head down, his tongue dragging a slow, deliberate line along your slit, tasting the mix of his spit and your skin. the thought that seungkwan got to see you naked before he did burns in the back of his mind, fueling his movements.

he starts off slow, almost gentle, but the more you keep ignoring him, the harder he goes. his lips wrap around your clit, sucking it hard enough to make you gasp, though you try to keep it quiet. he can feel your resolve slipping as he works his mouth on you, each stroke of his tongue more focused, more intense.

seungcheol’s goal is clear: make you forget about whatever the hell you’re watching on tv and finally give him the attention he craves. he wants to see you fall apart because of him, to know that he’s the one getting you off like this.

he moves one of his hands to your thigh, squeezing it as he bobs his head, sucking your clit harder with each motion. finally, you can’t take it anymore. your head tilts down, and you meet his gaze—his big, dark eyes looking up at you so fucking needy. the sight of him, lips slick with your arousal, head moving rhythmically between your legs, makes your jaw fall slack.

your hand instinctively reaches for his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you grip him tighter, urging him on. seungcheol hums against your clit, the vibrations making you moan, your focus entirely on him now. the tv is forgotten, the show nothing more than background noise as you finally give him what he’s been aching for—your full, undivided attention.

his tongue flicks over your clit—fast, almost unbelievably so—and your body reacts instantly. your back arches off the couch, toes curling, and your grip on the remote tightens. you squeeze it so hard that buttons are pressed at random, the tv screen flashing through channels, the volume going mute, settings changing. but none of that matters anymore. the only thing you can focus on is the way seungcheol’s tongue works against you, driving you absolutely insane.

he grabs your hips, holding you down because you’re squirming too much, trying to grind against his face despite the overwhelming sensation. every time you move, he digs his fingers into your skin, a low groan vibrating against your pussy. your breath comes out in shaky moans, and even though you can barely string words together, you start talking dirty to him anyway.

“f-fuck, seungcheol—y-you're so fucking good at this, fuck—”

your words are laced with moans, stuttering as you try to form sentences. “y-your tongue... oh my god, i hate you—i fucking hate you,” you gasp, but the way you’re grinding into his face tells him otherwise. “i s-swear, you're gonna make me cum s-so fast, you asshole.”

the filthy words spilling from your mouth only fuel him more. he’s close to losing it, just from the sound of you, from the way you’re cursing him out between moans. his tongue flicks faster, relentless, and he watches the way you react, loving the way your body shakes under his control.

“y-yeah, just like that, don't stop—oh, fuck,” you manage to gasp out, your voice rising as he pushes you closer to the edge. he’s so turned on it’s almost embarrassing, the way you’re unraveling beneath him making him throb painfully in his pants. your filthy and breathless talk, your taste and the way youre wetting his tongue more and more, makes him feel like he could cum right there, just from the way you moan his name.

he’s obsessed with the way you’re falling apart, and when you start tugging at his hair harder, he knows he’s got you right where he wants. your head falls back, the tv now nothing but a silent, blurry background, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his tongue, his mouth, the way he’s devouring you like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“god, fuck—cheol, i’m so fucking close,” you moan, your body trembling as you teeter on the edge. he flicks his tongue faster, sucking hard on your clit, desperate to make you cum, desperate to feel the way you’ll fall apart completely because of him.

seungcheol’s hips grind against the corner of the sofa, desperately seeking some kind of friction. when he feels your breath catch, your voice going silent, he risks a glance up and sees you—your mouth open, almost like you’re ready to take him in, and your hand gripping his hair with an iron grip, showing no mercy. the way you’re spasming on his tongue, the tension in your body, it all pushes him closer to the edge.

he lets out a long, whiny moan against you, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and then he can’t help it—his mouth slips from your clit, leaving it throbbing and aching, as his hand rushes down to grab his cock. he presses his thumb against his slit through his sweatpants, feeling the dampness already soaking through. he’s so turned on it’s almost painful, his hips bucking against his hand as he lets out a moan into the soft skin of your thigh.

“fuck, seungcheol,” you pant, spreading your legs wider, acting like you’re not just as turned on by the sight of him falling apart in front of you. “you really came that fast? i didn’t think the gym rat would be such a quick shot,” you tease, your voice dripping with mockery. “what, the anabolics making you weak or something?”

his eyes snap up, and he shoots you a glare, knowing damn well he doesn’t use that shit. “shut the fuck up,” he mutters, trying to sound pissed, but the effect is ruined by the way his voice shakes.

you smirk, your gaze mocking as you look down at him. “then stop whining and get back to work,” you command, your tone sharp. “or do i need to find someone else who can actually handle me?”

seungcheol’s jaw clenches, eyes stabbing you as he leans in again. he bites down lightly on one of your folds, making you jolt and laugh, the sound quickly turning into a moan as he resumes his task.

“that’s more like it,” you say, voice breathy, threading your fingers through his hair again, a satisfied smile on your lips as he starts flicking his tongue over your clit once more.

he grins against you, feeling the vibrations of your moan as you finally let go, focusing entirely on the pleasure he’s giving you. it’s a game for him now, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him, determined to make you lose control all over again. the sound of your laughter + your moans is the only thing he needs, spurring him on as he buries his face between your legs, eager to make you come undone for him, and only him.

2K notes · View notes

shaiyasstuff · 3 days ago

Text

romeo and cinderella | sylus

synopsis : He was romeo, and you were cinderella, not juliet.

content : highschool!au, angst/fluff, light/implied smut

writer’s note : inspired by my favourite vocaloid song romeo and cinderella (finished this on the flight xd)

“You better be home right after school, or else.”

Your mother’s voice echoes behind you as the screen door slams shut, a sharp final note to the morning’s lecture.

You swing your leg over your bike, muttering under your breath, “Yes, Mother,” though you know she’s probably already turned away, satisfied enough by the command, not the response.

You begin pedaling down the cracked sidewalk, the same route as every other morning.

Past the corner store with its faded awning, past Mrs. Tanaka watering her sunflowers.

Nothing ever changes here.

Not the way to school, not the way home, not the rhythm of your days.

You live a simple life—though calling it ‘yours’ might be generous. It’s a life curated by someone else, shaped by rules you never agreed to and expectations you never asked for.

You’re eighteen. Old enough to vote, drive, be trusted with futures and responsibilities.

But not old enough to stay out past seven. Not allowed to date, to fall in love, to bring friends over, or even choose your own clothes half the time.

It’s a cage dressed up as safety.

And you’ve lived in it long enough to memorize every shadow on the bars.

At school, you barely register your arrival. Your feet move on autopilot, locking your bike in place and weaving through the murmuring clusters of students.

You offer polite nods, a faint smile here and there. No one notices your mind isn’t really with you. No one ever does.

Classes pass in a blur of chalk dust and droning voices. You scribble down notes you won’t remember taking, your handwriting slanting with disinterest.

By the time the lunch bell rings, your body moves instinctively, your thoughts still elsewhere.

You make your way to your usual spot—the one place that still feels like yours.

Tucked behind the gym, nestled beneath a towering tree that blooms early and sheds late, it’s quiet, hidden. You’ve claimed this little slice of peace for as long as you can remember.

But today, someone’s already there.

You stop short.

Sprawled lazily beneath the tree’s shade is a boy you’ve never seen before.

Tall. Long legs stretched out like he owns the place. A mop of white, unkempt hair flops over his eyes.

He’s got his hands folded behind his head, earphones in, entirely at ease.

You hesitate, unsure. He’s in your space.

Clearing your throat, you step forward, hoping your presence might be enough to make him move.

He doesn’t notice you at first—not until you stand close enough to block the sun.

One eye cracks open, then the other, sharp and startled. He pulls out an earbud, brows knitting together.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is laced with irritation, edged like he’s the one being intruded upon.

You blink at him, unimpressed. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He sits up a little, smirking. “Go away. I’m trying to relax.”

You roll your eyes, not in the mood for games. “This is my spot.”

Before he can respond, you lower yourself onto the grass beside him and open your lunchbox, ignoring the way his gaze lingers.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the weight of his curiosity. Most students avoid him, you can tell. He’s probably used to being left alone.

Which makes your defiance all the more intriguing.

You take a quiet bite of your food, refusing to look at him. But in your peripheral vision, you can see him watching you—like he’s trying to figure out why you’re not scared, not flustered, not gone.

You take your third bite in silence, pretending not to notice the eyes still fixed on you.

But they don’t move. Not even once.

Annoyed, you finally turn to him, and it startles him enough to make him flinch—just slightly, like he didn’t expect to be caught.

“Why are you staring?” you ask, your tone sharper than you intended. Irritation prickles under your skin, but so does something else. A flicker of curiosity.

He blinks, processing the question for a beat too long before that crooked smile returns.

“You’re not running away,” he says, like it’s the most curious thing in the world.

You raise a brow. “Should people run from you?”

He shrugs, dropping his gaze to the grass as he reclines back onto his elbows. “People think I’m trouble.”

There’s no real emotion in his voice—just a statement, tossed out like it doesn’t matter. Like he’s used to it.

You chuckle under your breath. “I can see why.”

That gets his attention.

He sits up again, turning to face you more fully this time. “Really? You can see why?”

The sudden shift in his voice catches you off guard. It isn’t defensive. It isn’t smug.

For the briefest moment, something cracks in his expression—just a flicker—but enough for you to see it. The vulnerability beneath the bravado.

The way his sharp features don’t quite mask the tiredness in his eyes.

You blink. “I—I meant that as a joke,” you say quickly, your voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He looks down for a moment, something unreadable crossing his face. Then, slowly, he meets your gaze again.

“I’m Sylus,” he says, extending a hand between you, palm open.

You stare at it for a moment, unsure why your heart gives a strange little stutter.

Then you slip your hand into his. His grip is warm, firm, and not quite what you expected.

“Y/N,” you say, softer than before.

And for the first time in a long time, it feels like something unfamiliar is growing in the quiet between you—not fear, not obedience. Just something… new.

The shrill cry of the school bell cuts through the quiet, startling a few birds from the branches above.

You sigh, glancing down at your half-eaten lunch with reluctant eyes.

Time always moves too quickly when you actually want it to slow down.

You push yourself to your feet and glance at Sylus, who’s still sprawled in the grass like the concept of responsibility doesn’t apply to him.

“Aren’t you going to class?” you ask, brushing crumbs from your skirt.

He stretches lazily, not even pretending to feel guilty. “Not really my kind of thing.”

You chuckle despite yourself, the sound escaping before you can stop it. He’s strange. Infuriatingly nonchalant. And yet… there’s something about him that tugs at your curiosity, something that makes you pause just a little longer.

“Then you can have my lunch,” you say casually, setting the box down on his lap.

He blinks, surprised, but before he can respond, you’re already standing, turning to leave.

“See ya,” you toss over your shoulder with a small wave, your voice light.

You don’t wait to see his reaction. You don’t need to.

But if you had lingered a moment longer, you might’ve seen the way he sat up straighter, mouth parted in astonishment as he called after you—softly, almost like he didn’t mean to.

“Wait—”

But you’re already gone, swallowed by the hallway crowd, the echo of your presence lingering like sunlight after clouds.

Sylus stares at the empty space you left behind, then down at the lunch box still warm in his lap.

His fingers curl around it, and for some reason he can’t name, his chest tightens just a little.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips as he leans back again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“Interesting,” he murmurs to no one in particular, and this time, the word tastes like a promise.

—•

You return home after school, the weight of the day pressing heavier on your shoulders than usual.

The front door creaks as you open it, and the moment you step inside, voices drift from the kitchen—sharp, angry, overlapping. Your parents. Again.

You pause in the hallway, listening for a beat. Same tone. Same fight. Different day.

With a sigh, you toe off your shoes and head straight for the stairs, not bothering to greet them. You know they wouldn’t notice if you did. You’re just a shadow in this house anyway—seen only when convenient.

Your room welcomes you like an old habit, quiet and familiar. You drop your bag by the door with a dull thud and collapse face-first into your bed.

The sheets are cool, and for a moment, you just breathe, hoping that if you lie still enough, the world might forget you exist.

But the yelling doesn’t stop.

Even through the walls and the floorboards, their voices seep in—accusations, bitterness, blame hurled like knives across countertops. You bury your head into your pillow, groaning softly.

It’s always like this. The noise. The pressure. The invisible weight of being stuck somewhere you don’t belong.

You close your eyes.

And for a fleeting second, you wish you could disappear.

Not forever.

Just long enough to breathe.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, trying to block out the sounds of your parents’ voices—each word another crack in a foundation already long crumbled.

But then, without meaning to, your thoughts begin to drift.

To him.

To Sylus.

You picture him beneath that tree, white hair catching the dappled light like strands of silk, that half-lidded gaze studying you with something between amusement and disbelief.

You didn’t even know him. Not really. And yet, his presence stuck to you like the scent of rain after a storm—faint, lingering, impossible to forget.

You remember the surprise in his eyes when you didn’t flinch. The flicker of something vulnerable he tried to mask behind smirks and sarcasm. And the way his voice had softened—just barely—when he said his name.

Sylus.

It rolls around in your mind, foreign but familiar, like a secret you weren’t supposed to hear.

You shift on your bed, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You weren’t supposed to care.

He was just a stranger. A boy who didn’t go to class and didn’t follow rules and didn’t care about things like fitting in.

And yet… when you handed him your lunch, when you turned your back and walked away, something in you felt lighter. Just a little.

Like someone had finally seen you.

And didn’t look away.

—•

Dinner passed in silence.

Not the peaceful kind—but the brittle, suffocating quiet that stretches too long and says too much without a word.

Your parents didn’t speak. Not to each other. Not to you.

They just sat at opposite ends of the table, chewing mechanically, eyes locked on their plates like looking anywhere else might reignite the fire.

The remnants of their earlier argument still hung in the air like smoke—unseen but heavy, clinging to the walls, to your skin, to every breath you took.

You ate quietly, each movement practiced, calculated.

You’d long since learned how to cut food without scraping the plate, how to set your chopsticks down without a sound.

Any noise could become an excuse. A trigger.

And tonight, the last thing you wanted was to become your mother’s outlet again.

So you focused on your food, on the silence, on being invisible.

And then, without warning, your thoughts slipped elsewhere.

To the shade of that tree. To a pair of unreadable, red eyes beneath a mess of white hair.

Sylus.

The name echoed softly in your mind, drawing the smallest smile to your lips—so faint it barely formed.

But it was there. A crack in the numbness.

Would he be there again tomorrow?

You didn’t know. He seemed like the kind of person who drifted through places like wind, never staying long enough to be caught.

But the thought of seeing him again—of hearing his voice, that low drawl half-laced with amusement—was enough to make your chest tighten, just a little.

You stared down at your half-finished plate, the tension in the room pressing in around you.

But for once, your thoughts were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere quieter.

Somewhere he was.

After dinner, you escape back to your room without a word. No one notices. No one stops you.

You close the door behind you with a gentle click, shutting out the rest of the house—the cold air, the silence that somehow feels louder than shouting, the ghosts of conversations that never lead anywhere.

And then, without bothering to change, you sink into your bed.

The mattress greets you like a friend—soft, familiar, forgiving. You exhale slowly, the weight of the day bleeding out of your limbs as you melt into the covers.

Your face sinks into the pillow, and for the first time that day, your body feels like it belongs to you again.

Your thoughts drift—naturally, inevitably—to him.

To the boy with white hair and eyes that looked like they’d seen too much.

To that smirk of his—sharp, teasing, but not quite enough to hide the quiet behind it.

Sylus.

You didn’t know anything about him, not really. And yet he lingered in your mind like a whisper.

Something about him felt… different.

Like he existed just slightly outside the world you knew. Untouchable. Unapologetic. And for some reason, he hadn’t looked away.

You turn onto your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

Maybe he wouldn’t be there tomorrow. Maybe it had been a one-time thing.

But the last thought that flickers through your mind before sleep pulls you under is not a maybe.

It’s a hope.

That he will.

—•

The next morning came like it always did—same time, same routine.

But something was different.

Your steps felt lighter, like the air was just a little less heavy. Like your heart remembered how to float, if only for a little while. And you knew why.

Sylus.

Just thinking of him—his careless sprawl under the tree, the way he’d blinked at you in surprise, the unexpected softness behind his smirk—made something stir in your chest.

Something warm.

You smiled. Not the kind you wear when someone expects it. A real one.

And as you pedaled your way to school, wind brushing against your cheeks, you even waved to Mrs. Tanaka watering her sunflowers.

She blinked in surprise, then returned your greeting with a smile of her own.

Same sidewalk. Same cracked roads. Same school gate.

But everything felt just a little less gray.

You parked your bike, walked to class, slid into your seat. But this time, your mind wasn’t lost in thought—it was focused, waiting. Listening for that bell.

The hours dragged like molasses. You stared at the clock more times than you could count.

Your notebook remained mostly blank, your pencil tapping restlessly against the desk.

Every tick of the second hand felt like a lifetime.

And then—finally—the lunch bell rang.

Before your teacher could finish their sentence, you were up, books shoved into your bag in a clumsy blur.

You heard someone call your name, confused by your sudden burst of energy, but you didn’t slow down.

You’d never bolted out of class so fast in your life.

Because for the first time in a long time, you were going toward something.

Someone.

And you couldn’t help the way your heart raced just a little faster with every step.

You stepped onto the familiar patch of grass, the sun filtering through the leaves of the old tree, casting dancing shadows across the ground.

It was just as you remembered—quiet, tucked away, untouched.

Except… he wasn’t there.

Your heart sank a little harder than you wanted to admit.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space beneath the tree.

Maybe he really was just passing through. A flicker in your routine, never meant to stay. You scolded yourself for getting your hopes up, but the sting of disappointment still pressed against your chest.

With a small sigh, you lowered yourself onto the grass, the silence pressing in around you again—but this time, it felt heavier.

Lonelier.

You pulled out your lunch box and set it in your lap, staring at it for a beat before opening it.

Your fingers hesitated at the lid. The food looked the same, but somehow the moment felt… emptier. Duller.

You were just about to take a bite when—

“You’re here again.”

The voice came from behind you—cool, casual, and unmistakably familiar.

Your breath caught.

You turned your head quickly, eyes wide. There he was, hands in his pockets, the ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Sylus.

His white hair was a little messier than yesterday, like he’d slept through the first few periods—which, knowing him, he probably had.

But his eyes held a glint of amusement. And something else.

Relief.

“You’re late,” you said, voice softer than you expected, betraying the way your heart had leapt.

He shrugged, stepping forward, dropping lazily onto the grass beside you like he belonged there. “Had to make sure you’d actually show up.”

You tried not to smile—but it was hopeless.

You watch as he settles beside you, pulling a blade of grass and twirling it between his fingers like it holds some grand meaning.

“What do you usually do in class?” you ask, curiosity slipping into your tone before you can catch it.

He glances at you sideways, as if debating whether to give you a real answer.

Then he shrugs. “Sleep. If not, sleep.”

You blink, then let out a laugh—quiet, but genuine. “Impressive. A man of great ambition.”

Sylus smirks, turning his head to face you more fully. “I get by.”

You shake your head with mock disapproval, though your lips are still tugging upward. “You know, most people come to school to learn.”

“Most people aren’t me.”

You raise a brow. “And what makes you so special?”

He leans back on his elbows, eyes flicking up toward the branches overhead. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You don’t reply right away, letting the silence stretch between you—not awkward, but comfortable, like the space under the tree was made to hold secrets too heavy for classrooms and dinner tables.

And even though you’re not sure what he’s hiding behind that smirk, for now, you’re just glad he’s here.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he says suddenly, arms slung over his knees, posture relaxed but eyes focused—really focused—on you.

You blink, caught off guard. “Like what?”

He shrugs, but there’s a weight behind the gesture, like he’s genuinely interested. “I don’t know. Something real. Something that isn’t ‘my favorite color is blue’ or ‘I like cats.’”

You pause, unsure where to begin. No one really asked you things like that. No one ever really cared to know.

“Okay,” you say slowly, picking at the edge of your lunch box.

“I… hate the sound of yelling. I memorize the floorboards that creak so I don’t step on them. I like quiet places. And I like the smell of rain.”

He hums softly, and you glance at him. His expression is unreadable—no teasing smirk, no snide remark. Just quiet attention.

“Rain smells like everything’s starting over,” you add, voice softer now. “Even if it never really does.”

There’s a moment of stillness. Then he leans back again, lying on the grass with one arm folded behind his head.

“That’s the kind of answer I wanted,” he murmurs, eyes half-closed.

You turn to him, watching the way sunlight filters through the leaves, painting dappled patterns across his face.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel seen.

Really seen.

You watch him for a moment longer, then tilt your head, curiosity tugging at your voice.

“What about you?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

His gaze stays fixed on the canopy above, lashes casting shadows against his cheeks.

For a second, you think he didn’t hear you. But then he exhales through his nose—quiet, almost like a sigh.

“What about me?” he echoes.

You smile faintly. “Something real. Nothing about favorite colors or animals.”

Sylus is quiet again. Not in that dismissive, detached way you’ve seen before—but in a way that feels like he’s weighing something. Testing the edges of trust.

Then, finally. “I don’t like making promises.”

You blink. That’s not what you expected.

“I’ve seen what they do to people when they break,” he adds, voice low, almost like he’s not talking to you at all.

He glances at you then, just briefly. “So I don’t make them. I don’t like pretending I can protect something I might lose.”

You’re quiet, letting his words settle. There’s pain there—buried beneath the surface, guarded by sarcasm and smirks. But it’s real.

You don’t push. You just nod.

“Okay,” you say softly.

And somehow, that’s enough.

He shifts his gaze back to the sky, but there’s something different in the air now—like a thread pulled taut between you, fragile but undeniable.

The bell rings, its shrill cry slicing through the peaceful hush under the tree.

You sigh, already missing the silence, the strange comfort of his presence.

“Time to go,” you murmur, standing and brushing grass from your skirt. You’re about to turn away when you feel it—a gentle tug at your wrist.

You look down.

Sylus’s fingers are curled loosely around you, not tight, not demanding. Just enough to stop you.

You meet his eyes.

“See you again tomorrow,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. There’s no smirk this time. No sarcasm. Just something quiet and sure.

You feel your heart stutter, warmth spreading through your chest before you even know what to say.

You nod, unable to help the smile pulling at your lips.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Tomorrow.”

And as you walk away, his touch still lingering on your skin, you don’t even realize you’re smiling the whole way back to class.

—•

It became a routine before you even realized it.

Each day, you’d wake to the same gray house, the same dull mornings, the same heavy silence at breakfast. But the air felt a little lighter now.

The walls didn’t press in as much. The arguments still happened, but they didn’t follow you as far. Because you had something else. Someone else.

Classes dragged, slower than ever—your eyes drifting to the clock, counting down until the bell would ring and you could escape.

Not from school, not from your life.

But to something.

To him.

Every day, he’d be there beneath the tree.

Sometimes already sprawled out with his earphones in, sometimes tossing pebbles or tearing at blades of grass, always waiting. Always staying.

And every day, you’d sit beside him like you belonged there. Because you did.

You learned little things about him—not all at once, but in fragments he let slip when he thought you weren’t paying too close attention.

His favorite season was autumn, because it felt like the world was quietly falling apart, and no one noticed.

He hated the cold, though. Said it reminded him of places he never wanted to go back to.

And once, when the light had turned especially soft through the trees, he’d said it out loud, “I wanna run away from here.”

You remembered the way he said it—not in a dramatic way, but like it was just a fact. A quiet truth he’d been holding for too long.

You had smiled at that. “Bring me along.”

And he’d glanced at you, surprised—but then his lips curled into the faintest smirk, and for a second, it looked like he was actually thinking about it.

Sometimes he’d hand you one of his earbuds without a word. You never asked what he was listening to—you didn’t need to. You just leaned in, shoulder brushing his, and let the music fill the space between you.

There was something inexplicably sweet about it.

The intimacy of sharing sound. Of hearing what he hears, just for a moment. It felt like being invited into a part of his world he didn’t show anyone else.

And slowly, gently, it stopped feeling like escape.

It started to feel like home.

Perhaps this was love, you thought to yourself.

Not the kind you saw in movies or read about in borrowed books.

Not loud declarations or roses at your doorstep. Not dramatic confessions in the rain.

This was quieter.

This was sitting beneath a tree, knees nearly touching, his music in your ear and the warmth of his presence beside you.

This was the way your heart stilled around him—not in fear, but in peace. The way his voice could cut through the noise in your head and leave behind something calm.

This was the way he listened. Really listened. Even when you talked about things that didn’t matter.

Even when your words trailed off. He stayed.

It was the way you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. Like he was memorizing you.

And maybe you were memorizing him too.

His sharp features softened in sunlight. The quiet rhythm of his breathing when he closed his eyes. The sound of his laugh when it came—rare, unguarded, and entirely real.

You never said it out loud.

Maybe you didn’t have to.

Because love, you were learning, didn’t always have to be declared.

Sometimes, it was felt.

In the way your heart fluttered at the thought of seeing him again.

In the way the world stopped feeling like something to run from…

and started feeling like something you could share.

—•

You woke to the sound of something soft—barely there.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the moonlit darkness of your room.

For a moment, you thought you were dreaming. But then it came again. Gentle. Persistent.

Tap. Tap.

Groggy and confused, you slipped out of bed, the cool floor meeting your bare feet as you shuffled toward the window.

You pulled the curtain back—and nearly screamed.

Sylus.

His face was right there, peering in through the glass, silver hair glowing faintly under the pale moonlight. He wore that same smug smirk he always did when he knew he was getting a rise out of you.

You stared at him in disbelief, heart racing in your chest. His breath fogged the glass slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

You slid the window open with a hurried, startled whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He leaned casually against the frame, one hand gripping the edge, the other tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. “Thought I’d drop by,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You blinked. “So you climbed up to my window?”

“Would’ve knocked on your door,” he shrugged, “but your mom doesn’t seem like she’d take that well.”

You almost laughed—but the sound caught in your throat as you took in the sight of him.

Standing outside your window in the middle of the night like something out of a dream you weren’t supposed to have.

And yet, he was real.

Real, and here.

You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to hear footsteps down the hall. But the house was still. Silent.

With a sigh, you reached out and offered him your hand.

“Come on. Carefully,” you whispered, heart pounding in your chest as though it might give you away.

Sylus raised a brow, clearly enjoying himself. “Afraid of waking the beasts?”

You shot him a look. “Afraid of you falling and taking me down with you.”

He chuckled under his breath, then took your hand. His fingers were warm—rougher than you expected, but steady.

You stepped back, guiding him through the window as quietly as possible. His feet landed on the floor with barely a sound, though the thrill of it made your pulse race.

When he straightened, you were suddenly very aware of how close he stood.

Only a breath away.

His eyes flicked around your room—walls painted in soft tones, books stacked in uneven piles, a few pictures tacked on the corkboard above your desk. It wasn’t much, but it was yours.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just… looked.

“What?” you asked, trying to keep your voice low and steady.

“Nothing,” he said, though his voice had lost its usual edge. “Just… didn’t think this would suit you.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You’re too big for this room.”

You blinked at him.

“It’s like putting a star in a shoebox,” he added with a smirk, stepping past you and collapsing onto your bed like he belonged there.

You stared at him for a second, heart still racing—not from fear, not even from the absurdity of it all—but from the way he looked so natural there.

Like he’d always been meant to be in this space.

In your space.

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the heat creeping into your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”

He grinned up at you, arms behind his head. “And yet, here I am.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you draw the curtains shut and switch on the small lamp on your desk. Its glow is dim, casting your room in a gentle amber light. Soft shadows stretch across the walls, and for a moment, it feels like time has slowed.

You turn back to him.

He’s not smirking anymore.

His eyes are on the ceiling, the faint creases in his brow more noticeable now that he’s not hiding behind sarcasm. He looks… tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix, but something deeper. Something old.

You sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to get too close.

“You okay?” you ask, the question barely a whisper.

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. Then:

“Sometimes,” he says quietly, “I get this feeling like I’m not really… here. Like I’m just walking through everything. Going through the motions.”

You glance at him. He’s still looking at the ceiling, but there’s something fragile in his voice. A crack beneath the surface.

“It’s not even about being bored. It’s more like…” He trails off, brow tightening.

“Like you don’t belong?” you finish for him, gently.

His eyes flick to yours. And this time, he doesn’t look away.

“Yeah,” he says. Just that. But it’s enough.

The silence stretches between you again, softer now. It doesn’t feel empty—it feels like understanding.

Like a shared ache neither of you fully know how to name.

You shift, your voice tender. “I feel that way all the time.”

He studies you for a beat longer, then exhales through his nose, something in his shoulders loosening.

“I don’t talk about this,” he admits, almost reluctantly. “Not with anyone.”

You nod. “Me neither.”

He turns his head toward you, his expression unreadable, but no longer guarded.

And in the hush of your dim-lit room, with only the moon beyond the window as witness, you feel the space between your bodies shrink—not in distance, but in silence.

You don’t reach for him. He doesn’t move toward you.

But something important shifts.

He came here to run from the world.

And instead, he found someone who stayed.

He’s still looking at you. The kind of look that feels like it’s peeling back layers.

You swallow. “My house… it’s not really a home.”

Sylus blinks, his expression shifting—still quiet, but more alert now. He doesn’t interrupt.

“My parents argue all the time,” you continue, voice low. “Sometimes it’s shouting. Sometimes it’s just silence. But it’s always heavy. Always there.”

He shifts, turning more toward you on the bed. “Is that why you eat so quietly?”

You let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I learned early on not to make noise. Not to draw attention. Especially when they’re angry.”

“Do they ever…” he hesitates, the words sticking. “Do they take it out on you?”

You pause. Then nod. “My mom does. Not always physically. But words can bruise just as much.”

His jaw tightens. He looks away for a second. “I know what that’s like.”

You glance at him, surprised.

He lets out a breath. “My dad used to yell. At my mom. At me. At nothing. I stopped listening at some point, but the noise… it sticks.”

There’s a silence that follows. But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a shared space now. A small pocket of honesty.

“Is that why you don’t like making promises?” you ask.

He meets your gaze again, this time without deflecting. “Yeah. I watched too many get broken.”

You nod slowly. “Me too.”

Another pause. Then, quietly,

“Sometimes I think about leaving,” you admit. “Just… packing up and going. Even if I don’t know where.”

He gives a soft smile. “Still want me to bring you along?”

You manage a small laugh. “If you’re offering.”

He nudges your knee with his. “Always.”

The quiet stretches again, but this time it’s warm. Safe.

He looks at you like he wants to say something more, but instead he just says, “Thanks… for telling me.”

You smile faintly. “Thanks for listening.”

And just like that, something delicate is built between you. Not loud. Not spoken with grand gestures. Just two people sharing the weight they’ve carried alone for too long.

And for once, it doesn’t feel quite as heavy

—•

A week passed.

And somehow, everything changed—without the world even noticing.

Every day, he was there beneath the tree, waiting. Like he always had been. Like he always would be.

You’d sit beside him, knees brushing, sharing lunch, music, thoughts neither of you dared to voice out loud anywhere else.

Your laughs came easier now. Your silences, more comfortable. The smirks he wore softened when he looked at you.

And your smiles—real ones—came without effort.

But it was the nights that changed everything.

Every night, just past midnight, there would be a soft tap at your window.

And every night, you’d let him in.

It became something sacred.

The hush of your room, the warmth of whispered words, the stolen hours under moonlight. You talked until you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Some nights, you sat close enough to feel the press of his shoulder against yours.

Other nights, he’d lie beside you on the bed, quiet, eyes on the ceiling, your hands just barely touching between the sheets.

You didn’t know what it meant.

But it felt like something.

Something real.

That night, he was lying next to you again—one arm under his head, the other draped loosely across his stomach.

You were turned toward him, propped on your side, watching his profile in the soft lamplight.

“Hey,” you whispered.

He turned to you, eyes meeting yours. “Hmm?”

You hesitated for a second, heart beginning to thrum. “Can I tell you something kind of… embarrassing?”

His mouth curved slightly. “You? Embarrassed? Now I have to hear it.”

You smiled faintly, then lowered your gaze. “I’ve never dated anyone before.”

He blinked, surprised, but he didn’t speak.

You continued, quieter now. “Never kissed anyone either.”

There was a long pause.

And when you looked up, he wasn’t teasing you. There was no smirk. No snarky comment waiting to pounce.

Just him.

Present. Listening.

“Why?” he asked gently.

You shrugged. “My parents… they never let me. I was always too afraid to try. And I guess no one ever really looked at me that way either.”

He tilted his head. “They were blind.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard.

He held your gaze, voice soft but steady. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

Your throat tightened, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and the unfamiliar warmth curling in your chest.

You smiled, a little shakily. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not.”

And for a moment, in the stillness of your room, with the lamp casting its soft halo around the two of you, the world outside disappeared.

Just you.

And him.

And the space in between… getting smaller every night.

Your smile faded slowly, but the warmth he left behind remained—settled deep beneath your skin, in your chest, in the air between you.

He was still looking at you. Not just glancing. Looking. Like he could see right through to the quiet parts of you no one else had ever tried to find.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Have you?”

He blinked, eyes softening. “Have I what?”

“Kissed someone before.”

There was a pause. Then he nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

You swallowed, looking down for a second. “Was it… nice?”

“It wasn’t this,” he said quietly.

Your eyes lifted to his, and your breath caught.

He was close now. You hadn’t realized how close until your knees were touching again, until you could feel the faint warmth of his breath brushing your cheek.

“Can I—” he stopped himself, brows pulling together slightly.

You tilted your head, heart fluttering. “What?”

“I was going to ask if I could kiss you,” he murmured, voice low, raw with sincerity. “But I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“You won’t,” you whispered.

The distance between you was a thread now—thin, fragile, and pulling tighter with every heartbeat.

You could feel his hesitation—like he was waiting for you to change your mind, to pull away.

But you didn’t.

You leaned in first.

And when his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t perfect. It was careful. Almost hesitant. Like he was afraid he might break something if he moved too quickly. But it was soft, and warm, and yours.

He pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against yours. His voice was breathless, barely there.

“Definitely not ruining anything.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart pounding.

And when he kissed you again—slower this time, more sure—you melted into it like you’d been waiting your whole life for this moment to happen.

Because maybe you had.

His lips lingered on yours for a breath longer before he pulled back, just enough to see you clearly. The soft glow from your bedside lamp caught the edges of his hair, and in the stillness of your room, you could hear everything—your heart, the silence, the hush between words.

Neither of you spoke at first.

It wasn’t awkward.

It was reverent. Like something fragile had bloomed between you, and neither of you dared to move too quickly and break it.

Your voice came out quiet, barely more than a breath. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Sylus looked at you, the smallest furrow forming between his brows.

You swallowed. “This. You. Being here.” Your gaze dropped to where your fingers were now tangled in the hem of his sleeve. “It’s like… a dream I don’t want to wake up from.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just watched you—listening, really listening.

You continued, voice thick with the ache you’d held back for too long. “This house, this life—I feel trapped in it. Like I’ve been holding my breath for years. And then you showed up and suddenly I could breathe again.”

A pause.

You met his eyes, the words trembling on your lips. “Save me from this.”

Something flickered across his face—like he felt those words in his bones.

He reached up, gently brushing his thumb along your cheek. “I can’t fix the world,” he said, voice rough. “But I’ll stay. As long as you want me to.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, not from sadness—but from the sheer relief of being seen, of being chosen.

“I want you to,” you whispered.

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

And in the stillness of your room, wrapped in that soft, fragile promise, you leaned into him again—your forehead against his, your fingers curling into his hoodie like you were anchoring yourself.

The world outside could wait.

Because in this moment, in this little pocket of warmth and moonlight—you were safe.

You didn’t move at first—still caught in the feeling of his breath against yours, the weight of his promise lingering in the air.

But something had shifted.

The line had been crossed.

And you didn’t want to go back.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring yourself in the warmth of him.

You pulled back just enough to see his face—how close it was, how soft his eyes had become.

“Can I ask you something?” you whispered.

“Anything.”

You searched his gaze, heart thudding. “What happens now?”

He blinked slowly, as if the question reached someplace deeper in him. “You tell me.”

“I want to know what this feels like,” you said, voice quieter now. “Really know. I’ve never… I don’t know what comes next. But I want to learn—with you.”

His breath caught.

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. “I want to feel what it’s like to be close to someone. To be touched like I matter.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something breaking open in his expression.

Then he moved, slowly—reaching out to brush his fingers along your jaw, down to your collarbone, so gently it made you shiver.

“Come here,” he murmured.

You leaned in as he guided you, one hand on your waist, the other at the back of your neck.

When his lips met yours again, it was different this time—deeper, more certain. You kissed him back, matching his pace, the ache in your chest melting into warmth.

His hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, resting against the bare skin of your waist.

He didn’t rush. His touch was exploratory, reverent. As though you were something delicate and sacred.

Your fingers found the edge of his hoodie, tugging gently, and he let you.

He pulled it off in one smooth motion, revealing the soft ridges of muscle beneath his shirt. You hesitated—your breath shaky as your hand pressed lightly against his chest.

He looked at you then, truly looked at you. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “I want this.”

He leaned his forehead to yours. “Then I’m yours. However you want me.”

The way he said it—so honest, so completely unguarded—made your chest ache.

You kissed him again, letting your hands explore, touch, memorize. His kisses moved to your neck, your shoulder, each one slower than the last.

His fingers slid under your shirt, lifting it with a question in his eyes.

You answered with a quiet nod, helping him pull it off.

And in the hush of your dimly lit room, the two of you moved carefully. Not rushed. Not frantic. But slow and deliberate, like every touch meant something—because it did.

You traced his skin like it was the first time you’d ever been allowed to feel, and he kissed you like he was trying to give you back every piece of yourself you’d ever been made to hide.

When you finally lay pressed against him, chest to chest, limbs tangled beneath the covers, your body was buzzing—but your heart was still.

He held you like he was afraid to let go. And you clung to him like you finally had something worth holding on to.

In his arms, nothing else existed. Not the silence downstairs. Not the bruises your mother’s words left. Not the life you felt trapped inside.

Only this.

Only him.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel like a ghost in your own skin.

You felt real.

Wanted.

Loved.

But fate, cruel and untimely, had other plans.

—•

The next morning, you woke to sunlight cutting through the curtains, warm on your skin, tangled in sheets that still smelled like him.

You were still glowing from the night before—heart full, limbs heavy with a kind of peace you’d never known.

You got ready for school humming softly, the memory of his hands, his breath, his voice still lingering on your skin like a secret no one could take from you.

You slipped on your shoes, lunchbox in hand, already imagining the way he’d be waiting under the tree again. How you’d sit close.

How your smile would mean something different now.

But just as you reached for the doorknob—

“Stop.”

Your mother’s voice cut through the morning like ice.

You turned slowly.

Both your parents stood in the hallway. Stiff. Still. Like they’d been waiting.

Your heart stuttered. “I—I’m going to school—”

“Sit down,” your father said, voice quiet. Too quiet.

You stood frozen. The warmth from earlier drained slowly from your chest, replaced by the cold ache of instinctual dread.

Your mother folded her arms. Her gaze sharp. Knowing. “Who was in your room last night?”

Your blood went cold.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“Don’t lie,” she snapped. “We heard voices. We know someone was there.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like it might anchor you to something real. “No one. It was just me. I—I was on the phone—”

“Don’t insult our intelligence,” your father said flatly.

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Letting someone into this house? Into your room?” your mother hissed, fury barely held behind her teeth. “What kind of girl sneaks boys in through windows?”

The words hit like slaps. Each one sharper than the last.

You flinched. “He’s not—he’s not just—”

“You’re not going anywhere today,” your father cut in. “Not until we figure out how to keep this from happening again.”

Your chest tightened. “You can’t—”

“We can. And we will.”

It felt like the walls closed in. Like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Just hours ago, you had been pressed against Sylus, whispering that this—he—felt like a dream.

Now, reality had come crashing through the window, ruthless and loud.

And you were trapped again.

Not behind locks.

But behind the bars of control, guilt, shame.

Your hand fell from the doorknob.

And as you stared down at the floor, all you could think about was his face.

Waiting under the tree.

Wondering why you never came.

—•

You sat in your room, the door shut tight behind you. Not locked—but it didn’t have to be. The threat hung in the air like smoke.

One wrong move, and everything you’d found could be taken from you.

Your lunchbox sat untouched on the desk.

The hours dragged like weights tied to your ankles, and all you could do was stare at the wall, counting the seconds between your parents’ footsteps outside.

He was out there.

Waiting.

Under the tree.

And you weren’t coming.

Your heart ached at the thought—at the image of him sitting alone, music in one ear, head tilted like he was listening for something. Listening for you.

You wished he’d come.

Not like in stories with white horses and grand speeches. You didn’t need saving in a way that looked perfect. You just wanted him.

Wanted to open your window and see his face again, hear his voice telling you it was okay, feel his hand reach out and pull you back into something that felt like yours.

“Come save me,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Like Romeo.”

But even as the words left your mouth, you shook your head.

No.

You weren’t Juliet.

You weren’t going to die for love, or weep behind a locked door, or let anyone write your ending for you.

If anything—you were Cinderella.

And when the clock struck twelve, you hadn’t turned into something smaller.

You’d woken up.

You hadn’t left behind a slipper.

You’d left behind fear.

You stood from your bed slowly, crossing the room to your window.

You drew the curtain back, heart pounding with hope that was almost painful.

But the street was empty.

No tapping at the glass. No smirk. No silver hair in the wind.

You stayed by the window, heart pressed against the silence. The street below was empty, washed pale in morning light—but in your mind, he was still there.

Waiting.

Still and steady beneath the tree, earphones in, pretending not to care, but glancing up every few minutes to search for you. Just in case.

The thought made your chest ache.

You moved before fear could stop you—crossed the room, pulled open your desk drawer, and grabbed a sheet of paper.

Your hands trembled as you picked up your pen. You didn’t know what to say at first, not exactly. But the words came anyway.

Slow. Honest.

Sylus,

I’m sorry I wasn’t there today.

They found out. About you. About us.

I’m not allowed to leave the house for now. I don’t know how long they’ll keep me in here.

But I need you to know something—

Your pen paused. Your breath caught.

Then you wrote, carefully, deliberately:

I know you aren’t fond of promises,

but would you promise to be my Romeo?

You stared at the words.

Not because you needed a savior. Not because you were waiting for someone to rescue you.

But because if there was anyone in the world who could understand what it meant to run, to fight, to choose someone even when everything was stacked against you—it was him.

Wait for me, you added, smaller now. I’ll find a way back.

You folded the note carefully, pressing your thumb into each crease like sealing a vow. Then you tucked it into your schoolbag, heart pounding.

Later, when the house fell into its afternoon hush—your mother in the kitchen, your father on the phone—you slipped down the hall, eased open the front door, and slipped out barefoot, just long enough to run.

The school wasn’t far.

You knew every step of the path like a song.

No one saw you.

You reached his locker, breathless, heart in your throat, and tucked the note inside—right at the edge, where he’d see it the moment he opened it.

Then you turned and ran back home, lungs burning, adrenaline singing through your veins.

You weren’t Juliet. You weren’t waiting to die for love.

But maybe, just maybe, he’d still be your Romeo.

They found out.

You weren’t sure how—maybe a creak in the floor, maybe they noticed the front door slightly ajar, or maybe they just knew the way only people bent on control can.

But this time, they didn’t just yell.

They locked the door.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally.

Physically.

The sound of the key turning in the lock still echoed in your ears, colder than anything your mother had ever said.

“You don’t leave this room,” she snapped through the door. “Not until you learn to behave.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t give them the satisfaction. You just sat on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, and waited for the sound of her footsteps to fade.

The air was thick, suffocating. The walls pressed in, closer with every hour.

But what hurt most wasn’t the lock. It was the distance.

You didn’t know if he’d gotten the note. If he understood. If he thought you’d just disappeared.

So you waited.

Every night, when the house finally fell into that deep, still quiet, you crept to the balcony.

The wind was colder now, but you didn’t care. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, sat with your knees drawn up beneath you, and looked out into the night.

You didn’t cry.

You prayed.

Please come.

Not as a prince. Not on a horse. Just as him.

With that silver hair and that crooked smirk and those eyes that somehow made you feel whole.

Every gust of wind had your heart leaping. Every shifting shadow on the street below pulled your breath tight. You waited. Night after night.

And each night you whispered it softly into the dark,

“Be my Romeo.”

Not because you needed rescue.

But because you needed him to find you.

Because you weren’t running this time.

You were trapped.

And you had never wanted freedom more.

—•

A week passed.

Seven days.

Seven endless days of silence.

Of being locked in. Of unanswered prayers whispered from your balcony into a wind that never carried them far enough.

You hadn’t seen him. You hadn’t heard from him.

Not even a glimpse through the shadows, no pebble at your window, no tapping on glass like before.

And yet, you waited.

Each night, you curled up by the door or sat out on the balcony in the cold, eyes scanning the street until they blurred, hoping—aching—for him.

Sylus… where are you?

The silence gave your thoughts too much space to wander. And they always came back to that moment—one so soft, so silly at the time, but now carved into you like a memory worth bleeding for.

You were both lying in the grass, sunlight scattered through the leaves overhead.

He’d just scoffed at something in his playlist—an old track from a childhood movie you’d convinced him to listen to.

“Fairytales are stupid,” he’d muttered.

You’d sat up instantly, jabbing a finger into his chest with faux offense. “Take that back.”

He laughed. “Seriously? Happy endings, magic love, royalty running off with peasants… it’s all fake.”

You jabbed him again, harder this time. “Then I guess I’m stupid too. Because I believe in all of it.”

He’d raised a brow, amused. “You think you’re some kind of princess?”

You’d grinned wide, proud and unwavering.

“I’m Cinderella. And you—” you pointed at him dramatically, “—are my Romeo.”

He’d stared at you then, just for a second, something unreadable softening the edges of his usual smirk.

“That so?” he murmured.

You’d nodded with all the certainty in the world. “Even if you hate fairytales, you’re in mine.”

He hadn’t said anything after that.

He didn’t have to.

And now, a week later, locked away in a house that had never felt more like a prison, you curled into yourself and whispered the words again like a prayer.

“Even if you hate fairytales… you’re in mine.”

And you could only hope—wherever he was, whatever had kept him from you—that he remembered.

Because you were still here.

Waiting.

You sat curled on the cold floor, your cheek resting against the edge of your bed.

The blanket around your shoulders had long since slipped off, and your fingers had stopped shaking hours ago.

Everything felt quiet.

Too quiet.

You weren’t sure when the nights had begun to blur, or how many times you’d stared at that empty street, whispering his name like it might summon him.

You didn’t know how much longer you could keep holding on to nothing but memory and hope.

And then—

Tap.

You froze.

Your breath caught.

You thought you imagined it.

Tap. Tap.

This time louder.

Your heart lurched violently.

You stumbled to your feet, legs half-asleep beneath you, and rushed to the balcony, hands fumbling against the door.

You flung it open and stepped out into the night air, lungs burning with disbelief.

And there he was.

Sylus.

Leaning against the tree across the street, hood up, hands in his pockets, head tilted up toward your window. Like he’d been waiting for you to come out and see him.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

You gripped the railing, eyes wide, breath trembling.

He stepped forward.

“I got your note,” he said, voice quiet—but it carried.

Your eyes blurred with sudden tears, your knees weak from relief, from joy, from all the emotions you had buried in silence.

“You came,” you whispered.

He gave a faint smirk, but it didn’t hold the usual teasing edge. It was soft. Tired. But real.

“You asked me to be your Romeo,” he said. “Took me a little while… but I’m here.”

You laughed—a breathless, broken sound—and covered your mouth with both hands.

He looked up at you, eyes glowing faintly under the streetlamp. “Are you ready to run, Cinderella?”

And suddenly, the lock on your door, the house behind you, the world that had caged you in for years—it all meant nothing.

Because your fairytale had come back for you.

And this time, you were going.

You stood there, frozen on the balcony, heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it from the street. The cold bit at your bare feet, the railing digging into your palms as you gripped it tightly—but none of it mattered.

Because he was there.

Looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that existed.

Sylus took another step forward, into the pool of light cast by the streetlamp.

He pulled down his hood, silver hair catching the glow, eyes locked with yours—steady, sure, unshaken.

Then he lifted his arms.

“Jump.”

Your breath caught.

“What?” you whispered.

His mouth tugged into a faint, familiar smirk, but his voice was nothing but steady. “You said you were Cinderella, didn’t you?”

His eyes softened, shining with something quiet and unspoken. “Then run from the clock. Run from the cage. Just run to me.”

Your fingers gripped the railing tighter. The drop wasn’t far—but it felt like more than height.

It was leaving everything.

It was choosing something wild, uncertain, terrifyingly real.

“I don’t know if I can—”

“Yes, you can.”

His arms stretched wider, voice quieter now. “I’ll catch you.”

Tears burned in your eyes as the wind whispered around you. Your world—your prison—stood behind you, cold and familiar.

But everything you’d ever longed for was standing just below, arms open, waiting.

You climbed onto the railing, heart in your throat.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Just watched you with a look you’d never forget.

You met his gaze, your voice breaking.

“Promise?”

And this time, the boy who never made promises gave you one.

“I swear.”

So you let go.

You fell—

And he caught you.

Arms wrapped tight around you, your body pressed against his chest, the world spinning as he held you like you were something precious.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no need.

You’d leapt—and he had been there.

Just like he said he would be.

#lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lnds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lnds #l&ds x reader #lads sylus #sylus x non mc #sylus oneshot #vocaloid #l&ds sylus #sylus qin #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus

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brunchable · 6 months ago

Text

Captivate Me | Stalker!Bucky Barnes x f!reader. [R 18+]

Word count: 23.6K (oops) Pairings: Obsessed Bucky Barnes x Movie Star Reader. Summary: You've been seeing Bucky for a while. You thought meeting him was pure fate but little did you know every single detail was premeditated. Trying to end things with him would be the greatest mistake of your life. Themes/Warning: SMUT OVER 18s ONLY. Dark Romance, slow-burn STALKING, KIDNAPPING, A LOT OF MANHANDLING *DUBCON?* BDSM (Blindfolded, Bed Restraints), Daddy Kink, Masturbation (M), Filming during sex, domineering acts, degradation, praising, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral (M+F), overstimulation, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampied. A/N: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE. It is giving Joe Goldberg. Also Bucky speaks Romanian here, I used google translate. Please don't come at me.

A/N: AGAIN IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE, MOVE ON.

I’ve seen you in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different roles, but none of them—none of them—compared to the real thing. You, walking out of that boutique gym, wiping sweat from your forehead like it wasn’t some holy ritual. You didn’t know I was watching. You never do. That’s the thing about being the most famous actress in Hollywood, isn’t it? People only see the surface, the glitter. The carefully curated perfection. But not me. I see the real you. The one behind all that.

When I first saw you, it wasn’t planned. Not exactly. I mean, I knew I’d see you eventually. I made sure of it. The gym, the coffee shop, your early morning run route that you think is private. I don’t leave things to chance. I orchestrate them. And you—oh, you walked right into my world, didn’t you?

You smiled that smile, the one that makes directors fall to their knees for a chance to cast you. But when you smiled at me, it felt different. Real. Like we were speaking a language only we understood.

It wasn’t hard to make you like me. It never is. I’ve done my homework. I know what you need, what you crave. Stability. Someone who gets it, gets you, in a way that all the shallow, empty faces in your world never will. I became that someone for you, carefully crafting each word, each look, until you were hooked.

It’s funny, the little things you let slip. You think you’re so careful, but I see it. The way your shoulders relax when I talk about my “well-paying job,” when I drop hints about my “family's” holiday home. You like that, don’t you? You like that I’m different from the men who chase you for clout or connections. No, I’m something else.

You didn’t realize I’d planned our first date down to the minute, did you? Or the second, and the third. You thought it was all so natural. You thought it was just happening. Like we were meant to meet, to be together, to be something special. That’s the thing about fate, though—it’s just another tool. And I wield it perfectly.

It didn’t take long for you to fall for me, just like I knew you would. After all, I’m everything you need. Smart, kind, successful—or at least, that’s what you think. I’m whatever you need me to be. So when I suggested a weekend away at my “holiday” home, you said yes. Hesitant, but yes. You must’ve thought it would be a nice escape. Just us, away from the world that always wants something from you.

Except, you didn’t know it wasn’t an escape at all. It was a step closer to where we were always meant to end up.

That’s what I kept telling myself as we stood in the kitchen of that house, the rain drumming softly against the windows. I poured you a glass of wine, said something about how perfect it all felt, about how right we were together. And you—you just stood there, silent, your eyes distant. Something had shifted.

Then you spoke.

“Bucky,” you said, and my heart stopped because I already knew what was coming. “This is going too fast.”

The words hung in the air like poison. I felt my pulse in my throat, the warmth of the kitchen suddenly stifling.

“I don’t think I see a future with us,” you continued, and each word was a dagger. You tried to soften the blow with that sweet voice of yours, telling me I’m a “great guy,” that it’s “nothing personal.” Nothing personal? How could it not be personal?

You know, I’ve always been good at controlling myself. That’s one of the things you liked about me, isn’t it? How I’m always so calm, so collected. You don’t want the chaos, the mess of Hollywood drama in your real life. No, you want stability, something solid, someone who can be your anchor in the storm of flashing lights and fake smiles.

And I gave you that. I am that. I’ve been perfect for you—perfect in every way.

So why—why are you standing here, telling me that it’s going “too fast”?

The words echoed in my head, making it hard to focus. You kept talking, kept explaining, but it was like I couldn’t hear you anymore. My mind was racing, my chest tightening with something dark, something unfamiliar.

No, no, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say it’s too fast when I’ve been so patient, so careful.

You have no idea how long I’ve waited, how meticulously I’ve crafted every single moment between us. Every word, every smile, every touch. This is what we’re supposed to be. You can’t just walk away from that. You can’t just throw it away.

I could feel it bubbling up inside me, the rage, the frustration. It started small, like a flicker of heat behind my eyes, but it was growing, spreading, filling me with something raw and dangerous. I tried to keep it in check, tried to swallow it down. I didn’t want to scare you. That’s not what this was about. This was supposed to be perfect.

But you kept talking, kept saying things that made it worse. Words like “future,” like “great guy,” like “nothing personal.”

Nothing personal? Again.

How dare you? How dare you make it sound like I’m just another guy, like I didn’t plan every single moment of our time together? You think this isn’t personal? You think I’m just going to let you go like all the others? No.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to hold it in, trying not to let you see what you were doing to me. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t shut up. And then you said it—that one final thing that broke me.

“I just don’t feel the same way.”

There it was. The truth, out in the open, sharp and jagged like broken glass. And something inside me snapped. I could feel it, like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way. My pulse thundered in my ears, my breathing shallow and ragged. You didn’t get it. You didn’t see how much I’d done for us, how much I’d sacrificed. You didn’t understand how perfect we could be if you just—just—

I slammed my hand down on the counter next to you, the sound slicing through the air like a gunshot. You jumped, startled, your eyes wide with fear as you flinched, taking a step back from me.

And that—oh, that—was new.

Fear. Real, genuine fear appeared in your eyes like you were finally seeing me for the first time. I should’ve hated it. I should’ve backed off, apologised, done something to make it go away.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because part of me—some dark, twisted part of me—liked it. I liked that you were finally seeing me. The real me. Not the carefully crafted version I’d shown you before, but the one who needed you, the one who couldn’t stand the idea of losing you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re scaring me.”

I blinked, the words cutting through the fog of anger, but they didn’t have the effect you wanted. Scaring you? No. No, you’re not scared of me. You’re scared of losing control, scared of what it means to be with someone like me, someone who actually cares enough to make sure you stay.

But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I watched you take another step back, your hands trembling slightly, your eyes darting to the door like you were planning to run.

I watched the fear ripple through you, your breathing quickening, your eyes scanning the room like you were calculating the distance to the door. Like you thought you could just run. Like you actually thought you could escape me.

But you can’t.

No, we’ve come too far for that.

I took a step toward you, slow and measured, watching the way you flinched, the way your body tensed like a deer ready to bolt. I didn’t want to hurt you—I didn’t. But you were leaving me no choice. You were making this hard, when it didn’t have to be. I didn’t want it to be this way.

“Bucky…” Your voice was small, fragile. You were trying to reason with me, but it was too late for that. Too late for words. The world outside, the life we had before stepping into this house, it was all fading away. It was just us now, just the truth between us, raw and unfiltered.

“You don’t understand,” I said, my voice low, my hand still pressed firmly against the counter. I could feel the cool granite beneath my palm, grounding me, barely holding back the storm inside. “This is right. We are right for each other. You just… you just don’t see it yet.”

Your eyes darted toward the door again, that brief flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could get away. I could see it in the way your muscles tensed, in the way your feet shifted like you were getting ready to run. And I hated it—hated that you still didn’t understand.

I moved faster than you expected, my hand reaching out to grab your arm before you could make a break for it. You gasped, your eyes wide with terror as I pulled you back, your body colliding with mine. You struggled, kicking, twisting, trying to break free, but I was stronger. I’d always been stronger.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, your voice shrill, panicked. But I didn’t let go. I couldn’t.

You don’t get it. You can’t leave.

“Stop fighting,” I growled, pulling you closer, your back pressed against my chest. I could feel your heart hammering beneath your skin, the rapid rise and fall of your breath. You were terrified, and part of me—some dark, primal part of me—thrived on that fear. But another part of me hated it. I didn’t want you to be afraid. I wanted you to see that I was doing this for us.

“Please, Bucky… you’re hurting me.”

Those words. They cut through the fog of anger, piercing something deep inside me. My grip loosened for just a second, just long enough for you to break free, to twist out of my hold and make a desperate run for the door.

And you did it.

You yanked the door open, sprinting out into the rain like your life depended on it. You were fast, I’ll give you that.

Desperation makes people faster.

Your bare feet slapped against the wet pavement, splashing through puddles as you made your way to the car. You thought you were getting away. You thought you were winning.

I followed, just a few paces behind. I let you think you had a chance. Let you scramble to the driver’s side door, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the handle. You were soaked, the rain plastering your hair to your face, but you didn’t stop. You threw open the door, slipping into the car, your fingers trembling as you searched for the keys.

But I was there. Right behind you. And you didn’t have the keys, did you?

“Bucky, please!” you screamed, your voice high and panicked, but it didn’t matter. I yanked the door open before you could lock it, my hand reaching in and grabbing your arm with a force that made you cry out.

You kicked. You screamed. Your nails clawed at my hand, your legs thrashing as I dragged you out of the car, but you weren’t strong enough. You were never going to be strong enough.

“No!” you shrieked, your voice cracking as I hauled you back toward the house, the rain pouring down around us. You fought me every step of the way, your feet slipping in the mud, your body twisting, trying to break free.

But I didn’t let go.

I couldn’t.

“You’re not leaving,” I growled, my voice barely audible over the storm, my grip tightening as I dragged you back inside. Your body was limp now, weak from the struggle, but your eyes—oh, your eyes were still filled with that same fear.

We’re not done. We’re never going to be done.

Not until you see it.

Not until you see me.

× × × ×

Your POV

You wake slowly, your head throbbing, the world around you blurry and disorienting. The sound of the storm outside reaches you first, the rumble of thunder vibrating through the walls, the rain pounding relentlessly against the windows. You blink, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The sheets beneath you are soft—too soft—and they smell like detergent, unfamiliar.

That’s when you feel it. The cold metal around your wrists.

Panic surges through your veins as you jerk upright, or at least, you try to. Your hands are cuffed to the bed, the harsh clink of metal echoing in the dimly lit room as you struggle against them. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear hitting you like a wave, choking you as you realize—this isn’t a nightmare.

Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you take in the room. It’s dim, lit only by the soft, flickering glow of a bedside lamp, the corners of the room swallowed by shadows. You’re not in the same clothes you remember. You’re dressed in something clean now, something soft, but it’s not your own. Someone…he changed you.

And then you see him.

Bucky.

He’s sitting in the corner, hidden in the shadows, watching you. His silhouette is dark, unmoving, and it sends a chill down your spine. The storm outside feels like a reflection of the chaos inside your head, the way everything is spinning, nothing making sense.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and when you finally manage to choke out his name, it sounds small, pitiful.

“Bucky?”

He doesn’t respond. He just keeps watching, like a predator studying its prey. Like he’s waiting for you to say or do something, but you don’t know what. Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. The fear grips you tighter with every second that passes, the realization of your situation crashing down on you like the thunder outside.

“I… I don’t understand.” Your voice is trembling, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you tug helplessly at the cuffs, the metal biting into your skin. “Why are you doing this? Let me go, please.”

Still, he says nothing. The silence stretches on, oppressive, suffocating. You can feel his eyes on you, piercing through the darkness, and it makes your skin crawl.

You don’t recognize this man, not anymore. The Bucky you thought you knew, the one who smiled at you over dinner, the one who laughed at your jokes, who held your hand… that Bucky is gone. Or maybe he was never real to begin with.

“You’re scaring me,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the tears finally spill over, sliding down your cheeks. “Please, just let me go. I won’t— I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I just want to leave.”

His figure shifts slightly in the chair, the movement so subtle you almost miss it, but it feels like a thunderclap in the tense stillness of the room. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, dark, carrying with it an edge of something you don’t want to name.

“You need to stop thinking of escape,” he says, his words measured. “I’m not your enemy, I’m the one saving you. And one day, you’ll understand that.”

Your stomach drops. There’s something final in the way he says it, something that makes you realize there’s no reasoning with him. No escape.

You’re trapped.

A sob escapes your lips, your body shaking as you pull at the cuffs again, but it’s no use. The storm outside rages on, the wind howling like some terrible omen, and you can’t help but wonder if anyone—anyone at all—can hear you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as Bucky stands up from the chair, his silhouette dark against the dim light. His movements are slow, and you can’t tear your eyes away from him as he steps out of the shadows. Something glints in his hand, and when he comes closer, you see it.

Your phone.

He’s holding your phone.

Bucky twirls it in his hand like it’s some casual toy, but the sight of it makes your stomach churn. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze fixed on you, and a slow smile spreads across his lips—not the warm, charming smile you once knew, but something colder, calculated.

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s standing right next to the bed. His presence looms over you, the phone still in his hand as he looks down at you, handcuffed and helpless.

“So,” he says, his voice smooth, unsettlingly calm. “What should you post tonight? Hm?”

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the words. Post? He can't be serious. He wouldn’t—

Bucky’s eyes flicker down to the screen, and with a swipe of his thumb, the display lights up. “You wouldn’t want people to think you’ve gone missing, would you? That might cause a… panic.” He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

Your throat tightens, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over again. You shake your head, more in disbelief than as an answer. He’s playing with you, toying with the very thing that connects you to the world outside this nightmare. And the way he’s handling your phone, so casually, makes it clear—he’s already thought this through.

“Maybe a picture of your feet by the fire?” he muses, tilting his head as if he’s considering the best angle. “Or better yet, one of those ‘cozy night in’ captions. That’ll sell it. Everyone will think you’re just relaxing after a long day. Just another night for Hollywood’s sweetheart.”

His words send ice through your veins. He’s already planned it all out, how to keep up the illusion that you’re fine, that nothing’s wrong. No one will even suspect you’re missing. No one will come looking for you.

You try to speak, to find words, but your voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper. “Please, Bucky, don’t—”

But he ignores your plea, his eyes focused on your phone as he pulls up your social media app. “Smile,” he says mockingly, as though you’re some doll he can dress up for show. “Or don’t. I can manage this on my own. I’ve been watching you for long enough to know exactly what your fans want.”

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks, helplessness gripping you as he takes control of your life in the most terrifying way possible. The world outside keeps spinning, oblivious to the fact that you’re trapped in this nightmare, and he’s holding the one lifeline that could save you, dangling it just out of reach.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, his voice a twisted mockery of comfort. “I’ll keep everyone updated. No one will know anything’s wrong. Not until you’ve had time to understand why you’re really here.”

And as he taps away at your phone, the storm rages on outside, but inside this room, it’s the calm before the real storm—the one you know is coming but can’t escape.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

The thing about phones—your phone, to be specific—is that they’re intimate. More intimate than a diary, more personal than any conversation you’ve ever had. Every swipe, every message, every like, is a little breadcrumb leading back to the real you. The parts you don’t share with the world. And here I am, with your phone in my hand, holding every piece of you in the palm of mine.

I can feel your eyes on me as I scroll through it, your fear practically radiating off you in waves. But I ignore it. I’ve already moved past that phase, the part where I worry about what you’re thinking. You’ll come around eventually, once you see that I’m doing this for us.

For you.

The soft glow of your screen illuminates my face as I unlock it easily—your passcode was one of the first things I learned about you. A four-digit combination, barely a barrier, really. I swipe through your photos first, and there’s a strange comfort in seeing the world through your eyes. Pictures of sunsets, candid moments with co-stars, perfectly posed selfies for your millions of followers. Each photo carefully curated for the world. But I keep scrolling because I know that’s not all there is.

And then I see it. A photo you took of me.

It’s not staged, not some posed couple’s picture for social media. It’s real. I’m asleep—my head turned slightly to the side, my face peaceful, unaware. You took this when you thought I wasn’t watching. The corner of my mouth twitches up, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. You couldn’t resist, could you? Even when you didn’t know it, you were drawn to me.

This proves it. We’re connected. Whether you want to admit it or not, you feel it, too. I wasn’t wrong.

I glance up from the phone, just for a moment, to see you watching me, your eyes wide, terrified. You have no idea how much I know, how deep inside your world I already am. I almost want to say something, to tell you how this photo means something. How it confirms that we’re meant to be. But I stay silent, letting the moment stretch between us, savouring it.

I keep scrolling. And that’s when I find them.

The unsolicited photos.

You thought you were careful, that you’d buried them in your messages. But nothing stays hidden from me. A flood of messages from random men—pathetic, desperate attempts to get your attention. Men sending you things you never asked for.

Filth.

Unworthy of even a glance from you. The sheer arrogance of it, the entitlement, makes my blood simmer. How many of these men thought they had a chance with you? That they could own a piece of you like I do?

One particular message stands out. A man whose name I don’t recognize, someone you’ve never mentioned. He’s sent you photos of himself, explicit, disgusting. And you—you didn’t block him. You didn’t stop it.

I stare at the messages longer than I should, the jealousy curling tight inside my chest, sharp and poisonous. These men, they think they can have you, that they can come into your life with their disgusting offers and expect something in return. You might not have invited them in, but the fact that they’re here at all makes me sick.

You should’ve told me. You should’ve trusted me to take care of this for you.

I glance back at you, still handcuffed to the bed, tears slipping down your cheeks, and I wonder if you even understand what’s happening here. These men, they aren’t a part of your life anymore. I won’t allow it. You’re mine now. Completely. There won’t be anyone else.

I keep scrolling through your messages, and that’s when I find something else.

A text thread with your friends. The casual banter, the kind of stuff you think I don’t care about. But buried in there, a series of photos you sent them. I pause, my heart speeding up as I open them.

It’s me, of course.

One picture in particular stands out—a shot of me shirtless in the kitchen, cooking you breakfast. The light catches my body just right, every muscle defined. And your caption underneath?

“Okay, so you can’t see his face but look at this man. Just look at him.”

You wanted them to see me. To know what you had. You wanted them to be jealous. And they probably were. I smile to myself, imagining the envy your friends must have felt, knowing that you had me, knowing they couldn’t. It’s perfect. You knew I was perfect for you.

I scroll further down the thread, and that’s when I see the message that makes me pause, my breath catching in my throat.

“You guys, I swear to god… he’s so good in bed, I think I’m addicted. Like, I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m wrecked in the best ways.”

Addicted. Addicted to me. And you thought I wouldn’t know. You thought you could hide that, that you could pretend to push me away when deep down, you crave me. You need me.

I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across my face as I look back at you. You’re trembling, still terrified, but you don’t understand that this—this fear, this desire—it’s all part of the same thing. You don’t have to run from it anymore. From me.

I scroll just a little further and see the final blow. Another photo. This time, it’s intimate. Private. A photo you snapped of me sleeping on top of you, my body nestled against yours, my head buried in the crook of your neck. The angle is careful, my face mostly obscured by my dark hair, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness in that moment. I can feel the warmth of it through the screen.

And then the message beneath it.

“Okay, don’t judge me, but… when Bucky speaks Romanian when we do it... it’s so hot. Like, I can’t even handle it. I don’t even want a kid but I'll carry his kids. Fuck. He’s so hot.”

I feel something inside me snap—not with anger, no, but with something far deeper. You want this. You want me. You’ve been telling your friends, letting them know how much you crave me, need me, even if you didn’t say it out loud to my face. But now? Now I know. And there’s no denying it anymore.

I set the phone down on the edge of the bed and lean closer, my voice low, calm, almost affectionate. “You know,” I murmur, “I never realized how much you needed me. But now I see it. Now, it all makes sense.”

You flinch, pulling back as far as you can, but there’s nowhere to go. Not from me.

“What should you post tonight, hm?” I ask, my tone conversational, like this is any normal evening between us.

The horror in your eyes is enough to confirm it—you finally understand. You’re not going anywhere.

Because you’re mine. And no one—no one—is going to take you away from me.

× × × ×

I bring the dinner to you, carefully plated, as always. Presentation matters. Even now, when you’re too stubborn to appreciate it, too blinded by your own misplaced anger to see that this—this—is still me taking care of you.

I set the tray on the bed beside you, the smell of the meal filling the room. You’ve always liked the way I cook, haven’t you? I remember how you used to smile, used to praise the smallest details, like I was doing something so special.

But now, you sit there with your jaw clenched, body stiff, refusing to look at me, refusing to even acknowledge that I’m here, still trying to make sure you’re okay.

“You’re going to eat,” I say softly, but there’s a firmness beneath the words. It’s not a request, not a suggestion. I’ve been patient with you—so patient. But you’re pushing me now, testing the limits of my control, and we both know that can only last so long.

You scoff, turning your head away from the food like a child throwing a tantrum. “I’m not your prisoner, Bucky. You can’t force me to do anything.”

The defiance. That familiar fire burning behind your eyes. I should be frustrated, I should be angry, but honestly? I find it... cute. You’re still trying to fight me, still clinging to the idea that you have some say in this. I lean closer, my hand resting gently on the bed beside you, my voice dropping just enough to let you know I’m not here to argue.

“You are going to eat,” I repeat, my tone calm but unyielding. “Because I’m not going to let you starve yourself.”

You snap your head back to me, your eyes flashing with rage, and for a second, I see the storm building in you.

“You can’t make me,” you growl, and it’s almost laughable—the way you think you still have control, still have some semblance of power in this situation.

Then, without warning, you spit at me.

The action is so quick, so fueled by your desperation, that for a moment, I’m surprised. The spit lands on my cheek, sliding down slowly, almost in slow motion. And there it is. The fight. The fire. The part of you that still hasn’t fully surrendered.

You tense, your body going rigid, your breath caught in your throat as you wait for me to explode, for the rage to consume me and lash out. This is the part where you expect me to lose it. To become the monster you’ve built up in your head.

But I don’t.

I freeze for just a second, letting the anger stir inside me, feeling it twist and coil. But then, instead of reacting the way you expect, I chuckle. A low, quiet laugh, the sound barely audible over the storm outside. I don’t wipe the spit away. I just sit there, letting it cool on my cheek, my lips curling into a small, almost amused smile.

“I like this,” I murmur, my voice calm, disturbingly calm. “This fight in you. It’s… adorable.”

You flinch, recoiling slightly as you realize I’m not going to snap. I’m not going to lose control, because unlike you, I’m not driven by desperation. I don’t need to. No, I have all the control I need, right here, in this room, with you handcuffed to that bed. I can see it in your eyes—the confusion. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect me to remain calm.

I lean in just a bit closer, my face only inches from yours now, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You think you can push me, don’t you? That if you fight hard enough, I’ll lose control. But that’s not going to happen. You’re not going to break me. You can’t.”

You’re trembling now, the tears welling up in your eyes, but I don’t feel pity. No, this is something else entirely. This is... satisfaction. You want to fight, but you’re scared, too. And that mix? That’s what makes this so interesting.

I straighten up, slowly wiping the spit from my cheek with the back of my hand, my eyes never leaving yours. “Go ahead. Keep fighting. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in control. You’ll still eat. You’ll still do what I say.”

Your lip quivers, but you remain silent, glaring at me with all the defiance you can muster. But I can see the cracks forming. I know that deep down, you understand.

“Now,” I say, standing up and moving back toward the corner of the room, watching you carefully. “When you’re ready to eat, the food will be here. And I’ll be right here, too. Always.”

I sit back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, my eyes never leaving you. You still think you can win this. But you can’t. You never could.

And the fact that you haven’t realized that yet? Well, that’s just adorable.

× × × ×

Your POV

The next day.

You wake up to the steady drum of rain against the window, still unrelenting, like the world is stuck in an endless loop of storm and shadow. The room is dim, gray light filtering in through the heavy clouds outside, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. Something’s different, though. You blink slowly, trying to clear the haze of sleep.

Your wrists. They’re free.

No cuffs. No cold metal biting into your skin. You sit up cautiously, the blankets tucked around you. . . comfortably. Like some twisted lullaby, as if you’d been tucked in after drifting to sleep in the middle of a nightmare.

And the first thing you notice? Bucky isn’t here.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your body still stiff with the memory of yesterday, the taste of panic still lingering like bile in your throat.

You scan the room carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements as if you might wake the predator lurking nearby.

The chair he always sits in—the one where he watches you—is empty. No sign of him. No footsteps, no steady breathing that you’ve come to expect as the constant reminder of his presence.

Where is he?

The food tray from last night is gone. Cleared away. The bed you’re sitting in feels too normal, too cozy, like some trap waiting to spring. You can’t trust it. You can’t trust anything. Your eyes move to the door. It’s slightly ajar, just a crack, and there’s an unnerving stillness in the air. The house is too quiet.

You slide out of bed, your bare feet sinking into the carpet. Your muscles are tense, ready, every nerve on edge.

You step closer to the door, careful, listening for anything—footsteps, breathing, a creak of the floorboards. Nothing. Just the sound of the rain.

Your hand touches the doorknob, ready to push it open, when you hear it—a soft thud from down the hall.

Your body freezes, every muscle tensing as you strain to hear. The sound is subtle, distant, but unmistakable. A shuffling, like something—or someone—moving just out of sight.

He’s close.

You open the door cautiously, peeking out into the hallway. It’s dark, barely lit by the gray daylight seeping in from the windows. The house feels alive, as if the walls themselves are watching, breathing. The unease settles in your stomach, cold and heavy. You swallow, your throat tight, and take a step forward.

Another noise. A door creaking open further down the hall.

Your breath catches. Your feet hesitate. But you move forward, each step more careful than the last. Your heart races, every instinct screaming for you to turn around, to hide. But you can’t. You need to know where he is.

And then, you stop.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and there—just inside—you see him.

Bucky.

He’s standing in front of the sink, his back to you. His hands are braced against the counter, his head slightly lowered, as if he’s… thinking. You freeze in place, watching him, your body paralyzed by the tension hanging thick in the air. He doesn’t know you’re here, not yet. He hasn’t heard you.

You could run. You could turn around right now, slip back into the bedroom, and pretend you never saw this. But something about the way he’s standing there—so still—keeps you rooted to the spot.

He moves.

Slowly, he straightens, his shoulders rising as he takes in a deep breath. He turns his head slightly, just enough that you catch the edge of his profile. And then, he speaks.

“I know you’re awake.”

Your stomach drops, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

“I was waiting for you,” he continues, his voice smooth, calm, like he’s talking about the weather. “But I guess you were planning on coming to find me instead.”

You feel the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding in your ears as he turns to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a calmness in his expression that unnerves you more than anything else. He isn’t angry. He isn’t surprised.

He knew.

He knew the whole time.

× × × ×

The moment his eyes meet yours, you don’t think—you bolt.

Your feet barely hit the ground as you turn and bolt down the hallway, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, the sound of your breath ragged in your ears. Every muscle in your body screams to run, to get as far away from him as possible. You know he’s behind you. You can feel it, the tension stretching between you like a taut wire, ready to snap. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

The stairs are ahead, a sharp descent into the unknown, but they’re your only option. Your hand grips the bannister as you take the steps two at a time, your mind racing just as fast. You can hear him moving behind you, not in a rush, not in a panic. No, his footsteps are casual by the way they echo in the hallway above.

You hit the ground floor, your bare feet slipping on the cold tiles, but you manage to catch yourself. You have to hide. You have to be smart. If you don’t, he’ll catch you, and you know exactly what happens if he does.

You dart around the corner, your eyes scanning the room desperately. The house feels like a maze, twisting, unfamiliar. You’ve been here before, but in the haze of fear, everything feels different, distorted. You spot a door—a small one, leading to what looks like a pantry—and no hesitation you dash inside, pulling the door shut behind you.

Darkness swallows you whole, your back pressed against the wall, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your shaky breath.

The air feels thick in the tiny space, every sound amplified. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you try to force yourself to stay calm. Think, think, think.

The silence stretches out, so thick you can almost hear it. And then—

You hear him.

His voice, soft, almost melodic, drifting through the house like a twisted lullaby.

“Y/N…”

Your body goes rigid. He’s calling for you, like this is some kind of game. A cat and mouse game. He’s playing with you, drawing it out, savoring every second of your panic.

“Where are you?” His voice echoes through the house, sickeningly sweet, and you can hear the smile in it, the amusement. Like this is a joke. Like you, running is nothing but entertainment for him.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, trying to think of what you can do next, but every plan, every thought dissolves into pure terror as his footsteps get closer. The sound of his shoes on the floor is slow. He’s not in a rush. He knows you’re here. Somewhere.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

He sings your name again, drawing it out, each syllable rolling off his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. You bite your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, your hands trembling as you clutch the inside of the door. You can’t breathe, can’t move. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode in your chest.

You hear him moving through the house, his voice drifting through every corner, getting closer, then further away.

“You know I’ll find you…” His words are light, teasing, but beneath them lies something dark, something terrifyingly final. “I always do.”

His voice drifts through the hall, teasing, playful, as if this is all just fun for him. The sound of it makes your blood run cold, but you don’t move. You can’t. You tell yourself to stay calm, to think, to be smart. He wants you to panic. He wants you to break. Don’t.

The footsteps draw closer. You hear the soft creak of the floorboards just outside the door, and your body goes rigid. You can feel him on the other side, waiting, listening. You brace yourself, every nerve in your body on edge, ready for him to rip the door open and drag you out.

But he doesn’t.

There’s a long, agonizing pause. You hear him exhale softly, almost as if he’s amused. His presence lingers there, so close you can feel it through the door. The seconds stretch on, unbearable.

And then, he moves. The footsteps retreat, growing fainter, until you hear them no more.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You wait, your body coiled tight, every muscle aching with the tension.

He’s gone, you tell yourself. He walked away.

You listen carefully, straining your ears for any sound—nothing. Just the rain. He’s somewhere else in the house, looking for you.

The silence presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You tell yourself you have to move, that this is your chance. You wait a minute longer, then two, your hand still covering your mouth as you count the seconds.

He’s gone. He’s not there anymore.

Finally, you exhale slowly and shift your weight, your legs cramped and trembling from holding still for so long. You push the door open an inch, peeking out into the hallway.

Empty.

The hallway is bathed in pale, gray light from the rain-soaked windows. No sign of him. Your pulse hammers in your ears, but you push the door open fully now, stepping out as silently as you can manage. The house feels too big, too quiet.

Maybe I can make it. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

You take a cautious step forward, your eyes scanning the empty corridor. Another step, careful, quiet. The air feels cold against your skin, the house eerily still, like the eye of a storm.

You glance in both directions. The hall is empty.

He’s gone.

You make it halfway down the hallway, moving toward the back of the house, your breath coming in shallow huffs. You take a step, then another, your movements calculated and soundless, trying to map out your escape. Each second feels like a victory, a step closer to being free of him. You are smarter than him. You can outthink him.

As you move, you walk backward for a moment, keeping your eyes on the hallway behind you. You don’t trust it—why would you?—so you check, making sure he isn’t sneaking up on you. Your back presses against the wall for stability as you inch toward the exit, ready to make your move.

And then—you feel something.

Something warm. Something solid. Your entire body goes rigid as you feel it—him.

You freeze, terror gripping you before you even have a chance to process the situation. Slowly, painfully slowly, you turn your head, knowing exactly what you’ll see.

Bucky.

He’s standing right behind you, closer than you ever imagined he could be, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady. How did he move so silently? How did he manage to be right here, right on top of you, without a single sound?

Your heart slams against your ribcage as you try to pull away, but his hand is already on your arm, gentle but firm, holding you in place. The smile on his face is unsettling, a mixture of amusement and something far darker. He knew. He always knew.

“You were trying to sneak away, weren’t you?” His voice is soft, too soft, like this is all just a lighthearted conversation between two people who aren’t trapped in a nightmare. “I could feel it.”

His fingers tighten around your arm, not painfully, but just enough to remind you that he’s not letting go. That he sees you, even in your cleverness, even in your silence.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I like that. But quiet doesn’t mean I won’t find you.”

“I was just…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper, but it catches in your throat. You can feel him watching you, his eyes scanning your face, reading every thought before you’ve even formed it.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone almost playful, like he’s toying with you, like this is nothing more than a game. His fingers brush your skin, tracing lazy circles, and it sends a wave of nausea through you.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mind is racing, but the words won’t come.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against the side of your neck, and you can’t stop the way your body tenses, every nerve screaming with terror.

“I told you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the rain. “I’ll always know where you are.”

Your breath catches, and you feel his hand shift, sliding down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you, suffocating.

You want to scream, to pull away, but you know it won’t do any good. You’ve been clever, careful—but not enough. You underestimated him.

You force yourself to breathe, to think through the thick fog of panic that clouds your mind. Every instinct screams at you to do something, anything to get away, but Bucky’s grip is firm, his presence all-consuming. His hand is still around your wrist, holding you in place, as if you belong here. As if there was never a question of where you should be.

“I see that look,” he murmurs, his voice so low it almost blends with the sound of the rain. “You’re thinking. Calculating.”

You swallow hard, your heart slamming against your ribs. Of course, you’re thinking. You’re always thinking. You’re looking for the smallest crack in the situation, the tiniest escape route. But he knows. He sees it in you.

“You always think you can figure me out, don’t you?” His breath tickles the side of your face, and you flinch, trying to pull away even though you know it’s futile.

Your mind races, but his presence is like a cage, keeping you trapped, making every idea seem impossible. You can feel the tension tightening, every second a countdown to whatever he’s planning next. His thumb moves in circles over your wrist, a gesture that might seem comforting if it weren’t so... controlling.

Then he releases you.

The sudden absence of his grip is jarring. You stumble backward a step, your body instinctively retreating, but you catch yourself before you fall. You stare at him, shocked that he’s let go, that he’s giving you space.

Bucky just smiles, watching you. He's toying with you, letting you think you have a chance when deep down, you know he’s still in control.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice soft and measured. “But you have to stop running. You’re making this harder on yourself.”

Your skin prickles with dread as you try to process his words. He’s letting you go, but it’s not real freedom. It’s a leash—an invisible one, stretched just enough to let you feel like you’re in control. But he’s still holding the end of it, ready to pull you back the moment you step too far.

You stand there, frozen, every muscle in your body screaming to run, but your mind knows better. He’s faster than you. Stronger. More dangerous.

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to make a move, to see what you’ll do next. And you know, whatever you do, he’ll be ready.

“I can wait all day,” he says, tilting his head slightly, as if he’s genuinely curious about what you’ll choose. “But you won’t make it far.”

Your mouth goes dry as you take a shaky breath, your eyes darting to the door, the only possible exit. The rain is still hammering down outside, loud and relentless, but it’s the only thing between you and whatever comes next.

But you know if you run now, it’ll be exactly what he wants.

So, you make a decision.

Instead of bolting, instead of giving in to the panic rising in your chest, you take step forward. Toward him.

His eyes flicker with something—surprise? Amusement? You can’t tell—but it doesn’t matter. You’re not playing the game the way he wants you to anymore. You’re taking control, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Then stop pretending this is some game,” you say, your voice steady, even though you feel anything but. “What do you want?”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance you just created, and you can feel the tension coil between you again, tighter than before.

“You know what I want,” he says softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You don’t dare break it, waiting for him to speak, to reveal the thing that’s been lurking in the shadows between you both since the moment you met. The way he’s looking at you now, with that dark, unreadable intensity, makes your skin crawl. Your question hangs in the air, and you can’t tell if he’s stalling, or if he’s just savouring the moment—savouring you.

Then he leans in, just a fraction closer, his voice lowering to that chilling, intimate whisper that makes every nerve in your body scream for you to run.

“What I want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “is simple. I want you to stop fighting it. To stop pretending this isn’t what you need. What you want.”

You stiffen, your pulse skyrocketing, because it’s not the answer you were expecting. There’s a raw edge to his words, a dangerous undertone that tells you he’s been thinking about this for a long time—planning it.

“I want you to see that this, us—” he gestures vaguely between you, his eyes never leaving yours—“is inevitable. You can run, hide, resist, but you’ll always end up right. back. here.”

You feel a chill run through your veins as his words sink in. He doesn’t just want to keep you here, doesn’t just want your compliance. He wants your submission. He wants you to accept this twisted reality he’s created, to fall in line with whatever fantasy he’s been building in his head.

Your breath hitches, but you manage to hold his gaze, even as your mind reels with panic.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides. “This isn’t love, Bucky.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says softly, his smile returning, more dangerous than ever. “But I know you, Y/N. I’ve watched you. I’ve studied you. And you can’t hide from the truth forever.”

“I know what you need,” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost... tender. “And when you finally stop running, when you stop fighting it, you’ll see it too.”

Your chest tightens, your mind racing to find something—anything—to say that might break this twisted spell he’s trying to weave. But you know, deep down, that no matter what you say, he’s already convinced himself that this is real. That you are his.

And that’s when it hits you.

What he wants isn’t just to keep you here, to cage you like some prize. He wants you to choose it. To accept him, this situation, this twisted version of love he’s built in his mind. He wants you to believe it, to fall into his arms willingly.

But you won’t. You can’t.

“I’ll never give you what you want,” you repeat, your voice defiant, even though the fear tightens in your chest. “I’ll never see this the way you do.”

For a moment, the silence between you thickens. You think maybe he’ll finally snap, maybe this will be the moment he loses control. But instead, his smile deepens, and the amusement in his eyes takes on a sharper, more sinister edge.

“Is that right?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “Because, according to your texts... that’s not what you’ve been telling your friends.”

Before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling out your phone again, holding it between you like a trophy. His thumb glided over the screen, his eyes flickering with the satisfaction of someone who’s about to wield power in the most insidious way.

“Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” he murmurs, not even looking at you as he pulls up your messages. “Ah, here’s a good one.”

He clears his throat theatrically before reading aloud, his voice dripping with false amusement. “He’s got this look when he’s on top of me. Like, I swear, it could melt your soul. I think I’m done for.”

Your stomach turns as the words leave his lips, each syllable twisting into something vile as he quotes your own words back to you. You remember sending that, of course. You’d been giddy, drunk on lust and naivety, texting your friends in a moment of bliss that feels a lifetime away now.

Bucky’s eyes flick to you, watching your reaction with that same unsettling calm. “Done for, huh?” he teases. “That’s not exactly the defiance you’re showing me right now.”

You clench your fists at your sides, trying to steady your breath, but he’s already scrolling again. His thumb pauses, and he smirks as if he’s found something even better.

“Oh, this one’s great,” he says, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Is he big?” he reads with a dramatic pause, glancing at you. “Girl, you have no idea. Let's just say I’m not getting out of bed anytime soon.”

Heat floods your face, not with the memory, but with the sheer horror of hearing him say it out loud. Your body goes rigid as the humiliation washes over you, but Bucky—he just chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he says, the smugness in his voice unbearable. “It’s good to know I’ve been leaving an impression.”

He swipes again, his smirk growing. “Let’s see... oh, what’s this?” His voice takes on an almost sing-song quality as he reads the next one. “He’s so attentive, it’s like he knows what I want before I do. Honestly, I think he’s perfect. He’s in my head, like... all the time.”

Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to look at him, your heart thundering in your chest. He’s savouring every moment of this, twisting your words into a weapon, using them to deepen his control over you.

He steps closer, eyes glinting, before reading the next one. “There’s something about him... something that makes me feel like I could lose myself. In a good way. Like, I don’t even care anymore. I just want him.”

He leans in, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers, “You just want me, huh? It seems like the girl who wrote this was much more open to the idea of us.”

You jerk your head away, disgusted by how easily he’s taken everything private, every vulnerability, and turned it into another chain to bind you with. You grit your teeth, but he’s still scrolling.

“One more,” he says with false sweetness, pausing for effect as he reads the final message. “I think I’m falling for him. For real. He’s just... I don’t know. He makes me feel safe, like no one else ever has.”

He lets the words hang in the air, his smile fading just a little as he watches your reaction.

“And that,” he says softly, “is the part I like the most.”

His voice lowers, his face inches from yours now. “You felt safe with me. And you know why? Because deep down, you want to. You want to believe I’m the one who can protect you, give you everything you need. And I will. You just have to stop fighting it.”

Your stomach twists as his words sink in, as he lays bare the twisted reality he’s built around you. He wants you to choose this, to let him be the one who controls everything. And he’s using your own desires, your own words, to manipulate you.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, his infuriating chuckle echoing through your bones, and you can’t stand it anymore. The phone—the embodiment of everything he’s stolen from you—dangles just out of reach, held by his towering frame like it’s a toy, a prize he knows you can’t win.

Your teeth grit, hands curling into fists. The room feels like it’s shrinking, the air too thick to breathe. He’s mocking you. Smiling. Enjoying this.

“Give it to me!” you spit, your voice sharp and desperate, the words cutting through the tense air like glass.

His smile widens, the amusement in his eyes deepening, like your demand only adds fuel to his fire. He raises the phone higher, just enough to make you reach again, to make the gap between you and your freedom feel all the more impossible.

“What was that?” he teases, voice calm, soft—almost too soft. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

You take a step forward, pushing against his chest with all the force you can muster. “I said give it to me!” You try to leap, your fingers brushing against the edge of the phone, but he pulls it back effortlessly, his hand now resting on your waist as if steadying you—as if you need his help.

His chuckle rumbles low, and it makes your skin crawl. “Y/N…” he says, dragging out your name, the amusement thick in his voice. “You really think you can just take it? Like it’s that simple?”

You shove harder against him, your breath coming in short, angry bursts, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but his hand stays firm on your waist, not letting you get any real distance. “It’s mine! You don’t get to—”

Before you can finish, you jump again, practically climbing him in your attempt to grab the phone. You’re fully pressing against his chest now, using every bit of strength you have, your body coiled with frustration and fury as you reach for the device. But it’s no use. His arm is longer, his height an insurmountable barrier.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with that insufferable grin, his free hand catching your waist to stop you from going any higher.

“Keep trying, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your skin as you struggle. “But you’re not going to get it.”

His voice is patronizing, soaked with amusement, and it only makes you more desperate, more furious. You plant your feet harder, pushing up with all your strength, but he doesn’t even move. You’re climbing a wall that won’t budge, and the realization stings.

“Give. It. To. Me.” Your voice is tight, angry, each word spat out through gritted teeth as you dig your nails into his arm, still trying to claw your way up, but the phone remains out of reach.

He’s barely even trying to stop you, just lifting the phone higher, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as he holds you in place. His chuckle deepens, a low rumble of satisfaction.

“Why are you fighting so hard for something that’s already mine?” he asks, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “These words... you gave them to me. You already handed me your trust.”

You try to twist out of his grasp, your breath catching in your throat, but his hand stays firm, his body unyielding.

“You don’t own me,” you snap, your voice shaking with both rage and humiliation. “You don’t get to decide—”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you back down to the ground, your feet slipping on the floor as you stumble back, breathless and furious. He pockets the phone slowly, as if to remind you that it’s not going anywhere.

His eyes meet yours, dark and amused, his voice low and taunting. “Oh, I’m not deciding anything,” he murmurs, his smile twisting. “You already did.”

Bucky stands over you, tall and unyielding, his shadow looming, making the space around you feel smaller, tighter. His lips curl into that same infuriating smirk, the one that makes your blood boil and sends a thrill of something you don’t want to acknowledge coursing through your veins.

“Asshole,” you mutter again, glaring up at him, refusing to let him see the fear—or worse, the heat—burning inside you.

His eyes gleam with amusement. He kneels slowly, bringing himself to your level, but still towering over you in that way that makes you feel completely trapped, even as you’re free to move.

“What was that?” he asks softly, his voice barely a murmur, though you know he heard you the first time.

You hate how your body betrays you, hate that he knows it too. You bite your lip, trying to steady yourself, to not let him see how much he’s rattling you. But he’s watching you, every small movement, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.

You try to push yourself away from him, to put some distance between you, but his hand tightens on your waist, just enough to keep you in place.

“Say it again,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear now, sending a jolt of something electric through your body that you wish wasn’t there.

“I said you’re an asshole,” you snap, louder this time, your voice sharp and angry.

He chuckles, low and dark, and the sound makes your skin prickle with a mix of fury and something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“I like it when you fight,” he murmurs, his voice soft and teasing, his breath warm against your neck. “It’s cute.”

The heat of his breath on your skin makes you shudder involuntarily, and you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the way your body reacts to him. You want to shove him away, to regain some semblance of control, but your body feels frozen, caught between the urge to push him back and something else entirely. Something you refuse to admit is there.

“Let me go.” you manage, but your voice falters, quieter than you intended, betraying you.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, his hand slides up your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His fingers brush against your ribs, the touch light but possessive, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Do you really want me to?” he whispers, his lips now barely an inch from your neck. His words send a shiver racing through your body, and you grit your teeth, determined not to let him see how much he’s affecting you.

“Bucky...” you start, trying to sound firm, trying to hold onto the anger that’s slipping through your fingers, but your voice falters as you realise how close he is, how the heat between you is suffocating.

He smirks again, his thumb brushing over your waist in a way that sends an involuntary tremor through you. “You can say my name all you want,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that makes your stomach twist. “But we both know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Your body tenses at his words, both from the insult and the way his hand moves, as if he’s unravelling you, piece by piece. You try to pull back again, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you that you’re not going anywhere.

“You think you’ve got me figured out?” you snap, trying to regain some ground, some sense of control.

He chuckles again, that same low, maddening sound that sets your nerves on edge.

“I know more than you think,” he says, his hand moving higher, his fingers brushing against the curve of your ribs now, his touch sending sparks through your skin. “You’ve been trying to fight this from the beginning, but we both know where this is going.”

The space between you is shrinking, the heat between your bodies unbearable, and you can feel the tension pulling you in, your body betraying you in the worst possible way. You bite your lip, trying to focus, to remember why you hate him, why you should be pushing him away.

But he’s so close now, his lips barely a breath away from your skin, and you can feel his words more than hear them as he leans in, his voice a whisper that sends a tremor through your entire body.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe, as the world narrows to just the two of you.

You should push him away. You want to push him away. But instead, you’re sitting there, heart racing, torn between the anger burning inside you and the heat building between you. And Bucky knows it. He sees it in your eyes, in the way your breath catches, and that only makes his smirk grow wider.

“Just admit it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitches, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to react, to give him the satisfaction. But the tension between you is unbearable now, suffocating, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep fighting it.

Bucky tilts his head to the side, his eyes dark and hooded, slowly drifting down to your lips. His lips are so close to yours now, hovering millimetres away, teasing you, taunting you with the possibility of something more.

But he doesn’t close the gap. He just hovers there, waiting, watching your reaction, drawing it out. His smirk deepens, satisfied, as if he’s savoring the way you’re teetering on the edge, caught between your instinct to pull away and the pull of something undeniable between you.

Your mind races, the rational part of you screaming to shove him away, to stop this before it goes any further. But your body—your traitorous body—responds to the heat between you, every nerve alight, betraying the internal conflict waging within you.

"You're holding back," he whispers, his voice low, taunting, the words vibrating in the air between you. His breath brushes your skin, so close you can almost feel his lips move against yours, but still, he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of closing the distance.

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to keep your expression defiant. “You think I’m just going to give in?” you uttered firmly.

Bucky’s smirk grows. He’s not just playing with your emotions; he’s studying you, every breath, every reaction.

“I think you like this,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as silk, the words wrapping around you, making it harder to breathe. “This tension between us, this fight. You crave it.”

His lips are so close you can almost taste the heat of him, but he continues to hold back, leaving you on the brink, trapped in the space between resistance and temptation.

“You’re wrong,” you manage, though your voice falters slightly, betraying you. You hate that he’s gotten this far, that he’s managed to chip away at your defenses, but you refuse to let him see just how much he’s affecting you.

“Am I?” he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours you can barely stand it. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, but still, he keeps you waiting, holding you in this unbearable tension.

He leans in again, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice a soft murmur. "I can feel it, Y/N. You're on the edge. Just let go."

Your heart pounds in your chest, every

Bucky watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as if he’s weighing your silence, calculating your resistance. Then his smirk returns, a little darker this time, as though he’s decided something in that moment.

"You’re going to see it my way," he murmurs, his voice low, full of certainty. "And I’m going to prove it to you."

His arm wraps around your waist firmly, and before you can react, you’re lifted off the floor. Your breath catches as he throws you over his shoulder with ease, like you weigh nothing. You let out an involuntary gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing at his back, trying to steady yourself as your body hangs over him.

“Bucky!” you protest, your voice sharper now, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his footsteps as he starts walking back toward the stairs.

“Shh,” he says softly, his tone almost playful, but there’s an edge to it, a finality that makes your stomach twist. “You’ll thank me later.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you’re carried back toward the bedroom. You push against his back, but his grip doesn’t loosen, and the casual strength he holds you with only makes your pulse race faster.

You struggle against him, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he only tightens his hold, his voice calm, unbothered. “Fighting me only makes it harder for you, Y/N.”

Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as he carries you up the stairs, the panic and tension growing with each step. You know where he’s taking you, and the thought of being trapped in that bedroom again sends a chill through your body.

“Put me down!” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear, but Bucky only chuckles softly.

“Oh, I will,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm.

You feel your body shift slightly as Bucky pushes open the door to the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and your heart pounds in your ears as you realise there’s no escaping him now.

"Put me down!" you demand, trying to keep your voice steady, though every fiber of your being is on high alert.

Bucky throws you onto the bed with effortless strength. The world spins for a split second, and you land with a bounce, the mattress swallowing your weight. You gasp, disoriented, struggling to regain your composure as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Bucky stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with that same infuriating confidence, his smirk widening as he watches your reaction.

"You—" you start, the anger rising in your chest, but before you can finish, he interrupts you, his voice filled with mock innocence.

“What? You told me to put you down,” he says, shrugging casually, as if tossing you onto the bed was the most natural thing in the world. His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a dark undercurrent that makes it clear he’s still fully in control.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, caught between the absurdity of his reply and the tension hanging thick in the air. His casual playfulness only heightens the unnerving sense of power he holds over you, as if even your resistance is something he finds amusing.

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to let him see just how rattled you are. “You know exactly what I meant,” you snap, keeping your voice firm, even as your pulse quickens under his unrelenting gaze.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence again, that infuriating smirk never leaving his lips. “I just follow instructions, doll,” he says, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes tell a different story—dark, dangerous, and full of intent.

You sit up straighter, fighting the feeling of vulnerability that creeps over you, and meet his gaze with unwavering defiance. "You’re not as clever as you think," you say, keeping your tone sharp.

His smirk widens, and he steps closer to the bed, his movements slow, he’s savoring the tension between you. "Oh, I think we both know how clever I am," he replies, his voice dropping to a smooth murmur.

You sit up slightly, propped on your elbows, your pulse quickening as he approaches. Bucky moves swiftly, his hands coming down on either side of you, caging you in. His body looms over yours, and the mattress dips under the weight of him, pinning you in place.

The sudden proximity steals the breath from your lungs, and your eyes dart up to meet his. The intensity of his gaze hits you like a physical force, his pupils are blown wide, dilated. His face is so close now that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence suffocating, overwhelming.

He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

You’re hyper aware of everything—his hands gripping the mattress on either side of you, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the intoxicating scent of him invading your senses.

You try to look anywhere else, anywhere but where his gaze is leading you. But it’s impossible. His stare pulls at you, like a gravitational force, dragging you into his orbit. And all you can think about is how close he is. Too close. Your heart thuds in your chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in the silence between you.

Your eyes flicker—just for a second—down to his lips.

You curse yourself instantly for it, but it’s too late. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His smirk deepens, barely perceptible, but you feel it like a jolt of electricity. That knowing look, that arrogant satisfaction that he’s in control, and you’re fighting a battle you can’t win.

You force your eyes back up, meeting his once more, desperate to regain some sense of control, some measure of defiance. But the tension between you is unbearable now, thick like a vice tightening around your chest. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only the charged space between your lips, the millimeters separating you from him.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, bracing for something you’re not even sure you want to resist.

Bucky leans in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that the distance is almost unbearable. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and for a moment, you’re not sure if it’s your heart or his that’s pounding in your ears.

You try—desperately—not to look at his lips again, but it’s like trying to ignore gravity.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The silence is louder than any words he could say. You know what he’s waiting for. He’s waiting for you to break, to give in to the pull you’ve both been fighting for what feels like forever.

Your hands clench at your sides, every muscle in your body tight with the effort of holding back, of not giving in to the dangerous allure of his proximity. But it’s so hard to breathe, so hard to think when he’s this close, when his eyes are this intense, when his lips are right there, almost touching yours.

And just when you think you can’t hold out any longer, that you’ll snap under the pressure of the moment, Bucky’s voice cuts through the silence, low and husky, barely above a whisper.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your lips, sending another shiver down your spine. “Don’t look away.”

You think about defying him, about turning your head and breaking free from the suffocating tension. He was on top of you, all that hard muscle pinning you down to where you couldn’t move. You could feel him everywhere, especially his cock, which was thick against your belly. Fighting him only turned him on, and now you were thinking about sex.

And you hate that he’s right.

Just when the air feels too thick to breathe, he pulls away.

The shift is sudden, leaving you lying there on the bed, breathless and confused. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you can’t quite make sense of what just happened. One second, he was so close—too close—and the next, he’s stepping back, putting space between you.

You blink, trying to catch your breath, your mind scrambling to process the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that have left you dizzy and disoriented. The heat from his body lingers on your skin, but his absence feels colder than you expected.

Bucky stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, his face now unreadable. The smirk is gone, replaced by a cool, detached expression that makes your stomach churn. It’s as if the moment you shared—the one that left you teetering on the edge—never happened. His eyes, once dark and intense, are now distant, cold.

“Be a good girl and stay there,” he says, his voice flat, authoritative. There's no teasing in his tone now, just a command.

The words hang in the air, and you find yourself frozen, unable to move, unsure whether it's from the weight of his command or the confusion swirling in your chest. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that he’s pulled back, leaving you stranded in the wake of something you didn’t quite understand—and maybe weren’t ready for.

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't check to see if you’ll obey. He simply turns, walking away, leaving you lying there on the bed, torn between the need to push back and the sinking realisation that he’s still in control, no matter how much space he puts between you.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

There’s a moment when power shifts—when control is no longer just something you hold, but something you feel, deep in your bones. I see it in your eyes, the flicker of confusion, of vulnerability, as I step away from the bed. You think you understand what’s happening, that you have a handle on your own defiance, but the truth is, you’re already exactly where I want you. And isn’t that the beauty of it?

The tension between us was intoxicating, wasn’t it? The way you looked at me, fighting the pull, the temptation, the inevitable. I gave you space to breathe, to think. But now, it’s time to decide what comes next.

I step out of the bedroom, the door closing behind me with the softest click. You probably think this is your moment to regroup, maybe catch your breath, wonder where I’ve gone. But, let’s be honest, I’m never really gone, am I? I’m in your thoughts right now, circling your every breath, every heartbeat, while you lie there and try to pretend you can fight this.

I move down the hallway, not in a hurry. I savor this, the anticipation hanging in the air between us. When I reach the room, it’s quiet. Still. Organized. Everything in this space has been meticulously laid out, prepared for this moment. Choices, all of them deliberate. I don’t rush this, because why would I? I like to take my time. And you? You’ll feel that patience in every step I take.

I look over the table, where everything is waiting. The blindfold catches my eye first. Simple, soft. It’s always the smallest things that strip away the most control, isn’t it? You rely on your sight, that sense of security you have when you can gauge what’s coming, what I’m doing. The blindfold removes that. You’ll be left with nothing but the sound of my voice and the weight of your own breath. Your heart will race faster the moment it goes dark. You’ll feel it—your world narrowing, closing in.

But there’s more. My fingers brush against the bed restraints. These are designed to remind you of something fundamental: the boundaries I set are not negotiable. No matter how hard you might try, these restraints are proof that you’re not getting away. You’ll strain against them, at first, testing your limits, feeling that surge of defiance before you realize just how futile it is. That moment, when your body gives in to the restraint—that’s when you’ll understand that the control was never yours to begin with.

I pick them both up—the blindfold in one hand, the restraints in the other. But before heading back to you, I stop, glancing at myself in the mirror in this room. The tension in the air, the power of what’s coming next, calls for something more. Something raw. I remove my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. The cool air hits my skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building inside. This isn’t just about control anymore; it’s about presence. Dominance.

× × × ×

YOUR POV

The door creaks open slowly, and you’re already on your feet. You don’t know what your plan is—if you even have one—but lying there, waiting like some docile thing, that’s not you. You can feel the tension in your legs, every muscle taut as you stand by the bed, trying to control your breathing, trying to look like you’ve made a conscious decision, even though the truth is, you don’t know what you’re going to do next.

And then he appears.

Bucky steps back into the room, shirtless. His bare chest catches your eye, the light cutting sharp angles across his skin, emphasizing every line of muscle. For a moment, it steals your breath. Not because of how he looks—but because it’s another calculated move. He’s always thinking, always pushing, and now this is about more than just words or actions—it’s about his very presence. It fills the room, like he’s claiming the space itself.

Your eyes instinctively flick down to his hands. He’s holding something—dark fabric and... yes, restraints. The blindfold dangles from his fingers, the soft black material barely catching the light. The restraints, sleek and unyielding, swing lightly from his other hand.

And then he notices you.

He stops, just inside the doorway, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. His eyes darken, and you catch the subtle frown that pulls at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the fact that you’re no longer on the bed. The smallest hint of irritation flickers across his face, quickly replaced by that cool, composed exterior. But it was there. You saw it.

Good.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considers you, and for a moment, neither of you move. It’s a silent standoff, and you can feel the weight of his disapproval pressing against you.

But then, a slow, exhale leaves his lips, and his expression shifts. He takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His frown is gone, replaced by something colder, more calculating.

“You’re out of bed,” he says, his voice low, calm, but there’s an edge to it, as though he’s daring you to explain. “Lie down.”

You don’t. You stand your ground, refusing to retreat, even though your pulse is hammering in your chest. You know this won’t change the inevitable, but you’re not going to make it easy for him.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispers, his voice low and smooth. “It will be easier for you if you don’t make trouble.”

“But I like trouble,” You said without thinking.

You hadn’t thought about how this would come across, though. Your vpice thick with defiance, you realize what you’ve done. You’ve just challenged him. Again.

His expression went hard, a little scary. “I will give you the count of three. If you’re not in bed before then, there will be consequences.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. He isn’t bluffing.

Your gaze flickers down to his hands, and you see them—the blindfold, the restraints. He’s holding them loosely, his fingers flexing as if he’s already deciding exactly how to use them.

“One. . .”

He takes a step forward, his eyes locked on you, his presence overwhelming in the small space. You feel your pulse spike, But you stand your ground, glaring back at him, the fire of your own defiance still flickering even as fear claws at your throat.

“Two. . .”

The sound of the second number sends a rush of panic through you. He’s not going to wait much longer. You know that. But you can’t bring yourself to back down.

“Three.”

The word comes out soft, but the weight behind it is crushing. He doesn’t give you time to react. His hand moves in a blur, reaching for you, and before you can take a breath, he’s closed the distance between you, his grip firm but not painful as he grabs your wrist.

The blindfold and restraints in his other hand hang there, a silent threat, a promise of what’s to come.

“You made your choice,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from yours, and the dark amusement in his eyes is gone now. “Now, you'll have to deal with the consequences…” He pauses, his gaze flickering over you, and a wicked smile curls on his lips. "And trust me, sweetheart, you're going to feel every single one of them."

And you know, as he pulls you toward the bed, that this game is over.

But the consequences? They’re just beginning.

“No!” you grunted, you bucked and kicked out with your legs, hoping like hell you caught him in the junk, “Get off me!”

Bucky barely flinches, his grip tightening as he maneuvers effortlessly to pin you down. The way he handles you—strong, unyielding—sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

“Nice try,” he mutters, his voice calm, controlled, that terrifying composure still in place. “But it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me.”

His hand moves swiftly to your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with ease. You feel the smooth leather strap, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s threading it through the buckle.

You buck again, a surge of panic flooding your chest, but his knee presses firmly into your legs, pinning you down. He moves quickly, efficiently, pulling your arm to the side as the leather restraint tightens around your wrist with a sharp pull.

The soft creak of leather is the only sound as he secures the second strap to your other wrist, buckling it in place, leaving you spread wide, helpless. Your chest heaves with the effort, but it’s too late—the leather holds fast, unyielding.

"See?" he says, his voice low, that dangerous smile tugging at his lips again. “You can fight all you want, but it’s only going to make this more interesting for me.”

“I hate you!”

He didn’t answer as he strode toward the end of the bed. His strong naked chest was distracting in the greyness of daylight, with a myriad of scars and rough marks criss-crossing his skin like a road map. This was a cruel man, unyielding and unafraid of violence.

You pressed your lips together when he produced a set of the same restraints at the foot of the bed.

Oh, shit.

Bucky grabbed your ankle and worked the cuff over your foot.

“You don’t need to do this,” you rushed out, bargaining.“I’m not going anywhere.” Thanks to the wrist restraints.

The cuff pulled tight on your right leg. Satisfied, Bucky moved to the other side and you started taking deep breaths, fighting the urge to kick and fight. What was he planning? Why did he need you spread-eagle on the bed?

When you were tied down, he climbed onto the bed, his muscles shifting as he crawled between your thighs, and your nerves twitched and twisted in your belly. This wasn’t good.

He stops in front of you and slips the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Your breath hitches, and you feel a surge of panic rising in your chest. You try to pull away, he grabs your chin, holding you in place.

You can feel the heat of him, the way his body is so close to yours, and it makes you feel trapped, helpless. Every sense is heightened now that you can’t see. Every sound, every movement, every touch feels amplified, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you are.

With a swift, almost ruthless motion, Bucky grabs the delicate fabric of your nightgown, and in one clean, forceful pull, it rips in half. The sound of the tear echoes through the room, loud and raw, the fragile material giving way under his hands. The shredded pieces dangle from his fingers for a brief moment before they fall to the floor, discarded.

His palms slid up your thighs and under your nightie and goose bumps broke out all along your skin. “Should I let you come, little girl?” he says, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear.

Heat bloomed in your pussy, those words charged in ways you couldn’t begin to unpack. Was he really going to play the daddy card right now? Fuck. It was like he could see into your mind on how best to manipulate you.

“Don’t,” You pleaded, not even caring that you sounded weak.

He pushed your panties to the side, gently tracing your entrance with his middle finger. “Just as I thought. Wet.” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked your arousal off. “You like that, when I call you little girl.”

“No, I don’t,” You said, your chest heaving with the force of your breath. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do you ache inside?” He slipped his finger directly into your channel, pressing deep until he was completely seated. Then he curled his finger, hitting a spot that you'd sworn was an urban myth.

Your back bowed off the bed, limbs pulling tight against the restraints, and you bit your lip to stay quiet. You did not want to think about how good any part of him felt inside you, how that finger wasn’t nearly enough.

“Please,” you panted, not sure what you were asking for. He pumped his hand, the friction both delicious and frustrating. Then he added another finger, going slow until it was in, and you whimpered. He’s playing with you, you know it and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“You can feel it huh?” He said, “Your pussy is sucking in my fingers. So greedy. Don’t worry. I am going to take very good care of you.”

You held your breath. You didn’t know what was about to happen. You only knew it was going to be bad. If he teased you, it would be awful. Worse than awful. If he actually pleasured you, if you surrendered to him, it would be humiliating. He would gain the upper hand, and that was what scared you most.

Licking you dry lips, you forced out, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Let me take care of you instead.”

He pumped his fingers lazily, in and out, in and out, dragging against your sensitive tissues. You inhaled sharply, the pleasure streaking through you like lightning.

“Hmm keep telling yourself that.” He said like he doesn’t believe you, because he actually doesn't.

Your body strained toward the source of that bliss, chasing it and making a liar out of yourself.

“Yes, I do. If you just—please—don't.” You could barely keep track of the conversation as he fucked you with his fingers.

“Hear how wet your pussy is for me?” The slick sounds filled the bedroom and you wanted to die of shame. He chuckled.

“Go fuck yourself!” you snapped, hoping your words would have some bite.

“Why would I? When you're right here, dripping and ready for me?” Bucky murmured, then flicked his tongue unexpectedly over your clit. You tried to keep your expression from revealing anything you were feeling, but when he twisted and pumped at the same time, you moaned deep in your throat.

Then he started eating you out. He licked and sucked like you were a meal and he was starving, his attention focused on your clit, swirling and sucking, and you suddenly knew what you had been missing out on all these years. Using the flat of his tongue, he massaged your clit, then drew it into his mouth to suck on it, again. At the same time, he strummed your clit with his tongue, rubbing and pressing. Bucky mastered your body in seconds, like some sort of pussy wizard, because you were instantly on the verge of coming. Your thighs started shaking and your lungs couldn’t pull in air.

And he stopped.

You gasped, lurching, you tried to bring yourself closer to where you think his face is, where his breath felt hot. You could feel him smirking.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

Your thighs are trembling now, shaking in that way that tells me you're teetering on the edge, every muscle in your body straining. I watch, fascinated, as your lungs struggle to pull in air, your body begging for relief, for release.

And then, I stop.

You gasp, a desperate sound, your body lurching as you try to chase what I've just taken from you. You try to bring yourself closer, your movements frantic, instinctive, as if by sheer will alone. Your head turns, your lips parting, reaching for where you think my face is—where my breath felt hot against your skin moments ago.

But I don't move. I smirk, watching the way your body fights itself, craving more but knowing I control every last part of this moment.

"You're so predictable," I murmur, my voice low, almost mocking, but there's a darkness in it that lingers. "Always wanting more... always needing to be just a little closer, don't you?”

I run my hands down your sides, feeling every tense muscle beneath my fingertips, relishing the way your body responds to even the lightest touch. You arch, trying to make contact, to feel something—anything. But then, my hands lift off you, and the absence of touch sends a ripple of frustration through you. I can feel it, the tension mounting, the need rising higher.

I reach across for the bullet vibrator, my fingers curling around the small device. I press the button, the faint hum vibrating in my hand as I adjust it to the lowest setting. The sound is barely audible over your labored breathing, but you know. You feel what's coming next.

I lean down, my lips brushing your ear, my breath hot against your skin. "You know how this works," I whisper, my voice soft, almost tender. "I decide when. I decide how much. And you? You're going to beg for it."

You can feel the vibration ever so slightly as I circle the air above your lovely hard nipples. I massage the bullet extremely gently around the outer edge of one of your nipples and then do the same with the other. I move it in slow circles, like a promise I’ve yet to fulfil. I can see the way your body responds—tense, trembling, straining for something more.

“You feel that?” I murmur, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Just enough to drive you insane, isn’t it? Just enough to remind you that I hold everything you want in the palm of my hand.”

You shudder, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body arching slightly as you try to press closer to the source of the vibration. The frustration is written all over your face, and it’s beautiful, so beautiful. I watch you, drinking in every inch of your reaction, savouring the power I have over you in this moment.

“You love it,” I whisper, my breath brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. “You love that you can’t control this. That I can make you beg for something as simple as this.”

“Just... do it,” you gasp, your voice trembling with frustration, but there’s still a spark in it, something stubborn. “Stop playing games.”

I chuckle softly, amused by your words. Stop playing games? Oh, but you and I both know that this is the game, and you’re playing it just as much as I am. You’re caught between wanting more and hating that you have to ask for it, and that’s what makes this so deliciously satisfying.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, lowering the vibrator just a little, letting it barely skim the surface of your areola—just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to satisfy. “You think you’re ready for more? You think you deserve it?”

You grit your teeth, trying to stay composed, but I can see the cracks forming. The frustration, the need. It’s all there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“Please…” you whisper, barely audible, and there it is—that hint of desperation I’ve been waiting for.

I smile, triumphant, and press the button to increase the intensity just slightly, letting the vibration pulse more firmly against your breast.

“That’s better,” I murmur, my voice low, “But I’ll need more than that if you really want it.”

You gasp, your body reacting to the sudden change in sensation, your breath hitching as you bite back another plea. And I know, without a doubt, you’ll give me what I want.

You bite your lip, stifling another sound as the vibrations skate across your skin, and I watch with fascination as you try to maintain your composure. Your chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, but you’re still clinging to that last bit of resistance. You haven’t said it.

The word. The name.

I let the silence stretch out between us, the vibrator humming softly against your nipple, just enough to keep you on edge but nowhere near enough to tip you over it. You know what I want, and I know you’re holding onto it. That delicious defiance. The last weapon you think you have.

But I have all the time in the world.

“You’re holding out,” I murmur, my voice soft, almost a purr. “I can feel it. You’re so close, but you’re fighting it. Why?” I bring my face closer, my breath hot against your neck as I whisper, “You know what will get you what you want.”

You’re fighting me, refusing to give in to the game. I can almost see the wheels turning in your mind—I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Say it,” I murmur, my lips brushing your ear now, the vibration of the toy a steady hum against your skin. “You know what I’m waiting for. Just say it, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your lips part, and for a second, I think you might give in. But then, through clenched teeth, you growl, “I’m not saying it.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused by your defiance. You’re trying so hard to resist, even though your body is betraying you, trembling under the light touch of the vibrator.

“We both know you want to say it, go on,” I whisper, my voice soft, dark, full of promise. “Say it. Say what I know you’re dying to say.”

You want to give in, but you’re too proud to make it easy. And so, in the smallest, most defiant voice, you mutter, “I don’t need to say it.”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I pull the vibrator away for a moment, denying you the one thing you want most.

“Oh, you’ll say it,” I say, my voice calm, certain. “Because you know that’s how you get what you need.”

I reach down, pressing the button again, increasing the intensity just a little more. I bring it close, hovering over your skin but not quite touching. The tease. The torment.

“You want Daddy to make it better, don’t you?” I finally whisper, my voice almost a growl, low and intimate, right at your ear.

You think you can outlast me. You think your silence is some kind of victory, but I can see right through you. The stubbornness is admirable, really. I almost want to let you hold onto it for a little longer. Almost.

But then again, why deny myself the pleasure of watching you break?

I lower the vibrator back down, this time pressing it directly against your nipple—not the teasing, ghosting touch from earlier, but real contact. You moaned, your body arching against the restraints as the sudden sensation hits you, and I press the button again, increasing the intensity. The vibrations pulse through you, low and constant, just enough to drive you crazy.

To see you this turned on and into it at this early stage makes me want to burst. I continue to tease your nipples with the bullet, making you wriggle with pleasure as you lean your head back into the pillow. I watch your beautiful face intently as the vibrations gently massage your nipples—you look amazing— radiant, sexy, fuckable—and I am so excited to have you in this position—but I am taking my time.

I want you to be wetter than you have ever been, have more orgasms than you have ever had and have you moaning more than you have ever moaned.

I lean in, my mouth hovering near your ear, my breath hot against your skin. “You’re close to saying it,” I whisper, my voice low, knowing. “I can feel it. You’re just one word away.”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on—the way they’re starting to lose focus, the way your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. You’re teetering on the edge, and you know it.

I smirk, watching you struggle, your body trembling under the relentless vibrations, your mind fighting the inevitable.

“Still not saying it?” I ask softly, almost amused. “You think you’re winning by holding out? By staying quiet?”

I tilt my head, studying you, and then my hand moves—slow, deliberate—between your thighs. Whike gently stroking the vibrating bullet down the side of your body, making you wriggle. As I get to your hips, you open your legs further, wanting the vibrations on your clit. I stroke the bullet up from your hip and across the top of your beautifully shaved pubic line, as you thrust your crotch forward, wanting it.

I resist the urge to give you what you want immediately—instead lightly running the bullet down the side of your pussy, being careful not to touch your luscious pussy lips. I position myself in between your legs as the bullet gets closer and closer to your clit. As it edges nearer, I see your pussy glisten from its wetness—oh my God it looks amazing and I love how you have your legs open, allowing me to see it all. How I want to devour it, again—but there is something you need to say first.

You whimper, your body shaking, your breath ragged. I can feel it—you’re so close to giving in.

And then, just as I feel you start to unravel, I pull back. I stop everything. The vibrator, the pressure—it all stops.

You gasp, your body lurching forward, desperate for the sensation to continue. You try to press closer, try to make contact, but I keep my distance, pulling away just enough to leave you hanging in agonising anticipation.

Your body trembles, your frustration spilling over as you try to catch your breath, and I know you��re about to break. You need this, and you know it.

I lean in, my lips brushing your ear, my voice soft but commanding. “Say it,” I murmured, the final push. “Say it, or I’ll stop this right now. I’ll leave you like this, desperate, aching, with nothing.”

Your breath hitches, and I can see the war playing out in your mind. The defiance, the pride—it’s all crumbling beneath the weight of your need. You’re trembling, your body screaming for more, and you know I have the power to give it to you. But you have to say it.

“Say it,” I repeat, my voice a low growl. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

For a moment, I think you’ll hold out just a little longer. But then, with a trembling breath, you whisper the word, barely audible, the last piece of your pride shattering. The bullet is now hovering just above your clit and I slowly press down—I smile satisfyingly and your legs open up further to reveal your lovely wet pussy.

“Daddy…”

I smile, victorious, and without hesitation, I press the vibrator back against you, harder this time, increasing the intensity, my hand moving in sync with the relentless pulse.

“There we go,” I murmur, my voice dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The sight is driving me mad—but I am focused on giving you as much pleasure as you can handle. I slowly rub it up and down your clit as the vibrations run through you. You slowly lift your hips forward, wanting the vibrations lower down, which I oblige. The bullet is edging closer to your glistening pussy—but then I reach across and spread your beautiful lips apart with my fingers—and start to brush the bullet up one and then down the other, in circular motions. This is driving you wild as it edges closer to entering you. I move the bullet down ever so slightly so it is resting, waiting to go in—but then move it all the way up to your clit.

The fact you don't know what's coming next is driving you mad—which makes you look even sexier, if that is possible. You’re at the mercy of what comes next, and the fact that you can’t predict it is pushing you to the edge. You hate it, don’t you? But it also pulls you in. It makes you irresistible.

I go to the next level of vibrations and flick the bullet down from your clit, entering you ever so slightly and then move it back up to your clit, vibrating all of your core. As I do this, you open your legs further, now fully relaxed and turned on and let out a sexy moan—wanting more and more.

All that fight, all that defiance, just to end up here? It’s almost poetic. It makes me wonder—how will you explain this to your friends? Will you tell them how easily you gave in, how all that stubbornness melted away? Or will you keep this secret tucked away, something only we’ll know?

For the first time, you try to move your arms down to control the pleasure—but then realise you are tied up and I am in control, and let your arms drop behind agan. It's at this point it is time to take it up a level.

You've always been a freak, haven’t you? I saw the signs, the little hints you thought were so subtle. Makes me wonder if this whole act—the defiance, the resistance—is just your way of pretending you aren’t begging for it. You don’t want control, not really. You want to be pushed to the edge, and I’m more than happy to take you there.

I turn the bullet off, giving you some relief from the pleasure for a few seconds - then lean forward and kiss the inside of your left thigh—moving across to the right thigh—but pause over your wet pussy—my mouth just millimeters from your glistening lips—and let out a breath of excitement that you can feel—then move to your right thigh and kiss the inside.

Jesus—if only you could see yourself right now. I almost want to take a video, something to remember this by, a little keepsake of how you look when you finally let go. And then I remember… your phone’s already in my pocket.

I hover over you, taking my time, savoring the moment. With careful precision, I pull it out and position the phone in just the right angle, the best view of you—completely vulnerable, completely mine.

Maybe you’ll watch this back later. Maybe you’ll see yourself the way I see you now—completely undone, stripped of that defiance you cling to so desperately. It’ll be a reminder, a little piece of this moment that you can never escape. And I’ll watch you realise, all over again, how much you need me.

You shift beneath me, your breath shaky, and then, through the haze of tension, your voice breaks the silence. “What are you doing?” The blindfold makes your tone sharper, more vulnerable—unsure of what’s coming next.

You can’t see me, but I know you’re feeling everything. “Tell me,” you whisper, almost a demand, though your voice trembles at the edges. Even blindfolded, you’re still trying to cling to some control.

“Is that how you ask?” I reply, my voice calm, but with that edge of authority you’re trying so hard to ignore. You tense, knowing exactly what I’m getting at, but you’re stubborn, always trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

I lean in closer, my breath warm against your ear. “You know what I want to hear. Try again.”

Your lips twitched what I think is annoyance, “Daddy, please tell me what you’re doing.”

I lean in, my breath barely brushing your ear, “You want to know what I’m doing? I’m setting your phone right here,” I say, patting the bedside table. “Perfectly positioned. Just in case you want to watch this later—see how you look when you let go.”

You shift beneath me, tense, trying to decipher every sound, every movement. “I want you to remember exactly what happens next,” I continue, my fingers trailing lightly down your side. “Because you asked for this. And now, you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

You are aching for more—so I reach for the wand, turn it on and apply it directly to your clit, sending new sensations through your body. I am moving the wand back and forth from your clit to your juicy pussy, vibrations covering all of you. As I move it all around your beautiful pussy, I can hear and see how wet you are. The circular motion around all of your pussy is taking you to orgasm—but then I stop suddenly, and you catch your breath.

“No!” you shouted. “Don’t stop. Oh, God.”

I pressed a kiss to your thigh. “Beg me, sweetheart. Beg me to make you come.”

“Why are you doing this to me? You fucking psychopath!”

I know you were right there, hovering on the edge, air sawing in and out of your lungs. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry. You wanted to claw my face with your fingernails. I know you’re wanting to crawl into my lap and ride my cock to orgasm.

“Those are not the words. Try again. “Say it and I’ll let you come.”

It is now time to up it again, so I squeeze some pleasure gel in my hand and smother the top of the wand in it. I then grab the bullet and rub more pleasure gel on that too. I now have the wand in one hand and the bullet in the other both vibrating and ready to make you cum. I press the wand gently onto your clit as the bullet slowly enters you, making you take a deep breath and blurt out

“Fuck, Daddy—Please make me come.”

From the look on your face and the words coming out of your mouth, I know you are in ecstasy and it makes my cock throb so much. I ask you to tell me how it feels and you say ‘Amazing, Daddy, please don't stop, I love it.’ Your words and sounds as you take the pleasure turn me on so much.

My eyes darted towards the camera, my eyes communicating: Are you watching? Do you hear yourself?

Your legs are fully open now as I continue to work the bullet in and out of you slowly and the wand on your clit. You are so wet so I decide to switch things up—I take the bullet and gently rub it up and down your clit whilst pointing the wand directly at your pussy. I start to slowly push the wand head against your pussy lips and flick it up and down, the dual vibrations sending you into a frenzy. Oh my God—you look sensational, irresistible—I am in total ecstasy just watching your reactions to the vibrating and your orgasms.

Your legs, spread apart more, trembling mote, and as I slowly pull the bullet back, your pussy pushes it out and a squirt of your juices shoot out at me. I bet you heard yourself yelling as if from a distance, the high so unbelievably good, better than any drug you'd ever tried. It seemed to go on for days but was probably only seconds. As you came down, the shame crept in to replace the euphoria.

I have never heard or seen you do this before and it makes me even harder, if that is possible. It's like unwrapping a gift that you didn’t even know you wanted, but suddenly can’t imagine living without. I almost want to thank you for the privilege—almost. But that would ruin the moment, wouldn't it?

I slowly start to pull the bullet back again, and it happens again—your beautiful pussy pushes out the bullet and squirts your juices all over my hand. I can now see a wet patch underneath you, which drives me wild. The sight of you orgasming, squirting and gushing is almost too much. I wave the wand all around your soaking wet pussy, juices gushing out of you as I do. I turn the bullet and wand off and just sit there looking at your pulsating and dripping wet pussy and then your gorgeous face as you recover. I am in total awe—

I glance down at the mess you’ve made, my lips curling into a slow, almost proud smile. “Well, would you look at that,” I murmur, teasing, with a hint of mockery. “Miss perfect, always so put together, now completely… undone.”

I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, enjoying the way you squirm at the sound of my voice. “It’s almost impressive, really. I never thought you’d let things get this messy. But here you are, all flustered and out of sorts. Makes me wonder if you secretly like it this way.”

I chuckle softly, pulling back just enough to see the reaction play out on your face. “And honestly? I think it's kind of adorable. Watching you, of all people, fall apart like this.”

I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “I guess being a messy girl suits you.”

You grit your teeth, your voice dripping with frustration as you snap, “Fuck you.” The words hit the air like you’re hoping they’ll cut me, but all I feel is amusement curling in my chest, that familiar, sick satisfaction.

“Ooo, fuck me, huh?” I echo, my voice dripping with mockery, like I’m savoring the taste of your defiance. “That’s adorable. Are you giving me hints?”

You growl in frustration, the sound barely contained, your annoyance bubbling over. I laugh softly, watching you struggle against the moment. “Oh, don’t be mad. I’m just trying to keep up with your subtle suggestions,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess someone’s a little touchy, aren’t they?”

The frustration in your eyes behind the black silk only makes the moment sweeter. You’re trying so hard to fight, to stay defiant, but I can see right through it. And it’s entertaining.

Without breaking my smirk, I glance over at the camera on the bedside, locking eyes with it for a moment, letting the weight of this moment be captured.

I turn my gaze back to you, the satisfaction in my smile only deepening. “See? It’s all right here, caught on tape. You’ll thank me for it later.”

I move myself upwards, leaning over you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you pant, every breath shaky and uneven. My fingers trace gently across your cheek, I lean in slowly, my lips hovering just above yours, my breath mingling with yours. I intend for it to be gentle, just a small taste of power, but then—you moved.

You push upward, taking control of the kiss, pulling me into it with a hunger I didn’t expect. For a split second, I freeze, caught off guard by the way you turn the tables, the way stuck your tongue down my throat passionately.

You’re not just reacting. You’re taking.

I am taken aback as I thought you were recovering but then you whisper in my ear, “I need your cock in my mouth whilst you fuck me with the rabbit.”

Insatiable.

I’m frozen, my mind racing to catch up with what I just heard.

“Oh my god…” I murmur, half to myself, the disbelief quickly melting into a slow, satisfied smile. I pull back, just enough to look at you, the amusement and intrigue sparking in my eyes.

I shake my head slightly, chuckling. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” I pause, before I lean in close again, my voice dropping to a low whisper.

“But if you want that…” I tease, my lips brushing against your ear, “you’re going to have to say the magic word.” My smirk deepens, waiting for that final surrender.

“Daddy,” you drawled so seductively, “Please put your cock in my mouth, I want to suck it while I come.”

Music to my ears.

I lean forward and kissed you again, sucking on your tongue. I can see that you want your hands free to feel me, you can hear me unzipping my jeans, the sound of it makes you writhe with excitement—but no, you don’t get to have that privilege yet.

I move to the side of you, on my knees and reach back to get the rabbit, gently stroking it down your chest, in between your tits. As I get near your pussy, I squeeze some pleasure gel all over it and then turn it on, the ears and the shaft vibrating on the lowest setting. I rub the tip downwards on your clit, you tilt your head up as I move forward on my knees and your mouth is already open, waiting for it.

Whilst you are waiting to taste my throbbing rock-hard cock, I slide the rabbit down further, gliding across your wet pussy lips and then I reposition it so the tip is resting against your pussy, ready and waiting to enter you.

As I move my hips forward slowly and my cock starts to enter your eager mouth, I do the same with the rabbit inside your pussy. Inch by inch my cock feels your mouth as the rabbit fills you. The slow rhythm of my cock sliding to the back of your throat and then to the edge of your lips is matched with the rabbit doing the same to your pussy—slow and gentle strokes, all the way in and then all the way out, just resting on your lips. The noises you make as the rabbit enters you fully, the ears vibrating your clit, are sensational and matched by the sight of your mouth wrapped around my cock and arms stretched across the bed, tied helplessly but taking all that I have to give.

You start to speed up sucking my cock, slurping on it, loving it filling your mouth and this is my queue to match that speed and rhythm with the rabbit—you are so wet that it is gliding in and out of you. All the way in and then out again. Still not fast—but not slow anymore—as you rock your head back and then thrust forward, taking all of me in your mouth. You then slow down and lick around my tip, and I do the same with the rabbit, just the tip rubbing around your open pussy. Then you push forward and take my cock, upto my balls, all the way in your mouth and I slowly push the rabbit all the way in you—as far as it can go, the ears in perfect position to stimulate your clit again. You hold me there in your mouth, not moving at all, and I do the same with the rabbit. This is so passionate and sexy—I could shoot my cum down your throat now—but no way.

I continue to match your speed and rhythm with the rabbit, letting you have some control. But now it's time for me to take that control back—and taste your smooth, shaven, delicious pussy. So I slowly and gently slide the rabbit out of you as I also pull my cock out of your mouth. As both leave you, you let out the most gorgeous and sexy moan, and—

Was that a smile?

Oh, I saw it. You tried to hide it, but there it was, slipping through for just a moment. And honestly? That’s a huge turn-on.

I move to the end of the bed, in between your legs, my mouth inches away from your amazing pussy. I can't tell you how gorgeous it is—the mere sight of it makes me want to come. I push your knees as far apart as they can go to admire your soaking wet pussy. I can see your clit bulging, wanting attention. I can see your lips slightly spread apart and shining from your wetness. I follow your lips down, drinking in this magnificent sight —until my eyes lock on to your pussy, which is aching to be filled.

I slowly edge my mouth close to you, and then take one giant lick, from the bottom of your pussy to the top, with the whole of my tongue.

“Oh my f—uck,” you arched wildly against the restraints. You’re so sensitive now, “Bucky—Daddy. . .”

"Please," you whisper, your voice shaky, hesitant, like you’re not sure if you should even say it. But you do. And it’s music to my ears, “I want you. . .”

I tilt my head slightly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” I murmur, my tone dripping with amusement, “you want me? I think I need a little more than that.”

I watch you squirm, enjoying every second of your hesitation, savoring the way you’re trying so hard to find the right words. “Come on now,” I add, my voice soft but laced with command. “I need to hear exactly what you want. You’re already begging—why stop there?”

I chuckle lightly, leaning in closer. “Let’s not play shy now, not after how far you’ve come.”

Using my thumb and finger on each side, I prize open your pussy lips. You are so open and I can see you pulsating. You push your buttocks into the mattress, which elevates your pussy ever so slightly—meaning my tongue is at the exact height and pointing directly at you.

“Your cock daddy. . .please, I need to feel you inside me.”

I chuckle, “Soon, my good girl.”

I push my head forward until my tongue enters your pussy, your juices flowing out either side of my tongue. They taste amazing as they ooze into my mouth. I didn’t stop, either, fucking you with his tongue, growling as I held your legs open as wide as they would go.

“You are so wet,” he snarled. “I fucking love it!”

“So good,” you muttered, long past the point of coherence. “Yes, it’s so good.”

The corners of your mouth lifting as you let out a satisfying smile, your hands gripping the slack length of the restraights tightly. The whole sight of you, as well as your wetness and taste is utopia—I never want this to end.

× × × ×

YOUR POV

After a few more thrusts of his tongue, he shifted to you clit, but there was no teasing this time. He licked you ruthlessly, relentlessly, until you began shaking, your hips rocking as you chased a second orgasm. You nearly levitated off the bed when it finally crested, your body splintering apart into a million pieces, destroyed.

“James!” You screamed his name and strained against the ties holding you down as it went on and on, wave after wave of white-hot bliss.

The sudden yank of the blindfold pulls you from the haze you’ve been drowning in. Light filters in slowly, and your vision, still blurry from the darkness, begins to sharpen. The world starts to come into focus, and your eyes immediately lock onto him.

Bucky came up on his knees and began furiously jerking his cock, eyes hooded, mouth hanging open as he grunted. His gaze locked on your swollen pussy until his movements grew uncoordinated, his hips stuttering, and hot jets lashed all over your belly and chest. Like he was marking you.

Oh my god—did the camera catch that?

He squeezed to get every drop of come out of his dick and onto your body, then sat on his haunches, chest heaving. You were covered in him, the liquid cooling on your bare flesh. Pleasured and used by the last man you should ever be attracted to.

Now he was stroking his dick again, the muscles in his arm flexing as he pumped that giant rod between his legs. God, he had a gorgeous cock and you felt an answering tug in your lower half.

You watched his fist squeeze the head of his cock. A bead of moisture appeared on the tip and he used his thumb to smear it all over the head. You inadvertently licked your lips, missing his taste, and waves of heat rolled through your limbs, settling in your core.

“You like watching me work my cock?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, as if he already knows the answer.

“No.” you said stubbornly.

He tilts his head slightly, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “I’m starting to think no means yes.”

Bucky moves closer, and despite every ounce of stubbornness in you, your body betrays you again. It’s like your body is inviting him, reacting on instinct, craving what your mind is still refusing to admit. Your pussy was swollen, slick. Primed for sex.

“Deschide larg picioarele pentru mine. Mică târfă.” You heard Bucky growl in his throat.

“What?”

“Open your legs wide for me, little slut.”

God, you wanted to hate him for that, but a blast of heat tore through you.

“Jesus,” you whispered as you widened your legs slightly. “You’re such a dick.”

“Hmm. Do you like to be called names, Y/N?” He let go of his cock and placed his hands on either side of his hips, displaying himself for you. “Do you like your hair pulled? Do you like to wear a man’s come on your face?”

Shit, when he asked those things in his low Romanian-accented voice, it sounded like pure sex. No doubt Bucky fucked like a beast, rough and dirty. He hadn’t shown you that side of him yet. The men you had been with treated you politely, like you were made of glass.

“Is that what you like to do to women in bed?”

Ignoring your question, he stared at your body, placing himself between your legs. “I wish you were sitting on my face right now. I would lick you and bite you, suck on your clit until you passed out. I want to pull on your skin with my teeth until it stings, then make you come so hard you squirt all over me.”

You stared at his wide cock, which jutted out proudly from his body, bobbing in his movement, with its smooth skin and veins along the side. You imagined that thickness drilling inside you, splitting you in half and filling you up. Your pussy clenched around the emptiness and you moaned.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

You licked your lips as you stared at his erection, too turned on to lie.

“Yes.” Bucky raised his brows, “. . .Daddy.”

He grabbed himself again, strong fingers wrapping around the shaft as he pulled, teasingly rubbing his head against your tender pussy.

“I would fuck you so good. Deep and hard. I would give you all my come, everything I am saving up in my balls just for you.”

“God, don’t you ever shut up?” Your legs were shaking, your movements uncoordinated because you were so turned on. So close. So needy.

“And you’ll take it, yes?” he continued, clearly not caring that this was a one-sided conversation. “I have never seen a woman so hungry for it. Didn’t those boys in Hollywood know how to fuck you? I bet they left you unsatisfied.”

Fuck why is he dragging this out so much?!

Hands resting on your thighs, you began crooning, “Can’t you see how wet I am, Daddy? Can you see how turned on I am by watching you jerk that big cock of yours? I bet you have to use lube when you fuck, you’re so big. Do the women scream when you’re pounding inside them? Do you make them bleed, leave their pussies raw?”

“That fucking mouth,” Bucky murmurs, a low, satisfied growl escaping as a slow grin spreads across his face. The crown of his dick dragged against your entrance, teasing, and you actually tilted your hips, eager for the invasion. “That’s it. You’re ready for me.”

You were beyond denial, beyond caring. “Yes,” you admitted to him.

“Show me. Take me inside.”

This was so dirty. So wrong. Yet your body was humming, almost burning alive with lust. There was an embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs, more than you would’ve thought possible considering the circumstances.

You adjusted your hips, seeking, and the head of his cock slipped inside you. Fuck, yes. You didn’t stop, continuing to rock your hips, writhing underneath him, to bring him deeper. You were wild for it, desperate to reach the finish, toward the explosive orgasm you knew awaited you.

“Shh,” he said in your ear. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He took over then, but pressed in much slower than you expected. The beginning had been about domination and strength, but now he invaded so carefully, like he wanted you to feel every twitch and tiny movement.

This was almost seduction, and it was worse than the chaos of moments ago. But there was no stopping it. You craved this, needed it. With a growl, he gave a final thrust of his hips and filled you completely, and the air left your lungs in a rush. He was hot and hard and so big, his dick impaling you, with the heavy weight of his body and restraints preventing you from moving. All you could do was lie there and take it.

Which made it a thousand times hotter.

“Fuck,” he said on a long exhale, then whispered a long string of another language that sounded both bewildered and excited.

Ragged breaths gusted against your cheek as he began to move, his hips meeting your pelvis. “You are mine, Y/N. Until I decide otherwise this pussy belongs to me.”

You couldn’t respond, because his dick was destroying you in the very best way. You loved the way he felt inside you, like there was no room for anything else. No insecurities or worries, no past or future. Just this, right here. Perspiration coated your skin and he surrounded you, his cock pounding, pounding, pounding into your body. The pleasure built and you closed your eyes, focusing on the orgasm just out of reach.

The sounds of skin slapping and heavy breathing filled the room. He fucked you like it was his purpose in life, completely dedicated to the task and never slowing down for a second. With every savage thrust you slid a little on the mattress, and you were so close to coming, your muscles clenching and straining . . . .

“You belong to me. Say it, doll.”

The words twisted inside you, driving you higher, and the walls of your pussy contracted around his cock.

“Fuck!” he grunted. “Do that again.”

You squeezed around him once more, and he groaned. “Tell me. Let me hear you say it.”

His fingers slid between your body and the mattress, moving lower until he found your clit. He rubbed you in tight circles. “Let me hear you say you belong to me.”

The words fell from your mouth on a gasp. “I belong to you, Daddy.”

Everything changed. He rode you even harder, without mercy, his fingers never leaving your clit, “Vino pentru mine, mica mea curvă frumoasă.”

Come for me, my beautiful little slut.

The combination of the words along with the stimulation became too much. Shocks raced up from your toes as the orgasm rushed over you. Your brain went offline, everything going blank for a long moment as the euphoria transported you into space.

“God, yes! Oh, fuck,” you heard yourself shout from far away while you shook uncontrollably. When your climax finally ebbed, he moved to his knees, releasing your legs from the restraints and lifted your hips to change the angle.

“Yes! Shove it deep, come inside me, Daddy.”

It allowed him deeper, and after a few pumps he swelled inside you, his hips stuttering just before hot jets of come filled your pussy.

“Oh fuck, ah!” he roared, his fingertips sinking into your flesh. No doubt you would be covered in bruises tomorrow. That should’ve horrified you, but it didn’t. After a moment, his movements slowed but he kept rocking, his dick still pulsing inside you.

“Take it all, baby,” he crooned and lowered to kiss your chest spine. “Take all of my come. You earned it. Ești o fată atât de bună.”

You’re such a good girl.

Fuck, you wished he would stop saying things like that. You flushed from head to toe and basked in the praise. He continued peppering your skin with kisses, displaying a tenderness you hadn’t expected. You melted like hot candle wax on the floor.

“Ești frumoasă,” he murmured as he dropped kisses along your chest. “Ești perfectă.”

You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect.

You felt butterflies in the deepest pit of your stomach. You’re not supposed to like that but you do.

Big hands swept up your back and you felt free from your restraints completely and then over your hip as he lifted you, angling your face toward his.

“I need you,” he whispered and kissed you.

You fell into the kiss eagerly, softening for him and letting him take your mouth. You could feel his urgency, his desperation, and it fed your own. His fingers grabbed a fistful of your hair to hold you in place as his tongue and lips devoured you.

The kiss went on and on, and your body responded as it always did to this man, your pussy getting more wet and swollen. You loved the way he kissed, with such absolute force and reverence. Like he longed to destroy and cherish you at the same time. Your skin crawled with need, a thousand pinpricks that made you feel alive and powerful. Bold, as if you could do anything.

You decided to take a risk. You flipped it around so now you’re on top. You started moving your hand south, over his ribs and down his abs. His mouth broke off from yours and he waited, his breath coming fast. He didn’t stop you, so you continued toward his crotch, and your palm skimmed his sweat-slick muscles.

He was glorious, a marble statue came to life.

You found his cock, thick and hard against his belly, and you gave it a gentle brush, a tease, before continuing to his balls. He grunted when you rolled and squeezed their weight with your fingers. Most men loved to have their balls played with, and Bucky was no different.

He spread his thighs to give you more room and you caressed him, exploring. When your hand swept the length of his dick, he jerked and rocked his hips, silently asking for more. You stroked him slowly and he exhaled against your cheek, strong fingers digging into your skin, the room quiet except for both your breathing.

You liked having him at your mercy for a change. Your lower half began to throb as you worked him. You knew what it was like to have this big dick inside you and your pussy was weeping for it. You weren't sure he’d allow you on top, but you really wanted to ride him just this once.

You slid your leg over his hips to straddle him. He held onto your waist and the feel of all his strength and power beneath you made your mouth water. His gaze was locked on your pussy as you grabbed his cock and lined him up at your entrance. You began feeding him inside, sinking down slowly, loving the stretch and burn as he took up all the space in your body.

“Fuck, James,” You whispered, his full name falling from your lips while you paused to let yourself adjust.

“Da, frumoasa mea fetiță,” he said softly, “Take me inside.”

A rush of arousal went through your core and he slid deeper. You gasped, hovering between pleasure and pain, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing and pressing. Tingles cascaded along the backs of your thighs, through your belly, and soon he was fully seated.

Goddamn, he was a lot.

You began slowly moving your hips, sliding his dick in and out of you while grinding on his pelvis. You clit dragged between you at the end of every stroke, and it sent streaks of white-hot need along your bloodstream. Though the room was dark, you locked eyes with him, and you could see the new arousal and possessiveness staring up at you. This felt so real. So intimate. Like he could see inside you, past all your deepest insecurities to your very soul. This is what he wanted.

You focused on your pleasure and churned your hips, loving the way his length tunnelled in and out of your channel, the friction unbelievably good. You tossed your hair and arched your back, giving him a show as you rode him.

“God, yes,” you moaned. “I want to do this all day.”

“Feel how hard I am?” His whisper filled your head like smoke, taking you higher. “That is all for you. Just you, comoara mea.”

The unguarded hunger and lust in his expression spurred you on, so you moved faster, and the bliss soon built and coiled inside you like a spring. When you placed your hands on his chest for leverage you half-expected him to shove you off, take over, and pin you to the mattress. Surprisingly he didn’t, so you dug your nails into his flesh, holding on as you continued to fuck him.

“Oh, shit.” you eyes slammed shut. You were so close, the orgasm was right there.

“Look at me,” he said sharply. “Look at me while you use my dick to get off.”

You did as he commanded, so you were staring at one another when you started to come a second later. The orgasm swept through you like a tsunami, waves and waves that chased everything else away.

Your mind went blank, his beautiful face your only anchor as you trembled and shook. The walls of your pussy squeezed him in rhythmic pulses and his lips parted on a hiss.

Before you’d even come down, he lifted you slightly and began pounding up from below. His feet were braced on the mattress, and each powerful thrust rocked the bed and sent the headboard into the wall with a bang.

Bending, you placed your face directly above his, your mouths inches apart. You were close enough to feel his breath as he grunted and huffed. You don’t know what made me say it, but you started talking.

“That’s it, daddy. Give me all of your come. Every bit of it, deep inside. Make me your good girl.”

“Fuck!” His body went taut beneath you, and you could feel him swell just before he flooded your insides again with hot lashes of his come. He held you still, his fingers clamped around your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises to add to the collection.

“You are mine,” he ground out, his big body jerking beneath you.

Finally he sagged into the bed. You tried to catch your breath, your body sprawled on top of him like a rag doll. He was still inside you, and you could feel our sticky mess leaking out of you as he softened.

He stared at the ceiling, arms wide, chest heaving, while sweat rolled down his temples and into his thick dark hair. You both stayed like that for a long time, neither of you speaking. You didn’t have a clue as to what to say. You felt destroyed in the very best way.

He dragged a hand down his face. Gently rolling you off to his side.

“Soak in the hot tub,” he said and pushed to his feet. “Otherwise you will be sore later.”

He didn’t help you up or even look in your direction. Instead, he jerked on some clothes and walked out of the bedroom, leaving you on the bed. Naked, filled with his come, and unshackled.

Your body still tingles from the aftershocks as you reach over to the bedside table, your hand trembling slightly as you grab your phone. Bucky had placed it there earlier, so casually, like it was just part of the routine. But now, the weight of it feels different, heavier.

You swipe the screen, the familiar glow illuminating the dimly lit room. Your thumb hovers for a second before you press play. The video begins, and there you are—captured in the heat of the moment, vulnerable, raw.

You feel a strange mixture of curiosity and disbelief watching yourself like this, seeing everything from a perspective that isn’t your own. Your breath catches in your throat as the sound of his voice, low and commanding, fills the room again. Each word, each movement, feels magnified, more intense than you remember.

As the video plays, you notice the moment when Bucky shifts, his gaze no longer on you but directly into the camera. That smirk, the one you’ve seen a thousand times, is aimed at the lens—not at you. For a second, it’s as if he’s performing for the camera, not for you, and the realisation sends a shiver down your spine.

He knew. He knew you’d be watching this later, knew exactly how it would feel for you to see him like this, his eyes focused on the camera while you were completely unaware. The deliberate way he captured the moment, not just for you but for himself too, is unsettling—and somehow, impossibly, it draws you in even more.

It was all planned. A reminder that even in the heat of it, Bucky was always one step ahead.

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myth1cs · 22 days ago

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School Meal Club (Kim Dahyun, Son Chaeyoung, Chou Tzuyu x M!Reader)

Smut;

The joke option I put on the poll winning was not my intention and yet here we are. I gotta take a union mandate 1 month break after writing this. (Also anon, I added your ask but left out some of it.)

Word Count: 3,417

You would have been content not being in any school clubs, but your parents wanted you to be involved in at least one school club so you could put it in a resume or when applying to colleges. You wanted to argue but you knew you couldn't change their minds.

Today clubs set up stations in the gym and you - along with the rest of your third period - got to go to the gym to possibly apply to join one of them. A few of them were after school clubs, and since you didn't want to stay in school longer than you had to you stayed away from them.

Many club booths had a good chunk of people around them but you saw that a certain booth had nobody standing around it. Three girls were behind the booth looking a little demotivated. Since no other club peaked your interest you decided to head to their booth.

The smaller girl's eyes seemed to light up as she noticed that you were making your way to their booth.

"Hey you there, wanna join the school meal club?!"

"Don't yell at him Chaeyoung you're going to scare him off!" The slightly taller member said.

You walked closer to their booth and introduced yourself.

"Hey my name's Y/N. What's this club about?"

The second tallest woman cleared her throat "Let me introduce myself my name is Dahyun and I'm the president of the school meal club, she's Chaeyoung, and she's Tzuyu. It's our job to help prepare the school meals as the name suggests. If you join it'll replace your third period and you'll get your own uniform. So what do you say Y/N?"

"How many people are in your club?"

Dahyun started sweating a bit.

"Well it's just us three but-"

Only three members? That's the bare minimum requirement to have in a club. You didn't want to be in a club barely anyone was in but then again the other clubs were after school related.

"I'll join your club."

The three girls eyes lit up and they went over to you and hugged you. "Thank you Y/N! The principal told us he'd shut down our club if we couldn't get another member to join!" Dahyun exclaimed.

"You just saved our club we couldn't be more thankful!" Tzuyu said.

The sudden hug surprised you a bit. You looked around to see if anybody was seeing what was happening but nobody was paying attention.

All three of them pulled away and Dahyun held her hand in front of you. "Y/N as president of the school meal club let me welcome you."

"급!" (School)

"식!" (Meal)

"단!" (Club)

"급식단!" (School Meal Club!)

"얘들아 우리.. 다시 하자.." (We're not in sync! ... Again.) (Dahyun)

"너무 오랜만에 했어!" (It's been a while!) (Chaeyoung)

Seeing the members argue about saying the chant correctly made you giggle a little. Maybe joining the club wouldn't be so bad after all.

The next day marked your first day at the school meal club.

"Y/N I'm so glad you made it here."

"Yeah you are, you were telling us how worried you were that Y/N might not actually show up."

Dahyun's face turned red.

"Shut it Tzuyu! You were the one-"

Tzuyu covered Dahyun's mouth and cleared her throat.

"Anyways Y/N your uniform will be here in about a month so until then you're free to wear whatever. But when it does come in you will be expected to wear it while you're at the club, got it?"

"I understand."

"Ew why did you start licking my hand?!"

"It was the only way to get it off my mouth."

"You're so gross Dahyun."

Even though you have only seen them interact with each other for a short while you could tell they were really good friends with each other.

"Where's Chaeyoung?"

"We're waiting for her. She has to come in from the band room so it usually takes her a while before she gets in here." Dahyun replied.

Not too long after Dahyun said that Chaeyoung came running into the room. She was clearly out of breath as she spoke "I got here as fast as I could."

"That's odd you usually take a few more minutes to get here."

"I didn't want to be as late on the first day our new member works."

Chaeyoung reached her hand out to you and you shook her hand.

"I know we did this yesterday but I want to introduce myself again to you. Hello Y/N I'm Son Chaeyoung and welcome to the school meal club. We're all happy to have you here."

"I'm glad to be working with you all."

"Chaeyoung and Tzuyu you guys know what to do. I'll show Y/N what his role is."

"Understood president" Chaeyoung and Tzuyu said before they left you alone with Dahyun.

"So Y/N let me take you to where you'll be working."

While you two were walking you decided to try to mingle a little with the leader of the group.

"So what do you and the others do here?"

"Well I do all the planning for what the students will have on what day. Chaeyoung unloads all the ingredients and sets them in their respective place, Tzuyu makes all the meals. Of course we don't do it all on our own we have the cafeteria workers helping us to. We just lend a helping hand."

You two finally arrived at the destination which seemed to be the kitchen. "What's my role?"

"You'll be washing the trays which before I did alone but now you'll be helping me!"

"Wait don't we have like 400 students in the building?"

"Yup so we better get to cleaning huh?"

Half an hour passed by and you two had a good chunk of trays washed. You were getting tired and felt your hands skin getting dry. "Can we take a break Dahyun?"

"Hm well I guess it wouldn't hurt especially since we're almost done anyways."

Dahyun turned off the sink and you both went to sit down in the empty cafeteria.

"You know Y/N we're going to be graduating in the same year and yet I can't help but notice that we've never talked before."

"Well I don't think we have any classes together."

"You're right. Wanna maybe hangout at my place after school? You seem like a good person. I wanna get to know you more Y/N."

The sudden offer stunned you for a bit. Usually you were friends with someone for a few months before they invited you to their house and yet here was Dahyun inviting you over to her house on the second day of knowing her.

"I'd love to." You replied. It was rather quick and sounded eager, you hoped Dahyun didn't notice.

"Here give me your phone. I'll text you my address!"

You didn't like the lunch break that much. It seemed like the school administration was out to get you since all your friends get put in the same lunch period yet you were the only one to have a different lunch period. As you were looking for an empty seat you heard someone call out to you.

"Y/N is that you?"

You looked behind you and saw that it was Tzuyu.

"Tzuyu, I didn't know we had the same lunch shift."

"I didn't either until I saw you here. Wanna have lunch together?"

"I'd love to, are we going to sit with the rest of the school meal club?"

"Oh no we won't have lunch here. Let's have lunch in the basement."

"We're not supposed to leave the cafeteria."

"I'm sorry I didn't know you were such a stickler for the rules Y/N. Are you coming with me or not?"

"Alright fine I'm coming."

Tzuyu led you to the school basement that went mainly unused. You weren't too fond of it as it didn't really smell the best. Why did Tzuyu eat lunch here anyways?

"Why are we having lunch here?"

"Nobody comes down here except the janitor after school ends. Plus there aren't any cameras down here."

Tzuyu led you to an empty classroom. It smelled less than pleasing and was rather dusty. It seemed Tzuyu didn't mind and sat down at an empty desk and motioned you to sit next to her. After sitting next to her you looked at her as if expecting her to say something.

"Something wrong Y/N are you not hungry?"

"Uhm why are we eating here, isn't it rather gross?"

"Clean freak are you?"

"I'm not, but this is a bit gross don't you think?"

"I guess."

A short silence fell between the both of you until Tzuyu spoke up.

"Are you hungry for dessert Y/N?"

"Not really?"

"Come on Y/N don't be like that just say yes"

You weren't sure where this was going but you decided to go along with it. "Yes."

With your affirmation Tzuyu started to take off her pants.

"Don't worry Y/N I'll give you the best dessert you've ever had."

It suddenly clicked in your head on why took you to a secluded area

Tzuyu moved your lunch tray and sat on top of your desk. Her pussy was right in front of you.

"Desserts here Y/N!"

Her pink wet pussy was showing in front of you and it made your cock hard. You grabbed her legs and shoved yourself into her pussy. Shoving your tongue in as deep as it could. You were able to taste her sweet fluids. You slurped them up so greedily.

"So needy aren't you Y/N? There's a lot more where this came from."

Tzuyu's pussy clenched around your tongue as she started to rub her clit and she purposely moaned as loud as possible. Not that she was worried about being heard all the way from the basement.

You slipped your hands under Tzuyu's shirt and moved them towards her breasts. But Tzuyu grabbed your hands before you could touch them.

"Naughty hands you have there Y/N. How about we save these for next time we fuck?"

As much as you wanted to grab Tzuyu's breast it was probably for the better that you didn't get to touch everything. It gave you something to look forward to.

A muffled "Yes" left your mouth. You continued licking the sweet liquids coming out of Tzuyu until she came on your mouth.

Her cum tasted better than her juice.

"Ah fuck your tongue is so good Y/N!"

"Your cum tastes amazing."

You got up and kissed Tzuyu on her lips. She tasted her own cum which wasn't her favorite activity but she let it slide. You started to slide your tongue into her mouth.

To your surprise Tzuyu's tongue play was really good. Not that you had experience but you could definitely tell she had done this before.

"Have you done this before?" You asked as you pulled back.

Tzuyu nodded "I've done this a few times with Chaeyoung. Please don't tell Dahyun about this though."

"I'll keep quiet."

"We should really get out of the basement though. Lunch is about to end."

Those words left you a little disappointed. You wanted to do more with her but you always had tomorrow.

You were working in the pottery room alone. The other students in art class were in the main art room working on another project.

The door to the pottery room opened and you were surprised to see Chaeyoung walk in. "Chaeyoung, why are you here?"

"I left my sketchbook here during 5th period. Have you seen it?"

"No I haven't."

Chaeyoung started to look around the room. As she was looking you noticed her petite small figure, more specifically how much it turned you on. You tried to push the lewd thoughts away and focus on your pottery project.

"Ah here it is!" Chaeyoung picked up her sketchbook and turned to look at you.

"Hey Y/N can I ask a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Well I've been trying to work on a sketch but I need a reference. Can you pose for me?"

Couldn't take too long right?

"Sure, what pose do you need me to do?"

"Get on the table." Chaeyoung said as she pointed at an empty table. You quickly washed your hands and sat on the table.

"I need you to put on a blindfold."

"Why?"

"I'm trying to draw someone who's blindfolded and naked."

You thought she was joking with you but you could see that she was being serious. "We're in school."

"You're right." Chaeyoung went to close and lock the door before she went back to you. "We should be good now."

"That's not what I meant."

"So you won't help me with my art?"

Chaeyoung sounded disappointed. You didn't want her to be upset at you so you agreed "I'll help you."

"You will?"

"I will."

She handed you the blindfold and started to take off your pants. You put the blindfold on then started to take off your shirt. You couldn't see it but Chaeyoung was smiling when she saw your naked body blindfolded.

"Let me fix your position Y/N."

She put her hands on your body and started to 'adjust' it. Your cock was growing and you knew Chaeyoung could see it.

"Your cock here is very hard. I'm not trying to draw someone with an erected cock, mind if I relieve you real quick?"

"Do what you have to." Your voice was a bit shaky as you responded.

Chaeyoung put her small hand on your growing cock and started to give it a few pumps. She licked your balls which made you shiver. She enjoyed seeing you react this way and give your balls a few more licks.

Your cock was as hard as it could be and Chaeyoung was rather shocked at how big it was. She spat on your cock before she put it in her small tight mouth. Her tongue glided down your cock. You did your best to hold your moans knowing that people might hear you. But you'd be lying if you said that didn't add to the excitement.

Chaeyoung sucked on your sensitive tip. All of this was making her wet. "Y/N your cock is so much better than my boyfriends cock!"

"You- you have a boyfriend?"

"Mhm but his cock isn't as big as yours."

The sudden confession that she's cheating on her boyfriend was the final straw that made you cum in her mouth. So much cum spilled out that some of it overflowed out of Chaeyoung's small mouth.

She swallowed everything she could and used her fingers to get the cum that overflowed back in her mouth. She got up and removed your blindfold. You struggled to adjust to the light for a bit. Once you did Chaeyoung showed you her empty mouth.

"I swallowed it all."

"Chaeyoung that was amazing."

She kissed your forehead.

"Looks like class is almost over so I should get going."

"What about your art?"

"Oh yeah, I lied about that."

Once school ended you texted your mom that you would be visiting a friends house and she texted you that she was fine with it.

You arrived at Dahyun's house and knocked on the door. After a few seconds she opened the door and answered. "Y/N I'm glad you came, come in!"

"Not like I had anything else to do." you thought as you went inside.

Once you walked in you noticed that Chaeyoung and Tzuyu were also there. "You invited the rest of the school meal club?"

"Yeah, I thought this could be a bonding moment."

It felt awkward being seeing Tzuyu and Chaeyoung again. You've had sex with both of them without telling that you've had sex with the other. "Hey"

"Come sit next to me Y/N!"

"I think Y/N wants to sit next to me Chaeyoung."

"Well I think I know him better than you!"

"I'm sure I know him way better than you ever could!"

"Guys guys calm down. Let Y/N sit where he wants."

Dahyun sat down on the sofa and they all looked at you to see who you would sit next to.

You sat next to Dahyun.

Both Chaeyoung and Tzuyu looked disappointed. Dahyun tried to lighten to mood.

"Let's play Mario Kart! But with a twist." Dahyun said.

"What's that?" Tzuyu asked.

"The winner gets to pick a punishment for the losers!"

"That sounds fun, any obligations?"

Neither you or Chaeyoung had issues with it.

"Not like I'll lose."

"Tzuyu I could beat you even if I had my controller upside down!"

The game was intense but in the end Chaeyoung won because a blue shell hit Tzuyu letting her get first place on the fourth race.

"I won!"

"You got lucky!"

While Tzuyu got 2nd and Chaeyoung got 1st in the final rankings you and Dahyun got a respective 5th and 6th.

"As the winner I'll choose the punishments. Tzuyu follow me to the kitchen."

You and Dahyun went with Tzuyu to see what Chaeyoung would make her do.

"Eat a spoonful of mayonnaise."

"Gross, I'm not doing that!"

"You agreed to the terms Tzuyu."

Tzuyu groaned as she put mayonnaise on a spoon and swallowed it all quickly. She quickly grabbed a cup of water and drank it all.

"That's so gross!"

Chaeyoung got a good laugh out of Tzuyu's pain.

"Alright now for Dahyun. Hmm.. you're claustrophobic right?"

"Yeah?"

"You and Y/N have to be in a closet for... let's say three minutes."

"Chaeyoung isn't that a bit much?"

"I'll be fine Y/N.My claustrophobia isn't that bad."

Dahyun seemed okay but you were a bit worried for her. Still, you both got in a closet and Chaeyoung yelled "I'll open the door in three minutes."

The two of you stared at each other for a few moments.

"So uhm... I bet you didn't think your afternoon would be spent like this Y/N."

"Can't say I did."

Your bodies were so close to each other the two of you could feel the others breath. This closeness made you realize Dahyun's features her hourglass body, her thighs, her smooth skin. It made your cock throb a bit, but who could blame you? After all you were so close to such a beautiful person.

"Y/N are you poking me?"

You weren't sure what she was talking about until you realized your erected cock was touching Dahyun.

"Ah~ I'm sorry Dahyun!"

Dahyun looked down and realized what was poking her. "It's so big. Can I touch it?"

The request shocked you, Dahyun didn't seem like the type of girl to engage in lewd acts but you weren't about to deny her.

"Go ahead."

She slid your pants and underwear off and took hold of your hard cock. She rubbed her hands on it making your cock as big and hard as it could. "I want this inside me, can you put it in me Y/N?"

You shook your head.

In the confined space Dahyun turned around and slid her pants and panties off. Your erected cock slid in her ass and you made slow pumps in and out.

"Ah~ so good Y/N."

One of your hands reached for her small breasts while the other groped her perfect ass. It squeezed your cock so hard you had difficulties pulling it out.

You kissed her neck making Dahyun let out soft moans. Softly squeezing her breasts you heard her breath hitch as you molded them as you wanted, but you were careful not to hurt her.

The closet door flung open and before Chaeyoung could say that the three minutes were up her jaw dropped when she saw you fucking the school meal club leader. "Dahyun, Y/N, what the fuck!"

Tzuyu entered the room shortly after "Why are you- Y/N?!"

"It's not-"

"I didn't let you eat my pussy just for you to go and fuck Dahyun behind me back!"

"Wait he fucked you to?"

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N fucked me in the pottery room."

Both Chaeyoung and Tzuyu looked at you upset. You and Dahyun stayed silent as both looked at the pair argue.

"I think there's only one way to make it right. You thinking what I'm thinking Chaeyoung?"

"I am... come on Y/N we're having a foursome!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I thought my days of writing multiple people were behind me. Yet they pull me back in.

Starring: You Dahyun, Chaeyoung, Tzuyu (Twice)

#twice #twice smut #dahyun smut #chaeyoung smut #tzuyu smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #twice x reader #female idol smut #twice imagines #school meal club

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luvyeni · 8 months ago

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SHARE MY GIRL ,, 제노 재민

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ jaemin x jeno x fem!reader wc. 2.9k+

genre. smut, boyfriends best friend au

𓄷 includes ... cheating, threesome, getting caught, unprotected sex, oral ( m. receiving ), rough sex, doggy style, degradation

request. a cheater jaemin fix please!! (with jeno) then kinda threesome happens??!?

「 authors note 𖹭 」 you guys keep requesting cheating fics , y'all are little freaks 🤭

❪ masterlist! ❫

while being in a relationship with jeno; you were always jealous of his relationship with jaemin. the way they were constantly doing something together; jaemin coming over to you guys shared apartment almost every day, to the point jeno gave him a key— that's where jeno might've fucked up.

yeah you were jealous of your boyfriend's best friends— until started fucking him. it happened so fast , jeno had gone to the gym, and jaemin did his usual walk through; when he literally used his key and let himself in. you were also there , laying in the bed waiting for your boyfriend's return watching tv, half naked like you always when you were alone; because you were alone in your apartment.

jaemin knew you were probably there but he didn't know the state you were in until he kicked the door open thinking jeno was in there; instead he found you. all pretty and half clothed. you were shocked to say the least , jaemin on the other hand was unphased. ‘not like i haven't seen a cute girl named in bed before.’ he said sitting on the bed. now you knew this wasn't a good idea; jeno would be livid to come home and see the sight, so you got up to put clothes on , feeling jaemins eyes on you , which made you question why he was still in the room, why didn't he leave.

his answer shocked you; the way he just shrugged and nonchalantly told you it was because he'd probably never get the chance to see you like that again and he wanted to savor the moment. at first you were put off by it, telling him you were gonna tell jeno about this , but you never actually did; because if you did, you'd also have to explain to jeno why his best friend's head was in between your legs.

after that day it just spiraled , anytime jeno would go out with jaemin; jaemin would make his way over to your apartment, fucking you on different surfaces of the place you shared with your boyfriend, and your boyfriend was none the wiser because he was used to his best friend being there and he trusted him— boy was he wrong.

at first you felt guilty, you did; but guilt eventually turned into more lust you felt for the boy, and the thrill; maybe that's what you like the most and that probably made you sick but you didn't care , the thrill of fucking your boyfriends best friend made you 10x times as wet , and jaemin knew that and it turned him on as well.

you and jaemin didn't want to be together; and you loved fucking your boyfriend, he was great in bed, and jaemin had no interest in taking you from the boy— you both just loved to fuck each other, you didn't love each other.

“oh fuck!” jaemin cursed as he pulled out of you for the third time this week. “god it's been 4 months and i still cum hard as fuck when fucking your cunt.” he sighed , dressing himself. you hummed , also dressed yourself, both of you got so good at what you were doing and jeno was so consistent with his routine you both knew how to use your time wisely and still have time to get dressed. “yeah i know , next time wear a condom , you cum so much it makes a mess.” he smiled. “how about i just cum inside you?”

“you're fucking crazy, jeno just started cumming inside me.” you said , reaching for your phone. “jeno texted while we were doing that, he's on his way back , he's bringing food.” you texted him back okay. “i hope it's chinese , the pizza he bought back sucked last time.” he grimaced, it was crazy how you both could have this conversation right after you did what you did. “it's burgers.” he nodded. “that's fine.”

“I'm here!” jeno shouted from the kitchen. “I'll go out first , tell him you're in the bathroom.” you walked out of the room and into area where your boyfriend was. “hey baby.” your boyfriend's eyes lit up. “princess.” he wrapped his arms around your waist. “so pretty.” he kissed your lips. “missed you while i was at the gym.” you smiled , running your fingers in his hair. “yeah?”

“you should start coming with me.” and miss time with his best friend? no. “you know i hate the gym.” he pouted. “i don't understand why its fun.” he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. “and i wouldn't be able to that if i didn't go.” he leaned in , kissing you. “and we both know you love when i do that.” he smirked. “i do.” he sat you down on the counter, his body in between your legs. “hey before you two start fucking in front of the burgers , can i get one?”

you watched your boyfriend pull away from you to give his best friend a hug like he didn't see him like two days. “wow.” you said. “how about you two just get naked fuck each other.” you scoffed , hopping off the counter. “would you both like it if i give you some privacy?” jaemin smirked. “what you jealous and your boyfriend are close?” you rolled your eyes. “as if.” jeno laughed at your bickering. “alright, alright both of you stop it now.”

the three of you sat down in the living room to eat your food, jaemin and jeno talking about whatever they talked about while you scrolled through your phone. “oh jaemin there's this girl at my gym who fancies you.” jeno wiggled his eyebrows , which made you look up from your phone, jaemin eyes quickly went to yours before turning back to his friend. “yeah?” the boy said. “what does she look like?” he asked , you smirked to yourself. “i gave her your number , she should be calling soon , give her a try.” your boyfriend said his face was full of food. “shes cool , not as cool as my baby but she's almost there.” he kissed the top of your head. “you're so pussy whipped.” jaemin said. “if things go well with this girl then you too could be pussy whipped.”

seems like jaemin did take your boyfriend's advice about the girl because he stopped coming over for about 2 weeks; two weeks without sex with jaemin. it wasn't that bad; your boyfriend was still fucking you almost every day like usual so it didn't matter, but you did miss the thrill of fucking him— then he showed up again.

it was the same routine as always; jeno had left for the gym already and you were watching tv while getting work done on your computer when the door opened , thinking it was your boyfriend forgetting something you didn't think anything of it , thinking he would just leave back out , but it didn't call out to you letting you know he was leave , which confused you. “jeno?” you called out for him. “baby is that you?”

“sorry bun it's not your boyfriend.” there he was; after two weeks, he stood in the doorway of your room. “look who finally decided to show up after two weeks.” you looked back at your screen. “oh you're jealous?” you scoffed. “never , i still got fucked good while you were gone so.” he laughed. “yeah i'm sure you did , wanna hear how I fucked the past two weeks?” you shook your head. “nah , not interested?”

“yeah well , i'm gonna tell you anyway.” he closed the door, walking over to the bed; sitting down. “she was good.” he closed her laptop , sitting it on the bedside table. “but she wasn't you.” he climbed on top of you. “her pussy wasn't as wet as yours , not as tight either.” you smirked. “maybe because she wasn't your best friends girlfriend.” he shrugged. “maybe , she did suck my cock though.” you rolled your eyes. “well i'm not sucking you off so.” he grabbed your jaw. “didn't ask you to , her pussy also tasted good, couldn't compare to yours though cause you don't let me eat you out.”

“too intimate.” you moaned as he pulled your pants down. “yeah , whatever you say.” he pulled his pants down. “she called it off.” he said pulling your panties down , your cunt now on display. “why cause you're annoying?” you snickered , he slapped your thighs. “ow fuck.” you cursed. “she said i seemed like i didn't want to take it further than fucking.” he got in-between your legs. “she was right.”

he slid right inside your cunt, both of you moaning out in pleasure. “yeah that's more like it.” he cursed. “such a tight pussy , missed it so much.’ you moaned out. “bet you and jeno had a time going at while i wasn't here.” he held your legs open. “so-so much fun.” you moaned. “he fucked you on every surface didn't he?” you nodded moaning. “lucky fucking bastard i swear.”

he sped up his pace , the headboard slamming against the wall as he fucked into your cunt. “fuck your pussy is even wetter today , what did he fuck you before he left?” you nodded , you and jeno did have sex before he left. “damn should've came earlier.” he cursed as you tightened around him. “could've watched if he said yeah, see what it looks like when he's fucking you , i bet you it good.” you wanted to ask if he wanted to fuck jeno instead; but you couldn't get anything out do to a voice— jenos voice.

“I would hope so.” jaemins head turned and you looked up, trying to push the boy out of you; but jeno stopped you. “no , don't stop on my account.” your boyfriend said. “you two have been at it for the past 4 months, don't let your boyfriend be the one to stop you now.” he closed the door as he walked into the room. “what you think i didn't know?” he smirked. “come on baby i can't believe you thought i was that dumb , you two weren't even hiding it.”

jaemin started to move again; might as well finish. “ja-jaemin stop.” you moaned. “no jae don't stop, keep fucking her.” your boyfriend said. “make her cum like you've been doing the past 4 months.” jaemin moaned, he didn't care about anything except for getting his dick wet. “the hickeys on jaemins neck , your messy hair everytime you greeted me at the door, baby you wanted me to know.” he said. “jae that girl said you showed no interest in her , i knew you didn't, cause you were fucking my girlfriend.” he said. “just wanted to see how long you'd last before you came back.” jeno was already taking his shirt off. “if you wanted to share my girl you should've just asked , i would've said yes.”

you moaned out hearing your boyfriend say that. “you hear that jae? she liked hearing that.” jeno pulled his cock out from his shorts. “if i was to share my girl with anyone it would be you.” he held your head , pushing the tip of his cock on your lips. “open your fucking mouth.” your boyfriend groaned as he forced his cock into your mouth , you moaned around his length as he fucked your face. “fu-fuck she gives great fucking head.”

“sh-she never sucked me off.” jaemin said still stuffed inside your cunt. “fuck you're missing out , when im done using using her throat , you'll have to give it a go.” jeno began to fuck your face. “tight fucking throat , baby you should've sucked him off.” jeno grunted as he used your throat like a toy , lifting your shirt revealing your titties. “nice pair of tits she has on her doesn't?” jaemin nodded. “so pretty.” they both squeezed them , making you moan around jenos cock. “gotta put your cock in between them -fuck- i came so fast.” jeno , held your head down , thrusting into your mouth as jaemin sped up his movements , pushing you further down on his best friend's cock. “fu-fuck I'm gonna cum.”

the pair pulled out; both of them stroking their cocks before coming all over your body , covering you in their warm cum. “fuck why'd you pull out of her?” jeno sat back breathlessly. “only let's you she said.” they talked like you weren't there. “let's change that next time.” jeno looked down at you. “next time you gonna let jaemin cum inside that pretty pussy of yours right?” you nodded , jeno slapped your cunt. “answer my fucking question.” you yelped. “yes , fuck!” jaemin smirked , he definitely was looking forward to next time.

“ass up baby , you know how i like it.” jeno said , maneuvering your body. “look at this messy cunt , using it just for anybody or just me and jaemin?” he shoved a finger inside you. “you liked fucking my best friend?” you moaned as he added another finger. “answer me slut , you liked having my best friends cock inside you? 4 months slutting yourself out to him thinking i was so dumb.” he scoffed pulling his fingers out of you making you whine. “s-sorry jeno.” he slapped your ass. “don't apologize just do what you're good at.” he lined himself with your entrance. “using your pussy.”

with one full stroke he was inside you, you screamed out. “fucking hell, so fucking tight.” he groaned. “go a head use your mouth on jaemin , show him how good that mouth is.” jaemins cock bobbed in your face , tip red and ready to be sucked. “baby i didn't say stare dumbly at it , put it in your fucking mouth.” you weakly lifted your hand up, holding his cock in your hand , kissing his tip before bringing him into your mouth. “fuuuuck.” jaemin dragged out, finally feeling the warmness of the inside of your cavern after 4 months of fucking around with you. “good right?” jeno cursed as he thrusted inside you. “so fucking good.”

they both used you like a toy , their moans and the slapping of skin turned you on , eyes rolling to the back of your head as they used you for their own pleasure. “should be pissed at you both, cheating on me with my best friend; in our fucking bed, i have every right to throw you both the fuck out.” he cursed. “letting him use you for 4 months. he slapped your ass. “sh-shit it's just so fucking hot.” he groaned, forcing your head down on jaemins cock , making you gag and the boy in front of you moan out. “next time you two fuck in my bed , in my apartment , i better fucking be here.” he groaned. “this shit happens under my permission from now on.”

jaemin cursed; fucking your face, jeno behind you fucking into with so much force. “show jaemin how you cum for me.” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as you came , tightening around his cock as you shook. “sh-shit , gonna fill this pussy.” jeno cursed; jaemin already pulled out our mouth and he was stroking his cock above your face. “gonna cum.” he sighed , grunted out as he came , his cum dripping from his cock to your face , that sent jeno off , he thrusted one , two , three more times before came , filling your tight hole with his warm seed.

“take some time to get dressed and come out and eat.” he said , getting up. “jaemin let's go.” the boys got dressed. “jeno.” you said. “i’m not mad , i could've stopped this a long time ago , i've known since the first time you both did it.” he said , looking in between you both. “but like i said this stops today.”

“you wanna share my girl? fine. but you're gonna fuck her with me here.”

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andersonsgf · 1 month ago

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modern roommate!abby

this shall be so criminally self indulgent :)

18+ bit of smut. minors dni.

modern roommate!abby who wasn't keen on you at first. manny had just moved out and it felt as though she had practically grabbed you from the street to make sure she could make rent that month. but she did not like living with a stranger. for the first week she kicked you to the curb, giving you minimal responses when you tried to talk. She looked at you with a frown most of the time, blinking at you when you suggested a movie on your third night. "I'm going out tonight" was her response, mentally noting to make sure to text manny to hang out now.

modern roommate!abby who after getting over her initial distaste realised you weren't too bad after all. at first she protested that you put little trinkets of yours around the apartment. "i don't see why you have to make this place look like one of your fucking video game stores", she complained when some lego blockheadz appeared near the tv. but after a little while she came to find that she didn't mind it so much, and after getting over the fact that manny was gone she realised you were filling all the little gaps he had left in your own way.

besides, you had pointed out all of her trinkets that were dotted around. "those aren't trinkets!", she had protested, arguing that her mass amount of classic books and classical music CDs dotted around were fine collections, and not "kids toys". you had for sure worn her down, though. you won the battle claiming that you deserve to have your fine collections around the apartment too. even though abby was annoyed that her entire apartment felt different now, she wasn't a dick. you were paying equal rent, you should have equal trinkets.

modern roommate!abby who after finally deeming that you weren't a threat to her little paradise at home drove you everywhere. your shiftwork at the local store was on her way to her work. it was the least she could do she felt, not trusting other people to keep you safe when walking around seattle on your own. she wouldn't tell anyone you were friends yet, still telling people that you were just her pesky roommate. still, she couldn't bear the thought of you shuffling through the torrential seattle rain to work, then walking back in the dark after. no, no. she was willing to be your chauffeur. she even gave you the aux. she would rub her forehead when she saw you put it on without her permission anymore, but she never made you turn it off.

modern roommate!abby who has a rigorous sleep schedule thanks to all of the rugby training she does cannot understand how one night you will be in bed asleep by 10, and the next she'll wake up for a glass of water and hear you shuffling around in your adjoining room at 2am. time and time again she would lecture you on not going to bed late due to your commitment to your playstation, but she soon realised it was no use. you were unfortunately a gremlin.

you consistently mocked her for going to bed at a "baby hour". it was always met with an eye roll and her telling you you would meet an early grave from sleep deprivation. come to think of it, she often told you that you'd die young. whether it be from lack of sleep, eating too much candy, not looking properly when confidently stepping out into the road, or just being oblivious to the world around you in general. "you gotta get healthier so i know my rent payments are still secure", she'd tell you whilst eating her perfectly counted macros meal after the two of you visited the gym together, watching you scoff your face with your version of a post-gym snack. a subway sandwich with four rainbow cookies.

modern roommate!abby was pleasantly surprised to find out that you were a gym rat too. she obviously had way more muscle, built like an ox, but you were doing pretty well for yourself too. different body types had different ways of showing muscle anyway. at first she couldn't really tell, you had moved in in the winter so wore baggy comfy layers to the gym. after a few months of joining in on her training sessions though, the seasons changing and the weather warming up, you started wearing your matching sets. abbys favourite was your dark blue ones, a cropped muscle shirt and shorts. not that she would ever ever admit to you that she had a favourite.

she would never admit that sometimes she corrected your form just to get a little closer. your form was never wrong, she'd taught you too well over the months. she was embarrassed, her eye contact when in the gym dropped completely, and she had never been one to shy away from that kind of crap. you were though, eye contact had always alluded you so you didn't notice the way abby could barely look at you, feeling terrible for ogling you in your new leggings when she helped you on the squat rack.

modern roommate!abby who when she got a text that you cracked your tooth on a skittle at work booked half her shift off and drove you to the dentist. she didn't even have to think about it, just told her boss she had a family emergency and had the 'holiday' booked within five minutes. she pulled up to the curbside with a screech, staring at you with an incredulous expression. "you're like four minutes from your work why did you start walking?", she had half yelled out the window.

"what? why are you out of work?", your hand was covering your cheek on the cracked tooth side of your face as if that would do anything. abby sighed, pushing the endearing thoughts towards you out of her head as she yelled at you to "get in the fucking car". she took you for a milkshake after it got fixed.

modern roommate!abby who got comfortable enough with you in her life to invite her friends around for an evening of drunk games again. manny made about ten jokes over the course of the night about how he was invited to his own apartment. you laughed at how he poked fun at how you ruined his old room. hearing your drunken giggles made abby smile a lot over the course of that night. you'd become a permanent fixture in her life, and as the drinks kept coming she kept sidling closer and closer to you on the couch, basically ignoring her friends as they cracked open a board game and ten more beers. you spent the night basically staring at her hands as they clutched onto the various beer bottles. they were just so fucking big, and attached to the biggest forearms you had ever seen.

at some point you got up to go make some toast, trying to preemptively cure the hangover you knew you were going to get. you had completely missed how abbys eyes narrowed into thin slits when one of her coworkers took interest in you and very clearly tried to chat you up in the kitchen. her hand almost crunched the beer bottle when she saw that womans hand on the small of your back. you had been clearly too drunk to notice much, but you did approach abby the next morning after finding a phone number slipped into your back pocket.

"you scored last night, huh?". abbys heart raced a million miles an hour as she looked at you. it shouldn't have mattered, she wasn't interested in dating, nevermind getting into it with a roommate. that was a terrible choice. but she couldn't deny the smirk she held back by sipping on some orange juice as you murmured about not being interested whilst throwing the paper in the bin.

modern roommate!abby didn't invite that particular coworker around again. you did question it when she was absent at the next hangout. "She's just busy, sweetheart", she was drunk enough to call you that as her hand covered your knee completely. she woke up humiliated at how many advances she had sent your way that night, but if you noticed then you didn't make it clear, entering the kitchen the same way you did every morning. your bright smile melted her heart.

after a while modern roommate!abby started cooking for you more. she wanted to make sure you were getting a good amount of protein and carbs with how much physical exercise you did each week. not as much as her of course, but still a hefty amount. it became a common occurrence for her to hand you some tupperware with your name on a post-it before she drove you to work. she never put a post-it on her own tupperware though, which you thought needed to be rectified. she was pleasantly surprised when she got to work, seeing "abby <3 :)" on her lunch. it did lead to her having to deny having a girlfriend at work though, her coworkers pestering her about it nonstop. it did get her thinking, however. you were sweet, maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing- no, no.

modern roommate!abby who decided to invite you to a rugby game for the first time. you knew she worked in an office for her main income, and obviously knew she was on a rugby team. what you didn't know was that she was in an actual major league team, the seattle seawolves. you also didn't know that she was such a star of the show that premiership teams were looking into scouting her for the next seasons. fucking hell. it now felt like living with a celebrity. you sat alone on the bench near the pitch, getting special treatment for being a special guest. a decent crowd showed and screamed loud when the seattle team had momentum. abby pushed harder than she ever had now that you were in the crowd. she pushed through tackles like the opponents were made of butter, easily reaching the end goal and slamming both herself and the ball onto the floor near the posts, making life easier for the kicker. you, meanwhile? drooling. straight up drooling. Her muscles rippled as she stormed across the pitch, her hamstrings and quads were sculpted and your eyes were pinned to them. suddenly you realised why people liked watching rugby.

it was a win, of course. she celebrated with her teammates on the pitch as the crowd slowly filtered out. it was incredible. abby won player of the match, scoring the most tries, letting her team win by a landslide. "well done!", you spoke louder to be heard over everyone as you reached her after hurrying across the pitch. abbys heart skipped and her ears rang as she saw you grin up at her before you went up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around her neck.

modern roommate!abby who after this had realised she was down bad. one hug should not have been on her mind for this long. and abby 'get the fuck away from me' anderson never normally craved another hug after someone held her. but no, she started even inviting you to match practices and being a tryhard just for the chance of you giving her another well done hug after. fuck, she was so screwed. she even found herself putting her hands on you when moving past you in the apartment, making sure to get your favourite snacks in if she saw you were out of them. she'd never done this when manny lived with her so she could not chalk it up to just feeling comfortable. she grumbled to herself when you arrived home from wandering around the city and she smiled too brightly during welcoming you home, huffing and puffing and making her sandwich too aggressively when you were back in your room.

"why are there so many finger marks in your bread?", you startled her. your chuckle reverberated around her heart, making it beat faster. she gave some pathetic excuse about literally hand planting her sandwich as she tripped coming back from the fridge. you believed it, shrugging her off as you sat down next to her and unwrapped another subway.

modern roommate!abby who made it all worse when acting deeply uncomfortable when you talked about dating apps. "i mean, i thought when i moved to the city that the choices in women would be better but its still 'katy and brent looking for their third', or 'just looking for some fun on my exchange!'. ugh does no woman in seattle just want a nice relationship or something?". abby looked up from her beer, looking a little frazzled that the topic of dating was now here. she painfully swallowed a hunk of pizza whilst absentmindedly agreeing with you. "what's your relationship take? do you have much luck here?".

she sighed, fucksake. "i don't really have one", she brushed you off, watching as you frowned at her. it's not like she could admit that her relationship take right now was you. "how can you not have one?".

"i mean one day it might be nice to settle down but like you said the dating pool is shit".

"yeah it is pretty shit. i dunno, i kinda like knowing the person first, might just delete hinge it's so ass", you grumbled and she watched you toss the application into the trash, her chest felt relieved. without the dating apps she didn't have to worry about you finding an actual person on there, now she could take her time in being a wimp around the apartment again.

modern roommate!abby who had managed to make it even more worse when you scampered through the apartment in just a shirt and your underwear after a shower, yelling in panic about how you left your pyjama bottoms by accident. even you in all of your beautiful obliviousness noticed the way she stared at your ass as soon as you were in view of the living room. you clearly gulped and scampered away even faster as you felt your face and ears flush. abby had to go and get a drink of water before shaking her head. you were her roommate, it was too complicated. but now that she had seen you in some simple black cotton underwear -to abby, the simple stuff was hotter- she knew she was fucked. not in the fun way.

before she knew it her car keys were in her hand and she was heading to mannys apartment. he enthusiastically invited her in and she immediately shared her woes about how she had fallen so hard for her new roommate. "dude, you can't do apartment-cest".

"don't call it that, that's gross", she shoved his shoulder and got a soda out of his fridge. "i didn't think i had a type before her but she's just so sweet y'know? like everything she says is like she's throwing rainbows at me even if she's complaining about how her avocado socks got soggy on a walk or some shit".

"dip your pen in the apartment ink, then", manny sat down on his couch whilst trying to subtly shove someones bra under a cushion.

"i could have maybe continued silently pining after her like a fucking loser but she caught me staring at her ass and fuck it was a good one". abby anderson basically whined when thinking about how she saw you at the apartment, her stomach doing that thing.

modern roommate!abby who hid at mannys apartment until 10pm when you had your shower at 5. she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole when you looked up at her as soon as she opened the door. you had been waiting for her with a tub of ben and jerrys, and you were wearing her rugby teams shirt as a pyjama shirt. fuck. her voice was strained when greeting you, biting the bullet and placing herself on the sofa too. "you were gone a while", you noted. all she could do was nod, her mouth going dry now she knew she'd seen the entirety of your legs. she had decided they were her new weakness. "sorry if i made you uncomfortable".

"the opposite, actually", she replied after a moment. and neither of you knew where to go from there. in every aspect of her life abby was headstrong, intimidating, said what she wanted. but when it came to women? useless. fucking useless.

the memo was received though. but you? also fucking useless. "okay i think we're both knowing where this is going", your voice was careful. terrified. you watched abby nod and shift to be facing more towards you. "maybe we can test to see if its awkward?", you looked up at her.

modern roommate!abby whose hand tentatively placed itself just above your waist as you both leaned in, awkwardly. your noses bumped, and she smiled with a huff before your lips chased hers. it was safe to say that it was a successful test. she worked her lips against yours and wondered why she hadn't been doing this the whole time. you tasted sweet, like orange juice, and her brain went static when you panted slightly as her hand moved up and down the side of your ribcage. sensitive.

modern roommate!abby who loved you hard as soon as you got past the awkward first week of not knowing how to be roommates and also go on dates. she took you out for some amazing burgers the day after your kiss and then got confused on what to do after. you both had the same home. some people may have retreated away to their rooms after, but not her. she straight up followed you into yours after your fifth date on week two, grinning as you laughed when she settled herself onto your bed. she just couldn't be apart from you, it seemed. not that you minded, especially not when you settled curled up against her chest as her hands rubbed your back. these days you could talk the nights away now that the useless pining was over. and you always found that one of abbys hands always found their way down your back and onto your ass, without fail, resting her hand there before falling asleep. think it's safe to say she's an ass girl.

modern roommate!abby who so lived up to that when she meekly asked if she could go from behind during your first time. even though she liked to be 'on top', she really was so shy during it. she made sure you had lots of pillows to be comfortable, she brushed your hair out of your face to make sure it wouldn't annoy you during it. the groan she let out when staring at your lower half, one hand cupping and squeezing it as the other worked the outside of your centre was enough to have you gushing. she worshipped you completely as she started off with one finger, aware that her hands were bigger than average. the small little whines were just not enough though, so she slipped another in, pumping them in and out softly as she gently rocked her body back and forth in time with her wrist, keeping her rhythm steady.

modern roommate!abby who over and over again murmured reassurances when she heard your soft whimpers. "you're okay, you're okay. so fucking hot", she'd slur out in a whisper, punctuating the end of her sentence with another squeeze to your ass before working you harder when she felt you near the finish line. she couldn't get over how good you felt, how warm, groaning when your back arched as she finally got you to the end, feeling ever so slightly proud of herself, and wondering why she hadn't bent you over sooner.

modern roommate!abby who proudly called you her girlfriend now when she brought you to rugby practice, pressing her lips to the top of your head before running off with a wink to go and batter some people. your eyes once again fixated on her thighs, definitely your favourite part of your girlfriend if you were quite frank. even though practice was her favourite time of week, the highlight of it really were those 'well done' hugs. only these days? she got a little kiss with them too.

#modern roommate!abby #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson tlou #a new series mayhaps??#headcanons #abby anderson #abby anderson smut

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angeliteria · 9 months ago

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𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓.

pairings — fem reader and eddie munson.

summary — you and eddie are childhood best friends, and you've always trusted him. your love for him was innocent — his love for you was the complete opposite.

warning tags — adult language and semi-graphic violence. dark!eddie munson. unhealthy obsessive and possessive behavior. eddie like worships reader, reader lowkey is into it. term “y/n” is used once (had to be sorry). the smut for the nasties; unprotected activities, f!ngering, oral (reader receiving), choking, degradation, overstim, eddie getting mean with his d!ck. there is aftercare <3

Eddie Munson was your best friend. You and him grew up together, homing in the same trailer park, and guardians being friends.

You were glad to have him in your life. He was always there, willing to tend to any of your needs, and would do anything for you.

You found it sweet.

But Eddie would kill for you. He knew you took all his gestures into an innocent, sweet manner, and he was okay with that — but he was in love with you.

A love that wasn't so gentle and safe. He was obsessed, and was repulsed to the idea of anyone else taking you from him.

No one knew you in all the ways he did.

There wasn't a right match for you, except for him. He patiently waited for you to understand that he was suitable for you, but as time went on, and you got with more guys, it became thinned out.

Eddie would give you a bit more time to accept the truth that he was the man you needed.

"Hey, Eds?" You asked, noticing he was zoned out. The chatter of Hawkins cafeteria couldn't even pull him away from his thoughts. Your sweet voice was the only thing that could.

"What's up?" Eddie asked, picking at the raisins in his lunch pale. "You okay?"

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" You asked, a mere frowning playing on your lips.

"No, why?" Eddie was confused, his attention falling entirely on you. "Did someone say something to you?"

"No— well, I don't know," you mumbled, rubbing your temple. "You know how I have been talking to Brandon Smith for a while now?"

Eddie nodded, tuned in and listened carefully. "Yeah, one of Jason's other lap dogs."

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Well, I thought things were good between us. We just went on a third date last Friday, and then, I found out he's taking Annie to the Winter Formal."

"What?" Eddie muttered.

"Yeah! It doesn't make sense to me either," you continued, pursing your lips. "I mean, we never clarified we were exclusive, but I thought we were getting somewhere."

Eddie's blood boiled, and fumed. His hands rolled up, tightening into fists, and had skilled at not showing you his visible anger. "There's nothing wrong with you," Eddie reassured, giving you a gentle smile. "Brandon is a cracked up fuck, anyway. No good for you."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," you chuckled lightly, and Eddie hummed, patting your shoulder. "It's just shitty. He seemed really genuine."

"You'll find someone good," he said, handing you his bag of trail mix. "You're a sweet girl, and for Brandon to do that is a douchebag move. You don't need that, okay?"

You flashed a soft smile at Eddie, nodding and began to eat the trail mix.

Eddie's friends came to sit at the table, but were the only ones to notice his dull, blank expression. They had a poor feeling it had to do with you, yet chose not to question, and simply eat their lunches.

You were too distracted in your conversation with Dustin to notice what was going on, and what ran through Eddie's head.

Brandon Smith was the only person in the locker room after his last period at Gym had ended. He was putting on his shirt, his hair damped and messy as he just gotten out of the shower.

A pair of footsteps creeped up the locker room, near him, and he raised a brow. Not particularly scared, but worried, he peeked behind the lockers, and didn't see a single person.

He shook it off, assuming it was a student who forgot their bag.

"Hey, Brandon!" Eddie exclaimed as he popped up on the opposite side of him, smiling. Brandon shrieked, earning a chuckle out of Munson. "Did I scare you?"

"What the fuck, freak?" Brandon snapped, zipping up his Gym bag. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"Here to chat," Eddie answered. "That's all."

"Chat?" Brandon nearly barked a laugh, rolling his eyes. "What makes you think I would want to talk?"

"Oh, but you're fine with chatting with me when you're fuckin' fiending!" Eddie said, clear and loud enough for any remaining people in the locker room to hear.

Brandon glared at him. "That's a different scenario."

"Not really," Eddie muttered, stuffing his hands into his own pockets, his hand grasping onto the switchblade that sat within the right one.

Brandon sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to leave until Eddie got his words across. "Okay, what do you want?" He asked, leaning against the lockers, Eddie only standing a few inches away in front of him. "I got places to be."

"Tell me what happened with Y/N," Eddie said, monotone and blunt in a blink.

"What? Why?" Brandon wondered. "You're wanting to talk about her?"

Eddie hummed. "Answer the question."

"Well, man," Brandon sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "She gave it up too easily, and got too many damn problems. She's a trailer park whore, and I didn't need that."

Eddie's head spun, and the light around him was slowly sinking into nothingness. "Gave it up?"

"Ya'know, her body, her pussy," Brandon clarified, finding it humorous. "She has no self respect, and that's pathetic."

Another word didn't come out of his mouth as Eddie grabbed him, and tossed him to the ground. Eddie's vision was a blur and his mind was clogged, but could understand the punches he was throwing into Brandon's face.

The rings on Eddie's fingers doubled the aggression and assault.

He swore he cracked his cheekbone, and caused a concussion, but didn't care. He didn't care if he killed him in this very locker room, because all that mattered is that he would stay away from you for good. That he would never talk about you in a derogatory way ever again.

Eddie needed to make sure of that – he had to.

"Fuck you!" He screamed as his fist collided into Brandon's left eye, and could hear him gasping, crying, and wanting to fight back, but Eddie's weight held him down. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

Eddie breathed heavily, one of his punches breaking Brandon's nose, an audible snap coming into his ears. He got up, hovering over the sobbing, vulnerable male.

He wanted to laugh — one of Hawkin's best basketball players, who was intimidating yet charming, and broader and stronger than Eddie, was now curled up in a ball, bleeding out of his face.

Eddie struck his ribcage with a hard kick, and Brandon groaned, pleading for mercy. "Fucking pussy," he mocked, tossing another strike of his foot to his side. "You deserve this. You deserve worse than this."

"I—I'm sorry!" Brandon sobbed, gasping heavier, trying to engulf oxygen into his bruising lungs. "Please."

Eddie crotched down, gripping a chunk of his hair, brought his head up and forced eye contact. "You're not sorry. You just make sure to never speak to her, or I will kill you next time." He released Brandon's hair from his grasp, his head thudding on the tile floors.

Eddie's every step had a bounce to it as he walked out of the locker room.

You were laying on your stomach on your bed, flipping through magazines as music faintly played in your bedroom. You carelessly eyed new styles, humming to yourself.

A knock planted softly at your door, and you peeked up, seeing your aunt. She smiled small, a cigarette dangling between her lips. "Chrissy Cunningham is on the phone," she exhaled a blow, "asking for you."

"Did she say why?" You wondered.

"No, but she sounds shaken up," your aunt continued, and you nodded, getting up from your bed, strolling to the kitchen where the landline hanged out at.

You picked up the phone, bringing it up to your ear. "Hey, Chris. What's up?"

"Brandon is in the hospital," Chrissy said, and your heart sank. She was sniffling, overly worried and in panic. "It's so bad."

You paused. "W—What happened? Why is he in the hospital?"

"Jason and the guys found him in the locker room," Chrissy's voice began to shutter. "He was beaten, really bad. Nose broken, ribcages fractured, nearly blind in his left eye — it's so gory."

"What? W—Who... What? This doesn't make sense," you said, unease and confused. "Did he say who?"

"No, he won't make a confession," Chrissy answered, sighing heavily. "Either way, he can barely talk, or make any sort of comprehension. He has a severe concussion."

You went quiet for a moment, trying to gather up pieces in your head, making a puzzle in your head.

Brandon did have enemies, but it was mostly outcasts, and the smartest kids in school — the opposite clique of him, and Jason's friends. But, those enemies were not capable of any harm, nor would attempt any. If they did, they'd get it worse.

Nothing had happened to him until today when you told—

"Chrissy, I have to go," you muttered, hanging up the line. You ran into your bedroom, grabbing your shoes, and slipping them. Your hands were shaking, your heart thumping and pounding in your eardrums, bile burning your throat.

It was just a thought, a consideration, and you knew Eddie would never hurt anyone.

He was too kind, and gentle.

You stalked out of your trailer, finding your aunt watering the front lawn with a new cigarette in her mouth. "You going to Eds?" She asked, and you hummed. "Okay, be safe."

You continued your stalking to Eddie's uncle's trailer, stomping up onto the porch, and pounded your fist against the door. "Edward Munson!" You shouted, banging persistently on the door. "I know you're in there, I can smell fresh pot!"

After a few more harsher hits, the door opened up, revealing a contented, shirtless Eddie, and had a joint in his mouth. "Well, if it isn't my favorite person," he joked, and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door frame.

Red, bruising spots were visible on his knuckles. He wasn't even trying to make them discreet.

You brushed past him as you welcomed yourself into his trailer, and he closed the door behind the both of you, his eyes falling into yours.

You stood in the middle of his living room, making a safe distance between the two of you. "Are you responsible for Brandon?" You questioned, and Eddie chuckled, flashing a toothy smile. "I don't have time for your shit, Eddie!"

"Oh, excuse me, sweetheart," Eddie snickered, burning his joint out onto the ashtray that sat on the living's room coffee table. "I knew you'd figure it out."

You scoffed. "So, you did?"

"I may have swung a punch or two at him," Eddie said, grabbing a cheap beer from the fridge. "Nothing too bad."

"He is in the hospital, Eds! He has a severe concussion, fractured bones!" You shouted, irritated at Eddie's amusement. "What the fuck did you do?"

"He called you a trailer park whore," he stated, walking to his bedroom as you trailed behind him. "Saying how you spread your legs easily for him, and that you were just bad for his bullshit reputation."

"He said that?" You asked, Eddie sitting on the edge of his bed, and you stood in front of him.

"He laughed at you. He was practically mocking you," he emphasized, scoffing harshly. "I took care of it. I handled it for you."

"But you didn't need to, Eddie!" You panicked, shaking your head in utter disbelief. "If he comes clean, you'll be arrested. You'll go to jail."

"I really don't care," Eddie said, grinning. "You think this is my first time doing this shit for you?"

You fell silent, suddenly lost in what he was saying.

He got up from his bed, only needing to take a few, close inches towards you. He looked down at you as you stared up at him. "Aidan Walter, Michael Dallas, Kyle Thorne, Richard Fields, Brandon Smith — they all had the same thing to say about you. They degraded you proudly, and you think you deserve that?'

Your mouth opened, but your words croaked in your throat. Nothing came out, shock falling over you. "I... I don't know."

"Every time you came crying to me about a guy who did you wrong, I handled it. This isn't my first time, and they know they can't turn me in," Eddie explained, and you raised a brow. "They're drug addicts. They know if I sneak a word to their coach to drug test them, they're fucked."

"But they could turn you in for being a drug dealer," you retorted, and a faux pout dangled on Eddie's lips. "They have privilege, you don't."

He settled his beer down on his cluttered dresser, turning his attention away from you. "If that's the case, why haven't the others said anything?" Eddie questioned. "You haven't asked me why I did it — that's surprising."

"You did it because you want revenge? Because you were trying to be a good friend?"

"Revenge, yes. I'd beat those fuckers with no hesistation," Eddie agreed, shrugging lazily as he went back to sitting on his bed. "But, I did it because you don't deserve to be talked about like that. I did it because I would do absolutely anything for you — I'd fucking rip apart this filthy world for you."

You took a step back, a brutal realization striking you.

"Are you in love with me?" You asked, so simply, but with so much fear behind your words.

He hummed. "There's my smart girl."

You were oblivious — gullible — to Eddie's generosity, and kindness. A more crucial role behind every word, every action, every thought that came out of him. You didn't know how to comprehend anything, your mind fogged, and mute.

You should've been feeling sick to your stomach, nausea and terror was meant to consume and claim you entirely. A person who had received the news that their best friend beat — and nearly murdered — men who have hurt you, would run away, and shut them out forever.

You didn't do that. You were paralyzed in your spot, only hesitate to make eye contact with Eddie, and could feel his eyes boring into you.

What he did was unsettling and wrong, but your heart couldn't help to ache to what he did.

"You hate me now?" Eddie asked, and you inhaled sharply, peeking at him. You shifted over towards him, bringing him into an embrace, his head resting on your stomach as your hands rested on the back of his head.

"No, no," you mumbled, looking down at him. "But you could end up in jail because of this, Eddie. You have to understand that."

Eddie inhaled your perfume, his mind ransacking with complexed thoughts. He was glad you appreciated his devoted duty, but hated that you were worried about his well being.

He only cared that you would be safe.

"I'll be okay, doll," he muttered, practically smashing his face into your stomach.

You fiddled with his hair, not knowing what was to happen next. He was in love, and obsessed with you — that's not easy news to take in.

You let him out of your embrace, crouching down and stared up at him. "I can protect myself, and... I'm sorry you had to hear those things from Brandon."

Eddie took your face into his hands, his thumbs softly caressing your cheeks, and you could feel yourself melting into his touch.

A delicate touch that held so much violence behind it.

He could do immense damage to another human, but never to you. You were the peace in his chaotic world. You were serene, in contrast to his mayhem. You knew there was always a darkness that consumed him, but you granted such light to it, that he'd forget he even held it in him.

Eddie wanted to hold you close, skin absorbing into one another's, and have you forever. He wanted to tear you apart, but then mend you back together.

The silence that fell into the air was tight, and suffocating.

This man had been your best friend for years, and there was never any unbearable tension until now. In this very moment, where his eyes drowned into yours, and his lips quivered for the taste of yours.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie cut the silence, his face cautiously inching into yours. "Please?"

A simple kiss, that could change the course of everything. But you wanted it — you wanted Eddie to kiss you. You had never craved such a risk until now.

You nodded. "You can kiss me, Eds."

He didn't let another second pass as his lips smothered yours, and his hands shifted to your waist, drawing you onto his lap. You propped yourself comfortably onto him, his hands snaking around your body, needing you close and secured.

You could taste pot on his lips, your cherry gloss mixing into it. His hands slipped under the sides of your shirt, yet went nowhere near your bra. His thumbs and hands grazed your soft, loving skin, and thought he must've been dreaming — he had yearned for this. For years.

Your own hands brushed his toned body, trickling down to the waistband of his sweats. You let your fingers curl around them, but wait there.

Eddie moved his face back, his taste disappearing from yours, and he grinned at your swollen lips. "Look at you," he mocked, admiring the desperation on your face. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you, sweetheart."

Your heartstrings tugged at his words, and the tips of your index and middle finger carefully touched his lips, eyes focused on this movement. "Do you really love me?" You softly asked. "Why do you love me?"

"You're the purity to this corrupted world," Eddie began, and you blinked up at him, and his gaze locked with yours immediately. "Your beauty is uncompared, and unbearable – it makes me a madman. Look what I've done for you; you have me in your power, and you don't even know it."

Eddie Munson is in love with me, you thought to yourself. He is in love with me, and I've been so blind to it.

The only man who'd ever wanted you for you. The only man who you didn't need to give your body to, to feel self-worth and loved. You could see in his eyes he meant what he said — that he swore his life on it. And if he were to ever hurt you, he would want death.

He would rather die, than to live with the knowledge that he dimmed your lightness, and damaged you.

"Please kiss me," you pleaded, wanting his love to soak and burn into your skin. "Kiss me, do what you want to me. But Eddie, do not leave me."

Eddie frowned. "I'd die without you."

You nodded, and your lips fell back onto his, bodies pressing against one another. His hands pulled you over and down onto his bed, your body trapped underneath his. "Are you sure you want this?" He asked hastily in between a kiss. "Do you?"

"Yes, I do," you breathed. "I want this."

Eddie kissed your cheek, leaning back, and shifted himself down in between your legs. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him take off your shoes, and then make his way to the waistband of your sweatpants.

He hooked his fingers under the hem of your bottoms and panties, looking up at you with another look of reassurance.

"I trust you," you said, and he pulled off both pieces of clothing, disposing them to a pile of his clothes on the ground.

Eddie parted your legs, laying himself on his stomach, and you could feel his hot breath blowing against your cunt. You relaxed your body, and Eddie's mouth attached itself to your area, earning a soft moan out of you.

You perked your head up, seeing the sight of him gladly eating you out. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, his strong hold locking them in place, and practically buried himself in between them. He moaned to the sweet taste of you, the vibrations buzzing against your sensitive hood.

His tongue ran up and down your slits, his lips plumped and stuck on your cunt. Your head fell back as your noises and breath grew louder, your mouth falling open the second he pushed two fingers into you, working them at a gentle, yet rapid pace.

Eddie was probably the only guy who knew how to properly eat you out, and you didn't have to fake an orgasm with.

"Fuck, fuck," you breathed. "Just like that, baby. Holy fuck."

His fingers were slamming into you, and his mouth separated from your cunt, his lips plumped and covered with your wetness. "Come here, sweet girl," he said as he hovered back over you. "Taste how good you are."

He placed his lips back onto yours, his fingers still violently pumping into you. Uncontrollable, lewd noises elicited out of you, being able to make out his grin pressing against your lips as he brought himself back from your mouth.

"So good for me, sweetheart," he praised,and adjusted himself back onto his stomach, hoisting your thighs over his shoulders. He hooked his mouth onto your cunt, devouring you once more, and you could feel a sweet scorch in the pit of your stomach.

It was too embarrassing and easy for you to cum this earlier than usual. You tried to ignore the hot sensation, focusing on the rhythm Eddie's tongue and mouth made on your cunt, and fucking good it felt.

Eddie had himself deep into your cunt, grateful to even pleasure you this well. All he wanted was to make you feel good.

The fire in your stomach ran to your thighs, and it became torturous to shut out. "Gonna cum," you warned, your voice shuddering. "Keep going, Eds. You're doing so good."

Eddie abided, never letting himself get a second of air as your thighs trembled on his shoulders. "Oh fuck!" You gasped, riding your orgasm out onto his fingers, and he let them fall out of you shortly after. His tongue lapped up your climax, his mouth sucking gently on your cunt.

Your chest heaved, and a fulfilled Eddie detached his mouth from your area, his mouth glistening with your juices. You peeked at him, chuckling and grinning at the sight of him.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, his hand gripping your forearm, and you suddenly adjusted back on his lap. You whimpered as he used other hand to hold your jaw, having a firm grasp on it, and forcing you to pay attention to him.

"What now?" You asked.

Eddie placed his coated fingers on your bottom lip. "Suck."

You obliged, taking his fingers into your mouth. Eddie looked at you in pure awe, a cocky grin playing on his lips, and kissed the side of your head. Few seconds later, his fingers slide out of your mouth with a pop, and the knuckles of his hand caress your cheek so lovingly.

There was a flip in Eddie's eyes, and body language. He craved more of you, more of your body and desperation. He wanted your tears, screams, and sweat. He needed to see you plead under him, until you all you could think of was him senselessly fucking you.

For this, it was a danger. You were encouraging his obsession, and you couldn't tell if that was okay. It was flattering he hurt people for you, all because he wanted to defend you at every cost — like it was his soul purpose on Earth.

You weren't exactly opposed to his devotion to you, only in fright of how bad it could get.

It wasn't like you hadn't had your own moments when it came to Eddie and other girls. There were a few who had eyes on him, and always dumbly flirted with him — even in front of your bare eyes. You would always think you were being crazy for being jealous, especially when you got angry when Eddie would jokingly tease back at those girls.

You didn't want to share the attention he gave to you.

This was a bad idea. The worst idea to ever exist. But it didn't matter anymore — you and him were the perfect match. Maybe your need for him was always there, but you were too busy with others to notice it.

Those other guys didn't compare to Eddie Munson — none of them. And they would never commit their life to you.

Eddie had finally freed your jaw from his hand, but withheld staring at one another. "I know that look in your eye," he said, inhaling sharply. "You've finally come to your senses. I've been waiting for you to make that realization."

"How long?" You wondered.

"Forever," he answered, and planted his hands under your shirt, letting them carelessly rest there. "Even if you didn't, I still would've handled every guy who fucked you over. I would do it until it caught up to me."

You sighed. "It just might. Brandon will blab."

"Then promise to bail me?" He asked, and you snickered, rolling your eyes.

"My aunt is going to have a rage if you get arrested," you joked, and his grin turned into a small smile. "Let's not worry about that right now, please. I just want you, I want this."

Eddie titled his head to the side, his smile fading. "Be more clear, sweet girl."

You turned coy, your body tensing as his hands gave your torso a squeeze. You decided not to speak, your lips laying on his, and he let your body rut against him. "You're going to drive me more insane," he mumbled, and you hummed. "Come on, doll. Ride me."

You didn't hesitate for a moment, breaking the kiss, and you drew off your top and bra, letting them drop to Eddie's floor.

"Fuck," Eddie breathed, taking a second to memorize your body, and how he just knew it was made for him. "Fuck, you're perfect, doll."

You smiled, and looked over to Eddie's nightstand, finding condoms to lay there. "I'm not your first fuck?" You asked, a hint of bitter in your tone as you snagged an individual wrapper.

"I deserved to have my own fun, don't you think?" Eddie retorted, dragging off his sweats and boxers, dropping them on the floor. He merely sat closer to the middle of his bed, seizing the condom from your hold, and you glared at him. "Don't be so jealous, doll. You're my only girl, promise."

"Were they a good fuck?" You asked, and Eddie snorted while rolling the condom onto his dick.

"And I thought I was too possessive," he mocked, and braced his hands onto your hips, his nails digging into your skin. You were about to protest until Eddie's cock shoved into you, and you gasped at the sudden contact. "Maybe I'll fuck you out."

Your breath hitched in your throat as you and Eddie worked together, your hips rolling and his cock hastily thrusting into you. "Fffucckk, oh my god," you babbled, squeezing your eyes shut, and overwhelmed at Eddie's size.

"You take me so well," Eddie praised, another faux frown on his lips, and grabbed your face. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

You obeyed as best as you could, cursing and moaning breathlessly. It felt like he was splitting you open, claiming your body entirely, and making you memorize the scynorichize of his cock pounding into your soaking cunt.

"I'm going to fucking damage you," he assured, his hand squeezing your cheeks, and felt as if his nails were drilling into them. "Tear you right apart."

"Yeah?" You taunted, able to pass a giggle through your shuddering breathing. "You're going to hurt me? You're too soft for me to do that, Eds."

He stopped all movements for a moment, and his hand made a switch, sending a hit across your left cheek. It turned your head and neck entirely, feeling his handprint drowning into your skin.

You only laughed. "Slapping me? Some of the guys did the same thing," you said, looking back at Eddie, and wanted to punish him with your words. "I think it was Brandon who would pull my hair and call me his filthy slut."

Eddie snapped. He took your form back under him, your body flattened into his mattress as he hovered over you, his hand furiously grasping your throat. "And you took it like a slut too. Didn't you, silly girl?"

You smiled. "Maybe," you breathed out, able to feel his nails clawing into the sides of your neck. "Maybe I fucking loved every second of it."

"Oh, I'm sure," Eddie muttered, his cock stuffing your cunt again. "But I'm going to make sure you can only think of me forever."

He kept his hand on your throat, and pushed his cock rough into you as you swore he was nearly reaching into your stomach. Your eyes watered, breath hallowed and weak with your pleads for him coming out hoarse and rough, putting one of your hands on his wrist.

"No, you don't get to touch me," Eddie said, pushing off your hand with his free one. "You don't deserve to touch me, silly girl."

You huffed. "Why not?"

"Cause you let all those idiots touch you," Eddie taunted, mocking despair on his face. "And I should just leave you hot and bothered after what you said, but I didn't – so be grateful."

Your lungs engulfed immense amounts of oxygen when Eddie's pulled his hand back, moaning out his name like it was a prayer. He grinned, staying hovered over you, and let his cock sinking deeper and harder into you, watching you fall apart slowly to it.

Sweaty, hot skin smacked throughout Eddie's bedroom, being sure that the whole neighborhood could hear you whining and crying for more of him.

"You sound so pretty for me, doll," he moaned, grinning. He positioned himself back, in a near-sitting style as he tossed your legs over his shoulders and snaked his arms around your waist, continuing to push himself into you.

"Oh shit— ffucckk, Eddie, Eddie," you moaned mindlessly. You were locked in his hold, your body squirming and twitching. Your fingers gripped at his bedsheets, your mind being rotten with the focus of his dick, and how good it felt pounding into you, basically stuffing your cunt.

"Don't you dare fucking cum," Eddie forewarned, chuckling breathily. "Just be a good girl, and take my dick, babydoll. Just take me."

You nodded, knowing there was another climax making its build in your stomach, but refused to pay any mind to it. "You fuck me so good, Eds," you whimpered, eyes rolling back. "Need more of you, please."

"You have me, sweetheart," Eddie promised, pressing his hand on your stomach for additional torture. "But don't try to sweet talk me just so you can cum."

"Just once, please," you cried, resting your hand on top of his hand. "Please, I'll be so good for you."

"Are you not being good for me right now, hm?" He wondered, the ball of his palm sinking further into your belly. "What a pathetic girl you are, trying to get whatever you want."

You hissed and groaned. "Please, please. I c—can't."

"Is my poor girl going to cry?" He taunted, holding back a laugh. "If you cum right now, then you'll have to keep doing so until I think you're done."

"Y—yeah, please!" You agreed mindlessly, chewing harshly onto your lower lip.

He hummed, and tapped the side of your thigh as a sign. Your body nearly melted into his mattress, your orgasm pushing out of you, and you could see a flash of stars in your vision. "Oh fucking hell!" You screamed, your body twitching seconds later.

Eddie pushed your legs off of his shoulders, letting himself fall out of you, and was already rotating you around onto your stomach. "We're not done, sweet girl," he said, planting a gentle kiss to your cheek before his arms were looped around your limp form, bringing your ass close to him.

You were barely to collect any thoughts, groaning the moment Eddie was back in you. He worked at a slow, steady peace in you as he used his strength to hold you up and close, stifling a chuckle in his throat.

"You said you were going to be good for me," Eddie reminded, his fingers clawing and curling into your hair, forcing the majority of your body to be picked up and brought against his. "Is this all you can really take, hm? Made me think you were better than this."

You grinned, sweat beading on your forehead and body. Your face was close enough to his as you glanced up at him, trying to correct your breathing. "You made me think you were gonna fuck me better than the others," you said lazily. "But it's about the same."

"Yeah?" Eddie rolled his hips forward, snapping a single sharp and deep thrust into you, and all at once, he began to violently pound into you. He made sure to keep you close to him as yours and his moaned mixed, and echoed throughout his bedroom.

Your eyes fell to the back of your head, grasping onto Eddie's arms and could feel your body growing more frail within every thrust that pushed into you. You were entirely trapped in his hold – not that you were complaining, it felt nice.

"That's my good girl," he praised, passing a kiss to the side of your head. "You take my cock so well."

You hummed, nodding, and could only hear him breathily chuckle to your obedience. He let his right hand creep up between the valley of your breasts, and it wrapped itself around your throat, using it as an extra leverage to hammer himself deeper into you.

"You seem to be liking my cock a lot," Eddie teased as your noises shuddered, and tears pricked at the corner of your eyes from the overwhelming exhilaration and pleasure. "Just wanted to be fucked and treated like a whore. All you had to do was ask, sweetness."

"Ffucckk you— ahh!" You cried the second the head of his cock started to continuously strike at your orgasm. "Oh shit, ffuucckk! Right there!"

Eddie orgasm was rising, keeping you locked and tight on him as he allowed himself to be audible, letting you know how good you were making him feel. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna cum," he panted, giving you another sweet kiss to your cheek. "Cum with me, yeah? I want my girl to cum with me."

Your next climax had surfaced into the depths of your belly as you could feel Eddie's arms and body begin to tremble. "W—Wait!" You breathed, swallowing thickly. "I want you to cum in me."

"What?" Eddie chuckled, stopping himself entirely. "Repeat that for me."

"Oh, you heard me, Munson," you said, and he grinned. "And yes, I'm sure."

Eddie granted you that exact wish, letting himself out of you for a mere second and tossed his condom carelessly on his bedroom floor before taking his cock back into you. He looped his arms back around your form, tugging you back towards him as he perfectly fucked himself into you, and you bounced back onto his cock.

It didn't take long for both highs to come back to the surface, your head falling back and landing on his shoulder, and he smirked, brushing strands of hair out of your face. "Be a good whore, and cum," his breath was ragged and uneven, feeling it skim past your cheek. "Don't wanna disappoint me, hm?"

"N—no," you rasped, exhaustion slowly falling onto you but gathered enough energy to keep you going.

"Cum with me, honey," Eddie said, a hint of shudder playing in his words. You nodded, your high immediately crashing out of your body as your body jerked and nearly fell out of Eddie's grasp, but he had enough strength to hold you in his embrace.

He wasn't far behind you, his orgasm hitting its final peak, and rushing out of him, into you. He pushed softer and slower thrusts into you as he rode out his orgasm. Eventually, all his motions came to a stop, and his arms unhooked from your body, watching you collapse onto his mattress, and he fell out of you.

You took your time to recover your proper breathing pattern and energy, laying flat on your stomach, and you could feel sweat stick and drip around your body.

Eddie rested next to you, not caring that you were both drenched in sweat desire, and brought you next to him, letting you rest in his arms. Your head was on top of his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he was also trying to catch his breath.

"So that was," you tried to speak, your throat scratchy and hoarse. "Oh fuck."

He stifled a laugh, smiling in pure pride. "We need to clean up, doll."

"I would so gladly get up," you began, sighing warily, "only if you didn't fuck me numb and raw."

"Don't complain," Eddie said, getting himself up, and easily dragged you up off the bed, over his shoulder. "We are getting cleaned up, and then find something to do after."

"Like what?" You wondered, being placed on top of his bathroom sink as he started up a warm bath. "You're not worried Brandon might say something?"

Eddie shrugged. "Not really, no."

"Why not?" You asked. "He has all the privileges and status, you don't."

"Are we really discussing this again?" Eddie asked, moving back over to you while the water ran. "I'm going to be fine. Just let me take care of you, doll."

Your gaze softened as you could see pure admiration and care in his eyes for you. You nodded, chewing onto your lower lip. He pinched your chin, giving your nose a sweet peck, and walked back to the bath to stop the water.

Eddie helped you into the bath, setting you down into it, and the water soaked your body. You moaned to the feeling of it and relaxed into it.

"Feel good?" Eddie smiled, sitting in front of you, and you hummed in response.

You brought your legs up to your chest, hugging them, and rested your cheek on it, looking at Eddie with a small smile playing on your lips.

He noticed. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Nothin'. Just love you, Eds," you said. You had told each other 'I love you' on many occasions, but this time, it had a different meaning behind it. "Always have, always will."

"I love you too, sweet girl," Eddie responded, bringing himself closer to you, and kissed your forehead before pressing his against yours. "Always have, always will."

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #eddie stranger things

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letstalkaboutfandomsbaby · 2 months ago

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Omg, I read and reread your fitness influencer x chubby cooking influencer like five or six times already! Would you consider writing more parts to it, please?

Omg i would love to, lemme cook for a sec sksksk

CW: chubby fem cooking influencer reader x fitness influencer fave, fluff, smut, mentions of internet trolls being mean, not proofread i am sorry sksksk

So, chubby cooking influencer reader and fitness influencer

A match made in heaven tbh sksksk

But it's very normal at first! Like i said in my original post, reader and fitness influencer (i.e. your fave) just start the relationship with simple conversation

Your likes, dislikes, hobbies, interests, you chat about it all on social media!

His instagram has a lot of tagged photos of your recipes that he tries, as well as photos of him at the gym

His youtube is mostly vlogs of his days as an influencer and workouts and all that

He's always very good about tagging you, even if he just mentions your channel in passing, he's tagging you in the description AND comments

And you always thank him in his dms for tagging you

He starts expecting it now, seeing your notification and it brightens his day

He plays it cool tho, always thanking you in return and asking how your day is going

Which of course leads to conversations about other things (what did you do today, what did you eat, what are you up to)

He likes you, he really likes you

But he tries to be suave, just being nice at first, but he's always thinking of you tbh

At the gym, at home, when he's eating, in the shower, in bed 😏

He ends up jerking off to you quite a bit, though he won't admit it, he's too shy for that sksksk

He does ask about the general area you live in and gets excited when he finds out how close you are

Takes a lot of guts but he ends up asking you on a date, offering to pay for a nice meal and a movie if you want

Does a fist bump and jump when you accept sksksk

He dresses nice for your date, opting to wear dress pants and a tight button up shirt to show off his muscles

BUT YOU?? OMG YOU LOOK SO CUTE

You've got on a yellow sundress with flowers and white heels and a sun hat and he is just UGH so obsessed with you

Date goes well. He's happy to see you eating freely and without a care about how he may think, plus you get dessert and you lick cream off your lips and he has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom and calm himself down bc he got a boner 😔

Before the date ends, he asks you if you two can do this again, and you turn bashful

"You really want to hang out with me again??" you ask with big doe eyes

"Of course I do. I wanna date you, Y/N. And fuck you the way you deserve"

....is what he wishes he said sksksk

But instead he just nods, screaming inside bc you are honestly just so precious

You go on a second date, and a third, and a fourth and a fifth and honestly he is getting a little frustrated bc you have not even tried to hold his hand yet

He tried making the first move, but you're always just out of reach, just a little too far away from him to do anything

He agonizes over it a little bit, asking his gym bros what he should do

"Maybe she's just not into you dude"

"Just grab her and kiss her dude"

"I don't know man, i like men, not women"

They're no help tbh sksksk

He just decides to ask you on your next date and figure out why you won't initiate things with him

When he asks you, your eyes go wide and he thinks that if you could blush, your whole body would turn red

"What?! This whole time we've been going on dates?! I thought you just liked food as much as me and wanted to share it!"

He feels like he's gonna bang his head against a wall sksksk

TO BE FAIR! When he asks you out, he always refers to it as "hanging out" so you can't be blamed for getting confused

You decide to sit down with some ice cream and talk about how you both feel

He admits that he's been crushing on you for a while before you met and that he wanted to date you

You shyly admit that you find him very attractive but thought he was out of your league so you never considered that he could have feelings for you he's gonna crack his head open on the pavement omg sksksk

He reassures you that he genuinely likes you and is attracted to you and wants to have a romantic relationship with you

It's hard for you to believe, he's just so handsome and big and strong, is this real life or a dream??

You decide to let him prove it to you with more dates uwu

You start getting closer to him, letting him put his arm around around you, holding your hand

You're very anxious when he tries to kiss you, but once it happens it feels like fireworks are going off in your brain

You really like kissing him, just because he's always so gentle and he's so close and he's warm

You really, really like him 🥺

But don't worry sweet love, he likes you just as much if not more sksksk

He's so obsessed with you it's honestly kind of silly sksksk

He thinks about you all the time! And he wants to be with you all the time! He feels like he's gonna explode every time you show up to a date in a cute outfit!

He wants to make the relationship official and exclusive, so he asks to make a vlog with you

You agree! Not only do you think it would be good traction for your channel, but it would be nice to spend the day with him :)

You both bring your cameras on the day of the vlog!

You start by getting breakfast, showing off your coffees

He gets annoyed that you JUST have a coffee, but you swear it fills you up and he lets it slide as long as you eat a good lunch

Then you go to the gym together! You just hang out on the treadmill while he does his weight lifting

Tbh he's very distracted by your outfit, your leggings make your ass look so fucking good, and he would've been fucked if he didn't have a spotter

Then you go to lunch and you gush about the food and the restaurant and he's infatuated with you 💕

You turn the camera towards him and he's just got a lovesick look on his face

Then you go to a movie and then you go to his apartment for dinner!

You cook dinner together, making a meal that the both of you can enjoy, one that is nutritious AND delicious

You finish the vlog by showing off your finished plates and talking about what a fun day you had :)

You're ready to pack up your stuff and go home, but he asks if you'd like to stay and hang out a bit more

You oblige. You're dating now so it makes sense for yall to spend more time together

You decide to cuddle up and watch a movie, but 20 minutes in, you guys are making out on his couch sksksk

Things get hot and heavy pretty quick, and now his hand is going up your shirt and he's squeezing your waist and you start getting shy 😔

Does he really want you? Is he really interested in you? Is he sure that he wants you and your body?

But then your leg moves and rubs against his crotch and good lordy you can feel his boner 😳

Ok, goodbye insecurities, he's def into you and you're gonna get your man 😏

You go to the bedroom, undress, and oh boy he is enamored by you

Your breasts, your thighs, your BELLY?? You're gorg and he's obsessed

But he's not the only one drooling sksksk has he seen himself lately? He's sculpted like a god, you can't believe you scored a guy like him

AND NOT TO MENTION HIS COCK SKSKSK like that thing is long and thick, you're genuinely wondering if it's gonna fot

The two of you spend a good five minutes just staring at each other and complimenting each others' physiques

Eventually you get to the sex part sksksk but there's a lot of praise along the way

He's so cute the way he kisses down your body and spreads your legs and nuzzles into your mound

He's not too bad at giving head. You have to give him a little direction but he gets the hang of it and makes you cum

You admit that you're a little scared of sucking his dick so he doesn't make you, you just go to the main event

You're not sure if you should let him hit it raw but you're too impatient to let him get a condom, you're on birth control and you need that dick NOW

He slides in very easily, you are unbelievably wet and oh my god, if he doesn't focus then he'll cum so easily

He fits inside you so well, filling you up just right without any pain

It's such a good fit, his cock feels soooooo good inside you

And then he starts thrusting and all bets are off

The sex is so fucking good, oh my GOD

He just keeps hitting your sweet spots and rubbing your clit and oh god you're cumming already

Your cunt squeezes him so deliciously and you're so pretty and cute when you cum and holy fuck the noises you make are just sinful and he needs to slow down bc if he doesnt he's not gonna last long

He makes you cum three times before he pulls out and cums all over your tummy

Thinks you look so cute covered in his cum 🥴

He ends up cleaning you off with his tongue which just makes you needy again and you ask him oh so sweetly if he can fuck you one more time and whoops now his cock is hard again, guess he's gotta fuck you 🤷‍♀️

You guys go at it all night, eventually showering and going to bed around 4am

Of course you sleep over, ain't no way in hell he's letting you leave after all that

You sleep in together and when you wake up he makes you breakfast 🥺💕

He uploads his vlog after editing it the next day, and you upload yours

Your comments are very sweet at first, congratulating you on your new relationship with this other influencer

But then they turn mean :( people start to say that you're not good enough for him, why is he even with you, he should be with this other fitness influencer instead :(

He is pissed. His fans are attacking you on your page 😡

He makes a video the next day and posts it where he explains that he loves you and is happy with you and that until the hate comments stop, he will not be posting on his page

He helps you delete and mute and block and filter comments and users

He's very upset about this entire experience

"I guess you don't want to be with me anymore, huh?" you ask

He's offended and hurt!

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, you saw what they said. Maybe you should be with someone better..."

"What are you talking about? I love you, Y/N. You're perfect for me and I don't want anyone else. Do you just not want to be with me?"

"No! I do! I just... worry that I'm not good enough for you..."

He grabs your hands and makes you look at him

"Y/N, you are perfect to me. I couldn't ask for anyone better. I love you and I want to be with you. Please don't let these trolls dictate your life."

You're still hurt by the comments, but your feelings for him overpower the negative things you're feeling

You keep dating, and as time goes on, you care less and less about the comments that were made about your relationship

You continue with your channel and vlogs with him and enjoy your life

You still get backlash every now and then from obsessed friends, but when that happens, you just turn your computer off and go on about your day

Negativity can really affect your life, but he's always there to cheer you up and fuck you stupid so you forget all those mean comments sksksk

You become the "it" couple in the fitness and cooking communities, everyone thinks you're so so cute together and such a good match, so fuck those online trolls! Your cooking besties and his gym bros love you two together and that's all that matters 💕

I imagine he proposes after a year of dating, not wanting to waste any more time without you

He proposes at your favorite restaurant, but you say no :(

To be fair, your reasons are justified. You guys have rarely had arguments, you haven't gone through many trials in your life, you don't even live together! How can you be sure that he's the one when you haven't truly struggled with him yet?

He understands, although he's diappointed 😔

On the bright side, you suggest moving in to an apartment together once your leases are up! And he's very happy about that :)

You guys adopt some kitty cats after you move in together! You adopt two kittens from the same litter and you love them so so much, they often appear in your vlogs and sometimes you do cat reviews like on cat trees and toys and stuff

He encourages you to go to the gym for health reasons, but he doesn't push it. He just wants you to take care of yourself so you can be around for as long as possible 💕

He's gained a little bit of pudge! He's still strong as hell, but he's got a little layer of fat over some of his muscles like his abs, he's just not as sculpted now

It's bc he can't resist your food sksksk

But you're still very attracted to him so he doesn't care so much

Overall, beautiful love story, match made in heaven 💕

#ask #☀️ asks #smut #chubby reader

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v6quewrlds · 3 months ago

Text

NSFW A-Z, JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x high school sweetheart!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀8.8k.

summary⠀⁎⠀nsfw a to z with justin.

author's note⠀⁎⠀had an idea for a fic with justin & a high school sweetheart reader and it spiraled into this. a mixture of blurbs & headcanons. might revisit this pairing again. warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, third person [she/her], somewhat dom!justin vibes?, unprotected sex, creampie, discussion of masturbation, size kink bc duh, oral sex, dry humping.

A = Aftercare

It's never just one round with Justin. His stamina, much like his performance on the football field, is unrivaled. She can't help but feel a mix of exhaustion and pride as she lies beside him, both of them panting and sweaty. His arms, muscular and warm, wrap around her, pulling her into his embrace. He kisses her forehead tenderly, a gesture that feels both familiar and reassuring. In the quiet that follows her passionate escapade, his hands rub slow circles into her back, his thumb tracing the outline of her spine as if mapping the contours of her soul.

He was always just a little more still after they were tangled in their sheets, his heartbeat a comforting drum in her ear as she lay against his chest. She felt the gentle rise and fall of his breath, the steady rhythm lulling her into a state of pure contentment. His skin was a warm blanket, the scent of their combined sweat and the faint musk of their love a heady perfume that she breathed in deeply. She knew that Justin took pride in his aftercare, ensuring that they stayed warm and felt loved.

The two of them would lay together for a while, their bodies slowly cooling, their breathing returning to normal. Justin's hand would drift down to her waist, his fingers tracing the soft curves of her body. Her favorite part was when he'd lowly whisper any and everything that came to mind, sharing his thoughts as if he were reading from a diary that only she had access to. It was their little post-coital ritual, a time where no words were too intimate, no secrets too dark.

B = Body Part

Justin adjusted his dry fit shirt, blue eyes scrutinizing how the fabric stretched over his torso in the mirror. He rolled his shoulders back, watching as his shoulders broadened and his chest puffed forward with a breath. He ran a hand through his freshly trimmed, dirty blonde hair, the faintest smile playing on his lips as he turned his attention to find a Nike cap to complete the look.

She glanced over at him, parting her straightened hair down the middle to pull it into the neatest ponytail she could manage. With a stifled laugh, she shook her head at his vanity, but the love in her gaze was undeniable. She knew Justin's favorite body part of his were his shoulders. They were broad and strong, a testament to the countless hours he spent in the gym, sculpting his body to perfection. He'd flex for her often, joking about how they could double as a shelf. It was his way of showing off without being too obvious, and she found it utterly adorable.

"What?" Justin's eyes flicked to hers, catching her stare, the smirk on his face growing wider. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "You got something to say?"

She released a small chuckle, the sound like a warm breeze through a quiet room. "Just admiring the shelves," she teased, her voice light and playful.

Justin shot her a look of mock indignation before his eyes softened, a knowing smile playing across his lips. "What could you possibly like more than these bad boys?" He smiled, rolling her shoulder back dramatically.

She pretended to think, tapping her chin with a manicured finger. "Hmm, let me see," she said, her voice thick with playfulness. She stepped closer to him, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet. Reaching up, she gently touched his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. "I think I might have to go with these guys," she murmured, pressing her hands flat against his pecs and giving them a little squeeze.

Justin's eyes widened in feigned surprise, and he grabbed her wrists, playfully holding them away from his chest. "Woah, don't go getting any ideas," he said, though the heat in his gaze told her he didn't mind the attention at all.

She giggled, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "But seriously," she continued, "I love your smile. It was the first thing I noticed about you after I got over the height shock."

Justin couldn't hold back said smile from her comment, his cheek dimpling slightly as his cheeks began to flush pink. He leaned down, kissing her gently on the forehead. "Thank you, baby," he whispered, his voice a low rumble.

"What about me? What's your favorite part of me?" She asked, her voice a soft purr as she stepped closer, the warmth of their bodies mingling, her arms slinking around his slender waist.

Justin paused for a moment, his eyes scanning her face as if conflicting. "The PG answer would be your eyes," he said, his voice low and sincere. "They're like warm chocolate, inviting and filled with so much depth. But if we're being totally honest here..."

She felt a thrill of anticipation run through her as he trailed off, her pulse quickening. She knew where this was going and she liked it, a lot.

"The not-so-PG answer?" she prodded him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and a hint of mischief.

Justin leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Don't act like you don't know," he whispered, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

She bit her bottom lip, her fingers pressing circles into his lower back as she felt the heat of his words. She knew exactly what he meant, but she enjoyed the thrill of seeing him speak the dirty thoughts she knew he had. "Oh, I know," she murmured back, her voice dripping with sweet sarcasm. "But I just love it when you say it out loud."

Justin chuckled, his hands moving down to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing teasingly over her nipples. "Well, if you insist," he said, his voice thick with desire. "The not-so-PG answer, your boobs. They're perfect, babe. So soft, but firm, and the way they fit in my hands..."

"Justin," she admonished, though her voice was breathless, giving away her true feelings. He chuckled, his grip on her tightening for a moment before releasing her.

C = Cum

Justin Herbert is a freak. That's what she thinks as she watches him get dressed, his body moving with the grace of an athlete, his shoulders flexing as he pulls on a clean, white t-shirt. She can't help but stare at his crotch, the outline of his semi-erect cock still visible through the fabric of his sweatpants. She bites her lip, remembering the feel of him inside her. His sticky cum warming her insides as she remains perched on their bed, thighs pressed together to keep it from dripping out.

Her eyes drift down to her own body, the way her chocolate skin glows in the soft light of their bedroom. Her breasts are full and sensitive, nipples still hard from the attention they've received. She runs her fingers over them and a shiver runs down her spine. Justin catches her in the act and raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing as he finishes lacing up his sneakers.

It's a strange, primal feeling, one she's never really been able to put into words, but it's something she's grown to love. The way he takes her so thoroughly, so completely, until he can't hold back anymore and releases himself inside her. It's like a declaration of ownership, a silent promise that she's his and he's hers. It's messy and raw, but it's also incredibly intimate.

"Should keep you warm 'till I get back, yeah?" Justin winked, he was always so casual about it, but she knew it was his way of showing he wasn't ashamed, that this was just a part of their love.

She nodded, tilting her head up as he hand reached down to cup her cheek, thumb tracing her plump bottom lip. "I'll miss you," she murmured, her voice thick with desire and a hint of sadness.

"I'll be quick, baby," Justin promised, planting one last kiss on her lips before he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. She watched him go, the feeling of his touch still lingering on her cheek where he'd touched her. She felt a pang of something, a yearning that made her stomach clench.

D = Dirty Secret

There wasn't much Justin wouldn't do to keep her happy, to keep her smiling and humming with satisfaction, but he had his own little secret, something that even in their most intimate moments he kept hidden. He had a bit of a voyeuristic streak. It didn't manifest often, and never in a way that would make her uncomfortable, but every once in a while, when she thought he was out of the room or busy with something else, he'd catch a glimpse of her in the shower or getting dressed and he couldn't help but watch. It was the way she moved, the way her body flowed like water, naturally and unabashedly.

E = Experience

Being each other's firsts for almost everything intimate, she and Justin had grown together in experience, exploring every inch of each other's bodies with the excitement of new lovers and the patience of old souls reunited. They'd stumbled through clumsy moments and laughed at awkward attempts, but with each encounter, they learned more about what the other liked, what made their hearts race, and what made them moan in ecstasy.

It took them a decent amount of time to work up the courage to talk about what they liked and what they didn't in the bedroom. But once they did, the floodgates opened, and they discovered a whole new level of intimacy. Justin was a quick learner, always eager to please her. He studied her responses like he was memorizing a complex playbook, making mental notes of what made her breath hitch and her eyes roll back.

F = Favorite Position

"Fuck," she moaned under her breath as she felt the familiar warmth spreading from her core. Her back was pressed firmly against Justin's broad chest as they lay on their sides, his lips pressing lazy kisses along her neck and shoulder. She whimpered as his cock nudged against that sweet spot, the friction from his movements causing delicious shivers to dance along her spine. "Gonna cum," she breathed out, her voice barely audible as she attempted to refrain from screaming out her pleasure.

Justin's grin was wicked as one hand held her open for him. His large hands gripping her thigh, his cock slipping in and out of her with a steady rhythm that had her toes curling and her nails digging into the bed. This was his favorite position, spooning her from behind. It was intimate, yet dominating. He could feel every inch of her, every shiver and tremble, every gasp and moan. It was like he was reading her body like a book, each sound and movement a page telling him how close she was to the edge.

G = Goofy

She tried to stifle a giggle as Justin's teeth nipped at the inside of her thighs. He knew she was ticklish, and the action was entirely intentional. "Justin," she breathed, half in protest, half in pleasure. He just chuckled against her skin, biting the sensitive skin again she erupted into a fit of giggles.

"You're so bad," she murmured, her voice a mix of reprimand and arousal.

"Shh, just relax," he whispered back, his voice teasing as he continued to explore her body with his mouth, his teeth grazing her skin.

H = Hair

Whether it was the hair on his head or in other places, during the season, Justin held very little space in his brain for anything other than football, her, and food. His blonde hair was often a messy halo around his head, the result of countless hours under the helmet and even more under the shower. But she didn't mind. She liked the way it fell into his eyes, the way it felt against her fingertips as she'd run her hands through it while they cuddled after a game.

And when it came to other regions, Justin's grooming habits were meticulous, much to her delight. He kept himself well-trimmed and clean, a courtesy that she appreciated more than he knew. She figured it was the locker room environment that forced him to pay attention to such details, but she liked to think it was just one of the many ways he made sure she stayed happy.

I = Intimacy

Her nails dug into Justin's biceps as he drove his hips into hers, their bodies moving in perfect sync. Sweat-slicked skin, their breathing ragged, the air heavy with the scent of their passion. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as he pressed his forehead against hers. Blue eyes searched brown, looking for any sign that she was ready. When he found it, that little spark of pleasure in her gaze, he thrust harder, pushing them both closer to the edge.

Their noses nudged against each other, moans spilling into each other's open mouths as the intimacy between them grew, swelling like the crescendo of a symphony. Her eyes fluttered shut, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as Justin's teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck. His tongue traced the line of her jaw, lapping at the salty taste of her sweat, and she shivered in response, her body arching back to give him better access.

"Mm," she moaned, her voice a sweet hum of pleasure that danced around the room. She felt Justin's cock thicken inside her, his grip tightening around her right thigh as he increased his pace. Her hands found his hair, her fingers curling into the soft strands. She pulled his head back, exposing his neck to her eager mouth. He tasted like salt and sweat, a heady mix that sent a thrill down her spine. She lightly bit at his Adam's apple, core fluttering as he moaned in response.

Justin's eyes rolled back, his pupils blown wide as her teeth grazed his neck. He could feel the orgasm building, his balls tightening as her walls began to spasm around him. His tongue traced the shell of her ear, whispering sweet nothings that only added to the crescendo of pleasure building between them. He knew just how much she liked it when he talked dirty, but he also knew when to pull back and let the quiet moments speak louder than any words.

They were both experienced enough to know when the other was close, and she could feel the tension in Justin's body as he held back, waiting for her. She didn't need to say anything; her grip on his hair, the way her hips met his thrusts, told him everything he needed to know. He felt her pussy tighten around his cock, her breaths hitching in that telltale pattern that signaled she was about to come. And when she did, it was like a dam had broken. Her nails dug into his skin, her back arching off the bed as a keening cry tore from her throat.

Justin followed her over the edge, his orgasm hitting like a wave, strong and all-consuming. He groaned, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he pumped his seed deep inside her. The sensation of her body contracting around his was heavenly, and he held on, savoring the feeling as it washed over him.

J = Jack Off

Neither of them are big on masturbation, not when they have each other. But when they're apart, like when Justin's on the road, she finds herself with more than just idle hands. Her fingers trace the outline of her clit, the memory of his touch guiding her movements. She imagines it's him, his rough palms and skilled fingers working her over until she's begging for more.

Justin rarely had time to indulge in solo play during the season. Between the constant physical exertion and his demanding schedule, his body was usually too exhausted to crave additional release. But on those rare occasions when the need struck him, he found solace in his own hand. He'd stroke himself slowly, remembering the way her tight grip felt around his length, her soft moans echoing in his mind. He'd close his eyes and think of her face, the way her eyes rolled back and she struggled to catch her breath when she climaxed. It was never the same as the real thing, but it helped to ease the ache of being apart.

Despite being more than comfortable with each other's bodies, they had only talked about their masturbation habits once or twice in college. Phone sex had, similarly, only happened once, a desperate attempt to bridge the distance between them when Justin had been at a summer training camp. It had ended with both of them feeling more frustrated than satisfied, the phone call quality too poor to make it worth the effort.

K = Kink

Being 6'6", it was inevitable that Justin had developed a size kink. The power dynamics that came with his towering frame and her comparable smaller one had become a subtle but significant part of their sex life. He enjoyed making her feel small and delicate, his hands spanning her waist as he picked her up with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bed. She, in turn, loved the feeling of being utterly consumed by him, his size a constant reminder of his dominance in the most caring of ways.

There was something about putting all her trust in him, letting him do as he pleased, that made her feel both vulnerable and incredibly powerful. It was a thrill that never got old, and it was one of their unspoken kinks. She liked it when Justin took control, when he pinned her down and drew the sweetest sounds from her lips. It was like he was claiming her all over again, every single time they were together.

L = Location

Privacy had always been the most important thing to Justin. With his celebrity status, any slip-up could lead to a PR nightmare. In public, any hint of temptation was swiftly dismissed, a quick peck on the cheek or a squeeze of the hand was all he allowed himself. But in the confines of their sprawling Brentwood home, the walls of their master suite were witness to their uninhibited passion.

Their favorite spot was the large four-poster bed with the soft, white linens that looked almost virgin in their pristine state. But once they began to move together, the sheets would be a tangled mess of sweat and desire, stained with the evidence of their love. The room was spacious, with large windows that looked out over the sprawling backyard, but they rarely drew the curtains, preferring the dim light of the setting sun to play across their skin as they lost themselves in each other's embrace.

On occasion, she and Justin indulged in their more adventurous side, pushing the boundaries of their comfort zones and getting carried away in the hot tub on their secluded patio. The jets of water caressed their bodies, creating a gentle, rhythmic pulsing that mimicked the throbbing between their legs. The night sky above them was a blanket of stars, twinkling down like a silent audience to their passionate display.

Other times, they would spill into the living room, eagerly pulling at each other's clothes as the fireplace crackled in the background, the flickering light casting shadows across their entwined limbs. The plush couch would creak under their weight as Justin took her from behind, her moans muffled by the cushion as she buried her face into the fabric. He'd whisper filthy things into her ear, his breath hot and heavy as he pushed into her, the friction driving them both wild.

The rarest of locations was the kitchen island. It was usually reserved for quick kisses and midnight snacks, but every so often it became the stage for a passionate encounter neither of them had planned. She had been up late, working on a particularly difficult assignment, and Justin had stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. She'd looked up from her laptop, bleary-eyed and frustrated, and their eyes had met over the gleaming countertop.

Without a word, Justin had set the glass down and crossed the room, his cock already hardening as he approached her. He'd hoisted her up onto the cold marble, the shock of the cold sending a delicious shiver through her body. He kissed her hard, his tongue pushing into her mouth as his hands found her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh. She moaned into his mouth, her legs wrapping around his waist as he ground against her.

Within minutes, the kitchen counter had become a battlefield of passion, her laptop shoved aside as they gave in to the animalistic urgency that had overtaken them. The scent of their desire mingled with the faint lingering aroma of dinner, and the cool marble a welcome counterpart to the heat of their bodies. Justin's hands roamed her curves, tracing her waist before sliding under her shirt to cup her breasts. He palmed them greedily, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting gasps that were swallowed by his hungry kisses.

M = Motivation

She stood eagerly along the sidelines, neck straining as she attempted to catch a glimpse of Justin, hoping to give him a good luck kiss before he took the field. The air was electric with excitement and anticipation, the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant aroma of stadium food wafting through the air. Despite the roar of the crowd, she felt a sudden sense of peace, her heart fluttering in her chest as her eyes locked with his. His grin was infectious, white helmet in hand as his long legs carried him towards her.

She felt a rush of warmth spread through her as Justin's gaze met hers, his blue eyes piercing through the chaos. She knew that look, the one that said he took note of her choice of attire. The oversized '10' jersey fell large over her frame, falling to her mid-thigh, black biker shorts peeking out from underneath, revealing her brown, moisturized legs. It was a tease she knew he appreciated, and she bit her bottom lip in a playful challenge.

Justin stepped closer, his matching jersey clinging to his chest, and whispered, "Love what you're wearing, baby," his voice filled with mischief. His hand slid down her side, grazing the fabric of her shorts before giving her a gentle pat on the ass. It was a simple gesture, but it was all the motivation she needed to feel a flood of arousal between her legs. She knew what he was thinking, what he wanted.

"Kiss?" She whispered against his ear, her breath hot and sweet. She knew he would never go for it but she always asked anyway, shamefully hoping to break him down one day.

"Can't risk it," he murmured back, his voice thick with regret. "But I'll make it up to you tonight, I promise."

Her face warmed at the promise, her heart racing in anticipation. She nodded, whispering, "Go kick some ass, 10." With one last smile, he pulled away, the pads of his fingers leaving a tingling imprint on her skin.

Wins were always sweeter with her waiting for him. After the game, showered and dressed in his street clothes, Justin felt a new kind of energy coursing through his veins. The adrenaline from the win mixed with the anticipation of what awaited him at home.

N = No

Justin had always drawn a hard line when it came to what he was comfortable doing in public. He knew all too well the consequences of a misstep. Living in Los Angeles, there was always someone with a camera lurking, ready to capture the most intimate of moments. So he was firm in his stance that certain acts were strictly reserved for the privacy of their home. She was lucky if he did anything more than hold her hand or give her a peck on the cheek in public, even when the desire to devour her whole was practically eating him alive.

Even around their families, she and Justin remained relatively chaste. Exchanging quick pecks when they thought no one was watching, their thighs pressed together when he pulled her chair closer to his at the dinner table. It wasn't that they were shy or embarrassed, but rather they enjoyed keeping some things just for them. The secret glances, the knowing smirks, it was their silent love language that spoke volumes without a single word.

In private, Justin's hardest no was anything that didn't include her consent. He'd always made it clear that their relationship was built on trust, respect, and open communication. While he had his kinks and fantasies, he knew that pushing her boundaries without her full consent was a betrayal of the love they shared. He'd seen the way some of his teammates treated their partners, the casual disregard for boundaries that often left the women feeling used rather than loved. He was determined never to be that kind of man, out of respect for her and her comfort.

That line included any form of degradation. He recognized that being married to a professional athlete came with a certain level of scrutiny and pressure, and he wasn't about to add to that by treating her poorly in any way, especially in their intimate moments.

O = Oral

Gun to his head, Justin wouldn't be able to choose. He adored giving her head, worshipping at the altar of her pussy like it was the holy grail. Her taste was an intoxicant, the sweetness of her arousal a potent elixir that he never tired of. His tongue slithered over her folds, delving into her depths with a hunger that bordered on obsession. Her legs would shake, her back arching off the bed as he worked her over, her moans guiding him like a siren's call to a sailor lost at sea.

He would spend the rest of his life between her thighs if she'd let him. He always took his time, savoring the moment, drawing out her pleasure until she was a trembling mess. She would try to push him away, her body too sensitive, but he knew better. He'd hold her down, his strong hands anchoring her to the bed, and continue to lick and nip and suck as if starved.

On the other hand, he quietly craved the feeling of her mouth around him, the way her eyes would lock onto his as she took him in deeper. She had a way of making him feel like a king with every swipe of her tongue, every gentle suck. She was meticulous, eager to learn what made him moan, what made his toes curl, and what would make him come undone. And when she finally took him all the way in, her throat tight and hot, it was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Deep moans would dissolve into hitched breaths and curses as she worked him over, her hand moving in tandem with her mouth. The sight was almost too much for him to handle—his beautiful, shy wife, on her knees, her mouth full of his cock. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, introverted woman he knew her to be in the outside world, but here, in the sanctuary of their bedroom, she was a goddess of passion, unleashing a side of herself that only he got to see.

It drove him wild, that secret power she had over him. The way she could bring him to his knees with just a look or a touch. His head would fall back, the veins in his neck standing out as he chased his climax, his eyes rolling back in his head. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she watched him lose control.

P = Pace

She felt the heat between her legs build as she squirmed on the counter, her pussy aching to be filled. She braced herself against the cool marble, her thighs falling open as Justin's hand trailed up her leg, teasing her inner thigh. The anticipation was unbearable, a delicious torment that made her whimper for more.

"Needy little thing," Justin murmured, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in the sight of her wanton display. "Pussy's begging for it, isn't she?"

"Yes," she breathed, her voice trembling. She was already so wet, she could feel the slickness of her arousal coating her thighs. Her cotton shorts were a flimsy barrier that she desperately wished would disappear.

Justin's hand slid under the hem of her shorts, his fingers finding their way to her clit with undeterred precision. He began to rub her in tight, firm, fast circles as he leaned in to kiss her again. The contrast of his roughness and the gentle caress of his lips was like a lightning strike to her core, making her quiver and gasp. She could feel the muscles in her thighs tense, the pressure building as he teased her closer and closer to the edge.

The kitchen light bounced off his silver wedding band, a stark contrast to his tanned skin as he slid his hand into her shorts. She gripped the counter harder, her stomach tensing. His thumb circled her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to keep her on the precipice of orgasm. His other hand wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her in place as his kiss grew more demanding.

Justin's hand slid down, his middle finger pushing into her wetness. Her legs quivered as he began to pump in and out of her, setting a pace that was both maddening and exquisite. She could feel herself getting wetter, her juices coating his digit. The sound of their kisses and her muffled moans filled the kitchen, the only noises in the otherwise quiet house.

Q = Quickie

During the season, their sex life practically survived on quickies. With Justin's demanding schedule and her work commitments, moments alone were scarce, making their stolen encounters even hotter. They'd often find themselves in the shower, the warm water cascading down their bodies as they kissed with an urgency that only came from knowing they had to be quick.

Justin would pin her against the tiles, his hand squeezing her ass as he slid into her, the steam rising around them like a curtain of passion. She would wrap her legs around his waist, her nails digging into his back as they moved together, the water making their skin slick and their movements more intense. The rush of pleasure was always worth it, even if it left them both panting and wanting more.

Quickies were a guilty pleasure for her, a chance to get her fill of Justin when time was not on their side. She liked the urgency, the way their bodies collided with no preamble, no time for shyness or self-consciousness. It was raw, primal, and incredibly satisfying, leaving her feeling both relieved and famished for the next time they could be together.

They would try to get their fill whenever possible. After a particularly intense game, in the morning before the world woke up, in the middle of the night when insomnia struck, and in the afternoon when they should be trying to nap.

The offseason was the direct opposite. They could go over a week without feeling the urge to jump each other's bones at every opportunity. It was a natural ebb and flow to their relationship, a chance to catch their breath and enjoy the quiet moments together. When they did have sex, it was usually slow and sensual, a chance to reconnect after the chaotic season.

Rounds stretched into a marathon of passion as she and Justin lost themselves in each other. Her nails dug into his back as she met every thrust with eager hips. Their bodies moved in a symphony of desire, the only music the slap of skin and the wet sounds of their union.

R = Risk

"How many times do you think you could come?" She asked, the question leaving her lips in a casual fashion as they lay entangled together in between crisp white sheets. Justin was still half-asleep as the sun began to peek through the windows of their bedroom.

Justin's eyes snapped open, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "Is that a challenge?" he murmured, his voice still gruff from sleep.

"Now you pay attention?" She teased, her voice a low purr as she traced her fingers through his hairline, feeling the softness of the strands between her digits.

Justin's grin grew wider. "Always do, baby," he said, his hand snaking down to her waist, giving it a firm squeeze. "But I'm guessing you've got something in mind?"

"I think you've got two max." She said, her voice dripping with confidence. "You're always a little out of it after the first. But we can test it?"

Justin's eyes sparked with a competitive fire. "You're on," he murmured, rolling them over so that she was straddling him, her knees on either side of his hips.

S = Stamina

Justin lasts unfathomably long. It's a trait that she both adores and is slightly envious of. She can rarely match his energy, often coming twice before he even considers announcing his own release. But she tries, oh how she tries. There's something about watching him, feeling him, that makes her want to push him to his limits. It's a silent competition they've had since they were younger and inexperienced, each eager to outdo the other, to give the most pleasure.

He's like a well-oiled machine in bed, his body moving with precision and strength that mirrors his performance on the field. But it's not just his stamina that amazes her, it's his ability to keep her on the edge, to read her body like a book, to know exactly when to push her over.

Justin's stamina wasn't just physical, it was mental too. He could keep going for hours, bringing her to the brink and pulling her back, only to do it again and again until she was begging him to let her come. He thrived on her reactions, the way her eyes would roll back, the way she'd bite her lip and arch her back, her nails digging into his skin.

T = Toys

It's just not his thing. She has a vibrator, a small pink device that she enjoys when he's out of town. It's not something they talk about often, but the unspoken understanding is there. They respect each other's needs and privacy. On more than one occasion, she's caught him staring blankly at the small, harmless toy tucked into her nightstand drawer, eyes squinted at his competition.

When they're together, toys are never part of the equation. Justin's hands, mouth, and cock are more than enough for her. Plus, the idea of sharing her with anything else makes him possessive in a way that's both thrilling and a little intimidating. He's not a toy person—her body was more than enough for him.

U = Unfair

She was perched in Justin's lap, sitting pretty in her favorite seat. His blue eyes were hidden from view as he released shallow breaths through his nose, trying his best to keep his hands to himself. It was a game they often played, one that usually ended with her skipping away with a self-satisfied hum and Justin glaring at her with a mix of love and annoyance.

Her hips rocked into his clothed erection, soft moans escaping her lips as she smiled with a wicked grin. There was too much fabric between them for Justin's taste, but he knew better than to push it. She had a way of teasing him that made him crazy with need, and he wasn't about to ruin the moment by rushing her.

"You're such a tease," he murmured, his voice strained as his cock grew harder against her.

"Poor baby," she pouted with a mocking tone, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She knew exactly what she was doing, and the power of it made her feel alive. "I'm literally sitting on your dick. What more could you possibly need from me?"

Justin's jaw clenched as he fought the urge to rip her shorts off. "You know what I want," he said, his voice low and gruff.

She leaned in, her breath hot against his neck. "Do I?" she whispered, her teeth grazing his skin. "Tell me, baby."

"Sweetheart," Justin warned, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily. Her hands pressed against his chest, using him as leverage to grind herself down on him. He could feel her warmth even through the fabric, the friction building a delicious ache.

"Mm?" she hummed, feigned innocence playing across her features as she leaned in for a playful, fleeting pull of his bottom lip. "Do you want me to stop?"

Justin groaned, his hands gripping at the sheets. "Fuck no," he managed to get out, his voice a desperate rasp. He watched as she pulled her shorts off, discarding the flimsy material to reveal her glistening pussy. He felt the heat radiate off of her, his own need making his vision swim. "Please, baby..."

"Hmm?" She straddled him again, her pussy pressing into his covered erection, her essence leaving a damp spot on the fabric of his boxers. "Tell me what you want, J."

Justin's eyes darkened with lust. "I want you to sit on it," he ground out, his voice tight with need. "Take my cock, baby. Wanna make you feel so good."

"Sweet boy, is that what you want?" She whispered. She slid her hand down his stomach, her fingers tracing the outline of his shaft through his boxers. He watched, breath held, as she hooked her thumb into the waistband and pulled it down, freeing him. His cock sprang up, eager and demanding, and she licked her lips as she took it in her hand.

V = Volume

The advantage of refraining from any public escapades was that they never had to worry about volume. In the quiet of their master suite, Her moans could fill the room without a care. With the door locked and the world outside oblivious to their passion, they could be as loud as they liked.

Justin is undoubtedly a grunter and a moaner. He's not shy about it, and she loves it. His noises are like a symphony to her ears, each one telling her exactly how good she's making him feel. It turns her on, makes her want to push him even further, to elicit more of those deep, guttural sounds.

The grunts are more common when he's driving into her deep, folding her in half with the power of his thrusts. The grunts start off low and slow, building up like the crescendo of a rock anthem before peaking and subsiding into a series of staccato moans as he hits his rhythm.

His moans were more common when she was on top. The visual of her full breasts bouncing with each roll of her hips, her eyes glazed over with pleasure, was too much for him to handle quietly. When she leaned back, taking him in deep, her ass bouncing in his hands, he'd let out a low groan that resonated in his chest. It was a sound that seemed to echo through the room, a declaration of his need and a plea for her to keep going.

Regardless of position, he was a talker. Justin had a knack for whispering sweet nothings and dirty somethings that never failed to make her wetter. He'd praise her, tell her how good she felt, how tight she was, how much he loved her. It was a verbal foreplay that could make her come on its own. But when they were at the height of passion, the words turned into incoherent sounds of pleasure.

She was primarily a moaner, her voice rising and falling in a symphony of pleasure that was music to Justin's ears. Her sounds grew more intense as he took her closer to the edge, her breath hitching as she whispered his name in a plea for more.

When she came, it was always with a whined curse that melted into a breathless moan. Her walls tightening around him as she threw her head back, her nails leaving half-moon imprints on his shoulders. Justin's eyes rolled back, his own release a heartbeat away as he watched her fall apart.

W = Wild Card

It was one of those nights where the tension between them was palpable, the kind that made the air thick and charged. They had both had a long week, and the stress of their separate worlds weighed heavy on their shoulders. She had just come home from a particularly grueling day at work, her mind racing with numbers and algorithms that seemed to follow her into the bedroom.

Justin looked up from his iPad, the concern in his eyes unmistakable. He knew that look on her face—the one that meant she needed a good, hard fuck to clear her head. He set the device aside and stood up, his cock already twitching at the thought. "You okay?"

She looked over at him, her eyes heavy-lidded with need. "Just stress," she murmured, her voice tight. She was seated at the desk in the corner of their bedroom, glasses perched adorably on her nose, bright laptop screen casting a soft glow across her cheeks.

Justin could see the exhaustion etched into her features, the way she sat hunched over her work. He knew she'd been working overtime, trying to meet an impossible deadline while he was away at training camp. "Take a break, baby," he said softly, walking over to her.

"Can't," she murmured, not looking up. "Need to finish this."

But Justin had other plans. He stepped behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders to massage the tense muscles. She leaned into his touch with a sigh, her eyes slipping closed as his thumbs dug into her neck.

"Let me help you, hmm?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive. His hands slid down her chest, cupping her breasts over her shirt, and her eyes shot open in surprise. She looked up at him through her glasses, a small smile playing on her lips. "Come to bed, babe."

With a nod, she saved her work and allowed him to lead her to the king-sized monstrosity that was their bed. He gently helped her onto it, his hands moving to her waist to pull her to sit on his thighs. He kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth, tasting the mint of her toothpaste and the sweetness of her tongue.

His hands roamed up her torso, caressing her breasts before moving to her back to unbutton her shirt. She felt the fabric slide off her shoulders, the cool air of the air-conditioned room kissing her skin. She shivered as Justin's hands found her bra clasp and released her breasts. He cupped them, his thumbs teasing her nipples into tight peaks before his mouth followed.

She moaned softly as she ground her hips down onto him, feeling him throb with desire. He was always so hard for her, and she loved the power that came with knowing she could do this to him—make him ache and beg.

Justin's hands slid up her thighs, his thumbs grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, making her squirm. His touch was featherlight, but it sent shockwaves through her body. He knew her so well, knew exactly how to make her crazy with want.

"Fuck, I'm so wet," she chuckled, her hips moving of their own accord. "How do you do this to me?"

Justin's smile grew wider, his hand moving to her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "It was in my vows," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. "To love, honor, and drive you crazy."

With a giggle, she leaned back, allowing him to pull her shorts and underwear off in one fluid motion. She straddled him, her naked body pressing into his, and the heat of his skin was like a brand against her own. His cock was thick and hard, nestled between her thighs, and she could feel the slickness of her desire coating it.

Justin's hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her as if it was the first time. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His tongue danced over her skin, tasting her, marking her as his. Her breath hitched as his teeth grazed her earlobe, her eyes rolling back at the sensation.

"Gonna clear that stress right out of you," Justin murmured, his voice thick with desire. He reached between them, his hand wrapping around his shaft to guide it to her entrance. Her breath hitched as he pushed into her, his length filling her completely, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out.

Their eyes locked as they moved together, the rhythm slow and deliberate. Every inch of him was a sweet torture, a delicious reminder of why they loved each other so fiercely. Her hips began to roll in a steady, mesmerizing pattern, her nails digging into his shoulders. She could feel the beginnings of an orgasm, a slow build that seemed to coil in her belly.

Justin's hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, setting a pace that was driving him wild. His eyes were dark with lust, his teeth clenched as he watched her ride him, her breasts bobbing with each movement. "Talk to me, baby," he urged, his voice a gruff whisper. "Tell me how it feels."

She leaned back, her palms pressing into his thighs as she took him in deeper. "It feels...like - fuck," she managed, her voice breathy as she lost her train of thought. "I can't think straight, J."

Justin's smile grew wolfish. "Good," he murmured, his hips meeting hers in a punishing rhythm. "That's exactly what I want." He reached up, wrapping his hand around her throat, the gesture gentle but firm. Her eyes fluttered closed, moaning as her hips stuttered against his.

Their bodies moved in a silent conversation, speaking of love and need and a desire so deep it was almost painful. Justin felt the tension coil tighter and tighter in his stomach, his balls drawing up with the promise of release. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her pussy fluttering in anticipation.

"Gonna paint your pretty walls, baby," Justin growled, his grip on her throat tightening as he watched her pussy swallow him whole. The thought of coming inside her was almost too much to bear. He'd been fantasizing about this all week, about filling her up and watching her come apart on his cock.

Her eyes snapped open, her pupils blown wide. "Please," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I need it. Need your cum, please."

Justin groaned, his grip tightening before he let go of her throat, his thumb tracing a gentle line down her neck. "Fuck, babe," he breathed, his own need spiraling out of control. He watched as she leaned back, her fingers finding her clit, her movements frantic as she worked herself closer to the edge.

Her back arched, her eyes screwed shut, and Justin knew she was close. He reached up, his hand joining hers, his thumb pressing into her clit. The sound of their joined moans was the sweetest music, and he could feel her body tightening around him, her orgasm approaching.

He slammed into her one last time, his own release crashing over him like a wave. Cum spurted from his cock, filling her up, just as he had promised. Her walls clamped down on him, milking him for every drop as she came with a keening cry.

Justin's grip on her hips loosened as he collapsed back onto the bed, panting heavily. She slumped forward, her forehead resting against his chest as she tried to catch her breath. "Goddamn," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

She giggled, the sound muffled by his skin. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I didn't mean to... I just needed..."

"Shh," Justin soothed, his hands stroking her back. "You never have to apologize for that, baby." He kissed her forehead, his heart still racing. "I know you needed some stress relief. I'm just happy to be the one to give it to you."

She leaned into his embrace, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through her. She loved how he always knew exactly what she needed, even when she couldn't put it into words. His gentle touch was soothing, grounding her in the present moment.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes still closed. The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioner. The cool air brushed against her sweat-slicked skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

X = X-ray

He's 6'6" and it's really pretty.

Y = Yearning

Between the two of them, her sex drive was the more insatiable of the two. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of erotic thoughts and desires, a constant throb of yearning that only Justin seemed to truly understand. She craved the intimacy of his touch, the way he could make her feel seen and desired. Her body responded to him on a primal level, a hunger that was never fully sated.

That's not to say that Justin didn't have his own moments of intense need. But it was different for him. His job was physical, demanding, and often left him drained. Yet when he saw her, his body responded with an eagerness that surprised him every time. It was like his body had a reserve just for her, a spring of desire that filled him up again the moment she was near.

Z = Zzz

It depends on the intensity of their session. Sometimes, they'd collapse into a heap of tangled limbs, panting and sweaty, and sleep would claim them almost instantly. Other times, particularly after one of their more explosive encounters, they'd lie in the aftermath, their bodies humming with satisfaction as they talked into the early hours of the morning.

Tonight, however, it was a quickie. The kind that left them both breathless and smiling, but with enough energy to spare for a little pillow talk. Justin's arms were wrapped around her waist, his chest rising and falling in time with her own. His cock was still hard, but he knew better than to push for another round—not yet.

"I missed this," she murmured, her voice sleepy as she snuggled closer to him. "Miss seeing you happy."

Justin's heart squeezed at her words. He knew she'd been worried about him, especially with the season amping up. The pressure was immense, and it was a relief to find solace in her arms. "Missed you too," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm always happy with you."

"I know, but I miss seeing that smile," she said, her voice still a little breathless. She leaned back to look at him, her brown eyes searching his blue ones. "You worry me sometimes." She admitted, her hand tracing his jawline.

Justin's smile grew soft, and he leaned into her touch. "I'm okay, sweetheart. Promise. I've got you to come home to," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent warmth to her chest. "That's all the happiness I need."

#&. cassie writes.#justin herbert #la chargers #los angeles chargers #justin herbert imagine #justin herbert x reader #justin herbert fanfic #justin herbert smut #justin herbert x black!reader #x black!reader #black!reader #x black fem reader #black fem reader #x black reader #black reader

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biibini · 5 months ago

Text

nsfw alphabet: mizu

the iconic nsfw alphabet herself.

tags: smut, smut, LOTS of smut, modern!mizu, f!reader, mizu is a munch, dirty talk, praise, mizu (once again) has a DIRTY mouth, fingering, teasing, begging, she pussy whipped lets be real, aftercare, cum play, public sex, idk if a house party counts as public but shh, risky sex

a/n: i don’t think i got the guts and time to do smuttober but at least this is what i got (✿◦’ᴗ˘◦)♡ hope yall enjoy <3

18+ content below!

A — aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

i’ve written this a few times but mizu would be focused on making you as comfortable as possible

tea, cuddles, run a bath, kisses inbetween

the works

she doesn’t want it to ever feel like some transactional act

and focuses on being gentle despite how rough she may go

there’s a lot of love and care that you will get from her

B — Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

her arms are probably her favorite body part, especially after seeing the results from consistently going to the gym

but your body? it’s hard to pinpoint

she will embraces all parts of your body, curves and all

however, i think her favorite part would have to be your thighs

whether you’re sitting on her lap or on her face, she is pro-leg

she’s not too pda but if it’s on your bday, anniversary, or a special day, best believe her hand will be on your thigh when you sit together or in the car

when she’s driving a car, she loves to gently run her hand up and down… maybe even get a little close to tease you on the drive back home

C — Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

she don’t gaf: give a fuck!

messy, messy, messyyyyyy sex

she loves it on her face, tasting your juices after eating you out, licking it like her final meal

the feeling of you cumming by her tongue excites her

it’s like she’s obsessed with your taste

if it’s on her fingers, its licked clean before she puts them back inside again for another round

It’s late into the night and almost finishing the second round. It may just be the second, but my god, you were so drenched. On the other, Mizu was pussy-drunk and lapping away, your cum covering the lower half of her face.

You groan for the third time, feeling her needy tongue make contact with your puffy clit. A cry comes out when she inserts a digit into your soaking pit.

So overstimulating, yet so delicious.

You moan her name again. God, sex never felt so good.

D — Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

she’ll occasionally indulge in degredation during rough sex

if you guys haven’t seen each other in a while… oh that side of her is coming out

(thinking back to that blurb i wrote of her being mean during phone sex)

you have talked about it together with her about where your boundaries lie and you are okay

but she doesn’t want to do it all the time because she wants to make you feel so loved during the act

however,

(ahem)

you’re just so good to her

it’s hard to not call you her needy slut when she’s getting rough and extra mean

“You’re just too good for me, huh…”, Mizu teases, slowly pulling 3 digits out of your dripping entrance. She pulls out her slender fingers slowly, inch by inch. She then immediately inserts them back in, making you squelch as more of your juices get dispersed and flow out.

A gasp escaped out of your mouth, making your toes curl up. You know she can pull this stunt for hours, and you would still feel tight around her fingers.

You feel Mizu’s tongue lick up and around your entrance as her fingers went to work, fucking you at a slow but passionate pace, making you moan to her rhythm.

It had been a while since you and Mizu have spent the night together. From both of your busy schedules, finals, and Ringo being home more often, tonight was when he left to go home for break.

Mizu had been missing you this entire time, and here you are, moaning just from her fingers entering your core.

“More Mizu, please…”, you begged.

She moans your name, fastening her pace. You groan at the change of pace, her fingers penetrating your gummy walls, now quicker than ever.

it had been so long since you felt Mizu’s touch. You were so desperate to spend some time with her during finals week to blow off some steam and forget about everything except her. You wish you never got fucked over by your classmate who barely did any work and barely communicated with your group, making finals even more harder than it needed to be.

“My pretty girl… what a needy slut she can be.”, Mizu coos. All you could do was nod and moan even louder as her fingers started to curl in your wet insides.

E — Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

when you first met, she had little to no experience being with a woman besides kissing

but after experience with you…

oh she knows what spots to hit

and is MUCH more confident in her skills

F — Favorite position (this goes without saying)

nothing except missionary makes her go crazy

feeling your thighs against her waist and watching your face react to every thrust always ignites something in her

she enjoys being able to grab onto your hips for control

honestly, it gives her so much access to everything

You feel her slowly pull out, easing your muscles down below. Mizu snaps back in, making you groan for the millionth time.

You cry out her name as she continued the slow yet vigorous pace, slowly pulling out and filling you up quickly. Her grip tightens around your thighs, almost hot enough to burn your skin. You look up, your eyes meeting her gentle gaze. Her actions proved otherwise.

Mizu scans your body, panting as she continues the pace. You watch as her eyes slowly goes down. She can do nothing except stare at your fucked-out face and the mess you both created. This included her thrusts coming to a full stop inside you.

“Honey?”, you questioned.

Mizu snaps out of her stare.

“Yes?”

“Why did you stop? Is there something wrong? Did you forget the safeword?”

She looked down and back up at you. Mizu shook her head, laughing at what she just did. She comes close to your head, giving you a reassuring kiss.

“Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to stop. You’re just so beautiful.”

G — Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

she was more serious in the beginning

i blame m*k*o for making her feel so conscious ab her actions in the moment

but she’s become more humorous, especially if you started the moment with teasing

she’s a big fan of the “oh really?”

if you get really playful, her teases would get to you quickly

however, most sessions are serious and focused on both you and her feel good snd comfortable

she will always make sure to say she loves you and give you kisses during or after

H — Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i feel like she would just trim and clean up around the edges

it just makes it easier for you to get better access

in general, she is well groomed and have good hygiene

I — Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

she is focused on you in those moments in bed or anywhere

she is such a sweet romantic in bed and aftercare

in most cases, she loves to praise you and make you feel so loved and well taken care of

Making out with her feels like a dream. Making out with her below you while her toy is inside of you is a whole other level of dreaming. As your lips interlock with hers, you continue your slow pace, up & down, letting her hands guide your hips to the rhythm. Your arms wrap tighter around her neck as you were begging for more.

Pulling out of the kiss, you start panting from the loss of oxygen. However, Mizu wanted more of you as well. You feel her left hand leave your hips, now making contact with your cheek. You’d think she would go back in for more kisses.

You were proven wrong.

Her hand pulling head to the side, giving her full access to your neck. Her lips gently brushing your lips, journeying down your neck, leaving behind small red markings at every stop.

“God, Honey, you smell…”, she stops to get close to your neck. You feel her breath tickling your ear.

“…so good.”

She pulls back to look at her work, now blooming into a vibrant shade of red. She grazes her hand over your neck, feeling the burning heat on your neck.

You look down at her expression, curious yet calm. Her eyes make contact with yours, watching you continue to get fucked by your favorite toy on top of her.

So pretty, Mizu thought.

She tucks your hair behind your right ear, gently cupping your face as the pace below slows down. You still bounce on the toy, feeling the toy fill you up. With every inch inside, it makes you moan in response, yet Mizu was being so soft with you above the waist.

“I love you, my pretty girl.”, she says, halting you to a stop, softly kissing you.

J — Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

she doesn’t do it unless she hasn’t seen you in a while

example: that one phone sex summer during your internship (deep-cut iykyk)

but she wouldn’t use toys on herself

she would imagine how you would act and your facial expressions

K — Kink (one or more of their kinks)

she’s mainly dominant but has those switch moments

but what rlly turns her on is hearing you praise her and calling out her name in the middle of the night

especially when you have to keep it quiet whenever Ringo is home (sorry Ringo)

watching you hold back your moans turns her on soooooo much you don’t even know

but if you two are home alone, best believe she’ll make sure to hear your cries

L — Location (favorite places to do the do)

her room since you both can get into the most comfortable positions on her bed

and she values your comfort

however…

one of the most exciting places was doing it on her motorcycle during sunset (yes its possible)

during the final days of summer break, she decided to show you a secluded cliffside viewpoint of the ocean of her hometown

(and thank god she brought the backpack)

because one kiss led to a makeout session which lead to you bent over her motorcycle seat, gripping onto it as she’s pumping a toy in and out of your dripping entrance

and then further proceeding to her eating you out, spreading cum all over her face

would you ever do it again? probably not

was it sexy as hell? well yes!

M — Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

genuinely hearing your voice get louder and watching your reaction keeps her going

and seeing how wet you get turns her on sooo much

if you guys have one little makeout session and she feels that you’re already soaking wet, she’ll be way more turned on than you

“You’re this wet already?”, Mizu teases. You feel her fingers run up your thighs again, meeting with your soaked panties. She’s always surprised to find you this way after a couple kisses.

Too shy to admit it, you nodded in response.

In return, you feel Mizu’s lips connect with yours again. They slowly start to trail down to your neck, your weakest spot. There, you feel her fingers push against your heat, throbbing with your heartbeat.

Mizu moves closer to your ear. Her breath tickles you, but she wasn’t talking about a laughing matter.

“Let’s go home and finish this.”

N — No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i genuinely feel like she would not be down for choking

a light hold… maybe…

she doesn’t want to put you in danger or squeeze your neck wrong (sowwy)

O — Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

her preference? give, give, and giveeeee

she appreciated receiving, don’t get me wrong

but she just loves to give it to you and hear you babble her name again and again and again

as for skill, she’s had to face the learning curve of going down on you

she barely did oral from her previous relationship and now she’s in a completely different sector

however, she is a fast learner (and so is her tongue who said that one)

P — Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

its a 70/30 sensual vs. rough

she loves to explore and touch every part of you, leaving kisses or little reminders (hickies hehe <3)

and squeeze your thighs as she eats you out slowly, touching every crevice with her tongue and fingers

and feel your reaction with every kiss, especially when you squirm and tighten up whenever she kisses your inner thigh

but sometimes, she gets so into it and that she needs more

that hunger for more of you can get a little rough

still loving but good lord

she’s so touchy and her grasp on you tightens

whenever she gets rougher, you can see the hunger in her eyes

nothing else but dark blue orbs, consumed with longing, staring at you when you look down

when it gets rough, she becomes even more of a tease

usually, she’s sweet and teases you a little before giving you all the praise and love

but teasing while playing rough is soooooo goood

she’ll purposely twist a little harder when she plays with your breasts

or lightly bite your inner thigh before leaving another mark

or finger fucking you faster when you finish, successfully covering her with your juices

Q — Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

she isn’t too fond of quickies just because she hates to speed up the whole process of playing with you

unless she’s desperate

if you’re out in public, best believe she’ll calm you down and tell you to wait until you guys got home

quickies at home? maybe

if you have been wet all day, then yes she would be so down

quickies out in public? ohhh she would love to play that game in a secluded area

far away from everyone and all she can hear is your voice as she pumps two of her digits into you? sign her up!

R — Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

the more she knows you, the more riskier she can get

at first, she wants to make sure that you are okay with everything

even the little things (soooooo sweet)

but a little squeeze here, a rough grasp there

she becomes more open to new things

she loves to experiment with location

a little part inside of her gets off to the risk of getting caught

one time, it got really close at one of taigen’s typically “tame” kickbacks

those were never chill

You watch Ringo pour the jungle juice into your red solo cup. It’s mysterious blue color makes you truly wonder if the drink is “water”, as marked by the sloppy handwriting on the jug’s label.

“Good god, what did Taigen pour in here?”

“Whaaaat?”, Ringo yells. You can barely comprehend him through the loud beats and talking around you. Taigen’s parties were usually full, but seeing this many people packed into the house was surprising.

“I said, What did Taigen”, you point out towards the living room, where Taigen was spotted busting a move the dance floor, “put in here?”, you yell back, now pointing at your cup.

You watch Ringo’s mouth make a little “o”, and then shrug. Oh of course. There always has to be something different with the water at his party.

You sigh and give Ringo a defeated smile, hoping to find Mizu. You take a sup of the supposed “water”, and oh boy it was strong.

You had split from her earlier when Akemi came in and brought all the girls, leaving Taigen and his frat brothers to go kinda really crazy. As happy as you were for both parties, it ended up dividing you and Mizu.

You felt you phone ding against your skirt pocket. It’s a notification from Mizu.

Thank god you charged it before coming here.

You read:

Upstairs by the boys’ game room.

Look up.

Looking up, Mizu is a lighthouse in a sea of drunk college students. You beam at her, and she responds with a smile, cheering with a solo cup in hand. As you climb up the steps, you hear the DJ turn up Fein by Travis Scott.

Oh god, Taigen is going to go crazy.

You climb up the stairs to meet Mizu.

“Finally found you. I’d thought I lost you.”, you tease.

“I’ll always find you.”, Mizu responds.

You feel her arm wrap around your waist, pulling you into a needy kiss.

Woah, where’d that come from.

You pull back, smiling at the sudden move. You smell her breath, minty with a little hint from the blue raspberry drink.

“Hon?”, you ask

Mizu hums in response.

“How much did you drink?”

Mizu stares into her cup. Only a few gulps were left from her filled solo cup. So maybe she did drink a little too much with some of the brothers.

Was it to out-chug Taigen? Maybe.

Is it all hitting now? Maybe.

“Mmmm— a bit.”

Screams of people fill up the room as you spot Taigen bouncing around the dance room, crowded around his friends as they chant along to the song, putting the spotlight on him. While others joined the floor, you were distracted with Mizu’s lips placing kisses down to your neck, lightly nibbling near your ear.

“Mizu!”, you quietly yelped.

She couldn’t care less about the party once her lips locked with yours again. Something about that water was dangerous, and she was fully aware when Taigen challenged her to a chug battle and show off his proclaimed “chug jug skills”.

Did Mizu know the consequences? Maybe.

Did she win? Yes.

Was she dizzy from the mystery water? No.

The only thing making her feel dizzy was your touch, and boy did it feel sinfully good when you said her name.

“C’mere.”, Mizu commanded, pulling you by your hand down the hallway.

Now where the hell was she taking you?

“Mizu, where are we-“, you say as she pulls you to the bathroom down the hall.

She silently closes the door. Although the bathroom isn’t too small, there’s only a small window above the toilet. The moonlight and the glow of the string lights below lit up the bathroom. You hear the lock click, making you wonder what the hell you two were doing-

“Honey, what’s going on…”, you question.

Looking up to Mizu’s face, you see her deep ocean blue eyes stare back, needy and almost desperate. Her mind raced with a single thought: she needed you, so so badly.

Mizu closed the gap between the two of you, placing her hands on your hips, gently feeling you up and down. Her touches, simple yet speak so much. The light callouses of her fingers line up and down your back, sending light shivers down your spine. You wrap your arms around your neck, pulling her closer. The heat from her cheeks meet yours, every touch more hotter than the last.

You feel the alcohol from the drink kick in, making you off balance. Mizu quickly pulls you up on the bathroom counter, pulling your waist closer to her. You feel a hand let go of your side, slowly inching between your thighs.

She could care less about the party, the noise, the thumping bass, Taigen, and everyone else. All that matters is how enticing you were.

“Mizu! We’re going to get caught!”, you whisper shout.

Mizu continued to tease, as her hand was now by your inner thigh.

“Do you not want to?”, she barely whispered before slowly making her way down.

Right before you could answer, you feel Mizu’s finger brush your panties, soaked from the overwhelming amount of excitement from outside. You feel her hands gently fold up your skirt, the cool sink tile resting against your burning thighs more as the higher the fabric goes. The more she inched down, the more the alcohol started to drown out the music.

All you could feel was the faint bumps of the base and the burning, twisted feeling building up in your core. Of all places, a house party??

You look down to see Mizu’s face, only a couple inches from your entrance. Her cheeks tinted red from the alcohol, both hands handling each thigh. Her dark blue eyes staring up at you, waiting for your response.

“So what will it be?”

You feel her breath tickling your panties. God, you needed her, now. So what if every frat brother is going crazy to Fein? You got other things to worry about.

“Yes, please… Mizu just, please.”, you muster out.

Mizu quickly acts, instantly pulling the panties to side as she licks up once. She pulls away, feeling the slick slowly run down her bottom lip to her chin.

Fuck, she thought. She didn’t anticipate you being this turned on. Especially with how public this is with the open window.

She also didn’t anticipate how much this turned her on too.

Before going back in, she swiftly pulls your legs a little farther apart, giving space for her to kiss you down your inner thigh, back to your sopping wet entrance. Mizu’s face is instantly covered with your slick.

You feel her tongue enter inside you, a wet and warm feeling fills you, making you moan in response. Instantly, you realize how loud you are and hold back, trying to fight back any possibility of noise before you get caught.

The thought of being found in this state is so horrifying… yet oddly thrilling at the same time. It’s so—

“A-ah Mizu…”, you cry out.

You feel a digit enter you, sharing the space with her tongue. You mew in response, your back arching from the pleasure, further deepening their reach. Both filled you up so well, you didn’t know what you would do without them. As you stretch back, Mizu continues her pace, slowly stretching you with every filling pump.

Her agonizing pace continues as you hear your voice start to echo against the cool tiled walls. With every pump, you feel your thighs wrap around Mizu’s head, your hips attempting to rock into her mouth. Going back and forth, you don’t even realize how long its been until you moan her name.

Mizu slowly pulls out. You think she was finished until you feel full once again, now 2 digits deep inside you. Before you can fully register the feeling, Mizu’s tongue swiftly glide over your clit, further stimulating you.

What the fuck was in that “water”??

You moan out Mizu’s name again, louder than the first time, as you feel her fingers continue that slow pace, fully pushing inside of you, and barely pulling out before she enters you again. As she continued to stretch your insides, all you could do was hold on to dear life.

It’s like you could feel everything: the dizziness of the alcohol, the faint feeling of the boosted base thumping, the whispers of conversations coming from the window, the wet squelches of Mizu’s work, the increasing pace of her fingers continuing to stretch you out. And it felt so sinfully good.

That is, until you hear a voice.

“Y/N? You up here?”, Akemi calls out.

Shit.

Both of you freeze. You scramble to find your phone as you hear Akemi call out your name again. You feel your phone vibrate, the ringtone barely humming.

She’s calling you.

Oh god, please don’t be serious.

You pick up the call, your bottom half still frozen against Mizu.

“Hello?”

“Oh my god, Y/N, where are you?”

“In one of the bathrooms. Whats-“, You feel Mizu’s tongue enter inside you again. Holy shit.

“What’s up is that I’m ditching this party. One of the boys was acting so weird with me and my friends and I’m just sooo icked out.”

You try to listen as Akemi continued to ramble on about one of the new brothers while your mind is busy holding back your moans. Mizu inserts the two digits back, curling inside you with every thrust.

You look down to stare at Mizu, busy with her work, and trying to stay as silent as possible. She looks up at you, smiling back at you. You watch as her mouth pulls away from your entrance to your inner thigh, leaving kisses and hickeys inches away from your sopping wet core.

“Anyways, Y/N, just wanted to let you know before I go. If you’re down, come meet us at the In-N-Out. I think I need a different meat tonight.”

You laugh at her joke, continuing to suppress any moans as Mizu’s fingers increase their pace.

“Alright Akemi. I might see you there- ah-”

You feel the pace slow down, as another finger gets added inside, stretching you further, before continuing their original pace. You feel Mizu’s thumb ghost over your clit, continuing to circle around the throbbing muscle.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just, I thought I ran out of toilet paper.”, you say as you start to grind your hips against Mizu’s wrist, adding more stimulation to your clit.

“Okay. See you maybe there. Bye byeeee!”, Akemi says, ending the call.

You quickly shut your phone off, now able to focus on Mizu.

“You’re so good at keeping quiet.”, Mizu teases.

You wish you could tell Mizu to shut up, but only moans come out of your mouth as her pace fastens. The way that her fingers continue to easily stretch you from your slick, her thumb playing with your clit, and her eyes, hungry for your release, was making you reach the top faster than you ever could.

“Fuck, Mizu I’m going to—”

“Right on my face, baby.”, she says.

You reach the peak. Your legs start to shiver against Mizu, squeezing her more than ever. You feel her fingers pull out as she replaces it with her face, licking up every drop of your warm liquid.

S — Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

with her stamina… she can go for a couple rounds

realistically, 4-5 rounds

due to her athleticism, the rounds can last a long while, maybe even 45 to an hour for just one round

no matter how many rounds, rhe final one will always be the sloppiest and she eats it up everytime

T — Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

duh, they have the backpack

it’s mainly for your pleasure

obviously, she comes strapped

(haha get it)

a few vibrators

however, she wouldn’t be opposed for you to try them on her or together

U — Unfair (how much they like to tease)

as i’ve stated many times, she is such a sweet and loving girlfriend

she teases you if you’re being playful

it’s not usually verbal teasing but more physical teasing such as tickling you or playing with your face

she can’t help that you’re her cutie girlfriend

V — Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

ohhhh she’s loud, whether she’s top or not

she uses her words, and its DIRTYYYY and possessive

“such a good girl”

“you’re my pretty girl”

“i know you can take it, you’re doing so well already”

W — Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

she loves being squished by your thighs whenever she eats you out, especially when you place your legs on her shoulders

something ab the skin to skin feeling surrounding her by her cheeks, in front of her, on her shoulders

it’s so intimate and such a turn on for her

and she’s able to watch the rest of your reaction by looking up

X — X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

she’s more on the leaner side but you can spot some muscle

she’s a gym rat she got abs

they developed a while after Taigen proposed some elbow plank competition at the gym with her

in typical fashion, the competitive spirit in Mizu decided to challenge Taigen

they’re not chiseled but when you’re leaning against her, you can feel them and those babies are hard

Y — Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

high.

she never realized it with her previous relationship but it is ridiculously high

even when you’ve finished, she will keep it going and help you get to the next high again and again

her stamina does help increase her sex drive

and totally not your reaction when you finish every time

Z — Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep)

it takes a while for her to fall asleep

besides cuddling, a warm bath with you is the best aftercare

with a few candles (scented of course)

some bubbles

so she’ll stay up to make sure both of you are clean and warm and content

if she has enough energy, she’ll throw your towels in the dryer so that both of you get to wrap yourselves in warm towels

once she changes back into pajamas and is cuddling with you, that’s when she gets really sleepy

maybe a good night kiss or two <33

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